Has marriage become obsolete as a vehicle for total sexual fulfillment in today's society? This question in the last few years has become extremely relevant not only to our nation's law makers but to mankind in general. The legislators of California it seems, have decided in the affirmative on this matter. On January 1, 1970 it beomes a matter of law that the grounds for divorce shall only be irreconcilable differences. This approach to the dissolution of marriage was taken primarily to eliminate the element of sexual blackmail inherent in our divorce proceedings today. For example, a man might totally neglect his wife in the bedroom and carry on affairs of his own. Then, when the abandoned woman out of sheer desperation resorts to her only outlet, a perhaps innocent, and one time affair, the husband is there with cameras flashing. Thus, she is put in the position of being the guilty party even though the cruel and unusual punishment inflicted upon her by her male partner has been the psychological motive behind all her actions.
Agnes Williams, the authoress of our present novel, has presented with vivid clarity and insight the hypothetical build-up to exactly such a situation. The motives of the two partners in a certain sense are varied but basically are instigated by the above mentioned set of circumstances. But, in the instance cited by the authoress, the central characters, by virtue of their deep love and affection for one another, escape the humiliating resort to the divorce court.
The question then becomes: Should divorce be as easy as the California legislators have made it. Perhaps the same result could be reached by a psychological reeducation of the population and needs of this nature better understood by the individual marriage partners. But our purpose here as publishers, is not to judge, but only to present the cold hard facts as they exist in today's world so that the reader himself may make his own non-biased judgment.
-The Publishers
CHAPTER 1
It was hot. Even at five o'clock the late afternoon sun blow-torched through the smog to layer the white stucco building with a shimmering heat. A brilliant shaft of light filtering through a cluster of date palms fired the gilt lettering above the entrance way. The flourishing script spelled out "Forum" and the word shone like a splatter of pure gold flung discreetly on the face of the building.
A petite, shapely red-head stood in the cool dimness of the glassed-in foyer and gazed idly at the flow of traffic on the busy street. As she watched a low-slung sports car pulled up to the curb in front. She paused to admire its trim beauty before vanishing down the hall with quick buttocks-wriggling, breast-bouncing steps. Altogether a very sexy dish. Or as her husband (and others) were wont to remark-a gorgeous hunk of ass.
The Corvette at the curb and its occupants seemed the perfect compliment to each other. Paul and Carol Jensen were built on the same long, sleek lines. Though, where his were lean and muscular, hers were slim, yet sensually curved. They had the same well cared-for look of elegance, that indefinable aura called "class" for want of a better word.
But where the car was like a silver bullet, they were like golden arrows with the bronzed glow of sun-kissed youth and health. The boy and girl were strikingly similar, both tall, blonde and beautiful, but with a subtle difference.
Paul Jensen, at twenty-six, had the look of a young man not only on his way, but one with very definite ideas of where he was going. He carried his six feet, three inches, of masculine grace with the cool assurance that is usually associated with a much older man.
He kept his blonde hair, sun-bleached almost white during the summer months, cropped very short. For it's springy, unruly curls resisted all attempts at smooth control. From beneath rather heavy lids his eyes were a startling, electric blue. His mouth was generously full with a slight pout to the under lip that was negated by the strength of a strong jawline and chin. Only an imperceptibly off-center, slightly crooked nose (the result of being broken twice on the football field in college) saved the Nordic planes of his face from being too handsome. When seen in repose he exuded a look of slumberous sensuality, as if he were a fair throwback from some dark Latin ancestor. But in animation he glowed with the guileless charm of a friendly Great Dane puppy.
On that sweltering day Paul's expression was merely one of resigned exasperation as he twisted on the bucket seat to face his wife.
"Honey, I hate people who say 'I told you so', but I told you so! I saw the damn sign driving home yesterday, and its still there."
Carol's eyes followed the impatient sweep of his arm. At first glance they were the most salient difference in the couples almost twin-like appearance.
They were a vibrant brown, almost black in some lights, but now a sparkling sherry in the bright afternoon sun. Widely spaced, their long, dark lashes flecked with gold, her eyes held no slumbering promise of invitation. Her candid gaze usually reflected the alert, soft innocence of a questioning doe. Somehow it contradicted the exciting fullness of her lips and the sensual flare of her nostrils. Her flawless complexion was tanned to the same golden-bronze as Paul's, but her long hair was a straight cascade of cornsilk swinging to her shoulders.
Although the strong yet finely chiseled lines of Carol's face suggested the hollow-cheeked sophistication of a high-fashion model, when caught off guard it reflected a sensitive vulnerability that seemed younger than her twenty-three years.
Tears of angry frustration misted the look she cast in the direction of Paul's gesture. The No Vacancy sign to which he referred was nearly concealed in the lush, semi-tropical greenery planted in orderly profusion on both sides of the recessed entry. Careful landscaping and the irregular spacing of towering palm trees softened the starkly modern, utilitarian facade of the three story apartment house. It relieved the overall sameness of a flat wall of stucco dotted with identical sections of white curtained plate glass and miniature balconies.
For three weekends Carol and Paul had been hunting for an apartment within a five-mile radius of the electronics firm where he worked. The first time they had happened upon the Forum the incongruity of the name had struck them as being hilarious and he had dubbed it's unimaginative architecture as bastard Spanish.
Yet a surreptitious tour of the symmetrical rectangle, built around a spacious court centered with a large swimming pool, had impressed them with its luxurious simplicity. With underground parking, thickly-carpeted inner halls and elevator service, the atmosphere of the Forum was more like that of a plush hotel than an apartment dwelling.
So after inspecting a myriad of apartments cramped for space with open stairways and landings overhanging post-stamp pools, they kept coming back hopefully to the Forum. Once again Paul made a laughing remark deriding its ancestry, but this time Carol failed to respond to his humor. Her reply was snappish.
"What do you except to find in practically the heart of industry in Southern California? An authentic Cape Cod salt box?" she asked. "Come on, at least we can go in and see if there's a vacancy coming up soon."
"Okay. But it better be soon, for I can't take much more of living the way we are!" The tenderness softening Paul's face as he leaned over Carol to open the door blunted the vehemence of his words.
His eyes held her with such an open look of love that she bit back a sharp retort, regretting her irritated outburst. She didn't like their present situation any better than he, but in all fairness she had to admit it was more difficult for Paul than it was for her. A breathtaking wave of heat emanating from the sun-baked cement dispelled the need for further speech. But as they left the air-conditioned comfort of the car and approached the broad steps of the building, she walked close beside him, her hand a caress on his arm.
Carol thought the appearance of the man who answered their knock on the office door was a good omen. For in their fruitless search in some instances they'd run across rental agents she'd shuddered to contemplate as neighbors, rather untidy, blowzy women and red-faced, beer-bloated men. Frank Durfee, who introduced himself as manager of the Forum, was a pleasant surprise. Her first impression was one of a rather fading juvenile, faultlessly attired in dove grey slacks and a matching silk sports shirt with a loosely knotted paisley scarf at the open collar. He was a good-looking man of medium height but his bearing gave the impression of latent power, tautly muscular though with a slight thickening at the waistline.
As he listened with amiable attention to Paul's explanation of why they were there his glance met Carol's. Realizing she had been openly staring she dropped her gaze with a flush of embarrassment, but not before she had time to catch the look of deep, almost sensual appreciation in his eyes. She was used to male admiration, but his frank appraisal sent a tingle of foreboding up her spine. It had seemed so smoldering, so denuding that she felt forced to brush its implication from her mind as a wild quirk of her imagination.
Carol's instinct had been right. Frank Durfee had the art of sizing up a woman's body down to an exact science. In a seemingly casual scrutiny he had undressed her, assessed the lovely lines of her body and found her desirable. She hadn't misread the evaluation in his eyes. If she could have read his mind she'd have stalked out.
Ah, he thought even as he attended Paul's words with polite murmurs of understanding, this is one sexy broad. She'll be a damn good fuck. I doubt if she even knows it yet, but she's pleasure built. She's got that high ridge of flesh-covered bone at the junction of her thigh that's a sure sign. Even more than that sensual mouth. Or those big tits. No bra either, I'll bet!
There was a faint delineation of pointed nipple thrusting at the loose jersey of Carol's bodice. In his mind's eye he was gently pressing it inward with two fingers and thumb, folding her own flesh over the tautness of nipple, feeling that wonderful softness under his hand; that erect hardness of desire that was her nipple-tip rolling under his hand deep in the fleshy folds of her breast. Women liked that and he loved it.
Involuntarily his fingers flexed. Paul had stopped speaking and for a moment or two Frank stool silent, involved in his thoughts. Taking his silence for hesitation Carol waited almost breathlessly, figuratively crossing her fingers. Her sigh of relief was audible when his face came to life and he said he just might have exactly what they were looking for.
She and Paul followed eagerly in his wake as he led them first around the premises, most of which they'd already seen. They let him do the talking, communicating their pleasure to each other with little squeezings of held hands and exchanged glances of pure delight.
After a tour of the cavernous garage and laundry and storage areas they approached a rear, set-back ell of the building. Frank took them by way of an elevated, bricked walkway overlooking the pool. It was shaded by squat palms and jacaranda with a few lingering blooms. Carol stepped carefully to avoid trampling the fallen lavender blossoms and they lagged behind.
The inner court in the hot, still air made her feel in a hermetically sealed section of the world, totally protected from anything on the outside. A small grouping of eight or ten inveterate sun-worshippers formed a collage of mahogany, lotion-gleaming flesh lounging at the water's edge. The hum of their desultory conversation rose and fell like a staggering bumble-bee, rent by an occasional crackle of laughter.
The women were uniformly bikini clad and though at a furtive glance Carol thought they all appeared over thirty their age was difficult to guess. Both young and old had that kind of smooth, cleansed flawless made-up beauty you can get only by spending hours in the hands of professional beauty specialists. So there was an abstract, impersonal loveliness about them. No hair was out of place, no eyebrow too thick, no nail was chipped or unpainted.
Quite obviously they were sun-bathers, not swimmers. Although one blonde was dog-paddling in the shallow water, her slender throat and exquisitely coifed head held stiffly in the air to avoid any touch of contaminating moisture.
The stilted pose struck Carol as funny for she had an impish vision of some wild fowl held in the blonde's mouth like a faithful retriever. Her eyes sparkled with the wayward thought as she tried to catch Paul's attention. To her surprise she saw that he was watching the woman with an admiring grin. Suddenly she was conscious of her own damply clinging hair and heat-wrinkled dress. Tightening her grip on his hand she quickened her pace, urging him on to catch up with their guide.
As the tall, golden couple, alike as two halves of an apple, disappeared through the heavy oak doors of the rear building, momentarily they were the cynosure of ten pairs of eyes. The four men lounging pool-side looked as one at Carol's retreating figure with an expression identical to the one she'd surmised in Frank Durfee's glance. Conflicting emotions warred in the women's appraisal. A feminine counterpart of the men's covetous gaze was directed at Paul. Overlaying this was a patent envy of the natural beauty and youth of the girl at his side.
Durfee unlocked the door of apartment one-fifteen and swung it open with a proprietary flourish. Once inside the air-conditioned sanctuary of bare spaciousness Carol's brief surge of discomfiture vanished, completely forgotten in her enthusiastic reaction to the charming rooms.
The well-designed layout of three rooms and bath and one-half was all and more than she had anticipated. It lived up to the glowing Sunday supplement promises of living-for-young moderns. The type of ads she'd poured over longingly even before Paul came home, but had about given up hope of finding. From the maize tile, natural wood and satiny-copper appliances of the small but compact kitchen to the mirrored walls and gold-veined marble surfaces of a tiny powder room off the central foyer the apartment was a jewel of perfection. Walking on the thick cushion of oyster-white carpeting to open the creamy draperies hanging across the entire wall of the living room was like floating on a nylon cloud.
One look at the privacy of the garden-like terrace outside, from where she could see the sunbeams dancing on the pool, was enough to make Carol decide no other apartment would do. She had the rash idea that if necessary she'd even be willing to sell her grandmother's pearls, a cherished wedding present, in order to afford this heavenly place.
While Carol was mentally arranging furniture and hanging pictures on the walls Paul was discussing details with Frank Durfee. True, the rental was more than they had budgeted, but he didn't have the heart to deny the ecstatic look on Carol's face. Besides, he too thought the secluded setting of the apartment would be the answer to all their problems. He readily agreed to sign a year's lease.
CHAPTER 2
Frank Durfee turned back to the office after lingering to catch a glimpse of a smooth expanse of rounded, naked thigh as Carol slid into the low Corvette. No longer having an audience which he was under a compulsion to impress with boyish vitality, his expression underwent a subtle change and he suddenly looked every one of his thirty-nine years.
The once sharply defined features of his dark handsome face showed the beginning of a slow corrosion, a blurring, like a Dorian Gray portrait slightly out of focus, that betrays over-indulgence. The undisciplined self-indulgence of the flesh. Good food, fine wines and liquors, the feel of expensive linen, the comfort of faultless tailoring and above all, the gratification of passion with no holds barred.
Wearing a faintly apprehensive frown he hesitated with one hand on the doorknob. Frank was afraid to go in and face his wife.
Although the man's demeanor had been that of a gracious host showing off his own property rather than that of a hired manager, in actuality he was neither. Rosemary, his wife, was in complete charge of the Forum. Ten years older than her husband, she lived with a well-hidden but constant fear of losing him. So she overlooked his swaggering, his posings of importance and allowed him to create the illusion of joint supervision as long as it didn't actively interfere with her job.
Lazy and indolent by nature, Frank was fully content with the arrangement, satisfied to leave the menial tasks of business in Rosemary's hands.
This afternoon he'd gotten carried away by his own vanity. He'd overplayed his role and he knew it. With a sigh he entered the room.
The door to their adjoining apartment was open and Rosemary stood at the desk. Paul Jensen's check for the first and last months rent on One-fifteen was in her hand. She was wearing a white bikini of the kind usually only a very young woman can wear. Although she would be fifty on her next birthday (her most closely guarded secret) on her it looked good. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she looked good in it. For there was very little material and a lot of Rosemary.
She was a small woman, barely a couple of inches over five feet, but her proud carriage and lush figure gave the impression of much greater stature. A natural red-head, she kept her upswept hair the color of a bright new penny. Her full breasts threatened to swell out of the scant bikini cups were high and firm above a tiny waist and flat stomach. Her hips were a trifle too wide but the expanse of flesh on hip and thigh was a smooth inviting curve. Carefully made-up she looked ten years her husband's junior instead of the other way around. In this respect at least, nature had been kind to Rosemary Durfee.
Having known her years before she singled him out as her fifth husband, Frank had a fair approximation of Rosemary's age, but somehow it seemed to increase the attraction she held for him. As always he thrilled at the voluptuous perfection of her nearly nude body, even as he cringed inwardly at the blast of her tongue.
"Just what in hell do you think you're doing?" Her voice was cold and steady. "Well?" She looked at him, waiting, but he said nothing.
"As if I have to ask! Just let a big, leggy young blonde show up and all your brains are in your pants."
"Now, Rosemary honey, you know-."
"Damn right I know," she interrupted him as he took a step toward her. "Just like I know why you rented the apartment across from ours to that chunk-titted blonde with the skirt split halfway up to her can!"
"That was over a year ago, for Christ's sake! And how was I to know her boyfriend was a cop?"
"That's just it, you stupid bastard, what do you know about these two!" She waved the check in his face. "And to put them in the same building with the club! A couple of kids yet!"
That was the factor that really troubled Rosemary. The No Vacancy sign at the entrance truly was a permanent fixture by deliberate intent for two reasons. The first of these was a perfectly valid waiting list because of the Forum's proximity to the huge aircraft industry just east of Los Angeles. The second was because of the "club" to which Rosemary referred.
It had been three years since the Durfees had stumbled on a small gold mine and an exciting avocation. The Forum had recently opened. After a wild party with the first four couples to move into Building D, the rear sector of the fifty-five unit complex, they discovered by morning that all had changed partners. Such husband and wife-swapping parties soon became a routine thing, giving an added fillip to the lives of a jaded group of uninhibited sensualists.
Thus what came to be dubbed the "Swap Club" practically formed itself. Frank was quick to see its possibilities for uncensored extra-marital sex. Aside from enjoying this, Rosemary discovered it a simple device to provide for his extravagant tastes. Of the twelve apartments in Building D, eleven were occupied by tenants actively participating in the Swap Club. Some used the arrangement as a springboard for individual affairs, to be continued in their own place, on their own time. The original four couples were still there. Word of mouth advertising, plus careful screening and selection, kept the others filled. It also built up a separate, lengthy waiting list.
The twelfth unit was permanently reserved for the club members' mutual experimentation in sex. For the privilege of using the spacious three-bedroom apartment by tacit agreement each tenant paid an additional fifty dollars a month. This money the landlords never saw. Rosemary was an excellent bookkeeper.
The out-of-town owners of the property were delighted to have rarely more than one vacancy, an excellent return on their investment. The occupants of Building D had a ball. The Durfees benefited in both ways.
With vitriolic precision Rosemary now proceeded to remind her husband of these things. Yet there was an underlying reason for her displeasure with him that she refused to admit even to herself. Watching the Jensen's circle the pool she'd been instantly jealous of the girl's youth, an unfair level of competition she was helpless to combat. This rankled enough to outweigh a strong desire to seduce the handsome Viking with the sexy look at the girl's side.
Frank knew full well that she hadn't missed the fact that by the amount of Paul's check he'd upped the rent accordingly. At the first mention of "young blonde" he thought, so that's what's bugging her! He immediately relaxed and let her rave on, admiring the angry rise and fall of her breasts. As she ran out of breath he circled the desk.
"Aw, baby, you know I love you and wouldn't let anything happen to hurt what we've got going for us," he whispered standing behind her.
His penis was slowly expanding, straining at the crotch of his pants. He bent his knees and with a forward thrust of his hips allowed the protruding organ to probe gently at the bared crevice of her buttocks. The nearness of her almost naked body was enough to arouse an almost instant erection, and he felt his cock grow and swell as the heat of her flesh penetrated the material of his trousers.
"God damn it, Frank, if you think you can get around me that way . . . !" Even as she protested Rosemary moved back against him.
Frank merely laughed and reached around and pulled her heavy breasts free of the wisp of bikini bra. His hands cupped the firm globes that flowed into his grasp, tweaking her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
She placed her hands flat on the desk and writhed and rocked on her bare feet, rubbing her buttocks hard on the swollen bulge of his inflated cock. She circled her breasts in the palms of his hands, the nipples growing hard and erect in the friction of his teasing fingers.
He could feel the groin pressure build as her hips undulated against him.
Thoroughly aroused now his tumescent sex forced itself heavily against the tight constriction. The strong surge of blood pounding in his cock made it feel like an angry animal that was struggling to burst right out through his pants. He ground the stiff rod into her straining flesh, and it began to throb with a hurting yet pleasant ache.
"Take it out," Rosemary panted hoarsely. "I want to feel it on my bare skin."
"Hmmmm, what's that honey?" he murmured into her ear.
His tongue traced the pattern of her small, delicate ear, then flicked into it. He enjoyed the marvelous sense of power that forestalling her eager desire gave him. It excited him to know that she was helpless in his arms. He savored the feel of her breasts and the lengthening hardness of the needlepoint nipples in his palms as he kneaded the firm flesh.
She seized one of his hands, pulled it to her mouth, kissed and licked and bit at it furiously.
"Please," she mumbled against his fingers, "your cock, Frank! I-can't wait, damn you!"
He waited as long as he dared before burrowing his free hand between them to open his fly. She took his other hand from her nibbling mouth and slid it over the flat surface of her belly to the juncture of her thighs.
"Feel me!" she said fiercely. "Feel me-I'm soaked already!"
She heard the whine of his zipper, then the swollen rigidity of his stiff prick was pressed full length in the deep furrow between the quivering cheeks of her ass. Damn him, she thought, he can do this to me every time. She moaned aloud as the blood-filled head of his cock wormed its way into the scant strip of cloth across her bottom. With eager hands she rolled the bikini down over the swell of her hips and his huge shaft probed with heated insistence between her legs.
Her hips began to undulate of their own accord, then rocked back and forth on his penis. She increased the tempo of her rubbing, moaning constantly now, as the friction sent waves of pleasure coursing through the open mouth of her vagina.
