Helen was a secret gambler. She had been dribbling away the money for years, hiding her habit from Wally, her very complacent husband. Until she made the big win, and had so much money coming her way she just didn't know what to do. Her worst fear was in anticipating what Wally's reaction would be when he discovered her secret.
She needn't have bothered, because the obstacles Jerome Havens throws in his heroine's pathway are almost insurmountable. They all come in the company of Henry, the arrogant, swaggering bookie who booked all of Helen's bets. Now, with the lure of all that really big loot to torment her, it was easy for Henry to move Helen directly into his stable of helpless hookers.
Each time she pleasured Henry, or any one of his depraved associates, Henry saw to it that some of the money she had coming was paid to Helen.
The story is as fresh as tomorrow morning's newspaper ... the one about the ring of suburban housewives, bored with their daily routines, who turn into full-time whores to supplement their incomes. Or, in some cases, to relieve an insatiable lust for more and more sex.
Naturally anything so perverted as Lesbianism would really tempt Henry ... and he just had to see how Helen would react when the nitty got gritty. Any combination, any number could play the sex game the way Henry set it up. And Helen loved every minute of it.
Now her greatest fear was that Wally, her very complacent husband would find out. Or was he so complacent after all? Even after Helen started her nightly routine of sucking Wally to orgasm while he slept. Or was he sleeping?
Perhaps Wally (with "his big thing," as Helen called it) had some incredibly perverse secrets all his own.
-THE PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER ONE
Wally's abrupt burst of laughter and the nudge he gave her with his elbow awoke Helen from her daydreaming. She'd been miles away from the comfortable old couch, spending money by the handful, and now she laughed along with him at the antics of the people on the television screen, even though she had no idea what they were up to. She was surprised and a little disappointed at herself at reacting to the money in such a typical fashion, mentally spending it before she had even resolved the problem of getting it in her hands. But then, there was so very much money involved that it really shouldn't be surprising that she should lose some of her good common sense.
"For once they had a pretty decent half hour. We'll have to catch that one next week," her husband said, still chuckling. She liked to hear him laugh. His laugh was one of the things that had first attracted her to him, and now, after twelve years of marriage and some times when there was really very little to laugh about, she still felt warm and good when he laughed so freely. He might go into hysterics, whooping and shouting with glee, if she just came right out and told him about the money. Probably he would. With that much involved, he'd surely forgive her for breaking her promise. Still there remained the chance that his disappointment in her would outweigh his jubilance, and he'd take some of the edge off her good fortune by giving her a lecture on the evils of gambling. Heck, he'd probably not even believe it. It would be best to wait until she had the money firmly in hand before she told him.
"Nothing else on the box," he said, and tossed the television program guide aside. "What say we go to bed a little early and see if we can think of something to celebrate?"
Ever since they'd celebrated their wedding night, that word had become a euphemism for having sex. Not for making love, because as far as Helen was concerned, Wally made love to her twenty-four hours a day, with every one of his looks, with each little reminder of him when he was away at the office, even in her dreams. He was the perfect husband, sweet and loving and gentle, and even more perfect because he'd come to know her so well in their small but wonderful life together. That was what the money would have to be used for, to make their life together a little larger, even more wonderful.
She said, "Yes, darling. I feel very much like celebrating tonight," and she leaned up to kiss his cheek where the little smile lines were starting to appear, lines which would deepen in the deepening years to come.
He would always be a good-looking man, even when he got older, even with the thinning of his lustrous brown hair and even with the thickening of his trim body. His face would not get wrinkled, but it would develop more character lines that would give him the distinguished appearance to match his serene outlook on life. She would always love him with all her heart, no matter how he looked.
"Why don't you go on and get ready and I'll pour us a glass of wine. A little of that pink Chablis will be just the thing to make this celebration an extra good one," he said.
They kissed, fondly, passionately, touching tongue-tips, and rose to go their separate ways for a while, Wally turning off the television set and heading for the refrigerator, and Helen going to the bedroom of their little house.
Should they buy a bigger house with the money? No, they were really very comfortable in this snug little nest they'd worked so hard for, and it would be wiser to invest the money in some income property rather than getting a more luxurious dwelling for themselves. But they wouldn't be wise with all the money.
One thing she would do, she decided as she selected a frothy little nightie of pale blue nylon trimmed with black lace, was buy some more lingerie. She would buy two hundred dollars worth of filmy, sexy little outfits that were mischievously alluring, and slinky, clinging little items of shiny satin, and perhaps one or two brazenly seductive transparent lounging pajamas of the kind that were designed for call girls and jetsetters. And they'd have to take a jet plane trip to somewhere. Probably Las Vegas. She decided to spend five and not just two hundred dollars on her new bedroom wardrobe.
She took the nightie into the bathroom and began disrobing, more excited at the prospect of a sex celebration than she had been in weeks. Dear Wally, he had once again silently read her mood and had known that this night she needed to be physically loved, even before she'd known it herself.
Would his love-making abilities be temporarily hampered by the fact that his wife suddenly had become rich? She had read that that sort of thing happened to some men, insecure men, but Wally was anything but insecure.
Naked, she washed her loins at the sink. She felt warm and open there, and in a very receptive mood for his body. She dried herself, applied perfume to the warmest parts of her body, and dusted herself lightly with fragrant powder. She got into the little nightie and looked at herself in the mirror.
She didn't look bad for an old woman of thirty-one. The main thing was that her belly was still flat and that her waist was still clearly defined. She might be going a little soft in the hips and buttocks, and her breasts might be just starting to sag a trifle under their weight, but as long as she had that slender waist, Wally would go on loving her body.
Her nipples showed almost purple through the thin blue nylon, and they were already erect from just the touch of the light cloth. The brown of her furry loins looked very soft in contrast with the black trim of her nightie, whose hemline barely covered her there. She had always had good legs, and arms to match, plump and yet slim, soft and yet strong enough at times to feel as if they could crush her beloved husband's body completely.
She took the time to tie back her taffy-blonde hair with a bit of blue yarn. Soon she'd be able to go to the beauty parlor once a week to enhance the soft waves that Wally loved so much to touch. She put on a little lipstick and smiled at her reflection, smiled at the rosy glow in her cheeks.
In a way, she was prettier than she had been when she was a kid, although of course, she'd never been a raving beauty in those days. Ordinary blue eyes and a nice, but not particularly sensuous mouth, and a good regularity of her features. But now she had the knowing look of the confidently mature woman who had ventured unafraid into life and had been rewarded for her venture accordingly.
Impulsively, she cast the warmest, most sultry look at herself in the mirror, sprayed a little deodorant under her arms, and went to meet her lover, her husband.
He was already under the covers in bed, smiling at her over the glass of wine that he had balanced on his almost hairless chest. He'd turned the covers back for her, but Helen teased him a bit before slipping in beside him by going to the dresser and giving her hair a few strokes with the brush and smoothing the nightie down over her sides with both hands.
She could somehow tell that, even though he'd seen her so many times in this particular nightie, he already had an erection. She confirmed this when they were side by side in bed, touching each other lightly. They drank some wine and they laughed softly as they talked, touching, kissing, starting their celebration.
They would get the bridal suite when they went to Las Vegas, and their second wedding night would be every bit as good and as sex-filled as their first had been. With their sure knowledge of each other's needs and desires, they would more than make up for that first flush of love that had been so overwhelming.
The wine was working nicely. It added to the suffusion of warmth that was creeping through her extremities. When there was two inches of it left, just enough to refresh them a bit after their celebration, Wally leaned across her to set the glass on the night table. In that position, with his body half covering hers, he brought his mouth down on hers for a kiss that was less tender, more passionate than his first kisses.
His hand on her breast through the nylon assuaged the yearning she felt there and at the same time made her want for more. His thigh opened her legs and provided the first delicious contact with her loins, already moistening. Her vagina felt as if it was growing larger, to just the size of that long, hard part of him that was so warmly pressing against her flank. Now his tongue was deep in her mouth and she was sucking with her swollen lips as she held and caressed his dear, sweet face with both hands.
How sweet it would be, she thought, to go to some very quiet resort that was reserved for lovers instead of going to Las Vegas, and do something they'd never done before stay in bed and celebrate for two or three days.
Poor Wally would be utterly exhausted, and she'd be unbearably sore. That was why Las Vegas would be better for them. Celebrate to the fullest in the bridal suite, then dress formally and go down for a sumptuous meal, complete with champagne, and follow this with some time at the gaming tables to whip up their excitement again, and then return to start the whole delightful cycle over again, over and over.
She felt wicked, and it added to her growing excitement to dream about an entire weekend given over to indulging in the pleasures of the flesh to the very fullest.
He kissed her throat and her eyes and her ears, her nose and her chin and her lips, as his hand roved up and down her body before it came to rest, sandwiched between his thigh and her loins. But it did not truly rest there. It moved, slowly and constantly, easily drawing forth the warm lubricants that would make their ultimate act of love so much more comfortable and pleasurable for both of them.
Feeling as glowingly good as she did, Helen felt she might have an orgasm even before his beautiful thing was inside her, but then he was moving his wonderful body over on top of her and expertly fitting his hardness into her softness.
As many times as they'd done this in the past, it still took her breath away when they were pushing and squirming and working his big thing all the way inside her. Oh, and then it felt so good to be stretched by his strength, to be filled to overflowing with his love. She was in a reverie of adoration for him when he began moving it in and out of her.
Perhaps they would make love sometime soon on a bed that was strewn with banknotes that rustled and crackled richly with their movements. But no, for they'd have to rent a bank vault for that sort of thing, since there was a danger of burglars even in the relatively secure city of San Diego. But they would make love on a blanket in a grassy meadow, surrounded by wild flowers, with birds singing above and rabbits and squirrels watching them; it was something she'd always wanted to do.
There would be a picnic hamper full of delicacies, and a bottle of real French champagne on ice, and she would make him chase her naked through the buttercups before they subsided on the sunlit blanket. Just their luck, though, a big black bull would interrupt them and, maddened by the scent of their mating, would chase her back through the barbed wire fence, leaving all their clothes behind. Horrible thought at such a wonderful time as this. It wouldn't happen.
Their luck had changed, most decidedly, and, bursting with marvelous feelings, it was all she could do to keep from blurting it all out to Wally right now. But still prudence prevailed, making her withhold it, making the foreknowledge of their future to be something to keep to herself for the time being. It was amazing, it was marvelous, it was almost sinful how a little thing like $24,358.35 could alter their lives so very much.
" 'Bout ready, hon?" he panted, his hands busy on her body.
"Yes. Oh, yes," she gasped, quite suddenly brought back to the realization of just how ready she was.
He covered her mouth completely with his in that way that was so demanding and so utterly thrilling to her, and she surrendered to him completely. To him and to her feelings. He was going ever faster, deeper, harder, his penis making very wet sounds that were, at this point in the game, not embarrassing to her in the least. Flat on her back, spread-eagled, pinioned, she let her orgasm sweep through her body as she felt his big thing begin to swell and burst within her.
It was good, better than usual, and the fact that a part of it was due to the money didn't bother her at all. It just couldn't be any better than it was now, not even when they had the money firmly in hand, not even if they doubled it at the roulette wheel, a very unlikely prospect at best, but then, winning the money in the first place had been even more unlikely.
It was a lovely, deep, satisfying orgasm, and she laid back and soaked it all in to every part of her until he'd gasped and huffed and puffed to a grinding, shuddering halt.
"Wow," he sighed as he withdrew his big thing from her, not at all aware of how momentarily dreadful his leaving her felt.
"That was really something. How about another gulp of wine before we pass out?" he said.
"I really don't think there's a thing in the world I need right now," she said. "But I will have a little wine."
They drank, they kissed, they nestled down to sleep in each other's arms. She felt so very good. In a way it was like she felt when she took a sleeping pill, but much better, of course. Snug against his warm body, she fought a half-hearted battle against the sweet slumber that approached, thinking delightful thoughts as she did, letting herself drift into fuzzy pink fantasies that were even more charming than what she would allow herself to deliberately think about.
Castles in Spain? Their own private sauna bath? A masseuse to keep her body in perfect shape for her husband? A suave, sophisticated lover? Oh no! Mustn't let the fantasizing go too far. A chalet in Biarritz with a complete staff of servants. A box at Epsom Downs, or at least at nearby Agua Caliente race track. And a brief and tragic affair with a young, handsome man who was so badly in need of love and understanding that even the angels would forgive her for helping him by giving herself to him, body and soul, for just a little while....
CHAPTER TWO
The morning seemed interminable. First it seemed as if Wally would never leave for work, and then when he had left, it was far too early for Henry to arrive with the money. Still she couldn't get to her work. There was housework to be done and envelopes to be addressed, and she felt very guilty about sitting there staring out the window. She told herself the housework could wait, that she'd take Wally out to dinner that night and spring the news on him then. And as far as the envelope addressing went, she'd just call them tomorrow and tell them what she thought of their stupid, poorly paying job.
She drank a second and a third cup of coffee, even though she knew she shouldn't. It was a great effort not to chain smoke, not to exceed her daily quota of cigarettes. She knew she could hear the doorbell from the bedroom, but still she didn't get up and go to it to dress. In pajamas and robe and her slippers, her hair unbrushed, all she could do was look out the street where Henry's familiar blue Cadillac might pull up at any minute.
How would Wally take it? Would the $24,358.35 be enough to atone for the fact that she'd broken her solemn promise? Values were so important to him. Dear, good Wally. If it hadn't been for the way he had celebrated so beautifully the night before, she knew she wouldn't have slept at all last night. All these questions and possibilities would have been going through her head uninterrupted since Henry's call the previous afternoon, if it hadn't been for her husband.
She had to tell him about the money, there was no question about that. He'd understand about her breaking her promise. But, she wondered, would he have understood if her winnings had only been fifty dollars? Or if she hadn't won at all? But that was silly to think about. She should be thinking about the money, for that was all they needed to make their lives complete.
Really, with that amount of cash, why would anyone ever have a reason to be a millionaire? It would last forever if they just used it as a supplement to their present income. But that meant continuing with her part-time job as envelope addresser, and at that thought she wrinkled her nose in distaste.
She wished she could telephone Henry. It was ridiculous to have a bookie with no telephone number. Henry claimed that it was his personal contacts with his clients that kept him in business, and said that most bookies were apprehended from wire-tap evidence. This limited the number of people he could service, and Helen felt particularly fortunate to be numbered among them, since she was a very small better. Henry came by to see her once a week, at which time she played anywhere from two to six dollars, depending on how much she could economize on her allowance. She bet on the 5-10 at the Agua Caliente race track in Tijuana, the long-shot bettor's gamble. For two dollars she was given a dated slip of paper. On it she wrote six numbers. Each of the numbers represented a horse that was entered in the fifth through tenth races at the track sixteen miles away, and if her numbers corresponded with those of the winning horses, she would be a winner.
She always played the same six numbers on the slips she could afford, I-I-2-6-5-9, which was the day of their wedding. With it she had won small amounts in the past. Twenty dollars once and sixty-four dollars another time, for successfully picking four winners, which several other people had done on those days. But now her lucky number had allowed her to pick all six winners on a day when there were no other winners with which to share the pool.
Now Henry was on the way with the money, and in a little while she'd be rich, and the waiting was so terrible she wanted to weep.
A good stiff drink would be much more practical, she thought, even though she wasn't a drinker, especially during the day. She was even reluctant to get up and go to the bathroom, though she was bursting from the coffee. When she finally did go, she interrupted it in the middle because she thought she heard a car door slam. It was not him. When she returned to the bathroom, she couldn't go, and, exasperated, she poured herself a glass of wine and lit another cigarette, and resolutely resumed her vigil at the window.
At one-thirteen in the afternoon, a feverish shudder went through her and she almost wet her pajamas at the sight of his beloved car. He even looked good as he came up the walk. In the past she had always been a little frightened by him, in spite of the fact that he'd never by word or deed given her cause. If anything, he was overly courteous. But he was so big and dark that he physically intimidated her. Now he just looked like a rather young man, a little above average height, with not overbroad shoulders, black, curly hair, and a heart-warming smile on his handsome face. He looked wonderful.
He wasn't carrying a money-bag. It was apparently in hundred-dollar bills in his jacket pocket. She met him at the door, all agog.
"Henry, I won it! I really won it!"
"You sure did, Mrs. Mohlendorffer. I knew you'd hit it big some day," he said and smiled.
"I never thought I would. Oh, I used to daydream about it, but I never thought I'd really win it. And never this much!"
"It was a darned nice pool. The best we've had in a couple of months. What did your husband have to say about it?"
"I didn't tell him yet. I thought over what you said and decided you were right, it will be easier if I actually have the money in hand before I tell him."
"That's good," he smiled, and reassuringly put his hand on her shoulder. "Once he actually sees the money, I'm sure he'll understand. You know, Helen, I've been hoping you'd win the big one for some time now."
"Do you have it in hundreds, or what?" she asked, not disturbed by the continued presence of his hand on her shoulder, almost happy that he had not used the usual and cumbersome title of Mrs. Mohlendorffer.
"Yep, I've been hoping for a long time you'd win it, Helen."
"Whoops!" she said, as his hand slipped down her back, coinciding with a flash of stark confusion that started at her loins and surged straight up into her startled brain. She turned away, wrapping her robe around her with shaking hands, and said, "I'm so very nervous ... I haven't gotten a thing done all day, and if I could just see the..."
"Of course you're nervous," he smiled, following her over to the couch. "All the big winners are. And I've got just the thing for that."
From his cigarette pack he withdrew a malformed one and she immediately backed off, recognizing it even though she'd never seen a real one before, and saying, "Oh, no thank you. I couldn't."
"Sure you can," he said. "It's traditional with my winners. I insist they have a little smoke with me before the big payoff."
He lit it, and as he. did a thousand objections ran through her head, a, thousand fears of apprehension by the law assailed her, even though he assured her that everyone was smoking a little grass now and that the chances of getting caught were extremely remote. At last she took a puff and she liked it and she thought to herself that little pleasures like this would always be possible in the future, and that even if she and Wally got caught with some forbidden fruit they'd be able to pay their way out of getting arrested for it. It did have a calming effect, and once more she felt companionable toward the bookmaker who held the key to her future happiness in his pocket.
He wouldn't even discuss the money until they'd smoked up the entire joint, and Helen by that time was both pleased and disappointed at the scant effects of the marijuana. It merely made her feel a little giggly and relaxed, as he'd said it would, and didn't turn her into a raving maniac as she'd once feared.
"And now for the money," she said when the last tiny bit of the aromatic cigarette had been consumed.
"There's a little more to the ritual of handing it over," he said.
"Ritual? like signing receipts and things? I do want to do it all legal and above board, without any trouble from the income tax people," she said, trying to edge away from his big, warm hand, from his big, broad grin.
"Don't worry about the Internal Revenue boys. Don't worry about a thing till you get the bread, Helen."
"Well? Give me the money," she giggled. "Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. You think I'd carry cash around with me?"
"You carry my bets."
"Four bucks a lousy week? That's not cash. $24,358.35, that's cash, and for that cash my winners go through a little more fun besides lighting up with me."
"What do you mean?" she said, coldly as she could.
"I mean," he said, with a smile that was as frightening as it was benign, "that you're coming across with a little pussy before I come across with all that money."
"I knew it! I knew from the moment you got out of your car you had something dirty on your mind. Well, I can tell you there's nothing farther from my mind than..."
"Quiet. You want the bread, you come across," he said, and to emphasize his intent, his left hand slipped inside Helen's robe and gave a fast, breathtaking squeeze to her right breast through the thin covering of her pajama top.
She broke away from him, head reeling now, staggering back between the couch and the coffee table, gasping, "I won't! I don't care how much money is involved. Oh, you dirty thing! If you for one minute think...'"
He shrugged and reached in his jacket pocket, withdrew a large billfold from which two one-dollar bills were taken. He let them flutter down to the table top and turned away to walk to the front door. With his hand on the knob, he said, "There's your two bucks back. No hard feelings."
"Wait!" She rushed to him. "You can't do that! I won over twenty thousand dollars and I want that money! I'll sue! I want my money!"
"And the money's yours, Helen, if only you'll go along with the ritual, the tradition. What the hell is a little loving between friends? It's not as if you were a virgin."
She stalked around the living room, fists clenched on her hips, head down and glaring at the rug. When she arrived for the second time at the couch, she kicked it viciously. Turning, she snarled, "Why do you men have to make us women pay for everything? I've never cheated on Wally and I don't intend to now, and nothing you could say would change my mind."
"Twenty-four thousand dollars," he smiled, and opened the door.
"Wait!" she said, and rushed to him, grabbed him by the lapels, and almost sobbed. "Go ahead. Get it over with, you ... you bastard."
"You can call me Hank," he said, and slipped his arms about her, kicked the door closed with his heel, and kissed her.
It paralyzed her. She stood there, held erect against his tree-like body by his strong arms, fighting hard against the dizzying effects of the drug as her lips tasted the first male mouth since
Wally's in over thirteen years.
Worse, she could feel the hot bulge of his penis against her belly, and still worse, there was this awful itch in her breasts that seemed to be simultaneously assuaged and heightened by the feeling of his hard chest mashing them flat. He stuck his tongue in her mouth and she wanted to vomit, but she very quickly caught herself and closed her lips on it, sucked it, wanting to tease him as she once knew how to do and get him more than ready, and then shut her mind off and let him have his way and, at last, get the money. And if she could use her body adroitly enough, he might even have such a premature ejaculation that she'd be spared the awful indignity of his actual penetration.
