Men have labeled prostitution "the oldest profession on the face of the earth," though often in jest; yet they're not far from the truth. Women have sold their bodies to men for countless centuries, accepting anything from berries to diamonds for their efforts, and some of them, under the guise of politics have even accepted kingdoms and castles as a reward.
By the end of the sixth decade of the Twentieth Century, however, one might think that prostitution had become a dying art, due for a quick demise. But, with the advent of sophisticated birth control devices throughout the United States, a sexual revolution, in the true sense, has taken place, allowing any woman the right to choose the quality and the quantity of lovers she might seek with no fear of pregnancy and the stigma it used to carry out of wedlock. This freedom, of course, also applies to men, leaving them a varied and easily attainable choice of females
who are only too eager to join them. Given this new freedom, men and women have changed their attitudes radically concerning extramarital, or premarital sex, and it would seem that the need for prostitution had already all but disappeared.
After careful research, author Aaron Phillips discovered that prostitution had met the demands of progress, becoming much more sophisticated in the process. Inspired by the differences and the likenesses between the old and new prostitutions, he wrote his latest book, The Wife Next Door, hoping not only to educate the reader, but also to expose the brutal tactics sometimes required to procure new talent for the use and abuse of the sometimes perverted customers of prostitution. He very effectively set his story in a west coast suburb, and presented it from a woman's point of view, because in this modern age of procurement it is a young girl who will be affected the most by the shock of prostitution.
The reader himself will be shocked to learn that prostitution in the Twentieth Century is a suburban affair, often taking place in the most respectable neighborhoods under the noses of neighbors and police alike. It is in these neighborhoods that women are allowed seeming respectability while they carry on their illicit activities, most of them housewives, bored and rejected by their husbands.
It is in exactly one of these neighborhood brothels that author Phillips exposes modern prostitution for what it really is: a simple remainder of what it always was in new clothing. He clearly points out the dangers of neighborhood prostitution, both to the girls involved and the men they service. There are psychological scars cut deep into the psyche of those involved, scars that may never really heal, scars that some evening the reader might recognize in the conversation of his own neighbor's wife.
-The Publishers
Chapter One
"How many times have you been fucked tonight?" he asked matter-of-factly, folding his trousers and draping them over the back of a chair.
She was sitting on the bed across the room, absorbed in a book and had not heard his question. Her negligee hung loosely over her full, well rounded breasts as she read, waiting for him to undress and join her in bed. He would pay her for the delicious pleasures of her body, and pay her well, but that didn't mean she had to talk to him. Sex was her profession, and even though she loved her work, there was too much at stake for her to waste time talking.
Shirley Anderson, at twenty-four, was one of Seattle's most sought-after prostitutes, making more money than any other four girls put together. But her bank account was a growing investment in the future and not just money for clothes and frivolity. She was going places, and only money would take her there.
"Are you deaf?" he asked, grunting as he lifted his weight onto the bed. "What the hell are you reading, anyway?"
"Huh?" she muttered and looked up as he crawled toward her. "Oh, nothing really; just a book on economics."
"Economics?" he laughed incredulously. "I thought girls like you only read sex manuals and stuff like that, things that would help you in your work."
"It's just a hobby," she said, ignoring his stupid, inane laughter.
"Well my hobby is sex," he quipped, calming his giggling. "So let's get with it, huh?"
"I can see you're ready," she whispered as she slipped her negligee from her shoulders and looked at his swelling penis.
"Christ, who wouldn't be with a sexy whore like you sittin' there naked," he said and moved toward her. His eyes roamed eagerly over her nakedness, devouring the two rising and falling orbs of her pointed, upright breasts. Her nipples were dark and oval-shaped, tipped with two tiny buds visibly growing and hardening as he reached out and touched them. He cupped the two firm globes in his hands, then let his fingers fumble over her belly as she sat cross-legged, waiting for him to slide his hands through her dark triangular pubic mound and into the moistening channel of her vagina.
"Mmmmm, you look pretty good yourself," she lied and leaned back against a pillow, accepting the weight of his body next to her. He was twenty pounds overweight, his body covered with hair, and looked like the kind of man who always held his breath and pulled his stomach in when a woman mentioned his physique. But nonetheless, he was a man, a paying customer who contributed not only to her coffers, but to her incessant well of sexual desire. And she would please him as she pleased all her customers.
"Oooohhhh," she cooed softly. Her body began trembling as she felt his penis harden and rest against her long ivory thighs. His hands were running over her quivering warm flesh until he reached around and grasped the two white moons of her buttocks and heard her moan again. He rubbed the two succulent cheeks gently in round, exciting circles, spreading the swelling orbs from the perspiring crevice between them. He felt her wriggling closer to him as he rested half on top of her and felt her arms encircling his neck. She had been highly recommended and he realized that she was no ordinary whore; no, this broad really liked to fuck!
Cupping her clenching buttocks, wriggling them, testing their resilience, he then moved his fingers downward, across her tiny red anus to the quivering pink ruffles of her cuntal lips and their warm moisture.
"Oh God, that feels good," she murmured, and quickly pulled his head down, crushing her lips over his mouth savagely. Her tongue shot out from its hidden cavern and slipped between his teeth, darting and twirling, searching for his own red wet tongue. She was mewling and moaning with the urgent need that could only be a prostitute's put-on, or the desperation of a nymphomaniac.
Fighting her clamping arms and devouring tongue, he pulled his head away from her mouth to look at her uninhibited passion. Below him he could see her head rolling back and forth, her eyes aimlessly staring at the ceiling as she appeared to be in a trance.
"You didn't answer my first question," he said quietly. "How many men have you fucked tonight?"
"Mmmmmm, fuck? Tonight?" she whispered, still rolling her head lazily back and forth. "About six, maybe seven . . . Mmmmmm."
He stared unbelievingly at her lustful confession as she lolled in a remembered ecstasy. She actually was turned on-a real nympho-goddamn, this was going to be nice.
"Come on," she urged softly. "Grab my ass again and start fucking me-that's what you came for isn't it?"
Eagerly, excited by her lewd words of instruction, he grabbed the quivering melons of her buttocks and let her pull him down to her mouth again, kissing her red wet lips brutally. He felt her hand slither down his side and reach between them to enfold around his already throbbing thick prick. God, she was hot, really turned on, he thought and quickly lifted her buttocks, pressing the moist warmth of her hair-covered pussy against his twitching thigh. He heard her moan, then felt her hand pull the rubbery tip of his cock to the open pinkness of her trembling cunt and suddenly jerk her hips toward him, sucking his long, hardened rod of flesh into the smooth clasping channel of her vagina.
"Aaaaahhhhh," she wailed, almost completely unaware that he was with her-only his cock was there, deep and fulfilling in the confining depths of her pussy. Her fingernails dug deeply into his shoulders as she squealed and began to undulate her hips, pressing her hair-covered crotch tightly against his groin, sinking his penis deeper into her belly.
Hearing her exciting murmurs of passion he began to wriggle his buttocks, making his penis swirl and rasp the smooth, contracting walls of her wet passage, feeling the needle-like pricks of electrical sensation course through his pulsing cock. She was twitching and writhing beneath him, gripping at his penis wildly with the well-trained muscles of her vagina, and straining every inch of her sex-starved body for the spasms of lust she wanted so desperately. She wanted to cum-she always wanted to cum-and no man was ever enough, no ten men were ever enough.
He felt the smooth, clasping softness of her vagina pulling and massaging at his penis, holding him prisoner in the well of delicious sensation down between her widespread legs. He would willingly pay for a fuck like this every night, wild and abandoned. Christ, she was a fuckin' nympho, he thought hazily. He pushed forward, burying his toes in the mattress and sinking every last throbbing inch of his thick reddened instrument into the furthest depths of her clenching hair lined vaginal tunnel, making her scream with ecstasy.
"Oh, God! It's so good. Ohhhh, God! Fuck me harder!" she wailed and began squirming and throwing her hips frantically, grinding her sharp pelvis against the hardened bone in his groin.
"Uugghhh," he grunted painfully as she ground against him, almost breaking his self-control and forcing his climax. He'd hold back as long as he could, and give her a real fucking. Nympho or not, she was a professional whore and he'd show her he was the best fuck she'd ever had.
With a growing rhythm he began to plunge and withdraw his pulsating weapon from her nakedly squirming loins, feeling the contracting muscles of her aching pussy pull and suck wildly for more of the lust-inciting pole of flesh boring into her. His breath was shortening to a rhythmic pant as he drove his long thick instrument in and out again and again, all the time watching her heaving breasts and the lust-contorted muscles clenching on her young, almost innocent face. She was inwardly screaming for the rumbling torrent of her climax and whimpered aloud again and again at the nerve-shattering fire searing deep in her belly.
Her gasping cries of passion were driving him mad with lust and he slipped a finger to the crevice between her jiggling buttocks and began teasing the puckered elastic ring of her anus to make her squeal even louder. Probing harder as she gasped with erotic pants, he easily shoved the tip of his finger into the warm yielding entrance of her rubbery rectum and began worming it around in small circles. She was screaming now, bucking wildly as he probed deeper into her hairless little hole, oblivious to anything but the torturing finger in her ass and the pummeling cock driving brutally into her cunt.
Aflame with the burning desire for climax he fucked her hard, taking his free hand and moving it around front, grasping the base of his fiery twitching prick, where he felt the obscene weapon pulling the ruffled, engorged lips of her vagina in and out as he buffeted her mercilessly down into the bouncing bed.
"Oh, oh, oh," she gasped frantically beneath him, her arms jerking limply at her sides and her rubbery, useless legs flailing aimlessly behind him. Her mind was an endless stream of flashing lights and electrical shocks piercing her straining nerves. There were only seconds left until her climax and she could feel the blood-filled muscles of her belly begin to roll like waves in the ocean,, heading for a rumbling, crashing orgasm. She was on fire, ready to erupt, growing, up, up, up . . .
"N-now . . . I'm cumming now! Aarrgghhhh!" she screamed incoherently and bucked suddenly upwards, lifting him completely off the mattress as the exploding spasms of orgasms jerked wildly through her body. "Oooooohhhhh!" she wailed again and he shuddered above her, hardly able to keep from falling as his own climax, spurred by her screaming, suddenly came with lightning speed, shooting hot jets of white flowing cum deep up into her desperately clenching cunt.
Together they wailed in the darkness until their spasms subsided and he fell limply on top of her, exhausted by their short bout with eternity.
A few minutes later she stirred beneath him. "Come on, pardner, get up. I've got another customer in fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes," he said unbelievingly as he rolled off of her. "Why the hell so many in one night? You charge more than most of the girls around here, yet you take on more men than any of them. Can't you be satisfied with a hundred bucks a night-that's only two guys."
"I'm greedy," she snickered. "Besides, I like my work."
"God, I guess you must," he said, shaking his head. "But you liked me more than most of them, didn't you? I mean, I was a good fuck, wasn't I?"
"Oh, average," she said, walking toward the bathroom. "Just about average."
* * *
Shirley soaped the bright blue wash rag and slowly washed her arms, carefully covering evenly inch of her skin with the bubbly white suds. It was seven o'clock in the morning. She'd just come home after a hard night's work, and was luxuriating in the tub of hot water, erasing the men from the night before with each stroke of her hand.
They were men she would remember only in her appointment book. As far as faces or sexual dexterity went, there were no memories at all, and for more than eight years there had been no customer who could be honored with a corner of remembrance in her mind. Not even her husband.
She had met Keith Anderson at a party and liked him immediately. They had become friends, then after a while, lovers, but she had "ever had him as a customer. In fact, before they were engaged she told him that she was a prostitute. Her intuition, though, had told her that he wouldn't object to her profession, and sure enough, he didn't. It only took him a few minutes to grasp the idea when she had hinted at it, and just as she suspected, he took even less time adjusting to it.
Their marriage was part of her long-range plans, meant to further her career and give her an outward status of respectability. She liked her husband, not enough to love him, but enough to live with him. It was his business sense and public relations background that gave him the most appeal to her.
For years an idea had been growing in the back of her mind: Run your own whorehouse; live in an outlandishly rich and respectable neighborhood; have only the best and wealthiest clients; and employ young, beautiful girls, recruited not from other houses, but from respectable homes or business. These girls were the key to her plan. If they remained housewives and working girls- not just stenos or secretaries, but career women, fashion buyers, personalities-they would all be above suspicion. Better than that though, they would have more to offer her clients than just bodies. They would be fashionable, intelligent, beautiful, and with these attributes, according to a study, much more adept at the oddities of sexual variations. Their rewards would be great because of the social class of their clientele, and the money would be supplemented by the social and business contacts they made. That's where Keith entered the picture.
He possessed an affable charm whose value would be displayed in the recruiting of Shirley's girls. She knew he could talk a woman into anything, and if words and a little blackmail didn't work, he also possessed the strength and ability for forceful persuasion. Shirley knew that even if a girl had to be forced into working for her, a short while of easy money would convince her to stay. Shirley's experience told her that no woman was really void of the desire for sexual variety and the endless pleasures offered by so many different men. It was only a matter of time and any woman could be seduced, and any woman could sleep with hundreds of men and enjoy them, even the most loving and faithful housewife.
Keith's charm, along with his business sense, made him valuable in one other way. He was the best means for attracting clients. He knew how to appeal to the imaginations and base instincts of other men. He knew how to be discreet, yet explicit. With those two attributes he could open a small investment office as a front, and bring every possible big money client her appointment book could handle.
The plan was set, designed exactly, and needed only a strong financial backing. Her growing bank account would provide the necessary funds in less than a year, then they would be in business.
"Hi, honey," Keith's voice broke through her thoughts. "Have a good night?"
"Fair-about five hundred. The last guy gave me a bonus," she said with a smile, looking at her husband as he prepared to shave. His back rippled with muscles when he moved, and at thirty, he still had no fat on his body. He was one of the most desirable men she had ever seen, and with careful training from her had become an experienced lover. She enjoyed him in bed, but her insatiable sexual appetite still couldn't be satisfied with only him.
Because of her nearly maniacal desires and his love for fresh and unconquered women, they had reached an agreement early in their marriage: she could work happily as a prostitute, and he could spend as much time as he wanted in other women's beds, no questions asked. It was a totally agreeable arrangement, especially to the women who opened their doors and legs for Keith. Any one of them could recall the most precious moments of her life as the hours spent naked with him and his deliciously talented tongue.
To Shirley, though, his tongue symbolized something else besides a wonderful sexual tool. His oral obsession could provide the one possible flaw in her plans. If he ever lost control and went over the deep end, his endless quest for lips to wrap around his penis might land him in jail and destroy their respectability and good client relations. But she had to take a chance on him, not only because of his talents, but because in the last three years of their marriage she had become very fond of him in spite of herself . . .
"Five hundred's not bad at all," he said, tilting his head back and sliding the razor under his chin. "Especially when you add it up six nights a week. That's three grand a week, twelve grand a month-and no income tax."
"Yes, but it's not enough," she commented as she got out of the bathtub and began drying herself. "The house I want for our operation will cost well over a quarter of a million, and it'll take at least until June or July before we have enough for the house and the operation. It's taken years to build my reputation and our bank account. Hell, with all that work I could open my own bank in Switzerland instead of having to go through all the trouble of sending the money over there secretly every month."
"Hey," he said turning and wiping the remainder of the lather from his face. "You're really uptight this morning."
"I know; I'm sorry," she sighed. "This goddamn work is getting me down, though. I still enjoy the sex, don't get me wrong about that, but some of the jerks I have to put up with. Christ, they're not much better than the half-witted teenagers I used to lay when I first started.
"I don't care if these men are big business hotshots, attorneys, traveling salesmen, or whatever they claim to be. They're still a bunch of children as far as I'm concerned. I can't wait to get our operation started and run the damn thing myself. Then I'll be able to take my pick of the customers and leave the rest to the girls."
"It won't be long, baby," he said quietly. "The money's almost ready and I'll be flying to San Francisco next week to hire a realtor. With luck he'll find the right house for us by June and we'll be flying high. So don't get yourself upset. Summer'll be here before you know it."
"I hope so," she whispered and dropped the towel, but before she could get through the door to the bedroom, he pulled her close to him and began kissing her open mouth, pushing his tongue inside and caressing the soft pinkness.
"K-Keith," she gasped. "Don't . . . you'll be late for work .
"They won't miss me for a few minutes," he said quickly and began to propel her to the bedroom, his fingers pinching her naked buttocks lightly, making her giggle with the uninhibited freedom of sexual desire.
Chapter Two
Nearly a hundred shining white sails dotted the bay, each of them bending and straining toward the splashing white caps in individual struggles to keep their small craft afloat. They were manned by weekend sailors fighting and sweating to keep their boats from tipping into the choppy waters of San Francisco Bay. Sprayed by the icy salt water, captains and crew members alike leaned far out over the edges of their bouncing sloops to balance the tremendous, almost overpowering, force of the wind as it tunneled under the Golden Gate Bridge and swept over the churning green water.
Cynthia Thompson watched the small armada with envy and despair from her bedroom win-down in Belvedere. Across the bay, behind the fleet of small sailboats the powerful outline of San Francisco glowed in the early Saturday morning sunlight, shrouded in a grey mist of warming air and smog. Somewhere, there in that mysterious conglomeration of cement and asphalt, her husband. Brad, was probably eating breakfast and reading the morning paper . . . alone. But he didn't have to be alone. He could be at home with his wife if he really wanted to, and they could be spending the morning preparing to sail among the scores of other white boats on the bay, laughing and fighting the sea together like they used to do on Saturdays. But then, maybe he wasn't alone. Maybe he was out there sailing with someone else.
"Oh, damn," Cindy whispered heavily and leaned her head against the cool glass. Every time she thought about him, which was almost every waking moment, she could sense the icy chill in her chest growing, then ebbing, then growing again until she felt she would almost burst. Instead of the womanly warmth that love brings she was left with only the cold emptiness of despair, and nothing seemed to fill the void, even the trip home to visit her mother. In fact, that made things even worse.
"You should have stayed home and married someone that you grew up with, like the Ames boy," her mother had told her. "The young men around here are more stable and aren't tempted by the thrills of a city like San Francisco."
"Oh, Mother," was all that Cindy could ever reply. She didn't know how else to answer. She couldn't say "It's all my fault," though it nearly was all her fault. She couldn't say "You're really to blame with all your prehistoric ideas about men and sex," though Cindy knew that that, too, was a major problem. There was nothing that the young woman could tell her mother that wouldn't hurt her in one way or another.
Yet, Cindy's mother had hurt her more than the older woman would ever know, even though it was unintentional. For twenty years Cindy had heard mysterious references to men and their bestiality, their disregard for the sensitivity of women and their complete selfishness. It was a man's world; her mother had told her that, and women were objects to be used, to perform certain chores that would make their men comfortable, and to also perform adequately in bed, submitting to the disgusting animal desires that occupied every man's small mind twenty four hours a day. That was a woman's role in life, and the sooner Cindy would learn it, the easier it would be for her to endure the primeval act of intercourse.
Cindy looked at the small patch of fog that stained the window and parted her lips to blow a little more warm air onto the glass. She watched the moisture spread into a wider arc, then on a sudden impulse, kissed the glass, leaving the outline of her full sensuous lips on the window pane. She stared at the imprint, wishing that Brad's lips were there waiting for her kiss. She needed him so badly, but she couldn't have told her mother that. Neither could she have told her mother about the wonderful, yet frightening shivers that she had felt when Brad touched her in bed. No, Mother wouldn't understand, she thought, shaking her head. Mother just wouldn't understand.
Turning away from the window and the struggling little armada on the bay, Cindy dismissed Iowa and her mother from her thoughts, concentrating on Brad and trying to recall the exciting sensation of his fingers on her almost virginal flesh. But her mind could only torture itself with the memories of their romantic first few months-months that turned into nights of terror until he had finally said, "I want a divorce."
Sitting on their large bed and staring at the ceiling she remembered the wonderful days they spent together, sailing, riding, traveling by jet and by car to the different and exciting places in California. Brad had told her how his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had helped build California from a majestic wilderness to the greatest state in the greatest country of the world. He was proud of his ancestors and his state, and Cindy wanted it to be her state, too.
Those days had been so wonderful, so filled with entertainment and education and most of all, love. The nights, however, were not so wonderful. Instead they were filled with dread and uncertainty, vague silhouettes of his nakedness, his thick rigid penis jutting out from his body like a threatening spear, all of those awful things her mother had told her about.
"Don't be frightened," he had told her the first night. "I'll be as gentle as I can, and it'll only hurt for a few seconds."
She had waited for him to come out of the bathroom, but alone in the dark her eyes filled with tears, and when he finally touched her breasts through the sheer transparency of her nightgown, her whole body shuddered. She had trembled almost convulsively when he removed her negligee and began kissing her full rounded breasts, making the tips of her rosy nipples rise erect in answer to his sensuous stimulation. Cindy remembered the sweetness of his reassuring words that first night, but his talk had only suppressed her fears. She remembered how his strong, sure hands slid over her nakedness in the dark, making her skin quiver with little goose-bumps until his fingers teased swiftly and softly over the curling silken hairs of her pubic mound. His fingers had found their way to the pink open wetness between her vaginal lips and eagerly sought her smooth channel, a place where no one, except Cindy herself, had ever touched.
Lying in the filtered Saturday morning sunlight, Cindy bit her lip as she remembered the strange sensations rippling through her body that first night. Her mother had never told her about those tiny electric shocks; only about the ugliness of a man's private parts and his brutal attempts at making what they called love. Those traces of liquid sensation were only what men were supposed to feel, and Cindy had known that night that something must be wrong with her if she felt them too. Feeling good and becoming aroused by sexual contact with a man would make her no better than a common streetwalker.
Her mother's words had echoed through the terrified chambers of her brain as she had lain there with Brad on their wedding night, barely able to breathe for fear that she might let him know that it felt so good. Even when he had lowered his strong wiry body between her unwilling thighs and probed her virginal passage with his thick throbbing phallus she held her breath tightly in her chest, fearing her mother's words more than the pulsating shaft that he pushed gently into her soft, hair-lined vagina.
The massive head had buffeted lightly against her hymen, easing its way into the undiscovered warmth of her pink wetness until she felt the tight ring of her virginity give way to the burning tip of his long rigid shaft. There was pain, she remembered, but not like any pain she had known before. It was warm and more fulfilling than frightening, and she had heard herself squeal a tiny gasp of painful delight when her hymen tore and allowed his thick lust-hardened penis to slide further into her tight smooth wetness. But the sound of her own mewling had forced her mother back into her mind and Cindy had let go a scream of pain almost as if she had rehearsed it. She had to fight the demands of pleasure and the slowly thrusting thickness that slipped in and out of her forever ruptured vagina.
Cindy lit a cigarette and took a long easy drag as the recollection of her wedding night illuminated the ceiling above her. Lying on the bed she remembered how his whole body had become one driving, panting mountain of selfish, lustful passion. She had endured him with the help of her mother's words, forcing the tiniest measures of excitement away from her senses and fighting his animal savagery with hundreds of puritanical proverbs that she had learned through the years, reciting them silently to her far away mother, who wasn't so far away after all.
His breathing had become gasps, and she recalled the contradicting torrents of emotion that had flooded her mind as his penis had flooded her vagina with great spurts of hot white sperm. He had filled her belly as if it were a balloon, and he was disgusting, yet, somewhere in the back of her mind an excited nerve center reveled in the spewing warmth that had caressed the smooth, already wet walls of her vagina. That flash of desire had frightened her more than anything and she had cried when it was over, afraid of her own desires and the nagging puritanical image of her mother.
"Did I hurt you?" Brad had asked, and Cindy remembered her feigned pain and the simple "Not really, darling," that she had whispered through her veil of tears. He had continued to talk to her that night, and she listened dutifully until they both grew tired, then fell asleep without making another attempt at sex because, she had said, "It hurts too much."
Cindy rolled to her side and snuffed out the last half of her tasteless cigarette. The recollection of that night was almost too painful for her to bear, and though it had happened over eight months ago, the knowledge of her betrayal to her husband still brought glistening tears to her clear blue eyes. Falling onto her back she wiped her eyes with the comer of a sheet and felt like giving up, quitting altogether. She had betrayed her husband that first night by denying herself the ecstasy of sexual pleasures, and now she was paying for it with her loneliness.
The betrayal and denial had been difficult that night, much more difficult than she had imagined before she married. She easily recalled his face the next morning and his reassuring words, "It'll be all right, Cindy. Most girls who are still virgins when they marry have the same hard time adjusting to sex, but don't you worry. In a few days we'll be acting like we've been making love together all our lives."
But the next few days and nights were even more awkward than the first, and her reticence in love making grew stronger until she was almost disgusted by his panting and thrusting and the final coughing spasms of orgasms he had when he emptied his love juice into her unyielding vagina.
Even talking became difficult for her at night, though they both appeared to enjoy each other's company during the daylight hours. But Cindy's guilt about her first night in bed with her husband, and her mother's constant advice from the past made her nights almost hellish.
"Honey, what's wrong?" he had asked a few times in the beginning, but she couldn't answer his plea. She wanted to tell him the horrible thoughts that her mother had planted in her mind, and what she felt the first night and every night thereafter, but her tongue would not respond with anything but an, "Oh, nothing, darling. Nothing at all."
"Does sex bother you?" Brad would ask, trying to ferret out an acceptable answer to use as a starting point in their conversations, but she would always find a way to change the subject.
"No, Brad. How can you say such a thing? I mean, I enjoy it with you, I really do," she would answer, then say, "This kind of talk is really ridiculous, you know. Why, just remember how much I enjoyed our love-making when we drove down the coast last week. That was so wonderful, and those places we visited, like that huge castle. Wasn't that marvelous? I remember all those rooms and . . ."
Brad would mutter that he remembered and listen to his wife ramble on and on about something totally irrelevant to what concerned him most, their marriage. He knew something was wrong with their sex life, even though for a few nights after each of his fruitless attempts to discuss sex, she would perform like any normal woman. But in a short time she would return to her trembling, stiff and impersonal acceptance of his love-making, and he would begin brooding again.
He examined himself thoroughly, going over his techniques, trying to find something that he might be doing in bed to frighten her. He was gentle and affectionate, he told her again and again during intercourse that he loved her, he would even tell her how much she excited him, whispering encouragement and groaning with delight at the delicious sensations she inspired in his loins. But those exciting waves of pleasure were becoming less and less frequent as the weeks passed, and he knew that he was not to blame for that. Her inhibitions had sought to weaken their sexual relations until there was little left of the wetness of sexual excitement in her tight vagina. Instead, she had become dry, unexciting, and to her own husband, extremely frustrating. Brad had tried to do everything humanly possible to improve their sex life, but he knew he was missing the point. There was nothing, absolutely nothing wrong with him or his techniques; it had to be her.