Frank had let his fingers lose themselves in the warm, slightly sticky sheath of her cunt. She was wet with an exquisite moisture that flowed over his hand and lubricated the sliding skin of his prick between her thighs. He stroked the satiny folds of her vaginal lips and they seemed to want to swallow his entire hand. The heated rubbing on his cock was driving him to the verge of orgasm. He felt like he was going to cum and tried to wriggle backward.
"Don't stop! With your fingers-deeper, harder, Frank . . . !"
He tried to think of something else besides the growing ache in his balls, the blood pounding in his cock. He shifted his position a little, accelerated the manipulation of his hand, rapidly stroking the erect tiny bud of her clitoris. Her moans had turned into gasping cries of delight. The rhythmic movements of her body were now urgent, feverish. She was almost there, Frank realized as he willed his aroused penis to be still.
"Close, honey?" he rasped, thrusting his tongue deep into her ear.
Rosemary's response was instantaneous, violent. Her body grew taut in his embrace. He felt the slippery walls of her vaginal passage constrict and hold his fingers in a tight, avid grasp.
"Yes-yes! Now! I'm cumming!" she cried out through her open mouth.
Then her body let go with such a frenzied series of convulsions that it seemed about to tear itself apart. He held her tightly until the last spasm passed and she lay back against him with a long, quivering sigh.
"Oh God, that was wonderful, Frank." She wriggled off his rigid penis as though she were getting off a saw horse.
Turning to face him she took the heavy weight of his erection in both hands. She slid the foreskin gently back and forth over the blood-pressured head. The bulbous knob was a vivid angry crimson in her grasp. As her hands worked the taut flesh up and down on his cock, tiny droplets of seminal fluid oozed from the pulsing glans tip, falling like milky tears on the red plush carpet.
"For Christ's sake take it easy!" Frank pleaded, at her mercy now.
"Okay, hon," she said merrily. "Let's go in the house and fuck. This time I'll do all the work!" She looked down. "Poor baby!" Her laugh was a husky gurgle in her throat.
Frank let out a yell as she tightened her grip and led him through their apartment to the bedroom. In a matter of seconds he was stretched out naked on the bed. Rosemary had shed her bikini and was crouched over him, supporting herself on her elbows and knees.
She moved her lush body sinuously, the nipples of her full, pendulous breasts tracing patterns on his bare chest. Her mouth and tongue sucked and nibbled at his face then moved to his throat, his chest, and her body began to slip down to make way for her caressing lips.
Frank felt the softness of her breasts move down his body. He groaned and arched his hips as she took the head of his cock in the moist warm cavern of her mouth. Her darting tongue licked hungrily at the ooze of sticky, bittersweet semen. He lay there feeling a tide of glorious sensation sweeping through every nerve.
"That's enough!" he groaned, writhing wildly on the bed, dislodging his penis from the tantalizing suction of her lips.
She moved quickly. Suddenly her entire weight was on him. The resilient globes of her breasts flattened slightly as they pressed hard against him, the nipples burning into his chest. Her moist, open lips were hungrily smothering his mouth. The taste of his own sperm still lining her lips added to his almost overpowering desire.
He reached his hands up and around her smooth, rounded buttocks, kneading and guiding them. With a fierce downward thrust, she enveloped the swollen erection of his cock in the wet velvet flesh of her cunt.
"Oh, Christ, Frank!" she moaned ecstatically and then said nothing more.
They began to move together. The last clear thought Rosemary had was just wait until that new beautiful man moves in. She'd show Frank who was boss. . . .
CHAPTER 3
At their first meeting neither Carol or Paul would have thought to call their immediate attraction to each other love at first sight. Perhaps because it's the kind of expression that young moderns relegate to the past as being old-fashioned, trite; the word love now being used so freely as to have lost its meaning.
"Is this the one?" had sprung instantly to Carol's mind when her eyes had met the vibrant blue of his, almost on a level with her own dark gaze. She'd been wearing heels that night, adding to the Junoesque stature of a girl who stood a tall five-ten in her stocking feet. By the time he drove her home from the party and she waited prayerfully at her door for him to kiss her good night, she knew this was the man for her.
It took Paul a little longer. Not until after he'd kissed her goodnight was he certain that she was the only girl for him.
So although no words of love had yet been spoken, undoubtedly it was love at first sight. They were married within a week, three days before Paul flew to Germany to join his unit of the Air Force. He'd already been home for three weeks of his leave when they met at an impromptu gathering of mutual friends. They decided to marry in such haste not because they were impetuous but because they were levelheaded, sure of each other and sure of their love. As Paul's wife Carol could draw an allotment that would be of great material help in starting life together on his release from the service.
Then too Paul sensed that she wasn't the type of girl for inept back-seat fumblings when it came to the physical consummation of their love. And she'd confided, somewhat reluctantly, that she was still a virgin.
Carol frequently had questioned the reason for this herself. She'd have scoffed at the archaic notion that she was saving herself for the man she married. An incident that occurred when she was around fourteen had been the closest she'd come to losing her virginity.
Because Carol had matured early and was tall for her age she gravitated towards an older crowd. That spring she'd spent Easter Week at Balboa Island at the urging of her cousin Delores, who was a sophisticated seventeen. Along with six other teenagers, well-chaperoned by two of the girls' mothers, it had been quite the "in" thing to do. For all of them it had been a fun-filled time, much of it spent in youthful, giggling flirtation with a group of boys who had the beach house next to theirs.
On the last night they all got together for a sort of farewell barbecue. One of the boys spiked the fruit punch with apricot brandy. After drinking several tall glasses of the potent elixir, during the playing of some hilarious, childish game, Carol found herself alone in a bedroom with one of the boys who was a dashing nineteen. They were standing facing each other in the dimness of the room, the only illumination a bright shaft of moonlight coming in the window. She'd been trying to stifle a burst of tipsy laughter when he pulled her tight against him and kissed her.
Her mouth came open against his in surprise. At first it was soft and unresisting not only because of the shock of his quick embrace but because of the ego-boosting pleasure that the attentions of what she considered to be an "older man" induced.
Then her mouth stiffened and. she tried to twist away from him, struggling in his arms. But he wouldn't let her go. His arms tightened around her and his mouth held fast on hers. He forced his tongue into her mouth, driving it forward against her resistance. Then the boy heard a half-sob, half-moan in her throat and he felt her struggles lessen.
The alcohol surging through her veins was enveloping Carol in a rosy glow and his searching tongue fencing heatedly with hers sent a thrill such as she'd never known pulsing through her body.
She was returning his kiss now, her lips shaping themselves to cushion his, her tongue meeting his with eager parrying thrusts. His hands darted under her sweater, moving up her bare back and deftly unhooking her bra. She shuddered as his hands gripped the soft flesh of her back tightly, holding her even closer. She knew she should try to pull away but instead she clung to him helplessly, feeling a hardness at his groin slowly swelling until it pressed against her pelvis with a pressure that turned her knees to water.
He continued to kiss her and she continued to let him. The heat of her soft, pliant body ignited a wild desire in him and he forced her backward, forcing her off balance and down onto the bed. The fall broke the contact of their lips and she was frightened now. Once more she tried to struggle but it was too late for him to stop.
Her short skirt had twisted up over her hips in the fall and he had seen the satin gleam of the bare flesh of her inner thighs, the silky tendrils of sparse young pubic curls escaping the legband of her panties. With a deep groan he pushed up her sweater and loosened her bra, burying his face between the well-developed mounds of her young breasts as his hands feverishly worked her panties down over her squirming hips.
When his mouth fastened on one of her breasts, teasing the coral nipple to erect hardness, her struggle ceased. The electric shock of excitement that streaked from her breasts to the growing moisture she felt between her legs aroused such an exquisite sensation of pleasure that she literally lay basking in its glow. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she pressed his head to her eager breasts and moaned with delight as his mouth sucked hungrily first at one up-thrust nipple then the other.
The boy felt Carol's body strain to meet his. He heard her panting, gasping breath, the little moans of desire. He realized he had her now, her body had betrayed her will. He felt her writhe beneath him as his hand went to the pulsing wetness of the downy triangle of pubic hair. His fingers tangled in the soaked curls then stroked the velvet softness of the lips of her vagina. When he thrust one finger into the open warmth of her cunt he felt an involuntary construction of the sensitive flesh.
"No!" she gasped, suddenly conscious of how far he'd gone, what her body was allowing him to do. "Don't-please-you can't! Oh, stop!"
She was struggling but his body prevented her from moving. He was too strong for her, too furious with desire. But even as she pleaded with him to stop her eyes were closed, her head rolled from side to side and her hips were undulating under the touch of his fingers as with thumb and forefinger he spread the lips of her cunt open wide.
The heavy weight of his body held her down and he was kissing her, stilling her voice, driving his tongue again into her mouth. With the other hand he tore his pants open.
Suddenly everything seemed to happen at once. She felt the blood-pressured bulge of his penis prodding at the moist, throbbing flesh of her vagina. As the pulsating glans-tip grazed the tiny, stimulated mound of her clitoris, her entire body seemed to leap with joy as an instant convulsion of overpowering delight lifted her to a shattering height of ecstasy.
At the same time she heard the pounding of foot-steps coming down the hall and a young male voice call loudly through the flimsy walls of the cottage, "Hey, everybody, break it up wherever you are! Here comes Mrs. Armstrong!"
There was a frantic scramble of arms and legs as the boy who'd been on the brink of entering the depths of her convulsing body made a dive for the open window. She caught a glimpse of his long, thin penis protruding from his fly like a white snake, the red tip glistening wetly in the brightness of moonlight, before he somehow managed to fold its slowly deflating length like an accordion and stuff it into his pant's leg.
The girl he'd ingloriously left caught in the beginning throes of orgasm lay for a bewildered moment on the bed. She seemed unable to summon up the volition to move, helpless in the spasmodic spell that wracked her body.
Not until Carol heard the sound of the chaperone's voice raised in stormy argument coming from somewhere inside the house did she find the strength to make her own ashamed way out of the window with furtive stealth.
It had taken her a long time to get over her feelings of shame and guilt for her part in that episode. To have allowed a total stranger to take such liberties with her body, worse yet, to have actually enjoyed it was a humiliating memory. And to top it off she'd suffered a fierce hangover and been violently ill for two days afterward. The experience had served to put her on her guard. Though eventually she was able to view it with the proper perspective and even a wry humor, for the rest of her life the smell of apricot brandy made her feel slightly nauseous.
So she learned early to avoid entanglements for which she was neither physically or mentally ready to face the consequences. It became more or less of a habit for her to fend off the older boys who were drawn to her ripe beauty like flies to honey.
While she probably wasn't so old-fashioned as to be saving herself for the man she married, it would be closer to the truth to say Carol was waiting for the man she loved.
Then Paul came along and she fell in love. She might have surprised him during their short courtship if he had ventured more than deep, searching kisses, rather tentative caresses of her breasts and gentle stroking of her hips and thighs. But he held off, for is there a man alive who isn't secretly pleased to take a virgin to the marriage bed?
Though their brief honeymoon may not have been such a fiasco, as it turned out for Carol, if Paul had satisfied some of his pent-up desires before their wedding night.
They were married on a Friday afternoon at three o'clock and had reservations to spend the week-end in the romantic setting of an old inn in Coronado. They started out with two strikes against them. Hung over from a bachelor party that lasted into the wee hours of the morning, Paul imbibed in too much champagne at the wedding reception.
The trip to Coronado was normally a two hour drive. It took five hours of bumper to bumper traffic in the usual Friday night exodus from the Los Angeles area. Carol ended up behind the wheel of the car with Paul sleeping contentedly at her side. Close to midnight, she pulled up to the entrance of the hotel. She turned to her new husband with a look that was very close to hatred. Trembling with fatigue not only from the grueling drive but from a harried week, she was suddenly beset by a torrent of misgivings.
What in heaven's name am I doing here, she wondered. Miles from home. In a strange place. And with a man I barely know, almost a stranger! An all but forgotten memory of the night at Balboa flashed unbidden through her mind and she shivered in the balmy night breeze.
Paul stirred and opened his eyes. Even at the instant of waking his bright blue gaze on Carol was diffused with the tenderness of love. And everything was all right again despite the strange flicker of fear that memory had stirred.
Loving him as she did it was impossible for Carol not to accept his abject apologies as they checked in at the desk of the lovely old hotel. Her shy embarrassment at their obviously apparent newly-wed status vanished when they were finally alone in the seclusion of their room. Paul pulled her to him and Carol responded ardently to his long, searing kiss. His mouth crushed against hers, his tongue probing ravenously between her lips. Paul embraced her with a heated passion he had kept under control until now. The urgency of his longing kindled a quickening response of desire that rushed headlong through every nerve of her body.
She pressed herself against him, pliant and quivering in his arms. Bending his knees, he fitted the muscular angles of his rangy frame into the soft resilience of her erotic curves like the inter-locking parts of a jig-saw puzzle.
The kiss lasted a long time. Her breath mingled hotly with his and their tongues fought a duel of rising passion. The hard buds of her nipple-tips were twin points of flame burning into his chest. His hips arched against her and he felt her legs move farther apart as the swelling pressure of his penis searched out the fulcrum of her body. His cock was throbbing now, expanding with a wild excitement against the firm, tantalizing prominence of her pubic mound.
He was wearing thin, summer slacks and Carol felt the urgent heat of his prodding hardness through the light fabric of her dress and his trousers. She was aware that her panties were soaked with a warm flood of sticky moisture and she could sense it permeating the tangled floss of her pubic hair, wetly penetrating the cloth of her skirt.
A vision of the night gown chosen with such joyous anticipation of her wedding night suddenly etched itself on the retina of her mind. It was a froth of chaste white chiffon and lace, a demure yet enticing invitation to seduction. Of such an ethereal creation a young girl's dreams are formed and cherished long before its actual need or purchase. She pictures herself, shy but bold, reluctant but eager, in this symbol of the beginnings of a new magic. And they lived happily ever after. It is an embodiment of romantic fulfillment, of a long-treasured dreaming that is not easy to forfeit.
Abruptly Carol pushed Paul away. Torn between desire and the dream, her dark eyes pleaded with him for patience, for understanding.
"Please, darling, wait . . . not like this!" she begged in a husky whisper.
She turned and fumbled blindly through their luggage and with her small overnight case in her hand almost ran to the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind her.
Paul was left standing in the middle of the floor, an expression of stunned amazement on his face, his swollen prick a tower-like protuberance straining at the tight constriction of his trousers.
"Now what in hell . . . ?" he muttered under his breath.
The old-word charm of the room was enhanced by numerous bowls filled with fresh flowers, befitting the newly-weds. On a low table by the windows stood an attractive basket of mixed fruit, flanked by a bottle of champagne chilling in a frosted-silver ice bucket. He stalked over to the wine with a rather faltering stride, hampered by the abrasive material riding his stiff erection, and the leaden ache in the heaviness of his balls between his legs.
After rapidly downing over half of the contents of the bottle, he felt somewhat less confused and had time to figure out what was probably taking Carol so long in the bathroom. The champagne revived the heady glow of the large amount he'd consumed that afternoon. Added to the erotic stimulation of his vivid imaginings of Carol preparing herself to receive him, he found himself becoming so greatly aroused that the confinement of his clothing was an unbearable torture.
When the door to the other room opened soundlessly he was impatiently lighting a cigarette, his nude figure outlined in profile against the blackness of the night at the window like a bronzed statue.
Carol's breath caught in her throat as her startled gaze traveled downward from the flickering glow of the match cupped in his hands. In the fleeting instant of it's shadowy illumination for the first time she was acutely aware of the sensual impact of Paul's heavy-lidded, full lipped handsome features. Then her eyes were drawn magnetically to the awesome length and girth of his up-standing penis. Like a powerful, scarlet-barbed projectile it jutted proudly outward from the golden thatch of hair between his legs.
Her mouth was dry, her throat tight. Her heart was pounding so madly that it echoed with a drum beat in her ears, and she felt Paul must surely hear its loud tattoo. The only male organ Carol had ever seen was the immature penis of that nameless boy at the beach. The tremendous proportions of Paul's protruding erection frightened her even as the sight of his penis released an engulfing tide of desire that left her trembling, unable to tear her gaze away from him. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Oh God, she thought, he's so big! How can I take that inside of me? He'll tear my legs apart!"
She expelled her breath with an audible gasp that betrayed her presence.
Paul ground out his cigarette and started toward her eagerly, then hesitated for a fraction of a second. In one blinding flash the image of Carol's exquisite body was etched forever in his memory. The transparent gown only served to accentuate every sweet, flowing curve of her golden flesh with an artless provocation. His eyes absorbed the shape and texture of her cherry-tipped breasts straining proudly at the misty covering of white chiffon, the delicate indentation of her waistband supple fullness of her hips, her long exciting legs. The sharply defined protuberance of her pubic mound, a silken triangle shimmering with the dull gleam of molten gold, was the most entrancing sight he had ever seen.
He had an insane desire to fall to his knees and bow down at her feet, to shout his exaltation to the high-ceilinged rafters of the room. In a scant second of the world's practical time, he lived an eternity of wonder, yearning and love.
Carol held out her hands, with his name a low question on her lips.
The barely audible whisper of her voice broke the spell and Paul went to her with quick sure steps. Lifting her in his arms as easily as if she were a child, he buried his face in the deep, warm fragrance between her breasts and carried her to the bed.
Half-lying, half-sitting close beside her, he hovered over her quivering body. She closed her eyes to shut out the almost frightening demand that burned starkly from his passion-blurred stare. She could feel the heat radiate from him, covering her like a warm blanket. An answering rush of desire spread hotly through her veins as his hands moved over the surface of her low cut bodice, seeking out the tips of her fast-rising breasts.
His fingers gently plucked at the ruby nipples until their rigidity distended the thin material and twin drops of moisture darkened it. With a low moan he bent his mouth to hers and his tongue was a quick darting flame thrust hungrily between her lips. Her mouth was wet and clinging and her arms slid around his neck.
He slipped the straps of her gown off her shoulders, ripping the cloth in his eagerness. She felt a rush of cool air on her nakedness before his hands covered her breasts. Roughly now, his fingers continued to play with the bright red nipples as his palms kneaded the soft, resilient breast-flesh.
Paul was trying to control his mounting passion but the ache in his sperm-laden balls was fast becoming almost unbearable. He'd deliberately kept his hips from touching hers and he could feel his cock expand and grow, angrily cleaving the air. The blood-pressured head throbbed like a leaden weight until he had the sensation that it was pulling him down, making it hard for him to breathe. He felt like a man drowning.
Tearing his lips from hers he moved his mouth down the long ivory column of her throat to the straining swell of her breasts. His tongue traced wet circles on the rosy aureoles and they spread like opening flowers beneath his caress. His teeth nibbled avidly at the succulent tips of her nipples until he felt her whole body tremble with the rapturous pleasure of pain, Carol's fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him to continue.
His hands roamed over her belly and thighs, tugging at her gown. She raised her hips, and then the material was pushed up around her waist.
He shifted his position slightly until the lower part of his body was pressed against her, allowing the full length of his massive cock to lay heavily in the ridge between her thigh and pelvis. For a moment he was still, his face burrowed in deep cleft between her heaving breasts, fighting for control.
At the sudden shock of Paul's heavy penis burning into her flesh, Carols' legs involuntarily jack-knifed upward, trapping the rock hard shaft in the hollow of her hip and thigh. She grew rigid, scarcely daring to breathe yet almost beside herself as a torrential wave of desire washed through her.
She felt the huge, hot throbbing of his penis against her hip. It was like some enormous integral being, expanding and contracting, pulsating with a life of its own. She could feel it straining, growing even bigger until its bulbous tip was nestled in the silky brush of her pubic hair. The increasing pressure of passion in her loins caused her grip to tighten reflexively on his prick. It gave a giant lunge in the tensed corridor of flesh and Paul raised his head with the groan of an animal in pain.
"Oh, God, Carol, I can't wait! I can't help it!" he panted hoarsely.
Quickly he rolled on top of her.
He fought desperately to keep from plunging into her young virginal cunt brutally and deeply. The pressure in his balls was a knifing agony. The blood surging wildly into his cock was an insistent, raging demand. He contracted his muscles, restraining himself as he guided the swollen blood-filled tip with his hands. He could feel the heat and wetness of her naked genitals reaching out to him.
He felt like coming at once when his pulsing glans-tip grazed the soft velvet flesh of the moist lips of her vagina. He could feel the slippery folds of her cunt contract, gripping the tip of his cock, sucking at it like the lips of an eager mouth.