She tickled his nape with her hand and his lips with her tongue, molding her body against his in a way best calculated to make him lose control, but then she couldn't breathe and she had to end the kiss.
"Did you like that?" she said. "Do you like to neck?"
"Yes," he said. "I like to fuck even better."
Panic soared again in her and she tried to escape from his arms, horrified at herself for reacting as she had so far. He let her go, saying, "Now, take off your clothes and relax. Has Wally got any beer in the fridge?"
"W-what? Yes."
"I'm going to have one while you undress. Then a little screw, and then the money, the twenty thousand dollars."
Alone, she knew she couldn't go through with it, no matter how her body felt just then, even though Wally would never know. It would be terrible, even though Henry's kiss had been something more than tolerable. Irritably, she scratched at her loins, deciding as she did that she'd somehow find his Mafia superiors and turn him in, for though she knew the Mafia were honorable people. She couldn't. . . "
"Here I come," said his voice, and Helen frantically stripped off her pajama bottoms and lay down on the couch, hands clasped over her loins. So far it had been fairly easy, but how could she put up with his big, dark, greasy body on top of hers? Perhaps the drug would put her mercifully to sleep. If only it would give her time to think.
He entered and began to undress, and though she tried not to, she was compelled to watch. He undressed all the way, right there in broad daylight, until he was towering over her seven feet tall, with his enormous penis jutting out like a tree limb. It wasn't even fully hard yet, but it was already immense, thick and long, an object she hadn't seen in the light of day for a long time. It pointed accusingly at her, telling her she would pay dearly for the winnings she'd worked so hard for.
She wished he wasn't so big. She wished the wine or the marijuana would make her pass out. If nothing else, she wished it was dark. She said, "Go ahead."
"Okay," he said, and leaned down to take her by the shoulders and lift her to a sitting position with startling ease. He then grasped her ankles and hooked her heels over the edge of the couch cushions. It opened her loins enormously, obscenely, and she instinctively tried to cover them. He allowed her this modesty while he unbuttoned the tops of her pajamas, and as he did this she didn't know whether to cover her breasts or her loins.
But it was all hopeless. He was going to do it, he was going to exact his tribute, and she was helpless to stop him, no matter what her good intentions were. She laid back, her spine curved against the back of the couch, her buttocks firmly on the seat of it, her most secret flesh laid bare. She studied some knick-knacks on the shelf, tried to focus on far distant thoughts, and told him to get it over with.
"Pretty cunt," he said, and to her complete horror, bent down and placed his mouth against her slit.
She had read about it, dreamed about it, thought about it, and there had been a few times when Wally was drunk and had actually touched his lips against her slit, but now this was entirely different. Now there was a Mafia gangster, an obvious sex pervert, right down there, not only placing kisses on her seething labia but spreading them with his fingers and kissing, sucking, licking right inside her!
Twice she tried to push him away, and once she tried to kick him away, but his strength and determination far outstripped hers and the suction of his mouth was such that she felt that if she did kick him away, he would pull her clitoris right off. It was fantastic. Where before she had wanted so badly to urinate, now all the liquid inside her seemed to be flowing hotly out of her vagina for him to lap up in a frenzy of desire for her. Even Wally had never wanted her this much.
Her drugged brain was exploding, and her breasts would have expanded to twice their size had not he reached up and grabbed them with his hands to roll and knead and mash them against her chest while he continued to suck her clitoris in a way that was driving her mad, too mad to get out a coherent protest.
It was happening too fast. He'd said nothing about performing a perversion on her. He'd only wanted to have intercourse on her. But now she was glad that he hadn't, and that he was getting his weird satisfaction orally. He was such an expert pervert, but what a weird way for a man to get his kicks. She had to admit that it was kicks for her, undoubtedly because of the marijuana, and each time she let herself go a little it seemed to get even more impossibly better.
It was not only the fantastic tactile sensations of her loins being so beautifully loved, it was the feeling of this big, strong forceful man down there on his knees, his head between her lovely white legs, kissing her foulest and sweetest parts. In truth, it was a bonus for winning the prize, like the maraschino cherry on top of the hot fudge sundae.
Dirty as it was, she had to let herself enjoy it, for there was no stopping the surging feelings that were building ever higher in her. It was weird and wicked, something she could never let Wally do even if he'd wanted to, something that she had always known she would have to experience before she died. It was no longer something to be endured, it was something to be shamelessly enjoyed now, while she could, and her hands which had been pushing feebly at his head now closed over his ears and pulled him closer as she found she could spread her legs even farther.
CHAPTER THREE
"What a beautiful cunt," he said, rising up on his knees. "Tastes sweet as honey. Now let's see how it feels, baby."
"Wait just a minute," she panted. "Let me get my breath before you do it any more."
He leaned forward against her, pressing the feverish hard heat of his angry penis against her poor, weakened cunt, pressing his foul, wet lips on hers. She tried to push away but he was much too strong, tried to push at his startlingly bare chest with her hands and tried to push his fetid mouth away with her tongue, and tried desperately to close her gaping cunt, all to no avail.
Twisting away, getting a fast breath, she gasped, "Just let me rest a minute and ... Oooo!" she said, but then it was too late and that enormous organ she'd been sure she couldn't accommodate was inside her and she was being fucked by a man she didn't love, right there on her couch that wasn't even paid for yet.
The breath went out of her lungs in a shuddering gasp as he drew back from her, and then she had to gasp it in again as in it went, every bit of it, and she had to grab her knees to spread her legs even farther lest she be split from navel to anus. It was just driving, driving, driving inside her, inexorably, already shooting hot spurts of alien sperm up inside her, each spurt of which she could very distinctly feel.
Soon, she hoped it would be over for him, and to aid in this she was compelled to work her hips against his thrusts and to reach around behind him and dig her hands into her naked flesh to pull him even harder against her.
"Come! Come!" she gasped. "Don't worry about me ... nnnnggetting pregnant."
"Can't have that happen," he said, and jerked his big baseball bat of a penis out of her, groaned and stood up and began ejaculating on her.
Hot, thick streams of it came gushing out in torrents, jetting out into her hair, over her face, on her breasts and belly, and still she could feel more great bursts of it shooting up inside her empty, empty cunt. Feebly she tried to brush it off, but her coordination had left her and all she could do was smear the stuff around. She hated him then for doing her in that way, but then he did an even more terrible thing by dropping back down to his knees and fastening his mouth to her cunt again. What was so bad about it then was that she knew that now he was only using her. He'd already fucked her, reduced her to a sweating, panting bitch, and had had his pleasure, which was very evident from the driblets of his sperm that still tainted her body.
But now he was back doing that awful perversion, performing cunnilingus, and he was doing it only to have her make an even larger fool of herself than she already had. It had to be that way. Certainly, he had nothing left of himself to give, and now he was trying to reduce her to his level, trying to make her have that mindless, loveless orgasm that he'd had.
Orgasm? She just realized then that she'd had four, five, a dozen orgasms, that it had been all one big orgasm ever since he'd first touched his tongue to her cunt, ever since he'd kissed her at the door, ever since she'd heard-that she had won so much money. Suddenly enormously exultant, she threw her arms about his head and mashed his mouth harder still against her cunt and consciously enjoyed yet another big, sweeping surge of orgasmic feeling, and off in the distance she could instinctively feel another, even larger one approaching that would surely reduce her to the state of a mindless piece of protoplasm that would never fully recover.
"Please," she moaned. "Let me up. I've got to pee. I can't stand that. Just give me the money and go. Gawwwd. Dear Lord, that's so goddamned good. Oh, please stop now, I. . . urrrrgh. Henry, I'm sorry I can't help it, I. . . urrrrrgh ... ahhhhh ... Henreeee ... . "
He quickly raised up again and now when he mashed his mouth against hers she tasted the headiest of aphrodisiacs, and she clung to him with her arms and legs and squirmed her wonderfully alive cunt up against his furry loins, thrilled at feeling his penis every bit as hard as before, though not quite so big.
"You like to fuck, don't you?" he asked as he panted.
"Just do it," she gasped. "Do it again. I don't care," she said, trying to reach for it with her cunt.
"You like to fuck, don't you, Helen?" he repeated.
"Do it," she groaned. "Just do it some more."
"Answer me. Do you like to fuck?"
"Yes! Yes, damn it. Just do it!" she almost screamed.
"I ought to make you say, pretty please," he chuckled, and reached down to rub his fingers against her sopping flesh in a completely thrilling manner.
He put it in again and began fucking her, and now there was no finesse as there had been the first time, no pacing of his energies, none of the little hip waggling that had helped to get her to this state of eager exhaustion. He was really pounding it to her now, slamming it in and out, erect on his knees, grinning as he watched her.
She didn't care how she looked. She didn't care how much she sweated or how much her breasts rolled about on her chest, and didn't even care if he fucked her to death, for this was the most beautiful way in the world to die. She was getting fucked as she'd never been fucked in her life, orgasming as never before, and when he panted to a stop, she couldn't let it end.
"Please, pretty please, just a little more."
"Time for you to do a little work," he said, and slapped her flanks, making her jump, jamming his penis good and deep inside her.
Aided by her startled jump, his penis hit something way up inside her that hadn't often been reached before, something that was terrifically sensitive, and it made her cry out in something akin to pain. Laughing, he pinched her, slapped her buttocks again, and she lost control of herself and had to hump and bump her hips, had to cling to his shoulders for purchase as she jammed that wonderfully sensitive internal organ of hers again and again against the big knob of his hot penis.
"Hey, you really love cock, don't you?" he panted, spasmodically digging ten fingers into her buttocks.
"Love it," she groaned. "Love to celebrate," she panted, even though she hated him.
"Celebrate, hell. You love to fuck. You love to fuck, fuck, fuck," he rasped, punctuating each of the verbs with a wonderfully hard thrust of his hips to meet hers.
"Fuck," she cried. "Love to fuck. Fuck me, fuck me with your cock, you bastard, you dirty bastard."
"On the floor," he said, whipping it out of her so fast that she was unable to grasp his cock as it left her. "Get down on your hands and knees and I'll fuck hell out of you."
She was quite out of her head when he grasped her ankle and pulled her from the couch, and the jolting thud of her bottom on the carpet dazed her further. Hot and feverish and dizzy, she knew she was completely under the influence of the marijuana and that there was nothing she could do to fight the evil effects of it. It simply wasn't her fault when she not only yielded to but helped his hands when they grasped her by the hips and rolled her over on her belly, then elevated her ass until it stuck obscenely up in the air.
Her face was mashed against the carpet, her breasts being chafed by it as he spread her knees, and it was the drug that made her grope blindly back between her legs for the cock she wanted so badly, so madly.
"Your cunt's really wet," he chuckled, and used her pajama bottoms to blot and wipe at her overflowing slit. "Wet and hot. I'll bet you really taste good now."
"Aarggh," she groaned, as she felt his strong fingers further pry her thighs and lips apart, and then shuddering sighs racked her body as she felt his mouth on her slit again, licking her, sucking her, making her orgasm go on and on, but now in a gentler, more tranquil way.
He had his arm about her waist to steady her as he bent over her bottom and licked her vagina, sticking his tongue inside her hole. Then, just when it was at its sweetest, he changed positions and got down on his back beside her and lifted her leg over his chest. When he pulled her down on him, her clitoris went right between his suctioning lips, and all the gentleness and tranquility immediately disappeared.
She was going wild again, in the power of the drug once more, babbling, "Suck it, you bastard. Kiss it. Eat it. Goddamn sonofabitch, that feels so fucking good I don't care what happens. I don't care."
"I do," he muttered through her wet, matted pubic hair, and reached down and grabbed her by the hair of her head and pulled her up on top of his body.
At first she didn't know what it was, that hot, hard object that pressed and flopped against her face. It was the smell of it, that same heady aroma that was on his lips, that made her realize with a shock that it was his penis. For a moment the shock paralyzed her, making her resist the pressures of his hand, and then the madness was upon her and she not only had to do what he was mutely demanding, she was wanting to do it as well.
She took his cock in her mouth and sucked it hard, thrilling at the way she was hurting him and making him groan. She closed her hand about it, opened her eyes and looked down at his frighteningly large and hairy testicles, and sucked some more. She bit it and he flinched and compassion soared as strongly in her as the continuous orgasm that she was feeling, and she had to make him feel as marvelous as she felt, even though he was a pervert.
Helen ceased her vigorous sucking and kissed it, pressed it against her cheek and nibbled it with her lips, wanting to tell him she was sorry but unable to use her mouth for anything but delivering the good sensations to his cock that were being transmitted through his straining body to her bursting cunt, to her orgasming brain. She took it in her mouth again, sliding her lips up and down it, and had the hallucination that her mouth had changed into a cunt, one that was as sensitive as that marvelously alive cunt between her legs.
His cock was curved like a bow, and just as springy and hard, and it was wider than it was thick, and she felt all these things with her mouth and tongue as she made up for all the lost years when she'd been afraid to-even think about sucking a cock.
She heard his voice, but she couldn't understand what he was saying, and then she felt herself being rolled off him, knocking up against the coffee table so hard that glass and ash tray clattered off onto the floor. She was frightened by this sudden display of violence, and at the same time strangely more excited than ever, and she moved with alacrity when he hauled her back up on her knees and elbows.
"Now we're both good and ready," he said, and parted her cunt lips with his thumbs and plunged it up inside her.
Although he held her hips tightly in both hands, each of his forward thrusts drove her face harder against the rug, and each of his withdrawals pulled her backward, even as the enormously sensitized inner flesh of her vagina was being dragged back.
"You like it? You like it? You like it?" he chanted, in perfect cadence.
"Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me," she chanted back, completely abandoned now, far past the point of merely orgasming.
She was all cunt, one big quivering cunt that could take any amount of fucking, any number of men. She'd been born for this, created for this, and her birth and creation was taking place then and there, amid more groanings and outcries that one would hear at the birth of a baby, and they were all coming from her throat.
His cock swelled and burst inside her, and without her bidding her cunt closed down on it, milking it of its splendid, life-giving sperm, and then their organs continued to pulse in rhythmic unison until the strength that had surged through her turned to butter and she slowly collapsed forward on the rough carpet, with him heavily on top of her. Still she could feel the last tinglings of the long, heavy orgasm, now seeming to stem from her flattened buttocks, and she knew that it would go on forever, driving her quite insane eventually, for no one could experience all that pleasure and survive.
But then he'd pulled it out of her and there were only the memories of those exquisite yet thunderous sensations, and even these were fading, and being replaced with the sweetest languor she had ever known, She snuggled down to enjoy it, feeling vaguely lonely and yet completely fulfilled, and from somewhere far above her came a voice.
"Better not fall asleep there."
"N'kay, Wally, darling. Be up in a minute."
His laugh told her that it wasn't Wally, reminded her very forcefully that she'd been coerced into coitus with Henry, the gangster, and her joy turned to misery. She wanted to die. She rolled up in a ball and began to weep, though tears would not come.
"Hey, knock it off," he said, nudging her with his foot. "You've got nothing to bawl about."
"I hate you," she sobbed, glaring up at him, seeing that somehow he was dressed again. "I hate you."
"That's the way it goes. And your old man'll probably hate you if he comes home and finds you passed out with my come drooling out of your cunt. You were a pretty good lay, Mrs. Mohlendorffer. Maybe we'll do it again when I come by with the bread."
The slamming of the door came coincidently with her deducing that it was money that he'd been talking about, but by the time she managed to stagger to her feet, the blue Cadillac was gone. She sat down and wept real tears then.
She earnestly felt she would have gone on weeping forever had not she been quite forcefully struck by the fear of being impregnated by the Mafia hood. Even then it took a great effort to get up and go to the bathroom, hand held over her vagina as it wept with her. Dizzy, she douched as quickly and efficiently as she could, although the time was dragging by with incredible slowness. She seemed to float to the bedroom and there she had a terrible time in selecting something to wear, for everything she owned was too brightly colored for a simple housewife like her to wear. Finally she selected her old jeans and a paint-spattered sweat shirt and threw them on the bed and got out panties and a bra.
Stepping into the panties, sliding them up her legs,' a shiver ran through her that ended with the hardening of her nipples. Quite impossibly, she was still capable of being sexually stimulated, even by her inanimate panties. She smoothed her hands over their silken texture, feeling her warm flesh through the thin material, feeling her very feminine curves and smiling slightly at the realization of how long Henry had been lusting after her and for what very good reason.
She stepped before the mirror and looked at herself in the near nude, a very lovely woman whose face reflected her sensuous nature and whose ripe body clearly showed why all men should lust after her. Big, full breasts, hardly sagging at all, perfectly shaped for a man's hands, with nice, firm nipples that would fit exactly between a man's lips. She hefted her breasts and pulled at the nipples to make them even firmer, looking at herself through heavy-lidded eyes, and smiling.
She outlined the shape of her excellent waist and she smoothed her hands down over her hips, not fat at all, but certainly as nubile as any man could ever hope for. Then, facing the mirror, parting her legs widely, she pulled the nylon of the panties up tight over her crotch, giggling a little at how nicely it outlined her fleshy lips and at how the stray brown hairs peeped out from the leg holes. She was reaching down inside her panties when she saw herself for what she was.
"Adulteress," she hissed at the mirror. "Cocksucker," she snapped, and whirled away from it so she couldn't see her passion-bloated face or her depraved, debauched body. She wept for several minutes before she recalled that she'd only done it for the money, that she'd been forced into it, drugged and forced into it.
She dressed and ran a comb through her hair, feeling purified in the way that the old clothes bagged on her so badly, and she went to the housework that had been so neglected all day. In the living room she almost became ill at the sight of a large wet spot on the rug where she'd been lying. She attacked this first, blotting at it, then wetting it, knowing it was hopeless, that Wally would be home long before the damning stain was gone and long before the stench of illicit drugs and sex could be aired out of their house. Hopeless it was, so she at last left it and went to work at her other chores. There was no time for vacuuming or dusting, and the previous day's dirty clothes were merely tossed into the washer rather than taken proper care of.
Instead of taking Wally out to dinner with the money she'd won and suffered for and then not gotten, they would have to eat at home, and there was no time to go to the store, so she threw tomato sauce and spices in a pot with the idea of making spaghetti. Still it was hopeless. The moment he walked in he would know, for she was not the woman he'd left that morning.
She was an adulteress and worse, and she was under the influence of a vile drug that warped her mind as well as her sense of time. It caused her mind to wander, caused her to find herself stopped in the middle of a chore and gazing off into space, thinking strange thoughts. Then she'd have to shake her head clear and hate herself for a few moments before she could go on.
Incredibly she finished it all by five-thirty; her entire day's work was done and she was tasting the utterly delicious spaghetti sauce when the husband she had cheated on came home.
She rushed to his arms. "I'm sorry, darling. Oh, I'm so terribly sorry."
He held her back and looked at her and said, "Sorry? For what?"
"I I I. . . "
He laughed and said, "You didn't have a chance to pretty yourself up today. Honey, that's okay. You don't have to be all dolled up every day when I get home. In fact, you look pretty good in those old clothes. You look so good I'd try to talk you into a little celebration right now, but the fact is I'm starved. What is it that smells so good?"
"Spaghetti sauce?" she queried.
"Terrific. And for once, it smells like you put enough garlic in it. What's that? Spill something on the rug?"
"Oh, that. Yes, I ... I spilled something," she lamely said. "It will dry."
"Sure it will. Hey, let's, eat early and then get to bed early, too. Think you could stand celebrating two nights in a row?"
She thought about it as she prepared the spaghetti and she decided that she most definitely could stand another fuck. Not just a celebration, but a real good hard fuck, for the second time that day. It was awful, but she didn't care, for the more she thought about how much more fantastic it would be with Wally than with Hank, the more aroused she became.
She felt a little ill with her sex heat by the time she served up the dinner, but then all that was gone with the first bite of the spaghetti. Never before in her life had she tasted such fine spaghetti, and she returned for seconds and thirds, so that by the time the last of it was eaten, she was suffering greatly from a badly distended stomach.
She fell asleep on the couch during the six-thirty news, and when she woke up at ten, the dope had worn off and her shame was such that she contemplated suicide as she looked at the tranquil face of her dear husband, snoring in his reclining chair before the television set. It might be weeks, she thought, or even years before she could feel any enjoyment out of the act of sex, even when her lover was Wally. It would take a long, long time for the wound between her legs to heal.
CHAPTER FOUR
Helen fumed and stalked through her chores the next morning, thinking of ways to locate Henry, and once found, ways to kill him. She found herself able to recall every murder mystery she'd read through the years, and although several of the killings had been imaginatively cruel, none was good enough for him. She decided at last she'd stake him to an ant-hill, cut off his penis with a dull knife, castrate him, and pour pancake syrup over him. While he was screaming his way to hell, she would stuff his cock in his mouth and leisurely go through his pockets and count the money in full view of him.
But, no. The money, was secondary to his dying a slow, agonizing death. She would watch every dreadful moment of his slow demise before she went for her cash. Perhaps, if she was lucky, he wouldn't have it with him and she'd have to torture him to find its whereabouts. She was thinking of various methods of torture she'd read about and had been thoroughly horrified at previously, and she was savoring these methods with glee when a knock came at her door.
She rushed to it, heart in her throat, knowing it was him with the wonderful, redeeming cash, and at the door she smoothed down her slacks and tucked in her chaste white blouse before she turned the knob, her face a mask of complete and scornful composure.
It was Henry, all right, but he was not alone. With him was a somewhat smaller, older man, equally dark, wearing a modishly cut business suit and smiling at her in a kindly way.