Cindy, cheerful and outgoing during the day, aware that her husband knew of her sexual malady, dropped her happy facade at night in bed. During the last few weeks of their cohabitation Brad became extremely irritable and snapped at her every time he spoke, which, as she was painfully aware, was not very often. His conversations would consist of a curt "Good morning," or something about the housekeeper, but nothing about himself or his wife. He would be gone during most of the day and not return until late in the evening unless they had a dinner engagement or a party to attend, leaving Cindy alone with her thoughts and fears for more hours than she could bear.
Nights in bed, tossing and turning, were no better than the lonely days, even though her husband slept beside her. She would hear him snoring, then cough, turn over and jerk his body roughly on the bed, trying to make himself more comfortable in a double bed that may as well have been two twin beds a thousand miles apart. Life together had become almost unbearable for both of them; Brad because he couldn't understand his wife's repulsion to sex, making him feel sexually inadequate and diffident for the first time in his life; and Cindy because her own guilt and frigidity had made her hostile not only to her husband, but to herself.
Alone in her bed and still drying her eyes, Cindy fought to erase the memories that haunted her, but without success. Recognizing one recollection made it only more vivid and sought the following events in sequence until she could see herself lying in bed the night Brad had left her.
* * *
A faint ember glowed at the end of his filter-tipped cigarette in the darkness as he sat on the edge of their conjugal bed brooding about his fruitless attempt to make love to his wife two hours previously. It had been the same as always, awkward yet apprehensive.
He had come to her after more than a week's abstinence, fully believing that she had invited him by her subtle remarks during dinner and the warmth of her closeness when she took his arm and held onto him firmly at the party. He had let her go to bed first while he undressed in the bathroom, then entered the bedroom and darkness naked and eager to receive the warmth of her body around his already hardened penis.
"Brad," she had whispered in the dark, and, recognizing a plea in her voice he joined her between the sheets where she eagerly sought his kisses and returned them passionately. He took much more time than usual, kissing, caressing, and holding his frightened bride in his strong arms.
Feeling at last that the time for playing had stopped and the time for love making had begun, he guided his caressing fingers over her thighs to the rising wetness of her pubic mound. At that critical moment of acceptance or rejection, however, he knew that she was still the same terrified little girl that had him frustrated to the point of rage! "Goddamn it!" he growled when he felt the slender muscles in her thighs contract and harden, giving away her fear and dislike for sex once more. Angrily he withdrew his hand from between her warm legs and rolled over in the darkness, ignoring her until she finally fell asleep.
For more than two hours he sat on the edge of the bed smoking and fighting the urge to rape his twenty-three-year-old wife. He loved her, but she was driving him insane with her childish frigidity, and he felt he could stand it no longer. He had to have her, he had to screw her like a woman should be screwed, or else! If only she would talk to him, tell him what really bothered her about sex, then they would have a basis of understanding and could possibly salvage their marriage.
"Brad," she whispered from behind him. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing," he snapped, immediately regretting his tone of voice.
"Well," she huffed. "Sorry I bothered you."
"Oh, damn," he whispered, turning to face her in the eerie moonlight that shone through the open window. "Baby, I'm sorry I growled at you. I was thinking, that's all, just thinking."
"It must be very important if you have to think about it at four o'clock in the morning," she said with a half-smile, hoping that this was the time she would be able to unlock her fears and tell him about her sexual hang-ups. "I'll have a cigarette with you if you'll turn on the light. I like to look at you when we're talking."
"I'm surprised you want to talk," he said, handing her a cigarette and lighting it with the solid gold lighter she had given him for their first month's anniversary. "What shall we talk about?"
"Well, why don't we start with what you're thinking about? That must be important enough to discuss, if you'd care to."
"I doubt if you'd care to talk about it," he said quickly, mentally chastising himself again for being so short with her.
"W-what do you mean?" she asked, aware of the answer before asking the question.
"You damn well know what I mean . . . sex!"
"Sex? That's an odd thing for a married man to be thinking about at four o'clock in the morning."
"Not just sex, Cindy," he said, crimping his cigarette into the ashtray. "I'm talking about you and me and sex!"
Here it came, the moment she had been waiting for and fearing. The moment when she had to tell him about her terrible fears, about her mother's warnings, about the awful things she thought of in bed and the wonderful feelings that she had suppressed for so many months. He was giving her the chance to become a woman and a real partner in their marriage. It was her chance to get the help she desperately needed to save her sanity and rid herself of all the guilt that burdened her so heavily.
"Well," she said slowly, trying to organize her thoughts and present a good logical case for him. "If you're talking about tonight, I-I guess I wasn't really in the mood. I don't know why, it's just . . ."
"Mood, shit!" he snarled and turned his head away so that she wouldn't see the muscles in his face contracting with anger. "It's not just tonight I'm talking about. It's last night, last week, or last month; every goddamn night since we've been married! You're never in the mood, not really. I have once, goddamn it, once to see you turned on like a real woman who enjoys screwing! I don't think you're even human."
"Oh, Brad," she started to sob, not so much at what he was saying, but at why he was saying it. It was partially true-her not being human because she couldn't be passionate-but the rest of her problem was human, too human for her to bear. She wanted to like sex, but he had to help her, and how could she tell him if he kept snapping at her . . .
"Don't, 'Oh, Brad' me, goddamn it," he hissed, his visible anger unrestrainable. "I've tried to talk to you about this. I've tried to find out what the hell is wrong with you, but every time I do, you clam up or change the goddamned subject. I've searched and searched for the answer, but I know I don't have it, unless it's something about me that you don't like. If it is, tell me!"
"No, Brad," she whimpered, brushing the tears from the corners of her sleep strained eyes. "It's not you. It has nothing to do with you."
"Then what is it?" he demanded.
"It's me. It's . . . It's ... Oh, God, I don't know," she said dejectedly, lowering her eyes and shaking her head in desperation.
"Fine, just fine," he said sarcastically. "It's not me-I'm glad of that-the problem is with you, and I'm not so glad about that. But you won't talk about it, to me or anyone else. Maybe an analyst would help. Anything! But for Christ's sake, and for ours, if you don't find one way or another to solve this frigid bitch complex . . . Shit! Just solve the problem or else! I can't take any more of it."
"Or else what?" she whispered, looking up through her tears and biting her trembling lip. "Brad, you've never called me any names before. I've never seen you so angry. What do you mean, 'Or else!'?"
"Or else I want a divorce," he said sternly.
"Oh, God!" she suddenly sobbed and threw herself into the pillow to drown the sound of his words. He was serious, as serious as he had been the night he had proposed marriage, and now he was proposing divorce with the same conviction. She wanted to tell him her problem and she wanted him to help her, but she hadn't the courage to tell him she had been raised to believe that sex and men's sexual appetites were dirty, vulgar. He believed in love and sex. She believed in love, but not sex. She wanted to communicate with him and change and grow with him, but the only words that escaped her lips muffled in the pillow were, "Why, Brad? Please tell me why."
"The 'why' should be simple," he said solemnly. "It's not our sex life alone that bothers me, though, I suppose, it's probably the cause for most of my grief, and yours too. Our problem seems to be a lack of communication more than anything else. Before we were married we could talk about nearly anything-anything that wasn't taboo for single people to talk about, of course. But those weren't the important subjects, they were more or less the preliminaries to marriage, the getting-to-know-you subjects that were really no more than preparing-to-get-to-know-you subjects. Can you understand that?"
"I-I guess so," she answered weakly.
"We didn't make love before we were married, though you know I wanted to. And by the same token, we didn't really talk. Really communicate, with each other before we were married. I imagine if most people really did get to know one another before they married, there would be fewer marriages, mistaken marriages that is, and many, many fewer divorces.
"But once we were married," he continued, watching her eyes for some sort of sign that she understood, "we began to make love, or at least the physical act of sex, no matter how unsatisfying it was for either of us. There was a definite effort-on the surface-to make love, but there was no real effort to communicate with each other. I was supposed to get to know the woman I married by inference or osmosis at best. "I tried, Cindy, I honestly tried, but whenever I brought up any of the more important subjects, you would change the subject, whether I was talking about sex, or personality or anything related to how I believe the world is. It just can't work that way. Conversation, just as love, can't be one-sided, yet you insist, time and time again, on ignoring me."
"But, Brad," she begged. "I do love you. You must believe that! You must!"
"I don't know," he said quietly. "I want to believe you, but your actions toward me say something entirely different."
"Oh, Brad! Oh, Brad, you can't think that I don't love you," she said, forcing more conviction into her words than was necessary. "I can't explain my actions. I-I don't know why you think I don't love you, though. Everything I do is for you."
"Everything?" he questioned.
"Sex! Sex! Sex!" she groaned and grabbed his arm, digging her fingernails into his firm muscular flesh. "Isn't there anything besides sex? Is that all you think about?"
"You know better than that," he said, pulling her hand away from his arm and nibbling the painful scratches. "But I'm not sure you've understood anything I've told you about our relationship. You're hysterical and in no condition to think. Perhaps you need some time to mull it over. Divorce is a harsh word, and I didn't mean to upset you like this. However, I think we need some time apart to look for an answer. I know what I want from a marriage, but I don't think you have any concept of what it should really be like. So we're going to separate for the time being and see what develops. Maybe you'll be able to work this sex problem out with an analyst or by yourself, but I'm sure that I'm no help to you when we can't even talk to each other."
"Brad, please," she whimpered.
"Stop it, now, dammit!" he said as he stood up. "I'm going to pack a few things and move to our apartment in the city. I won't be far if you need me, but I don't want you to call unless it's an emergency or an answer."
"Brad, Brad," she whispered into her pillow, afraid to watch him removing some of his clothes from their closet and packing them neatly in a suitcase. He was really going, leaving her to live in the city. It was just across the bay, but it might as well have been a thousand miles away, because she couldn't contact him until she found herself, and the way things looked for her now, that may be never.
* * *
"Brad," she whispered quietly, still staring at the ceiling. The sun streamed through the windows more fully now, warming the room with its soothing rays and making her slightly uncomfortable in her nightgown. Her husband's face seemed to be imprinted indelibly in front of her eyes, and she found it too hard to think of anything else. She would liked to have blamed her insomnia on the party that had lasted nearly all night in the house next door, but she knew that her husband, and only her husband, had kept her awake with his absence.
Watching his imaginary face, she rose to close the curtain, but realized that no one could see her since their house was far out on a jutting cliff overlooking nothing but the ocean. She could undress with no threat of a peeping-tom and take her shower in leisure, enjoying the biting columns of hot water that would cascade over her nakedness. After that, she thought, I'll go next door and give them a piece of my mind about the noise they made last night.
Pleased that she would have something to do with part of her morning-meeting the new neighbors and telling them off for having such a wild party-she slowly removed her powder blue negligee in front of the window. The glowing sunlight beamed onto her bare skin, its brightness accentuating the creamy whiteness of her full, rising breasts and the rosy hue of her silver dollar-sized areolae. Her reflection stared back at her sleek nakedness as she looked at herself critically in the glass, and she eagerly scanned the nude girl she saw there, proud that there were no flaws in her youthful beauty.
Following her gaze, her hands glided over the smooth plane of her lightly tanned belly up to the hill swell of her breasts, cupping the two succulent mounds gently. Slowly her fingers sought the two pinkish nipples and gently massaged to a rapid erection as she watched herself in the glass, transfixed by her lurid reflection and the growing titillation that quivered in her loins.
Cindy recognized the developing pleasure that rustled in the soft folds of her moistening vaginal lips, knowing that she would relinquish the control of her sexual senses willingly to the two gentle hands and their exciting fingers. This was the flaw in her mother's careful planning, the one thing she had neglected to cover, and Cindy had learned how to use it before her mother told her of the devious plans of the male sex. She had always known that it was supposedly taboo, but long before the boys her age had developed sexually, Cindy and her friends had already learned the art of masturbation.
Her mother never mentioned the art of self-stimulation, and Cindy secretly suspected her of practicing it herself. But that had no bearing on the delicious pleasures that she had learned to secrete from her hidden well of desire. Often, even after her marriage, she locked herself in a room alone and brought herself to a glorious climax, unhindered by the presence of a man and his rigid penis, his hair covered body, and his brutality. Only a woman knew the special needs of her body and her own psyche, needs that the heavy panting and savage thrusting males could never understand.
Cindy cooed softly as her hands slid from her tightened aroused breasts down her long slender waist, then lightly, ever so lightly, across her belly to the curling warmth of her blond, silken pubic mound. They were her hands slipping and searching through the soft fleecy hair, but they were moving on their own, oblivious of anything but the wetness that waited eagerly between her ruffled pink cuntal lips.
"Mmmmmm," she mewled at the salacious touch and stepped back from the open window and its exposure to the large bed behind her. Her own heavy breathing was nothing like a man's panting; it was soft and gentle like the finger that slid sensuously back and forth between her splayed ivory thighs. Again and again she moaned in ecstasy as the finger worked faster, almost desperately over the swollen bud of her clitoris. This was so nice, so wonderful, and" because of its taboos, so exciting. And as the finger wormed slowly into the widening entrance to her moistening vagina, she thought of her husband, but still felt only her own masturbating finger and its forbidden delights
* * *
An hour later, after her erotic fantasy and an extended hot shower, Cindy closed the door to her house and walked toward her new neighbors' home. She felt refreshed and invigorated by her self-abuse and soapy shower, and she pulled a long breath of the fresh salt air into her lungs, savoring its crisp fullness. Mornings like this, clean and somehow energetic made life worth bearing. The brightness and warmth lifted her spirits almost to optimism, and the thought of divorce became remote-her separation was really only a short vacation, one she would always cherish in later years as the time when she finally straightened herself out and became a real woman and a real wife.
"Come on in, it's open," a voice responded to her hesitant knock, and Cindy entered shyly, her head turning left and right to find the source of the voice. "Hi, I'll bet I know what you're here for."
"Oh," Cindy said lightly, not wanting to sound grave on such a cheerful morning.
"I'll bet you're going to complain about the party last night, aren't you? Well, I don't really blame you for objecting to the noise. But what can a person do? I mean, you can't really control anybody these days, and besides, they did have such a good time."
"I, uh, I didn't really come to complain," Cindy said uncertainly to the raven haired woman who stood so cheerfully before her. "I really came to meet you."
"Oh, yes, new neighbors and all that jazz. I'm Shirley Anderson-would you like a little morning nip to get you going?"
"Cynthia Thompson-everyone calls me Cindy," she responded, amazed at the woman's vitality. "But I don't think I'll have a drink; it's a little early for me."
"Come on now, a little Bloody Mary won't hurt you. It puts a real spring in your step," she laughed. "How about it?"
"Well, all right, but just a little vodka:" "Great! Wait right here and I'll be back in a jiffy."
Cindy watched the woman almost run toward the kitchen, her long black hair flowing behind her as she seemed to bounce across the room. There were so many bored and listless people in Cindy Thompson's world, and to see someone so fresh and eager brightened her already exceptionally good morning. She felt the need to live, a feeling that had been lost for so many weeks, and she knew that somehow, maybe even today, she would greet the sudden answer to her problems and find happiness at last.
"Here we are," Shirley smiled and handed her a gleaming wet cold glass. "I'm glad you came this morning. I was going to visit you today, but you saved me the trip. It's always so nice to meet new people, especially neighbors."
"I feel the same way," Cindy said with confidence. "I've been away for the last few weeks-in Iowa visiting relatives. I was rather surprised to learn that you had moved in here. Why, when I left, the Simpsons were still living here, and they never mentioned moving. Then when I came home, presto, new neighbors."
"You're right," Shirley said, curling up in one corner of the massive sofa. "Everything moves so fast out here, almost too fast out here. We, my husband Keith and I, decided to leave Seattle about a month ago, and he flew down to find a house. He looked for two weeks, but it was worth it. Our old furniture is still in Seattle, but we like this furniture so much that we're just going to leave the other stuff up there until it's sold and out of our hands."
Cindy watched with fascination as the older girl talked about her new home and how much she liked it. She could feel an electricity in the air as she listened, and knew instantly that Shirley was the kind of person she would like for a friend.
". . . But we remodeled some of the place already. You and your husband will have to join us for dinner and get a first class look at the house," she continued, her dark eyes darting about constantly in their energetic nervousness. "By the way, what does your husband do?"
"It's hard to say, exactly," Cindy answered, avoiding Shirley's eyes. "You see, he was left a lot of money-the family's very wealthy-and he spends most of his time in the city looking for new investments or playing the stock market-speculating, he calls it."
"Wow," Shirley said, smiling and apparently impressed. "With all that money floating around he must have plenty of spare time. I'll bet he even spends most of his time at home with his pretty young wife."
"Well, no," Cindy hesitated. Somehow she wanted to tell Shirley about her marriage-maybe she could help. "He's not living with me, uh . . ."
"Divorced?" Shirley interrupted. "That's too bad, honey, but everything always works out for the best. You'll see."
"No, no," Cindy said, forcing a smile. "We're not divorced; only separated. In fact, I think we ought to be back together sometime this month."
"Well, that's wonderful," Shirley said, her sincerity almost too thick. "Then you'll both be able to see my new house-we'll even throw a get-ting-back-together party for you. Come on, let's have another drink."
Cindy rose from her chair obediently, surprised that she had finished her Bloody Mary and amazed that she felt slightly dizzy from only one drink. It was so early in the morning, yet it might do her good to get a little drunk at such an odd hour. Feeling as good as she already did, she knew that something new, like drinking during the day, might be just the thing she needed to loosen her inhibitions and open the doors to a new outlook on life.
After an hour and two more drinks Cindy knew she was drunk, as drunk as she had ever been in her life, but she felt good and that was all that mattered. The strings of tension she had always felt had disappeared, and during their conversation she had come to regard Shirley as someone she could trust, as a friend.
"D'ya know why Brad walked out on me?" she slurred during a brief silence.
"Not really," Shirley answered, feeling the alcohol herself and enjoying its pleasantness. "I s'pose you were too much for him in the sack and he couldn't take it."
"No, no," Cindy giggled, somehow finding for the first time that her problem really was ridiculous. "It's jus' the other way around. I'm the one who's no good in bed, and he left 'cause he didn't like, as he said, 'screwin' a limp dish rag.
"Whoops, did you hear what I said? I said screwin'," Cindy laughed and turned to her chuckling friend.
"Screwin' is right," Shirley mused, her elbow propped on the table and her chin resting neatly in the palm of her hand. "Screwin' is really groovy-the grooviest thing there is, by Christ, no matter what anybody says."
"Shirley," Cindy whispered, suddenly serious and plaintive. "Do you really think so? I mean, do you really think that some women can enjoy themselves in bed with a man?"
The older girl's face contracted slightly with disbelief. "Are you serious, Cindy? You really don't enjoy sex?"
"Well, don't look at me like I was some sorta freak," she said defensively, then lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you, but I guess it really bothers me-" "Oh, honey, lots of women have the same problem, but they get over it. It just takes time and patience and the right man."
"But I know that Brad's the right man, I know it!" Cindy objected defensively.
"Sure he is," Shirley said, feeling a real sympathy for the girl, though her business sense had begun to function, thinking about all the other men she knew, any of which could be the right man for Cindy Thompson. Men were men, no matter how a girl looked at them. They were all the same and with age any man could satisfy any woman, and vice-versa. All it takes is time, she thought.
"Don't you worry about a thing," Shirley said knowingly. "It'll all work out. In fact, I'll help you, when we're sober sometime, that is. For now, though, you'd better get some rest. You'll need it for the party tonight."
"Party?" Cindy said groggily.
"Sure. Tonight you can meet my husband and some of our friends. You can relax and enjoy yourself. It'll do you a lot of good."
"I don't know if it's right," Cindy slurred uncertainly. "I mean, coming without a husband."
"Of course it's all right. Just what the doctor ordered. Come on now," she said, leading Cindy to the door. "Get yourself home and into bed for a nap, and I'll see you tonight, dressed and ready to kill."
"Huh?"
"Just an expression, Cindy. G'wan, I'll see you about nine."
Chapter Three
"Oh, damn," Cindy mumbled when she nearly tripped over a large moss-covered root that lay hidden in the darkness. It was hard enough for her to make her way in the dark without having a hangover to complicate matters, and tonight she possessed an incessant throbbing in her head that surpassed any hangover she could remember.
I'll never do that again, she thought as she walked more cautiously toward the Anderson house. Three vodkas in the morning, coupled with the terrible strain she had been under put her in bed for the entire day. It was a day lost forever, yet she was glad to have been able to sleep soundly for the first time in ages.
When she awoke with the pounding in tier head at six o'clock she thought she'd die, but a phone call to Shirley had practically cured her, except, of course, for' the unending throbbing. "Try a can of warm beer," Shirley had told her, and it worked. The queasiness was gone and so was her trembling. A few more minutes, or maybe even less, and her hangover, she hoped, would be completely cured.
Nearing the house Cindy listened to the loud music rumbling through the tweeters and woofers of Keith's stereo system and hear the banal chatter and distinct clinking of glasses associated with all cocktail parties. Shirley had mentioned Keith's stereo and his pride in building the system by himself, but she had said little else about her husband. Cindy gathered that he had made a quick fortune in lumber near Seattle, or somewhere up north, then retired early. Outside of that there was little mention of the mysterious Mr. Anderson, leaving Cindy curious about the kind of man who had married a vital energetic woman like Shirley.
Energy seems to be the mark of success, she mused as she rang the doorbell. Perhaps all that energy was wasted on work-that had been the complaint of a number of women married to successful men-she'd read it in a magazine. But if that were the case with Keith Anderson, then he wouldn't have stayed married to Shirley, so that's that!
Pleased that she had made a mental deduction completely on her own-that Keith Anderson was a vital man, interested more in his wife than anything else-she was surprised when the door suddenly swung open, flooding her with light from within the house.
"Oh, hello," a man said, slowly dragging out the long hello. Cindy could barely see him be- cause of the blinding light at his back, but in a moment her eyes adjusted and she stared into the roughly handsome face of her neighbor's husband. His features were sharp and definite, a straight nose, squarish cheekbones and deep-set dark eyes protected by jet-black eyebrows. His skin, rough and wrinkled by weather, was tanned from many hours in the sun.
"Come in, come in," he said with exaggeration. "You must be one of the new girls."
"Yes," she said quietly. "I'm Cindy Thompson from across the driveway."
"You'll have to speak up," he shouted, pointing to the room behind him. "I can't hear a word you're saying."
"I'm Cindy Thompson," she answered, self-conscious about raising her voice. "I'm the next door neighbor."
"Hey, yeah," he said holding her arm while he closed the door. "Shirley told me about you this afternoon. I'm Keith."
"I'm pleased to meet you," she said, genuinely pleased. "Did you say there were some other new friends coming?"
"I guess you could call them that," he said and turned his head toward the crowd. "Shirley, honey, over here. It's Cindy, our new neighbor."
"Hello, Cindy, sweetheart," Shirley smiled. "I'm glad to see you're feeling so much better. I see you two have met."
"Yeah," Keith interrupted. "And she's just as pretty as you said she was."
"Just remember that she's a married woman, so hand's off," she laughed at her husband, but her glance told him that it was a real warning. "Leave the girl alone until I get her conditioned! Come on, Cindy, I'll take you away from this wolf before he grabs you and pulls you into the bedroom."
What a funny thing for a wife to say, Cindy thought as she followed her through the large living room to the bar. Going through the crowd she momentarily forgot Keith and Shirley as she looked at the partiers scattered throughout the room. There were men, about ten of them, standing with their drinks held deftly in one hand, talking. But instead of talking to other men as men usually do at parties, they were talking only to women, and each man had at least three girls with him.
The contrast, however is what caught her eye. These men, with no exception were all about fifty or ever older, grey haired and extremely distinguished looking. While on the other hand the girls were young enough to be their daughters, and in some cases their grand-daughters. Not a single girl looked to be over twenty-five, and each wore an evening gown, low cut, sensuous, and in a word, spectacular.
"Here you go," Shirley said, handing Cindy a drink she did not want, but accepted. "What do you think about the people?"
"I'm not sure what I expected," Cindy said as if she were thinking aloud. "But they're not quite what I had imagined."
"You thought you'd meet nothing but old-marrieds, didn't you?" she asked, not waiting for Cindy's answer. "To tell you the truth. I can't stand a bunch of married people standing around talking about their children, or bills and rot like that. They're too boring. These are my kind of people, men, but I guess you could say the party was half married because all of the men are."
"But not the girls?" Cindy asked, not sure of her reaction.
"No, the girls are just working girls, some from the city, some from this side of the bay. I know all of them-they've been here before-and they enjoy a good night out with pleasant company. Mature men are very pleasant, and they don't bother you with the hang-ups that younger men have. No, they're much more fun."
"But, your husband," Cindy faltered. "Does he know you like these men so much. I mean . . ."
"Of course, he knows," she answered proudly. "Most of them are people he meets in San Francisco, men of action looking for action."
"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Shirley," Cindy said quickly and gulped her drink. She could see that Shirley had already had a great deal to drink, and she didn't want herself to get drunk again today, not like this morning.
"It's really simple, Cynthia, dear. These men, and women, all like to have a good time. The men, however, are married to mostly, well, old bags, and they need to get out once in a while. The girls on the other hand, are all single, but can't afford to take themselves to bars for entertainment, so they come here, knowing they'll meet nice older men and have a good time. Some of them even come out a little richer." "You mean ..."
"Now, Cindy, I don't ask the girls, so I couldn't reality tell you. Let's just say they receive favors for their attentions."
Cindy stood thinking, her glass already nearly empty as she pondered her new friend's words. These girls were all young and very attractive, much too attractive to be cheap prostitutes or mistresses. Yet they received favors-that must mean money or something valuable-so what were they?
Maybe just girls, she thought. They're single girls having a good time, and Cindy envied them a little. She'd never really been a single girl for very long, having married shortly after her twenty-second birthday. It would have been nice to meet men like that, older and mature and much more patient. Perhaps with more experience she wouldn't be faced with the difficulties that threatened her marriage now. Then again, perhaps it would have done no good at all.
"Are you passing judgment on them?" Shirley asked and gave Cindy a fresh drink.
"Oh, no," she answered quickly. "I was just thinking what it would be like to be single and meet other men at parties-sophisticated men, I mean."
"Well, what are you waiting for? There's nothing to tie you down tonight, and I doubt if anyone would ever tell."