He began to tremble. His whole body shook as if he had fever chills. Then it was too late.
Carol helped to cause her own pain. She forgot all her fears as the first contact of his penis sent waves of exquisite delight coursing out from the wildly sensitive nerve-centers of her aroused vagina. Her thighs parted and her hips jerked violently upward to meet the joyfully delirious sensation of his probing cock.
Paul entered her with all the strength and frustration he'd kept bottled up inside of him. Her high-pitched screams of agony reverberated like a crescendo of shattering glass, hanging momentarily in the air then swirling in splintering fragments throughout the room. But he was deaf and blind to all but his overpowering need.
He rode her wildly, holding her hips firmly in his hands as her cunt clutched desperately at his cock, struggling like a trapped animal trying to free itself. His first savage thrust had reamed through the resistant sheath of her hymen as if it were soft unresisting butter. Trembling on the brink of orgasm from the very first moment of entry, it took but a few hard, plunging strokes into the warm clinging depths of Carol's moist vaginal tunnel for Paul's inflamed cock to reach the peak of climax.
On one final pounding inward thrust he grew as taut as a bowstring. A triumphant cry welled up from deep within him. Then his body began to shake with long, drawn-out spasms of ecstatic release while he pumped his scalding sperm in an endless stream up into the depths of her womb.
Carol had lain awake long after Paul was lost in exhausted, passion-drained sleep. The throbbing ache between her thighs was soon forgotten, submerged in a far greater hurt that gnawed relentlessly at her heart. What had gone wrong?
Apprehension chilled her for she held the memory of the feel of his mouth and hands on her body. Her senses had been stirred to a point of near torture, she had wanted him with such longing. She'd been consumed by passion, hungered for the delight of his hard, swollen penis. How eager she had been to have it filling the aching need of her body! What had happened in the moment between the pulsing tide moving to its white-foamed crest and the harsh denial ?
The joy had been lost so quickly. The sharp explosion of agonizing pain. Then, just as she was beginning to recapture the thrill of sensual pleasure it was all over. And she had been left empty, longing for gratification, aroused and abandoned.
Timorously she'd touched herself, feeling Paul's sperm, warm and moist, on the raw tender flesh of the still throbbing lips of her cunt. Desire stirred, and she felt ashamed, the uneasy shame of a nameless, unsatisfied hunger.
The rosy-grey of early dawn cast its faint light on the tears coursing silently down her cheeks when at last she fell asleep.
The second and last night of the honeymoon had failed to bring Carol's desire any nearer to completion than the first. In spite of the answering passion that Paul's love-making aroused in her body, again he was too quick for her. Although she tried not to show it he sensed her disappointment, but she excited him so greatly he couldn't last long. Bemoaning the fact that they had so little time, he tried to comfort Carol by telling her there would be other times when they could make a game of seeing how long they could make it last.
Yet after Paul came out of the service it seemed to Carol she'd stumbled on a game she didn't know how to play well enough to win. She held onto one hope. Though they now had the time, they didn't have the place. For during the two years Paul was overseas she'd continued to work and live at home with her mother and father. So it was to their house that he came home and this is where the real trouble in his and Carol's marriage began.
Paul had left for Germany overjoyed with the knowledge that he had a beautiful, warm and responsive young bride waiting for him at home, and such were his aspirations that he had actually been faithful to Carol for the entire time he was gone.
Yet how can a man make ardent, uninhibited love to his wife when her parents are on the other side of a thin, plasterboard wall? How can she be able to respond with unabashed fervor in a room next to that of her mother and father ? Especially with a girl of Carol's upbringing, it simply wasn't possible.
The lyrical, hopeful desires of youth had been denied so long that the night of Paul's return had been essentially a repetition of the honeymoon. He'd been unable to contain his hair-trigger reaction to Carol's vibrant young body.
She'd felt a strange new shyness towards him that built up to an almost virginal tension. Paul had found her so hard to enter he was afraid of his own violence. Once again he's been forced to struggle to hold back the over-powering storm of passion that threatened to explode on contact. Fearful of premature ejaculation he'd held his breath to stave it off. Suddenly her body had opened to him and she seemed to pour out warmth.
"Don't wait for me," Carol had whispered, knowing his agony was as great as her own. "Let yourself go!"
He did, and almost before it began it was over.
So the nights in Carols' bedroom became desperate exercises in muted, frustrated fumbling. Paul was sensitive enough to soon suspect that the transports of love were all his, not being shared. But he felt helpless to break through the reserve fostered by the restricted confines of the location of their bedroom. The fruitless search for an apartment of their own increased the wall of tension and frustration growing between the young couple.
Paul was beginning to feel like an impostor in Carol's room. He realized she tried her best to relax her inhibitions but the awareness of parental proximity was just too strong, too ingrained, for her to overcome it. Even though he was, in some measure, able to understand this, he was fast running out of patience. The day before they found the absolutely perfect apartment was almost the last straw.
He had surprised Carol as she came out of the shower. Reaching for a towel, she'd wrapped it around her as though she had been discovered naked by a stranger. He'd attempted to hide his hurt and anger beneath a chiding remark. But they both knew that the threshold of frustration was perilously close to the breaking point.
Consequently each offered an individual silent prayer of thanksgiving for the acquisition of a home of their own. Each shared the hidden, unspoken anticipation that the apartment in the Forum would be the open Sesame to connubial bliss.
CHAPTER 4
It seemed that almost by a tacit agreement Carol and Paul refrained from making any outwardly fervent demands on their sexual relationship during the interim between renting the apartment and moving. The problem of housing having finally been solved, Paul, appeared content to wait since their future privacy was assigned a definite date.
In many ways that week was as though time had been turned back two years. It was like a second courtship, a period of gentle exploration that was mental as well as physical, a sending out of groping feelers that were tenderly inquisitive rather than passionate. The young man and woman who had been lovers were learning to be friends.
Although Paul was subconsciously counting the days, his efforts to disguise his impatience were so successful that Carol suffered a bewildering mixture of feeling. She was relieved by his surface contentment yet perversely agitated by her unfulfilled desire. The feeling she got just when his hand brushed her arm was enough to stir a surge of excitement in her body.
Paul, who had always slept in the nude, had taken to wearing pajamas. (She had no way of knowing he did this to help dampen his ardor. The touch of her glossy thigh, beneath the shorty nightgowns she wore, on his bare skin sufficed to cause an instant erection.) She lay awake nights with him breathing rhythmically beside her, and longed to stretch out her hand to him. She tortured herself with lewd imaginings.
She saw herself thrusting her hand down inside his waistband, feeling hungrily the thick mat of his pubic hair entwined in her fingers. Stroking, caressing, loving his penis with her hand. Holding the soft muscle until it began to swell and grow. Expanding, lengthening, stiffening until it became a joyous, leaping animal hungry with desire. Desire for her. The desire she had seen for the first time silhouetted in front of the window at the inn. When Paul had stood straight and tall, his massive penis proud and erect, waiting for her.
She would toss and turn restlessly in bed, ashamed of the swollen nipples of her breasts rubbing at her gown, the moisture that flowed from her vagina to form a warm dampness on the cool sheet beneath her squirming buttocks. Ashamed, yet helpless in the power of her aching need. She would finally sleep, seeking the elusive dream. A fusion so sweet, so wonderful that body and soul were one, tenderness and sensuality were one.
During that time of transition in some strange way Carol had become the aggressor, in her mind at least. She had the glimmering of a new insight into the depths of her sensuality which she found so disturbing that she was grateful for the sleep of exhaustion the last few nights.
Throughout the crowded, busy days she had the weird sensation of going back and retracing her steps of two years before. Only now she was scouring the shops for furniture and house wares instead of a trousseau. The many wedding gifts they had received had all been stored away. Sorting them over now and planning for her first home, Carol began to experience the true feeling that comes with being a wife, not just a bride.
By late Saturday afternoon when the last load of scattered belongings from home had been carried into apartment One-fifteen of the Forum, about the only feelings in her hot, weary body were those of bewildered dismay. The new furnishings had been delivered, the dozens of boxes of wedding gifts had been transferred, all of hers and Paul's personal things were there.
The only trouble was, she couldn't find anything !
She'd started to look for towels and bedding, and a welter of half-opened boxes, displaced furniture, sports equipment including golf clubs and skis, and miscellaneous bric-a-brac was a far cry from the picture of gracious living she'd treasured all week in her mind.
While Paul was putting the car in the garage, she slumped dejectedly on a packing crate in the middle of the living room floor. The room that had looked so inviting, so spacious, seven days ago, was, she bemoaned inwardly, a hopelessly cluttered mess! Pressured by the rush of searching out just the right furniture, she hadn't been there to supervise the placing of anything upon delivery, so the place did look something like a back-yard garage sale.
Ordinarily Carol was a most efficient, self-possessed young woman. She would have either attacked the chore of unpacking and re-arranging with energetic anticipation of the end result, or cheerfully admitted to being too tired to tackle it now and let it wait. But this was no ordinary day. She felt not only hot, exhausted and disheveled, but absolutely miserable. For on this day of all days, when she had been looking forward to being alone with Paul, to going to bed with him with no reservations, no restrictions, to pleasing him, everything had been ruined. She'd started her monthly menstrual period that morning.
That simple act of nature probably wouldn't have loomed so disastrous to her if the past month of building tension and mental confusion hadn't worn her down and blurred her sense of perspective. Having caught her off guard and at a vulnerable time, it threw her into an uncharacteristic panic of helplessness.
Paul came in to find her dissolved in tears. Wading through the litter he came up behind her and put his hands tenderly on her heaving shoulders.
"Carol, dearest, don't cry! What is it? What's the matter?"
"Oh, Paul, everything is such a mess! And . . . and I w-wanted it to be so . . . so right!" she wailed.
Almost on the verge of telling him the foolish reason for her distress, the words seemed to stick in her throat, choked back by her sobs.
Bewildered by her tears and never having seen Carol fall apart like this before, Paul naturally reasoned that the disorder of the house was the cause of her totally unexpected outburst.
"There now, it's not all that bad. I'll have to admit it looks pretty gruesome right now," he laughed. "But I'll help, and.....Hell, let's just leave everything 'til tomorrow!"
Tomorrow! She thought, isn't that just like a man! When I can't even find the sheets for the bed! A quick feeling of resentment stabbed her.
He pulled her to her feet and drew her close. Gently taking her trembling chin in his fingers, he lifted her tear-stained face, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"You're just tired, honey," he said soothingly, as one would try to calm a child. "I'll go and get some hamburgers or something. And then . . ."
But the expression in his blue gaze was far from the way a man looks at a child, and he lowered his hand to the neck of her blouse, running it underneath the fabric. His fingers tightened on the satiny smoothness of her breast as he felt it swell to his touch. The nipple quivered and grew taut as he tweaked it between thumb and forefinger, responding to his caress.
He looked down with a deliberately lecherous grin that gave his sensual mouth the twist of a delighted satyr. At the sight of her creamy flesh surging warm and soft through his fingers, he felt his prick stiffening in his shorts. He pressed closer to her, rubbing the swelling bulge against her loins like a cat rubs against his mistress's legs.
For a spellbound moment she let her body melt into his, moving her hips against him anxiously, straining forward to feel the hard muscles of his belly pressed against hers, thrilling to the rocklike bulge in his trousers. Her motion was one of consent and desire as her hips undulated against him, returning the pressure of his prodding penis.
She felt the moisture of desire slowly gathering between her thighs, the warm.....
Ohhhhh, no! Dear God ... It just wasn't fair! Men didn't have problems like this . . . All they had to think of was their own desire! How easy it was for Paul to satisfy his passion! While she . . . she.....
Suddenly the warmth of desire bubbling sweetly within her boiled over in a towering rage of frustration and resentment. With a sobbing cry she wrenched herself violently out of his arms.
"Of course I'm tired! Tired of having you think of nothing but sex!" Her voice was harsh and ragged.
"But-Carol . . . !" He was open-mouthed, speechless.
"Oh, don't try to deny it! You couldn't wait to get me alone, could you ? To get your hands on my breasts! Is this all you want of me . . . ?" she blazed at him.
With a frantic movement she crossed her arms at her waist, tugged her blouse out of her shorts and drew it up over her shoulders, over her head, and sailed it across the room. She stood staring at him accusingly, panting like a wounded animal at bay, her high, rounded breasts rising and falling with the exertion of her gasping breath.
"There . . ! This is all you want, isn't it?"
"Carol, you're wrong-all wrong. I love you! Sure I want you, but-" She wouldn't listen. Swept along on the tide of her own agony, she was powerless to stop. Her dark eyes flamed with anger. And something deeper, a desperate hurt. He took a step toward her and she held up her arms as if to ward off a blow.
At this Paul felt a sudden stirring of cold rage. What did she think he was going to do-hit her? Or rape her? "What do you expect, when you go around half-naked? No bra . . . teasing me?" Even as the words left his mouth he knew that he was being childish, unfair, but his hurt anger goaded him on. "Half-dressed, wriggling your ass at me like a bitch in heat! Making me want you!"
That did it. Nothing he could have said would have incensed Carol more, driven her on with such a reckless, mindless frenzy. Something cracked inside.
"You don't want me! You just want someone to fuck! Someone to go to bed with! To end up screwing like-like some wild animal! Like some -some stud!" she shouted.
The accusation came tumbling out in the voice of a stranger, with a slurring rush, as if she'd had too much to drink. Carol felt as though she were underwater, listening with horror to words coming from a great distance, words that made her shudder, obscene words that she had never dreamed of using in her entire life.
"You j-j-just married me," she stuttered at him, "F-for a place to put your cock!" Her voice ended in a blurred streak of rising hysteria.
The lewd language coming from her young innocent lips, language that was so shockingly, totally unlike her, coupled with the tantalizing sight of her agitated naked breasts, had the effect of an erotic stimulant on Paul's inflamed senses.
With a lust-incited violence he lunged toward her and pulled her to him in a savage embrace, grinding his mouth down on hers, forcing his tongue between her lips. The globes of her breasts flattened against him as his fingers dug into her shoulders to hold her in a grip of steel. There was no vestige of tenderness in him now, only the merciless fury of enraged passion.
An anguished groan rumbled deep in his throat. He shoved the marble hardness of his blood-pressured penis demandingly into the resistant juncture of her thighs. His hands left her shoulders and reached down for the tense globes of her buttocks to force the fulcrum of her body to meet his rigid urgency.
Taking advantage of the momentary relaxation of pressure on her body, without warning Carol drew back her arm and swung on him, slapping him across the face with all her strength, snapping his head back, forcing a yelp of shock and pain from his open mouth. As his cheek turned red from the force of the blow Paul shook his head like a punch-drunk fighter and his passion-blinded eyes slowly focused on Carol's frightened face. They iced to the chill, clear blue of a mountain stream. He dropped his hands to his sides and backed away from her.
She cowered back as though she were the one who had been struck, bracing her shuddering body on a box behind her. She crossed her arms over her breasts, seeming to be aware of her nakedness for the first time, and the fierce grip of her fingernails drew blood from the soft flesh of her shoulders. With a burgeoning horror of disbelief she stared at the red tracery of her hand on his face.
"Did that make you feel any better?" he asked grimly.
"Oh, Paul! What-what have I done? I didn't mean....."
"You didn't mean what?" His voice was flat, cold as his eyes. "All I did was fall in love with a woman and marry her. Is it my fault that it turns out she's frigid?"
He looked at her for a long moment, his own pain blinding him to the pleading anguish in her dull gaze. She held out her hands, but he was already on his way to the door. It closed behind him with a quiet finality.
CHAPTER 5
On Sunday morning Carol lay dozing in the grey world between sleep and awakening. She felt weighted down by a sense of foreboding, a nebulous terror of impending doom. She stirred restlessly, trying to evade the nameless pall of oppression, to escape back into the warm cocoon of unconsciousness. Then she woke in a rush of remembered emotion. Her eyes felt filmy-still panic ridden, and she sat up so quickly in bed that the room turned around her in a dizzy whirl. She tried to orient herself, to make herself think coherently.
Paul! The other side of the big bed was empty. Had he really left her? Her heart seemed to swell up into her throat and she couldn't breathe. Then she saw the imprint of his head on his pillow, the tossed back covers, and she remembered. She remembered everything-the sluttish way she'd acted, the horrible, unspeakable things she'd said. She cringed down into the pillow, tortured by sweeping shame and remorse.
What, she wondered, had happened to her in such a short space of time? To turn her into a shrew, to make her lash out at Paul? And-could it be true that she was what he'd called her? Was she-frigid?
Then a stirring of anger nudged it's way through her hurt and doubt. She was perfectly aware that the fight had been her fault, that she'd started it. But with illogical reasoning she felt he had no right to be calling her names, especially one that wasn't true! (Aside from the fact that she hadn't meant a word of what she said to him either.) Without any doubt Carol knew she was not frigid. For her wayward body still remembered it's awakening on that long ago summer's night at Balboa. She saw now that had been only a feeble introduction of thing to come. For there had been times with Paul when she had been so close to ecstasy, so near to finding the dream she could almost touch it, that it was but a matter of time.
So she lay there fostering her indignation, partly to assuage her guilt for being the first one at fault. In a few days she'd show him she wasn't that nasty word! Though in her innermost thoughts she prayed that he'd be patient.
Paul's first impulse on leaving the apartment was to go to the bar on the corner and get blind, to-hell-with-it-all drunk. He marched woodenly down the block in that direction, but when he came to a coffee shop he realized he was starved, having eaten nothing since breakfast. After stopping in there and eating a hearty meal in a warm, friendly atmosphere, the idea of sitting alone in a strange bar lost it's appeal. Then too his cold rage had diminished as his hunger was appeased. So he went next to the liquor store and made his way back to the Forum carrying a carton of cigarettes and a six pack of beer.
Carol would have been gratified to know that while the abysmal fear that Paul had walked out on her forever was torturing her, he had lounged in a deck chair by the pool, within fifty feet of their bedroom, until a package of the cigarettes and all of the beer was gone. Gratified yes, but probably the self-righteous anger would have come alive then, had she known that he was watching her lifting heavy boxes, moving furniture and making an appreciable dent in the clutter of the house in an effort to work off her despair.
But Paul also went through a hell of his own as he watched his lovely and desirable young bride, frequently pausing to brush the tears from her eyes, in her lonely and determined struggles. Despite his own bewildered attempts to fathom the reason for her violent attack on him, he felt more sorry for Carol by the minute. She'd gone without dinner and she must be exhausted. By the time he was on the second can of beer he wanted nothing more than to go to her, to comfort her. And yes, to make love to her, to all of the things of which she so harshly accused him, in the act of which she gave him such joy.
Yet more than that, because he loved her, he ached to help her, to ease her pain. But he didn't know how. In the heat of anger when she had accused him of being over-sexed out of his deep hurt he'd retaliated in kind. He'd struck back with the crudest weapon that came to his enraged mind. Though almost certain that Carol hadn't been able to achieve orgasm during coitus with him, she was so responsive, so sensually aroused by his love making, that he never doubted her ability to attain a fulfillment as complete and rapturous as his.
Like Carol he knew that it was only a matter of time, but Paul openly recognized the need for patience on his part.
The lights in the apartment finally went out as he sorted this out in his mind. But hell, he concluded, crumpling the last empty can in his hand with a sudden strength of resentment, how can I begin to try when she won't even let me come near her?
He was feeling slightly bilious from drinking the beer, stiff from sitting cramped up for so long and chilled from the night air when he crawled into bed beside Carol's sleeping form. Torn by a desire to nestle into the warm curves of her body, to hold her close and fall asleep with the comfort of his love in his arms, but he didn't dare.
When he finally slept it was with a festering resentment, the aggrieved feeling that she started this whole ruckus-she could damn well finish it!
So Paul had made up his mind the night before that he was not going to speak the first word of reconciliation. Getting out of bed on Sunday morning Carol made the same resolve.
Although she tried not to worry about where he could have gone now, she was immensely relieved to find he'd left a note on the bathroom mirror. Brief and unsigned (a discouraging omen) it said, "Gone to coffee in the rec room." She read the message with a puzzled frown, thankful that he wasn't ignoring her completely, but somehow afraid to face him. The rec room? Then she recalled that Mr. Durfee had mentioned something about a customary Sunday morning get-together in the Recreation room over-looking the pool, a function that would make it easy for them to get acquainted with their fellow tenants.