She greeted Henry icily, and he smiled warmly and said, "Good morning, Helen. This is Mario. He's with the organization, too."
"Your boss," she said, and turned to the older man. "You're just the man I want to see. Do you know what he did to me? I won the 5-10 the other day, and he wouldn't pay me. And yesterday ... yesterday ... he wouldn't pay me," she lamely finished, too filled with shame to even confess her sin to this man who would be able to help her. "Oh, I'm not Hank's boss," said the man. "No, Mario's our treasurer. He handles the big pay-offs. Aren't you going to ask us in?"
"Oh, yes! Please come in. So nice to meet you, Mr. ... Mario. Can I get you a cup of coffee or anything? Did you bring it with you?"
Henry's arm slipped around her shoulders as they entered, and though she tried to shake it off, Helen found herself sandwiched between him and the broadly smiling Mario, who in turn slipped an arm about her waist.
Henry said, "Matter of fact, Helen, there is something you could do for Mario, if you're in the mood, and knowing you like I do now, I'd just bet you're in the mood, all right."
"I'm in the mood for my money," said Helen, trying to fight a poised battle against the male hands groping at her and the female fear rising in her. "Just stop that," she said. "All I want is my money."
"I thought you said she'd swing," said Mario, obviously keenly disappointed.
"Oh, she will," Henry grinned, and as if by magic he produced a marijuana cigarette. "She just needs one of these to relax a little."
"I am not going to smoke that," she resolutely said. "And if you don't give me my money and leave, I'll I'll ... "
"You'll what? Call the police? Scream? Phone your husband?"
"I'll I'll..she said, twisting about between them, feeling very weak and helpless in the face of the surrounding masculinity.
"You'll sit down with us and have a little smoke and talk it all over very logically," Henry said. "And if your logic is better than ours, more power to you. What the hell," he laughed, "a friendly little smoke won't hurt you."
"I will not let you hook me on drugs," she said, and the remark only served to convulse the men with laughter. And, laughing all the while, they led her to the couch and sat her down between them and lit up the cigarette. The way they thrust it at her, it was smoke or choke, and shortly Helen was joining them on the second reefer, trying to keep a rigid mental control over herself, even though she knew it was all but useless to fight against the strong narcotic effect of the drugged cigarette. Again and again she tried to turn the conversation toward her pay-off, and constantly she tried to thrust their hands from her thighs and from about her shaking shoulders, but they remained persistent.
How did one go about hiring a thug to kill people, she wondered, if those people were Mafia members? It would be difficult, but of course it would be completely impossible to hire anyone at all without her money, that money that was still firmly in the possession of these two handsome, bullying gangsters.
"I suppose this is some more of your damned ritual," she bitterly said, trying to simultaneously close a button on her blouse and get Mario's hand off her leg.
"We have a lot of traditions in the organization," Henry said, exhaling a huge smoke cloud that made her turn away from him.
Mario tried to kiss her, and Helen lost another button on her blouse in extricating herself from his embrace, only to trap herself in the arms of her other attacker. With one of Henry's arms about her shoulders, with his other hand firmly holding her jaw, she couldn't turn away from his mouth when it descended on hers. Helen thought about fish, cold dead fish, and went as limp and lifeless as she could under the circumstances. It wasn't at all easy, for his lips were most demanding and his tongue was far too reminiscent of the big hard penis that had not only been inside her mouth but that had made her vagina so very sore. Also, his hands were clutching her so warmly and strongly that they were pressing the breath out of her, and add to that those other hands that were rubbing her back and her hips and her buttocks in such a disturbing way. She could only stand it for so long, and then she had to come to life, to push away from him and gasp for air before she fainted.
Both Henry and Mario turned her into the Mafia treasurer's arms, and then she was being kissed by this man who'd been a total stranger to her only a few minutes before. His lips and tongue were too wet and cold for her to even try to practice any passive resistance with him; she had to start struggling right away, and this seemed to inflame him more than to discourage him.
He held her face just as firmly as Henry had, and he got his hand inside her opened blouse, while from behind, Henry fondled and caressed and pinched her, not hard enough to hurt her, but quite enough to keep her squirming in Mario's arms. It was dreadful, and she hated them both roundly. They are disgusting animals, little better than rapists, and she was revolted by the kiss, even though Mario's mouth had warmed and his tongue was moving in what was supposed to be a more erotic manner.
Had he killed? she wondered. Were both these men who were so eager, for her favors hardened killers? That sudden thought made her inwardly blanch and slacken off in her resistance, and as she was wondering if they used knives or guns, Henry succeeded in unfastening her bra.
The hands on her bare breasts made her resume her struggles, but now they seemed even more futile than before as both of them seemed to go mad at the touch of her naked flesh, and the nipples that had become so hard and sensitive. When she managed to break away from Mario's kiss she was pushed back against the back of the couch, dizzy and panting for her breath, as the two men converged on her breasts, each claiming one for himself.
"What a set of tits," Mario exclaimed, apparently trying to alter the shape of her right breast with his hands.
"I told you she had a nice set," Henry gloated, as he worked over her left breast. "You don't for a minute think I'd line you up with some dog, do you?"
"Looks good enough to eat," Mario chuckled, and then proceeded to do just that.
Henry winked at her and followed suit, and Helen was then quite powerless under the slavering, hot kisses of these two rough, unrelenting gangsters. They were rough with her breasts, mauling them with their hands, sucking and chewing on them with their mouths and making grunts of appreciation for her beauty, and it was all too much to be resisted.
There was no point in resisting, anyway. They were too big, too strong for her, and she knew that if she didn't yield to them they would kill her. These men were killers. Not the desperate type, but the shrewd, calculating, heartless type that were even more dangerous. Gambling, drugs, killing, that was their business, and it was a hard business for them, for all its sordid glamour. They were constantly on the alert for danger, and at rare times like this when they could relax, they obviously took their pleasures with the same intensity with which they pursued their life of crime.
Criminals they might be, but they were also men in need of a woman, and Helen was beginning to feel, extremely womanly. It was probably because of the drug, but the cause was really immaterial. What mattered was that she was going all soft and sympathetic for them in spite of her previous feelings, as her womanly instincts slowly displaced her morals and her intelligent reasoning.
She had to struggle a little to get her arms out from under them, and then she caught their necks in the crooks of her elbows and drew them closer to her breasts, looking down at how voraciously and lovingly they were sucking her nipples.
"Poor babies," she murmured. "They're so hungry."
"Now she's warming up," Mario said, his face flushed, his eyes shining.
"Just like I told you she would, pal. Shut up and eat," Henry said, and pushed Mario's face down on her breast again. "See if you can get both of them in your mouth while I get up a minute."
Through the thin haze of the marijuana smoke, Helen saw Henry begin to undress. She didn't like to think of what he was going to make her submit to. It was so much easier, so much more pleasant to put that out of her mind and just look down at how lovingly Mario was kissing her breasts. He was kissing both of them by then, going from one to the other like a famished, though slightly over-aged child, and she was helping him by holding his cheeks in her hands and guiding him from one to the other. Each time he let go of one breast with his hands and his lips to go to the other, he had a remark to make.
"Beautiful set of tits ... I could just eat these up. . . haven't seen as nice a set of tits in years...."
It was vulgar and coarse, just like him, but really the vulgarity and coarseness was only a facade, for there had to be a great deal of tenderness and love in any man who was so sweet and ardent about his amorous attentions to a woman. Her heart went out to him she could feel it beating very strongly and she crooned comforting words to him and moved her torso to present one of her breasts to him each time he wanted to change.
He was sloppy and wet with his kisses, but this didn't revolt her at all. It was just another sign of his sudden infatuation with her. Probably he was a very lonely man, with a fat, mustachioed wife who didn't know the first thing about the comforts that any man, even a gangster, needed to make his life complete.
"Such a hungry baby," she purred. "Does it feel so nice for him to nurse on Helen's breasts? Eat 'em up, baby. It's all right."
"Nicest tits I've ever seen," he panted. "And I'm not kidding about that."
"Get up and undress, Mario," Henry said, "and let me at those tits for a while."
Henry was quite naked when he took over Mario's job of making her feel so good, so womanly. He wasn't as tender as Mario. He knelt between her legs and made her sit upright on the edge of the couch while he kissed her, and made her hold a breast in her hands as he kissed it and felt it. But they weren't breasts. They were tits. And these hungering men weren't nursing, they were doing their utmost to assail her senses with such delights that she'd submit to anything they wanted and thus please themselves enormously with her. It wouldn't be very pleasing to her, though, not with the way her cunt was so sore.
Tits and cunt, that's what she had, not breasts and a vagina. And, very shamefully, she had a body that was just as hungering as theirs were, sore cunt or not. She was very much aware of the soreness then, and grateful for the lubricants she could feel flowing there, for they gave her hope that their final penetration would be relatively painless.
It was already clear to her that both of them intended to fuck her, and she knew the only hope she had was to go along with them, to make it as easy as she could on herself, and to worry about the consequences of it all later, when she could think clearly once more without the drugs of sex and marijuana. So when Henry opened her slacks and started pulling them down, she lifted her bottom up off the couch to help him, to get it over with.
Her panties came off along with her pants, and then she had a sudden flash of panicky modesty and tried to cover her loins. Very easily, Henry forced her legs apart, then held them apart by straddling her bare knee with his huge, hot testicles pressed warmly against her flesh, with his big, hot penis pointing its single seeking eye at her pulsing belly. Exposed as she was, it was a simple matter for him to reach down and put two fingers in her sore slit and massage it vigorously.
As if by magic, the soreness was gone, replaced by an itch that was so maddening that she wanted to scratch at it herself, even though he seemed to know exactly where the itching was at its worst. She opened her legs wider for his fingers, and he obliged by slipping his finger in her cunt and wriggling it all about her portals, then returning it to give her clitoris a nice, vigorous massage that left her too breathless to be able to murmur her thanks. She could Only lean back, sighing with her relief, not even caring that this caused her nipple to be withdrawn from his mouth.
It didn't matter, for as delightful as his kisses there were, his manipulation of her cunt was so much better that she couldn't take any more than that without orgasming and making a complete fool of herself. As she leaned back, Mario sat beside her, as naked as Henry, and she managed to put together a feeble smile for him.
"Goddamn," he said to Henry, "we've really got her going."
"I told you she was a hot one. A little grass does wonders for Mrs. Mohlendorffer. You want to go first?"
"Yeah, but. . . is she clean?"
"Chrissake, she's a housewife, not a Tijuana hooker. Sure she's clean. Go ahead and bang her, man."
Helen didn't feel clean. Their words, their discussion of her as if she was nothing more than a piece of meat, made her feel dirty and ashamed, and reminded her very strongly that she was still an adulteress and would soon be a double sinner, taking on two men at once like some soft of a nymphomaniac. She wanted to weep, wanted to curse them out of her house and out of her life, but since that was quite impossible, she instead blotted them out of her. thoughts by turning inward on herself and the wild, exultant feelings that were there if only she'd let them go.
"Come on and bang me, man," she said, pushing Henry away and reaching for the thick, hairy body of the wary but eager stranger. "Just shut up and fuck me, Mario, or whatever your damned name is."
Henry grinned at her and spoke to Mario, saying, "How do you like it best, buddy?"
"On her back," he said, "with a pillow under her ass."
She was helped to her feet, and Henry patted her ass and commented on how she didn't really need a pillow under one like that, while Mario quickly put a flowered couch pillow on the floor and reached up to her from a kneeling position. Boldly, she waggled her hips in his face, turning her back on Henry, and got down on the floor, spread-eagled, with her ass on the pillow. It elevated her loins obscenely upward, making her feel even more brazenly hot, and she let it happen more, let her heat rise and take her over until it didn't matter who was there to further the good, hot, womanly feelings that soared and surged in her.
When she reached down to help the cock get into her seething cunt, she found her pubic hairs a mass of sodden wetness so that her fingers slipped in opening out her labia. He didn't care. He was already pushing his hardness into her, and she didn't care, for the soreness was completely gone and all she wanted was to have more of the good, deep sensations of mating, like an animal.
The ragged, guttural groan she heard was indeed very animal, and she only dimly realized that it had issued forth from her straining vocal cords as she began to come, even before the whole length of his cock was in her. He hadn't felt as big as Henry, but now he seemed enormous as he filled her cunt to overflowing, not only with himself, but with the wonderful relief that she had waited for so very long. She put her arms about his neck and hugged him in her great joy, and she planted her feet solidly on the floor to thrust her pelvis up at him and feel even more of it.
She was all feeling then, without any reasoning processes left in her, and this let the joy in her swell even more. The wet sounds of his deep, savage thrusts and his labored breathing were all the sounds she ever wanted to hear again, and her sense of smell was being titillated by her own hand, wetted by her own hot juices and held close to her nose as she hugged him even tighter. Of course, her sense of touch was being more than appeased, not only by his big, hard cock in her but also by the satisfyingly heavy weight of his body on hers.
He was breathing too hard to kiss her, so she sucked on her pungently anointed fingers to further assail her bursting senses, and her sense of vision added to her pleasures when she looked up and saw Henry standing over them, watching, his big cock none too patiently awaiting its turn.
"Ahhh," Mario groaned in her ear, and slowed to a halt.
"Nooo," she moaned back at him, desperately trying to wriggle her hips under his weight and reach the next peak of her orgasm that was so close, yet so far away without his help. "Bang me some more, just a little more," she whimpered, trying to kiss him.
He rolled away from her, leaving her feeling very cold, very desolate and unloved, now in this time of her greatest physical need. Would Henry help her or was it over? Would Wally help her if he suddenly walked in? It was so hard to think of anything beyond that next glorious peak, and she reached down to massage her cunt and thus make further thinking impossible.
"I'll take care of that," Henry said, dropping to his knees and pushing aside her hand.
She would have opened herself up for him, but he slapped her on the hip and said, "Get up on your hands and knees and I'll fuck you doggy style, just like you like it."
He had to help her just a little, and then she was getting what she wanted again, what she'd been born to want and need, more than anything else in the world. She had a big, hard cock in her, filling her, completing her, and she rocked back and forth on hands and knees as contentedly as a baby in its crib.
He guided her rocking with his hands on her hips, knowing exactly how fast to pace it so that she was getting the ultimate in pleasure from it all. He was so good, so knowing, whoever he was. As if in a dream, she felt her hanging hair being drawn aside from her face.
"You've really got her going, Hank. You ought to see her face."
"I'm seeing all I want to see. Yeah, she loves it this way. She loves it any way. Are you gonna come back for seconds, Mario?"
"I guess so, but it'll take me a while, and it looks like this one can't wait."
'What did I tell you about housewives. Hell, let her help you get it up. Have her go down on you while I'm fucking her. She loves it."
Helen's sensations were being disturbed by the strong hands that held her while the big white body got under her hanging head. What had they been saying? What was it she loved besides fucking? She was still trying to decipher their words when the sight of Mario's cock before her, not nearly so big as it was before, presented itself before her eyes and ended her confusion. With no hesitation, knowing full well what it was she loved, she took the wet, limp organ in her hand and guided it to her mouth.
It was delicious. It had not only the rich flavor that she'd tasted on her fingers, but also had an even richer taste that she knew was that of his sperm, his semen, his come. She sucked and licked it, and as it came harder in her mouth, her pleasures were further added to and she felt orgasm after orgasm bursting in her until it was just one long orgasm she was feeling, going on" and on for she did not know how long.
Behind her, fingers dug very deeply into her hips and within her she could distinctly feel the enlargement of the cock, the wonderful cock, as it began shooting the good, hot stuff up inside her. She wanted to scream and shout with her great joy, but the delicious gag in her mouth prevented her from making any sound other than a loud humming, and then to her momentary horror she felt the cock in her mouth getting even bigger, even harder, and she knew it, too, was about to shoot. She knew she should turn away from it and let it gush out over her body even as Henry's cock had the day before or was it hours or years before? but she was compelled to suck it harder, to stroke it and milk it with her hand, and to croon even louder as it ejaculated in her mouth.
It was delicious. It tasted even better than the first traces of it had hinted, and as she sucked it up and swallowed it, she knew that this was such a special taste that it was adding materially to this final peak of her orgasm that couldn't possibly be surpassed. At last, after thirty-one years, she had matured as a woman and knew what life was all about, and this was her last thought before the male puffing gave way to sighing, and she was left alone, a crumpled but very sated heap, upon the floor.
A long, long time later she was shaken awake by her bookie, by Henry and his friend, and Henry was saying, "Hey, wake up. Can't have old Wally finding you like this."
"I'm okay," she muttered, wondering what they were doing there, wondering how anyone could disturb her when she felt so marvelously sleepy.
"Well, get up then," he said, and slapped her very hard on the ass.
It barely made her jump, but it did bring her awake enough to be partially conscious of what was happening, and she managed to mutter, "The money. What about the money?"
"Oh, that'll come," he laughed.
"Here," said his friend, and she felt something made of paper being thrust in her limp hand.
"You don't have to do that, Mario," Henry said.
"A little tip. I like to tip when I get really good service like that."
"Suit yourself," Henry said, "but it's a waste. Helen, we've got to split. Are you okay?"
"Mm-hum," she said, managing to nod her head.
"Okay. See you soon, kid."
They were gone, and she sat swaying on the floor for several minutes before she thought to look in her hand. The sight of the twenty-dollar bill there made her feel ill, and she had to get up and stagger to the bathroom, but there the necessity to douche took precedence over her need to vomit, and once she had cleansed herself she had to somehow go through with her chores.
CHAPTER FIVE
The weekend was a misery for Helen. Quite naturally, she was assailed by guilt. The marijuana, the fact that she was outnumbered by stronger forces, these were no consolation to her at all in light of the bald facts that she had become an adulteress and a cocksucker and, perhaps worst of all, had allowed her previously dormant nymphomania to raise its ugly head. Hard as it was to believe, she was a nymphomaniac, for as much as she tried to deny it to herself, there had been times when she had enjoyed the promiscuous sex with the two men she did not love.
Did not love? She hated them with all her heart, not only for what they had physically done to her but also for driving a leaden spike into her heart which had previously been pure with her love for Wally. Poor Wally, if she had any strength of character she would leave him, for no matter how she tried, she could never make things up to him.
She did try. Over the weekend, she waited on him almost hand and foot, bringing him iced tea while he worked in the yard, and beer while he watched the Chargers on television, trying to anticipate his every need and not complaining at all when he neglected the fix-it work she needed done in favor of his own pet projects.
She fixed his favorite meals, and on Saturday afternoon she started some yeast dough rising so that she could rise early Sunday and bake him fresh cinnamon rolls. Although she had no desire to see it, she enthusiastically agreed to his selection of a movie for Saturday night, and when on their return home he suggested they have a little celebration, she concealed her dread of having sex with him and acted as affectionate as she could, as passionate as he had come to expect.
Her dread was short-lived. She had greatly feared, in fact, almost known for sure, that the moment his preliminaries were over with and he penetrated her, he would know at once that her previously faithful vagina had hosted some other visitors, shamelessly and enthusiastically, and so very enjoyably that it had swept the rest of her along with it. But he didn't know, he hadn't been able to tell. His strokes were as evenly paced as always, his heavy breathing and his words of love just the same, and his enjoyment no different than ever.
Helen's enjoyment was, of course, sadly wanting. Her husband's penis in her was a constant reminder of the fact that others had been there only days before, and she knew she couldn't have an orgasm, not that she wanted one. Still, there were times during their celebration when she actually did come close to having a climax. His body did feel good, both on her and in her, so good that at times she slipped and allowed the remembrance of how fantastically crazy she had gone when Henry and Mario had had sex with her. She had flashes of herself with her ass up on a pillow, all opened up for the stranger ... on her hands and knees, with Henry's big long cock squelching loudly in her cunt ... with Mario's hot cock shooting his good, hot come in her mouth ... of Henry performing cunnilingus on her, going down on her, eating her cunt like she had eaten his rigid cock.
These and more came flitting into her head un-summoned as Wally's thrusts became more vigorous, and she had to bite her lip and dig her fingernails into her palms to drive out those errant glimpses into her nymphomaniacal nature, and still feign an orgasm when Wally ejaculated, whispering hoarsely of his love for her as he did.
His love-making left her more chagrined than satisfied, just as the weekend left her more weary than rested. And perhaps the worst part of the entire weekend were her recurring schemes and dreams about getting her money and then spending it.
All in all, it was to her a miserable weekend, even though Wally made much of his thoroughly enjoyable two-day hiatus before he left for work on Monday morning, but as miserable as the weekend was, Helen somehow knew that the following weekdays would be even worse for her.
To her immense relief, Henry appeared shortly before ten o'clock that Monday morning, and to her even greater relief, he was alone. She silently admitted him to her house and then grimly asked him the question.
"Did you bring my money?"
"Baby, those things take time," he said, with a grin that was meant to be disarming, with a grasp on her shoulders that was supposed to be reassuring. "Be patient. Patience is a virtue."
She shrugged his hands off her and angrily said, "What the heck do you know about virtue?"
"Doll, you've got to know about virtue before you know about vice, and I know all there is about that. And you're learning, you've my best pupil."
"I am not your pupil in vice! I am a gambler, I won $24,358.35, and I want my money!"
"Easy, sweetie. You'll get it. But that's a lot of bread, and you've got to admit you haven't really done much for it."
"I don't have to admit a thing, and don't call me any pet names, just give me my money!" she almost shouted, a little frightened herself by her show of vehemence. She calmed and said, "I've done all I'm going to do for it."