"Oh, Shirley," she laughed while a tightness rose in her chest. "Stop kidding me, huh? I'm a married woman, no matter where my husband is. I love him more than anyone, and I wouldn't want him to even think that I'd go out with another man."
"Let's look at it from a different point of view for a moment," Shirley said, taking hold of the conversation and staring directly into the girl's eyes. "You're married, yes, but you're separated, which is about as close to a divorce as you can get. Number two, your husband is in San Francisco, and if he's as attractive as you say he is, you can bet your last pair of panties that he's with another girl tonight. Number three, you told me about your little problem this morning, not getting enough out of your sex life, right?"
Cindy nodded, not daring to disagree with her new friend, and somehow not being able to really disagree deep in the back of her mind. Shirley was right about everything so far, even about Brad probably being with another girl. But Cindy didn't want to be with anyone else. He should be with her where he belonged.
"... What it all boils down to," Shirley continued, never for a moment taking her eyes away from Cindy's face. "Is that the best way to solve all of your problems is to try another man. That way you'll find out that Bradley isn't the only man in the world, and that you can enjoy sex, really enjoy it."
"No, Shirley," she answered while she stared into the empty bottom of her third glass of liquor. "I can't do it, yet I don't want to offend you. It's just that, well, I just can't be unfaithful to Brad."
Cindy wanted to be sophisticated-a real liberal and progressive modern woman. But she was afraid her admission had made her sound too Midwestern, too corny. People are different everywhere, in all walks of life, and Cindy knew that she was an old-fashioned wife who wanted nothing more than her husband and their happiness together.
"O.K., honey, you win." Shirley was telling her. "I can understand that's how you feel, and if that's the way you are, that's just the way you are."
"Then you don't think I'm backward . . ."
"No, of course not. I just want you to have a good time, that's all," she said, then suddenly yelled. "Cyrus, come here, I've got someone for you to meet."
"Shirley, no," she whispered.
"Cyrus and Shirley, I want you two good people to be friends. But I warn you Cyrus, she's a nice girl, married to a wonderful husband, so you keep your hands off of her."
"Of course, of course," he said and smiled at his hostess. "O.K." Shirley said and started to walk off, whispering in Cindy's ear, "Don't worry about a thing, honey. He's perfectly harmless."
Cindy wanted to believe her, and decided to ignore the knowing wink that Shirley and Cyrus gave each other as the raven-haired madam joined another small group at the party. Cindy needed a friend and felt she could trust Shirley, besides, who else was available?
Cyrus Bascomb furnished Cindy with a fresh drink and stood silently beside her with one hand in his pocket and talked of his business dealings. She marveled at his name, knowing that it didn't fit him at all. He wasn't tall, but his grey hair and athletic slimness made him appear much taller than he was. He, like Keith and many other men she knew, had been aged by weather and sunlight, making him appear dignified and at the same time powerfully virile and in control of himself. He was obviously a man of his own making, full of the energy she admired in her husband and those like him, and she felt almost safe in his presence.
Her safety, however, was debatable because of the increasing quantity of vodka she had consumed while they talked. She knew she wasn't drunk, not like this morning, yet there seemed to be an unexplainable lightness in her head, giddy and frolicking through her brain. But she wouldn't lose control and make a fool of herself-a promise she prayed she could keep.
"Things are starting to liven up, eh, Cindy," he said with a smile and took her arm to lead her through the room.
The lights had dimmed considerably until everything appeared to be a shadow to her, indefinite, without form, yet real and foreboding. Her nostrils winced at the thick yellow smell of cigarettes and alcohol, and she fought a short battle with herself for balance as she followed him through the sparse crowd. It seemed strange that the men weren't the same men who were there when she first arrived more than an hour before. But the girls were the same, or most of them anyway.
"Where did all the men go," she whispered to her escort.
"Which . .. Oh, those characters. Most of them are in one of the bedrooms with their choice, or choices, for the evening."
"Tha's not very nice, Mr. Cyrus," she slurred unevenly through her veil of inebriation.
"It's Mr. Bascomb, dear, but please call me Cyrus," he chided, smiling at her imperfect speech, but watching the resilient mounds of her breasts as they strained to free themselves from the top of her bright orange summer cocktail dress. He wanted to take those breasts into his mouth and suck gently at the tiny red nipples that lay hidden and eager for a man's touch. He'd had more women than he could count in his life, and many had been like her, young, innocent and supposedly married. But those were always the best, the most fun, and Shirley's wink had assured him of that.
He was seeking a challenging sex partner for tonight, though not too challenging, and Shirley's girls were always the most sensuous and usually made to order for a man of varied sexual tastes. At two hundred dollars per girl he could still afford as many as he could handle, but he always wanted them to be just right for him. He was almost obsessed with youth, and a naked young girl, running and squealing, trying to get away from him-that was the kind of piece of tail he wanted tonight, that was the pleasure he wanted from Cindy Thompson.
"Where are we going, Mr. Cyrus?" she asked, fighting to find her self-control.
"To bed, dearest, to bed."
"Nope!" she said quickly. "I'm goin' home to my own bed, alone."
"Wrong answer, Cindy," he said with a smile. "Let's go in here."
Exhausted, but not frightened, she felt herself propelled into a bedroom where the light suddenly flashed on and she saw them on the bed.
There, completely naked, was Keith Anderson and one of the girls from the party. Cindy gasped and shook her head while the pair looked up and smiled at her, then returned to each other with renewed passion. The girl, blonde and long-legged, held her feet high in the air while Keith kneeled between her upraised thighs and gently rocked back and forth, his long thick penis gliding easily in and out of the girl's exposed vagina.
"Keith!" she whispered while visions of her best friend crying and going through the horrors of a divorce whirled through her mind. "My God! In your own house . . . with your wife just a few steps away . . . How could you?!"
"No sweat, baby," he panted, continuing his obscenely public act while he talked. "Shirley invited her just for me; she always saves one for me."
"That's crazy . . . impossible," she hissed, but as she watched them rocking back and forth- panting and whispering obscenities-his massive rigid penis sliding in and out of the girl's soft, hair-lined pussy, glistening with the hot moistures of sex-she knew it wasn't really impossible at all, especially after the way Shirley had talked earlier in the evening.
Cindy stepped backward, unable to take her eyes from the lewd scene-it was horrible, awful . . . ugly-but still her eyes would not look away. Then suddenly she bumped into something behind her and jerked her head to see Cyrus grinning while he removed his tie. His face frozen with a sexual glaze, he stared at her penetratingly, burning through her brain with his glassy eyes. His figure, almost fatherly when she met him, had suddenly become menacing as they stood near the panting adulterers, and she realized now that he was serious when he first said they were going to bed.
His hand raised toward her shoulder and the thin fabric of her dress, but too frightened to move, she stood passively until he touched the bare perspiring skin on her neck.
"No," she gasped, then again louder, "No! Stop it!"
Spurred by fear-a fear not so much of adultery and sex, as a fear of the unknown-she suddenly turned and bolted for the open door, hearing a loud tearing sound as she broke into the hallway and ran toward the living room. Her legs, unable to navigate in their wobbly drunkenness, tripped over each other, slowing her intended escape. She wanted to get out, now, before it was too late.
This house was strange, dirty and obscene, and the people in it were too different from anyone she had known before. Shirley and Keith-approving of adultery; Cyrus and his friends-old married men, wealthy and yet acting like teenagers; the girls-all of them young and voluptuous, moving from bedroom to bedroom with complete strangers-She couldn't comprehend anything other than that. This house wasn't a home; it was a house. But what kind of house?
"Whoa," Cyrus' voice commanded slowly from behind her, and she felt his hand on her bare shoulder pulling her to a halt. His sweating palm gripped her where her dress should have been, and she suddenly realized that the tearing sound she heard was the top-left half of her dress. She looked down to see her left breast fully exposed to the dim light of the living room where she now stood, and she quickly grabbed the loosely hanging material and pulled it over the taut firmness of her nakedness.
"Hey, you're really scared aren't you," Cyrus whispered when he saw tears glistening in small rivulets over her flushed cheeks. He fejt compassion for this helpless young housewife and her frightened uncertainty, but his pity would never override the growing desire that filled his prick with blood, bringing it to a pulsing stiff erection. He wanted her naked and frightened, but not so frightened that she wouldn't be a good fuck. Realizing that he must really seduce her-and not play at seduction like with the rest of Shirley's girls-he slowly enfolded the sobbing girl in his protective arms.
"There, there," he whispered quietly. "No need to cry now. Nobody's going to hurt you. It's all right, everything's all right."
"Please don't hurt me," she whimpered against his chest, her voice broken and constricted. "I'm not the kind of girl you think I am, really I'm not. I'm married and I live next door . . . I-I didn't know what kind of party this was. I didn't know everyone was going to be . . . doing it. I swear I didn't."
"Shhhhh, calm down," he whispered, slowly nodding his head as the sensuous scent of her perfume bristled in his nostrils. "Where's your husband? You should have come with him."
"Ooooohhh," she sobbed as if in pain. "I don't know where he is-I mean, we're separated, and he's in the city. I don't know where he is, but I want him with me."
She had never felt so lost and terrified of being alone in her whole life. She wanted Brad to take her home and cuddle her in bed, to make the fear and her tears go away. But her husband wasn't with her; only Cyrus, a complete stranger, and he had tried to tear her dress away. It was all so confusing, everything had become unreal and blurred-Cyrus had torn her dress, but he wasn't trying to force her now, she thought. He was holding her gently in his arms, protecting her from the crazed, obscene people in this house. Maybe she could trust him, maybe he would take her home and stand guard outside her door like a father would have done. Someone had to help her, someone had to guide her away from this awful place.
"Cyrus," she whimpered, pulling her head away from his chest and looking tearfully into his eyes. "Will you take me away from here, please."
"Of course," he answered quickly and started to lead her to the door. He'd take her home all right, but only because it would mean he would have complete privacy and not be hindered by any unnecessary interruptions. He knew now he could seduce her without words, though it would be difficult. He'd get into her pants and plant his hot cock between those slim white legs if it was the last thing he did. She'd beg him to fuck her, she'd scream for more until they'd fall asleep from exhaustion. Cyrus Bascomb was certain that his fate for the evening was secure.
"Hey Cyrus!" one of his cronies yelled from across the semi-darkness of the room. "Where you going with that tender little pussy?"
"Yeah, old man," laughed another. "What are you gonna do to her that you won't let us see? Gonna fuck her standing on your head?"
The horrible obscenities bounced through the corridors of Cindy's mind as she stumbled out the door, leaning on Cyrus for support. Those men were so awful, and their filthy mouths made them ugly to her instead of distinguished and mature as she had thought before. She was glad, so glad, to be out of that awful house.
Chapter Four
"Oh God," Cindy sobbed in the darkness trying to void her mind of the horrid words of those men in the house and the awful picture of Keith Anderson and that girl-she couldn't have been more than twenty years old. How could any girl let herself be degraded like that? She looked like she was really enjoying his awful . . . thing . . . his prick. Oh God! "Oh, God, what's happening to me, to everyone? Why is the world so evil?"
Convulsing with great racking sobs of terror and disbelief she leaned against a large oak, her foot resting on the same root she had tripped over earlier. Cyrus was standing beside her, slightly unsure of himself and the next move he should make to get into her hot little pants. Christ, he had to fuck her, and his hand in his pocket, gently massaging his half-erect cock to fullness, told him that its need for her warm, moist pussy could wait no longer.
"Come on now," he whispered as he moved closer to her trembling form in the darkness. "There's no need to cry any more."
Stifling her sobs, Cindy choked back her tears and looked thankfully up at his glistening eyes. He was close to her, inches from her moist tender lips, and his words breathed softly from his mouth, comforting her anguish and reassuring her that he was only there to help her.
A gleaming tear nestled in the corner of her eye, then slowly rolled over the lid and along the gentle slope of her cheeks. Motionless, she watched him raise his hand and felt him wipe the falling tear from the corner of her mouth. Her lips were parted and still trembling, their rich flavor beckoning him to cover her mouth with his own. It wasn't a matter of right or wrong. It was just that she felt the hungry need to be comforted. It couldn't hurt . . .
And it didn't hurt. She could taste the pine scented gin on his tongue as his lips enfolded over hers and his tongue slithered easily into her mouth, rubbing, searching ever so gently in the moisture for the softness of her own tongue. It was exciting! It felt nice, so wonderful to be kissed romantically and tenderly by a mature understanding man, who could be so gentle. His body felt good next to hers, pressing its sinewy strength against the pliant supple flesh of her own torso.
Her arms rose involuntarily to his neck and she pulled him closer, tighter against her slender youthful body. She could feel his muscles contracting and relaxing beneath his clothing, and her dress felt more like a barrier than fashionable cocktail gown. Torn at the top, her garment had fallen again almost to the waist like a blossoming rose unfolding the rich quivering firmness of her left breast and half-hiding the secret treasures of the other soft, trembling globe.
His lips crushed and sucked at her mouth more urgently and she felt his hand sliding over her bare back. Polluted by alcohol and strained to the breaking point, her mind couldn't reject the lascivious tinglings that coursed through her quivering loins. It felt so wonderful, so romantic-as if she were in the movies on a south sea island-kissing, slipping her tongue around his, feeling his strength surround her; every delicious sensation and muddled thought worked to blacken the almost obscure horrors of her memory. Instinctively she responded to his subtle caresses and pressed her wanting body to him with every fiber of her strength.
In the moonlight with a total stranger she undulated her hips forward, then to the side, then back again. She was responding like a woman at last and . . .
No! she thought suddenly. Impossible! But even the vodka couldn't erase it, not from reality, not ever. There, thick and rigid, his pulsing cock pressed eagerly against her pelvis, against the hidden curls of her pubic mound, and she realized tearfully that there was no escape from her fears. He had an erection-a hard-on the girls at school called it-and it was pointed at her with the threat of sexual ecstasy, an ecstasy she couldn't accept.
"Mmm, no, no," she whispered frantically and tried to push herself away from his dangerous weapon and the imagined horrors that it held. She couldn't let him do it to her . . . touch her-she wouldn't let any man but her husband slide into the warm dampness between her trembling thighs and expose her for what she was, a fraud. A sexual fraud, afraid of the passion that had lain dormant in the comforting depths of her being, nothing more, only a fraud.
"Cindy, what's come over you?" he quizzed as she tried to break away from his biting grip on her wrists and the horrible truth that haunted her. "Settle down, goddamn it, and tell me what's wrong."
"No, no," she whimpered, frightened by his sudden agitation but more afraid that she wouldn't be able to resist the imagined dangers of his massive phallus. "I've got to go now. Late, gotta go home. Please, let me go!"
Suddenly she broke free and began running in the darkness. Aimless and afraid she raced in one direction, then another, hearing his footsteps close behind her. Practically in circles she ran searching for her house, but had lost her way and was nearly panic-stricken when she spied the door to the glassed-in hot house.
A moment later she was inside and leaning against the door, holding it shut with her weight. Her breath came in quick gasps rasping her throat, then finally subsiding until her breathing was regular and even. For a moment she could hear only the sound of her own pounding heart in the stillness, but as she listened for the sound of Cyrus' heavy footsteps she heard another sound in the hothouse.
It was a wet sound, almost a sucking sound, coming from across the darkness behind a row of plants. Cindy's heart fluttered as she held her breath in silence. She knew she couldn't retreat to the outside because of Cyrus, and yet her common sense told her not to investigate the strange noises. Which was worse, Cyrus threatening her outside, or the unknown sounds in the hothouse? Before she could make up her mind her feet decided for her, and she unconsciously tip-toed toward the noises, wondering if they were human, or animal, or perhaps just a leaking hose in the dirt.
Louder now, closer and more distinct-the sounds beckoned her nearer. Her eyes had adjusted to the half-light that filtered through the stained windows from the house and with one hand resting on a bench she leaned forward and looked toward the floor.
Oh God! she cried silently and bit her lip to keep from screaming. A man and a woman, almost a girl, were wrestling on a blanket stark naked and oblivious to Cindy's presence. From eight feet away she stared at them as they tore at each other with sexual abandon, but it wasn't normal. It wasn't like she and Brad in bed at all.
Cindy saw the girl's head rolling back and forth, her face contorted with the far away stare of erotic obsession, while the man knelt between her legs, his tongue darting and obscenely licked her naked flesh. He teased her soft pinkish nipples to an excited tautness, then sucked voraciously at her heaving breasts as she cooed to his delicious tantalizing mouth.
Watching them in the darkness Cindy could not move a muscle. She was frozen where she stood, bending over the bench with her weight resting completely on her arms. The front of her dress lay half open, exposing her loosely hanging breast as it hardened quickly at the lurid sight of the two naked people moaning on the floor. She had never seen anything like it, though she had heard about stag movies, and voyeurs-still, watching someone else do it . . . watching them make love, was wrong and dirty, but she couldn't turn away.
Hypnotized by the man's salacious tongue and the girl's joyful response, she almost screamed when she felt a hand grasp her waist and another cover her mouth. She cocked her neck and stared at Cyrus behind her, but he only released her mouth and gazed at the pair on the floor, ignoring her except for a quick smile and a lewd wink. God how awful; here she was with a strange man, both of them drunk, both of them married to someone else, yet they were watching a totally different couple making love on the floor of a gardener's hothouse. It was terrible, really it was, but she couldn't leave now-something was holding her back.
Even in the dim light she could see the girl's naked beauty, fresh and unmarked by anything but her immediate passion. The man had already aroused her to an unreal reverie of passion and the girl's mouth was open as her head rolled back and forth absently, her eyes staring inward at the delightful sexual electricity that coursed through her quivering, excited, flesh. The man was moving, running his tongue over the gentle swell of her belly until he raised his head, holding it a finger-length away from the dark silken hairs that blanketed her succulent pubic mound. His hands eased over the perspiring softness of her tummy until his thumbs slithered through the downy pubic fur to the ruffled pink lips of her vagina. Cindy licked her drying lips with the moist tip of her tongue and suddenly shuddered when she saw him part the rippling pink cuntal lips and expose the tender wetness of her willing vagina. Through the moisture, the curling damp hair and the bright quivering cuntal lips, Cindy could see the erected tip of the girl's clitoris glistening with apprehension.
The man's head lowered slowly and his tongue snaked out of his mouth, darting back and forth until it flicked lightly over the trembling clitoris that nestled in the raw wetness of the girl's open pink slit. Her body jumped almost spastically at the sensational shocks of erotic electricity that pierced their way through her body, and she automatically lifted her long smoothly tapered legs and clamped her ivory thighs around the man's head. Slowly she began to roll her hips back and forth, then up and down in an obscene rhythm of animal lust bent on rubbing the salacious tongue over her lust-hungering cunt until she could stand it no longer. Her tightly clenched teeth could not suppress the agonizingly delightful mewls of pleasure that rumbled from her throat, making her sound even more sensuous and desirable with each undulating roll of her writhing hips.
Hypnotized, Cindy stared at the girl twisting and undulating to the obscene sucking between her legs. Never! Never before had she imagined that such terrible people existed, people who would put their mouths down there ... on a girl's vagina. Yet, she was here, watching and unable to turn away and run. It was so horrid, but at the same time mystifying that the girl was not only allowing him to suck her, but was enjoying it as well. There was something in the girl's lost glassy stare that reminded Cindy of herself, masturbating and writhing at her own exciting touch. It was the same pleasure she always felt, but this girl was aroused by a man and not her own fingers. Perhaps all women were really alike; perhaps they really did like sex . . .
Cindy's hips had involuntarily picked up the girl's lewd rhythm and she rolled them slowly back and forth. Her alcoholic mind imagined that she was down there experimenting with the man's tormenting sucking, fighting the agonizing liquid pleasures that his tongue inspired in the moistness of her hair-lined pussy. Cyrus, forgotten behind her, had moved his hands from her waist around to her jiggling breasts and was gently rotating them in his palms, squeezing and pulling at her firm, quivering nipples until their tightness became almost painful. Her slowly rotating hips rubbed against his trousered loins, but she couldn't pull away. Instead, she half-consciously urged him to press more tightly against her swaying buttocks and push the thick pulsating head of his massive cock into the crevice between her soft quivering cheeks. Her dress bunched up tightly and teased her tight puckering anus with a perverted shiver of joy that shrieked without warning through her sexually stimulated body.
For the first time in her life she was feeling the hidden pleasures of raw, animal sex swelling up from the depths of her undiscovered being- and they were being aroused by a man who wasn't even her husband. She had relinquished her right to self-control when she first started watching the couple of the floor, and she couldn't find any resistance in body when she felt Cyrus' hand move from her breasts and quickly unzip the back of her dress right down to the top of her swaying white buttocks.
She pushed back against his hand as he slid it carefully inside her dress and quickly pushed the garment to the floor. Rolling her full-rounded bottom with the fascinating movements of the girl on the floor, she stared transfixed at the man's lips as he lifted them from between her wide splayed thighs and onto her belly. Nipping, biting, licking, the lips and tongue worked slowly up the girl's frantically jerking body, making her squeal with a frustrated wanting every time he flicked his tongue at the exposed tips of her tight reddened nipples. Cindy's eyes had suddenly captured a clear view of long rigid prick jutting out from his crotch, but for the first time in her life, neither the sight of an erect penis nor the thought of it made her cringe. Instead she was fascinated by its massive thickness and the pulsating rubbery tip, and she choked back a moan of unexpected pleasure when she saw it pause over the girl's soft, fleece-covered pubic mound. For a moment the long reddened shaft hung precariously over the girl's unprotected pussy, then moved forward dragging his two swollen testicles over belly. Sliding easily over her glistening wet torso, he stopped suddenly and lowered himself until he sat on the girl's firm upraised breasts, crushing them flat with the heavy cheeks of his buttocks. Standing straight out, almost waving from his groin, his thick throbbing penis pointed directly at her open trembling lips. He leaned back slightly and suddenly shoved the middle finger of one hand into the girl's defenseless vagina, watching her with glee as she jerked and bucked against the finger worming around in her smooth clasping channel. She loved it, though; every second, every tormenting sensation that rippled through her helplessly pinioned body, aware that she was a sexual slave to this man. She had surrendered happily, knowing that the joys she would feel would last forever.
Cindy watched her squirming under his knees, playing the exciting game of captor and captive. She was completely at his mercy and loving it with masochistic joy. A lewd grin spread across his face as he reached for his threatening penis and began slowly rubbing the purplish head in small circles around the girl's lips. Then, suddenly, her tongue darted out at the teasing hardened tip and lapped up the tiny droplet of sperm hanging precariously from the small slit. A silken web of white hung from between her lips and the throbbing head of the huge phallus, and she strained upwards, her face contorted with pain in an effort to swallow the rest of the sticky string into her mouth. But the man pulled his long hard cock just out of reach, and she grunted and strained to reach the delicious liquid only to hear him laugh. She wanted that cock and its juices in her mouth and struggled to get to it while Cindy fought valiantly alongside her only a few feet away.
Cindy gasped with each of the girl's choking breaths as she struggled for possession of the teasing penis. Aching to know the glorious pleasures that drove the other girl to madness, her eager muscles wantonly accepted the tortuous fondling of Cyrus' hands on her perspiring nakedness. Every fiber in her body shivered as one hand slid away from her breasts to trace a sensuous, exciting trail across her flat yielding belly and glide easily under the tight elastic of her nylon panties, teasing the soft curling pubic hair that covered her mound of Venus with a silken blonde triangle. Through the moist hair, then pausing for a moment, the finger raised slightly and slipped into the damp wetness of her vaginal slit, scraping the tiny red bud of her clitoris with a shock that brought it suddenly swelling to life. Massive and throbbing, his thick perns nestled in the crevice between the undulating cheeks of her ivory bottom, its smoldering fires seeming to burn a tunnel between her quivering thighs. Another phallus, his searching finger, suddenly slipped into the hot wetness of her deep, wanting vagina forcing a squeak of ecstasy to purge itself from her constricted throat.
Cyrus started to rock gently forward, then back again, and Cindy responded eagerly, rolling her upraised buttocks in rhythm to the girl on the floor while Cyrus' finger fucked deliciously in and out of her lust-incited cunt.
Then a choking gurgling sound came from the floor and she looked to see a horrid sadistic grin on the man's face. He had grabbed the girl's long black hair and viciously pulled her up while he rammed the thick turgid head of his prick deep into her open gasping mouth. Cindy gasped aloud, afraid that the helpless girl would choke on the huge thickness. Instead, however, she suddenly began sucking voraciously at the long hardened pole as if it was the one thing in the world she lived for.
The man raised himself to his knees, pulling her head higher, and with his other hand skewering her open clasping cunt, he began to rock back and forth, brutally buffeting her body while she sucked his long aching cock. Cindy couldn't believe what she saw, but she couldn't stop looking either. The girl sucked and licked at the huge instrument trying to get all of it into her expanding mouth. She was sucking on the in-stroke and blowing on the outstroke and her eyes, blurred with animal passion, made the obscene spectacle even more macabre. Cindy had never imagined that anything like this was possible, though she was seeing it herself and moaning aloud at the lustful girl's sucking and Cyrus' tormenting fingers pummeling her own naked loins.
Cyrus had watched with lust-incited fascination until the buffeting cock slid in and out of the helpless girl's voracious mouth, and he could hold back no longer. Throbbing with pent-up passion his jerking cock slid from its nest between Cindy's thighs and he leaned forward, slurring into her ear quietly, "Bend forward some more and I'll fuck you now-standing up from behind."
"Mm, no," she grunted through her tightly clenched teeth. "I can't do it, I just can't."
"We're wasting time, dammit. You can watch them while I fuck you, and you'll get even more of a kick out of it," he told her and saw her visibly shudder at his obscene words. She was weak from liquor, from a mental strain, and from watching the girl on the floor suck the other man's cock-Christ, she's going to be a pushover, he thought and pushed her half limp body further until she rested on her elbows in abject surrender.
Swaying gently with a more subtle rhythm, her buttocks rolled lightly back and forth, the two round cheeks trembling sensuously with each motion, and she felt his hands quickly take hold of the tight elastic and pull her flimsy bikini panties down over her long slender legs to the floor. The humid heavy air in the hothouse washed over her openly exposed buttocks and she wanted to cry with shame. She was offering her tender young bottom to him as a gift, an obscene shameful gift that she would never forget, but she couldn't stop herself, she just couldn't. Brad was her husband, but he had gone, and now a strange, unknown man was her lover, if just for tonight. It was wrong, all of it, everything she was doing, but she couldn't help the excitement that shuddered through her naked, helpless body and in spite of her fear and shame she surrendered like a whore to his depraved will. It's no use, she thought blindly and heard him drop to his knees behind her, then felt the first touch of a man's tongue on her backside as he eagerly licked the moist crevice between her jiggling buttocks, stopping for a second to flick at the tiny elastic ring of her anus.