She thought that right now she certainly wasn't in any mood to meet a bunch of strangers. But it would be easier to meet her husband with others present!
The oppressive smog and heat had lifted and the air was full of crystal sun and warmth as Carol skirted the pool. She could hear the hubbub of conversation and strains of music coming from the playroom. As she walked in the door she was surprised to find the atmosphere of the gathering more like a country club cocktail party than that of a morning coffee.
She was thankful she'd taken particular care to look well, after a fleeting appraisal of the group. The women were put together to give a calculated impression of casual simplicity that denotes expensive planning. The men, comfortably dressed in well-tailored sports clothes, exuded an air of jovial good-fellowship. There were far more high-ball glasses in evidence than cups and saucers.
Standing uncertainly on the fringe of the noisy, laughing crowd, Carol felt strangely inadequate. With the exception of two bright-eyed blondes, most of the people were much older than she, with a glossy patina of suave sophistication. She wanted fervently to find Paul and reach the reassuring strength of his protectiveness, but made a conscious effort to keep her eyes from seeking him out.
Rosemary Durfee spotted Carol the moment the girl entered the building. As she went to greet her with a friendly warmth she had the rueful thought that she really couldn't blame Frank for getting worked up over such a gorgeous kid. Wait until the gang in the Club got a look at her!
"What'll you have to drink, Carol? Frank mixes a heavenly Silver Fizz, or would you rather have a Bloody Mary?" she asked Carol after introducing herself with the practiced charm that gives a stranger the illusion of meeting an old friend.
When Carol suggested coffee Rosemary sensed she was going a little too fast and hastened to explain with a wry laugh that after the wet party they'd had last night a little hair of the dog was a medicinal necessity.
So with cup in hand Carol followed her around the gay, chattering clusters of people and met some of her new neighbors. She found it impossible to unravel the tangle of so many new names and faces but she was impressed by the spontaneous warmth of their welcome. Although fragments of conversation she overheard brought a rosy flush to her face.
"And I've never read anything so hilarious," one of the bright-eyed young girls was saying. "Then he said she jammed a cup-cake on his cock and proceeded to eat it!"
The group around the blonde was laughing shrilly in appreciation as she retold the ribald story of a novel she'd just finished, but Carol was relieved to move along. Suddenly she heard Rosemary saying, "And I believe you two have already met!"
The older woman had been eyeing Carol's blushing embarrassment with considerable amusement. She was astonished to see the color recede from the golden skin, leaving it almost starkly white, when the girl turned to come face to face with her husband. Glancing quickly at Paul, Rosemary was further surprised by the expression on his face. Although he was responding to her remark with a polite laugh, there was an almost imperceptible tightness around his eyes and mouth and the look he directed at Carol bristled with an unmistakable animosity.
Well! Trouble in Paradise already, it pleased her to note. This was going to be much less difficult than she'd anticipated.
The full impact of Paul's level gaze was lost on Carol for she'd lowered her eyes to conceal the gladness mirrored there at the sight of him. Somehow she managed to maintain a pretense of cool composure, affecting an off-hand amiability she was far from feeling. Her relief was enormous when Rosemary led her off to meet some latecomers.
The spirits of the group grew lighter as the drinking got heavier. Gradually the crowd thinned to those who were feeling such an alcoholic glow they wouldn't dream of letting the fire die out from lack of fuel. Most of the heightened gaiety centered around a portable bar presided over by Frank Durfee, who was playing the host for all he was worth.
A few mixed couples were locked in each others arms doing a dance of sorts, although it was difficult to hear any music coming from the stereo over the frenetic babble of liquor-loosened tongues.
After drinking several more cups of coffee and making an unsatisfactory meal of peanuts and potato chips, Carol eventually found herself settled down in a corner trying to keep up her end of a conversation. In ordinary circumstances she would have enjoyed the animated chatter of the women she was with. One, Ardis Sachs, who had earlier been recapping the latest novel, turned out to live across the hall and Carol liked the girl immensely despite her lurid vocabulary.
But her ears, like those of an animal tense in the jungle, strained towards the sound of Paul's voice raised in intermittent laughter from the noisy hilarity around the bar. She wished fervently that she'd accepted Rosemary's invitation to have a drink, to be able to be a part of the gathering around Paul. But that group of happy, laughing people now seemed too tight, too intimate for her to penetrate.
Carol began to feel rejected and rather sorry for herself. Suddenly she had a pounding headache and she realized she was ravenously hungry. Abruptly, she excused herself and rose and moved toward the door, carrying herself with a forced erectness. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Paul's tall frame bent in a position of rapt attention over Rosemary's petite figure. Highball glass in hand, he was listening intently to whatever she was whispering in his ear.
A new, unfamiliar emotion mingled hurtfully with a fresh burst of indignation. So that's how he intends to fulfill his promise to help me settle the apartment today! Carol fumed inwardly as she headed for home.
CHAPTER 6
Throughout his apparent engrossment with the hard-drinking gang of merry-makers, Paul had remained acutely conscious of his wife's whereabouts. His concern over her straight-backed, unswerving exit was instantly communicated to Rosemary by the overt lessening of his attention. She felt the sudden tension in his muscular body and saw the distress in his eyes as they followed Carol's retreating back. Her grip on his arm changed imperceptibly from a friendly pat to an intimate, stroking caress.
"My dear boy," she chided, "you haven't heard a word of what I've been saying!"
"Uh-I'm sorry, Rosemary," Paul looked down at her with a guilty start. He'd been fighting down an urge to hasten after Carol.
He had already had quite a lot to drink and the alcohol buzzed pleasantly in his head, helping him stiffen his resolve that Carol should be the one to make the initial overture toward making up. This settled, and with Carol out of sight, he was able to focus his attention on the woman at his side with a complete, new awareness. For the first time he realized how very attractive she was and he felt the waves of expensive perfume and liquor emanating from her. And something else. He sensed a wave of desire throb toward him.
The grip of her fingers on his arm pulled him closer and her marvelous breasts thrust against him with a soft warmth. Against his will he felt the familiar pressure of excitement stirring in his groin.
"I was asking you," Rosemary continued with a husky rasp of whiskey in her voice," to come along to a little party in your building."
"But I can't just barge in uninvited," Paul protested.
She laughed as if he'd said something very funny. "Don't worry, you live there-you're invited," was her rather cryptic reply.
Paul still hesitated, but she was quick to recognize the smoldering fire kindling in his eyes, the growing swell of sensuality shaping the curve of his full mouth. "Besides it will do you both good." She gave him a knowing look.
"What do you mean?"
"It's quite obvious that your lovely wife is displeased with you. So you might as well learn right now that we women simmer down a lot faster if we're just left alone for awhile!" she assured him.
To add impetus to her urging, Rosemary gave Paul a slow, delirious smile, pressing her point by pressing the pointed tip of her breast more firmly into his arm. Her eyes glowed with an inner excitement and her lips were moist and inviting as she stared up at him. Moving even closer, she snuggled a voluptuous hip against his upper thigh.
Paul tore his gaze from the open invitation in her face as he felt himself being drawn into the orbit of her lust. The muscles in his thighs felt like tightly stretched rubber bands. To moisten the desire-parched lining of his mouth he grabbed for a fresh drink and drained the glass in one long, shuddering draught. It turned out to be almost straight bourbon. For a second he stood helplessly gasping for breath, the sharp fire of the liquid searing all the way from his throat to his stomach, plummeting downward like a depth charge. Then it exploded in his gut and its fiery warmth coursed through his body, dissolving the last shreds of his reluctance, drowning his nagging conscience.
Rosemary had insinuated her ripe body between him and the bar. Standing on her toes, she slipped her arms around Paul's neck, tugging his head down to hers. With her mouth open and demanding on his, she strained against him with a heated passion. She rubbed herself against him with a strident urgency, grinding her hips sinuously into his groin.
He felt a detached sense of shock when he realized he was eagerly returning her kiss, entwining his tongue hotly with hers, holding her close. But he was also powerless to stop. She was pliant and warm and necessary. He could feel his prick expanding into the softness of her belly, prodding into the plump flesh as the rubbing of her body aroused him to increasing desire.
Rosemary was the first to break away, looking down at the throbbing bulge in his pants with avid amazement.
"My God!" she exclaimed. "You're all ready! You're a man after my own heart, only maybe that isn't the right word!"
Before he realized her intention she had opened his zipper, and her hand was burrowing in under the cloth of his trousers. Her fingers were cool on the feverish flesh of his aroused cock and the hard rod gave a pulsing surge into her searching hand. A startled indrawn breath rattled harshly in his throat. For an instant he remained motionless, eyes closed and hips slumped forward, savoring the sensual delight of her touch.
Her strong fingers traced the taut, rubbery ridge of foreskin encircling the blood-filled head of his raw, expanding prick. They plucked teasingly, lightly around the ring of flesh before moving to explore the smooth surface of the inflamed bulbous knob with feathery strokes. Then they slipped down to probe deftly at the tiny mouth of his throbbing gland, growing wet and slippery with the moist gathering of seminal fluid.
The pure sensuous pleasure of the feel of Paul's cock in her hand, the glossy folds of flesh at the very tip expanding and contracting, breathing his warm secretion into her fingers, heightened Rosemary's exotic impulses. She prodded too eagerly into the sensitive opening, her fingernail sending a jab of pain up the swollen length of his penis.
"For chrissakes!" Paul sputtered. "That hurt!"
"Oooooo, I'm sorry, baby! Let Rosemary kiss it and make it well," she cooed with a throaty laugh.
"Like hell you will!"
But the sudden, vivid thought of the warm, scarlet flesh inside her mouth pressed around his cock made it all the more difficult to get his pants zipped up over the angrily throbbing bulge. Through a red haze of passion he looked quickly around but no one appeared to be paying any attention to them.
He knew he was getting drunk for the images of the party were melting and merging now in his intoxicated mind. Rosemary was leaning close to him again, brushing the erect nipples of her breasts tantalizingly against his chest. The blood roared in his ears and pounded in his cock.
"C'mon let's go find that party," he said thickly. He had to get out of there before he screwed her right in front of everybody or else he was going to come in his pants.
He had started in the direction of the door leading off from the pool when she stopped him with a hand tugging him back.
"Not that way, lover. Not unless you don't care if your wife should happen to see you with that stiff prick."
He swayed unsteadily on his feet, drunk now with lust as much as alcohol. Staring down at the tower-like protrusion straining at his crotch he thought why not? What the hell, she won't let me fuck her, why should she care if somebody else wants what I've got? He had the insane urge to take his erection out of his trousers and parade in full view past their windows with his penis waving before him like a flag leading the way. But he allowed Rosemary to steer him to a rear entrance.
She led him to a third floor apartment in a remote corner of Building D by a devious route to lessen the hazard of running into other tenants, as she was far from being sober herself. They avoided using the elevators and after traversing the length of the garage, climbing countless stairs, and walking through a labyrinth of hallways, Paul had regained some of his composure and had more control of his drunken emotions.
Somewhere along the way his penis had deflated and his disconnected thoughts still functioned rationally enough to be thankful for this, for Tom Loring was one of the first people he bumped into in the raucous crowd of a smoke-filled room.
Loring was not only a man whose abilities in industry he admired greatly, but also his immediate superior and a top executive in the plant where Paul worked. As the man dragged him with a hearty welcome to the bar, he was stunned to learn the Lorings were their next door neighbors. Trying desperately to make a favorable impression, he had to consciously exert himself not to show how drunk he was.
But Loring insisted on pouring him a stiff drink and Paul finally realized that his boss was obviously stoned. He was a big, beefy man, unsteady on his feet, and his naturally florid complexion was stained an even deeper crimson; his eyes, usually a steely grey, had a milky-pearl luminance in the blood shot whites, and his mouth was a slack, slightly drooling pink gash in his red face.
Two or three drinks later-Paul couldn't tell how long, by now having lost all track of time and even a sense of where he was-the two men were exchanging ribald banter like old barroom buddies.
"C'mon boy-want you to meet Marcia, that's my wife," Tom said, finally steering him away from the bar.
It was then the full impact of the party struck Paul with a devastating force. For a moment his drunkenness was scooped out of him as he stared around him with a mild sense of horror, feeling as though he had been dropped into a modern Bacchanalian orgy. The only thing missing was the crushed grapes.
The room itself was designed for sex, with cherry-red walls and black drapes. Wide couches covered in black and gold stretched along the length and width of three sides. The fourth contained the bar and also, beyond that and past the bedroom hallway, an intricate grouping of sound recording equipment topped by an outsize television screen. Mirrors abounded, set at various degrees and angles, on the walls and even patches of the ceiling. Low, gold leafed pedestal tables were scattered at random so a drink or cigarette was always at hand.
Paul took in the mechanics of the apartment with a brief glance. The revelers held him momentarily spellbound.
The image of chaotic confusion was induced primarily by the loud hectic beat of the music and but a handful of the guests who were snaking in and out of the tables in a shouting, dancing, naked conga line. It was made up of three men and two women, the women sandwiched in between the men, to form a writhing train of gyrating flesh. Female breasts swayed and bounced, buttocks jiggled lewdly, and erect male pricks cleaved the air. Each had one hand on the hip of the dancer in front, the free hand playing with his or her balls or cunt, which ever the case happened to be.
The end man was futilely jabbing his cock at the fleshy orbs of the woman in front of him, trying to insert the elongated member into the crevice of her ass, but her buttocks were wriggling too erratically for him to succeed.
Leading the line, his hands occupied shaking his mariachi, was Frank Durfee. All five of the dancers had been worked up to such a pitch of frenzy by the sinuous rhythm of dance and the stimulation of fondling each others genitals that their lust-bloated features and undulating bodies gave them the appearance of tottering on the brink of orgasm.
All about him was utter abandon. Couples had paired off on the sofas, engulfed in various positions and in various stages of the act of love. Close by a lean, rangy fellow was stretched flat on his back, his long legs hanging over the sofa, with a vivacious brunette straddling his hips. She was bouncing wildly up and down on his hardened cock, hanging on to his waist and looking for all the world like she was riding a bucking bronco. At the end of each downward plunge, when his rigid pole buried itself to the hilt in her loins, his penis drove itself so far into her body that it seemed to push the breath from her lungs and she would let out a wild howl.
The pair beyond were in the initial phases of sexual exploration with the girl lying passively spread-eagled, the man at her side holding one of her nipples in his mouth as his hand burrowed in the triangle of pubic hair between her open thighs.
One lone couple was dancing dreamily in a corner to the music of their own distant drummer, cheek to cheek and belly to belly, the naked woman's partner a rather ludicrous sight with his knobby bare backside and pipe-stem legs tapering into loud Argyll socks and white canvas tennis shoes.
Slumped low on her spine in a chair, a sexy blonde clad only in a tight black, breast-delineating sweater lay sprawled almost at Paul's feet. Her head was flung far back, twisting wildly from side to side, and her blue eyes glittered with an avid frenzy. She was breathing with such open-mouthed excitement that the sculptured points of her nipples formed twin peaks straining at her sweater with the rise and fall of her hard-panting breasts.
The girls hips undulated in rhythm with a closely-cropped dark head bobbing rapidly up and down in the blonde nest of curls between her thighs. As the hungry mouth and thrusting tongue came up briefly for air, its target was plainly visible. Paul caught a glimpse of moist, deep pink folds of flesh, splayed open and throbbing hotly in the soaked tendrils of honeyed pubic down.
The girls enflamed, hair-lined cunt slit held Paul's eyes like a magnet until once more the man's burrowing head blocked it from sight.
His heart was pounding against his ribs and his cock was jerking restlessly in his pants. Somehow he felt almost boyishly embarrassed, so rattled that he didn't know what to do with his eyes, where to look. And yet he wanted to look everywhere at once-at the girl riding the man's prick, at the giant sodomizing a little red-head across the room, at the blonde being sucked off at his feet.
He was beginning to feel more sexually excited than he had ever felt in his life and he hungered to assimilate the whole sublime aura of intense sensuality in one fell swoop.
Tom Loring was looking at him with a lewd, knowing grin. "That's Marcia over there," he said with a sweep of his arm and giggled drunkenly. "Guess we better not bother her right now, she looks pretty busy!"
Paul wasn't sure if he meant the red-head being skewered from behind or a woman whose silver-frosted head was busily working at an inflated prick. Then Loring almost knocked him off balance with a hearty slap on the back and a playful shove.
"There you go boy!" he boomed. "Looks like you're next. The little lady's looking for you."
His shove had propelled Paul in the direction of the bedrooms and he saw Rosemary Durfee coming toward him from the hall. For a split second a wild burst of fear penetrated the alcoholic mist in his brain and he wanted to turn and run. But a flood of desire turned his legs to putty, making it impossible for him to move.
Her nude figure seemed to be floating palely toward him, then the golden flesh turned to a dusky rose through the red haze of lust filming his eyes. Shaking his head, he cleared his vision and feasted avidly on the voluptuous swell of her breasts. They were perfect cones, naturally angled upward, round and plump at the base and tapered to long, firm nipples that glowed a dark, almost purplish red. The high mounds were so large and full that they almost met, making the cleavage between them a deep, narrow crevice.
Paul's hands itched for the feel of that soft, resilient flesh squeezing between his fingers, but as he started for her Rosemary blew him a kiss and turned back to the hallway. He followed her like an automaton, his balls hanging heavily between his legs, slapping against his thighs. They felt as big as coconuts, ripe, ready to burst open from the pressure of milky fluid roiling inside.
He thrilled to the sight of her naked behind bouncing seductively before him. The plump fleshiness of her buttocks was carried high, making the satiny orbs enticingly sensual beneath her tiny waist.
Paul lengthened his stride as he felt his prick begin to throb feverishly as it expanded along his leg, forcing itself heavily against the material of his trousers. He felt the blood-filled head burning into the flesh of his inner thigh like the white-hot tip of an electric soldering iron.
She led him to a lighted doorway at the end of the long corridor. Once inside the room she turned and spoke to him for the first time since bringing him to the apartment.
"And how do you like the little parties we throw around here?" she murmured in a husky whisper.
Not waiting for an answer, which Paul felt powerless to give anyway as he was having trouble just breathing, her fingers were at the front of his shirt, fumbling the top buttons open. She pushed the shirt aside and her lips moved tantalizingly over his chest, her sharp little teeth playing with the nipples. Then she drew her head back and laughed lightly as she saw his eyes gloating over her breasts.
"You like?" she asked.
"Oh God, yes-yes! I like," he groaned as her fingertips continued to stroke the pectoral muscles of his chest, making his lust-hardened prick a hot pulsation which was becoming a steady ache.
He reached for her and his hands felt big and awkward closing over her shoulders and her skin felt soft and at the same time firm. He stared at her breasts and in the soft light the plump flesh shimmered like bronze gelatin. He thought she must have been sun-bathing in the nude, for they were as tawny as the rest of her body. Inclining his head he brushed one pale pink aureole with his lips and it seemed to widen and turn a deeper shade. The crest, sharp as a pencil point, was a blood red color and he could sense its ache as it strained to reach his mouth. He enveloped it, and a good deal of the soft breast flesh with it, and Rosemary's sudden gasp made the sharp nipple swell even more against the eager laving of his tongue.
He ran his hands over her back and the slenderness of her waist, and as his fingers closed on the high firm swell of her buttocks his whole body trembled at the feel of her nakedness, so pliant and unresisting. She was working at the buckle of his belt and the touch of her hands at his waistband sent a tingling in his loins that caused his prick to struggle frantically against his leg.
With a wild sudden motion he was tearing at his clothes, not stopping to fumble buttons. Ripped from his body they were hurled aside and he stood naked in the dim light, his breath resembling the dry panting of an animal. He felt an instant's relief as his tortured prick, freed at last from the punishing confinement of his trousers, swung up massively, knifing the air, the bulbous head vibrating with a purple glow.
For the first time he dared to let his glance fall to the russet triangle of hair between the high sweeping curve of Rosemary's thighs. He saw a gleam of moisture on the smooth inner flesh of her legs and had a vague recollection that she had come back to the outer room from the direction of the bedrooms. He felt a roaring in his ears as he realized that it was sperm and she was fresh from another man's arms, that only minutes before another's swollen manhood had been inserted deep in the tangle of those damply gleaming curls at the entrance to her willing body.