He shook his head, smiling, and said, "Not quite. You're going to do me another little favor today before we even talk about your getting the bread."
"I can't," she adroitly lied, turning up her nose at him. "I just started my period."
To her surprise, he merely shrugged and said, "That's okay. You don't have to use your pussy today, only that stacked-up body of yours."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about a little job where you can earn another twenty, maybe more, for just walking around a little."
"I don't want your dirty twenty-dollar bills, I just want my winnings!"
She exceeded herself. Her words angered him and his smile disappeared and he grabbed her very tightly by the shoulders and snarled, "You do as I say or you won't even see another twenty of that bread, Mrs. Mohlendorffer, let alone the full amount. You need the money and I've got it, and if you want it, do as I say. What did you do with that other twenty? I'll bet it's already spent. Well?"
Blinking up at his scowling face, cowering under his punishing grip, she stammered, "I spent it. . . on Wally ... my husband."
"Good, and there'll be more to come that you can spend on him if you just be a good little girl and do as Hank says. Now, come on. Grab a coat and plenty of make-up and let's get out of here."
"But where are you taking me?" she asked, hesitantly.
"To the goddamned morgue unless you quit arguing with me. Move, woman! Let's go!"
She was so relieved she felt like weeping when, instead of driving her in the direction of the Tijuana whorehouses, he headed the big blue Cadillac north, to Hotel Circle. She was still frightened, but she felt confident that she could successfully feign her menses. She'd even inserted a Tampax in her vagina, though there was no menstrual blood flowing whatsoever now, over a week before her period was actually due. She felt a little queasy at the prospect of what the gangsters might do if her deception was revealed.
He parked the car at the San Diego Manor, one of the newest and most complete of the many fine hotels in the city. Of course, Helen had never been there before, but she'd heard stories of its opulence, and her head swiveled back and forth as she confirmed the fact that it had three swimming pools, at least four bars, two restaurants, tennis courts, and an indeterminate number of banquet rooms. She surmised that she would be taken to a top floor penthouse, there to meet with the upper echelon of the organization to discuss who else she might have to please to get her hands on her money, but then he turned her into the door under the sign that read Blue Room Private.
It was a small banquet room with three long tables set for about thirty or so guests who had not yet arrived. The only people in the dining room were the red-jacketed man behind the small bar, and three women, one in her forties, and very smartly dressed, and two in their twenties, nicely dressed and attractively made up. Henry took Helen over to them and made the introductions. The older woman with the hennaed hair and the appraising look about her was Beverly, the busty, olive-skinned brunette was Anne, and the leggy blonde with the sultry eyes was Pammy.
"Ever done any modeling before?" Beverly asked, and when Helen confusedly admitted that she had not, the big woman said, "Good. Men like the pros, but they dig the chick with the amateur look about her, too. Come on, gals. Let's get some make-up on Helen and get our things laid out."
"What is this?" Helen said, turning to Henry as the only familiar figure present.
"Just a little modeling show," he said. "You and the rest of the gals are going to show off some lingerie and things for some of the local businessmen while they eat their lunch."
"Lingerie?" she said, "I don't think I could...."
"It's the last fashion show for men in San Diego," Beverly said, "and you can pick up at least twenty for it. Lord knows, you've got the face and the figure for it. Come on, now. Time's a'wastin'. "
Helen was led protesting into a back room, a tiny cubicle that was furnished with a small mirror, a vanity, a chair, and several boxes that bore labels of local lingerie shops. From one of the boxes Beverly pulled out a red wig and tossed it to Pammy, telling her to put it on.
"Bullshit," said the tall .blonde, shocking Helen. "I just got my hair done and I'll be damned if I'll wear a wig today."
"Goddamn it, Pammy, you know you look good in it, and you know I like to give 'em a blonde and a brunette and a redhead."
"Let the new chick wear it. I'm not about to today, so don't start threatening me," she said, tossing the wig at Helen.
"Okay, okay, but for Chrissake, relax," said Beverly. "You're supposed to be nice and sexy, not a damned bitch."
"I'm sorry. I had a fight with my old man. What I need is a number. Have you got any, Bev?"
"Always," said the big woman, and produced a package of filter-tipped cigarettes and passed them around. Helen's was lit by the time she realized it was marijuana. When she started to put it out, Beverly caught her hand and said, "Hey, you need more than just one hit to unwind and get with it."
"If she doesn't want to smoke, leave her be," said Anne, puffing on her cigarette while she unbuttoned her blouse.
Helen thanked her, grateful for any form of friendship in these alien surroundings, and snubbed out the cigarette in the ash tray. She timidly began to undress, not knowing how to refuse, feeling better about it in the company of the other two disrobing women, and feeling some of the dizzying effects of the marijuana smoke that filled the little room. She tried not to look, but from the corner of her eye she could see more and more naked female flesh appearing, long limbs and bounteous breasts, slim hips and dark triangles of fur. It made her blush at first, but by the time the other two girls were naked, they were all giggling, and Helen removed her panties and bra a little self-consciously, as if she was getting ready for a slumber party.
Her remaining uneasiness vanished when Anne, then Beverly, and finally Pammy complimented her on her figure and said this sort of modeling would be a snap for her as long as she played it cool. When two more of the filter-tipped reefers were lit up and passed, Helen shared in them for, after-all, she was already pretty stoned from just the smoke in the room.
She was too stoned to do a good job on her make-up. Anne considerately helped her, steadying her, giggling with her, quite as naked as she was. Pammy had put on heels and an exceedingly skimpy pair of laced panties and was humming and trying to dance in the tiny room, and jostling against them to cause more giggling. Even. Beverly was good-natured and giggly as she selected some lingerie from the boxes and helped Anne with Helen's wig.
Anne was given a white silk robe that was embroidered with Japanese characters in gold thread and held together with a sash around the middle. Its hem barely covered her black-furred loins and its folds showed an ample quantity of her more than ample d'colletage. Helen couldn't help but frankly admire her as she got into a green shortie nightie of the sheerest nylon she had ever seen. When Beverly told her she wouldn't need to wear any panties, Helen sobered up in an instant and insisted that she did need them and that she had no intention of letting anyone see her as she was.
It took the false disclosure that she was having her period to finally extract a tiny wisp of green from Beverly that was a pair of highly abbreviated panties. She was given some bright green heels to put on, and when she was permitted to see herself in the mirror she scarcely recognized herself.
"I ... I look like a ... a whore," she said, appalled at what she saw.
They all combined to assure her that this wasn't at all true, that she looked very elegant, with all the poise and ethereal beauty of a high fashion model, and with all the sex and allure of a film star. Looking at her titian curls, at her professionally perfect make-up, at her tiny but obviously expensive costume, she had to agree that they were right, that she had a superb face and figure for lingerie modeling, and that she'd be an instant hit with the local businessmen who awaited a little entertainment with their lunch. Then, rubbing shoulders with both Anne and Pammy, she got a little pep talk from Beverly and was on her way to her debut as a model.
The audience's reaction to her, coarse as it was, did not deter Helen a bit. They were little boys, and not men, for they whistled and stamped and clapped and cat-called when the trio of models appeared, but men or boys, they certainly appreciated feminine beauty when they saw it. Their adulation helped her maintain her pose and continue on toward the men in the business suits and ties, walking the mincing little gait that Anne assured her was most professional. Her poise was only shaken when she was between two of the tables and a big thumb came up from behind her to goose her and make her squeal and leap.
She tried hard to compose herself, but that fleeting contact and the laughter that followed it had jangled her every nerve, and instead of walking with smooth grace, she was treading very carefully, always with an eye to the rear, keeping her buttocks tightly clenched and holding her breath. But two eyes weren't enough to watch where she was going, to see how Anne and Pammy were faring, and to still be on the alert for an over-enthusiastic hand. There were too many of those hands.
At every step, it seemed, the laughing, drinking men were clutching at her, trying to goose her and pinch her, and before she'd even reached the end of the table she was completely flustered and had to break away and make a dash for the little dressing room before she burst out in tears.
Helen collapsed into the chair and wept bitter tears filled with shame and hating herself for having gotten in this terrible position. The moment the tears subsided and her head cleared just a little, she'd get out of the ridiculous parody of a costume, dress, and leave, and in the future she'd never let Henry talk her into anything at all beyond cashing the check that was due her. At the sound of the door opening and closing, she looked up, ready to vituperate at him for getting her into this situation. As she looked up, Anne came to her, putting her arms about her neck and holding her against her bosom.
"Don't cry, Helen," she said, bringing forth a fresh torrent of tears. "Those bastards out there aren't worth a single tear."
"I can't help it," Helen blubbered. "I'm so ashamed. Oh, why did I ever let him talk me into this?..."
"He can be very persuasive, the bastard. Once he has you in his power..." Anne's voice trailed off and she sighed, patting and stroking Helen's head, and nestling it against her bosom in a very comforting way. "Kid, you're getting my robe all wet, and it doesn't belong to me. Wait just a second."
A second was all it took, it seemed, for the white silk to be pulled aside, and then it was even more comforting for Helen to be able to quietly weep against Ann's bosom, infinitely silkier than the little robe, and very warm and soft.
"Men," Anne said scornfully, and Helen could hear her voice vibrating deep down in her chest, right between those breasts which seemed to be as big as her head. "All they want to do is grab you, pinch you, give you a slap on the ass, and have you jump into bed. I'd like to open that door and roll a hand grenade in on them. I'd like to lock that door and keep you right here until they're all gone."
"The b-bastards," Helen said, wiping at her nose, and then letting Anne nestle her face against those big, white, comforting breasts again.
"That's right, honey. Just put your arms around me and cry. Don't worry about your make-up. You're pretty enough so you don't need any, even though they can't appreciate that. If I was out there in the audience, I'd just sit and stare at you."
Her big breasts swelled with the intake of her breath, warming Helen's cheeks, and her hands fluttered about Helen's head and back in a very soothing way. "Then again, I guess I can't blame them. If I was a man I probably wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you either. But I'd be gentle, so very gentle, not like them at all. Poor baby, do you feel better? Does that feel nice? Just put your arms around me and we'll hang onto each other till they're all gone. There now, isn't that nice?"
Helen nodded happily, dreamily, inching her bottom closer to the edge of the chair and feeling so very thankful for this, her only friend in the world.
"Nasty old men," Anne murmured. "They think only of themselves. Mmmmm, your breath is so warm. I wish they'd all just go away and leave us alone. We don't need them, do we? Especially Hank. Feel how hard my nipples are getting? You feel so nice I just can't help it. Can you imagine how those men would act if they were in your place? Biting and snorting and going crazy, instead of just being so nice and gentle like we are. I just love your lips, honey," she said, and twisted her body till one hardened nipple was brushed against Helen's mouth.
It was only hard deep inside her; the corrugated surface of the nipple was soft as velvet, and much warmer. When Anne pushed that breast against Helen's face, it seemed quite natural for Helen to purse her lips and mold them around the big button that was so comforting to nurse on, and for the first time she understood why Wally loved so much to kiss her breasts.
Anne murmured, "Of course you know you're only driving me slightly crazy, dear."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Helen said, back off, contrite.
"Darling, it's all right," said Anne and went to her knees before Helen's chair. "It felt good, and I like to feel good. Don't you?"
"I didn't mean to..."
"Honey, it's all right. After all, we're the only ones we have to cling to here. And what's so wrong with feeling good. Here. I'll show you," Anne said, and placed both her hands on Helen's breasts to squeeze them very softly, smiling as she did so. Helen found it difficult to breathe, hard to even move, and then the breath came rushing into her in a great gasp as Anne lifted the green nylon nightie and began kissing her breasts.
It was only a few pecks at first, accompanied by the softest fluttering of Anne's comforting hands on the big globes, while Helen watched, transfixed, feeling everything and more of the goodness that Anne had spoken of. Anne rose up, a look of pure enjoyment on her lovely face, and spoke with her lips very close to Helen's.
"I suppose we really should get back, but I'd sure like to see you again after this is over, and after your period is over."
"I was just fibbing about that," Helen said, "because I didn't want Henry to..."
"Really?" said Anne, and her eyes opened wide, and the hand that had been resting on Helen's knee slid up toward her loins, making Helen jump with the sudden electric feeling that went along with it. Anne said, "You're so tense. What you need is a little more grass." She lit the joint that Helen had snubbed out, dragged deeply on it, and thrust it between Helen's lips, saying, "Relax with that, and I'll show you how to really feel good."
The first puff hit Helen so hard that she felt nothing could make her feel any better, but then Anne achieved the impossible when she bent lower and touched her lips to Helen's knee and breathed and nibbled her way clear up to the edge of her green panties. She planted a large, wet kiss there and rose to smile at Helen.
"Feel nice?"
"For just a second there," Helen said when she'd regained her breath, "I thought I was going to wet my pants."
This confession made Helen giggle uncontrollably, but Anne did not join her. The brunette's lovely features went slack for a moment, and then she slid both hands up Helen's legs and pressed her thumbs inward on her thighs.
"You have to pee a little, honey?"
Shifting uneasily, Helen exhaled a cloud of smoke and gathered her wits together enough to say, "I don't know. I don't know how I feel."
"You feel good," Anne told her, and moved her moving thumbs to the plump mound that so tautly filled the crotch of the green panties. "And you smell good," she said, and hunkered down on the floor to press her lips directly between her softly kneading thumbs.
"Oh, don't," Helen said, but Anne continued.
The brunette reached up and placed her hand on Helen's chest and pushed her back in the chair, and then, still nuzzling warmly at her crotch, grasped Helen's ankles and lifted her legs until Helen's feet were resting on her back. Helen knew very well she should stop this, that their friendship had gone too far, but she was unable quite yet to stop it. The marijuana had her so thoroughly relaxed, and Anne's kisses felt so exquisitely good, and she felt so perfectly safe, that all she could do was sit there and soak it all up. When Anne pulled the crotch of her panties aside, Helen made a valiant effort to end it all by putting one foot down on the floor. Anne serenely replaced it on her back without stopping for a second with her kisses, and Helen sighed resignedly and quite contentedly. If this was what her friend wanted, there was really no reason not to indulge her, and at the same time enjoy it all.
Anne's thumb was absolutely fantastic when it pressed directly against her clitoris. It sent a surge of feeling through her that made Helen gasp in an enormous big lungful of smoke. She had to groan aloud when she felt Anne pull the string on her Tampax, and try as she might, she was unable to close her vaginal muscles tightly enough to prevent the slow, slippery withdrawal of the little cylinder. Slack-jawed, the cigarette burning her fingers, Helen watched hypnotized while Anne's rich red lips nuzzled about in the crevices of her loins, and while Anne's slender fingers slid the Tampax out and in, in and out. She felt too weak and buttery to even move when Beverly opened the door to the dressing room.
CHAPTER SIX
"Goddamn it," said Beverly, "I've got a roomful of Johns out there and Pammy and I sure as shit can't entertain them all by ourselves, and here you are messing around in here. For Christ sake, if you want to do that, come out and put on a show for them."
"Huh?" Anne said, lifting her mouth from Helen's seething crotch and turning, and still continuing with the slow strokes of the sodden Tampax. "You want a show? Shit, we'll put on a show. Won't we, Helen?"
"I I I ... " Helen panted, just then realizing she'd been writhing her hips in the chair seat and squirming her very open crotch about under Ann's touches and kisses.
"Well, bring her out here," Beverly impatiently said. "The Johns are getting restless."
Helen gasped when the Tampax was whipped out of her slit, and she was still trying to catch her breath when Anne quickly took off her panties. Both Anne and Beverly helped her to her feet, and she was just about to tell them that under no circumstances would she return to the dining room, when Anne sent her head spinning by reaching down and giving her clitoris a good, hard massage. Anne kissed her, right on the mouth, and when the brunette's finger and thumb closed over her clitoris, there was not a thing in the world Helen could do but be led back to the hooting, laughing, drinking men.
Only a few were left at the littered tables, the remainder being clustered in a knot around the bar, their backs to the dressing room, and Helen was glad that most of them couldn't see how terribly aroused she'd become at the hands of her new woman friend who apparently had Lesbian tendencies.
Anne showed these tendencies again by turning to Helen, sliding her arms about her neck, and kissing her again. This was a strong, full-blown kiss, much more passionate than that little peck in the dressing room that had so inordinately thrilled her, and she couldn't help but respond a little. By returning at least a portion of the kiss, by snuggling her breasts against those of the ravishingly beautiful Anne, she could almost forget there was anything else in the whole world, including the carousing businessmen.
"Boys, we're going to put on a little Lesbian show for you," Beverly loudly announced, and Helen tried to get her tongue out of Anne's mouth so she could turn and run. Her entire body shook with the effort, but she was unable to end the kiss until Anne had reached down and very deftly touched her cunt in the exact spot where touching was needed the most. Eyes closed and mouth open, her head lolled back while she tried to get a lungful of air so that she could at least get herself together.
A ragged cheer went up and Helen was able to turn her head enough to see the knot of reveling men at the bar dissolving, turning expectantly toward them, while Anne murmured at her ear, "Just relax, doll, and stop shaking so. I'll do all the work. All you have to do is relax and enjoy it. Unless, that is..."
Helen gave a tiny shriek and clung more tightly to the Lesbian as she saw that the cluster of men had been centered around Pammy, lying on the bar with a man pumping vigorously between her legs.
For just a moment she saw herself there, and that caused her to cling more tightly still to Anne, her menace and her protector. When several of the men began advancing on them, leering, she found her voice.
"Yes. Anything. Just don't let them get me."
Anne kissed her again, undulating her slender form against her, and Helen held onto her as tightly as she could, eyes squeezed closed, trying to find a way to close her ears as well. Then she leapt forward, almost knocking them both to the floor, as she felt a decidedly masculine hand on her very bare bottom.
"Hands off, boys, if you want to see the show," Beverly said, and Helen continued to cling to Anne as she edged toward a corner of the room, with Anne whispering to her, "Relax, doll. All they're going to do is look. I won't let them touch your beautiful body. Just relax."
As aroused as Helen was, it was of course impossible to relax. When Anne tried to lift the hem of her little green nightie she had to jerk it back down, looking wild-eyed at the men who'd formed a jeering semi-circle about them. And when Anne proceeded to kiss her breasts through the thin nylon, a wave of shivering went over her that she knew very well was anything but amusing to their audience. In just moments they'd be at her to gang bang her if she didn't relax and enter into this show of perversion, but still she could find no way in the world to stop her shivering and at least put her arms around her partner in the performance.
Anne straightened up and kissed her and she was unable to relax her mouth. Her lips remained rigid as ice, giving Anne's tongue no opportunity to penetrate. She couldn't do this. It couldn't be happening to her. The drug, her former state of arousal, nothing could make her go through with a public display of homosexuality, even if it was falsely done before total strangers who would never see her again.
"What kind of a goddamned Lesbian show is this?" came a male voice.
"They got better in T-Town," said another.
"Damn it, you'd better get with it," Anne hissed in Helen's ear, and she could only shake her head helplessly.
Anne cursed and went to her knees, slid her hands up Helen's sides to raise the nightie, and kissed her deeply in the navel. It tickled, and the tickling would have been terribly sweet if Wally had been doing it in the privacy of their bedroom. But here, with a strange woman doing it, with an audience, all Helen could do was cover her face with her hands to shut off the sight of the leering men and to try to stem the tears that threatened to gush forth at any moment.
Then she moaned, "Ahhhhh," when Anne's head dipped lower and her lips pressed against the top of Helen's slit, her tongue jabbed out against her swollen clitoris. Even with her eyes still tightly closed, Helen could see it happening. She could see Anne's full ruby lips circled about her clitoris and she could see the sharp pink tongue roiling that hugely sensitive organ about while it was being sucked and elongated and swollen even more, and she could see exactly how Anne's well-manicured fingers were parting her labia to get at even more of her warm, slippery cunt.
And she could feel it as well as see it. It felt fantastically good, even better than when Hank had done it. When he had done it in her house, it had been so totally unexpected that she'd been overwhelmed by it all. But now, having felt it before, and having anticipated it for several minutes, she could enjoy the dizzying sensations much, much more. It was like the first marijuana cigarette she'd had as opposed to those she'd smoked that day. The first one had taken her by such surprise that she hadn't fully appreciated it, but today she was enjoying the effects of the drug as if it was an old friend who'd come to visit her after giving her plenty of time to be prepared. She knew how to relax and go along with the effects of the marijuana, just as she knew how to go along and relax to the good feelings of having her cunt sucked. Sighing, leaning back against the wall, she opened her legs wider and very tenderly stroked Anne's sunken cheeks with hands that were no longer shaking.
"Man, she's really going at it," said a male voice.
"I'd hate to introduce that dyke to my wife," said another.
"The redhead is getting turned on now, but I'd like to see her with a little less clothes on."
Vaguely, from the depths of her growing ecstasy, Helen wondered who the redhead was, and then she was briefly and rather sluggishly startled by a jerk and a ripping sound as Beverly ripped the little green nightie from her body, making her cover her breasts with both hands, making her remember that she was the redhead.
"How's that, boys?"
"Hey, nice tits."
"I wouldn't mind having a little bit of that myself; I've always wanted to have a crack at a Lezzie."
It was Beverly who wrenched Helen's right hand from her breast, saying as she did, "Move it around a little," and punctuating her command with a slap on her hip. That caused hardly a ripple in Helen's slumped posture, but when Anne bit her clitoris, she came fully awake.