"Aaa-aaahhhh," she moaned aloud as the titillating tongue licked rapidly between the cheeks of her ass sending waves of blistering electricity through her lust-maddened body. She snuggled her upraised buttocks backwards and involuntarily began screwing tiny circles around the torturing tip of his wet, red tongue, devouring the exciting lascivious rape of her virginal backside. Flashes of hot and cold shivered through every nerve in her young naked body as she reveled in the new exciting sensations. It was a terrible, evil thing to think about, but when it was happening, really happening, she could conceive no other feeling in the world; only the rasping wet circling tongue that lashed back and forth along the smooth, white crevice of her buttocks. Now she knew what other women had always known, the pleasure, the inexplicable joys of sex, and mouths and sucking-all the things she had never dared explore before were now becoming real and meaningful to her.
Then suddenly he stopped licking and a gush of frustrated relief passed through her lips. She sensed him rising behind her, his tongue sliding along her spine, barely touching her skin until he lapped gently at the tiny hairs growing on the back of her neck.
Now he stood at his full height behind her and slowly nudged the throbbing purplish head of his jerking penis between her thighs and up between the hair-covered lips of her defenseless vagina.
No, no, she screamed silently. He's so big, much too big. He'll kill me please, God, make him stop! Make him stop!
Spurred by her overwhelming fear, her buttocks clenched together and she drew forward in a futile effort to escape the impending entrance of the threatening rigid cock. But there was nowhere for her to go, with the sucking couple in front of her and the massive penis behind her. She was trapped by her own weaknesses and thoughtlessness, completely at the mercy of a strange man she barely knew.
Oh God, he was really going to put it in her . . . he was going to skewer her on that huge rod and there was nothing she could do about it!
His hands were digging into her soft, wide-spread thighs like a painful tearing vice, clamping her in position for his final lunge.
"Now," he gasped through his halting pants. "You put it in."
"Please," she begged through her tears. "Don't make me, please, I can't. You'll split me open, I know you will. Please don't make me do it!"
"Now, goddamn it!" he growled and tightened his deathlike grip on her yielding upper thighs.
"Uuugghhh," she groaned at the terrible digging pain that tore at her thighs. What else could she do? There was no hope, and in order to stop the pain she quickly reached between her splayed thighs and folded her slender fingers over the thick turgid flesh of his jerking penis. No, no, she told herself, feeling its enormity. It's too big! Brad wasn't nearly as big as this and he always hurt her. This man-he'll split me open!
Her hesitation brought another biting pain from his scourging fingers and a squeal from her panting lips and unwillingly she pulled the purplish head forward until it nosed against the terrified quivering entrance to her vagina. She wanted to cry out and run, but could only moan and bite her lip as she felt the rubbery tip nudge forward against the moist open lips and begin to part their ruffled pinkness with its massive girth. Slowly, stretching her most precious possession, the probing phallus forced its way into the tight restricting channel until the entire head rested just inside the warm, damp hole. Then, knowing for sure that she would die any moment, she felt the whole length of the pole suddenly thrust forward into her elastic passage with one powerful burst of power and clenching buttocks, grinding its way into her to the hilt.
"Aarrgghhhh!" she wailed aloud, not caring about the other people in the hothouse. Her whole belly was on fire! This must be the moment she knew she would die. Cindy fought to pull herself away from the pummeling rod, but there was no escape. She was impaled on the end of his throbbing cock and an eternity was passing before her eyes as she sought to put out the cruel fires that burned through her tortured vaginal passage. She thought she had been split wide open and would pass out from the pain at any moment, knowing that the tortuous spasms rippling through her stretching cuntal walls had to be the first warnings of impending doom.
Rolling her head in pain, she opened her eyes to see the other girl on the floor still sucking the long stiff penis that sawed in and out of her mouth. She was sucking the huge instrument as if there were no tomorrow, clasping her lips tightly around its thickness and holding the jerking base tightly with her hands. Above her the man was laughing a horrid obscene giggle while he fucked the girl's mouth with his cock, watching her suck and lick and seem to beg for more in her lust-crazed depravity. Cindy watched the girl pull both hands free and grasp his buttocks, one cheek in each hand, and jerk them frantically toward her, shoving the jerking prick even further into her gaping mouth. There were dripping rivers of liquid flowing from her lips and over her chin, and the whole horrid scene was a mass of perversion and depravity. But there was a joyful glaze coloring the girl's eyes as she sought to fill her mouth harder with the huge glistening prick.
Cindy knew the girl really liked it, really enjoyed being fucked in the mouth, and she suddenly realized that the pain had left her impaled vagina. Instead there was the rhythmic rocking back and forth as Cyrus slowly increased his stroke, plunging his long thick cock deeper and deeper into the smoothing walls of her moistening pussy. Cindy was feeling the electrifying ripples of passion again, this time calling from deep in her soft, suddenly clenching pussy for release as its desire grew stronger. Each thrust was stretching the smooth clasping walls a little wider and she sensed an honest masochism overcoming her. She was being screwed by a man she didn't know, while they both watched another girl suck a long sleek cock, and it no longer seemed shameful, nor did the continuous obscene thrusting from behind her hurt any more. Instead there were only the beginnings of the pleasures that she had always denied herself, but would deny no more! And with a soft masochistic grimace she slowly began to roll her full sensuous hips in rhythm with the strong hard cock fucking her from behind.
"Mmmmmmmm," she groaned involuntarily, but not displeased that she had made a sound. It was the first active thing she had ever done during intercourse, and it excited her even further.
Standing behind her, the once-distinguished looking Cyrus was contorted with lust and pain as he fucked into her tight, hair-lined pussy again and again, lunging with all his strength. He was holding her hips captive and fucking her as her master-and that was his greatest pleasure from sex, power. He had power over this helpless girl, a power that had made her want him to fuck her now. He could do whatever he wished and she would submit to his demands without question. God, yes, he was a man and he loved every second of it, he congratulated himself silently, feeling a new flood of lubricating juices flow into her ravaged cunt.
His fingers tore mercilessly into her thighs and he made her wince again with pain, proud of his virility, proud of his conquest, and especially proud of his total mastery over her mind and body.
He easily pulled at the tender jiggling moons of her swaying buttocks and spread them, watching the ruffled pink lips of her cuntal lips clasping and sucking at his cock and he sunk it in and out of her totally defenseless pussy. Suddenly he pushed himself forward, balancing on the tips of his toes and plunged the final engorged inch into her wide-stretched hole, feeling the jelly-like fleshy resistance deep inside spread an easy path for the fiery throbbing head of his prick and hearing a final submissive gasp of pain puff from her lips. He knew that she'd never been fucked like this before, and probably hadn't been fucked very much at all, making her almost a virgin according to his standards. She was nearly new flesh and he grinned idiotically then rolled his buttocks in wide arcs, forcing the head of his sunken cock to burn circles in the furthest depths of her clasping, hair-covered cunt. Every moist inch of that channel was smooth and soft, and tight and eager for his circling cock, enveloping it like a warm wet glove and massaging its veined hardness with tingling electrifying strokes.
Unaware of any more pain, Cindy mewled again and again at the obscene fucking of her ravished vagina and concentrated only on the erupting passion that coursed through her veins. She spread her long thighs wider and lowered her resilient buttocks so that she was almost half-kneeling, forcing Cyrus to lower himself, bending at the knees and following her erotically lewd movements in an effort to keep up with her. She cooed at the bushy clump of dark hair that surrounded the base of his jerking cock, feeling it whisk over the soft inner folds of her engorged cuntal lips and tickle the hardly touched smoothness of her jiggling buttocks. She dropped from her elbows and crushed her large succulent breasts against the bench and began a lusty shaking of her upper body, rotating her breasts in small circles and pinching her already taut nipples to a greater hardness. Mewling and moaning at every delightful stimulation, she cooed even louder as she felt the rubber head of his thick cock probing the deep untouched frontiers of her vagina where her husband had never touched before.
She was no longer a mousy little housewife, afraid of humiliation or criticism, that was the furthest thing from her mind. She was, instead, a woman, healthy and enjoying sex, enjoying the magnificent penis that drove in and out of her vagina with growing ease, and nothing else mattered. She liked the pleasure, the lust that had incited her to an earthly heaven-it was passion, desired for its own end, passion alone, and that was all she cared about. The girl on the mat was still sucking the man's jerking cock with the same intense look of insane lust glazed over her face. Cindy was aware of the long driving shaft and its wonderful, maddening excitement and knew now what the girl felt, knowing too, that she might even suck some man's prick some day, and it didn't have to belong to Brad.
Vaguely she watched him begin to jerk convulsively, his balls slapping against her chin and Cindy knew he was cumming in her mouth. My God] she wondered silently I wonder what it's like, having your mouth filled with all that warm, pungent sperm.
Hypnotized she watched as the man yanked his wildly spewing rod of flesh from the girl's desperately sucking lips, holding it just out of her reach and spurting his hot jerking cum into her eager, hungry mouth. The white juices spewed into the girls open lips almost faster than she could swallow, but she gulped for every drop as he kept cumming, filling her throat with juices and spraying all over her face. Cindy was horrified by his terrible degradation of the girl, knowing that she must have given him more pleasure than he deserved, but realizing, too, that the girl was still swallowing the cum and licking it from her own face, pleased with her own self-humiliation.
A last few drops fell from the deflating penis and the girl took the limp organ quickly into her mouth and began lapping the last stickiness away, while Cindy watched for a moment, then felt Cyrus pulling her body away from the bench and the lust-inciting girl sucking the man's cock. Instead of withdrawing his thick shaft from her flesh filled vagina, he left her impaled and forced her to waddle across the room to a patio lounging chair. He joggled along behind her, careful not to release his grip on her hips and slip out of her cunt.
"Get on," he commanded at the edge of the long reclining chair, but she wasn't sure it would work-not without losing the full thickness that impaled her pussy from behind. "Come on, come on," he demanded again.
She had to do whatever he told her-or she'd lose the wonderful feeling in her cunt-and so she lifted herself onto the chaise-lounge, crawling carefully forward while he shuffled up behind her on his knees.
Then, just as she was almost set, she suddenly lost her balance and fell forward, hearing his penis slip from its glove with a loud sucking sound. A cool rush of air covered her wet pubic mound and she breathed a sigh of relief at the wonderful soothing coldness, but felt incomplete without the huge phallus buried between her sweating thighs. Now she realized how good his prick really did feel, and wanted him to shove it quickly back into the wildly wanting confines of her clasping pussy.
"Ooooh," she gasped as he flung her onto her back, cupped both moons of her quivering white buttocks in his hands and lifted her hair-covered pussy off the chaise-lounge toward the straining tip of his jerking red cock. She moaned and wiggled in ecstasy as she felt the throbbing tip sliding evenly and smoothly into her aching channel, filling it once more with the hard hot flesh that had taken her to such lust-filled heights only moments before. She raised her legs and locked her trembling thighs around his hips, imprisoning his huge instrument deep in her belly, never wanting to let go. As he thrust forward and withdrew, then thrust the burning poker forward once more, she began to clench the smooth ruffling walls of her vaginal passage open and closed like a wet burning fist, massaging his cock like a living vibrator. She was in total surrender to sexual passion, to his ecstatic moaning, to the electric shock of lust and light that flashed through every fiber of her being. Her head rolled back and forth in a silent reverie, sucking all the passion and exciting sensation she could from this wicked, adulterous fucking.
She was alone in a world of sex and the moment, leaving her husband, her mother, all of her old friends behind forever as she felt his balls slapping rhythmically against her bucking buttocks and the earth shaking tremors of lust that raced through her naked loins.
"Yes, Oh God, yesss! Fuck me harder you bastard! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!" she howled uncontrollably as she jerked and bucked spastically feeling the first throes of orgasm building deep in the straining muscles of her belly. Her frenzied mind and body were wild and lashing like the untamed sea as she begged and begged for more pleasure, more passion and the final unknowable moment of orgasm.
Around her she could hear the patting of bare feet on the dirt floor and the whispered murmuring of voices that sounded like a colony of bees. Everything was blurred, blotted out from her senses except the irrevocable mountain of passion that was about to erupt.
"Groovy, baby," a voice came from the darkness.
"Fuck 'er Cyrus, fuck her!" another encouraged, but Cindy heard no more, nothing but the tremendous roar of a distant ocean as her whole body rose in an erupting crescendo of light and fire, blistering every straining nerve in her body with the jerking whip of her first climax.
"Aaarrgghhhhhh, I'm cumming, I'm cummmmiinggg!" she cried for the first time in her life and filled the air with her screaming and the honey smell of sex as she came again and again, vaguely aware that at the same time she was being filled with the white flowing sperm from Cyrus' long spewing cock, spurting its long awaited release into the clamping confines of her spastically twitching cunt!
Minutes later when her climax was over she vaguely felt the need arising again inside her but there seemed to be nothing for her but the blackness of unconsciousness and she finally gave way to endless dreams of erotica. Her humiliation had disappeared for now, and she slept peacefully, unaware of the torment that would confront her when she awoke and finally had managed to stagger half-consciously home in the early dimness of the morning dawn.
Chapter Five
Dark foreboding clouds of impending rain hung heavily over San Francisco Bay, thwarting would-be Sunday sailors from their day's pleasures. Accompanying the clouds were gusts of wind, thrashing furious white waves onto the rugged shoreline and wisping icy sprays of salt water against the windows of bayside homes. It was exactly the kind of morning Cindy Thompson had expected.
Lying in her half-empty double bed she could see the chilling mist draped over a nearby hillside and knew what that mountain must feel like on a day like this. She too was chilled, but by a blanket of foggy images half-remembered from the night before. Through her bludgeoning headache she could perceive a face, a girl's face, contorted and taut, its mouth wrapped around a thick pole of flesh . . . she could almost feel imaginary hands, male and rough, pinching and squeezing her breasts brutally . . . she could hear her own deep lusty voice crying for more and more . . . what?
The question, however was superfluous; she knew exactly what she had cried out for in the hot darkness of the Anderson's hothouse. And she could find no excuses for her horrible behavior, nothing that would ease her burden of guilt.
Sex! It had always been a word to her, a notion of physical contact that she had always been able to endure before last night. Now, propped against her pillow in the overcast light of a cloudy morning, Cynthia Thompson thought tearfully about the perverted act of illicit intercourse that rankled her shallow morality. She wanted to blame her shameful adultery on liquor, on Brad's unnecessary absence, on anything that would leave her faultless, but she knew it was no use. She was a young married woman-denying her husband the wonderful pleasures of sexual love-who had allowed herself to be sexually abused by a stranger, while she, depraved and totally uninhibited, had watched another young woman perform fellatio on another man she had never seen before. There was no excuse for her shameful behavior.
The blurred naked images passed before her mind in a confused vortex of unrelated events compelling her to recognize her own frightening weakness: she was a woman like any other, a slave to her emotions and capable of falling into her own self-made pit of loneliness. It was a terrible feeling for Cindy, knowing that she possessed a human frailty. According to her mother, she and those like her were ladies, perfect and unblemished by sin or emotional weakness. Now, however, she could no longer claim to be the kind of lady her mother had described so often. After last night she was painfully aware of the overwhelming powers of her body's sexual needs, and nothing could ever blot out those lewd sensations nor the awful memories haunting her mind.
But there was one redeeming factor that whispered its meaning through her taunting jeers of self-guilt: she had learned the one thing that Brad had left her for; the wonderful excitement of sexual intercourse.
Lifting herself unsteadily out of bed she slipped on a light housecoat and analyzed her feelings, rationalizing her almost inexcusable actions in the hothouse. It was true, that she had cried out to-she couldn't even remember his name-for more . . . but not just for more, she thought. She had screamed those awful words at him. "Fuck me!" But in the light of morning the words didn't seem quite as terrible as she had imagined they would. No, in fact, the words actually symbolized a change in her life, and it seemed to be a change for the better. By repeating a simple four-letter word over and over in the darkness she had unbuckled her inhibitions and released their grip on her uncertain fears of sex.
Deep in thought she stroked her long cascade of blonde hair, studying the reflection in the mirror and pleased with the mechanics of her mind. Now, she told her reflection, if my inhibitions are gone, I'll be able to call Brad and tell him I'm all right, that I've changed.
Then suddenly without warning, a doubt flashed through her brain. He would want to know what had caused the change? And Cindy trembled at the thought of telling him the truth.
It would be much easier for her to say that she was raped . . . no, he wouldn't believe that. Besides, she didn't want the man in the hothouse to get into trouble, after all, it was he who had freed her from her tortuous purity, and she really had to be thankful, no matter how ashamed she was. Perhaps, then, she could tell Brad that she had just drunk too much liquor and didn't know what she was doing . . . but that would hurt him too deeply. What could she tell him?
Cindy knew from reading many, many articles in men's and women's magazines, that a great number of women had discovered their sexual identities through men other than their husbands, and then had gone back to their spouses with a clear conscience and renewed marital happiness. Brad certainly was worldly enough to accept that, especially if she told him that she had been so terribly lonely for him, and wouldn't have done it with that man if it hadn't been for all that liquor. Sure, she thought, I could tell him that I only did it for us, and he'd understand, He'd have to understand; he's too intelligent not to.
Brad was the one man in her life whom she loved, and nothing could ever change that, not even her unforeseeable fall into sexual infidelity. They loved each other, and that was all that mattered. He never had to know that she had cried that awful "Fuck Me!", nor did he have to know that she had been such a willing slave to her own lust. One misstep in their marriage wasn't cause enough for them to break up, in fact her slip into depravity the night before was the one thing that would cement their marriage forever. She was sure of it, more sure than she had ever been about anything.
"A smile like that belongs only to a satisfied woman," a familiar voice sneered from behind her, snapping her from her thoughts as she whirled around to see Keith Anderson standing framed in her bedroom doorway. He was dressed in a sweatshirt and tennis shorts, with no shoes on and was laughing at her surprise.
"W-what are you doing here?" she stuttered, fumbling with the perfume she had spilled and avoiding his eyes. "How did you get in here, anyway? You don't belong in my house, or in yours either, for that matter. You ought to be with your little girlfriend from last night!"
"Oh, aren't we a Miss Goody-goody this morning," he laughed. "I take it you're just a hot-box at night and not during the day? That's interesting, you know. I don't often find part-timers like you who can be so self righteous with the lights on and so hot and horny when you're naked in the dark. You'd make an interesting study."
"What are you talking about?" she asked more softly and pulled the open front of her housecoat tightly against her unblemished breasts. She felt her heart pumping frantically with fear, terrified that he might really know about last night.
"What are you talking about?" he mimicked in a sing-song chant. "Who the hell do you think you are? You know goddamn well what I'm talking about, so don't give me any of that 'I'm soooo innocent' crap!"
"Please, Keith," she pleaded. "You've made a mistake, really. I-I . . ."
"No, sweetheart," he smiled and sat down on the bed across from her dressing table. "You're the one who made the big mistake. Everyone thought you'd gone home last night, but when we heard you screaming, 'Fuck me! Fuck Me!' we all trooped out to the hothouse for the big show of the night. Christ, you were really some-thin' . . ."
"Stop it!" she gasped and brushed the tears from her reddened eyes. "It was all a mistake, a terrible mistake. I was drunk. It wasn't my fault ..."
"Come off it," he sighed with a dramatic exaggeration. "You might have had a few drinks, but you weren't that drunk. Suzy, the girl you watched sucking that guy's cock, said she saw you come in. Hell, you didn't take your eyes off her for a second, not even when old Cyrus was fucking the hell out of you. In fact, Suzy said you were so turned on that she wanted to get a piece of you too. She would've if you hadn't passed out."
He paused for a moment and took a cigarette from the dressing table, lighting it quickly, then continuing: "That was about the wildest 'fuck me' scene we've had at a party since we moved here. Hell, you got everybody so turned on that we started screwing again, right there in the hothouse. Suzy was kind of pissed off, though, because you passed out just when she kissed you. Whew! She was pretty hot about that . . ."
"Oh," Cindy sobbed out loud and covered her face with both hands. It was a lie! A lie! she wanted to tell herself, but her subconscious told her everything he said was true. She had screamed "Fuck Me", she had heard voices, and somewhere in the vague mist of her memory she recalled a woman's red lips pressing against her mouth. Why did he have to tell her those terrible things? Why couldn't he let her alone to remake her marriage and never remember the awful night of depraved sex that had already changed her outlook on life. It had to be a secret-except what she would tell Brad-so why couldn't Keith just leave her alone?
"Hey, take it easy," he said from the bed. He couldn't stand hysterical women, even if -they were half-dressed with their tits hanging out of their open housecoats. Her hands had released the front of her gown, exposing her rich, firm breasts jiggling as she sobbed uncontrollably, and Keith felt a slight swelling begin to rise in his loins. Crying or not, he knew she was a wild screw, and after last night he'd have no trouble getting her to spread her legs for him. She was just like any other bitch, and she'd be begging him to fuck her as soon as he got his mouth down into that sweet little hair-covered pussy.
"P-please go," she whimpered, not taking her hands from her face. "My husband would kill you if he knew you were here talking to me like that. Please go, and I'll forget you said anything." "Now that's really big of you," he snickered and adjusted his swelling penis under his trousers with one hand. "You won't tell your husband, that's for sure. But you'd better straighten up fast, or I'll tell him. You wouldn't want that, now would you?" "You're a beast," she snapped suddenly, pulling the front of her gown shut, depriving his disappointed eyes of the luscious view of her breasts. "You think you can blackmail me, but you're wrong. I'm going to tell Brad everything that happened last night, and he'll understand. He'll believe me, not you! So take your peering eyes and your ugly insults out of here and back to your wife where they belong!"
"Now, baby, take it easy," he warned, rising from the bed, but unsure whether to step forward or retreat.
"Get out!" she suddenly screamed and picked up a perfume bottle, holding it menacingly cocked behind her head. "I mean it. Get out of here right now!"
"O.K., O.K.," he said and backed out of the room. "I'll leave the little Empress alone. Just don't get violent."
"And lock the door behind you," she yelled after him. "I don't need any more visitors today!"
Cindy waited silently until she heard the familiar click of the door closing tightly shut downstairs, then walked to the bathroom. Poor Shirley, she thought as she removed her robe and bent to start the water for her shower. If she only knew that Keith was unfaithful to her-but it was probably better that she didn't know. That way she couldn't be hurt.
Stepping into the bathtub, she closed the frosted glass door and turned the nozzle directly onto her full, upright breasts, feeling the wonderfully refreshing spray pelt her body ruthlessly. Showers are almost masochistic, she thought wryly. If the water is hot, really hot, and turned on full blast, its needle-like spray is almost painful as it cuts into one's skin like dozens of tiny daggers. Of course, the spray never hurt that much, only enough to make her nipples rise to an unwanted erectness, alert and suddenly taut from the thought of possibly being hurt by her own shower.
She thought it was funny how people are supposed to lose their sexual desires while taking a shower, when for her, it was actually stimulating. From as far back as she could remember her shower had been her favorite secluded spot for masturbation, completely cut off from her mother's ever-inquiring eye. She remembered the many times she had spent soaping her body with a washcloth, running the lathery rag over her full, sex-flushed breasts, along her stomach, then to her back and between the two ivory orbs of her buttocks into the deeply folded crevice. That had been one of the most exciting parts of her showers, sliding the cloth through that protected little crack until it slithered over her anus, sending blinding shocks of sexual delight through her loins.
Lost in thought, Cindy didn't realize that she was re-enacting one of those remembered masturbations. To her mind, it was only a daydream, but to her hands it was a command. They were guiding the wash cloth quickly over her belly and awkwardly behind her back, pausing while she slowly spread her legs, then slipping between the two fully rounded globes of her shivering buttocks, curling slowly with her finger until the soapy rag's soft smoothness clipped gently over the puckered hairless ring of her rectum.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmm," she mewled aloud, pleased that she could be alone. Unconsciously her thoughts wandered to the ecstatic pleasures she had experienced the night before in the hothouse. She could plainly see the couple on the floor, the girl's mouth sucking hungrily up and down on the man's penis-what was that really like? It must have been terribly exciting to suck his organ because it had been so fascinating to watch, her head bobbing up and down with that obscene sucking noise . . . Why hadn't Brad ever asked her to do that to him? But she didn't have to answer that question.
Fantasy was so wonderful, so exciting, but when it came right down to the real thing, Cindy knew she would always freeze up. Standing in the shower and sensuously brushing the wash rag over her clenching anus she could imagine herself doing anything, sucking Brad's penis, letting him make love to her in a hundred different positions, even letting him put his mouth between her legs to devour the untold well of juices that lay hidden there. But whenever she was confronted with the sight or smell of his phallus she couldn't hold back the revulsion that her mother had instilled in her for so many agonizing years.
As she turned back the night before, still rubbing her anus with the cloth in her left hand, she reached between her legs with her right hand and drew the wet softness forward, between her thighs and through the drenched mound of blonde pubic hairs, sending a slight electrical shock coursing through her body. The cloth teased its way between the ruffled pink lips of her vagina and brushed lightly, ever so tantalizingly lightly across her swelling clitoris. The tiny bundle of excitable nerve endings began to grow more rapidly as she imagined a lover's tongue slithering around its swelling length, making her moan again with the private delight of self-satisfaction. It could be anyone in her daydreams: Brad, her father, Cyrus from last night, or even Keith. That would be funny; to have Keith with her now in the shower licking his imaginative tongue through the wet curling hairs of her loins. Even he could be her lover in fantasy; at least that wasn't really being unfaithful, she thought and brushed her soft hair-lined slit again with the tortuously delightful cloth.
"Mmmmmmmmmmm," echoed sensuously in the bathroom and Keith Anderson rubbed the growing bulge in his pants a little harder. For more than five minutes he had been standing in the bathroom watching her silhouette through the glass, stroking her anus, toying with the rippled pinkness of her hair-lined pussy. That was the kind of woman he liked, sexually aroused at anytime of the day just by playing with herself in the shower. Just watching her had turned the light of his sexual drive to go and forced his thick cock to grow, stiffening and pushing frantically against his pants.
Through the glass he could see her bending slightly now, her knees spread wide apart as she held onto the door for support and began rubbing her aroused emit faster and faster. He wondered what she was thinking about . . . whether it was her husband or that old Cyrus, or perhaps even him. It wasn't impossible. After all, he was attractive to women and certainly new to her. Maybe his newness and the fact that she had talked to him only a few minutes ago had made her think of him as a sexual partner for her fantasy.