A surge of jealousy swamped him but his hand went to the juncture of her legs, compelled by a curious magnetism that drew yet repelled him. His fingers lost themselves in velvety folds of her vagina, feeling the pulsing lips loose and wet, waiting for him. A wave swept over him; then a second. Swaying drunkenly on his feet, the sticky moisture of a stranger's sperm hot on his hand, he recognized the impelling power of lust and struggled helplessly against it, revolted by his weakness.
Then Rosemary was gently but firmly pushing him backward to the big, rumpled bed with one hand flat on his chest, the other gripping his penis, using the rigid protrusion like a lever. The edge of the bed knifed the back of his knees forcing him to fall back with a jarring thud, and he lay flat on his back in the foam mattress. His legs were dangling over the end of the bed and his cock reached yearningly to the ceiling.
She leaned over him, her eyes glittering. "Ahhh," she murmured. "Move up," she said with her fingers digging into the tensed muscles of his thighs.
He needed no further urging and wriggled frantically to the head of the bed, sensing it shift at the foot with the weight of her body as she crouched between his out-stretched legs. At the touch of her hands on his cock he felt the blood racing through him. At first her grip was gentle, fondling and stroking the inflated rod that towered like a tall tree out of the pubic underbrush. She edged a hand under his balls, letting her fingernails scrape lightly in the sensitive area between his scrotum and his anus. His muscles flexed and quickened as her grip on his penis tightened and she rolled the weight of his balls like giant marbles between her fingers.
He was watching the motion of her hand on his cock, seeing it continue to grow as he felt an ever-increasing tide of desire coursing through the rigid stem. He saw her lower her head but at the first long swipe of her tongue he closed his eyes, fearing that his thundering heart was about to collapse like a punctured balloon. He sank down into a hot sea of almost unbearable sensual sensation as the firm wetness of her lips closed like warm liver over the throbbing tip of his cock.
She let her tongue dart in and out, probing at the smooth pulsating head. Then she licked and sucked, hot searing kisses, up and down the entire length of the massive rod of hardened flesh until the taut skin was glistening wet all over with her saliva. After it was thoroughly lubricated, she framed the head with her mouth and put her tongue to work on the tiny opening there.
A low groan of pleasure escaped his throat as he felt her tongue cradle the bloated, pulsing knob of his prick. Against his will his eyes flew open. He watched with heated delight while she forced his swollen flesh deeply into warm recesses of her mouth. He gasped as half the length of his cock was drawn avidly into the red circle of her lips. When she let it slide out again almost to the point where it would have left the necessary sanctuary of her mouth, he arched his hips, forcing his prick even further into the depths of her throat, feeling the smooth, rubbery head vibrate wildly in the moist, suctioning tunnel of flesh.
She began increasing her activity, working her lips and fingers up and down his penis, causing an increased flow of his juices that made the pis- toning movement an easy, fluid rhythm. He began to shiver and tremble as the hot blood coursed through the swollen veins of his agitated prick. She plunged rapidly up and down over his aching flesh, twisting and turning her mouth to give him the ultimate heights of sexual pleasure. She sucked steadily, rhythmically, clenching his prick with one hand while the other made teasing forays up into the rubbery ring of his anus, prodding and exploring the smooth flesh of his rectal passage.
He had never had anything like this done to him before and it was a torment of exquisite pain. He was fighting for control, but not for the same reason as before. Now he was struggling frantically to keep from cumming, to make this wonderful, glorious, sensation last, to let his cock be held forever in the thrilling fastness of the sweet, suctioning pressure of her mouth.
Yet even as he tried desperately to hold back he felt his prick enlarging, soaring, threatening to tear itself loose from its mooring in his groin and float out of sight in the heavens like a run-away balloon. When he felt he couldn't stand it any longer, that his penis would break away and rent his straining body asunder, the pressure within him exploded. All of his pent-up desire, his devouring lust, raged out as from a dam bursting into the receptive well of Rosemary's mouth.
Paul's hips rocked from side to side and he thrashed about on the bed like a demented animal as his cock shot out the venom of his sperm and filled her mouth to the bursting with hot thick liquid. She almost choked as it spurted in fiery jets into the recesses of her throat. But she held on, still sucking furiously as his seed boiled into her lips. She continued to lick and suck contently until she had drained every last drop from his scrotum and his penis was a deflated pulp of soft flaccid flesh in her mouth.
He must have slept, though for scarcely more than a few minutes, when he felt a heavy weight pressing down on him. Soft lips, warm and slightly glutinous, were covering his mouth, and the weight began to move slowly, sinuously. He felt an instant reaction stirring in his loins and in a moment felt his prick gradually expanding, creating a sensation he hadn't felt in years, the pleasant waking from a wet dream.
With a great effort he opened his eyes. His mouth and throat were parched and dry but without having to ask a glass was placed at his lips. Raising his head he drank thirstily of the cool tangy liquid, then came up sputtering.
"What the hell!" The champagne, gulped so quickly, was tickling his nose and he hiccupped.
Rosemary was still there and he was still drunk, but with a difference now. He felt slightly dizzy with the champagne buzzing in his head, but he felt wonderful, filled with a burning desire that was masterful and strong. She took his aroused penis in her hand and there was no need for words.
Pushing her roughly down beside him he bent his head and began kissing the resilient mounds of her breasts, teasing the crimson nipples to erection with an almost brutal pressure of his mouth and teeth. She shuddered with delight, moaning softly, as his hands moved fiercely over her body, exploring every curve and hollow of the flesh. His mouth traveled to her belly, his tongue caressing the tiny aperture of her navel. Her fingers clutched wildly at his hair, forcing his head down until his tongue plunged through her thatch of chestnut pubic hair.
Her hips undulated urgently against the press of his face and he felt a violent convulsion of her body as his lips found the tumescence of her clitoris and gathered the tiny, quivering bud into his mouth. The flesh of her cunt was satiny and smooth, warm and desirable, and he licked and nibbled in the fragrant furrow with a frenzied hunger. He sucked at the moisture flowing from within and it seemed to travel through the length of his body with an exciting swiftness and settle heatedly in his cock.
"Oh, oh Christ! I can't-Oh God, I'm going to cum!" Her voice was a moan of pleasure.
"Go on, then!" His words were muffled.
Her moan rose to a shriek of ecstasy as she reached the peak of climax and he held her convulsing hips with his hands as her body leaped and jerked in a long series of joyful spasms. His lips parted eagerly on the pulsating fleshy folds of her cunt to receive the warm pungent juices flooding his mouth.
Rosemary was insatiable. He entered her within minutes as a wild lust goaded him on and she was once more in the throes of erotic excitation. During the next hour he wallowed in a sea of hot sensation and cold champagne. The wine bottle got turned over and he found himself picking it up and pouring it over her body, following some mad libidinous fantasy. Her breasts flowed with wine and her laugh was a shout of exultation as he emptied the bottle between her thighs and licked furiously at her cunt to extract the last drop.
During that hour he experienced a surge of release which made him feel as though he had dropped a thousand chains. Every part of his body was titillated, caressed, and fulfilled. He was caught helplessly in the eye of a hurricane of lust and nothing else existed.
CHAPTER 7
A quarrel, especially a first quarrel, can be an expanding cloud, darkening all other activities. Carol had looked forward to even the most unimaginative tasks of getting settled in the apartment as-to coin a triteness-a labor of love. But that Sunday afternoon she attacked the job as though she were engaged in a personal vendetta with all things inanimate and defenseless.
She laid yards of shelf paper with a forceful vigor, cutting out the lengths as though she were cutting out a dark malignancy; pounded nails and hung pictures like one hanging her most despised enemy in effigy. Storing pots and pans, moving furniture, unpacking linens-she slammed and banged and shoved with the ruthless determination of a fullback in a championship game.
Carol did, as Rosemary put it, simmer down, but with a grim vengeance that vented her ire and gave her a sense of martyred satisfaction.
She was staring unseeing at a magazine when Paul came in at ten o'clock. By seven she had started to prepare dinner. Having worked off her aggrieved feelings and given time to think, she was in a contrite mood and prepared to admit that she'd been nasty and unreasonable. The party in the recreation room had broken up and she was looking forward to Paul's coming home any minute. But as the minutes stretched slowly into hours her feelings ran the emotional gamut of the parent of a willful teenager who stays out long past curfew.
They dissolved from righteous anger to fearful apprehension. Had some mishap befallen him? Had he gotten into a fight and landed in jail, or even worse in a hospital? Was it possible that he'd decided to leave her after all? On the rare occasions when her father had gotten "tied up" with the gang from the office or club and had lost all sense of time, he'd scoffed at her mother's unnecessary worry on what he considered a most reasonable premise. He always managed to submerge his guilt in piqued indignation by assuring her that if anything disastrous happened to him she'd damn well be the first one to know about it. Reasonable-maybe, but small consolation.
However, Carol's uncertain fears reverted to anger when she heard Paul's key fumbling at the lock. But it was an anger underlain by overwhelming relief. He made his staggering way directly to the bathroom where he was loudly and violently ill. The whiskey and champagne hadn't mixed.
After a miserable night spent between the living room couch and the powder room off the hall, he went to work in the morning looking so pitifully sick and hung over that Carol forgot her own grievances and ended up feeling genuinely sorry for him. Though Paul's illness went far deeper than a mere hangover. He was sick with self-disgust and guilt. The excuse of being drunk didn't suffice for his participation in such a sexual orgy, or the fact that he'd actually gloried in it at the time; nor could it assuage his guilt over his unfaithfulness. This he attempted to do by being so very sweet and helpful toward Carol, so forgiving when she came out with the reason for her bitchiness, that she almost wished he would beat her instead-would hurt her for having hurt them both.
If she hadn't been so occupied during the days that followed she might have been more perceptive, more sensitive to Paul's inner disquiet. In addition to putting the finishing touches on their apartment she was getting acquainted with their immediate neighbors.
Having always lived in the comparative isolation of a private home, even while attending State College for it was within easy commuting distance, where the most casual visits were at least heralded by a phone call, she was amazed by the gregarious spirit that pervaded the Forum. She'd been under the impression that dwellers in such an urbane complex were notably indifferent to their fellow tenants even to the point of being anti-social, but this certainly didn't apply to Building D. During the daylight hours particularly it abounded with the conviviality of an open sorority, but any similarity stopped there for these women were past remembering the girlish naivety that implies. It seems conceivable they hurdled that era completely, leaving it an unknown void, and jumped from the innocence of early childhood to the full-grown maturity of a decadent sophistication.
Carol was caught up in a contagious air of informality, impromptu parties with coffee in the mornings and cocktails in the afternoons. It was like being transplanted into a different civilization, a more vital tribe where conversation leaped and crackled, fascinated by itself. No topics were held sacred-from the proper fitting of a diaphragm versus the side effects of the pill to the extent of vaginal capacity in relation to phallic length and girth. These were interspersed with comments on religion and politics, the latest books and plays and of course the eternal feminine preoccupation-clothes.
Even the oldest plots can be full of wonder for a child and Carol had the feeling that none of it was quite real, as though she were leafing through the pages of a slick magazine or watching a Noel Coward production. At times she felt rather gauche in comparison. Unwilling to appear prudish, from the first afternoon she realized she was drinking too much, but the liquor helped to liberate her natural constraint and she even found herself laughing with little embarrassment to the dirty remarks Ardis Sachs tossed off with a mock-innocent face. She was too inexperienced to realize that under that brittle surface gaiety, they were united in a Dionysian conspiracy against boredom.
It was natural that she'd form the closest attachment to her immediate neighbors. Ardis, a vivacious, silvery-bleached blonde, was the only one of the trio who was close to Carol's age. At twenty-seven she seemed to have been everywhere and done everything in a zealous pursuit of excitement, the quick thrill, the way-out thing.
She seemed to take nothing seriously, least of all her third husband, Gunther Sachs, a rather sedentary man of forty who would do anything to keep her happy. His enthusiasm for the Swap Club arrangement was negligible, but he was well aware that were it not for that Ardis would have long since begun casting about for husband number four.
The Sachs lived directly across the hall from the Jensens with Judy and Bob Cranston on one side, Tom and Marcia Loring on the other. Judy was forty-ish, a stunningly attractive woman in a sporty I've-seen-it all-Baby way who drove an orange Caddy to match the color of her hair. Her husband was a graying giant of a man, tanned and whipcord lean with an exercised, massaged, taken care of body. They both seemed perfectly content with each other, yet equally happy and satisfied with their participation in the Club.
Marcia Loring, much like Tom, had a tremendous physical presence. She gave the impression of expensive elegance with a nose dominated face which, despite the trouble lavished on it, wasn't up to the splendor of her well-proportioned Junoesque figure. A complete sensualist, she possessed a heightened receptivity to all forms of sexual pleasure that made her the natural leader of the group.
It was no accident that Carol was immediately impressed by her new neighbors and flattered at being so warmly accepted. These women made a point of going all out to ingratiate themselves with her, having learned the only way to avoid petty jealousies and inner squabbles was to maintain a close-knit unit.
The free and easy approach to living in the building was gradually opening up new values of sensual awareness in Carol. By mid-week when she was ready and eager to have Paul make love to her, for the first time since their marriage she was emboldened to take the initiative in bed. As she planned an especially festive dinner that morning and readied her most seductive nightgown, a rather shame-faced embarrassment plagued her. But after bolstering her intentions with more afternoon martinis than usual, plus a good deal of wine with their candle-lit meal, what followed was up to a point an easy victory. On the pretext of being tired she went to bed early.
Paul had sensed Carol's exhilaration. Her subtle mood of promise heightened his own awareness that he wanted her badly, but he wasn't prepared for the unexpected and effective sight of her when he came hopefully out of the bathroom. She lay sprawled voluptuously, even suggestively, on the bed, with her arms raised above her head and her rich blonde hair cascaded over the pillow. She stretched her arms luxuriously, the pull of muscle lifting the full swell of her breasts even higher and vividly outlining the twin peaks of the nipples, a cherry-tipped stain thrusting at the gossamer pink covering.
The shimmer of her golden flesh straining at the diaphanous gown of palest rose was a greater stimulant than outright nudity, sending Paul's hands automatically to the snaps of his pajama bottoms as he felt the inflating swell of his penis along his leg. The length of Carol's gown was minimal, and with her ankles crossed quite discreetly one over the other it barely reached below the provocative rise of her pubic mound. As his pajamas slipped soundlessly around his ankles and Paul stepped out of them, his prick steadily climbing upward, she wriggled slowly, lithely.
Carol felt rather than saw Paul's presence. She kept her eyes tight shut, but couldn't control her heavy, irregular breathing. She was dimly astonished by what she was doing but acutely conscious of an advanced sensual excitement aroused in her body by her own actions. Deliberately she raised one knee allowing the leg to bend languorously outward almost at a right angle to the mattress-cupped oval of her buttock. The ragged intake of Paul's breath nearly throttled her un-familiar daring.
He was aware of every pulse in his body and he simply stood and stared, motionless except for the swinging arch of his lusting prick. His gaze fastened on the exposed triangle of pubic hair that emerged from the filmy hem of her gown with the motion of her leg. As her thighs opened with a slow, wanton abandon the pink slit of her cunt surged into breathtaking view. The rosy, tantalizing lips of her vagina pulsated hotly in an amber frame of damp tendrils, the smooth folds glistening with a dewy moistness in the muted diffusion of light from the bedside lamp.
He feasted on the dazzling invitation of the flushed and trembling cuntal opening. Then he wet his lips and ran his eyes over the golden velvet of her inner thigh and the soft, yielding roundness of one ass cheek. He saw the almost imperceptible flexing of taut muscles under the smooth flesh and felt the rush of blood, hot and demanding, pouring into his cock as a faint undulation of her buttocks thrust the hair-lined slit of her cunt slightly forward, open and moist and infinitely desirable.
When he came around the bed her hand reached for the light and he had the sense of being forgiven for his betrayal. He was suddenly out from under the pall of guilt. Warning himself to go slowly, to take it easy with her, he took the swollen ache of his prick in his hand, willing patience, as he eased down beside her. The fragrance of her was warm and delicate, the scent of glossy young skin and summer flowers. And something else. The sweetness was enriched by an intangible perfume, the muskiness of desire.
He thought now only of reaching for her, touching her, and his hand went up under the film of silk to the far smoother silk of her breast. The nipple hardened to needlepoint rigidity at his touch and burned itself into his palm. He was trembling with the heat of desire and there was no way to still the frenetic movement of the swollen erection of his blood-pressured cock. No way to quiet its senseless throb in the nothingness of air except to plunge the aroused prod into the waiting ecstasy at his side. But he was determined that this time he'd do his utmost to bring Carol to the peak of longing before entering her.
Remaining on his back Paul sank his fingers into the fullness of plump breast flesh, gently teasing the firm nipple as he fought to ignore the painful heaviness in his balls, the aching pulse in his cock.
For a moment Carol, too, lay passive savoring the delicious thrill of his nearness, the tender caress of his hand. But as he made no further advances than the titillating fondling of her breasts she waited eagerly, almost breathlessly for more. Her breasts felt swollen and there was a growing sensuous excitement in her loins, an increasing moisture between her thighs.
Somehow she held fast to her newfound boldness. Quickly, glad for the darkness that masked the rush of color to her face, she moved close against him. She raised herself a little to feed him a heavy-nippled breast.
With a low harsh moan he burrowed into the plump ripe flesh, sucking voraciously at the hard, palpitating nipple. All thought of reserve or caution was thrown to the winds, lost in this new role of temptress she was playing. It incited him beyond control and his mouth devoured her breast, his hands ran desperately over the supple curve of her back and the creamy round spheres of her buttocks.
He turned to her with a violent twist that slapped the weighted length of his penis on the vulnerable softness of her inner thigh. She could feel the fire of the wet sticky underside of its throbbing head searing into her flesh, igniting a blazing fury inside her tight, hot vagina. Suddenly she was overpowered by a flood of desire alerted by the magic pressure of his penis pounding into the warm tunnel of flexing muscles between her clenched thighs. So near, so exquisitely close to the inflamed hair-lined lips pulsating wetly against each other.
The urge to consume him, to possess him, to have him as completely as he was able to have her drove her to a hitherto self-forbidden madness of abandon.
Paul jumped as her hand found his penis. The contact was electric and he pulled slightly back with the shock of her cool fingers on his heated erection. Gathering her eager softness roughly in his arms he clamped his mouth on hers and pressed their straining bodies tight together, holding her arm captive between them. He sank into an erotic mindlessness and thrust his hips back and forth, plunging his passion-bloated cock wildly in and out of the indescribable joy of her tightly clenched fist.
The feel of his expanded, pummeling shaft of flesh aroused her to fantastic delight and she ground herself against him. Tightening rapturously on his prick, her hand began a hard rapid stroking in time to a communal rhythm. She could feel him expanding, then the huge pole began to struggle madly in her fingers. . Too late Paul realized what was happening. He was never more than a hair-breadth away from orgasm and now the bloated head of his cock felt like it was about to burst. He had lost control and now he was fighting desperately to withdraw his prick from Carol's pistoning hand, to guide the bulbous tip to her cunt and ejaculate deep, deep into the warm depths of her womb.
She tried to help him but her very eagerness defeated her purpose. She grabbed his prick with both hands, rubbing his skin against the rockhard core with a heated friction as she strove to position the gasping tip at the mouth of her vagina. At the same instant her hips lurched violently up to meet him and her eager hands drove the blunt head of his penis into the deep warm crevice of her buttocks.
His cock began to jerk uncontrollably in her grasp and he uttered a desperate cry as he collapsed heavily on her writhing body. He lay there shaking helplessly while his agonized cock pumped his sperm violently and futilely into the warm hollow of flesh between her soft buttocks. And she was so close-so close! She rubbed the hot pulsation of her cunt furiously up and down along the convulsing rod caught between her thighs. The wet velvet folds grasped vainly at his slowly deflating prick until there was only a useless gasping of hungry flesh on drained desire.
"I'm sorry, baby. So sorry," Paul groaned when he could finally speak.
"It's alright, darling. It's not your fault."
"Goddam it, this time it was. It makes me feel like a selfish ape when you don't make it, too." He put out a hand and stroked her still excitedly quivering thighs.
Carol had turned over on her face trying to wipe her mind clear of the unfinished passion that wracked her body. She was telling herself that maybe she'd been trying too hard, too frantic, pushing it. Would she have come with him if he had held out just a little longer? Had she been too bold?