It hurt, and she banged her ass against the wall to try to get away from the pain, but then the pain was all gone, washed away by the gently suctioning lips and by the tongue that now sent hot lances of sensation up and down the length of Helen's orgasming cunt. She was orgasming, there was no doubt of that. The brief pain, followed by this overwhelming goodness, was too much to be resisted.
She groaned and moaned and rolled her hips about, reached down and got Anne's head centered over her clit again, and made slow thrusts of her pelvis that coincided with the big cresting waves of sheer pleasure that rose and fell inside her. When she was sure Anne wouldn't stop for a while, she indulged in her pleasures further by kneading and rubbing her tits with one hand and by smiling sensuously and looking at the jealous men through heavy-lidded eyes. Then her eyes closed and her lips peeled back from her teeth as the biggest wave of them all rose and broke with shattering force in her, and the foamy residues of it were still bubbling everywhere in her when Anne rose and smiled at her.
Anne's face was flushed, her make-up smeared, and her lips and cheeks and chin were glistening wet. Now it was Anne who was shaking as she grasped Helen by the shoulders and moved closer to kiss her. Helen truly wanted to be kissed, but the smell of Anne's breath was too overpowering, and at the last moment she had to turn her head. Anne's lips descended on her ear, and the tongue that was capable of giving her so much pleasure now produced a tiny little orgasm there before Anne backed off to whisper warmly to her.
"Want a little more, baby?"
"I couldn't. . . couldn't take any more."
"Sure you could," Anne breathed warmly, trembling all over, grinding her furry loins against Helen's wet hair so that Helen could actually feel the other woman's clitoris against hers. "A gal like you can come lots of times, and I know a way you'd just love."
"What?" said Helen, knowing that Anne was entirely right in her opinion of her.
"Kiss me and I'll do it. Just touch tongues, baby, and I'll eat you so good you'll think you died and went to heaven."
Helen turned to tell her to go ahead, and was met by Anne's mouth looming close to hers. The scent of her own cunt assailed her nostrils, making her feel queasy, and then she felt Anne's quite remarkable tongue touching her lips, inviting her tongue out as a prelude to the even greater delights that had been promised her.
She accepted the invitation and tangled tongue-tips with the flushed and radiantly lovely brunette, and willingly permitted herself to be turned sideways so that their admiring audience could get a full view of their homosexual kiss, and as she tasted the sweetness of Anne's wonderful tongue, the musky cunt smell had changed to a gut wrenching aphrodisiac aroma that was starting a trembling in her body akin to that which shook Anne's. Helen had no choice but to put her arms about Anne's shoulders, pushing back the little white robe as she did, and let the tongue teasing swell and soar into a deeply probing kiss that was made infinitely better by the feeling of Anne's warm, slightly moist flesh grinding against hers.
"Mmmmmm!" Anne said through the kiss. "Mmmmmm! Mmmmmm! Mmmmmm!" And at each of the urgent little mewing sounds she shuddered harder and stuck her cunt more strongly against Helen's, coming, coming, coming, just as Helen had, just as Helen would again. To help her along, Helen instinctively reached down and grabbed the cushiony round mounds of her ass and squeezed them in time with her moanings, and when Anne went limp a minor panic went through Helen with the fear that the orgasm had been too much and that Anne couldn't go on with this perfectly thrilling Lesbian show.
Her fears were groundless, for Anne took a deep breath and said, "Come on. Sit on my chest now."
Holding tightly to Helen's hand, Anne quickly laid on her back on the floor and pulled until the confused Helen had taken a step over her supine form. With Anne pulling at her calves and licking her lips invitingly, Helen somehow knew exactly what it was Anne had in mind, and she smiled warmly at her as she sat down on Anne's chest.
Clapping and encouraging voices at her side urged her on as she drew open her labia and let Anne's hands clutching at her buns pull her forward, and then to her immense relief she again felt the exquisite pleasure of Anne French-kissing her cunt. She would have laughed hysterically in her great joy if she'd been able to get her breath, but as it was, all she could do to display her pleasure was turn her head and smile exultantly at the men who were so obviously enjoying their show, and then turn back and look down at the way Anne was so remarkably thrilling her.
Anne was holding Helen where she was with her hands on her buttocks, the nails biting sweetly into her soft flesh, and moving her back and forth a fraction of an inch so that her mouth could do different things to vary the delights. Her tongue was long, very pink, and very pointed. Helen could see it clearly as she held her labia open with her fingers and pressed her wet hair flat with the balls of her thumbs. She could see her clitoris, too, as a small, pretty, but malformed tongue that was French-kissing Anne's tongue in return. Then both tongues would disappear each time Anne pulled her forward so that her red-smeared wet lips could pucker and close around her clitoris to suck it hard while her tongue did unseen things to Helen that were even more delightful.
The suctioning could then be seen by the sinking in of Anne's smooth cheeks, and it could be felt by the way all of Helen's nerve endings seemed to be pulled down through her body to be concentrated all about her clitoris. Anne's eyes were kept open throughout the lovely, lovely experience as the brunette was as interested in it all as Helen was. They looked straight ahead at her clit when Anne was using her tongue-tip on it, and when Anne was sucking it in that perfect way she had, her eyes flickered up over Helen's panting belly, over her quivering breasts, and smiled up at Helen's flushed face with the assurance that Anne was more than ready to keep this up until Helen's pleasures were more than complete. Helen thought she could feel the peaks in her orgasm, but she couldn't be sure, since her ecstasy was on such a continuous high plateau that the entire experience might have been one long, sustained peak.
The men, obviously sophisticated and libertine in matters sexual, were still greatly, impressed by Anne's technique and crowded closer to watch as Helen was watching, but not, of course, to feel any of those fantastic sensations that Helen was getting in exchange for surrendering all her strength, all her modesty.
"Man, she really eats it!" said one of the men.
"The redhead is really going ape," said another, and Helen made a brief and futile attempt to quiet her groanings and to cease the urgent little wrigglings of her ass on Anne's warm, smooth chest.
"Nobody eats pussy like a dyke."
"Yeah, and I've heard that Lezzies may not like to fuck, but they suck cock just about as good as they cat pussy."
"Anybody for a little B.J.? " one man asked loudly.
"The way Red's going now, she'd probably bite it off."
"The way I feel, I'm ready to take a chance at that."
The last speaker, young and handsome, handed his drink to his neighbor and came forward, smiling, opening his trousers, and it wasn't until he had his penis out of his pants that Helen grew a little alarmed. It was then she realized that he had sexual designs on either or both of them, and she tried to dissuade him but could get no sound out of her mouth save for gaspings and moanings. He mutely let her know that it was she he was after by grinning at her as he took his large but flaccid penis in his hand and stroked it rapidly until it was a hard and long finger pointing straight at her face, and then he came forward holding it in his hand, reaching out for her with the other hand.
Her legs were weak as jelly and she couldn't rise, but she could gaze wildly around the room in a search for help. She saw Beverly and Henry by the dressing room door, paying scant attention to her as Beverly counted a sheaf of banknotes. Pammy was on the floor beside the bar now, ignoring them completely as she sweated and writhed and humped under another man's body. There was no help to be gotten from the other men, for some of these were already pulling down their zippers and crowding around behind the approaching man. And then he was there, grabbing Helen by the nape of her neck, turning her head, thrusting his cock against her lips. She had to breath, and her nostrils couldn't get enough air to her lungs, and the moment she opened her mouth to gasp for a breath, she was sucking his cock.
Not really sucking it at first, but it was in her mouth, but in just a few moments she was sucking it, for she felt so enormously loving that she was compelled to at least try to share in the enormous good feelings that were surging through her. And the moment she began sucking in earnest, she was overjoyed that she had, for the giving of it at once doubled the pleasure she was receiving. She held her cunt open with one hand and used the other to push the man's hand aside and stroke his shaft while she sucked the cushiony soft head of his cock, quickly recalling everything she'd learned at the brief session with Henry.
It pleased her that she was doing so well at it, it pleased her to have him tremble and pant and stroke her head instead of holding so tightly to the back of her neck. How Wally would love this, she thought, and redoubled her efforts at being loving and sensuous with her mouth. Dazedly, still high on that orgasmic plateau, she looked for him through the corner of her eye, but was at that point interrupted by a hot jet of thick liquid that spurted into her mouth.
She was so drugged, both by the marijuana and by the sex, that for a moment she didn't know what the spicy stuff was, and she'd swallowed some of it before it dawned on her that it was his come, that she was actually drinking his come. For an instant the knowledge stunned her, paralyzed her, but then the rich taste of it that she could feel in her body as well as on her taste buds was such that she had to slurp it all up and pump his shaft to milk more of it out and lick and suck on that beautiful big spurting cock until the flow of his come had slowed to a dribble, and still she sought more.
"Whew!" he said, drawing it out of her suctioning mouth with no little difficulty. "Old Hank's got himself a real cocksucker here. Red's hooked on come. Who's next?"
There was a lot more come for Helen then. All the men who hadn't spent themselves on Pammy, and some of those who had, lined up to have her suck their cocks, to try to sate her sudden appetite for come. It was delicious stuff, so delicious in fact that Helen was deriving as much joy from sucking them off as she was from being sucked off herself. Even after Anne tired and had to rise and get herself a drink, Helen stayed on the floor and performed fellatio on the last stragglers, and only when every man in the room had given her his come did she slump down and relax, squeezing her thighs together to hold in the good feelings there and licking her lips for any last drops of come that might have escaped her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Very vaguely Helen became aware of hands dressing her and voices talking around her.
"She's really got a thing about sucking cock. I'd like to use her again. Hank."
"No problem at all. As long as there's some pot and some cock, she'll probably pay to perform at your little fashion shows."
"I'll bet she'd just love to eat pussy."
"That's your department, Anne. One dyke is enough in my act."
"But if I taught her, she could fill in for me any time I couldn't make it."
"There are no times you can't make it. Get that straight right now, Anne."
"But baby-sitters aren't that easy to find. If I could just have a little time alone with her, I know I could get her to just love eating pussy, and then ... "
"We're doing fine without your suggestions. Just do your work and pay off your debt and be thankful for the fresh cunt we get for you, Annie. And stop playing with her tits and get her brassiere on, damn it!"
"But she's so limp, so helpless."
"I'll fix that," Henry's voice said. "I haven't got all day."
In his first attempt to pull Helen up to a sitting position, he snatched the red wig off her head. The second time he grabbed her by the shoulder and sat her up so that he could bring her to full consciousness by slapping her across the face twice, quite hard. It made her cry, and although her sobs were very weak, they continued even after she was in the blue Cadillac, going home. Henry ignored them.
"We have those little fashion shows once a week, every Monday. You fit in better than I'd suspected, doll, and I'll be expecting you to be a regular for a while."
"I can't. I just can't."
"Yeah, it'll work out fine. Pammy fucking, Anne taking care of the Lesbian show, and you giving head to all the Johns. You probably won't even have to fuck them, as long as Pammy's around. A couple of months of, this and you'll really be one hell of a woman."
"I'll kill myself before I ever go through that again."
"Come is really very good for a woman, you know. I think it's the hormones in it, but whatever it is, it'll make a new woman of you. As good as your complexion is, it'll get better, and your tits will get bigger, too. And it'll make you feel sexy as hell, all the time, especially the way you dig it so much."
"I hated every second of it. Was there that Spanish Fly stuff in the cigarettes?"
"Yeah, you really dig grass, too," he smiled. "I'll lay some joints on you so you can turn on your old man, or anyone else you feel like balling with. It's great stuff. Well, here you are at your house again, safe and sound. Feel like a little of my come before you go in, just to keep you feeling good and sexy?"
"No! I never want to see you again!"
He laughed at this, and strongly gripped her wrist when she tried to leave the car. From his coat pocket he drew a long white envelope and from his cigarette pack he withdrew six hand-rolled cigarettes and dropped them in the envelope, sealed it, and handed it to her. "Have fun with this," he said, "and I'll come by Wednesday for your bets. You should be over your period by Thursday, and then you can meet some more of my friends. Till then, have a ball."
In the house, she was unable to weep, try as she might. She felt too tired for it. Not physically tired, but too mentally exhausted to dredge up the thoughts of her shame that would bring on the tears. She sat staring out the window, trying to think of an easy way to kill herself, knowing she should get up and stick her finger down her throat to get rid of the awful stuff she'd been forced to consume. He'd certainly been wrong about one thing; the sperm made her feel anything but sexy.
It was those damned cigarettes that had done it. That vile stuff had not only made her lose all sense of modesty and parade in the near nude before the eyes of strangers, it had made her act like the worst kind of a whore and, worse, had made her think for a little while that she was actually enjoying the nauseating advances of the homosexual Anne. She could feel the sinful cigarettes through the envelope, and she thought about turning Henry and Beverly and her whores in on a narcotics charge, no matter what the personal consequences were. But, no. If she did that, Wally would suffer in the reflection of her own guilt, and that wouldn't be at all fair to him. Not that what she'd done was at all fair to him.
But then again, she was back home, safe and sound, with her husband none the wiser. Her cunt, which was his property, had not been violated. It was only her mouth, a part of her body that he was not truly interested in, that had sinned. Her mouth and her belly. She could still feel the come down there, still feel where it had seared the tissues of her mouth and throat. She must have swallowed a gallon of it. Disgusting thought. Then again, what if it did have the beautifying and aphrodisiac powers that Henry said it did? The result would be a lovelier, sexier, altogether better wife for Wally. No, the result would be even more of a nymphomaniacal whore, one who would in a few years wind up in a Tijuana crib house, disease-ridden, hooked on drugs, looking for death long before her time. Obviously, the only thing to do was to get rid of the cigarettes, to forget all about the money she had won, and to tell Henry never to bother her again.
On the way to the bathroom to flush them down the toilet, she told herself she didn't need the money. They'd gotten along just fine with it so far, and the price she'd already paid for the $24,358.35 was far more than it was worth. She'd return to the simple, pure, happy life, scrimping and saving for that was good for the soul, and she'd never even think a complaining thought about the things they didn't have.
The envelope would probably clog up the toilet, and when Wally fished it out he'd find the marijuana and know what it was, for he'd once confessed that as a boy he had tried it once and could recognize it. Therefore she tore the envelope open to get the reefers out, flush them away, and then tear the envelope to bits and destroy that last physical part of Henry that she would ever have to touch. Reaching into it, she gasped and her heart leapt up in her throat, for within it was a stack of banknotes, with the first one a hundred-dollar bill.
She weakly subsided on the edge of. the tub, feeling as dizzy as if she'd still been under the influence of the drug, and admired the great beauty of that crisp new bill. She felt all warm and soft as she fanned out the money, and a tear came to her eye and rolled down her cheek as she saw they were all hundreds, all ten of them. There was a piece of folded paper behind them which she did not open until each of the perfectly beautiful bills she held in her hand had been spent. A round trip for two to Hawaii, a new vacuum cleaner, tires for the car, a suit for Wally, dinner and a big night on the town, scads of fantastically sexy lingerie, and a hundred dollars in reserve for her very shrewd investment in the 5-10 at Agua Caliente. Smiling, clutching the thousand dollars firmly in her fist, she then opened the paper and read Henry's note.
$24,358.35
-20.00 for services rendered.
-I,000.00 for services rendered.
$23,338.35 due and payable within the next six months.
Signed, H.
How very beautiful. A thousand dollars, more cash than she'd ever held in her hands in her whole life, and much more to come. If it had all come at once, she couldn't have handled it, but this way, coming in as regularly as Wally's tiny paycheck, the major portion of it could be hoarded away while she thought of the best way to spend it, and in the meantime there'd be an unlimited supply of petty cash to make their lives more pleasant in a thousand little ways. She kissed the money, she held it against her breast and breathed very deeply, she put it down between her legs and giggled as she rubbed it against her crotch, and she exulted within at the knowledge that she actually was becoming more lovely and more sexy in addition to becoming so much more affluent.
In the living room, she threw the money in the air and laughed aloud as it fluttered down about her like the most beautiful big green leaves, and then she scrambled about on hands and knees to retrieve each one of the big bills that would so gloriously change her life.
She hid the envelope, taping it under her bureau drawer as she'd seen them do in the movies, and she attacked her housework with such unbridled fury that she had time to make one of Wally's favorite casseroles before he got home.
Eating it with him from a television tray, she glowed with the knowledge that soon they'd be dining on steak every night, sitting before a 36-inch color set, with her wearing silk lounging pajamas so sexy that Wally wouldn't even be able to finish his meal before he fucked her. Maybe he'd even go down on her, not so much out of gratitude for the windfall she'd made, but because she was the most beautiful, sexiest woman in all the world, and because he knew how she adored having her cunt licked, even when it was a tiny bit sore from all the wonderful loving it was getting.
She hummed her way through the dishes, thinking about an automatic dishwasher, and she thought of ways to infiltrate some of the money into their life until such a time as she could tell him about it. She couldn't tell him all about it, of course, because he wouldn't under any circumstances condone her fashion modeling and cocksucking, even though they were in their very best interests. But problems like that were to be thought about later, for just then she felt too good to do anything but enjoy herself.
She thought about luring Wally on to a little celebration that night, and then was ashamed of that thought and a little frightened by it, too. It was his place to instigate their love-making, and her place to see that he enjoyed it as much or more than she did. And it was frightening to think that perhaps Henry had been right, perhaps the hormones in the strangers' come was already working inside her, changing her into a woman that Wally had not married, some insatiable wanton who would first exhaust him and then go on to give herself to any other man who struck her imagine, and ultimately to destroy dozens, perhaps hundreds of men.
A television special kept them up so late that Wally fell asleep in his chair, and he didn't fully awaken when they were preparing for bed. Then she lay listening to his heavy breathing for some time, wishing she had the money in her hands to caress while she thought of more ways to spend it. When she slept, she had vivid dreams about the luxuries of unlimited quantities of money and sex, and she awoke some time before dawn with her arms about her husband, with her cunt feeling nice and warm and just a little itchy.
She lay in the darkness and softly rubbed herself there while she continued her dreams of money and sex and luxury, and when her hand crept to her husband's body, she found that as usual he had a nice, big, pre-dawn erection.
Stroking it very gently, feeling its strength and warmth, she planned to "accidentally" awaken him soon and take full advantage of his virile condition. It was so strong and warm, its shaft so steely hard and its knob so resilient and velvety, and she had to squirm about between the sheets in anticipation of how scrumptious it would feel inside her.
Her thumb touched the opening on the end of it and felt a trace of moisture there, and by running her fingers up the soft ridge on the underside of his organ, more of the liquid came out, thick and sticky enough to adhere to her thumb. She carefully teased it until the ball of her thumb was all wet and then, realizing she hadn't tasted the life-giving come of her own husband, she stealthily brought her thumb to her mouth and sucked it, baby-fashion, wanting to croon with the contentment it gave her. The single drop of it was delicious, much more so than all the sperm she'd gobbled down the day before. His seminal fluid was the very essence of sex, concentrated aphrodisiac that acted so quickly she could already feel herself getting wetter. She used two fingers of her left hand in her cunt while her right hand worked to carefully milk out a bit more of the good stuff that she craved.
Several times he stirred in his sleep, causing Helen to freeze for a few moments before she resumed fondling his hard, fat cock. In the darkness it felt as big as Henry's looked, and she licked her lips as she surmised that it would taste better by far than any of those she'd had in her mouth so far.
When he grunted and rolled over on his back, she had the almost irresistible urge to throw the covers back and climb all over him, feeling that wonderful organ of his rubbing against every part of her body, feeling it with her tits and her belly and her cheek and her cunt and her mouth. A hot shiver rippled her body and she had to stealthily slip down under the covers to feel it against her lips for just a moment.
It felt even warmer, even more velvety against her lips, and its warmth made the slightly sticky, slightly salty residues of his seminal fluid taste even more delicious. He stirred again and she went motionless with lips and tongue touching his lovely cock, and when his breathing evened out she opened her mouth and slid her lips down until she had the entire head of it inside her head, dizzying her brain, warming her body.
She knew she'd gone quite far enough, that if she didn't stop he'd awaken and find her sucking his beautiful cock and that he would first be shocked, then turn questioning, and that the truth would surely come out then, ending their marriage just when it was on the verge of becoming the perfect one. She knew she should stop finger-fucking herself and leave him alone and go back to sleep, but she was unable to stop herself from sucking and licking his cock and taking even more of it in her mouth.
In minutes she was in a dreamy sort of ecstasy. Snug and warm under the covers, in total darkness, it was as if the world had stopped. She was in an eternity of darkness, in the most intimate contact with the man she loved, feeling how good and strong he was, smelling the mingled scents of their sexual excitement, and tasting the very best part of him. She had to pinch her nipple to see if this ethereal sex-world was real, and it made her a little sad to find that it was.
Helen had been in a terrible, urgent hurry when she'd fellated the men at the luncheon, and even now there was a need in her to have her fill of the lovely stuff that was accumulating in his soft, hairy testicles, and it took an effort of will to savor him at a leisurely pace and not immediately drain him dry of the stuff she craves so deeply. Of course, she couldn't actually have it at all, for his ejaculation would surely wake him up. Difficult as it would be, she'd have to content herself with caressing his cock with her lips, feeling the delicately convoluted ridge of his corona with her tongue, and sucking only enough to bring forth a drop or two of his seminal fluid.