Water streaming viciously against her body, Cindy bent wobbily as she stroked the swollen lips of her vagina more rapidly, her mind aflame with the imagined tongue of Keith Anderson buried between her thighs. She could see his eyes glazed with lust while his mouth sucked and searched for her clasping cuntal entrance. But if that was what it would feel like to be sucked, what would it be like to suck him, she thought wistfully, completely drugged by her own self-induced passion. If only she could be this way when Brad was with her . . . but not today, and possibly never if she couldn't straighten out her hang-ups.
Her obscene masturbation was becoming more furious and Keith decided he could wait no longer. If he let her reach a climax, she'd scream bloody murder when he jumped into the shower. He had to get in there now, while she was turned on, he told himself and quickly stripped away his sweat-shirt and shorts, immediately freeing his mammoth cock, allowing it to sway back and forth as it jutted out from his hair-covered groin. There was no more time to waste.
"Hello," he said in a gravel voice as he pushed the sliding door open and jumped into the tub beside her, closing the door behind him.
"Ah-what . . . ?" was all she could say as he stood there, his huge throbbing cock jerking slowly up and down; while she bent half over with her wash rag implanted firmly between the open lips of her sex-scented pussy. She'd been masturbating with him in her mind, then suddenly there he was in the flesh, naked and roughly muscular. But he had caught her rubbing her pussy and her emotions were torn between embarrassment, fear, and anger, not knowing which was the most appropriate.
"I just needed a shower," he said sarcastically, "And heard your water running."
"G-get out of here," she whispered, biting her lip, but unable to take her eyes away from his wickedly swaying penis. It was so thick and reddish and long, much longer than Brad's. Swaying, slowly, gently back and forth it was like an Indian Fakir's hypnotizing cobra, beckoning her to touch. The thick engorged head was almost purple and the tiny vertical slit on the end oozed a drop of clear semen slowly out with each perceptible pulse that rippled through the threatening phallus. Every cell in her brain told her to scream for help, to run before he attacked her, but every already-aroused fiber in her naked soapy body told her to stay, to reach out and touch that lascivious wicked demon jutting out from the base of his stomach.
Her wash cloth fell to the bottom of the tub with a loud heavy plop as his hands slid quickly up her arms and over the smooth, wet soapiness on her breasts. His fingers gently grasped the rosy colored nipples to test their hardness and she gasped aloud. He shouldn't do that, he mustn't do that; but the fingers felt so good. Maybe he wasn't really there, maybe he was just a manifestation of her imagination, she told herself hopefully, dazed by her heated sexual arousal and the shock of his sudden entrance into her tub.
"N-no," she whispered, hearing her voice echo through the bathroom. She was becoming more and more afraid, but as she did, he came closer and closer until his arms embraced her, and the pulsing tip of his cock stood straight up, resting tightly between their bellies. His lips crushed over her open mouth quickly, and his tongue sought hers in the wet darkness, sending more cursed shivers through her body as their tongues met in a wild duel for supremacy.
This was all wrong; she just wasn't herself; she didn't have any control over her body-and her thoughts couldn't control the mewl of sudden delight that slipped through her lips the moment one of his hands ran down her back into the soapy crevice between her snow white trembling buttocks. It felt even better than the wash cloth and its stimulating lather. This was a live, breathing man's hand and fingers chipping ever so gently across her frightened puckered anal ring, exciting her more than the wash rag ever could have.
"Mmmmmmmm," she moaned helplessly again as his other hand glided through the suds and eased its way quickly through her soft, wet pubic hairs and tweaked her swollen clitoris with two fingers. God she had never felt anything like this. It just was real-it couldn't be! He didn't exist, he didn't, yet he was forcing her body's senses to respond to his imaginary touch.
Then suddenly the roaring thunder of the pummeling shower stopped, leaving the room silent, except for their heavy breathing. He was real! But how did he get here? Her mind searched for the answers, but her body's control was too strong to resist. It fed ravenously on his every sensuous touch, the exciting feel of the bristling hairs on his legs and the thick throbbing madness that pulsed against her belly.
Totally under his control, and the devastating guidance of her fantasy's desires, she let him move her slowly around as he opened the shower's glass door and sat on the edge of the tub, never taking his lips from her nakedness for a second. His tongue was teasing circles around her button-like navel causing her whole body to tremble, then slithered downward to the glistening wet pubic hairs that covered her delicious mound of Venus.
"Mmm-no, n-no," she whimpered as his hands tugged at her waist and pulled her downward until she found herself kneeling in the tub. He was running patterns of erotic sensations over her quivering breasts, making both ripe breasts tremble even more. Then suddenly, without warning, he grasped her neck and pulled her head down to within an inch of the throbbing engorged head of his thick pulsing cock.
"Come on, baby," he urged softly, his dark eyes telling her to do as he wished. "Suck it for daddy! Suck it real good!"
"No stop!" her mind said aloud, but her imagination was still working, roused not only by her body's passions, but by curiosity to find out what it really felt like to suck a man's prick.
As though she were drunk, or drugged, she slowly lowered her head while his hands guided her mouth forcefully, until the fiery purplish tip touched her lips. She didn't want to do this; she didn't want to suck his prick, but somehow she was being forced to perform the obscene fellatio. It was rape; it had to be! She couldn't be doing this of her own free will. It had to be rape! She told herself again and again that she was the victim of some kind of evil plot, but her mind went blank as her lips involuntarily folded around the thick throbbing head and she tasted the pungent slippery heat of his sex.
"Aaaahhhhhh!" he groaned with ecstatic relief as her tongue slowly, now voluntarily snaked around the sensitive glans and led more of her mouth over the long rigid shaft. God, it felt so good, and she had done it so easily! Christ, what a find this broad was; what a delicious cocksucking find! He moaned again and again above her as she continued sucking, unconscious of her actions, viewing the entire scene as if there was someone else doing it and she was only watching. But still, she could feel the smooth spongy tip rubbing lewdly against the back of her throat, spreading its seeping fluids across the roof of her mouth. The whole thing was obscene, yet it had become exciting enough for her to slip one free hand under her bent leg and insert a finger into her open, now gently throbbing pussy.
Sucking hungrily at the phallus in her mouth, she was also rubbing her finger more and more vigorously into the clenching smooth channel of her vagina, building tremendous torrents of electrical shocks that buffeted the moist sucking walls of her sexual cavern. For her reality was not pumping in and out of her mouth, but lusty thrusting deep in her cunt. Any other sensation in the bathtub was a dream, hazy and distorted, completely disassociated from reality.
There was a vague jerking in her throat and she sensed the impending rush of sperm that shot up from his balls and through the underside of his prick until it spewed into her hollowing throat, filling the deep sucking channel with its wetness. She gulped the fluids down almost absentmindedly, and concentrated instead on the finger plunging in her pussy. Her mouth was overflowing with sperm, yet the spasms of her own quickening orgasm were the only thing she could actually sense. Building higher like thrashing ocean waves, the blood-fed ripples of her climax leaned back, hesitated, then suddenly shot forward and snapped at her belly like a gigantic bull-whip, slapping her against the other side of the tub, emptying her mouth of the quickly deflating penis and snapping her brutally back to her senses.
Chapter Six
"I'm glad you like my husband," Shirley said sardonically from the open doorway. "But most women do, so I guess you aren't much different from the rest of them."
Lying half out of the tub, one arm hanging over the edge, Cindy looked up to see her new friend grinning very strangely at her. She'd seen them! Shirley had seen Cindy with her mouth wrapped deliciously around Keith's . . . thing. Oh God, how awful for her. It was bad enough that everything had gone wrong last night, but now to have been caught naked with her only friend's husband . . . Why were these terrible things happening to her?
"Shirley," she whimpered weakly and tried to hide her full rich naked breasts with her hands. "I don't know how to tell you this . . . but it wasn't like it looks. I mean, he, he raped me!"
"Of course, dear, I know," she said and tossed the younger girl a towel from a nearby towel rack.
"You know?" Cindy gasped and stood up, staring at Shirley and forgetting to wrap the towel around her nakedness. "You mean he's done this before?"
"Constantly, haven't you, darling," she asked him. He was standing with one foot on the lid of the commode drying his leg.
"As often as I can, lover," he smiled and continued rubbing his leg with a light blue towel.
"B-but Shirley, I feel so awful," Cindy sobbed, hanging her head and unable to look up. "I didn't want him to do it to me-he forced me."
"Cindy," she answered a little impatiently. "I know he raped you, but don't worry about it."
Don't worry about it! How could she not worry about rape. That man, Shirley's husband had forced his way into her house and raped her . . . or almost raped her. He hadn't put his thing in her vagina, but he had forced her to suck his penis until she had been overcome with the obscene depravity of the entire lewd idea, and had ended up swallowing his sperm . . . and enjoying it. How could anyone not worry about that? What was happening to her that made her enjoy such a filthy animal act-fellatio it was called . . . something that was only a word to Cindy until a few minutes ago. God it was awful!
But there was more involved than just her reactions. Shirley was involved, too. It was her husband who had forced Cindy to suck him, yet she didn't seem to even care. What was the matter with her?
"I don't understand, Shirley."
"Honey, it's very simple," she smiled maternally. "Keith has raped dozens of women before-he can't help himself-but nothing has ever come of it. They were all afraid at first, but after a few minutes they found themselves enjoying his slightly obsessive demands for sucking his prick and . . ."
"Shirley!" Cindy exclaimed How could she have said such an awful thing . . . sucking his prick. Ladies don't talk like that, it's just not right.
"Now don't get yourself upset," Shirley said softly. "It's just an expression to describe a perfectly natural act."
"It's not natural!" Cindy defended. "It's ugly and perverted-I just don't understand how you can talk about it so coldly like that."
"Cindy, Cindy, it's about time you learned the facts of life," Shirley told her and sat on the edge of the tub, nodding her head to dismiss Keith. "Fellatio is as common as straight sex. It's healthy and very exciting-you can't deny that."
"It-it was exciting, but I couldn't help myself," she answered lamely.
"You couldn't help yourself because it was exciting, and that's perfectly natural. Most women are the same way once they get the chance to try sucking somebody's cock. It just takes time. Why, I enjoy it, though not as often as Keith does. It's actually an obsession with him. He'd rather have some poor girl suck his cock than fuck her . . ."
"Shirley stop!" Cindy suddenly shrieked and covered both of her ears with her hands. Those words, those awful words . . . how could she talk like that?
"Cindy, I just said you should learn the facts of life. Part of that is learning to accept certain words when they're spoken. After all, they're only words and certainly can't harm anyone."
"But they're so dirty!"
"No, not dirty, except in your mind. Sex isn't a dirty thing and the words to describe it shouldn't be thought of as dirty either. It's as simple as that."
"But what does that have to do with Keith?"
"Nothing, really, except that you don't have to feel guilty or ashamed about what you did in the bathtub."
"But I do feel guilty," Cindy sobbed again. "You don't know how terrible I feel."
"You'd probably feel much better if he would have sucked your pussy at the same time."
"Oh! Please stop saying those things, please!" she moaned. "I wouldn't have done anything like that if it hadn't been for last night and that old man. He got me drunk and ..."
"I know, I know," Shirley said and walked toward the bedroom while Cindy held her towel tightly against her breasts and followed closely. "That was the main reason I came over this morning; to give you a little something from Cyrus."
"I don't want anything from him!"
"Not even this?" Shirley asked smiling and raised a hundred dollar bill.
"What's that for, blackmail," Cindy said quickly, feeling very superior.
"No, no, dear," Keith interrupted from the bed where he was tying his shoes. "It's your cut of the profits."
"What profits? What do you mean?"
"You tell her Keith," Shirley said suddenly disgusted with the younger woman's innocence.
Cindy's mouth began to open wider and wider as he talked, her mind unable to really believe what he was saying.
". . . so the girls each get fifty percent from each customer. In your case, Cyrus left two hundred smackers, because he liked your acting the innocent part so well."
"Innocent! Innocent!" she whispered, shaking her head. "I am innocent, or at least I was before I went to your party. My God, I'm not a . . . a prostitute. I'm a housewife!"
"So are most of the girls who work for us," Shirley interrupted "Some of my girls work elsewhere for respectability, but most of them are just sweet young housewives like you. The only difference is that they enjoy sex and they like the money it gives them. With my house as an "office," they're able to make a hell of a lot of money every week-and it's not reportable to the tax authorities.
"Well, they might like the money, but I don't need it," she said indignantly. "So I think you'd better take your hundred dollar bill and go."
"Oh, really," Keith said from beneath his wrinkled brows.
"Yes. This is my house, and I don't associate with . . . with prostitutes and pimps. So you can just leave!"
"My dear Mrs. Thompson," Keith said menacingly. "You not only associate with prostitutes, you are one."
"Im not!" she cried. "You took that money from that old man, I didn't. And if I hadn't been drunk he wouldn't have had cause to even offer it."
"That's not what everybody at the party thinks, lover," Shirley snickered.
"What do you mean?" she gasped, her eyes darting frantically back and forth between her guests.
"I mean that nearly everyone there watched your hot little ass in the hothouse. You practically fucked poor Cyrus half to death, and they all think you're one of my new girls."
"That's a lie!" she screamed furiously. "It's a filthy lie!"
"Shirley," Keith said, ignoring the raving young housewife. "Let's just leave the money and cut out until she cools down."
"No, no," Cindy shouted even louder. "I don't want your money! If you leave it here I'll go to the police and turn you in!"
"That, young lady, would be a terrible mistake," Keith said with his phoniest smile. "If even one of us or our girls is arrested, we'll all testify, in court, that you've been working for us ever since we moved here. And believe me, the word of ten people will make your meager little plea a solid lie. So you just settle down."
"Now take this," Shirley said and dropped the bill on the bed. "There's another party tonight and you'll be there."
"No, I can't," Cindy whimpered. "I just can't."
"You can and you will, with no more whimpering. Whether you like it or not, you're working for me. If you go to the police, you're as good as in prison, and if you go to anyone else for help, I'll simply make an anonymous phone call to your husband. Is that clear?" Shirley asked, not really expecting an answer.
Cindy sat on the bed as they left, her towel hanging limply around her waist. What had happened? she asked herself, refusing to believe that Shirley and Keith had really said what they did. But the crisp one hundred dollar bill lay inches from her hand, a grim and foreboding reminder of the truth of their visit.
Chapter Seven
Cindy lay sprawled amidst the large decorator pillows in front of her living room fireplace. There was no fire, and only the pale reflection from the half-moon filtering through the windows illuminated the gaily colored pillows surrounding her. She could have remembered the bright happy feeling those pillows had always given the room, but her thoughts were imprisoned in a dark cell of guilt.
Instead of the ease and comfort one finds in the protection of his own home, Cindy felt trapped and terrified by the familiar surroundings of the house she had decorated herself, and in spite of the free-flowing originality of the room she could only feel the entangling web of horrid memories from the last twenty-four hours tightening its hold on her destiny. Everything that had happened since yesterday seemed like a nightmare, a frightening dream over which she had no control, and she felt she would never have the chance to awake to the pleasant reality she had known before.
How could she have been so wrong about Shirley? The older woman had been so easy-going and full of laughter, a reassuring spark of light in the dilemma of Cindy's life. But this afternoon after Keith had raped her-It had been rape-Shirley had discovered them together in the bedroom and instead of registering surprise or anger, she showed a wicked delight at having seen her husband's head lying between the splayed legs of another woman.
In any normal situation Cindy would have thought the betrayed wife would have resorted to violence and screaming at such a heartbreaking discovery, but she knew now that she was not involved in a normal situation.
Shirley was a Madame, the owner and manager of a . . . whorehouse? No, that wasn't the word Cindy wanted. Prostitution ring. That was closer to the truth, as close as the fact that Shirley had once been a prostitute herself. But how could a woman ever allow herself to become a prostitute? Surely Cindy could never have been a prostitute, or could she, she wondered as she stared at the crackling crisp one hundred dollar bill lying on the pillow before her. Some people needed money so desperately they would do anything to get it, and maybe that's how Shirley had begun her career. Cindy felt lucky about that, the fact that she was married to a wealthy man. With the security offered by his endless bank account she'd never have to worry about money, and therefore would never have to resort to a life of sin-not like poor Shirley.
Even though Shirley had been so cruel this afternoon, Cindy felt a touch of pity for her. It wasn't her fault she was what she was, but Keith was a man and Cindy could see no excuse for his debauchery. He probably forced his wife to say those terrible things, she thought trying to convince herself of the unquestionable innocence of women in general. If it weren't for men like Keith, women like Shirley would have become ladies, respectable and above board, instead of prostitutes forced to make their living by selling their bodies. A woman's body was a temple; Cindy knew that. And a temple must never be desecrated, never!
Despite her rationalizations, Cindy was weakening to the reality of the facts.. Temple or not, she had allowed her body to be touched, to be abused, by Keith and Cyrus. She had allowed Cyrus to thrust his penis in and out of her body's most sacred well while she watched that girl suck the other man's penis. And worse yet, this afternoon she had submitted to Keith's luscious tantalizing hands until she too had sucked his . . . his cock as he had called it. At first she had been revolted by the hard pole of flesh in her mouth, but the excitement of committing a forbidden act of lust had overcome her, especially when she had so eagerly spread her legs to allow his tongue to slither between the hair-covered lips of her vagina. She couldn't deny the memory of her mewlings and the tremendous waves of passion that had racked her naked body as she sucked him until he filled her throat with his hot white sperm. It had felt so good and no matter how animalistic it was, she couldn't repudiate that!
Nor could she deny Shirley's reaction and her lewd obscenities when she had entered the room. Keith couldn't have forced her to be happy about finding her husband sucking between another woman's legs, but then why had she acted so delighted? If Shirley was as pleased as she appeared, then Cindy's estimate of her neighbor's plight was shattered. It could only mean that Shirley enjoyed being a prostitute and enjoyed a sadistic pleasure in seeing another woman pulled unwillingly into a bed of sin.
The hundred dollar bill crackled loudly as she picked it off the pillow. Its freshness pointed out a new horrifying relationship between Cindy and her neighbor: she was also a prostitute, and no amount of rationalization could deny that. She had accepted the money from Shirley unwillingly, but instead of taking it back, or destroying it-it was only a hundred dollars-she had kept it all day. That made her a woman who had accepted money for her body, and nothing less. Even though she wanted to destroy the money, it was impossible. Something held her back, something she couldn't explain, something she was afraid to explain.
Worse than the horrifying estimations of the Andersons' characters, however, was the nagging image of her husband deep in the back of her mind. After this afternoon with Keith, then Shirley's warning, Cindy knew she couldn't tell Brad about her night in the hothouse and her conversion from frigidity to the sudden sexual prowess of a full-blooded woman. In fact, she doubted if she could even face her husband now, knowing that she had been guilty of adultery twice, and the second time she was nowhere near being drunk.
There was no excuse. She could say that Keith had raped her, but her own conscience would reveal the memory of her mewling and squealing as his tongue slipped in and out of her vagina. She would know that she had wrapped her lips around his erect penis and sucked voraciously until he spewed his juices into her mouth. Nothing could erase those horrid, yet delightful memories, not even Brad's love.
But she wanted him back in her home, warm and comfortable in bed with his arms protectively holding her in the darkness. She had to find a solution, she just had to, or her life wouldn't be worth living for another moment.
She held the accusing hundred dollar bill above her head when suddenly the doorbell chimed, shocking her heart to a rapid pounding beat. Brad! He was here, she thought and started to get up, but the green piece of linen paper held her back. If it really was Brad, she wouldn't be mentally prepared to see him, and the strain might prove to be too much. She couldn't see him now, not yet . . . Besides, maybe it wasn't Brad, she rationalized. It was probably that terrible Keith Anderson wanting her to go to the party next door. It was after ten o'clock and the noise from the Anderson house told her that they might be needing another girl. But she wouldn't go! They couldn't force her to make a fool of herself again, no matter what.
Quickly her mind settled and she decided that because Brad had a key, the caller had to be her neighbor, and she would never answer the door for him again. Never!
* * *
"Shouldn't have forgotten the goddamn key," Brad Thompson chided himself and searched his pockets for the second time. The box of long-stemmed red roses under his arm hampered his search, and he gave up, knowing that the key was lying on a dresser somewhere inside the house.
He rang the bell again, hoping that his wife was waking upstairs and hurrying to meet him at the door. After being away for what seemed like an eternity, he had decided to return to his wife tonight and renew their marriage with the almost certain hope that his absence had effected a change in his bride. He'd talked with his analyst and discovered that her sex problems could have stemmed from any number of sources: family upbringing, a subconscious fear from a bad experience as a child, or even from Brad's own sexual demanding. However, no matter who was to blame, as Cindy's husband it was his duty to help her, and leaving her alone in that big house was certainly no way to lead her out of the darkness.
Once more he pushed the ivory doorbell, but he knew there would be no answer. It was obvious that she wasn't home, even though her car was still in the garage. There was the possibility that she had a date for the evening, but it was so remote that he dismissed it immediately. For one thing, Cindy wasn't that kind of girl, and for another, she'd only been home from her mother's for a couple days and wouldn't have had time to find a male friend to escort her. Besides just ignoring him, the only possibility left was the party next door, and he quickly descended the steps and walked toward the noise blasting from the Anderson house.
Must be a bunch of real swingers, he thought as he pushed the half-open door wide and poked his head uncertainly inside. The house was half-lit by flashing strobe lights blinking in tune to the music, and Brad could see a number of people standing in small circles talking, while others danced with the subtle gyrations of "soul". Most of the guests were white, except for two exotic black girls dressed in identical transparent sheaths and wearing no body stockings to cover the dark nipples of their diminutive breasts or the hairless V's between their long sensuous legs.
"Whew," he gasped automatically. These girls might have been just a token of integration for the party, but he doubted it. They were too wild looking to be asked just because of their color; no they were there because of the excitement they caused by their almost touchable nakedness. Look like a couple of hookers, he smiled to himself, knowing it wasn't true.
"Looking for someone special?" a tall white woman asked him. Her ebony hair hung over her shoulders, resting at the tops of her breasts as they nearly bulged from her cocktail dress, exposing the deep cleft between them. From her full-rounded breasts his eyes lowered across her small waist and over the gentle curve of her hips, surveying every inch of her voluptuous body hidden beneath her bright red gown.
"I said, are you looking for someone special," she repeated, her eyes twinkling with delight at his approval.
"Oh, uh, sorry," he stammered, trying to be heard about the music. "Please forgive me. I'm from next door, and I was just looking for my wife. I thought she might be here."
"You must be Brad!" she smiled and grasped his hand. "Please come in. Cindy's told me so much about you."
"I can't really. I was just looking for . . ."
"Come on in. No one's going to bite you," she interrupted before he could finish. "I'm your new neighbor, Shirley Anderson. Now you couldn't be afraid of your new neighbor could you?"
"No, certainly not," he laughed. "I just want to find Cindy. She's not home, but her car's in the garage and I thought she might be here."
"Well you've come to the right place," Shirley told him as she led him toward the bar. "She said she'd be right back . . . left only a few minutes ago. God, I'll bet she'll be glad to see you. Did she know you were coming?"
"No, I thought I'd surprise her."
"Oh, that's wonderful," Shirley told him and asked what he wanted to drink. But wonderful wasn't what she really felt; marvelous was a better expression of the sensation that tickled her mind as well as her body. Cindy's precious Brad had come home to make up and hadn't talked to his wife yet. That meant that Shirley and Keith could clear themselves of any possible guilt, and at the same time secure Cindy's position in their organization. All she had to do was get enough liquor in Brad and show him around the party, let him see some of the special entertainment for tonight, then let him see his wife perform in front of some of the guests. That would put all the blame on Cindy and leave her wide open and defenseless against divorce. Without Brad's money she'd have no one and nothing to turn to, except, of course, Shirley and her organization. Besides, Shirley might be able to get Brad into the sack herself, a proposition she pondered with delightful apprehension.
"Looks like a nice party," Brad said, trying to think of something for conversation before his wife arrived. "Do you entertain often?"
"Almost every night," she said proudly. "There's never a dull moment with the Andersons."
"I don't doubt that," he answered, unable to take his eyes from the two protruding melons at the top of her gown. He could almost imagine what a woman like that would be to live with ... or at least sleep with. She exuded sex as if it were a commodity and she was advertising the many healthful benefits one could derive from active participation in her bed.
Brad had slept with countless women before he married, but he couldn't recall one who had been so appealing as a woman. Most of them had only been conquests, relatively easy conquests at that. But this one, Shirley, demonstrated that she was more than just a female with a furry little hole between her legs. She was a woman, a real woman, and for a moment he wished he wasn't married. Every move she made, every gesture, was like a call to bed-if only Cindy could be like that-but Cindy wasn't like that, not at all. And Brad had married her and no one else.
"Thinking about your wife?" Shirley asked, pleased that his eyes were on her and knowing that his thoughts were also.
"Yes," he paused. "I guess I was. I wish she'd hurry-you don't know where she went, do you?"
"No, but I'll find out from my husband. He usually knows where everyone is. I'll just introduce you to someone and go find him-here, Brad, this is Cyrus. You two probably have a lot in common," she smiled wickedly and quickly ran off in search of her husband.
"That was a pretty quick introduction-I'm Brad Thompson," he said holding out his right hand.
"Just call me Cyrus," the older man laughed. "No last names until I get to know you better." "Right," Brad laughed, too, thinking he under- stood a subtle joke. The older man was distinguished looking and somehow familiar-perhaps from the newspapers-obviously not a poor man judging from his expensive suit. "You come to these parties often?"
"As often as I can, Brad. But it's not every night an old man can get out and howl."
"Well, you look like you've got plenty of howling left," Brad said, thinking that perhaps the older gentleman needed some assurance that his life wasn't over yet. He was somewhere in his middle or late fifties, and even though he had probably given up sex, he surely was nowhere near senility.
"Have another drink, Brad. After that I owe you one."
"Thanks, Cyrus," he said and gave his glass to the bartender. "By the way, where's your wife?"
"Wife!" Cyrus chuckled and began to laugh. "Goddamn it, you're a funny son of a bitch, Brad. Really funny!"
"I beg your pardon," he said, furrowing his eyebrows quizzically.
"Oh man," Cyrus roared loudly between breaths. "That's a goddamned riot. Who'd bring his wife to a party like this? Who'd have the balls?"
Brad stood unbelieving at the older man's laughter and turned to look around the room. He saw the two Negro girls undulating their hips to the music; two other girls dancing together, one's hand clenching the other's buttocks; a girl standing next to a man at the end of the bar, her hand implanted inside his open trousers; they were all young, not much older than his wife, they were all dressed in exciting, revealing costumes, and none of them looked like anybody's wife. What the hell kind of party is this? he thought, confusion rising in his mind. And what the hell is Cindy doing in a place like this?