"Turn over," Paul whispered. "Let's see what I can do for you without making you move a muscle." He felt her tense and laughed. "At least until my muscle gets ready again!"
For a wild second Carol was tempted. Oh, God! To have him put his mouth there? His tongue? His lips kissing her. . . . The moist throb in the aching region of her pelvis was almost unbearable but the chains of her inhibitions were too strong and she told him not to worry. She was fine, after all tomorrow was another night. Paul was soon asleep and breathing quietly at her side, but Carol lay wide awake, immobile and not daring to move as she fought to banish the erotic fantasies his words had conjured up in her brain. Finally, ashamed of the thoughts that stirred her senses and made sleep impossible, she slipped out of bed. Carrying a glass and a half-filled bottle of Chablis left from dinner she went outside on the patio.
CHAPTER 8
It was a warm, cloudy night, the darkness melting to ebony velvet beyond the amber-lighted periphery of the pool. Only two or three windows were dim, glowing rectangles in the shadowy building across the way from where Carol curled up on a padded lounge. All was strangely still. Nothing seemed alive except the unsatisfied demon gnawing hungrily at every raw, exposed nerve end of her body.
She sipped the wine and smelled the heady scent of some night-blooming flower and tried to exorcise the demon of unfulfilled desire. What had gone wrong, what always seemed to go wrong? Tonight the dream and reality were so close to merging, coming together in towering waves, almost touching. Then the dream had dashed lifeless against the shore and the promised ecstasy was once again denied.
She stared into the darkness. Guilt, blame, fault-none of these mattered. All that mattered was that she wasn't sure how much longer she could endure a beginning without an end. Her senses had been stirred to such a point of near torture in the ritual of gain and pleasure that an undefined wondering tugged at her mind. Her thoughts were invaded by Paul, naked beside her, his mouth thirsty on her breasts, his hands caressing her thighs, the remembered feel of him spilling the gift of his seed on her-all thick and warm.
Uneasy shame swept over her. She had longed to possess him so completely. In denying herself the climax of fulfillment he had offered, had she also denied him the pleasure of giving? How could a sharing of love seem sinful and more than the refusal of a gift of love was sinful? She wondered if she were a puritan or a coward, saint or sinner, and searched haltingly for a middle ground.
Like a very distant drumbeat Carol was beginning to hear the sound of the true rhyme and rhythm of love.
She must have dozed a little when a sudden noise startled her wide awake. With a flash of fear she saw that the underwater lights in the pool had gone out, leaving the water a scintillating indigo darkness. Then the noise was repeated, a woman's tinkling laugh. It was muted but carried so clearly in the still night that it seemed to be coming from only a few feet away. When Carol heard the gentle lap-lapping of water she realized that someone was in the pool.
Her first instinct was to scurry back into the apartment but curiosity, followed by shock, got the best of her. No swimming after midnight was a house rule and she wondered who had the audacity to ignore it. The shock came when she peered through a lacy screen of foliage.
The yellow-amber spots that dotted the surrounding garden areas were still burning so that although the pool itself was merely a dark glitter, from Carol's vantage point the couple in the water were plainly visible. There was no mistaking the brilliant orange of Judy Cranston's hair nor the fact that the dark head so close to her tangerine halo was definitely not Bob Cranston's silvery crew cut. The man bending to kiss her open, laughing mouth was Tom Loring. They were standing waist deep in the shallow end of the pool and as her white torso merged with his bronzed one the creaminess of Judy's hips and Tom's tanned, muscled buttocks were only slightly darker in the water's transparent cover. Both were stark naked.
His hands on her shoulders had drawn her to him rather playfully but as Carol watched with a shocked horror she saw Judy wrap her arms around Tom's neck and press her body against him with obvious passion. She fitted her pelvis into his with a lascivious undulation of her body and the muscles of his hips flexed as they strained forward to meet her demanding pressure. His hands moved swiftly over her back and shoulders with little pinchings and squeezings of the soft white flesh before moving down and under the water to clasp her buttocks. They stopped there, his fingers digging sharply into the round white globes, pulling the lower part of her body hard in against him. The water swirled in agitation around them is from the waist down the couple appeared to be engaged in a sort of lewd dance. Hips gyrated and wriggled, legs rubbed and entwined.
For an unbelieving, almost terrified moment, Carol thought the two swaying, writhing bodies were fused together in the ultimate act of making love. She felt like she'd been caught in the act of some crime when the enormity not only of what she was witnessing, but because she was witnessing it, struck her. It was as though she were an accessory, helping to compound adultery.
She knew she should move, get up, go inside. Yet somehow she felt glued to the chaise. With a twinge of guilt she realized in a sense that was true. There was an undeniable wetness between her thighs, a flow of warm sticky moisture penetrating the thinness of her penoir to the pad of the chaise. Her cheeks were burning and her mouth was dry. With silent stealth she groped blindly at her side for the wine bottle and as she drank continued to watch the action in the pool with a mesmerized stare.
The passionately embracing pair drew apart as Tom gave Judy a playful shove and Carol unconsciously expelled a sigh of relief that they hadn't actually been having intercourse. Tom's eyes were heavy-lidded, glazed with the sleepy look of desire, but he was grinning widely and laughed aloud before diving underwater to swim the length of the pool. He turned over on his back and the white bulk of his genitals floated from a black pubic seaweed with the pale glow of an albino eel. Carol's stare focused on the round flaccid column bobbing gently in the water, fascinated yet repelled by the somehow obscene contrast between its stark whiteness and the mahogany tan of the rest of his body.
Her eyes skittered guiltily back to where Judy had waded into the shallow water. She too was staring fixedly at Tom's penis and a lasciviousness stole over her face and glowed with twin fires in her eyes. Her body gleamed like mother-of-pearl in the diffused amber light, alive and warm despite the creeping signs of age and use.
The muscles of her breasts were still quite firm, but they were slightly elongated and pendulous. Although the nipples jutted out erectly, upthrust and of such a vibrant red that they seemed lipsticked. Her tummy protruded like a little plump, white pillow from the flat sweep of broad, generous hips. Beneath it the silky pubic triangle was a dark brown, almost black, and no match for the sunburst of hair on her head. She stood knee deep in the water, legs outstretched and arms akimbo in mock anger.
"Come back here, you bastard!" Her words rang out clearly in the quiet night.
Tom flipped over and swam back to her with such elephantine splashing that Carol held her breath, expecting lights to flash out from all over the buildings. But nothing happened to disturb the two nude figures now frolicking in the shallow end of the pool. No more than a few feet away from her, she could see every rippling muscle of their wet, gleaming bodies.
For several minutes they played like a couple of obscene, middle-aged children shorn of all taboos. They fondled each other with a licentious zest, and although she realized now was her opportunity to slip inside unnoticed, her legs felt too weak to hold her. She watched their lewd cavorting with an increasing inner excitement that caused her to straddle the lounge. Wriggling her buttocks into the cushion she tried to grind the wet, heated mouth of her vulva into the slippery surface.
Tom's hands seemed to explore every curve and crevice of Judy's giggling and twisting and turning body. He played with the pointed cones of her breasts, toying with the long nipples until she squealed for mercy. He kneaded her belly and then ran his fingers in and out of the dripping triangle between her thighs. When Judy couldn't stand that any longer she presented him with the white orbs of her buttocks, leaning so far forward she almost lost her balance as he pinched the smooth cheeks and dug his fingers into the deep furrow in between.
Carol's heart almost stopped when he spread the round globes wide with deft, sure manipulation of his fingers. The tiny ring of Judy's anus was abruptly exposed. She could even see the brownish-pink ridge of rubbery flesh expand and contract in the yellow light. Tom had been playing water tag with his back towards her but now he half turned and her eyes widened with shock. The repulsive white appendage that had bobbled flaccidly on the waves had inflated until it rode up almost against the flabby over-hang of his belly. It loomed up out of the foam eddying around his legs like a miniature lighthouse with the bulbous tip of a glowing red beacon.
Judy straightened and swiveled around to face him. Reaching down she took his massive erection playfully in her hand and was squeezing it gently between her thumb and the tips of her fingers. She fondled the blunt head until the tiny mouth at the tip was gasping, opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then they both moved so quickly that Carol jumped as though she'd been startled from a dream. She was trembling all over and felt hot and at the same time cold. She gulped down the last of the wine with fingers shaking so violently the glass rattled against her teeth. It spread through her with a glowing warmth but she knew it wasn't the wine that was setting her body on fire or causing the burning sensation between her thighs that was driving her almost out of her mind.
She thought they were coming out of the water but when Judy reached the second step she bent over suddenly, spread her legs apart and reached behind her with her hands to pull her buttocks apart. Tom came up behind her, his massive penis headed directly for the little ring of her anus. The tiny hole was stretched wide, open and quivering in eager anticipation between the distended cheeks of her full rounded buttocks.
Her eyes wide with horror, Carol couldn't believe what she saw, what Tom seemed about to do. What he was doing with his penis! Judy couldn't possibly take such a giant pole into her body that way! Why-it would split her open like a ripe melon!
But she obviously could and did. And with a great delight judging by her hoarse, urgent cry. "Hurry up, put it in!" she demanded as he stood behind her with the blunt knob of his penis throbbing against the tiny aperture. He let the swollen head rest there a moment. It was blood-filled now to a deep purple and pulsating angrily between the glossy white cheeks of her ass. He was breathing hard, his body twitching with lusting passion, but holding back either to torment the woman subjugating herself before him or to savor the thrill of her heated flesh expanding against the mound of his penis.
"Damn you!" Her tone was pleading now. "Shove your cock in my asshole! I can't wait like this all night," she rasped.
Tom's response was so immediate and so violent that Judy would have been sent sprawling if he hadn't steadied her with a firm grip on her hips while she struggled to gain a handhold on the water-slick steps of the pool. Carol wasn't even aware of her own screams as his penis plowed with brutal force into the narrow channel of Judy's rectum. But it was lost in the other woman's high shriek of agonized delight when she felt the first delicious shock of entry, and she was mouthing incoherent obscenities as he plunged his prick in and out of the raw screaming tunnel of flesh.
Carol watched the fat white column skewering Judy's anal passage with a terrified amazement. Like chalk squeaking down a blackboard, the sight sent shudders of exciting pain streaking through her own rectum, tingling like fire in her loins. She caught a glimpse of Judy's face as the woman's head tossed frantically. Her expression was one of such pure lusting ecstasy that Carol was filled with a horrified awe. She forced herself to close her eyes, to block out the wild, depraved coupling, for she was shocked by the helpless reaction of her body.
She was shaking violently now, leaning forward, trying to press the mound of her clitoris into the cushion, struggling to relieve the fire that was raging out of control there. The gasps of pain and pleasure coming from the pool were torturing her. "Harder, faster! Ooooo, Tom, fuck me harder!" Judy was moaning a guttural stream that Tom answered with animal grunts. He cried out, "Christ, I'm cumming!" And just as Carol felt she couldn't stand the tormenting sounds any longer she heard Judy's muffled scream of climax.
Attempting to control her raging body, with a desperate effort she sat rigidly quiet until all she could hear were little gasps and sighs "and the soft slap of water at the pool's edge. Thank God it's over, she thought. Now if only I can find enough strength in my legs to drag myself into the house! Carol opened her eyes to see Judy sitting on the steps in the water. Tom was towering over her and she held the tip of his penis in her mouth. For a thunder-struck moment Carol felt as though she were going to faint. The scene tilted crazily before her eyes then leveled back to the unbelievable image that held her like a hypnotic magnet.
Tom's massive tool was rapidly swelling to it's former rigid inflation under the ministrations of Judy's lips. With a dedicated abandon she was mouthing the wet, semen-dripping gland. She sucked and licked at the growing penis as if it were a melting ice cream cone of a most delicious flavor. One hand was helping her restoration by rhythmically stroking the tightening skin; the other was rubbing and kneading at the furry globes of his weighted balls. Then, as if she were suddenly bored with that game, she rudely left Tom's aroused penis cleaving the air and bounded up to face him.
"Say, what the hell am I doing?" She asked through wetly shining lips. "It's my turn!"
"Jesus! That's not fair, I ought to make you finish what you started. Look at my cock!" He arched his hips and waved his swollen sex in front of her, nuzzling the ready penis into her pubic hair. But he laughed and gave his stiff rod a play-full slap.
Carol's heart was pounding so hard she could feel it's beat reverberating in her ears. She watched with a growing excitement as Tom backed Judy up against the apron of the pool.
Their lips barely touched with a light flicking of tongues then he bent to kiss the warm hollow of her throat. With a slow almost deliberate pat- tern he began moving his mouth down the milky curves and planes of her body. First her breasts, where he pressed circles of moist kisses around the spreading pink aureoles, then teased the nipples to quivering erection with darting licks of his tongue. His mouth paused briefly to suckle each scarlet tip, first one then the other and a low moan, almost a sob, welled up from Judy's throat.
Her head was thrown back, the orange hair loosened from it's suave arrangement and tumbling about her shoulders. Carol was bewildered by the expression of blissful abandon on the woman's slack-tipped face, but she realized with a faint horror that her own mouth was avidly open and that her breasts felt heavy and swollen. Her hands stole up to hold the aching mounds. Unaware of what she was doing, her fingers gently stroked the extended tips as her eyes flew back to Tom.
Stooped down he was nibbling at the plump swell of Judy's belly. Her breasts jutted out above his head, trembling with the agony of being deserted. The nipples had deepened in color to a dark magenta and glistened with the moisture from his mouth. His lips found the erogenous hollow of her navel and she uttered a shriek of pleasure as he worked his tongue in the tiny aperture.
Judy was making little mewling noises almost constantly now and her body was wiggling and squirming against the tile wall. She had been running her fingers through Tom's hair and stroking the back of his neck, but suddenly her hands dug in his shoulders with a hard downward shove.
Carol couldn't suppress a gasping cry as a wave of shuddering desires ran through her. She saw Tom's long tongue flash out and tangle in the dark thatch of pubic curls between Judy's legs. The water lapped at his chin and he struggled upright against the urgent push of her hands.
"What are you trying to do for chrissakes, drown me?" he grumbled. "Up you go . . ."
He boosted her up onto the tiled edge and she lay back with her knees drawn up and her legs spread wide apart. With an almost clinical precision he shifted the flattened ovals of her buttocks on the rough cement to suit him, feasting his eyes on the hair-lined target damply shining between the smooth, cream-like columns of her outstretched thighs. Then he began tracing the moist, throbbing lips of her vagina with his fingertips, circling the glossy folds of pink, slippery flesh while working deeper and deeper into the palpitating sheath. His other hand was down between his legs, gently stroking the hard length of his distended prick.
Judy's whole body twitched and writhed, and she was moaning incessantly. Her feet were braced on the lip of the pool and Carol could see the muscles of her thighs jumping. As she watched Tom's hands, probing into the soft heated flesh and running over the round white trunk that stood up from his groin like a strong young sapling, the throbbing fire between her legs became a white-hot torture. She thrust a hand downward and clutched desperately at her crotch. The soft pubic hair was soaked, and the swelling mound of flesh pulsed hotly beneath the pressure of her hand. Her fingers brushed electrically on the tiny polyp of her clitoris and she gasped at the exquisite shock the unexpected contact brought. The twinge of guilt that flicked her conscience was overcome by the agonized frustration of her need.
Over her own hard breathing she heard a faint suctioning noise as Tom withdrew his hand from the clutching depths of Judy's greedy vaginal passage.
His grip on his penis had tightened to a rapid pistoning up and down motion, and the enormous shaft throbbed and jerked in his massaging hand, the bloated tip inflamed to a hot scarlet pulsation. Slowly he lowered his head and fastened his mouth on the fevered pink lips of Judy's vulva. She shifted her legs to make closer contact with his mouth and hunched forward, arching her hips and moving them in little, quick thrusts, following the rhythm of the voracious lips and tongue working hungrily into her cunt.
With every jab of his flicking tongue she seemed to go more and more out of control. Her head was an orange flame thrashing back and forth and she was pounding her fists on the hard paving. Her breasts jiggled from side to side with the wild contortions of her body, the stiffened nipples quivering with the excitement of desire. Her buttocks danced in lewd circles and her thighs strained together to clutch Tom's head in a savage embrace as though she were trying to draw all of it up into her empty womb.
Just when Carol thought he would surely smother in the devouring, suffocating depths, he grabbed Judy by the legs and pried her thighs apart with a savage wrench. His head flew up with a muttered curse, open-mouthed, gulping for air. One arm flailed out with the impulse to hit her, but changed direction in mid-motion as the weight of his released prick twanged against the flab of his belly with a wet slap. His hands fastened on her ankles and stilled the frenzied jerking of her legs.
She lay back panting, her thighs outspread by his pinioning grip, the moist fleshy lips in between open and inviting. With a thrust of his hips he adroitly angled his cock against her vagina. Slowly he pressed forward and the gland of the giant head slid with ease into the loose pink folds of flesh. Her entire body seemed to give a joyous lunge to meet him.
Carol watched Tom's swollen, white penis disappear into the dark, soft wetness of Judy's vagina and her eyes closed in a lost glaze of passion. She stretched full length on the chaise lounge, lying back with a choked sob of surrender to the pounding desire consuming her. The hand between her thighs had ceased its desperate clawing as aroused passion took control of her mind and body. Her long legs lifted up and bent and unbent alternately, the knees rising and falling as her hips slowly writhed. Her fingertips stroked the soft outer flanges of her vagina, spreading the moist flesh gently apart, caressing their smoothness hotly, liquidly.
The hand at her breasts kneaded the straining mounds eagerly and strummed the nipples to quivering erection. Merely touching them sent thrills of pleasure coursing through her. She sank into feeling, dimly aware of the heated moans and cries in the pool. Her minds eye was blinded by the erotic imagery of those two lusting bodies. A kaleidoscope of sensual visions committed to memory tumbled about in her head, whipping her passion to a steadily increasing frenzy. Tom's prick worming its way heatedly into the tiny, puckered ring of Judy's anus; her greedy mouth sucking avidly at its inflamed, blood-pressured head; his swollen glans-tip pulsating hotly at the hungry softness of her vagina.
Carol's loins were aflame, the pulsation between her thighs was one mass of exquisite, wet sensitivity. All consciousness concentrated on satisfying her overwhelming need. With a groan she plunged her middle finger deep into the viscous moistened mouth of her cunt. The tight resistance of her vaginal passage slowly gave way to the wriggling pressure and the warm fleshly walls contracted hungrily on her finger. Her knees drew up and her legs scissored open as her hips arched sharply and began moving rhythmically up and down in motion with the middle finger gliding in and out of her vagina.
The rhythm rapidly gained momentum until her whole lust-incensed body was gyrating in a wild turbulence of sexual excitement. After all the erotic stimulation of the night, it didn't take long for Carol to reach the final paroxysm of delight. Every muscle taut she hung for a moment teetering on the edge of release, then her body was seized by a prolonged, devastating spasm.
When at last it was over she sank limply into the cushion, exhausted and spent. As the tremors subsided she felt as though it were her life's blood draining from her body, flowing warmly over her hand. Beneath the momentary pleasure of orgasm a futility remained.
The pool was deserted, ruffled only by a fresh night breeze when Carol stumbled blindly inside, without coordination, her legs weak and trembling-drained of control by the overwhelming surge of lusting passion.
CHAPTER 9
For the first time in her young life Carol woke up with one of the not uncommon scourges of modern times. She had a hangover. It followed that she failed to have breakfast with Paul for the first time since he returned from Germany. By nature a cheerfully buoyant riser, his blithe whistle in the shower was shrill torture to her aching head. Just getting out of bed was a skull-splitting accomplishment but she made an effort in the kitchen. Her stomach felt queasy and the coffee smelled like ether, forcing her to plead a headache and go back to bed.
Although her mind was an unsettled jumble of thoughts haunted by the night before, her physical misery overshadowed them. She felt that if she even tried to think her head would burst and she welcomed the oblivion of forgetfulness in sleep. When she awoke again it was mid-morning but she still felt rotten. And as she pushed through the cobwebs in her brain in addition to the frightful hangover she was sick and shaken with the aftermath of an experience she loathed with every inch of her being.
She'd considered herself to be a fairly typical example of her generation, perhaps not as uninhibited as some but certainly not a prude. Well aware there are many different standards of living, she abided by the premise of to each his own. At least she thought she did. She knew a great deal about sex from hearsay-other girls, who as often as not tell fibs, just like other women, and from television, magazines, movies, books and parents. Much of this she'd discounted as fiction or fantasy but now she was finding out that truth is indeed stranger than fiction. And with an even greater shock she was learning that all of this is entirely different from personal experience.