That would not be enough to sustain her, for although she was by no means addicted to come as Henry had implied, she most certainly had developed a taste for it. With suctioning lips wrapped firmly around the big end of it, she moved her head in slow circles while she fondled his balls and held the shaft of his moving cock, and it felt oh, so good. Somehow she'd have to tell him of her fondness for sucking cock, for this was a luxury that she could not deny herself once they were rich. Perhaps she'd buy a few books on the various techniques of making love, books which she'd always scoffed at before, and then leave them lying about the house with bookmarks stuck in them at the sections on cocksucking. But that would be a minor subterfuge, a play that wouldn't serve her purpose completely, and there would still be a necessity for them to talk about it. How could she bring the subject up? "Wally, darling, ever since my bookie taught me how to suck cock, I've wanted to suck yours. May I?" No, that wouldn't do at all.
"Wally, I've got a confession to make. Through no fault of my own, I've become an addict. It's not really an addiction, maybe, but it sure is a strong craving. No, it's not an addiction for heroin, it's an addiction for sperm, semen, come, and just now I'm terribly in need of some. Yours, as a matter-of-fact. How did this develop in me? I was afraid you'd ask me that. You see, I won a lot of money and with it came this modeling job, and after I strut around half naked in front of these strange men, I suck them all off, and so I was wondering if I could do it to you now." The gentle man she'd wed would kill her with his bare hands at such a disclosure.
Get him drunk, feign drunkenness herself, wrestle around with him when they started to celebrate, and then wind up with his cock in her mouth? And afterwards, say, "It just happened, but once it did, I adored doing it for you." No, he'd know by her technique that his wasn't the first cock she'd sucked.
"Darling, listen to me. I'm not complaining or maybe I am but the fact remains that we're missing out on a lot in sex. Our fucking is just wonderful, but there's more to sex than that when two people are as much in love as we are. I want it all for us, not for me and not for you, but for us, together. I'm talking about oral sex, darling. Lots and lots of people do it, and the ones who don't are just depriving themselves of something very nice for no reason at all. Let's try it. You may not like it, but I'm almost sure I will. I know you've heard of sixty-nine because, heck, even I've heard of that. The trouble is I never thought it was really real, that anyone but sex perverts did it. If so, I'm a sex pervert, because I really want to do it to you. I want to suck your lovely cock; that's how much I love you. I want to do it a lot. Sometimes, like when I'm having my period, I want to just do it to you, I want to suck this perfect pecker of yours until it comes, and then I want to swallow that part of you, not only because it'll make you feel so nice, but also because I like it and it'll make me prettier, sexier for you. Other times like now-I'd like it if we did the sixty-nine to each other. Not all the way, but just to the point where you're enormously ready to fuck me. I probably will have come several times by then. And once we've done that and you've fucked me, I'd like to suck you off some more, to lick off what's left of your sweet come and make you all hard again for me because, really, one fuck and then going to sleep just isn't enough for me, and I..."
Was his come really sweet? Time stood still as the question occurred to her, and in the timeless darkness she felt a swelling hardness of the wonderful flesh in her mouth, and she neglected her masturbation to concentrate on the impending, eruption. She didn't care that he was now panting, nor did she care if he was awake, for the knowledge she'd gained in the past few days told her that at any moment the good stuff would be flowing, gushing, leaping in her mouth to be greedily and selfishly swallowed, and when it did come its flavor far exceeded her fondest expectations. It was so rich, so full-bodied, and had so much vibrant substance to it that she could not only taste it but feel it through every part of her body, and if she hadn't been so busy in fucking it up and swallowing it down, she would have made those strangled cries of orgasm at the giddy feelings that coursed through her thoroughly warmed body. Every surging jet of his come added to the internal climax she was experiencing, and she closed her hand over his balls to gently try to force more of it out of him.
When the last little bit of it dribbled out she was left breathless and weak, too weak to climb up beside him, and she remained where she was for a time, nursing on his slowly wilting cock and, very shamefully, thinking of how she'd nursed on Anne's much softer breast the day before. When her strength returned to her she started to drag herself up from under the covers, her fears that he would awaken having returned to her. But at his chest, even before she got her head out from under the covers, she had to pause and kiss his little nipple, suck it and nip it ever so gently with her teeth, wondering as she did if it felt as good as when her nipples were kissed, and possessively holding onto his sweetly reposing cock.
When at last she got her tousled head up from under the covers it was dawn, time to start another day, and she awakened her sleeping husband with her kisses, with tears in her eyes from wanting him so much, and feeling very sorry for him in her knowledge that very soon her blossoming nymphomania would far outstrip his virility.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Quite in vain, Helen tried to lose herself in her housework once Wally had been sent off to work. Usually she found considerable comfort in setting their little house to rights, but now, with her guilts as a burden, she could not concentrate on her work, and with over a thousand dollars in cash hidden in the bedroom, the work she was doing seemed monumentally stupid. She couldn't help thinking how easy it would be to hire a domestic to take care of these menial chores, nor could she stop thinking about what further sins she'd have to commit before the remainder of her money was given to her.
There was no way in the world she could work her way through the balance of the twenty-four thousand dollars without Wally finding out about what she was doing, how she had changed, for even if she and the slave master who owed her the money were entirely discreet, Wally would have to find out. She was changing too much for it to be otherwise, as she had proved to herself that morning when she'd been unable to keep from performing fellatio on Wally as he slept. Her nymphomania was not yet at its peak, and if things went on like they were going, soon she'd be attacking her husband just as voraciously in the harsh light of day.
Having heard that salt peter was effective in banishing the sex drive of males, she wondered if it would work in her case, but she didn't know where to begin to look for the chemical, and she further knew that there was no chemical in existence that could stop that little itch that now smoldered continually in her loins. The fact that she'd lost control of herself that morning in bed without any marijuana at all worried her, and she shuddered to think of what she might have done to Wally if she'd been a little high at the time.
There were two courses of action open to her. She could stop it all now and content herself with the thousand and twenty dollars she'd gotten from Henry, or she could go on with her indentured sexual servitude, hoping for the best and stalling Henry as much as she could. The latter might work. Her lying about having her period would have worked at the fashion show had it not been for the marijuana. As it was, she'd at least saved herself from being chain-fucked as Pammy had been, even though the price in perversion she'd had to pay for her escape had been very great.
She could only hope that her latent Lesbianism wouldn't develop along with her burgeoning nymphomania. She decided to try to go on stalling with Henry until such a time as he paid her at least a few more thousand. That afternoon, when she was forcing herself to attack yet another stack of stupid envelopes, Henry called her and she had a chance to try out her stalling tactics, with little success.
"I've got an interesting little assignment for you tomorrow," Henry said.
"Assignment? What do you mean, assignment?"
"A trick, Mrs. Mohlendorffer. A John. A fuck," he said, with deliberate cruelty. "Be ready at ten A.M."
"But I can't. I'm still having my period, and it's getting worse."
"Sure it is," he said with a sneer in his voice. "I'll be by for you at ten. Don't wear any make-up and don't bother to have your hair done."
"But I can't. I. . . "
"Ten o'clock," he said, and hung up noisily.
She couldn't concentrate on the envelopes after that. All she could do was try to think of ways to make excuses for her mouth as well as for her cunt, but she knew Henry wouldn't believe her if she told him she'd contracted a throat ailment which prevented her from sucking off a bunch of strangers. To make matters worse, Wally was particularly sweet to her that night, and when she woke before him in the morning she was again compelled to surreptitiously perform fellatio on him while he slept, partially as a balm to her conscience and partially because she felt such a strong love for this man that she would again deceive that day.
Without make-up, with her hair hanging lankly, Helen looked wan and unattractive, but Henry was gruffly approving of her looks when he called for her a little after ten, and he said, "You look just fine. Let's go. We're late and you can change clothes in the car."
"It's only fair to tell you that I've got a strep throat and the doctor says its very infectious," she lied.
"Sorry to hear that. Let's go," he said, and took her by the hand to lead her out the door.
In the Cadillac she was given a thin pile of white silk clothing to change into, and when she protested that she couldn't do this while they were driving, he took an envelope from his pocket and showed her the five one-hundred-dollar bills in it. Weeping with a mixture of despair and humiliation then, she ducked down on the floorboards of the moving car to strip and get into the outfit he'd brought.
He wouldn't permit her to wear any undergarments. Only the two thin pieces of white silk were allowed her, and she didn't recognize them for what they were until she was again seated by his side. The blouse was long-sleeved, very tight across the bosom, with a low dipping vee neckline, and a square flap that hung down her back. The pants were bell-bottomed, very tight in the thighs and across the buttocks, and fastened in front with a square, buttoned flap.
The material was very thin, so thin that through it could be seen Helen's nipples and the dark outline of the triangle of hair at her loins. She was looking at herself, appalled, when Henry gave her the final item of apparel that completed her ensemble, a white sailor's hat that concealed all of her hair and made her look even more boyish.
"I can't wear this," she said. "It's insane."
"The Admiral insists on it," said Henry as he parked the car at the Leeward Yacht Harbor.
"The Admiral?"
"Admiral Elroy 'Butch' Haskell, the big Korean War hero. He's retired now and living on his boat, the Salvo. He's a senile old bastard now, and you're going to provide him with his afternoon's entertainment."
"Senile? How senile?"
"He's past seventy and most of the time he thinks he's back commanding a supply ship in the Pacific in World War II. He won't give you too hard a time, but still, it would be a good idea for you to relax with a joint," said Henry, and deftly produced a fat cigarette which she immediately knew to be made of marijuana. While he lit it up, she told herself she shouldn't partake of it, but when he handed it to her she dragged deep on it, already fearful of the senile admiral and apprehensive of the vast amount of money that floated so impressively in the bay.
When she saw the Salvo she was glad she'd smoked the marijuana, for it was even more impressive than the other yachts. It was painted gray, like a warship, and its lines were sleek and severe. Flags fluttered from its superstructure and on its deck half a dozen men in white cotton sailor suits worked, while at the top of the gang plank stood another man in a petty officer's uniform. Henry said he'd be by for her at three o'clock and gave her a pat on the behind that reminded her of how thinly clad she was, and that sent her scurrying up the gang plank, more curious than apprehensive by then.
As she reached the deck, the pseudo petty officer blew a high-pitched whistle and shouted, "Recruit coming aboard!" The marijuana made Helen giggle as she returned his salute.
He took her toward the rear of the boat and ushered her into a tiny room filled with ropes and other nautical gear, and there he smiled very warmly at her as he looked her over.
"You make a damned nice-looking sailor, girlie," he said. "The old fart will really go for you, and after he's done maybe we can get to know each other a little better. Did whatsisname tell you what you're supposed to do?"
"Henry? No. Just that I'm supposed to entertain the Admiral."
"Right, and he's got some funny ideas about entertainment. He thinks he's still in command of a navy ship, see, and he-likes to throw his weight around, especially when a new recruit comes aboard. You're the new recruit this week, and your first duty will be to swab down the quarterdeck where the Admiral is waiting for you. Report to him as Seaman Recruit Davie Jones, then start swabbing down the deck and be ready to fetch and carry for him and do anything else he says."
"I see. And he's seventy years old?"
"Seventy-two."
"The poor old dear. And I imagine he's a widower and all alone in the world."
"Butch Haskell never married. But, hop to it now. He's waiting."
She was given a mop and a bucket and propelled out of the little room with a pat on the bottom, that tightly clad portion of her anatomy apparently presenting too tempting a target to be ignored, and led at a brisk, bare-footed pace to the glass-enclosed wheel room on the upper deck. There the old man awaited, a tall, lean, ramrod straight sea-farer in a gold-trimmed blue uniform, rubbing his lantern jaw and scowling at a chart taped to the wall. Phil, the petty officer, cued Helen with a nice little pinch on her fanny and she stepped forward and saluted.
"Apprentice Seaman Davie Jones reporting for active duty, sir."
He turned and looked at her through cold blue eyes, gestured for his petty officer to leave, and walked in a slow circle around her which made her a little nervous despite the relaxing effects of the marijuana. Facing her, he cleared his throat and addressed her.
"By God, those fools in Washington are drafting mere boys now. Hirohito and Tojo would laugh themselves sick if they knew I was supposed to win the war with the-likes of recruits like you. But, don't feel bad, What do they call you, Seaman Jones? Davie? Don't feel bad, Davie. I'll do everything in my power to see you safe and sound through this hellaceous war. I might even make you my personal orderly if you shape up. Would you like that, Davie?"
"Yes, sir!" said Helen, feeling so sorry for the poor, demented old man that she wanted to weep for him.
"And we'll make a man of you in the process," the Admiral smiled, and further straightened Helen's back by grasping her by the shoulders and giving them a squeeze. "Now make me some muscles, Davie-boy," he said. "Flex your biceps for me and let's see how much of a job of work I have to do to make you into a proud, strong, American fighting man."
Helen dutifully flexed her arms like a parody of a circus strong man, and the Admiral made an inventory of her muscles. He gently squeezed her biceps and clucked and said, "Soft as butter." Moving behind her, he ran his gnarled hands about the midriff which the raising of her arms had bared, and he said, "Nice, flat belly, but soft, too soft." Running his hands upward, he made her warmly shiver in spite of his advanced years by thoroughly feeling her breasts as he gruffly remarked, "Nice chest capacity, Davie, but you're still too soft." Then he made her dissolve with giggling as he tickled her under her upraised arms and along the sides of her ribs, saying, "Kitchy-kitchy-koo. If the boys in the fo'c'sail find out you're this ticklish they'll never let you alone. Kitchy-kitchy-koo," he said, still tickling her as she giggled helplessly and tried unsuccessfully to evade him in the little room until at last she was clinging to the big, spoked wheel, too weak with her laughter to get away.
Standing very close to her then, speaking in warm, vibrant tones, he kneaded her buttocks with both hands. "Davie-boy, you're as soft and warm as butter, and the men will treat you very roughly unless I keep a weather eye out for you. Stay close to me, lad, and obey me explicitly, and this war won't be as insufferable as it might be. I want to help you, boy. Be loyal to me and I'll be more than your commanding officer; I'll be your father, your uncle, your friend. Together we'll fight the Jap as comrades-in-arms, and as such we'll have the closest possible relationship between two men. But now, to work, boy, to work!"
The crawly but strangely soothing massage of her buttocks was abruptly terminated with a hard slap on her silk-clad bottom, and Helen went to work mopping the floor. She still had the urge to giggle, now from the fact that she'd been delivered from the drudgery of doing her own housework only to have to do more of the same here, in these more opulent surroundings. As she worked, the admiral watched her closely, his hair slightly tousled, his leathery face slightly flushed, and he talked about the progress of a war that was long ended.
"Damned Nips. Don't know when they might attack next. Rough war, this. Probably a couple of subs out there circling the convoy right now. Can't run from them. Got to attack, protect the troops. Still, the danger comes from above. Kamikazes, suicide planes. Not much chance to escape from them if all our planes are off raiding our little yellow brothers. Say, Davie, I hope I'm not alarming you."
"Oh, no, sir," said Helen, wanting to enter into his senile game, wanting to keep from laughing. "I'm not afraid."
"Hah! That's what they all say, but let me tell you, there's not a man on board, including myself, who isn't afraid of what the morrow might bring. Don't be ashamed of it, son. I understand about these things. I went to sea when I was your age, too. The difference was, I didn't have anyone to look after me, to take me under his wing. Come here, son. I can see you're scared. Come to Old Butch."
He sat down in a chair and smiled benignly at her as he held out his arms, and Helen put the mop aside and shyly approached him. She was surprised when he sat her down on his lap, and even more surprised to feel the definite bulge that pressed against her buttocks. He put his arms around her and stroked her with his hands, and his voice was somewhat more shaky as he spoke.
"Don't tell the men, but I'm afraid at times too. Many's the time I cry at night in my lonely bunk. It's the responsibility, not the fear of death. We could all be dead tomorrow, you know," he said, slipping one hand within her blouse to stroke her belly, feeling about her buttocks with the other.
"I know, sir," she said, putting on a brave face. "And I'm not afraid."
"Confess your fears, lad. It's good for the soul. And while you might be too young to know the fear of death as I do, you are old enough to fear going to your reward before your time, going on to that great white fleet in the sky before you experience all that life has to offer. Tell me, son. Are you a virgin? Stupid question. Of course you are. You don't even shave yet. Such soft little cheeks," said the Admiral, smoothing his trembling finger-tips over one of Helen's cheeks and drawing her closer to nibble at the other with his rubbery lips, while with his other hand he continued to explore the tightly encased cheeks of her ass.
Helen felt very confused. On the one hand she felt comforted in the embrace of the lonely old sea dog, and on the other she felt disturbed at the fluttering of sexual desire that his caressing hands and his hard loins were stirring in her as he rocked her on his lap. She couldn't be sure if that hardness she felt was his penis or some object in his pocket, even though she squirmed about a little in an attempt to ascertain this, and she couldn't tell if she liked the slightly demented old gentleman or simply felt sorry for him. But then, with her system all full of marijuana, it was quite easy to let her confusion take care of itself while she went along with the Admiral's delusions, allowing him to pet and fondle and kiss and caress her and by so doing banish his old, groundless fears of a different era.
"Mmmmm, what a pretty boy he is," the old man cooed, nuzzling his lips at Helen's ear and making her squirm even more with his spidery little ticklings. "He's so pretty he should have been a girl instead of a boy. Sweet little apple cheeks. What brings those roses into them now, Davie? Cuddly soft little body. Do you know what the men would do to you if they caught you in the shower, pretty boy? And your little sit-down feels so nice I can't keep my hands off it. Does that make you mad, Davie? Does it feel bad, honey-boy?"
"Well, it. . . " Helen started, and then gasped as the Admiral gave her an unexpectedly sharp pinch on the ass.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said, showering kisses on her neck and rubbing the spot he'd hurt with his fingers. "Gad, I'll wager I've bruised that soft pink skin of yours. If I did, I'll never forgive myself. If I did, I'll somehow make it up to you, Davie, I swear it to you. Just get up for a moment, angel-child, and let your commanding officer see, let Old Butch make it all better."
Helen rose from his lap and immediately he went to his knees before the chair and turned her about until she was facing the wheel, and ran his bony hands over her hips and buttocks. His hands were shaking more now, the fingertips brushing the bare skin at the top of her pants, his thumbs smoothing over the area where he'd pinched her, and when he began nuzzling his lips there his words were more difficult to understand.
"Perfect, perfect little ass. So warm and soft and plump. Haven't seen one like that since we weighed anchor out of Frisco Bay. Mmmmm, nummy, nummy," he said, holding her firmly by the hips and feeling her flesh through the silk with his tongue.
He continued to try to soothe the all but forgotten hurt with his tongue as his hands went around to the buttons in the front of the pants, and as he opened them he muttered, "Thirteen buttons. Represents the original thirteen colonies. Prettiest little sailor-boy I ever saw. Softest skin. I've got to keep you safe, Davie, not only from the nasty old Japs, but from the mean old sailors, too. Now, hold still and stop fidgeting so, and I'll pull these down and see if you need any first aid."
His touches and his kisses were most definitely sensual then as he pulled the silk sailor pants down, down over the plump warm mounds of her buttocks, and Helen had to cling to the spokes of the wheel to keep from swaying with the dreamy feelings she was experiencing. She was very glad she'd taken the marijuana then, for it made it easier to go along with his make-believe. With her eyes closed, she could almost succeed in pretending he was a young, handsome, dashing naval officer, so badly in need of a little human companionship that he turned to a frightened young sailor for it.
He was rather pathetic in his need, and she felt sorry for him, and at the same time she felt safe and secure, for although his fingers touched the fringes of her pubic hair, he was obviously not interested in going on to the ultimate in sex, the fucking that her itching cunt continually reminded her of.
"Darling boy," he panted as he pulled her pants down around her thighs and pelted her ass with his kisses, squeezing her buns all over in a very delicious manner. With you here, I can forget about this hateful war for a few minutes. By gadfrey, how I'd love to have you as my orderly. Wake me up every morning. Bring me my warm cocoa at night. Maybe stay for an hour or so before you turn in. You wouldn't have to sleep in the fo'c'sail then. Little room all to yourself where I could come see you. God, what an ass."
At this he bent her over at the hips by giving her a push in the back, and her cheek rested against the wheel as he parted her buttocks with his thumbs and ran his tongue down the crack of her ass. In moments she was wet from her waist to the base of her spine as he slobbered kisses deep in the sensitive groove, and it felt so maddeningly good when his tongue came so very close to her anus that she was compelled to thrust her fanny back at his face.
"Hold still, son," he said as he warmly breathed against her hitherto inviolate flesh. "I promise I won't hurt you. I'll never hurt you, sweet Davie."
"Oh, gawdamn," she groaned as he quite unbelievably parted her buns even wider and stuck his tongue up her ass-hole. Her knuckles cracked as she took a tighter grip on the wheel, grinding her cheek against it and wriggling her ass even harder against his face, to feel even more of the perfectly weird feelings his probing tongue was creating. In a way it was like having her cunt licked, even though that part of her felt distressingly empty and neglected, but very soon the sensations were so unbearably sweet that nothing, not even the ache in her cunt, interfered with the pure sensual enjoyment she felt from his tongue.
She realized she was moaning softly and that her fingers were loosening on the wheel as the sensations became less weird and more sweetly familiar, but she didn't care. Neither did she care when he pulled her pants down about her ankles and ran his horny hands over her legs, pulling her back toward him until she was bent double, hanging weakly to the hub of the wheel, in a sweet little ecstasy of her own as he tongued and kissed at her marvelously sensitive ass-hole.
Down between her legs she could feel a warm trickle of liquid that was either his spittle or her overflowing juices, and she reached down to her cunt to determine what it was. Then his kisses were infinitely better, accompanied as they were by her slow massaging of her cunt.