* * *
A thundering racket snapped Cindy from her half-sleep in front of the fireplace. At first she couldn't discern what it was or where it was coming from, but in a moment, she realized the noise was coining from the side door; someone was banging his fist violently against the aluminum screen. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she shouted at the originator of the racket. Still foggy from her nightmarish sleep she couldn't imagine who it would be. It wasn't the same person who had been ringing the front doorbell a short time ago, because whoever that was wouldn't ring the bell, then fifteen minutes later come to the side of the house and start pounding on the door.
"Open it!" Keith demanded when he saw her through the glass.
"Oh!" Cindy gasped when she saw his silhouette in the doorway. Keith! Keith! What did he want? Oh God, what did he want? He'd done enough to her already-couldn't she be left in peace. She told him to get out this afternoon-why won't he leave her alone? Her mind was straining at its mental seams to keep from bursting into hysterics, and she stood motionless in the darkness, afraid to open the door; afraid not to.
"Open the goddamn door before I break it down!"
Click! The latch sounded like a huge iron bolt unlocking the gates of a dungeon as she released the catch and partially opened the door.
"W-what do you want?" she asked hesitantly, then felt herself pushed back into the hallway as he burst into the house.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" he hissed. "Are you so goddamn stupid you don't know when somebody's knocking at the door?"
"W-what do you want, Keith?"
"Questions, questions, all you ever do is ask me questions," he sneered, looking around as if he expected to see someone else in the house. "Just get your ass upstairs and you'll find the answer-Come on, move!"
"But . . ." she started to say, but he pushed her ahead of him, prodding her roughly up the staircase toward her bedroom until she found herself flung onto the bed. His violence was totally unexpected and she began to whimper at his roughness, her mind blank to the reasons for his demands and his nervous impatience.
"You start cryin' and I'm gonna belt ya," he snarled. "Now get up and change into this. We don't have any time to waste."
Cindy looking at the material he held in his hand just inches from her face. Unwillingly she took it, holding it up before her and suddenly gasped. It was a caftan hostess gown-a single-piece garment with a deep plunging neckline, flowing brilliantly toward the floor into two bell-bottomed pant legs. It was, however different from any caftan she had ever seen before. It was totally transparent, almost like plastic, allowing a viewer to see every inch of the wearer's body beneath its elegant lines.
"I-I can't wear this," she exclaimed. "Y-you can see through it!"
"Bright, very bright! You're a clever girl, Cindy, but we don't have time for games, so just put it on!" he sneered at her with distaste. She was a woman, beautiful, sensuous, a great-tasting pussy, but she didn't have any goddamned brains, and Keith was getting more and more tired of young girls without any sense.
"I won't!" she told him definitely. "You can't make me wear it!"
"Bullshit!" he growled and suddenly his fist flashed out from his side, hitting her in the solar plexus with an audible thump.
"Oowww," she wailed, gasping for air and falling back onto the bed.
"Now you'll put it on, won't you bitch," he said menacingly as he watched her gasping for breath. "Just a little persuasive urging-not on the face where it shows; just in the gut where it hurts. You'll put that thing on, or I'll make you wish you were never born."
"P-please," she begged trying to hold back her tears. "Don't hit me again . . . I'll put it on! I'll put it on!"
"And I'll help," he snickered and bent over her helpless form, quickly unzipping her capri pants and sliding them over her long slender legs. The memory of her naked, his head sucking wildly at her crotch while she licked his cock made his penis begin to swell with blood again. Christ, he'd like to suck her cunt again, he thought while he quickly removed her blouse, then her panties. But he'd have to wait until after her husband saw her-Fuck, he didn't want to wait; he wanted to get his cock into her pussy this time, now . . . no sucking for a while . . . just fucking . . . Oh Christ!
He leaned back from her now-naked form huddling on the bed and began to unzip his trousers to free his throbbing penis from its sweating prison. The harsh metallic scratch of his zipper clashed with the only other sound in the room- the filtering familiar music from his stereo echoing across the lawn.
"Shit!" he said aloud, hesitating for a moment, then closing his pants. "We don't have time now. Come on, come on, stop cowering and get that thing on. We'll fuck after the party-you can count on that. But for now you just get dressed so we can have our surprise for the night."
But Cindy hardly heard him say surprise. She was too relieved to know that he had stopped undressing, and too frightened of what lay ahead for her in the iniquitous house next door.
Chapter Eight
Though none of the guests had said their goodbyes to the hostess, Brad noticed that the room was quickly clearing, and only a few remained, murmuring in the darkened comers of the room.
Watching another couple leave the room, their arms around each other's waists in a seemingly affectionate embrace, Brad thought wonderingly about Cyrus' insinuations that this was not a normal cocktail party. When he had first arrived, there seemed to be nothing unusual, but after listening to the older man's laughter his eye had caught the subtle nuances and eagerly manipulating hands of some of the girls as they teased their older male friends. Now that he thought about it, the girls were all much younger than the men, and obviously not married to them. If, however, that were the case, then what kind of girls were they? And, again, why would his wife be at a party like this?
"Waiting long? I'm sorry-old Cyrus must have seen something he liked and took after her," Shirley whispered beside his ear and pushed another drink into his hands.
"I-I don't know where he went," Brad managed weakly, still engrossed in his searching thoughts. "He just took off a second ago."
"I've got a good idea where he is," she answered quickly. "Drink up and we'll go to the party room. I think you might like what you'll find there."
"Drink up?" he said, holding his freshly filled glass in front of her. "You just gave me this one ..."
"It's all right, Brad," she smiled. "The faster you drink it, the better you'll feel. Bottoms up, huh?"
"If you insist," he said and quickly chained the glass with two large gulps, then followed her toward an open door.
She walked slowly, less than half a step in front of him down a long red-lighted hallway, and though her pace was unhurried, she seemed to be moving very fast as if she were anticipating something.
"Shirley," he said as they neared a doorway. "These people-the party-I don't quite understand what's going on here. Cyrus said it was no kind of party to bring his wife to, and I could see that after watching some of the girls, uh, playing around with the men. But I was wondering . . ."
"You were wondering who all those sexy young bitches were," she interrupted when they reached a doorway at the end of the hall. Turning to face him, she continued: "Those are my girls, Brad-don't look so shocked-and I'm proud of every one of them. They're all working girls, some professional, some secretaries and about two-thirds of them, bored housewives. But they all have one thing in common; at night they work for me."
"You mean . . ."
"Now, come on, Bradley, you weren't born yesterday," she teased with a hint of a smirk at the corners of her mouth. "They're prostitutes-all of them. But they're expensive girls, well-versed in their art and eager to please any man in any way for the right price. The only difference between them and the girls who walk Market Street is class. My girls all have socially distinctive background and can offer more than just the momentary pleasures of sex."
It was unbelievable! Brad knew of suburban prostitution rings, but he had never expected to encounter anyone involved in such a illicit operation. Yet here he was, in his neighbor's home, talking to a Madame, and instead of feeling righteous and insulted by her presence, he felt a tingling of excitement at knowing he was actually in a neighborhood whore house . . .v in his own neighborhood!
Then suddenly it hit him: his wife was supposed to be at this party! Was she one of them, one of the bored housewives who worked here? No, impossible, he told himself, but a dark cloud of doubt shadowed his mind.
"What. . . what about Cindy," he asked hesitantly.
'Oh!" she laughed suddenly. "Is that why you look so shocked? You want to know if she works for me-the answer to that will have to come later. If you don't trust her and she doesn't work for me, you'll feel terribly ashamed. But if you do trust her and she does work here-well, we'll see. Let's stop all the talking and find out the truth."
Turning quickly she opened the door and walked into a dimly lit room, leaving whirling trails of thick cigarette smoke behind her. Brad followed, excusing his clumsiness when he bumped into someone's bare leg on the floor. He could see that everyone was seated or lying on pillows in a small semi-circle, all of them eagerly waiting for something to happen in the middle of the circle.
"What's happening," he whispered as he sat beside Shirley.
"Just watch that door-over there by Cyrus," she answered and shooshed him.
His eyes wandered toward the door, pausing over the glistening bodies of two or three girl's lounging in the laps of their male escorts. He could see that they were all partially naked, the men as well as the girls, and felt the unwanted knowing rise of heat begin to filter through his loins as it did each time he saw a new woman with her clothes off. He couldn't help that, though for him it was only natural. And though he didn't like to think about it, he too had been unfaithful to his wife a few times during the last few weeks of separation-but that, too, was only natural. It's a man's prerogative, he thought sluggishly and turned his head toward the slowly opening door.
Two dark brown feet patted softly into the room, and Brad's eyes rose above them and over the long curves of two sensuous legs-higher, lingering on the glistening thighs-higher yet, stopping suddenly at the hairless mound of a woman's softly pulsing vagina, blurred behind the clear plastic of her transparent sheath.
His eyes snapped to her face. It was one of the two Negro girls he had seen when he had first entered the house, but her expression had changed completely. Instead of the plastic cocktail-party mask and smiling white teeth, the girl's face was almost slack, her full moist lips quivering slightly with the exciting apprehension that in a moment she would perform as no ordinary woman would dare!
Brad knew her look well, having seen it on so many faces before. The girl was obviously aroused sexually, but more than just sexually, he told himself as he felt a growing dizziness from the alcohol he had already consumed. This girl was turned on, not just by desire or liquor, but by something more powerful, possibly even dope.
Her tongue swayed back and forth, moistening her lips while she slowly began unbuttoning her translucent sheath, dropping it to the floor noiselessly amid the delighted gasps from both the men and women in the room. She was as pleased as they were as she stood completely nude before them, her dark pointed breasts jutting out proudly from her chocolate colored body. She was ready to perform for them now, nude and deliciously relaxed; ready to spread her long slim thighs and expose the quivering pink lips of her light brown vagina.
Brad was almost hypnotized by the girl's sensuality as he stared at her, unable to remove his eyes. He'd seen strippers before at stag parties and old school reunions, but they had always worn at least one piece of clothing, something to cover their pussies-but this girl, light brown, exciting, excited, was starting her act already naked and exposed, ready for anything. But what was anything?
"Vivian," Shirley whispered softly and shoved another drink into his hand.
"Huh?" he answered without looking at her, nervously afraid that he might reveal his fascinated arousal.
"Her name's Vivian," Shirley said again. "She's one of my most popular girls. Do you want her? A hundred dollars and she's yours for the night."
But Brad didn't answer, afraid to say yes, afraid to say no. Instead he watched the girl as she lay back on the pillows in the center of the circle and began dragging her long red nails up the sides of her deliciously inviting torso. Her face was smiling now, eager and willing to explore the hidden delights of her own body and rediscover the wonderful passions of her sexual nether-lands.
Brad bit his lip as the girl suddenly began teasing small circles around one of her upraised breasts, pulling at her tanned little nipple until it responded eagerly, suddenly rising to an unashamed tautness between her prodding fingers. As she rubbed the tiny nipple she began languidly opening and closing her legs just enough to reveal the trembling slit of her vagina, moistening between her scissoring thighs. Her toes were pointed directly at Brad and she dug her heels into the thick pile carpet in order to bury her tender jiggling buttocks deeper into one of the soft red pillows. A gleaming, abandoned passion flickered in her ebony eyes, and Brad wondered if the girl was only acting a part for her performance-but how could she with that sensuous wanting expression on her face.
No woman could fake that, not even his wife, he thought, suddenly wondering if Cindy had ever masturbated like that when she was alone in the dark seclusion of her bedroom, her eyes a glaze with the forbidden desires of self-abuse, while she aroused her wanting young body with her own searching fingers. The thought amused him through the growing alcoholic cloud hovering above his mind until he felt the growing heat of his swelling penis rising from his loins against his own hand-he was arousing himself, just like the girl in the center of the room and he quickly jerked his hand away from his crotch, looking around him to see if anyone had noticed.
Instead, however, of seeing anyone watching him, Brad was surprised and shocked to see that all eyes were on the girl on the center of the room, especially Shirley's-but Shirley wasn't only watching the obscene young black girl. The heat of excitement in the room was beginning to stimulate her, a professional sexual athlete, against her will. She was unashamedly squirming her buttocks against her pillow, feeling the round edge of the cushion push her dress and panties into the moistening crevice between the cheeks of her soft, round bottom; she rubbed herself unconsciously against the warm cloth, working the stiff edge of the cushion between the moist pinkness of her cuntal lips with a lewd grin on her face. Her body rocked on the pillow, pushing the cushion deeper in a synchronized rhythm with the girl in the center of the room, and the slithering wetness spreading between her thighs made her relax the quivering lips even more, eager to suck more of the stimulating cushion against the knowledgeable entrance to her vagina.
Tearing his gaze from Shirley, Brad turned to see Cyrus and a girl named Linda, a neighbor from around the corner, sitting near the door oblivious to anyone in the room but themselves and the excited girl in the center of the room. Linda lay back against Cyrus, dragging heavily on a thin brown cigarette, and Cyrus' hand rested inside her blouse gently massaging her breasts. Lowering his eyes from the tantalizing movements on her breasts, Brad could see the whiteness of her thighs where her dress had been lifted far above the tops of her stockings, exposing the slightly spread inner flesh of her trembling thighs. In the dim light he could see the white nylon band of her panties between them, and the girl seemed unaware of the exposure. Her mouth was open in an intoxicated rapture as she watched the center of the room with fascinated expectation.
Instinctively, as if it were the only natural thing to do, Brad leaned back slightly and slid his arm around Shirley as she rocked against the cushion, feeling her snuggle closer to him when the exciting touch of his palm engulfed her full, firm breast.
Her naked breast felt good, and he knew that she enjoyed the tantalizing touch of his fingers caressing her nipple-and it wasn't really doing any harm. He was aware of the temptations offered by her heated flesh and recognized the possible consequences he might have to face if Cindy ever saw him like this-watching a woman masturbate while he attempted to stimulate an already excited woman in the presence of a dozen other people-but somehow it seemed too improbable that his wife would ever be in a place like this. And he felt reasonably safe.
The strangely sweet odor from the thin brown cigarettes puffing throughout the room were having a devastating effect on his senses, making time seem to slow to less than a snail's pace until everything was happening in slow motion. In the center of the room he could see the girl writhing more lasciviously now as though her fingers were an attacking unseen lover intent on her rape. Her hands were running over her body, her fingertips dancing over the flat plane of her quivering belly as she groaned softly at her own lust-inciting touch. Gasping suddenly, her fingers slithered into the moist pink slit between her splayed thighs and she jerked her knees up. Then, slowly, deliberately, she stretched her legs straight, unfolding them like the petals of an ebony orchid, and with a deep throaty moan let them fall limply apart, exposing the moist, glistening furrow between them. Her fingers walked excitedly toward the hairless, pink slit and spread them apart, showing Brad and all the other excited patrons the rich wetness that quivered so succulently in her exposed crotch. The two soft, round moons of her buttocks glistened with perspiration, divided by the teasingly spread crevice and dotted by the tiny hairless ring of her anus that looked so obscenely inviting to Brad and the other lustful gaping men in the room.
Brad heard half-a-dozen gasps and felt Shirley jerk beside him as Vivian slowly slipped a middle finger along the glittering pinkness, rasping lightly over the already swollen bud of her tiny clitoris. He squeezed Shirley's firm heaving breast tighter and felt his own breathing becoming more and more rapid as he watched transfixed with a hypnotic sexually stimulated stare. He was afraid to see the look on her face as he gazed at the sensual writhing of the girl in the center of the room, her fingers probing further, working their way along the pink edges of her contracting cuntal lips. She slipped her index finger in and out smoothly between the swollen lubricated lips, then jack-knifed her long limbs, pressing her knees hard back against her breasts and jerked her upraised buttocks wildly at the tortuous inquiring finger. Her facial muscles tightened as she joined two more lascivious fingers with the first and clenching her teeth, pushed all three into the clasping, hungry pink folds of her emit. Then they disappeared quickly with a lewd sucking sound and a delicious moan of ecstasy from Vivian's throat.
Shirley gasped delightedly and Brad tightened his massaging grip on her now throbbing breasts, eager for the excitement of the lust-filled moment, and afraid of what he might actually do if he continued to watch. The whole obscene spectacle was tremendously exciting, but at the same time, disastrously dangerous. He wanted to leave now, driven by his self-styled code of ethics, forced to recognize that his participation made him something of a pervert, but the desire to stay and continue to watch until he became more and more involved in the lusty, exciting voyeurism, held much more power than the need to leave.
He waited anxiously to see what would happen next, lying to himself that he could control himself and leave whenever he felt things had gotten out of hand. His emotions were overriding his sensible logic and he wanted to watch, wondering if his wife really had ever masturbated like this. He identified Cindy with Vivian only because they were both women, and because it would be easier for him to justify his staying. The real reason, though, was sitting next to him, snuggling her breast against his hand and breathing with the full knowledge of the anticipated pleasures that awaited her. No one in the room, Shirley, Brad, Cyrus, Linda, or Vivian really wanted to leave-there was too much to lose if they did-and too much for Brad to lose if he stayed.
But watching the girl, he couldn't tear himself away. She had become almost possessed by her own probing fingers, writhing beneath their tantalizing expertise like a mad-woman. The rapid rhythm drove grunts of pleasure from deep in her dark throat as her fingers sank again and again into the clenching pink opening, sucking and sliding through the fiery moisture. Her face had turned darker, flushed by the passionate desire for orgasm, and she continued to moan angrily as her fingers drove harder and deeper into her smooth wet channel. They simply were not enough; she had to have more; she had to have a man's cock fucking into her cunt; that and that alone would satisfy the need that blazed deep in her belly. Her head rolled back and forth savagely as she fought for her climax, her face contorted with lust and her buttocks straining and clenching in a gigantic muscular effort to explode and relieve the lust-maddened sensations in her body.
She wailed and writhed, oblivious to anyone in the room, when suddenly a huge Great Dane ran out to her from a partially open door and jumped onto a huge red pillow beside her. Vivian squealed a tight choking exclamation of fear and brought her hand to her mouth. Her dark ebony eyes were wide with fright and she started to roll away from the gigantic dog, but his growling warned her to stay frozen where she was. And she did-her splayed thighs completely exposed and her knees tightly bent against her breasts, leaving her buttocks completely open and defenseless. There was nothing else she could do but wait and tremble while the ferocious dog growled viciously, his long pink tongue hovering directly above her helpless upraised crotch.
Brad jerked his hand from Shirley's breasts and started to get up, but felt a savagely tight grip on his wrist and looked to see her holding him where he was.
"Leave her alone," Shirley warned ominously.
"But that poor girl," he whispered, afraid that someone else in the room might hear him. "She could be hurt. Why, that dog's a monster! He's dangerous!"
"There's nothing to worry about. It's all part of the show, and Vivian had an idea this might happen," Shirley said with a smile. "It's happened here before, and it'll happen again. Don't worry, she'll be able to handle it."
"Handle what?" he asked, his eyes wide as his imagination worked furiously in the back of his mind.
"Just wait and see," she said softly and pulled him toward her. "Just wait and see."
Brad didn't want to sit down, but he couldn't help himself. This whole thing was getting out of hand, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. His curiosity, the blanket of liquor, and the smell of those brown cigarettes made him turn his gaze' back to the girl trembling beneath the Great Dane. A sadistic urge to watch a helpless girl's defilement made him stare unwillingly, knowing that he would see a huge ferocious dog rape a sexually aroused girl in front of him and a dozen other people. He felt a terrible revulsion, but picked up his drink and gulped the contents quickly down, dismissing a terrifying chill that cringed through his body.
He felt Shirley's hand slip over his leg and search for the swollen organ that throbbed beneath his trousers, but he didn't resist. He was a party to Vivian's rape-and one more crime would certainly be unnoticed now- He could feel her fingers grasping his prick and slowly begin to massage it to a greater hardness, but he wouldn't look at her, and instead glanced around the room for some other distraction. He could see other couples embracing, already naked and thrusting their sweating bodies together.
He could see Cyrus and Linda with their eyes on Vivian-they too were searching each other's bodies with wandering hands. Everyone was doing something wicked and obscene, and maybe that made it all right. Besides it did feel nice, and exciting, to have another woman's hand around his cock-it couldn't be too wrong! he thought and involuntarily slipped his fingers back to Shirley's breasts and began teasing her taut erect nipple. She squirmed tighter into her pillow at his teasing touch, feeling the cushion beneath her full, moon-like buttocks pushing deeper against her wet slit. Her panties were soaked through and she squeezed her thighs together to hold down the tingling sensations in order to make her pleasure last even longer.
She was a professional whore, but the evil fascination of the impending rape before her made her feel as excited as she did the first time she was ever screwed. Panting slightly she squirmed downward again, the cushion's edge forcing the elastic of her panties deeper into the quivering wet slit of her cunt, its smoothness exciting the sensitive pink lips of her hair-covered pussy. She felt tiny throbs pulsing in her already-swollen clitoris and bit her lip to hold back a squeal of sexual delight.
Trying to prolong her desires, she looked back to Vivian and the Great Dane. The dog slowly lowered his head to the defenseless girl's soft, hairless crotch and was sniffing the glistening slit curiously. His tail wagged rapidly and he was panting heavily, knowing he had found a bitch in heat. Beneath him she moaned with fright as his cold nose suddenly touched the pink elastic ring of her anus; she squeaked with terror as the thick wet tongue darted out and licked the entire length of her upraised crevice, lapping at the sensitive flesh of her tiny rectal orifice.
She started to wriggle away, but the dog's warning growl made her stop and unwillingly submit to the greedy lapping tongue between the cheeks of her ass. He slithered his tongue wetly the full length of her perspiring crack from the puckered ring of her tightly closed anus to the ruffled pink lips of her defenseless vagina and the hard erect bud of her pulsing clitoris. His huge tongue spread through the soft swollen flesh easily, licking relentlessly between the girl's widespread thighs, stopping sporadically to curl its way deep into her defenseless vaginal opening. She was jerking, crying, sobbing for him to stop, but made no move to escape the horribly teasing tongue.
Brad was hypnotized by what he saw now. Vivian wasn't trying to escape, in fact she was watching the dog's huge head between her splayed thighs with a sudden fascination. So this was what Shirley had meant; the girl really did know that something was going to happen to her tonight, and with a dog. But instead of being truly frightened, she was actually becoming engrossed in the horrid near sodomy, enjoying it! Her frightened moans were becoming soft mewls of pleasure, pleasure intent on subjugating herself to the basest of sexual abuses, intercourse with an animal-and she was submitting to the lewd demands of the Great Dane's tongue. Brad knew he was right, but was frightened by the thought of it, then suddenly was jerked back to reality as he watched Vivian hesitate for a moment, then grab the dog's huge ears!
Growling like an animal she kicked her legs back over her head and pulled his cold black nose forward lodging it between the trembling lips of her vaginal slit. His giant tongue thrust up the moist passageway and began ravenously sucking at her cunt, making her scream with a wild abandoned animal lust, shrieking at every lust-maddening thrust of his obscene tongue. The dog was plunging his tongue into her pussy with all the vicious lust he possessed . . .
Then suddenly Brad heard another uninhibited groan and raised his eyes to see Linda with the same depraved look on her face. Both her legs were spread wide and her short, thin dress was raised over her hips. Cyrus's bony hand was inside her sex-soaked panties, cupping her hair-trimmed pubic mound and sinking its fingers into the smooth wet channel of her vagina. Brad could see that she was unaware of anyone, grinding her pelvis and buttocks off the cushions in rhythm to the fingers fucking in and out of her cunt.
Shocked by his neighbor's depraved display of lust, he looked around bewildered-other couples, old and young, were in wild embraces, men with their bare buttocks driving up and down and thrusting their swollen pricks into the willing vaginas of Shirley's high-paid prostitutes- No one had any control over his passions, no one! And Brad realized that he too was losing control. He would have to leave before he really became one of them, depraved and lust-maddened by the ungodly rape in front of him. It wasn't right-but a groan from the center of the room stopped his thoughts as he turned his attention back to Vivian and the dog.
The Great Dane was lifting his head from the screaming girl's crotch and nosing her over onto her stomach, and she was obeying almost gladly. She was the obedient slave of the huge beast panting over her; her helpless body now spread-eagled and face down on the pillows while the long thick tongue lowered again and slithered into the exposed crevice between her upraised buttocks.
She twisted the two succulent orbs backwards toward his nuzzling tongue, reaching behind her to spread the quivering moons and give the huge dog an easier access to her tiny puckered elastic anus. His tongue lapped at her crevice for another long agonizing moment and Brad felt his own desires aching through his loins, throbbing in the long hard shaft of his penis. He wanted to get out, but Shirley's hand firmly grasped his thick instrument and was slowly, lasciviously stroking its rigid length, forcing him to heave an excited breath and shake his body with a shiver of unwanted excitement. He wanted to pull her intriguing hand away, but the inner strength of his passion refused to let him take command, and he lay back with a sigh, turning his lust-incited gaze back to Vivian and the Great Dane.
Before him the huge dog was nuzzling in the girl's writhing crotch, pushing his massive head between her thrashing hips and the pillows. Brad stared groggily as the head lifted, raising the girl's buttocks. There was no doubt about the Great Dane's desires, and the girl obeyed immediately, elevating her spread buttocks and bending like a Dane bitch in complete sexual obedience to her animal captor. The obscene animal's tongue had driven her to total defeat; crushed her surface resistance with its relentless attack on her helpless, exposed sexual orifice. Now Vivian knelt on all fours and the huge dog slowly, paw by paw, mounted her upraised backside. Brad could see the great animal's glistening red penis sliding out of fur covered sheath, dripping with the white juices of sexual excitement. Its knife-like tip slipped easily along the perspiring crevice between her buttocks, throbbing with desire as it searched eagerly to bury its length into the glistening pink slit of her vagina.
Whimpering with frustration, the lust-maddened girl jiggled her buttocks in a frantic effort to grasp the growing rod and suck its long rigid red flesh into the confines of her trembling channel. The sharp tip missed the first time, sliding quickly between the two jiggling cheeks to the soft, puckering ring of her anus and tried to lodge itself in the tight, hairless orifice. With a tiny moan she clenched her buttocks tight, evaded the intruding instrument and wriggled again to force the massive dog's long thick penis toward the succulent, wanting lips of her hairless pussy.