Judy and Bob Cranston had appeared to be a well-matched, exceptionally happy and compatible couple. Although she admitted to herself that she didn't care much for Tom Loring as he had a way of looking at her as though he'd like to have her for dinner, Marcia Loring was one of the most vital and charming women she had ever met. And had one of the most beautiful figures. Thinking of that presented Carol with a new puzzle. What did Tom see in Judy on that score? Compared to his wife she was an old hag! Conversely, Tom's sagging body was no match for Bob Cranston's trim leanness.
The scene she had witnessed had been so-so out of character. It had been so shocking? not merely because she didn't condone infidelity, but because it had been so lewdly immoral. It went so far from her basic knowledge of two people having intercourse. Their love making had been the opposite of what the average girl is taught growing up. Yet they had been having such a rapturous time!
And that was where the rub came in for Carol; where her pretension of live and let live went up in smoke. Her own actions made her feel that she had taken part in a sexual triumvirate, a fact in itself that was sickening and degrading. She felt soiled and smeared, disgusted with herself.
And yet.....In spite of that, in spite of all reasoning and what should be moral sense, she thrilled to the remembered excitement-the strange mad pleasure. Pleasure of a terrible kind that she longed to share with Paul.
Lying there on the bed just the very thought of it made Carol's body ache with a new and wonderful desire. With a sob she rolled over on her stomach and pressed the throbbing mound of her clitoris tightly into the mattress, deeply ashamed of the violent urge to reach down and put her hand there.
CHAPTER 10
Rosemary Durfee stepped out of the elevator just as Carol was coming from the laundry room. She had ten minutes to make the bank before closing time and after a brief word of greeting was about to hurry past when something in the girl's expression made her hesitate. Her face was drawn with tension and the proud body slumped dejectedly. Rosemary sensed at once that she was deeply troubled.
The thought crossed her mind that Paul might have been foolish enough to tell of his indiscretion. She had an uneasy moment until she saw that Carol's smile was warm enough although distracted. Frank had been peevish with her all week, even to the point of being sexually distant in order to punish her for being the first one to break through the Jensen's reserve. Riled because he hadn't scored with Carol, he was quick to point out that after raising hell with him for renting to them she couldn't wait to get in Paul's pants. She suddenly decided the bank deposit could wait.
"You look tired, Carol," she said. "Have you been trying to do too much getting settled?"
"Oh, no. I'm afraid I haven't even done as much as I should!" Carol laughed ruefully.
This was an unsettling truth she'd had to face while sorting the accumulation of soiled linen and forcing her fuzzy mind to concentrate on household chores. There was something about the Forum that gave a stepped-up quality to all activity. The days flew by with so much trivial but time consuming inter-apartment sociality that she'd accomplished very little beyond surface tasks since Sunday. Boxes still waiting to be unpacked crowded the hall and a corner of the bedroom.
"Come along and visit while you're waiting for the washing," Rosemary said going back up in the elevator with Carol. "I haven't even had a chance to find out how you like it here."
"I really shouldn't-" But when the doors slid open Rosemary slipped an arm through hers and chattering away led her towards the front hall. Oh well, a few minutes wouldn't make that much difference. Paul had called to say he had to make a quick trip to the San Diego plant and wouldn't be home til late so she had time to get a lot done. If only the butterflies in her stomach would go away.
It had been nauseatingly hot in the laundry and the cooled air of the apartment was pleasant. Carol sank down in a chair with a deep sigh. Rosemary had gone to the bar and was already pouring her a drink.
"Thanks, no." She shook her head. "I don't think I-" "Better take it," Rosemary said. "It'll do you good. You look a bit green around the gills."
She put the glass in her hand and Carol sipped cautiously at the drink. "Strong," she said and made a face but she drank again. And soon she recognized what Rosemary meant. The liquor certainly helped. It warmed her blood and after the initial breathtaking swallow settled smoothly in her stomach. It proved to be such a soothing panacea she was surprised to realize that during a scant few minutes of animated conversation Rosemary was getting up to mix their third drink.
A shadow crossed her face. Here she was, doing exactly what she'd vowed to herself to stop -wasting time over cocktails in the middle of the afternoon.
"What is it, Carol?" Rosemary asked. "Don't you feel any better? I don't mean to pry, but is anything wrong?" She'd laced the drinks with almost straight liquor and Carol had been talking gaily. Now she noted a return of tension, a trace of sadness about her.
"Oh, nothing really, Rosemary, just a touch of the blues. Mostly just a hangover, I guess."
"You and Paul having trouble?" she probed.
"Oh, no," too quickly. "Paul is wonderful to me." She reached for her cigarettes and lit one with shaking fingers then took a long drink of the fresh highball. "He has nothing to do with it. It's -just a woman thing."
"Why not tell me about it? Maybe I can help."
"It's something I've got to work out myself, I don't think you can....." Carol hesitated. Could she?, she wondered. After all Rosemary was an older woman, more experienced. Especially more experienced with men. Anyone with her looks, downright sexy in spite of her age. Funny, but she hadn't really noticed that voluptuous, sensual look about her until now. (It usually comes as a surprise to any young woman of Carol's age when she realizes that a woman whom she considers practically middle-aged can exude sex-appeal. Rosemary kept the alcohol flowing and the conversation Ill centered around men and marriage. Frank came in and after a brief exchange of words helped himself at the bar and carried a drink into the den. She told Carol about the problems, mostly fictitious, besetting her sexual adjustment to newly married life when she was a young naive bride.
In the next room Frank caught snatches of his wife's imaginary revelations with a good deal of amusement. The picture she drew of reticent innocence was so ludicrous that he restrained a desire to laugh. Christ, he thought, I'll bet she probably wore out the prick of the first young kid she fucked. But after the past few nights of self-enforced abstinence he found himself getting excited. When Carol began to talk rather haltingly of her own inhibitions he opened the door a crack and unabashedly eavesdropped.
With Paul's all-out performance in exotica still fresh in her mind, Rosemary intuitively hit on the pertinent opening gambit to elicit Carol's confidences. In her book she figured that any guy who went for her so rigorously, even allowing for her undoubted ability to arouse-and especially one newly wed to a groovy dish like Carol-wasn't getting enough at home. In Carol's distraught frame of mind, it required only a little finesse and a heavy injection of alcohol to lead her into revealing her guilt-stricken thoughts.
Carol was subconsciously looking for sympathy and she had more than enough to drink to penetrate her innate reserve and loosen her tongue. Rosemary had managed to establish such a feeling of empathy that she began at the beginning and told her everything, stressing her doubts and fears about making Paul happy as much as satisfying herself. She was careful to omit the identity of the couple in the pool and her limited vocabulary in the areas of sex made the telling difficult. But she fumbled on with Rosemary's prompting and forthright application of the fitting- though far from biological-wordage.
In answer to Frank's frantic hand-signaling behind Carol's back, Rosemary left the room and she was momentarily alone with her thoughts. She had time to be alarmed by the effect of the drinks and sympathetic ear. A week ago she would have believed it impossible for her to expose the intimate workings of her mind and body to anyone, least of all a mere chance acquaintance. Now a lightheaded relief bubbled beneath the telling. She had developed a pleasant, rose-colored haze in which her fears no longer seemed so terribly important. What was wrong with taking a drink or two in the afternoon to be sociable? And it was such a marvelous cure for a hangover! She stared delightedly into her glass.
In a queerly short space of time Carol felt herself spiraling to the delicious heights of free and easy drunkenness, a strange mixture of calm and excitement. She looked up at the sound of Rosemary's voice and her head buzzed giddily. When she lifted herself from the chair, giggling at nothing, she staggered slightly. This was funny to her and she laughed.
For a woman whose capacity for alcohol was by no means a timid one, Rosemary was feeling pretty high herself. All the talk of intimacy, plus her elaborate embroidery of sexual fantasy had been a verbal stimulant to a nature acutely receptive to sexual suggestion. She was tensed up like an overwound spring, particularly after going without sex for several nights. For intercourse was about on a par with food as a necessity to satisfy Rosemary's physical appetites; also a lot more fun. Therefore she was soon in complete accord with the idea behind Frank's calling her aside.
Hot for Carol, he recognized the girl's complete vulnerability of the moment and he hit on an easy, mutually gratuitous way to circumvent any objections his wife might conjure up out of jealousy.
"Why don't you take her over to three-nineteen and we'll show her what it's all about?" he asked Rosemary in the den, motioning with his head in the direction of the living room.
"What do you mean-we?" Three-nineteen was the Swap Club apartment. "If you think I'm just going to lead that pretty pussy to slaughter and hang around while you screw her half to death -" her voice rose with indignation.
"Shhhh, she'll hear you! Of course not, baby. Didn't I say 'we'?"
Toying with one of Rosemary's breasts as casually as most men would pat a woman's hand, Frank explained to her that judging from the poor girl's faltering story of her problems she needed a few lessons in sex. "What better way to each her," he asked, "than by watching a good fuck by two highly proficient hands? Or," with a lewd grin, "cock and cunt?"
Carol could even get in on the action. That is of course if she, Rosemary, wouldn't mind. Mind, hell! He knew she damn well got a kick out of playing around with another dame once in awhile. Just the thought of all three of them cuddled together in the nude was enough to set his prick jumping and he could read the same thought smoldering in Rosemary's eyes, feel it in the tense throb of her heated nipple swelling in his fingertips.
"Bastard!" she hissed from between clenched teeth. But her tone made the word an endearment and she gave the bulge of his cock a quick, full-handed squeeze before turning away.
"And give her a couple of dexy pills or some of that other crap you have," he whispered after Rosemary as she went through the door with an exaggerated bump and grind wriggle.
What Frank inelegantly referred to as that other crap was a little something provided by a club member who was a physician. A brightly colored capsule of an appropriate passionate purple, he guaranteed that it would give a corpse an erection. Rosemary couldn't attest to that, but having resorted to the compound on a two-day sex binge she knew what it could do and its potent reaction almost made a believer out of her. Frank's strategy, and especially his last tactical request, hadn't fooled her for a second. But as long as she came first, she giggled inwardly on that thought, she really didn't mind.
He was so right. Rosemary was looking forward to the next hour or so with mouth watering anticipation as Carol downed two of the purple capsules for her "headache".
Carol found herself on the threshold of a strange apartment without quite knowing how or why she was there. Rosemary had guided Paul's wife over almost the identical, circuitous route as she had taken him for only slightly different reasons. Though not as loaded as Paul had been, Carol was obviously feeling no pain and laughed receptively as if everything said was a huge joke.
And Rosemary didn't want to get involved in some passing tenants complaints or get pressured into inspecting anybody's leaking plumbing. She had plumbing problems of her own that were more urgent right now as she walked along with an arm around Carol's waist, enjoying the warm undulation of soft feminine hip and thigh against hers.
Nothing could ever take the place of a man's prick in her belly, she was thinking, but she could sure get a thrill out of young eager flesh like this at her side.
When Frank came to meet them at the door Carol was even more confused. Had they walked around in a circle back to the Durfee's apartment? No, this place was unfamiliar. All that red and black and gold. And those mirrors! Then she laughed uproariously in genuine amazed merriment. That was it-it looked just like an opium den! Or at least what she imagined an opium den would look like, sultry and clandestine, somehow forbidden.
Automatically she accepted a drink from Frank and gave up on trying to figure out where she was or how she happened to be there. Rosemary slipped up onto a bar stool beside her with a large leather book in her hands.
"Take a look at these, hon," she said. "This is what I was telling you about."
She slid the book in front of her and Carol saw now that the bound volume was actually a photograph album. Pictures-. That was why they'd come here. She vaguely recalled Rosemary mentioning some pictures that would help to rid her of her puritan hang-up. Help her with Paul in bed. And at the thought, suddenly such an overwhelming torrent of desire wracked her body that she felt enveloped in a sheet of flame. Every nerve end was raw, exposed dangling wires crying out her need for Paul. Her breasts ached like swollen weights of molten lead. The pressure between her legs was a sweet agony drenched with a rush of inner moisture.
Dimly aware that she was clenching her heated thighs and uncontrollably grinding her buttocks into the padded stool, with a desperate effort she forced her unruly thoughts away from Paul. Look at the pictures, she reminded herself. Downing her drink with a long, shuddering swallow, she handed the glass to Frank and flipped open the album.
"Oh my god, Rosemary!" she gasped. Her heart pounded in her ears and a red haze spiraled dizzily around in her head. She swayed on the high seat and might have fallen if the older woman hadn't put a steadying arm about her waist.
"There, now, there's nothing to get so excited about."
Nothing to get excited about! Carol felt a new freshet of heat rising within her as she re-focused on the glossy print. The picture leaped up at her with a lewd vibrancy. It was in black and white but every minute detail was so clearly delineated that the two figures seemed to breathe to life under her mesmerized stare. The shot of a nude man and woman laying juxtaposed on a bed had been taken by a camera focused from above and permitted an unobstructed view of both figures. Reclining partly on their sides and partly on their backs, they touched each other in only two places. The man leaned on an elbow with his head dipped to the arched pubic triangle of the woman's body. She lay prone, her head turned, with the massive erection if his penis clamped like a huge flesh-colored banana in her mouth.
Carol was finding it hard to breathe, her fingers on the edge of the page were shaking and a tingling ripple of sensation coursed through her. She tried to tear her eyes away but they seemed locked on the picture. The glistening lips of the woman's moist, open vagina appeared to throb before her eyes. The tip of the man's long pointed tongue, on the brink of plunging into the glossy tunnel, cupped the tiny clitorial mound protruding from the converging walls of soft flesh.
She remembered the expression on Judy's face by the pool when Tom had buried his head to curl his tongue in the dark thatch of her pubic hair. It had been alight with such ecstatic bliss. Was it really that wonderful to have a man caressing you like this? She could feel the moisture begin again between her tightly clenched thighs and crossed her legs to press them closer together, trying to ease the burning sensation that churned up into the pit of her stomach. Frank fixed her another drink and she gulped the iced liquid thirstily, concentrating on the alcohol's reaction, not its taste. It went down easily now, dulling the embarrassment that made her ashamed to meet his eyes while she was looking at the lewd pictures.
Almost immediately she felt more relaxed despite the increased fever seething hotly in her blood. The effect of the liquor was fast loosening all chains of restraint, emboldening her to express her doubts about the lewd picture to Rosemary.
"But real people . . ." Her thoughts muddled. "I mean decent people don't do this sort of thing!" she blurted.
"Of course they do. You're such a baby," Rosemary chided with amusement.
"But it seems so sordid, so-so perverse!"
"Not at all. There's nothing wrong or dirty about a man and a woman enjoying sex in any way that gives pleasure to both of them." Rosemary laughed. "You can see these two are having a ball!"
Carol had to admit the truth of that. The man looked sensually delighted from the effect of the girl's mouth sucking his penis and the girl's eyes were glazed with passion. Her hungrily ovalled lips curved avidly around his enormous shaft as though it were the most delectable morsel imaginable.
"Yes, only I could never-." Carol was at a loss for words, her mind boggling at the very idea-of what she couldn't voice.
"Suck a man's cock? Or let him kiss your pussy?" Rosemary was getting a perverse thrill out of the shock impact her deliberate obscenities were having on Carol. "Honey as long as you're going to indulge in sex you might as well enjoy it. You're too inhibited. You've got to give as much as you get to get the most out of fucking."
She continued talking in the same vein and felt the effect of her words in the shivers of excitement that raced through Carol's unconsciously squirming torso. Glancing down at the girl's breasts she noted the nipples had thrust themselves out to twin needle points straining at her bodice. Her hand moved up and slowly, almost imperceptibly cupped Carol's left breast, squeezing it softly, her thumb rubbing teasingly against the distended nipple.
As Carol examined the revealing poses of couples tangled in intercourse, Rosemary's startling words were flickering lewdly through her mind. The drug and the alcohol were soaking them up like a blotter, imprinting them salaciously on her brain. She was conscious of little else except the strange lusting sensations engulfing all thought and reason when the pressure on her breast perked her back to some semblance of reality. Her body tensed, muscles tightening.
My God! She realized she was close to having an orgasm. Her breast swelled into Rosemary's hand, yearning to be kneaded, kissed-even bitten. Even the friction of her thighs against her pubic mound was an erotic stimulant and down below she was soaked. The sensation was delicious -and maddening. This was wrong, wrong and degrading, to thrill to another woman's touch. She despised herself for the powerful reaction of her body. A sickly hot longing that burst out of nowhere immobilized her and made it impossible for her to break away. Then suddenly she was released from the depraved bondage, but she suffered a momentary anguish prior to a tremendous surge of relief..
"Come on baby," Rosemary said. Her voice was a liquid thickness when, at an impatient, obscene hand-jerking gesture from Frank she freed the soft swell of flesh with a good deal of reluctance.
Frank rounded the bar and came up behind Carol to half-lift her, unresisting and swaying drunkenly, from the high stool. He had unzipped his pants and from the open folds of his fly the hardened shaft of his cock was a tower-like protrusion. Pulling her tight against him, he rubbed his penis between her buttocks and felt the firm globes grind fiercely back into his pelvis. He snapped his loins forward and her entire body sprang to writhing, lusting life in his embrace.
Carol cried out in protest, but was unable to control her involuntary, passionate response as his distended cock prodded rapaciously into the hollow of her buttocks from behind. She wanted to scream at him to stop but she couldn't trust herself to speak and tears of helpless frustration clouded her vision as she looked wildly around for Rosemary. Why didn't she come to her rescue ? Yet at the same time she couldn't stand the thought of being denied this wonderful, this hazy forbidden moment of pleasure. How good it felt! His lips sucked avidly at her neck and his breath raged in her ear-and his fingers digging into her belly were setting her insides on fire.
All resistance was gone and she wanted him, wanted this man inside of her, wanted the pounding toward satisfaction, had to appease the deep clamoring hunger that was threatening to tear her apart down between her burning thighs.
Frank's hands were grappling with the folds of Carol's snug-fitting skirt, tugging at the material in an attempt to reach the warm, wet juncture between her legs. The hard seductive movement of her buttocks crushing back into the rigidity of his cock had served to sharpen his desire. Since Rosemary had disappeared into the bathroom he threw caution to the winds and succeeded in bunching Carol's skirt up around her waist and rolling her panties down to a narrow band of nylon around her hips.
A deep groan escaped him as the swollen length of his prick wormed its way between her thighs from behind and lay throbbing hotly in the warm naked cavern of velvety flesh. His hands reaching around to the front of her body kneaded at the soft resilience of her belly then moved downward to tangle in the soft young tendrils of pubic hair. The silken mound lurched feverishly into his grasp and he felt a violent shudder run through her squirming body. His hand worked her more roughly, excited by her response.
His fingers entered her cunt with a rapier-like thrust-two, three, it felt like he was pushing his whole hand inside, and the fingers digging inside of her caught and held her body in a roaring slipstream of aroused desire. Her enflamed cunt ground down frantically on the rounded thickness of his prick between her thighs. She could feel the hard shaft pulsating in the grasp of her tensed muscles, its smooth rubbery head emitting a sticky ooze of seminal fluid that burned lasciviously into her skin. Swept along in the tide of a blazing euphoria of barbaric sensation, her hips gyrated furiously on the tormenting motion of his fingers worming around in her vaginal passage.
Just as she felt she was headed at last for an ecstatic climax with which no force on earth could interfere, the supple nakedness of Rosemary's body tore between them with the dividing force of an avenging fury. Her eyes flared with a cruel and animal-like hostility that Carol had never seen on a woman's face before. She struck out, swiftly, one bare arm darting into Carol's horrified vision a split second before the palm stung the girl's face a flat, head-jarring blow. In almost the same instant she had turned on Frank, and muttering a tirade of obscenities she was tearing at his clothing.
"Me first, you bastard! Fuck me first!" she screamed wildly at him.
At the unexpected force of Rosemary's attack Carol found herself sprawled full length on the floor. The slap, more startling than hurtful, had served to shock her back to some degree of sanity and she lay staring up at them in horrified awareness. Completely undressed now, Frank bent his knees and scooted down to fit the elongated protuberance of his penis in between his wife's legs. Lifting her tiny figure up with a firm grip of his hands in the fleshy ovals of her buttocks, he pulled her to him. Settling her open loins on his rigid cock, Rosemary wrapped her arms around his neck and he shuffled slowly toward a sofa, her spraddle-legged body joggling on the hardened pole of his extended prick.