He rose, panting heavily, leaning heavily over her to hold her in that position, and he babbled in a husky voice at her ear as she felt him fumbling at the rough broadcloth that pressed against her fully exposed ass. "Just hold still, honey-boy. Promise faithfully I won't hurt you. God, what a perfect little ass! Don't make a sound, son, not even a whimper, and I'll show you some of the pleasures in life that you've missed out on so far."
She heard his pants fall with a thud, and then the feeling of his very virile cock pressing against the wetted groove of her ass came as a shock to Helen. It wasn't very large, but its hardness belied the advanced years of the retired admiral. So close to her cunt, it felt good, and Helen surrendered completely to the dreamy world of make-believe and used her first and third fingers to part her cunt lips widely and her middle finger to probe around the wonderfully itching portals of her cunt as she arched her ass up higher for him. Her middle finger was beckoning to his cock, but he obviously did not see this as he took his cock in hand and fitted the bulbous head of it against the orifice he'd been so avidly kissing.
It struck her then that he hadn't known what he was doing. He'd thought he was kissing her cunt, in the proper style of the lusting, lonely man, but his loneliness was of such long duration that he'd forgotten about the anatomy of a woman. "Wait!" she implored him, and groped back through her legs to fit him into her very needful cunt, but it was too late and her hand closed about his soft, hanging balls as he forced the head of his cock in her ass-hole.
There was a sharp pain and she cried out, and again his voice panted at her ear, at once soothing and exciting. "Not a word now, sweets. Davie, I guarantee you that you'll learn to love this. Unbelievably tight," he said, wriggling still more of himself into the wrong orifice and creating such a mixture of pain and perverse pleasure in her that she could not have spoken had she tried. "Just hold still for a moment more, sweetheart, and you'll earn yourself another stripe on your sleeve."
But she couldn't hold still. It hurt so that she had to reach back and pull her ass cheeks wider apart, whereupon she felt him grip her harder still and press onward until his hairy, bony loins were flush against her thoroughly warmed ass.
Then he began to take it out. The pain disappeared. Her brain in a turmoil, she knew she was defecating, and she tried to close her sphincter and hold it back. She was failing. She could feel it slipping out, despite her every effort, and she wanted to sob with her growing embarrassment but she could only groan, even as the Admiral was groaning. She was about to lose it, it was about to fall out of her, when his hands again tightened on her hips and, with an immense feeling of relief, she felt it being pushed back inside her where it belonged.
There was no pain at all with this insertion. Far from it. Deep relief and deep, deep pleasure were all she felt as he slid it in, then out, then in again. She squeezed it with her sphincter and let go of her ass-cheeks to resume the lovely masturbation that added so much to all she already had. She decided that she could put up with this sort of thing all day long, but he had different ideas.
"Battle Stations!" he hoarsely cried, and began to fuck her in the ass much more vigorously. "General Quarters! We are under attack! Fight the bastards, Seaman Jones,, fight back for all you're worth!"
Startled by his loud outcries, even more startled by the surging thrusts of his cock in her, Helen couldn't help but squirm and piston her hips, the only part of her that she could move, what with the way he was holding her.
"Man the torpedo tubes!" he shouted. "Man the guns! Torpedoes away! Urrrgh ... . Here comes a salvo, you bastards. Fire one! Urrrgh. ... Fire two! Urrrrrghh. ... Fire at will! Ahhh. . . Urnrrrgghhh. ... Urrrrrrggghhh ... . Ahhhhh...."
She felt him slip his cock out of her as easily as if he'd been buttered, and she heard him slump to the floor behind her. Her ass-hole felt very open and she tried to close it with spasming contractions of her thighs and buttocks that coincided with the waves of feelings that were breaking in her. She was too weak to straighten up, too weak to even hike up her pants until she heard the sound of a man's voice behind her.
"The attack is over, sir."
"Huh?" said the Admiral. "Beat them off again, did we? Fine, fine. Tired now. Direct hit here in the wheelhouse. Seaman Jones wounded. Take him down to sickbay and take care of him. Good boy, Davie. Stood up to the attack like a real man. Definitely petty officer material. Gad, you're bleeding. Purple Heart for sure. Run along with Phil now. Two marshmallows in my cocoa tonight."
"Come along, Jones," said Phil, "and bring your sidearms."
He handed Helen the mop and bucket and she dazedly followed him along, struggling as she did to pull up her pants as they went out on the deck, leaving the Admiral on the floor, starting to snore. As always when she mixed sex with pot, she felt a roaring within her that made it difficult to keep her mind on preserving her modesty as she followed along behind the white-clad man. Encumbered by the mop and bucket, she couldn't get the buttons on her pants closed and was still working on them when Phil opened the door of the little room for her.
She wasn't at all surprised to see five more white-clad men there, smiling broadly at her, for nothing could surprise her at that point. Nor was she surprised that they all knew just how the Admiral had neglected her cunt after getting it so warmed up. And she wasn't the least bit surprised that each and every one of the six handsome sailors knew exactly the right place to put his cock in order to quell the fires which had been kindled in the embattled wheelhouse.
CHAPTER NINE
Between the time Helen got home from the yacht harbor until she went to bed, she douched seven times, and still her vagina felt unclean, not to mention her poor, torn anus. She thought she'd lie awake for a long time, hating herself for being a willing partner to sodomy and then an even more willing hostess to a gang-bang, and finally having the audacity to lie beside her husband as if her conscience was spotless.
As it was, however, she went to sleep right away, and on awakening in the morning the need for her husband's semen was so strong in her that she'd sucked him off, made his breakfast, and kissed him good-bye before she had time for feeling guilty about her afternoon on the Salvo. Then during the drab routine of housework and envelope addressing, her inner torment was such that even the call from Henry came as a relief.
Over the telephone, he said, "You did good yesterday. The Admiral wants you back again. So does his crew. In fact, they'll be willing to pay you next time, so you can expect about six hundred for your next visit to the boat."
"What? I thought the men were part of the deal."
"I guess they were this time. Now, how would you like to pick up another five hundred this afternoon?"
"I can't. I'm too sore."
"I guarantee this client won't do anything to make you any sorer. Your period's over, eh? That didn't take long, did it?"
"Well. ... That's none of your business. Where's my money? Why didn't you pay me yesterday?"
"You were too far out of things. Your client today has it. One thousand bucks for yesterday and today's work, providing you do good work today. I don't have time to argue you into it today.
Dress up pretty but don't overdo it, get a cab and be there in an hour. Here's the address."
Helen sat staring at the address for several minutes, thinking over Henry's guarantee, and thinking about the money. Then she quickly showered, put on make-up and a few dabs of perfume, dressed as if she was going shopping downtown, and called a cab.
It took her to one of the more expensive sections of tract homes in San Diego and dropped her off at an imposing ranch house. Although Helen had vowed to keep away from marijuana that day, she wished she had just a few drags on a reefer to give her the courage to ring the bell. When she did ring it, she was quite surprised to have the door opened by Anne, the woman with whom she had, among other things, modeled lingerie. Wearing less make-up than before, she looked lovelier than the last time Helen had seen her, and the sheer black peignoir she wore showed that Helen's memory had not exaggerated the slender, slinky eroticism of her body. And Anne reconfirmed Helen's suspicions of her Lesbian nature by soundly kissing her the moment the front door was closed.
Helen twisted away.
"Darling, I'm so sorry I told Henry about you," said Anne, clinging to Helen's arm. "I want to make it up to you, dear. But first what can I get you? A drink? Coffee? A little smoke?"
"Just coffee, thank you," said Helen, trying to draw away from the lovely but perverted woman. "What was it you told Henry about me, Anne? And who's the client here?"
She had to wait for Anne's answer until coffee in a silver service, along with candies in a silver bowl, were laid out on the coffee table. Nervous sitting beside the fawning woman on the couch, Helen sipped her coffee and unwrapped a piece of candy while they talked.
"I told him about the fact that you weren't having your period at all."
"But why did you do that?"
"He teased it out of me. Said I had to be a real sickie to go down on a woman during her period."
"So you told him. Well, I guess it doesn't matter."
"It does to me. D'you like the majouns?" Anne asked, unwrapping a candy for herself. "Would you like that smoke?"
"The candies are very good. I don't care for anything else. Now, tell me. Who's the client?"
"I am, dear," said Anne, and threw her arms about Helen and pressed her perfumed lips on her mouth.
"You are a Lesbian," Helen gasped when it was over. "And you're the client, too? I don't understand. I thought you were..."
"A call girl, same as you? Well, I am. I have been for the last two years, ever since I lost eighteen thousand dollars in Las Vegas," Anne said, kissing Helen's hand.
"Two years to pay off eighteen thousand dollars? That's a long time compared to how fast I'm getting my money out of Henry," said Helen, trying to remain a lady in these plush surroundings, and at the same time trying to fight off Anne's homosexual advances.
"I had it almost all paid off," Anne explained, busily working at Helen's blouse buttons as she nuzzled in the hollow of her throat. "I must have fucked a hundred Johns to do it, though. One of them was the Admiral, and his navy of course, so when I heard Henry say you were going to go there yesterday, I just felt awful about having told him you were definitely not out of commission. Now I want to make it up to you, dear. I want to be so good and sweet to you that you'll forgive me and we can be friends forever. Have another majoun?"
"Thank you," said Helen, gaining a brief respite as she unwrapped the candy. "But, Anne, you should know that I'm not a ... a Lesbian, no matter what we did at the luncheon."
"And I suppose I am by now," said Anne, sighing and drawing away. "I guess it was inevitable. All the Lesbian shows I had to put on, and then all those awful big penises I had to take in
"A call girl, same as you? Well, I am. I have been for the last two years, ever since I lost eighteen thousand dollars in Las Vegas," Anne said, kissing Helen's hand.
"Two years to pay off eighteen thousand dollars? That's a long time compared to how fast I'm getting my money out of Henry," said Helen, trying to remain a lady in these plush surroundings, and at the same time trying to fight off Anne's homosexual advances.
"I had it almost all paid off," Anne explained, busily working at Helen's blouse buttons as she nuzzled in the hollow of her throat. "I must have fucked a hundred Johns to do it, though. One of them was the Admiral, and his navy of course, so when I heard Henry say you were going to go there yesterday, I just felt awful about having told him you were definitely not out of commission. Now I want to make it up to you, dear. I want to be so good and sweet to you that you'll forgive me and we can be friends forever. Have another majoun?"
"Thank you," said Helen, gaining a brief respite as she unwrapped the candy. "But, Anne, you should know that I'm not a ... a Lesbian, no matter what we did at the luncheon."
"And I suppose I am by now," said Anne, sighing and drawing away. "I guess it was inevitable. All the Lesbian shows I had to put on, and then all those awful big penises I had to take in much less explain it to Anne, and to add to her confusion she was feeling that familiar roaring within, even though she'd smoked no marijuana. Or had she? With Anne kissing and caressing her and promising such sweet things, it was so hard to remember. Finally she asked.
Anne said, "No, dear. All we had was the candies. Those are enough."
"The majouns? What's in them?"
"Hashish. Concentrated marijuana. Want another?"
"Why not?" Helen shrugged, and began unfastening her skirt. It was ridiculous to try to fight the effects of marijuana. Once it was in her system, she became a nymphomaniac and nothing she could do would alter that. It would be only a matter of time before she succumbed to her weakness, she knew, so she might as well save time and succumb to Anne's advances without further ado.
Quite willingly, feeling extraordinarily sexy, Helen got up and did a little strip-tease once Anne had helped her out of her outer garments. With Anne watching hungrily and licking her lips, Helen floated sinuously about the room as she peeled off bra, panty-hose and panties on cue, and she added much to both of their growing excitements by slowly masturbating while she improvised a spread-legged belly dance.
It was Anne's mouth that pushed Helen's hand aside. As Helen danced, feeling as if she was orgasming already, Anne got down on her hands and knees and crawled across the thick carpet until her up-turned face was between Helen's swaying legs, and there she urged on the swaying with her hands on Helen's buttocks as she began licking her crotch from clitoris to anus and back again. It made the dance much more sensuous, and Helen was glad there was a large mirror behind the crouching Anne for her to watch herself smiling and undulating and coming.
She had no idea of how many times she came while she was standing up, nor could she keep track of them once her legs grew so weak she had to lie down on the floor. Soon she didn't care. She was all cunt and all woman, her body raging with fire and yet marvelously content, and if Henry had walked in with the remainder of her money right then she would have told him to come back later. Henry, however, did not enter the room, though someone else did.
For some reason, Helen opened her eyes, and when she did she saw what appeared to be a man looming large above them. It was his cock she saw first, for it was immense, fully twelve inches long and as big around as her wrist. It was a big man, with extremely white skin, with a large belly, and with bulging pectoral muscles that looked almost like a woman's breasts. His face was softly featured like a woman's and his hair was brown and curly and somewhat long for a man's.
Helen wasn't at all sure he was real, and she doubted if any man could have a cock that large nor balls that big, and why in the world was that piece of tubing connected to his balls? His voice was decidedly feminine.
"She's going good now, Anne. Let me in there."
"Mmmmmmmmfffmmmmm," said Anne through her lickings, and the vibrations of her voice made Helen writhe even more helplessly on the floor as she felt her juices come gushing out of her.
"Come on, Anne," the man whined, and then he did an amazing thing. Right before Helen's eyes, he lifted up his cock and revealed the cunt between his legs. It was an enormous thing, a real mate for that outlandishly large penis which Helen could now see was held on with straps. It was all shades of purples and reds and pinks, glistening wet, heavy lipped, very hairy, and complete with a clitoris almost as large as one of the fat fingers that was stroking in it. Helen stared at it in morbid fascination until the cessation of Anne's cunnilingus diverted her to desperately trying to make it go on.
"Go ahead," Anne panted, rising to her knees and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
Right away the cunt was concealed by the cock and balls, and the man/woman hurried about and got between Helen's legs to push at her very open cunt with the blunt end of the monstrous phallus. Logic told Helen it couldn't possibly fit inside her snatch, but instinct assured her that it could, and she was wriggling about to accommodate it when Anne stepped across her writhing torso and blocked the view of this, the world's biggest cock, entering that, the world's most hungry pussy. True, Anne's body was an exceptionally lovely one, made more lovely still as she tore off the black peignoir, but it was not as lovely as the sight of herself being fucked, so Helen tried to push Anne aside when she sat down on her chest.
Anne grabbed her by the hair and slapped her across the face, saying, "Don't push me, you whore. I've sucked your cunt and now you're going to suck mine, and by God, you're going to learn to like it before I'm through with you." With that she came forward, and the last sight Helen saw before her eyes were covered with damp, curly hair was that of Anne's red-tipped fingers pulling aside her labia to show the livid pink flesh that Helen was forced to kiss.
It was foul and fetid and musky and very wet, much more so than Helen had thought it would be, and there was no escape from it. It was trying to smother her and drown her at the same time, and Helen had to suck in all her air through her nostrils and lap and swallow as fast as she could, which was difficult to do with the way Anne was gyrating her hips so. Helen had to grab them to hold them still, had to feel the softness of Anne's pert little buttocks which was a marked contrast to the hardness of the giant cock that was being slowly dragged out and pushed back in her again and again.
She couldn't help thinking how much better off she was sucking this cunt rather than the immense one that was hidden under the cock in her. Anne's would taste like milk and honey compared to that big old thing. It made her appreciate Anne's cunt. It made her cling more tightly to Anne's sweet ass and it made her more content with the sucking of the darling little nubbin that was Anne's clit. And this in turn made Anne come.
It was quite an experience for Helen to make a woman have an orgasm. It gave her a sense of power and it exhilarated her greatly, so much so that she began to come herself, for the friction of that great cock in her was such that it could not be denied. The fit was so tight that Helen could actually feel heat being generated as she started to come, and then something happened down below that took away the heat and made the thrusts of the cock ever so much more comfortable, extending the period of her orgasm toward infinity.
In total ecstasy, Helen wrapped her legs more securely about the soft, thick waist and thrust back until she saw stars, at the same time passing on as much of her pleasures as she could by sucking Anne's clitoris harder and whipping it faster with her tongue and by slipping one finger in Anne's vagina and another in her wet, tight ass-hole and massaging the sensitive membrane in between the two orifices.
Then with a long, strangled groan, Anne toppled sideways off Helen's face, out of her grip, and lay curled up on the floor, her lovely body jerking spasmodically, her long legs scissoring together. At the same time, the marvelous, stretching thrusts ground to a halt with the big, big cock just as deep inside her as it could go.
Helen lay there panting, exhausted, yet still wanting more, and then she half sat up, aghast at the sight of the man/woman rising, without his/her cock. It most certainly was still inside Helen, for she could feel it there even though only a flat piece of plastic fitted with flesh-colored straps could be seen at her loins. She couldn't close her legs to keep it there for she was too widely stretched, but she could reach down and try to make it move in her.
But the woman and, yes, it definitely was a woman, and a large, fat one the woman knocked Helen's hand aside and began using a towel on her loins, chuckling as she did, "Anne, she's a hot little number. She lost control and pissed all over me. We'll have to have her over again. How did she do with you?"
"Just great, that's all," said Anne, shaking herself and getting unsteadily to her feet. "Find out for yourself. But first let's get her up on a bed, Reggie."
Anne took Helen's wrists and the woman named Reggie grabbed her ankles, and together they carried Helen into a lavishly appointed bedroom. She was helpless to resist them, made even more helpless each time Reggie laughed and moved her legs around as she carried her. She was set down with her bottom on the foot of the bed and her feet were then hooked on the edge of it. Anne held them there while Reggie fastened the straps of the artificial penis around Anne's waist and thighs, and when Anne tested the fit by moving it in and out a few times, Reggie came around and got on the bed with Helen.
She stood over Helen, straddling her writhing, sweating body while Anne fucked her somewhat more rapidly than Reggie had. There she felt of her breasts with one hand and her big cunt with the other as she smiled, "How do you like getting fucked with a dildo?"
"Love it," Helen panted, staring at the cunt overhead.
"Better than a man any day, isn't it?" she asked. "Much. Oh, much."
"I fucked the very piss out of you with it, didn't I?"
"I came a hundred times. A thousand times," Helen eagerly confessed, just then at another peak of her orgasm.
"You know, I'm mad at you for pissing on me," said Reggie, still smiling, however.
"I'm sorry. Oh, I'm so sorry," Helen said.
"Are you really sorry?"
"Oh, yes! 'I'll never do it again. Please let me make it up to you."
"How?"
"Let me eat you," Helen pleaded, reaching farther up the fat but exquisitely curvaceous legs of this most womanly of women. "Let me eat all I can of that beautiful big cunt up there. Give it to me, Reggie. God, I'm begging to lick that nice big juicy hole of yours till you come all over the place."
"That sounds divine, dear. But first I've got to go pee. Do you think you can wait that long?"
"Nooo," Helen groaned, groping, heaving her hips, still coming. "I can't wait."
Reggie giggled and said, "But I might pee all over your pretty face, honey."
"Do it now. If it has anything at all to do with your beautiful cunt, do it now."
Reggie shrugged and stopped frigging herself, opened out the big, fatty lips of her cunt, and after an interminable wait, there gushed forth a lovely stream of yellow that was as delicious to the taste as it was to the touch, once it had been directed at Helen's mouth. She drank all she could of it as the object of all her desires was slowly lowered to a level where she could touch it with her fingers and then with her searching tongue.
Then the stream of urine stopped a slower but even more delectable stream of Reggie's hot lubricating juices began as Helen licked and sucked and kissed the fantastically sweet cunt, while somewhere far below her each savage thrust of the big, wonderful dildo caused her to reach another in a steady, machine gun-like string of orgasms.
CHAPTER TEN
The next day Helen soothed her troubled conscience several times by counting her money. Two thousand and three dollars and thirty-five cents. The day after that, she was given some majouns and a commuter's round-trip airplane ticket to Los Angeles, and there she earned another four hundred dollars of her money by entertaining two tired and rather unimaginative businessmen, and on the next day the additional cash made the balming of her guilt even easier. But she knew it couldn't last.
Sooner or later-Wally would find out. She couldn't go on sexually draining him with her mouth while he slept. Eventually he'd want to fuck her in the normal, accepted fashion and then she'd have to tell him everything, for in no way could she contaminate him with that whore's cunt that was between her legs, demanding more every day, making her rich and yet making her a slave to promiscuous sex. And on Friday, when Henry called and said Anne wanted her on Saturday night, she was shamefully reluctant to have to refuse him.
"I can't, Henry," she said. "Wally always takes me to a movie Saturday night."
"Not. this Saturday night. You're going to ball it up with the dykes this Saturday night. And don't worry about Wally. As your manager, I'll take care of him letting you out of the house."
"As my pimp, you mean. No. I can't deceive him again on Saturday night."
"You not only can, you will. Believe me, Helen, the only way you'll get in trouble is if you don't do as I say. Then I'll tell your husband exactly what you've been doing."
"He won't believe you. You have no proof," she said.
"That's right. But if he asked you some specific questions about what you've been doing during your days, could you lie to him?"
"No," she sighed. "I'll be there Saturday night."
"That's my girl. But don't worry about getting there. Anne will pick you up at eight. Don't worry about a thing."
"All right," she glumly said. "Whatever you say. Will you do me a favor, Hank?"
"I don't know. What is it?" he asked.
"Get me some reefers."
"Some grass? Sure thing, baby. I'll send one of my runners by with a couple of lids of good stuff and a cigarette rolling machine. Have a ball with it."