Driven by an insatiable desire, the Great Dane thrust blindly, sliding his long throbbing tip through the hot wet slit of her vagina and brushing it roughly against her swollen, aching clitoris. The hot scarlet of his jabbing penis contrasted sharply with the ruffled pinkness of her open cunt, spreading the quivering lips wider as they clasped to his long searching cock. Brad and the others were all breathless, waiting for the final successful attempt by the huge lust-crazed Great Dane to skewer the helpless girl with his massive throbbing prick. Moaning, almost screaming, Vivian reached behind her for the head of the pulsing wet organ and guided it into the clenching red entrance of her pussy until she screamed with joy as it suddenly, with a wet swishing rush, sank deep into her cunt.
Whispers of delighted ecstasy hissed through the room as the Great Dane thrust forward and slipped the entire length deep into the wriggling girl's fiery clasping cunt. The obscene prick plunged forward with a loud sucking sound until it was buried to the hilt, his huge swollen balls swaying below her open ravaged orifice. She was whimpering with relief from her parched lips and began slowly undulating her hips, at first side to side, then back and forth in a lewd rhythm with the obscenely panting dog. With his forelegs clamped around her waist she began rotating her upraised bottom in circles, wailing softly at the exciting animal fucking she was getting from behind. Her face was watching the audience and they could see the overpowering effect of the horrid fucking on her face. Every muscle was contorted with an abandoned lust, and her body rocked back and forth making her sexually inflamed breasts sway beneath her writhing torso, grunting in time with the wonderfully pistoning cock as it sank deep into her belly, a throbbing, fiery pole of rigid exciting flesh.
Brad's breath was coming in tight gasps and the pulsing heat in his loins was nearing a bursting point with every second that he continued to watch the girl being so willingly raped by the huge dog. Sweat poured from his body, heated by the closeness in the room and the site of the helpless girl, making his whole torso wet with perspiration. Each passing moment built a growing fear deep in the pit of his stomach, a fear that he was actually falling prey to the obscenity in this room and would no longer be able to control his own desires; especially while Shirley's hand wrapped and stroked around his now rigid penis.
Her forehead was covered with tiny beads of sweat from the heat of the other feverish bodies around her, and a trickling ripple of perspiration ran down the deep heaving valley between her taut full breasts. Her hand stroked more and more rapidly along Brad's throbbing penis with each thumping beat of her heart, driving him almost to madness. He wanted to get up now and leave-these weren't his kind of people, and they weren't playing his kind of games. Besides, he owed more than this to Cindy. She was his wife, and it might destroy her if she ever saw him here. But that was too remote a chance, knowing that even though Shirley had said she would arrive soon, Cindy wouldn't ever be at a party like this . . . never!
But what could he do? He'd gone too far already by allowing Shirley to stroke his cock, and he certainly didn't help his predicament any by by kneading her voluptuous breasts as they watched the girl and the dog. For as far as that went, however, it was really only a little harmless petting, and he couldn't be blamed for that minor weakness. Others in the room were weak too, like Cyrus and Linda for instance, he thought sluggishly as he looked to see Cyrus' fingers digging wetly between Linda's thighs. He would just have to fight the driving sexual sensations that coursed through his body when he watched the others. If he were careful, he wouldn't let Shirley go too far with her lewd, relentless stroking of his prick, and he wouldn't go too far himself. It wasn't right . . .
Slowly, unaware, his mind strayed back to the obscenely swaying body of the girl kneeling before the humping Great Dane. Her rapture had driven her almost insane, and she was shouting loud rasping obscenities at the beast through her tightly clenched teeth. She was begging him louder and louder to fuck her harder and shoot his bestial sperm into her cunt. She wanted to feel the animal's cum fill her clasping hole; and she'd be satisfied with nothing less. Her lust made her an animal and nothing more, maddened by her own perverted lust and the incessant screwing of her waving wet vagina from behind. There was for her, the excitement of her own humiliation, raving with a sexual madness at her own willing submission to the dog's fucking and jerking into her body while a mass of semi-strangers watched with delighted fascination. Brad watching with a glazed stare, could see tiny rivers of sweat building in the crevice between her wide-spread buttocks, glistening in the dim reflections and running slowly down the backs of her jerking thighs to the imperceptible wrinkles between her knees.
Shirley knew that Brad was uncomfortable and certainly frightened, feeling his thickened hot prick jerking in her grasp. But she didn't want him to know that she, too, was aroused. After all, she was a pro, accustomed to these obscene shows, and furthermore, the lady of this house, not prone to giving customers the pleasures that her girls sold for hard cash. Involuntarily, her round trembling buttocks ground harder into the cushions, and she tried to make it appear that she was only shifting her weight, though she was barely able to conceal her own terrible frustrations. Brad's hand was plying the erect flesh of her rosy nipples more vigorously, even though he wasn't aware of his own movements, and her breasts had hardened to a sexual tautness that she didn't want to acknowledge. She snuggled closer to him, trying to control her mounting passion, and at the same time wanting to get him turned on so that he would be willing to buy one of the other girls' bodies for the night. He had to become so excited that he would commit the same crime his wife had, and find himself just as guilty-the crux of her plan, though, was her knowledge of a man's nature. She knew he would feel it acceptable for him to engage in extramarital sex, but he wouldn't want his wife to do the same thing. If she could only get him into bed with one of the other girls, then tell him that Cindy had done the same thing, his marriage would end, and Cindy would have to come to her for help.
Shirley scanned the room for a suitable bed-mate for Brad and saw Linda squirming under Cyrus' rapidly insistent fingers. Her eyes glazed through the darkness and she was grinding her pelvis up with an eager, aroused abandon in a frantic effort to suck the probing fingers further into her wide-spread vaginal opening. This was the girl Shirley would use tonight-the one who would make Brad Thompson wail with passion and delight-the one who would expose him for the big phony he was, a man like any man, eager for the delicious pleasure of an exciting young girl's sexual vessel Suddenly Shirley wriggled down hard against the cushion. Brad had turned her and dropped his other hand to her slightly raised bare knee, groping quickly along the inner flesh of her thighs. She froze instantly, trying to assess her predicament, and felt him push the ruffles of her dress almost all the way to her sheer white panties. Then, with grim determination, she dropped her hand to her lap and grasped his wrist. She fought to push his hand away, knowing that he was becoming more and more excited, but knowing too, that she had to keep him just at the brink of ecstasy and save him for one of the other girls-like Linda, for instance, now totally. engrossed in the lascivious probing fingers plunging into her clasping pussy, uncaring about spectators. That was the kind of girl for him, not Shirley the omnipotent Madame.
But the all-powerful Madame had already excited Brad Thompson too far. His hand rested momentarily in her lap, then as she tried to fight him, he moved it forcefully, kneading the gentle swell of her belly through the light material of her dress. Teasing the light downy hair at the base of her abdomen, he moved downward, his fingers rotating against the mound of her succulent crotch, unable to move further though because of the tight restrictions of her dress. Fighting his relentless desire and her own sexual frustrations, Shirley pressed harder against the cushion, thinking that he would believe she was trying to escape his insistent fingers, while in reality she was trying to suck the hard edge of the cushion into her moist vaginal slit. A torrent of lubricating juices flooded between her thighs, wetting her dress, and she could feel the creeping liquids settle between the lightly clenching cheeks of her buttocks. She was becoming aroused, though she knew she shouldn't, and the excitement of an impending danger-knowing that she could easily fall prey to a man's sensuous ministrations while her girls watched-made her continue to wriggle against the salacious sensations from the cushion. There was no denying that it felt good, but she'd have to keep him from getting his fingers into her pants, or she might not be able to control herself.
She grasped his wrist tighter, but couldn't stop his hand from circling her trembling belly, and through the thin, almost unrestricting material of her dress, teasing the quivering ruffles of her vaginal entrance through the wetness of her sex-soaked panties. She closed her eyes and resigned herself to the softly rocking sensations of pleasure coursing through her belly. She could take that much and still be safe, knowing that he couldn't get his hand beneath her dress . . . she hoped. It was almost as nice as being naked and in bed with him, but not as degrading-she couldn't let her girls see her seduced by a customer. That wasn't her job! But Brad didn't care what her job was as he slipped one hand under her buttocks to her gasping surprise. He was hypnotized by the lewd show going on before them and didn't really know what he was doing, his hands being guided by the mystical instincts of man's sexual drive. His fingers were searching in the sweating crevice between the ivory orbs of her buttocks, and Shirley fought a raging battle inside herself, knowing that she had to stop him, but wanting secretly for him to continue searching until he found the quivering folds of her cuntal lips and their eager desires for manipulation.
Staring at the Great Dane's scarlet penis still ravaging Vivian's jerking vagina, she slowly lowered her other hand and grasped his wrist, but it was still no use to try to stop his hand. It continued his relentless teasing under her crotch, probing at the pink wetness through her soaked panties. There was nothing else she could do without alerting everyone in the room that she was trying to stop him, and she couldn't cause a scene-it was bad for her image. Quietly, she resigned herself to his lascivious probings at her hair-covered genitals, squirming away as his middle finger began a gentle stroking along the quivering crevice. A wave of rippling obscene pleasure swept through her trembling white thighs as his hand sensed her submission. He hooked his middle finger to slide her dress over the backs of her thighs so that he could slip under the tight elastic of her constraining silk panties. She wanted to resist, but still couldn't find the courage, feeling the insistent fingers as they ordered shocks of tremulous passion through her panting belly.
She had to stop him now-before he aroused her too much and she lost control. She wasn't supposed to be doing this, she wasn't supposed to be letting him get his hands into her pants-but how could she stop the pleasure and all its delights?
Shirley glanced around the room for help, hoping to catch Linda's attention to relieve her, but the other girl was too engrossed in the smooth working fingers that skewered her bucking pelvis.
Shirley was almost frantic now, feeling her dress rising higher from behind. Involuntarily she lifted her hips as his fingernails scratched her buttocks and more of the dress slid upwards until suddenly there was no more dress covering her buttocks, only the sheer silk of her panties. Brad's hand had already covered the silk over her hair-trimmed pubic mound and his fingers were quickly slithering under the taut elastic and into the moist channel of her tormented pussy. She tried to wriggle away, squirming to nowhere for protection, but her whole body quivered with unwanted delight as the finger dove deeply into her smooth wet emit. She could feel her own lubricating juices moistening the palm of his hand beneath her buttocks as it ground imperceptibly into her crotch. Brad's fingers were rotating with increasing speed inside the forbidden confines of her trembling vagina, widening her clenching orifice with each salacious rotation. Christ, she had to stop him before she went mad! No woman could withstand such delightful torture for very long, not even a hardened prostitute like Shirley. But she was about to scream for release, for anything that would make him stop and give her back her self-control. She felt totally helpless as his fingers dug into her crotch and she watched the huge Great Dane fucking the helplessly flailing girl in the center of the room. Someone had to stop this now!
With a sudden scream from the pillows in the center of the room, Vivian stopped Shirley's torture. She was thrashing her head wildly .in the beginning spasms of her climax and screwed her sweating buttocks frantically back against the huge thrusting penis. The Great Dane was drooling sloppily onto her back as she suddenly screamed and hammered her buttocks back against him once more, feeling his thick jerking cock slam forward and begin spewing his white, sticky animal sperm into the contracting well of her vagina. Brad and Shirley watched transfixed as the girl began spastically clenching her jiggling buttocks, squealing at the final eruptions of her climax deep in her heaving belly. The thick whiteness from the dog's prick oozed out of her ravaged pussy and slithered down the upraised stems of her legs, and her backside glistened with sweat and flooded pink flesh as she slowly fell forward into unconsciousness. She had blacked out, and the dog, satiated, backed off behind her, his tongue hanging lewdly out of his large mouth as he watched the woman he had just fucked. With almost a smile, the Great Dane lowered his head and lapped up the remaining sticky fluids that soaked her cunt and thighs until there was nothing left but the last remnants of his saliva gleaming its reflections on her ravaged body.
Chapter Nine
"My God!" Brad whispered to no one in particular, unable to take his eyes from the unconscious girl lying limply in the center of the room. Now he'd seen everything; there was nothing left in the world's vastness that could shock him-and he was ashamed.
He couldn't imagine how he had let himself become involved in this obscene spectacle, sure that it wasn't the liquor alone that had kept him hypnotized on the floor throughout the girl's performance with the dog. It had to be more; perhaps the mood of the other people in their exuberant sexual drunkenness had taken more of a toll on his senses than he had at first anticipated. But still, it was more than just their influence. He had always thought his character was too strong to be influenced by others against his will; therefore there had to be a flaw in his own personality that allowed him to take part in this depraved act. But what?
His question was unanswered as he slowly scanned the room, horrified, yet slightly titillated by what he saw. Among the other naked couples lying exhausted on the floor were Cyrus and Linda sprawled beside each other in an obscene embrace, his hand resting inside her torn panties, its fingers still sunk deep into her open hair-lined vagina. They were mad-Cyrus, Linda, all of them, especially Shirley!
Next to him, her knees elevated and spread, she was lying on her back with her own fingers rubbing furiously across her clitoris in a frantic attack on her pussy to steal the spoils of victory; her ultimate climax. Brad watched with fascination as she began to jerk automatically and with a sudden stifled cry of ecstasy bucked her hips upward in the agonizingly delicious throes of orgasm.
So these were the perverts and sexually obsessed he had read about so often, always amused by what he had thought was only fantasy. But these people weren't fictional characters; they were real, and their fantasy was a living nightmare of lust and depravity. Worse yet, however, they weren't from some far off exotic land, but normal people leading seemingly normal lives during the day while they carried on their clandestine activities at night, and in his own neighborhood.
The girl next door ... he thought sarcastically and smiled. The old image of a sweet neighborhood innocent had become instead the sweet neighborhood whore, and Brad fought to stifle a chuckle. The entire world was changing, sadly changing for the worse, but at that moment he could only think it was funny, a mammoth prank played on humanity by its own blind beings. They fought wars, flew to the moon, doubled their population, left millions starving and of course, wallowed in a pit of sexual degradation: all in the name of progress. People were intent on destroying their civilization, and Brad knew for certain that no one really cared, himself included perhaps.
"Cigarette?" Shirley asked from beside him.
"Sure, here," he said, turning to offer her one of his menthols. He wanted to appear as calm as possible, but the flush of sex and alcohol on his face couldn't be hidden. No matter how shocking he thought these people were, he had become involved in their entertainment and had nearly submitted to the degrading exhibition of obscenity he had just witnessed. Nothing could deny the fact that he, too, was a member of that failing human race.
"Thanks," Shirley said as she sucked the dancing flame of his match into the rich copper tobacco at the end of her cigarette. "Did you enjoy the show?"
"Mmm," he answered noncommittally.
"Is that the best you can do?" she asked with a smirk. "Surely the civilized Mr. Thompson isn't going to say he wasn't turned on by that dark little girl and the dog throwing it to her!"
"I'm only human," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Or at least I thought I was. I've never seen anything like that before and I don't care to see it again."
"Ohhh, so you're afraid!"
"Not exactly," Brad replied through a long thick cloud of exhaling smoke. "I can honestly say I was shocked, perhaps more than anything else. And I can't deny that I was excited, but that's not the point. This whole business is perverted and against everything that I believe to be right. I'm a married man and have no business being here; though most of these men are married, too-but it's their business and I can't judge them.
"As for myself, I've got to think of Cindy and our marriage. It's been pretty shaky, and I want to straighten it out and make it work. If I were to condone this party and stay, I'd never be able to face her."
"But," Shirley interrupted. "I seem to recall our conversation a while ago, when you said you thought she might be here."
"She's not!" he snapped, afraid to look around the room.
"Not yet, Bradley, dear," she whispered wickedly and poured more liquor into his glass from a bottle that had been tilting dangerously in a nearby ice bucket. "But by the time you finish this drink, she'll be walking through that door. And I'll bet you won't recognize her as your wife."
"That's ridiculous!" he exclaimed angrily and started to get up. "I'm not having another drink! I'm not staying! And Cindy won't be here, either!"
"Better sit down, Brad," she grinned. "You're wobbling, and I don't think you'll be able to walk out of here under your own power."
For a moment he stood swaying over her, wanting to smash her into the floor for her ugly insinuations about his wife. Everything she said was a lie, and he was going to leave . . . but his legs weren't about to hold him steady, and he unwillingly sank back to the mound of pillows beside her, unable to keep his balance because of deadening alcohol burning through his veins.
"That's better," she said and handed him his glass. "You just sit still for a moment and we'll talk some more.
"You said a moment ago that you weren't afraid of what happened here tonight. Perhaps not. But you are afraid of something." "No I'm not," he said groggily. "I'm not afraid of anything."
"But you are, Brad. You're not afraid of Vivian and her lovely performance, or anyone else in the room. Except for one person."
"Who?" he said, thinking he was humoring her.
"Yourself, Bradley. You're afraid of yourself."
"Preposterous," he giggled, knowing that she was full of shit.
"You're afraid of what you really felt when you watched Vivian," she continued, ignoring his obviously snide attitude. "You got so goddamned turned on that you couldn't keep your hands out of my pants-that pisses me off, a little-but your prick was jerking like a school boy's and you were finger-fucking me like it was the last moment on earth."
"Yer no fuckin' lady," he slurred drunkenly and drained the contents of his glass. "You swear too much!"
"And you're no fuckin' gentleman," she retorted quickly. "You're no better than anyone else in this house, and you've proved that already. You were watching the dog fuck Vivian, finger-fucking me, and thinking about Linda over there, wishing you could be humping your cock into her pussy in Cyrus' place. No, no, big man. You're no better than any of us."
"Hey, look, bitch," he gurgled and rolled over to face her. "Nobody talks to me like that. Nobody! Maybe I did get homy, and maybe I did want to fuck somebody, but that doesn't "make me anything like you. And it doesn't give you the right to talk to me like that either. I'm a rich man, and I don't need people like you. Goodbye!"
Shirley laughed as he tried to stand up again, wobbling as he rose, then collapsing back to the pillows when his knees suddenly gave out. He was drunk, and already mad, and she had told him the truth, though he didn't want to admit it. He was right where she wanted him, and the only thing she waited for was Keith and Cindy. As soon as they arrived Brad Thompson would do exactly as she had planned.
"What's the matter, Bradley, dear?" she sneered. "Can't you stand up, or are you just waiting for your wife?"
"I can stand up, goddamn it!" he growled. And I'm not waiting for her. She's not coming!"
"Here, here," Shirley said softly and put her arms around his neck. "You just relax for a little while, then you'll be able to walk-as soon as the next show's over."
"Next show?" he said, not to her, but to himself.
"Can't you see the lights are dimming again," she whispered and straightened her skirt with one hand. "That means our next little performer is about to enter."
Brad groggily turned his head toward the door expecting to see the other Negro girl, Vivian's friend, enter the room. A sharp ray of light shot into the room through the opening door and he could see another pair of bare feet coming in hesitantly. The girl's slim well-formed legs were followed by a pair of dark continental trousers and a husky male voice.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Keith announced proudly. "Tonight, for the second time at the Anderson Playground, we have the lovely young lady who performed so valiantly in the hothouse only twenty-four hours ago. May I present the lovely, vivacious and intoxicating . . ."
"Cindy," Brad gasped as he looked at her face. It was his wife! But as Shirley had warned, he couldn't remember ever seeing her like this . . .
His eyes flowed over the graceful fall of her golden hair, following the luscious contours of her shoulders, completely naked beneath her sheer transparent hostess gown. Beneath the glass-like gown her rosy-tipped ivory breasts jutted out at him in their fullness, pointing slightly upward like an adolescent girl's budding young orbs. He slowly moved his gaze down her sides to the gentle swell of her belly, seeing her small elliptical navel dotting the high center of her abdomen, then rolled over the sweeping sensual rise of her tanned hips until his eyes froze at the downy apex of her thighs. There, completely exposed to everyone in the room lay the delicious jewel of her silken, fur-covered pubic mound, soft and inviting to every devouring eye, and he could see her light, pinkish cuntal lips quivering slightly, just as Vivian's pussy had trembled.
This girl, practically naked, allowing everyone to see her breasts and her pussy couldn't be his wife. But his eyes snapped back to her face', telling him that it could be no one else.
"I thought you said she wouldn't be here," Shirley snickered quietly in his ear.
"Shut-up!" he hissed, angry, but not knowing exactly why. In a normal circumstance he would have been angry at himself for being caught in this expensive neighborhood whorehouse; or he would have been angry at finding his wife here, naked and obviously one of the participating members. Instead, though, his real anger was directed at his ego for having been wrong! And his ego, in defense, told him that he was right to be here, that he had only come to find Cindy. And he had!
She was the one who was wrong, she was the one who shouldn't be here, not he.
Betrayal! That's what it was, a betrayal. All those months of marriage, patiently trying to get her to understand and share his love of sex-those months were all a fraud! She was a whore, and no other explanation would suffice his angry, drunken confused mind. She had spent all that time feigning innocence when she was nothing but the neighborhood harlot, too tired at night for him after a big day in bed with her clients. His whole marriage was a lie, a front for her prostitution so that she could use his money and respectability to pursue her nymphomania. Seething with righteous anger he listened as Keith continued.
"For those of you who couldn't see very well in the dark last night, I want you to take a good look at this sensual creature," he smiled and held her hand above her head as if she were a pirouetting ballet dancer. Brad watched, his eyes blazing with hatred and pain as she turned slowly, the full curve of her hip rotating until it became the gentle slope of her smooth white buttocks. He stared in disbelief while the two moon-like orbs came fully into view, round and jiggling slightly as she turned, exposing the smooth, straight crevice between them. Two tiny dimples dotted the soft flesh at the top of the long valley, forming a "V" with the folds of her flesh as it descended between the two ivory globes to the full roundness at the bottom. At the apex of her long slender thighs Brad could see the downy fuzz of her pubic hair peeping from under the trembling orbs, obscenely glistening with small drops of dewy moisture. While he stared hypnotically at his wife's bare buttocks through the transparent gown, his whole body began to perspire, half out of hatred and anger, and half out of desire-he'd never seen her like this, naked in the light and obviously (to him) eager for sex.
"As some of you already know,!' Keith continued brightly. "Whenever we get a new girl, like Cindy, we want to give everyone a chance to try her delicious wares-fairly, of course.
"Now you gentlemen-and I understand there are two ladies here tonight who are paying customers and not employees-would all like to get into that tight, almost unused little box down between her legs."
"Come on, Keith, hurry it up," a man from the back of the room called out.
"Very well," he smiled. "Everyone will get his-or her-chance at this succulent creature, but, of course, virgin territory like this will be expensive."
"Not quite a virgin," Cyrus chuckled aloud.
"You're right, Cyrus, and who should know better than you do," Keith laughed then turned back to the crowd. "But the rest of you would like to find out just how tight and how hot this new piece of merchandise is. Now, let's get going-someone start the bidding."
Bidding! For Christ's sake, they were going to auction off his wife's body! Goddamn it! Brad thought furiously. Whore or no whore, she's still my wife! How could she stand there and let them do this to her, how? But if Cindy had seen him in the room she would have asked the same question about him.
"Fifty dollars!" a male voice shouted triumphantly from across the room.
"You've got to be kidding," Keith said, genuinely amazed. "This is a respectable house, gentleman, and this girl is one of the most superb specimens of female flesh I've ever seen. Look at her, long slim legs, full and very, very firm breasts," he said with a smile and pinched one frightened taut pink nipple. "And those hips, smooth and round, encircling her furry little pussy like a royal satin cape ...
"Fifty dollars, you say? For a woman like this! Don't be absurd!"
"One hundred dollars," a woman's voice called out huskily and Brad turned to see a stocky black-haired woman, naked and still in the arms of another woman, waving from a few feet away.
"One hundred and fifty," the other lesbian shouted in a high falsetto and stared indignantly at her partner.
"Wonderful, girls, wonderful," Keith cheered. "Let's hear some more bids now, and find out who's going to screw this delightful girl right here in front of us all."
Brad gritted his teeth and saw his wife shudder visibly at Keith's announcement. Her eyes were overflowing with tears as she prayed silently for help. Someone had to stop this awful nightmare-hadn't Keith and Shirley done enough to her already? Did they have to treat her like a common whore? She was doing what they want- ed, screwing someone for money, but not here in front of all these people! Oh God, why, she whimpered silently.
"Tears," Keith exclaimed gleefully as he looked at her. "The girl is frightened, aren't you Cindy?"
She nodded her head slowly, wanting him and all these terrible people to vanish immediately. Sure she was crying, and why not? Yesterday they had gotten her drunk, forced her into the evil perverted arms of Cyrus, watched her being screwed in the hothouse, watched her become excited and raving with sexual desire until she had succumbed to him gladly. Then today-oh God today-in the morning mists of daylight Keith had raped her in the shower-made her suck his thing . . . then laughed about it while Shirley blackmailed her. Why shouldn't she cry? She was getting into more trouble than she had ever dreamed of, and there was no one to help her. Oh God, if only Brad were here-he'd help her! He'd get her out of this horrid place.
"Two-fifty," another male voice bid.
"Getting better, getting better," Keith cried happily, becoming excited as if he were a child watching a circus. "But remember the tears, ladies and gentlemen. This girl is terrified-it's not every day we find one who's scared. Think of the delight of having this whimpering child wrapping her legs around you and slowly turning into a raving sex machine. You all saw her last night, and you know I'm not lying!"
"Three hundred," yelled the bull-dyke.
"Three hundred's the bid," Keith answered. "But remember, Gloria, no whips."
"Four hundred," Cyrus suddenly shouted above the disappointed protestations of the stocky lesbian.
Oh God, no, Cindy said to herself when she heard him. Not that terrible old man again. He was distinguished looking only when he had his clothes on, but sitting there naked his age was apparent to her. She could see his testicles hanging loosely between his legs and his long thin penis lying slightly to the left. His pubic hairs were grey and snarled, and she could see the wrinkles of his small pot-belly hanging over his groin. God, if it had to be anyone, at least make it a younger man.
"Five hundred," a strangely familiar voice filtered through her ears.
"You carrying that much cash?" Shirley whispered softly in Brad's ear when she heard him bid. "It might take a lot of money to get your wife out of here."
"I'm not going to buy her freedom," Brad whispered back, not taking his eyes from his wife's exposed nakedness.
"Six!" Cyrus shouted and Cindy peered out into the semi-darkness to see who the other stranger was.
"Seven!" he growled.
That voice-Cindy thought foggily. I know that voice as well as my own, but whose is it?
"Can you take a check," Brad asked when he heard Cyrus bid a thousand, bringing gasps of delight from the crowd.
"Sorry, only cash," Keith said politely.
"I've only got a thousand with me," he said. "I can't outbid him."
Cindy felt a cold, chilling fear creeping up her spine. She did know that voice-but it couldn't be, it just couldn't.
"That's all I've got, too," Cyrus said. "But you know my credit's good, Keith. How about a check?"