"Thanks. Whatever it costs, deduct it from what you owe me."
Shortly after noon on Saturday Wally got a call from his boss, and after speaking to him for several minutes, he apologetically informed Helen that he'd be tied up with visiting businessmen that evening and there'd be no movie.
Evening business meetings such as this were rare, and Helen wondered if it was coincidence or if it was somehow Hank's doing. But she only wondered briefly, for she knew her marriage was coming to an end and she didn't like to think about that; it was so much easier to think about losing herself completely in the world of marijuana and sex. When he kissed her good-bye that afternoon it took every effort of her will to keep from weeping, and once he had gone, she did weep.
Shortly after that a young, clean-shaven, crew-cut type came by with two plastic bags of marijuana and a machine to roll it into cigarettes. He showed her how to use it, she sampled the quality of the grass, and decided to go along with his suggested payment and performed fellatio on him rather than waste any of her money.
She was quite pleasantly stoned when he left at six, and she thoroughly enjoyed her state of mindlessness as she made herself up and dressed as attractively as she could for the Lesbians, Anne and Reggie. She put on a pair of spidery black lace bikini panties and matching bra, a gold blouse that she'd always felt was too flamboyant and too low-necked to wear in public, her shortest miniskirt, of gleaming satiny material, and her highest heels. As she waited for Anne, she smoked a cigarette she'd rolled from the grass and she brushed her hair out in soft golden waves that made her look younger, sexier. She felt very sexy, dwelling as she was exclusively on thoughts of sex, and putting her marriage completely out of her mind.
When Anne arrived, she looked as sexy as Helen felt. She was wearing a little paisley wrap-a-round dress and apparently nothing else. It was held together with a copper belt around her waist, and each step she took up the walk showed a flash of her nylon-sheathed leg almost ail the way to her loins. Her hair was piled high on her head in a mass of dark curls, and on her feet were black patent leather boots which came to her knees. The moment Helen admitted her she tried to kiss her, but Anne turned her aside.
"Not now, darling. My husband will be mad if we're late, if he's still awake by the time we get to the house."
"Your husband?" Helen said, backing off. "You're married?"
"Yes," Anne laughed. "And not to Reggie. Shall we go? I'll tell you about it on the way."
Driving in Anne's new Lincoln Continental, the radiant brunette said, "Yes, Carl and I have been married for twelve years. He doesn't know about my working for Hank. He does know I need a lot of sex, more than he can give me by himself, and that I know some people like you who'll swing. Once a month or so we have a girl over to the house. I put on a little show for him that gets him excited enough to make love to me ... hopefully. It's an arrangement we have," she said and shrugged. "Oddly enough, and I know you won't believe this, I still love him. No matter what I've done in the past, no matter what I do now, I still love him."
"Shit," said Helen. "Let's not talk about husbands. Let's just ball," she said, and moved closer to the lovely, sexy woman, sliding her hand up her leg, biting her on the shoulder. "How much are you paying me tonight?"
"Two hundred and fifty dollars."
"Hmm," said Helen, as she found the slit conveniently placed in the crotch of Anne's panty-hose. "It seems as if my price is going down."
"That's the way Hank works it," Anne said. She smiled as she opened her legs. "He pays you a lot to start, then less and less as time goes by. And eventually you wind up paying him for your sex. At least, that's the way it worked for me."
"Not for me. I'll never pay for it," Helen said, finding Anne's pussy with her finger, finding it warm but dry. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Don't you feel hot?"
"I'm getting there, but you're obviously way ahead of me. Have you been smoking some grass?"
"Mm-hmm," Helen said, and lifted Anne's skirt and bent down to try to reach her clit with her tongue. With Anne caressing her head, she was barely able to do it.
"Keep that up," said Anne, "and I'll be as hot as you are in a minute. Do you like to eat pussy, Helen?"
Helen rose, smiling at the cars they were passing on the freeway. She slipped her finger deep inside Anne's vagina and found it nicely wet, and she took it out and sucked on it for a moment before she said, "Yes, I like it. It's good for me. It's something I need as much as I need a man's come. It helps to make me pretty. And sexy."
"You're really stoned. I like you that way," Anne said and smiled. "Carl will like you that way, too."
Carl was a large, florid man of about forty, still quite handsome despite a tendency toward fat in his body and puffiness in his face. He did not rise from the chair to meet Helen, nor did he let go of the bottle of Scotch he held. He took small swallows from it as Helen and his wife sat down on the couch facing him.
"So this's the lil ol' gal you and Reggie banged the other day. Sorta pretty," he said, "for a whore."
"Carl, please," Anne said. "Don't get nasty tonight."
"It's all right," said Helen. "That's what I am, a whore. And I'm here to do whatever it is you two want. What'll it be? A little show first for your hubbie? I'm ready. Just give me one of your majouns to keep me going."
"Goddamn dope," Carl muttered as Helen chewed the candy. He took a bigger drink from his bottle and said, "It's habit-forming, y'know. Cmon, whore. Get with it. Make out with my wife. Cm with the show."
Helen swallowed the candy and turned to Anne, ignoring the sadness in her eyes as she said, "You're a beautiful, sexy woman and I'd like to make love to you. What do you like best? What does he like to see? Want me to go down on you and lick your beautiful cunt? Would that get him excited enough to ball you? Want me to go down on both of you? You name it, Annie, and I'll do it. After all, that's what I'm getting paid for."
"This one talks a lot," Carl muttered, and took another drink.
Helen laughed and said, "I like to talk about sex. It gets me even hotter. But I like to do it more than I like to talk about it."
She turned to Anne and kissed her on the mouth, looking at her husband out of the corner of her eye for his reaction. He yawned, and Helen opened Anne's mouth with her tongue, and slipped her hand inside Anne's dress to squeeze her bare breasts. When she unfastened Anne's belt and opened her dress to kiss her breasts, Carl yawned again and took another drink from the bottle.
"It's not doing much for him," Helen said. "Is it doing anything for you, Anne?"
"He'll probably warm up soon. And as for me, I'm doing just fine, thank you. You're a lovely lover, Helen."
"like me to kiss you here?" Helen smiled, and found the slit in her panty-hose once again.
"I'd just adore it, dear. Carl, don't go to sleep. Helen's going down on me."
"With or without an audience," Helen said, and slipped to her knees on the floor.
She began by kissing Anne's knees and then, smitten by the elegance of those slender and perfectly sculpted legs, she bent lower still and kissed the gleaming boots that covered Anne's feet. She worked upward slowly, caressing and kissing the leather as if it was some exotic, psychedelic flesh, softly crooning in her delight and delighting further by the touch of Anne's encouraging hands in her hair.
When her mouth was again at Anne's knees they were much warmer than before and much wider apart, exposing the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Helen eagerly kissed her there and felt of her satiny flesh through the raspy texture of her nylons. She wanted to turn around and see if Anne's husband was watching, looking at her exposed ass from behind, watching as she made Lesbian love to his wife, but then when her mouth was at the slit in the nylon she forgot about all else but the intoxicating flavor and the exhilarating texture of Anne's thoroughly warm, thoroughly wet cunt.
Eyes closed, fingering herself, Helen breathed in the heady aroma of hot cunt and recalled all she had learned from her various teachers as she sucked and kissed and licked the richly anointed flesh. She lost track of time and had no idea of how long it was before she had Anne's lovely body jerking and writhing and orgasming.
It was Helen's turn then, and she stood facing Anne's husband and directed Anne to please her as she had at the luncheon, from a kneeling position before her. There Anne stroked and kissed Helen's bare legs as she drew down the skimpy panties, at which point Helen took an open-legged stance to facilitate the entry of Anne's tongue to her cunt. As she'd expected, it felt deliciously good.
The presence of Carl, almost helplessly drunk in the chair before her, made it all the better. While Anne continued to lick her cunt, Helen removed her blouse and bra and fondled her tits. Smiling scornfully down on the husband of the woman who was eating her, she felt enormously wicked and enormously powerful. She looked right at him as she spoke to Helen.
"Goddamn, that feels good. Nobody eats cunt like you do, Helen. Too bad Reggie isn't here with her dildo. We'd really put on a show for your old man. That's it. Right there. Suck my clit, honey, real hard. Oh, shit! That's really good. You beautiful dyke, what in the world are you doing married to a thing like that? No, don't stop! I'm gonna come now, honey. Right now. Hang onto me, luv. Lick my hole, good. Make me come. Now ... now ... now!"
With the last of her orgasm still tingling strongly in her, Helen teetered over to the slumping Carl and kissed him hard on the mouth with lips that were still tainted with the flavor of his wife's cunt. Then she knelt and opened his trousers while he watched, faintly smiling, looking as if he was ready to pass out at any moment. She was more than a little disappointed when she found his penis limp and flaccid.
"Looks like our little show didn't do him much good," she said over her shoulder.
"Lately it's been hard to get him worked up," Anne sighed. "He drinks too much."
"Don' drink enough," he chuckled, and drank again.
"You should turn him on to grass," said Helen, still unable to cause a rise in his penis even though she was handling it and kissing it in a most loving fashion.
"Goddamned habit-forming dope," he muttered. "I think he's hopeless," said Helen, rising. Anne buried her face in her hands and Helen thought she was weeping. There were no tears on her cheeks when she lifted her head, but her voice was very sad as she said, "You don't know how much it hurts me to see him so ... so lifeless.
"What?" said Helen, when Anne's voice faltered. "Something else we can do to get him going? Name it. I'm game for anything as long as I'm getting paid for it."
"There's this party tonight," Anne said. "Some out of town businessmen. It's more of an orgy than a party. We could go there. The change of scene might do him good."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The party Anne knew of was east of San Diego in "The Friendly City of El Cajon." She drove the Lincoln. Carl sat by her side, nursing at his bottle of Scotch. Helen sat by the window, feeling very good as she smoked a marijuana cigarette, feeling very free with no panties and bra on under her clothes, and feeling each of her companions whenever the whim struck her. Anne was still wet from their loving, and Carl was still disturbingly soft and disinterested.
It was a big old house, hidden by tall eucalyptus trees, with all the shades drawn and with the sounds of soft music and laughter barely audible from the front porch. Helen seethed with nervous anticipation as she waited for the doorbell to be answered, and it seemed that her anticipation would be justified when they were admitted to the house by a gorgeous, cunningly rounded brunette who was entirely naked. She was very glad to see Anne.
"Darling, what a nice surprise. We didn't think you'd be able to make it. Give us a kiss. And Carl, drunk as a skunk, per usual. And who have we here?" she said, smiling at Helen and extending her hand.
Anne introduced the woman as Billie, and when Helen had returned the woman's warm kiss, Anne said, "We had planned a quiet evening at home, but things got boring for Carl, so here we are. What's going on?"
"A little bit of everything. We've got sixteen men here and nine girls, about the right ratio. And the Masked Mouth is here for the first time in a long time, just for laughs. There are movies going in the den, dancing and drinking and smoking in the living room, gambling in the dining room, and balling just about everywhere. It started out in the upstairs bedrooms, but everyone's just balling wherever they feel like it by now. Take off your clothes and make yourselves at home."
Carl had no inclination toward disrobing, so his two female companions remained in their minimal clothing while the trio took a tour through the house. For the most part, the dancing in the living room was being done in the nude, with couples kissing, petting, even copulating as they slowly moved about the floor. They had to step over a couple engaged in sixty-nine in order to enter the dining room, and there the gamblers were as nude as the dancers, playing at craps and roulette, and betting their clothing and their sexual favors, and paying off their debts as cheerfully as they collected their winnings.
The movies were pornographic, but there was only one couple in the den, and they were too busily engaged in their own pornography to be interested in the celluloid variety. Throughout the house the air was sweet with the smell of marijuana, and smoker and non-smoker alike seemed to be carrying glasses of liquor. Everyone was very gay and great, and everywhere Helen turned it seemed there was another person to embrace her, to kiss her, to fondle her, to add to her excitement.
This was her life. It was wild and exciting, totally hedonistic, with no thought to the morrow, and she was eager to see all that was going on and then to enter into it as fully as her seemingly boundless energies would permit.
Several times as they were making their inspection tour, Carl asked, "Wher'za Masked Mouth?" and Anne had to keep assuring him that the Mouth would be found. Helen had little interest in this; there were too many other things going on for her to concern herself with novelties. She wanted to stay close to Anne and Carl because, after all, they were sponsoring her evening, and at the same time she wanted to rush off to a couch with any number of handsome men and lovely women who tickled her imagine. When they were in the hall they bumped into Billie again, who then suggested that Anne and Helen put on a Lesbian show for her guests. Helen said they would as soon as she paid a visit to the rest room, and it was there that they found the Masked Mouth.
He sat on the floor, clad only in a pair of pink lace panties and a black hood that covered all of his head save for his mouth. His arms were extended at full length at his sides, his wrists being bound with cord to a towel rack and to the shower door. Before him stood an embracing couple, quite naked. While the man kissed her, the woman kept a tight grip on the Masked Mouth's hood to hold his face against her furry loins, and as Anne and Carl and Helen watched, the standing man took hold of the hood and pulled the Mouth away from the woman's body and inserted his rigid penis through the hole in the hood and into the man's mouth.
"There he is," Carl slurred. "Lemme at him."
The couple were glad to relinquish their spot before the seated, bound man and left the bathroom laughing as Carl fumbled his trousers open and produced his penis, at last hard and stiff and ready for sex. Eagerly he thrust it into the mouth of the unseeing man, who sucked it phlegmatically and expertly without the use of his hands.
Watching, Anne said to Helen, "He only shows up once or twice a year at these orgies. He's really very good with his mouth, and he doesn't care who he uses it on. In a way, though, he's a sadder case than my Carl, because it doesn't excite him at all. Man or woman, he just sits there and takes on all comers. I've tried to get him going, but nothing I could do would turn him on. He sure has something, though, because he can turn my Carl on like I haven't been able to do in years. Just look."
For the first time that evening Carl had set his bottle down. He was holding up his opened trousers with both hands, and his hands were shaking as he looked down at the masked face that was slowly and rhythmically accepting the entire length of his cock. The head of it had to be going down into the throat of the bound man on the floor. Carl's breathing was heavy and his body was swaying forward and back, and in a very short time his hips were working as if he was fucking a woman, and from the contractions of his testicles Helen knew that he was ejaculating copiously.
He was smiling broadly when he withdrew his prick and asked the women if they'd like to partake of the services of the Masked Mouth.
"I do," said Helen, stepping forward, tucking the hem of her skirt into her waistband.
There was a look of grim determination on her face as she bent down and grabbed the man's ankles and, with a heave, pulled him forward as far as his bound wrists would permit. Then she grabbed a handful of his hood and bent his head backward as she stepped over his shoulders with one leg, then the other. Her posture caused a cruel stretching of his arms and a harsh backward bending of his neck, and by bending her knees just a little, Helen was able to effortlessly add to his torment by pushing him farther down with her cunt against his mouth.
"Well, do me some good," she snapped at him. "Hey, do you hear me?"
He nodded his head with difficulty, grinding his mouth and nose and chin through the length of Helen's slit.
She said, "You're lousy with your mouth. I can do a lot better than you can. Shit, you're not even good enough to lick a postage stamp. Here's what I think of you as a lover," she said, and relaxed her bladder muscles, flooding his up-turned face with a deluge of hot urine.
When Helen released her hold and stepped away from him, Anne giggled and said, "I don't know how you did it, but you sure did it. Just look."
Although the man was sagging so limply he might have been dead, the little tent that his very erect cock made in the frilly pink panties proved that he was very much alive. Helen laughed scornfully and went over to him, jerked down the panties and gave his penis a hard, twisting pull that brought him back to life with a groan. Next she tore at his sodden, smelly black hood, even though he tired desperately to twist away from her, and even though Anne trepidatiously tried to explain that house rules prevented his ever being unmasked. She threw the wet hood on the floor and turned up his flushed, chagrined face and introduced him.
"This is Anne, my Lesbian lover, and Carl, her husband. And this is Wally, my dear, loving husband."
CHAPTER TWELVE
At home, with the effects of the marijuana completely gone, Helen packed a bag while Wally disconsolately watched her from the bed, fresh from the shower, dressed in a robe.
He said, "Helen, can't we at least talk it over?"
"What is there to discuss? You're a pervert, I'm a whore. We've both made a complete mockery of our marriage, so I'm leaving."
"But I didn't want to do that. Don't you want to hear about why I had to do it?"
"No. I just want to go out and pick up about a dozen big-dicked Marines and fuck and suck them all to death, and follow them with a dozen lonely, hard-up librarians."
"But I can't let you go like this," he said.
"Oh? You can't stop me, not even long enough to try to explain. I don't want an explanation from you, because that would necessitate the same from me, and really, I don't even want to talk to you any more. There," she said, straightening up, snapping the latch on her suitcase, "I'm all set. Two changes of clothes, my sexy lingerie, and a douche bag everything I'll need. Good-bye, Wally."
"You are not leaving yet," he said, and grabbed her by the wrist as she started stalking by the bed, pulled her hard enough to tumble her down on top of him.
She struggled, she fought, but she was no match for him, especially when he'd pinned her body to the bed in the manner of a wrestler, but with his body upside down on hers, with his face at her loins rather than at her head. Since she was still without panties, in that position it was a simple matter for him to shower hot, eager kisses all about her crotch.
She continued to struggle for a time and then gave up, sighing, "Go ahead, pervert, but it won't do you any good. Maybe if you'd done that years ago, things would have been different, but now ... now it's just too late. Ooo! Don't bite! Just go on and get it over with. Would you dig it more if I pissed on you? Ow! Wally! There, that's better. But hurry it up, the Marines are waiting, not to mention a certain private navy I know of. Oh, Wally, how different it all might have been if. . .
"But, no. No use crying over spilt milk. Wally, I. . . ahhhh ... Wally, you are good at it. Mmmmm, so very good. What the hell, I may as well enjoy it," she said, and settled more comfortably under him.
Obligingly, never for a moment stopping in his very sweet cunnilingus, he shifted to relieve her of his weight, and when his movement revealed his penis, large and erect and quite close to Helen's face, she very willingly took it in her mouth and tried her best to return some part of the very real pleasure that he was so ardently delivering to her via his tongue.
Soon her tongue was flying as fast as his, and she was sucking cock as she never before had in her life, more completely caught up with sex than ever she had been when she was high on marijuana. Locked in each other's arms, they rolled about on the bed, and when their thrashings carried them over the edge of it even the jarring drop to the floor didn't slow them in their insane lickings and suckings.
When he ejaculated, it came out as a hot flood which filled Helen's mouth to overflowing, and still she kept sucking while the thick, delicious stuff spilled forth from her lips as she couldn't swallow it fast enough. The quality and quantity of it, the taste and the amount of it were such that something happened within her; a hitherto unknown dam burst and her feelings overflowed even as his semen had.
On and on it went as she blindly sucked, and when her reeling brain slowly cleared she felt a sense of peace she had never known before. Then, lying side by side, holding possessively to each others' genitalia, they were able to talk, Helen was able to tell her husband how the vice of her gambling had turned into the vice of greed, and of how the greed had led to her enslavement, and of what things she had done in her slavery. In conclusion she said, "But honestly, Wally, with any of them it was never like it was now, with you."
"I'm good with my mouth," he grimly said. "I had to be. If I hadn't performed for Hank and the syndicate, we would have been ruined."
"But how?"
"This house," he explained. "Remember how badly we wanted it? And remember we were two thousand dollars short on the down payment?"
"Yes, and you borrowed it from your boss."
"No, I borrowed it from the syndicate. It was just going to be a short term loan, so I went along with the exorbitant interest rate ten per cent a month, every month. Then I didn't get that raise and I didn't get that inheritance from Aunt Bertha, and I couldn't even keep up with the interest payments. So I started performing at Hank's orgies. To tell you the truth, I enjoyed it at first. All I was doing was fucking and sucking women then. I'd never gone down on a woman before, but I got to like it. I wanted to do it to you, but before I could I started feeling so guilty that there was no way I could do it. I had to be very pure and very staid with our sex so you wouldn't get contaminated with my ... perversion."
"Wally, I'm sorry I called you a pervert. I really am."
"Why be sorry? That's what I am. I eat men and women alike now."
"Yes, but you were forced to, and you don't enjoy it."
"You're right about that. Do you know what? I've been faking my orgasms for the last two years. The only times I actually came were when you started going down on me in the mornings. And, of course, just now."
She started laughing, her breasts shaking with her mirth, and when he asked her what was wrong, she said, "Nothing, darling. As a matter-of-fact, everything's all right now. How much do you still owe them?"
"Over a thousand dollars," he sighed.
"You owe them nothing. They can take it out of the money they owe me, and as far as what's left over goes, they can keep it. You'll be out of debt, we'll both be out of bondage, and we'll have over two thousand dollars cash money to splurge with. And, best of all, we'll have each other."
"But I'm a pervert," he smiled as he spoke.
"Tsk," she said. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. As such, you need help. Lots of it. And of course, so do I."
"Right about now, perchance?"
"Yes. Right about now. Think you can make me come with your cock as well as with your tongue? That's a big order, Wally. You see, just like you weren't able to come for two years, I haven't been able to come either. I thought I was. All this time, I thought I was coming, with you and with the others, but really, it never happened to me completely before as it did a little while ago. Can you do it again, with your lovely big cock?"
"I can try, Helen, and I think I'll make it if you let me go down on you for a little while first."
"I don't need it, but if you're in the mood, who am I to say no?"