"Sorry, Cyrus, I can't show a preference-prejudice is against the law, you know," Keith told him softly, then turned to the audience and their hushed silence. "It looks like a stalemate, unless the two gentlemen would like to pool their money and share our delicious prize. Gentlemen?"
Brad sat quietly, almost in shock as he heard the others in the room exclaiming their delight with the proposition. He wanted to punish Cindy, and punish her so cruelly that she would never, ever forget. Half-drunk, angry, he wanted to get her out in front of all those people, strip off that obscene caftan gown and fuck her just like the Great Dane had fucked Vivian. Now, however, he was beginning to feel a doubt, wondering if he could really do such a terrible thing to his own wife.
But he had gone too far, and there was no choice. He had to follow through and exact his revenge, convince himself that he was doing the right thing, then debase her in her own eyes. It would serve her right . . . and so would Cyrus.
Cyrus was the perfect answer, the co-conspirator, though he didn't know it. They could both fuck her, thereby sharing the guilt and the reward of Brad Thompson's revenge. Yes, Cyrus would be perfect.
"All right by me," Cyrus grinned, anticipating something he had never tried before. "And me," Brad added.
"It's settled then," Keith said triumphantly. "Cyrus and-uh, I can't see who you are, sir . . ."
"Brad Thompson. I'm her husband."
A gasp echoed from every throat in the room, but the noise of their surprise was drowned out by a terrified shriek as Cindy suddenly fell unconscious in a heap on the floor.
Chapter Ten
A loud stinging slap on her cheek ripped Cindy from her unconsciousness, and she felt herself being roughly jerked to her feet. For a moment the whole room was as blurred as the thoughts rambling incoherently through her mind, telling her that Brad was there, that he had bid for her body . . . but he wouldn't do that.
"Stand up, goddamn it!" he ordered and she opened her eyes to see her husband standing beside her, his hand clamping tightly around her small arm.
"Oh, Brad, Brad, I'm so glad you're here," she whimpered, a new flood of tears cascading from her soft round eyes. "Take me away, please, now. Oh god!"
"Shut-up, slut," he sneered and turned toward the audience.
"But, Brad, you don't understand . . ." she pleaded, her eyes wide with disbelief as he began to talk to the crowd in the room.
"This, ladies and gen'lmen, is my wife, Shirley's newest hot little whore," he was telling them. "Her experience, of course, is much broader than Keith told you-she's been a whore for years, and I don't know how she keeps her cunt so tight. Probably exercises ..."
"B-Brad, don't please, you don't know what you're saying," she begged, her voice drowned out by the sniggling laughter of the perverted voyeurs.
"I know exactly what I'm saying, you whore," he sneered at her. "Now you just shut the hell up and do as you're told!"
"Is she really your wife," Cindy heard Cyrus ask from behind her, his voice clouded by her own trembling sobs.
"You'd better believe it, Cyrus, ol' man," Brad said drunkenly. "But to show you what a great sport I am, you can have her first."
Cindy's sobs were becoming more audible as she listened to her husband's offer. This wasn't the man she married, the man she loved-this was a stranger, someone she'd never met before, never loved before, never wanted before-God how could he do this? What changed him, what?
"Brad," Cyrus said and took one long last choking drag from a thin brown cigarette, holding his breath for a lingering suspenseful moment. "In all my years I've never met a husband who would give his wife away so freely, and I want to express my appreciation by letting you have first crack at her. Besides, great sport, I fucked her last night."
Cindy couldn't believe what she was hearing; they were talking about her as if they were transacting an informal business deal. Brad was obviously stone drunk, and those funny brown cigarettes of Cyrus' had made him the same way! They were being vaudevillian, almost too polite, making the entire awful thing sound even more terrifying with each unbelievable word.
"Thanks, buddy," Brad said and suddenly twirled her around. "We can all see your cunt, Cindy, but why don't you take that ridiculous gown off and let ol' Cyrus here get a good feel."
"Brad, Brad," she sobbed, "Don't please . . . you don't know . . ."
"I said take it off," he growled viciously and suddenly snapped the top button free, then the next and the next until the front of her completely transparent pant-dress was open. She could feel a warm rush of smoke-filled air slide under the plastic cloth and begin caressing her naked torso beneath, and her hands automatically rose to cover her exposed nakedness, but dropped quickly away, knowing that there was no part of her body that these people hadn't already seen. Sobbing more quietly she stood passively as her husband pulled the dress from her shoulders and slipped it to the ground, leaving her humiliated and totally naked in front of everyone in the room.
"Voila!" Brad exclaimed excitedly and beamed a drunken grin at the crowd.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why are you doing this?"
But he didn't reply. Brad Thompson didn't have to explain anything to anyone, especially his wife-who would soon be his ex-wife. This miserable, lying emit was nothing more than a whore, and he owed her nothing. She'd lied and cheated on him, and now he'd make a complete fool of her in front of all these people, and save face. His ego demanded vengeance, and he would obey, taking her pride and self respect away forever. No one dared lie to Brad Thompson without facing the most horrible punishment.
Cindy trembled and tried to speak to him again, but her common sense told her that it would do no good. She stood silently as he slowly bent to his knees, at the same time running his hands along the insides of her thighs, testing and teasing the soft, supple ivory flesh.
"On your knees, bitch," he commanded from below her, kneeling on a pillow with his legs spread apart. "Get down! Now!"
What could she do? she thought, then suddenly felt the smarting whack of Cyrus' hand on her buttocks, enforcing her husband's command. "Do as the gentleman says, Cindy, dear," Cyrus snickered. "A husband's word is law."
Another resounding painful smack stung at her backside and she almost leaped as she hurried to kneel and obey the mystifying commands. She was on all fours directly in front of her husband's wide-spread legs, completely unaware of what he wanted. As she started to look up at him pleadingly, he suddenly tangled his strong hands in her tousled blonde hair and jerked her face against his crotch, scraping her soft skin on the zipper of his trousers. She could feel the rigid bulge of his penis beneath the cloth and closed her eyes in bitter submission, knowing that he wanted her to suck his . . . his cock, just like Keith had forced her to do earlier. Brad was a maniac; something had changed him, and she knew from the snarling warnings of his voice that she must do whatever he commanded, or face an even worse fate.
"Hey Cyrus," he giggled lewdly. "Look at that, she's gonna suck my cock. Did she do that for you?"
"No," he panted, licking his lips.
"Me neither," Brad smiled obscenely. "So what the hell are you waiting for, bitch. Pull it out!"
Feeling his hands almost tearing her hair from its roots, she knew she must obey, and quickly began unzipping his pants. His lust was insane but so was his anger, and she hurried with the zipper, knowing that she couldn't do anything to displease him. Then with a scratching sound the zipper opened, her hand delved inside to untangle the throbbing instrument from his shorts, and she suddenly gasped as her fingers quickly pulled his thick pulsating cock from its confinement.
"You afraid of it?" he hissed. "Grab the son of a bitch and start sucking!"
For a moment she hesitated, then suddenly felt his hand grasp hers and envelop her fingers around the long hard shaft, making her pull the rumpled foreskin back to expose the scarlet blood-engorged head and the thick droplet of sperm that hung precariously from the small vertical slit. While she stared, the dangerous threatening weapon only inches from her face, Brad stuck his fingers into her mouth and parted her full moist lips, then jerked his hips slightly forward and planted the rubbery throbbing head firmly against her shining white teeth. She could see the full length of the purplish stem, much larger and more ominous than it had ever seemed before.
She didn't want to suck it, she didn't want to have her own husband use her throat as a target for his sperm-like Keith had done-but the tearing painful pulling at the roots of her hair commanded her to obey. Unwillingly she parted her lips to admit the soft spongy flesh of his cock into her mouth, and felt a humiliating shock of mental pain streak through her head. The moist saliva was wetting the blisteringly hot head as it slid obscenely toward her throat, rasping its purple-veined underside over the soft tantalizing wetness of her tongue. As it slid further she could sense the salty, stale taste, and the acid odor of his excitement pounding at her nerve endings.
Kneeling on the pillow he was beginning a slow undulation, sliding his thick rigid cock in and out of her mouth with the lewd moist sucking noise while he pulled and pushed her head with his strong punishing hands.
All eyes in the room were focused on her ovalled cunt-like mouth and Cyrus moved closer to see her cheeks puffing involuntarily as she sucked her husband's raping penis. His grin widened sadistically as Brad began pumping faster into his wife's mouth, and Cyrus knelt quickly beside the helpless humiliated girl. His bony fingers began gliding over her smooth ivory flesh, running over her smooth hanging breasts and teasing her taut rosy-tipped nipples until her facial muscles contorted with pain. Quickly his touch moved from her jiggling young breasts to the full, upraised curves of her thighs and buttocks and he began kneading the soft pliant flesh, never taking his eyes from the depraved cock sucking in and out of her mouth. His own prick felt hard and throbbing as he watched the girl's helpless face, imprisoned by Brad's vice-like grip, unable to do anything but continue to suck his pumping cock and take the terrible, inhuman rape of her mouth without even a sound of protest.
Ashamed, horrified and frightened, Cindy could feel Cyrus' eager old hands crawling over her naked buttocks as she bobbed her head silently along the thick shaft sticking in her mouth. She could see the dark curls of Brad's pubic hairs curling up from the massive base of his prick and out of his open fly. This was all insane, ugly, all of it-and if it were not a dream and if she were really sucking her own husband's penis in front of all these people, then there was nothing left for her to live for. If he could really do this horrible degrading thing to her, then her marriage and her life were as good as over. She might as well really be one of Shirley's whores, alone in the world, except at night-with a different man every hour ...
If Brad thought she were a prostitute then she ought to act like one, and she began sucking harder, running her moist tongue hungrily around the rubbery throbbing head and flicking the tip lightly into the moist vertical slit until she felt it begin to jerk more roughly-just like Keith's prick had done before he had spewed his cum into her throat. That was something she could never forget, nor could she ever forget what her husband was about to do. He would shoot his sperm into her mouth and defile her for the rest of her life. Nothing would ever erase the horrid memories of this moment, not even the stillness of eternity. He was her husband, but he had let himself believe that she was a common whore, and now was punishing her for a crime she didn't commit. She remembered her first moment of infidelity with Cyrus, enjoying sex, even enjoying sucking Keith's prick in the shower. But this was unforgivable and she would never be able to redeem herself in her husband's eyes, or in her own. Maybe she really was a whore. Whenever a man told her to fuck, she had fucked, and whenever she was told to suck, she had sucked. Now she was sucking her husband and would be getting an enormous price for it . . . Oh God, how did it ever happen?
Wallowing in self-pity and unconsciously trying to answer her unanswerable questions, she was unaware of the unwanted beginnings of masochistic pleasure that were mounting rapidly in the quivering pit of her belly.
Unknowingly she was sucking voraciously at the huge throbbing instrument, lapping its slowly spilling fluids, eager to drag each milky drop from the engorged head until she would force the pressure in his loins to erupt into a spilling boiling climax. Above her, Brad was straining and grunting, crying out names in the semi-darkness . . . "Whore, Cunt, Bitch," every filthy word he could think of to ease the mortal wound suffered by his ego. She was a cheap, rotten cocksucking whore, he told himself as he watched her oval-shaped lips straining back and forth over the long thick shaft of his penis. Listening to the obscenities, Cyrus was brutally milking the softness of her sweating flesh, pulling at her nakedness with his hands and licking along the washboard of her spine with his wet, slobbering tongue, sending shivers of delight to the tightening rosy tips of her swaying breasts. Then spreading the cheeks of her jiggling buttocks wide, he slid his fingers through the wetness of the open crevice, curling over her tiny hairless anus and into the hot ruffled lips of her hair-lined vagina, matching the stroking rhythm of the pummeling cock in her mouth.
Soaked with the honied wetness from her cuntal lips, his finger crept slowly, teasingly up the crevice toward the tight elastic ring of her anus, murmuring and slobbering like the Great Dane in his excitement. Circling the hairless orifice with the moistened tip of his finger, he pressed it lightly against the rubbery resisting ring for a moment, then harder, applying more and more pressure until suddenly he felt as if all his strength were in that single finger, and he thrust it deep into her rectum.
"Mmmmmmm!" she moaned suddenly and jerked at the unexpected intrusion, while at the same time Brad jerked forward again, almost choking her with the massive rigid flesh of his instrument. She gagged, struggling to catch her breath, making a loud sucking sound with her throat. She gasped again partly in pain, and partly in a lust-incited masochistic delightful squeal as the bony finger continued to probe the rubbery damp confines of her dark, untouched rectum. She grunted aloud wanting him to stop, but he dug the finger deeper, expanding the virginal tightness of her hairless little hole until she thought she would scream.
Suddenly her attention was snapped from the cruelly probing finger to the unbearable pain in her head as Brad pulled wildly on her scalp, plunging his thick jerking cock deeper and deeper into her gasping wet throat. His pelvis was jerking wildly and ramming the spongy instrument spastically against the warm, moist cheeks of her inner mouth and she knew the end was too near. Brad was going to cum in her mouth, degrade her to the lowest possible level of being, and there was nothing she could do about it, but let it come.
She was so humiliated, so ashamed, and so disappointed at her husband's condemnation, that she wanted his horrid punishment to end quickly. She began sucking voraciously, her mouth filling with juicy saliva as she sought to bring him over the edge of his impending orgasm. Deep in her rectum she could feel the obscene finger stretching and prying at her anal ring, expanding it further and further as he cackled behind her with an abandoned sexual glee.
A wild animal cry shouted from Brad's throat, and he rammed his thick cudgel once more into her aching mouth, holding her head in the vice-like grip of his straining hands. His penis began to jerk spastically, then suddenly erupted its heat and juices, spewing hot steaming jets of cum into her mouth. God! It was horrible, but she kept sucking, swallowing the gushing liquids as they filled her mouth, spilling over the corners of her tightly stretched lips. Frantically she clenched her buttocks tightly, imprisoning the probing finger in her rectum, and began swirling her tongue around the spewing head of Brad's exploding prick. She was going to suck the life out of him, destroy him for his mistrust and hurt him viciously. Thinking his moanings of pleasure were groans of pain, she sucked harder, hoping to drain him, but in a moment his hands went slack around her head and released their powerful grip, signaling that he was finished. With one final rasping gasp she sucked the last drop of his sperm into her mouth and released her clenching buttocks, allowing Cyrus' finger to plop loudly out of her ravished anus. It was over at last!
"Clean him off," Cyrus demanded hoarsely from behind her.
She turned to look at him, recognizing the lust-crazed stare of unfulfilled sex on his face, and immediately obeyed, knowing that she had to please him before she could ever hope to leave this horrible house.
She began licking at the base of his deflating cock, cleansing the curling pubic hairs of the white stickiness, then twirling upward, moistening and wiping every ounce of the still-hot juices from around the slowly deflating instrument. Around, back, and around again she licked, until finally her tongue eased over the top of the purplish head and flicked away the last dying drop of his cum.
"A real pro," Brad sneered drunkenly, almost exhausted from his lustful ordeal of sexual torture. "You've really had a lot of practice, but now that I'm finished, you're gonna get even more. Cy-rus . . .
The older man smiled with a knowing twinkle in his eye that made Cindy quake with fear. He had been ravaging her backside with his finger, completely obsessed by her anus then, but what was he going to do to hurt and humiliate her now?
"Beautiful, beautiful," Keith said suddenly, making her realize that everyone in the room was commenting on her performance. She stared at them, kneeling on all fours like the great dane, her tongue hanging out of her mouth and her lips moist with saliva. They're all animals, she thought sourly, not realizing that she, herself, now looked more like a beast than any of them.
Her dazed eyes looked up toward Brad, thinking that he had achieved whatever he had set out to do, but Brad wasn't quite finished. Now, looking down at what he had done to his wife, he almost felt the beginnings of guilt, but his ego demanded that he was still right, and she was the adulteress who deserved punishment. With that simple rationalization, he decided that he must further cleanse himself of her heinous crimes and turned to Cyrus.
"What's your pleasure, Cyrus?"
"You mean our pleasure, don't you," he giggled. "You got yours from that end of her body and I want mine from this end. That tight little asshole of hers can be stretched a lot further than she thinks!"
"No," she gasped, but before she could move, Brad's powerful arms snaked out and grabbed her, holding the front of her body immobile as Cyrus moved quickly back to the round ivory cheeks of her buttocks and leered crazily at her exposed little hole.
"You ever fuck her in ,the ass, Brad?" he asked amid the din of clinking glasses and clicking cigarette lighters as the others prepared to watch the second part of Cindy's vicious rape.
"Not her," he said hesitantly, then suddenly bragged, "but plenty of other bitches have had their assholes busted open by my cock."
"Well, I think I'll give her a try."
"No, no, please," Cindy was begging to their deaf ears. Brad had become depraved, but not so depraved he would let Cyrus do it to her back there. God, no! She'd suck him, let him fuck her, anything-but not back there! He'd kill her!
Quickly she clenched her trembling thighs and buttocks tightly together, but through her frightened panic she could feel his bony fingers easily spreading the cheeks of her white quivering bottom wide apart. She was using all her strength to resist his hands, but it was no use. His thumbs had cruelly spread the two orbs apart until she could almost cry out with pain as he sought the reddish puckered little hole.
"What a beautiful little bud," he whispered. "But it's going to be too tight."
Wanting to prepare the hairless virginal entrance for his penis, he again pushed the tip of one finger against the softened opening and Cindy clenched her cheeks together, puckering the elastic ring in a futile effort to stop the ungodly impalement that was coming ever so closer. He prodded softly, running the finger around the ruffled, dark ring, then gently sank it into the opening until his first knuckle disappeared. Cindy jerked forward and bit her lip in pain, but was unable to move because of the terrifyingly powerful grip of her husband's hands on her arms. Concentrating on the pain, she suddenly realized that it wasn't as sharp as she had anticipated, and she unwittingly relaxed her sphincter and felt the finger slip quickly and easily all the way into her defenseless little hole. Now it was as far as it had been when she had sucked Brad's prick, and that hadn't hurt either, not really.
But that feeling lasted only for a second as Cyrus sadistically shoved another finger into the elastic passageway alongside the first. This time it hurt, it really hurt, and she moaned in pain, trying to twist away from her husband's powerful grip.
"Stop, oh God, Brad, make him stop, please," she pleaded hopelessly, seeing the sex-crazed look that blanketed his face. Rivulets of tears began falling over her cheeks as the horrid thought of what he was about to do suddenly became a reality. He was going to put his thing into her anus, fill her with his hot lusty flesh in the most ungodly, unnatural act she had ever imagined. And to make her humiliation even worse, there were a dozen people in the room, all watching, all engrossed in her obscene rape, and none of them would even think of helping her. Especially her husband, the man she had loved-he instead was the instigator of this terrible thing. He could have bought her freedom, but had viciously turned against her, urging this ugly old man to do it to her back there where no one had ever touched her before. She was his slave, not his wife, and she must submit to this horrid depravity or else . . . She cringed her crotch to one side in a desperate attempt to escape, but it was no use. His fingers continued to worm their way into her backside and its damp rubbery flesh, with no hope for repeal.
Then, as quickly as the fingers had plunged into her rectum, they suddenly withdrew, holding back slightly as the tight clenching ring of her anus clung for a moment, retarding their escape until a loud plopping signaled their final exit.
"Hey, look at that ass sway," someone called from the audience and Cindy realized that her backside was slowly undulating back and forth involuntarily.
"What a beautiful ass," she heard Cyrus whisper. "You really want it, don't you? You really want me to fuck you in the ass!"
"No, no, please ..." but her words were unheard as he lifted her hips quickly and pushed her smooth white thighs wider apart. Pinioned and unable to move, she was completely helpless and at his mercy; defenseless against the long thick penis that swayed obscenely behind her upraised buttocks.
"Oh!" she gasped as she suddenly felt the hot throbbing tip touch the tender white flesh of her bottom. Cindy knew it was big, as big as Brad's! She'd never been able to take that in her rectum without splitting her whole backside wide open. Fearing a certain screaming painful death, she tried to move away once again.
"Don't let her move," Cyrus hissed, his gaze intent on her wide-spread buttocks. "Hold her tighter."
Brad's fingers suddenly dug into her flesh, forcing the bluish beginnings of bruises to form on her arms. She was totally immobile, helpless to the impending rape of the depraved man behind her. She could feel his curling pubic hairs teasing her bottom as his enormously engorged weapon searched for its tiny helpless target.
Cyrus' hands glided quickly over the two upraised orbs, his thumbs pressing roughly on either side of the perspiring crevice, directly adjacent to the puckering little anal ring. Then sobbing, she felt a thick rubbery probing at her rectal entrance that grew harder as he applied more pressure.
"God! Don't! I beg you! I beg you! Stop!!" she wailed with an echoing scream as she felt the thick blood-filled head force the weakened muscles of her sphincter apart and slip quickly more than an inch into her smooth fleshy channel.
"Jesus, Brad," Cyrus moaned "Don't let her move . . . she's too fucking tight. Oh Goddammit!"
But his delighted protestations were drowned out by her incessant wailing. The pain was killing her and there was no retreat. Her own husband was taking part in her anal rape, and that left her without a single friend in the world. Her family could never understand that a man had put his prick into her asshole, and after tonight, no one else would understand either. Her body had become the property of those two men and anyone else who wanted her . . . The blunt intrusion of his massive penis shuddered through every straining nerve of her naked jerking torso, stretching the soft, pliable flesh of her rectal passage with racking torrents of pain. Her eyes overflowed with tears as she moaned in total submission, knowing that she had no choice-then she felt it, the curling grey hairs of his groin bristling against her buttocks. He had sunk his cock all the way to the hilt!
"Aaaahhh, ughaahhhh!" she shuddered, skewered like an animal on the end of his throbbing cock in humiliated subjugation to his perverted will.
Cyrus was giggling, crying and murmuring to himself behind her, sadistically building a slow rhythm in and out of the tortured confines of her anus. She had never been so ashamed and humiliated in her life, and from now on there would be no other way for her. She had to submit to his thrusting phallus in order to survive and she wanted to scream out her anguish, but kept her mouth shut. His thick sinking instrument was rasping along the rubbery inner walls of her rectal passage, pulling them outward when he withdrew, and pushing them viciously inward as he lunged forward. She could hear her husband snickering obscenely at his victory, and felt his hands tightening their painful hold on her arms with each savage thrust. She was trapped with no way out, no where to go, and no one in the entire world who could help her.
She jerked spastically and trembled as the pummeling rod slid more easily into her smooth damp channel. She had given up her resistance, and her subsequent relaxation made the pain more bearable. She could hear Cyrus moaning with delight and could see the leering faces of Keith and Shirley, the two lesbians, and the strangely serene face of a black girl staring at her almost enviously. They were all crazy-all of them! But there was nothing she could do to make them all vanish. She was stuck in the unwanted reality of reality.
"Tight, ugh, fucking asshole," Cyrus grunted. "Fuck, she's so goddamned tight."
She felt him rear back and lean forward, then repeat the lust-maddened motion. He was nearing his climax, and for her the end would come none too soon. She had taken all the horrid humiliation and degradation she could stand, kneeling on a bunch of pillows while a dirty old man fucked into her asshole. She couldn't take any more . . . none at all. She had to end this obscene rape before she lost her mind.
Slowly then, methodically, she began to rock back and forth with his rhythm, rotating her hips and clasping her anal muscles tightly over the retreating head of the painfully engorged cock.
"Oh, God, Brad," Cyrus wailed. "She wants to fuck now ... oh man let go of her arms!!"
His lust-crazed moaning gave her the needed courage to continue and she began to move faster. She could feel the stretching of her ravaged anus and knew she had to hurry before he totally ruined her for life. She was his slave, his sexual toy, willing and ready to obey his every lewd command. She had no fight left for resistance, only the tiny glimmer of strength to survive. She would do anything he wanted to survive . . . And he was convinced that she had finally turned on to his obscene skewering in her backside. She was loving it, he thought as he watched the sensuous undulations of her buttocks and the wetted hollows of her back as she ground back against him, clasping her anal muscles and milking the juices of his sperm toward the end of his pummeling rod.
Her head was rolling languidly from side to side and he thought she was nearing her own climax. She was bucking and crushing her upraised buttocks against his driving pelvis, knowing that he had only moments left before his climax, and that she need wait only moments longer to free herself from his pain-wracking impaling phallus. Now, each time he moaned with pleasure, she would "Aahhh" in her own mocking voice, making him feel she was really ready now.
Instinctively his hips began to churn even faster and he jammed his massive throbbing cock viciously into her hairless, wide-stretched rectum, squeezing and tearing at the soft flesh of her thighs with his fingers. His cheeks were puffed and flushed as he fought for breath and more strength to prolong his sadistic rape of her anus.
"Aaarrgghhhh!" she wailed helpless, feeling as if she were about to split wide open and fall into two pieces. It hurt so much, so terribly much!
"Now," she ordered, jerking her bucking flailing buttocks rapidly to the side. "Hurry, please. Cum now, hurry, hurry!!"
A loud choking came deep from his belly and he lunged forward with one soul shattering thrust, sinking his jerking penis as far as it would go into her ravaged little hole and began spilling the white sticky juices of his cum deep, deep into her rectum. His whole body was quivering spastically as floods of torrential sperm filled her dark fleshy insides, until with a coughing sound in his throat he collapsed in a limp heap and lay exhausted on her back.
Crying with relief she heard others in the room cheering, some talking wildly, others groaning with sexual pleasures. Amid all that frantic obscene conversation she could hear the flapping of sweating bodies pummelling each other to their own climaxes. But for her it was over.
Suddenly she felt much lighter and realized that someone was lifting Cyrus' unconscious form from her back, and she rolled onto her side to speed her relief. Standing around her were three or four pairs of feet-all of them getting ready to go home, she thought. After what they had witnessed, there couldn't possibly be anything else to see. They had watched her lose every ounce of her pride, her self-respect, her every reason for living . . . what else could there be.
"Next?" filtered down to her ears from the air above her. Who said that? What did they mean?
And in a second her question was answered as she felt the soft hands of a well muscled, yet seemingly feminine woman slip between her thighs and begin to stroke the moist golden down at her crotch. It was that lesbian, the woman who had bid for her . . . and Cindy knew it would be useless to resist her too. Was this to be her fate? Was she going to have to submit to every pervert who had a few dollars in his pocket?
It was all a dream, a bad dream, she thought, and turned to gaze at the woman kneeling between her thighs. Bad dreams always end, they must, she told herself again and smiled amiably up at the woman's lust-filled face, knowing that soon this too would end ... or would it ...?