Carol could see the blood-filled tip peeking lewdly from the creamy white spread of Rosemary's ass cheeks. The blunt cudgel was a deep, vibrant red that gleamed wetly in the soft curves of pale flesh. The lurid sight burned into her brain. She realized with a sharp and bewildered intensity that it incited her own lust and she wanted to press her lips to the tip of Frank's penis, to suck the bloated gland into her mouth, to run her tongue over its glossy surface and appease her parched throat with the milky droplets of moisture trembling there.
I must be insane, she thought. Really insane. This is impossible! To be longing to suck a strange man's cock-. The four letter word sprang out of nowhere to sear a trail through her mind. Now, mental images-the pictures in the album, Rosemary's vivid descriptive language-all sharp, clear, sexual, crowded into Carol's thoughts, each increasing her feverish excitement another notch. She lusted to do all of those strange, unbelievable acts of passion-to have them done to her.
These thoughts aren't mine, she cried to herself. A strangers! Not mine at all-whoever I am! This isn't Carol Jensen, Paul's wife. Carol, who loves him so, sprawled wantonly on the floor with her panties half off. Burning up down there. Oh, God-I'm so hot I can't stand it!
Then all thought was gone again.
She struggled wildly out of her dress, ripping the fabric as her hands pulled it frantically over her head. Kicking off her shoes she wriggled the rolled silk of her panties down over her thighs and legs and threw them aside. She was shaking so violently that her fingers couldn't manage the fastening of her bra so she tugged until it tore apart in her hands and she shrugged out of the lacy cups, panting with relief as the aching mounds of her breasts blossomed forth. Eyes wild, body glowing and soft and young and vibrant with fury and desire, she went to Frank and Rosemary. Whimpering like an animal in pain she fell to her knees beside them.
"Please. Oh, please!" she begged. "Me next, you promised! Oh, god. . . . fuck me next!"
Watching them was torture. Frank was crouched between Rosemary's outspread thighs, his enormous prick sunk all the way between her uplifted legs. He withdrew the swollen member slowly until her cunt gripped only the very tip of the tiny, pulsing glans, the pink hair-lined lips sucking at the bulbous head like a wet, salivating mouth with a beard surrounding it. His cock throbbed with hard, jerking jumps, almost dislodging itself from the humid damp of satiny vaginal flesh. Then the massive pole glided back into the warm depths with a smooth liquid grace.
Rosemary's red hair was a flashing titian blur as she flung her head from side to side. Her full sensual lips were parted wide, and her tongue stabbed hungrily at empty air. She was breathing heavily, her big breasts standing out round and firm, the nipples stiffened to sharp points. Moving her hips in a circular rhythm, she worked Frank's prick like a mortar in a pestle.
He began to ride her with increased fervor, ramming his cock deep into her body with pounding strokes. The passionate counter thrusts and rutting sounds were driving Carol mad and her crotch jerked involuntarily forward, buffeting furiously against the overhanging cushion of the sofa, searching wildly for something, anything, to fill the throbbing craze of her tortured vagina. It hit her with a sudden terror that Rosemary's greedy hunger would drain Frank's cock of every last drop of vital, life-giving juice. There would be nothing left for her! No sweet, petting burst of moisture to extinguish the fire that was slowly burning her alive inside her belly.
"Oh God, no. Nooo ... !" she sobbed at Frank, trying to still his thrusting buttocks with frantic fingers. "Wait for me . . . please!"
"Don't worry doll," he panted hoarsely through clenched teeth. "She's almost there. . . . and then I'm going to fuck the hell-out-of-you!" His words stuttered out with labored gasps.
Rosemary's body twisted and writhed as she fought for her orgasm. She was urging him to move faster. He increased his momentum, pumping into her with long, hard strokes, pulling his cock all the way out to the tip and driving it savagely back in again up to his balls, pumping pleasure into her until at last she cried out, a low triumphal wail of completion. Her body arched sharply, her grinding hips moving with wild insistence against him, her every muscle taut and contorted until at last, with one final shudder, she collapsed and lay limp.
Then he withdrew his cock still hard, throbbing, a raw angry red.
He rolled off her and slid from the couch onto the floor, pulling Carol over with him. Her hands grabbed eagerly for his prick but with a quick motion he imprisoned them in a strong grip.
Carol's dark eyes were glazed with passion and they fixed on him without comprehension, mirroring the hurt look of a small wounded animal. "Why are you doing this to me?" she whimpered. Every tissue was pounding with frustrated desire. Her heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of her heaving breast. The red and black walls of the room were closing in on her, licking at her enflamed body like the fires of an eternal hell.
"Wait, give me a minute dammit," he said holding her off while his cock pulsated hotly on the edge of orgasm. It had taken a super-human effort for him not to come while caught in the throes of Rosemary's heated passion. "I haven't got control yet. If you touch my prick now it'll go off like fireworks."
"I can't wait!" Carol almost screamed at him. "Now! Hurry, I'm dying!"
"Okay, just take it easy. There now-." He was pushing her down, forcing her to lie back on the carpet. "Hold still, baby. Be a good girl, that's the way . . ."
He held her hips in his hands, gripping them so tightly she couldn't budge. Before she realized what was happening his face was buried in the firm elastic flesh of her belly. His lips and tongue were brushing on the soft skin, caressing her with hot moist kisses. His darting, stabbing tongue toyed with the sensitive hollow of her navel, tracing wet circles in the tiny aperture, sending electric shocks of agonizing pleasure into the pit of her stomach. And his teeth were nibbling, nibbling, little teasing bites and his hot mouth moved down-.
Abruptly she stopped struggling and sank into helpless feeling, awash in an excruciating sensation of spine-trembling delight. Her whole body shook as if she had fever chills and she lay helplessly writhing in the sensual thrill of his exploring mouth and tongue. He dipped his head and nuzzled his face into the silken smoothness of her inner thighs. A slight stubble of beard on his cheeks and chin was a harshly abrasive stimulant on the tender flesh and the muscles of her legs flexed with an excited shiver. But his lips were soft and warm, drawing little patches of skin into his hot mouth with wet, suctioning kisses.
The reflected images of their naked bodies in the mirrored ceiling caught and held Carol's clouded eyes with a lewd fascination. To her lust-deranged mind it seemed to be a moving tableau of one of the pictures she'd seen in the album, an obscene photograph of two strangers magically brought to life. The figure of the girl, her rich mane of fair hair tumbled in wild disorder, was somehow familiar though scarcely human, her features were contorted in such a blur of lascivious joy. The billowing firmness of her breasts strained down from the ceiling, ruby nipples dripping from the pointed globes like miniature cocks.
The erect points quivered with such a visible ache that Carol could feel their pain. She put her hands to her own swollen breasts and the girl on the ceiling did the same. As the dark head poised between the girl's outstretched limbs glided up the tawny flanks she arched her hips and opened to him like the petals of a fast-blossoming flower. The full-rounded curve of her thighs parted and in the burnished triangle of pubic curls the soft satiny folds of cunt flesh glistened wetly. For a breathless instant the nerve-centered pulse of desire lay exposed and vulnerable, a gaping scarlet mouth, ravenous for his feeding. Then with a motion swift as a hare the girl's hands pulled his head savagely to the clamoring fulcrum of her body.
And the pictured images blurred to nothingness as a crimson-hued mist of lust fogged Carol's vision. Fantasy and reality seethed into one pitch of primitive joy with the heated pressure of Frank's open mouth on the dewy mouth of her cunt. Passion went rushing through her from her loins to the top of her skull.
His hands stroked the flexing hollows of her inner thighs, then slowly spread the fleshy hair-lined lips of the moist pink furrow apart to give his plundering mouth greater access to the succulent opening. He showered wet tickling kisses in the silky brush of pubic hair and felt her hands clawing desperately at his head, guiding his mouth to the palpitating opening of her cunt. He ran his tongue liquidly over the soft furry-rimmed flesh, teasing up and down around the ragged pink edges until she was moaning, almost sobbing, from low in her throat and her buttocks ground uncontrollably into the deep pile of the carpet.
Then his hot tongue flicked lizard-like into the moist tunnel, its probing tip circling the quivering erected clitoris. She cried out as his lips rounded and covered the viscous opening, sucking, drawing the soft velvety folds deep into the heated recesses of his mouth-his tongue licking maddeningly at the excited pink bud of her sex. Her updrawn legs opened and closed wildly around the head of the ravening plunderer licking deliriously at her inflamed vagina.
As he gave in to the twisting pressure of her hands in his hair and the arching demand of her hips, he thrust his tongue deep down into the hot sheath. Her thighs clamped convulsively around either side of his moving head and he could feel the walls of invaded flesh expand and contract around his long extended tongue in a heated suction, attempting to devour it. He felt the tumultuous spasms of desire in the throbbing cavern arousing his own desire to fever pitch as his tongue explored every crevice of moistening flesh. His cock was jerking wildly between his legs, reaching out with a demanding ache.
Suddenly he could stand it no longer. He grabbed her flailing legs and raised up, kneeling over her.
Carol had been lost in the fire of his probing tongue and with its abrupt withdrawal for a moment her lust rose to a pitch of mania. An anguished scream welled up from deep in her throat. But then she felt the blood-filled head of his penis pressing at the ravenous opening of her vagina and felt his hot body come down on hers. Her scream turned to mewlings of sheer joy and she raised her hips to draw him into her tormented body. Her cunt was drenched, open, yet held him firmly, swallowing his erect, swollen cock, the vaginal muscles tightening and grasping at the entering shaft, drawing it deeper and deeper inside her like the hungry sucking mouth of a newborn child.
A passion she had never dreamed she possessed spurred her on and she flung her legs around his back, pulling him even closer, wriggling her crotch up against him with a bruising force. His prick rode up in her, tightly at first, hurting along its rigid breath and length, then more easily, fucking her with a slow, cantering gait. Then he varied the movements so the fulcrums of their bodies were rotating together, bringing new gasps of delight from her ever working lips.
His own breathing was hoarse and ragged as he felt the moist, fleshy pressure of her vagina pulling him in, enveloping his hot prick in the excruciating warmth of her. He could feel his excited organ grow and throb in the petal-soft constriction of the clamping walls with a heated surge of mounting passion that was almost unbearable. The bloated tip was a seething, blood-pressured ache. He increased the tempo of his thrusts, plunging in and out of her body with quick, rhythmical strokes.
Her hips were rising and falling, moving with a fury she couldn't control. With a pagan, driving lust, she matched his motions, returning the thrusts of his loins with a fierce, pounding abandon.
He cupped his hands under her writhing buttocks and raised her up to hold her tight against him. Pushing into her with all the strength of his hips and pelvis, he buried the full hard length of his cock to its farthest point until he could feel the pulsating head grazing deep up against her soft cervix. His fingers moved over the smooth tensing and untensing orbs of her bottom searching in the cleft between them, searching and finding the taut, puckering ring of her anus. He massaged the crinkle-edged flesh with his fingertips and felt it tightly resist and then give way as his middle finger moved persistently, probing, into the soft warm depths.
At the sudden intrusion of the hard fleshy instrument in the sensitive anal passage she jerked and cried out, but after the initial shock of pain she felt a strange, unaccountable pleasure. Her cringing muscles slowly relaxed as the pain subsided and then flexed involuntarily. Reveling in the unfamiliar thrill tingling electrically up her spine, she screwed her buttocks wildly down against the tantalizing finger digging into the soft rubbery flesh of her rectum.
The feeling of his finger imbedded in her ass combined with his pistoning cock in her vagina was fantastic. Something incredible was happening to her, driving her nearly insane with lust-incited sensation. She clung to him in a paroxysm of lewd delight, her fingernails drawing blood on his shoulders and her heels beating a mad tattoo on his back. Her hips ground against him with the fury of lustful, physical ecstasy.
Like fire rushing through dry timber, the flames pulsed and leaped through her body, dancing and whirling, spiraling up to a roaring crescendo-. And she felt his penis bursting inside of her, spewing a great cloudburst of liquid fire up into the innermost depths of her being. As fire met fire her own body seemed to explode and she was drowning in the burning sluices of fulfillment. The sound of her scream was a decibel as if torn from a siren.
CHAPTER 11
Carol's first agonized thoughts as she slowly-struggled back to consciousness were that she had been drawn into a trap. She had made a fatal error in judgment. There was more than just an aura of forbidden wickedness and evil lurking in the red and black room. The bizarre room was evil incarnate. And it was closing in on her, enveloping her in great smothering waves- slowly and inexorably suffocating her. She tried desperately to move, to force herself to make some attempt at escape, but her body was locked in terror.
The soft grayness was all about her, crawling over her face, clutching at her legs and feet, binding and smothering her. Half choking now, her lungs bursting, she fought the dark nameless cloud threatening to destroy her. Galvanized by horror, she twisted away, tearing herself from its murderous grasp.
Then she was fully awake, trembling in the darkness, and her screams, high and thin seemed to come from a great distance. An odd feeling of desolation washed over her, bringing all the nameless, plucking terrors of childhood. Dragging herself up, teeth chattering, she fumbled for the light switch. Quickly she closed her eyes. The light burned with the white heat of bright sun, making the lids flutter and she clamped them shut and pulled toward a sitting position. But she couldn't make it and flopped back on the pillow with a groan. Finally she tried again and this time her eyes stayed open, blinking fearfully in the dim glow.
She was in her own room and in her own bed, and she was stark naked beneath the thin sheet. Her eyes focused on the clock and she saw that it was eight thirty. But it couldn't be morning because no trace of light filtered through the window curtains. It must be night-but why was she in bed so early, just waking from sleep, waking up from a horrible nightmare?
She realized with astonishment that she was out of breath. When she moved, the muscles of her legs contracted, shook with exhaustion, as if spent from running. And then she felt the pain. Excruciating pain devoid of pleasure. Pain that started between her legs as a numb, pulsating throb and spiraled to her head in an agonizing crescendo. Even the muscles that controlled her throat were sore and her tongue was parchment in her mouth. She forced the tip out between her lips and they were swollen and dry. Her breasts ached as though they had been put through a wringer. She examined them gingerly with her fingers and could feel tiny raised welts, like teeth marks, on the bruised flesh.
Slowly the fragments of the dream, shattered by her cry, began to take shape in her mind. She had such a blinding headache that she felt disembodied, but the picture of the grotesque room was so vivid that it seemed like an uncannily familiar habitat, the shell of a departed life. She could see the dull sheen of black draperies, the ruby damask glow of downy cushioned divans, the satiny teak of paneled wall and bar and every- where the bright, light-reflecting mirrors. Mirrors on the walls, the ceiling-.
Suddenly on the edge of the dream, spreading out like ripples on a widening pond, an illicit sense of stolen pleasure encompassed her. She was staring up at the mirrored ceiling, staring with avid fascination at the lewd contortions of naked, writhing flesh. Across the retina of her mind, seared with the erotic vision of those naked moving bodies, the girl's face emerged with a startling, fearful clarity. A face that was distorted with passion-nostrils flaring, eyes glazed with lust, slack-mouthed with sensual delight-that face was her own.
Abruptly she sat up, shivering, conscious suddenly of the clamminess of her skin. She stared at her hands, moist with sweat, the fingernails embedded with soft bristles of brilliant red, thread-like tendrils with the repugnant look of of solidified blood. Just minutes ago, in the shifting miasma of the dream, she had been watching the illusion of herself in the ceiling, and digging her hands into the deep pile of carpet-a bright, blood-red carpet-.
Her fingers stiffened, recoiled.
"No!" She flung off the sheet and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Hot nausea surged up in her throat and spirals of light rocketed behind her eyes. She fell back with a choked sob, falling into some limitless, bottomless abyss as memory replaced the dream.
The memory of hot flesh and hot blood. There was the feel of Rosemary's hands on her breasts and Frank's mouth between her thighs, his moist lips nibbling-his hot tongue licking and probing and sucking. Then he was pounding himself into her, his swollen penis exploding his hot, scalding sperm inside her. And she was shattering into a million particles of exquisite obscene sensations. Oh God-how many times? Again and again and again it had happened!
Stricken by each new remembrance, Carol lay there shuddering while a sickening self-loathing took over. She tried to tell herself it must have been a dream, it couldn't have happened, but her aching breasts, the dull throb in her vagina and the raw flesh of her anal passage screamed out the unbelievable truth. Denial quivered hotly in her thoughts but memory paraded relentlessly through her brain.
There was the warm solid sphere of Rosemary's breast in one of her hands, the hard, jerking erection of Frank's prick in the other. She was lying on her back, on her stomach, on her side, and warm moving pressures flanked her, walling her in, filling every tender orifice of her body. Her lips were closed around something that throbbed and probed and thrust and choked her, and a wetness enveloped her mouth, and she was licking greedily ....
And she had reveled in the waves and spasms of ecstasy that roiled and surged through her. And cried out endlessly for more.
Her head swam with the lewd, degrading pictures. They flashed chaotically through her mind in vivid detail, without pattern or sequence, mocking her with obscene malice. Almost as if the scenes were being played on a lighted stage and she was in the scenes yet in the audience, she saw herself devoured by lust and was horrified and revolted.
The sordid affair was so against her nature, against her whole way of life that she kept asking herself why. Why had she acted with such wanton abandon? Hot shame and disgust surged like flame through her veins.
Not until the following day did she recall taking two oddly colored capsules which Rosemary insisted would make her feel better. She had washed them down with a drink shortly before leaving the Durfee's apartment just to please Rosemary, for she remembered thinking at the time that she couldn't possibly feel any better than she already did. She knew she'd been drunk, but the possibility of her being drugged seemed too melodramatic to be believable. Besides, why would they deliberately do such a contemptible thing to her? Dismissing the notion as fantastic, she continued to blame her lustful depraved actions on her own weakness.
Sometimes hysteria is a loud thing and sometimes it is silent-a numbness that is deep inside and seems to last forever. Carol lay on the bed that night staring into space, trembling. Her hands ran over her body touching the little pincer-like welts and the tender, hurting areas of flesh that were beginning to darken and discolor as will the bruised squeezing of overripe fruit. Her fingertips brushed over fine sandpaper coatings of dried-on semen, a strange man's semen, on her throat and breasts, and her hands dropped to her sides with a sudden shame. The sickness and pain of her body, the nausea, moved deeper, into her very soul. She reached an arm to the flat empty smoothness across the bed and felt her heart shrivel within her. Paul-. The idea of his presence made her go hollow and a cold sickle of fear probed the flames of shame and remorse.
Oh, Paul, what have I done to you! Her pathetic inner cry well from her silent throat.
How could she tell him that she wasn't worthy of his love, that she had behaved like a drunken whore? That she couldn't live without him. How could she hope to make him understand what she'd done had nothing to do with her love for him ? He would hate her!
Yet how could she not tell him? When he saw the marks on her body-. Felt her cringe at his touch because she was unclean-. And surely the guilt and shame would be mirrored in her eyes for him to see?
The questions rose up and up, a spiral of smoke blinding everything else. A desolation engulfed her, a despair, intense, consuming, so that she was torn apart inside. All the shame and horror flooded out and she felt herself overpowered by an appalling sense of sadness, more intense than any guilt or remorse. And the acrid taste in her mouth was now the taste of ashes.
The bedside clock glowed in the dim light and it wasn't until she turned to peer in its face that she realized she was weeping. Her vision was so blinded by tears that she couldn't see what time it was. She knuckled the tears from her eyes.
Eight-forty. Twenty minutes had passed since waking from the nightmare. Only twenty minutes. Such a very little time, she thought, to see the collapse of her bright new world.
Carol was sleeping soundly when Paul came in shortly after ten. Staring down at her lovely face he felt a thickness in his throat and a pang of guilt stabbed him for having left her home alone. She looked feverish, her cheeks were flushed, dark smudges underlined her eyes and even the red of her lips was unnaturally deep. Soft tendrils of hair clung damply to a fine film of perspiration dusting her forehead and the golden mane spilled out in rich profusion over the pillow was somehow lackluster, tarnished.
He undressed quickly and slipped into bed and lay there, the light out, listening to the uneven rise and fall of her ragged breathing. The light scent of the bath powder she used mingled with the heady fragrance of moist flesh to envelop him in a warm intimate cocoon.
With a strength born of desperation Carol had managed to drag her spent and aching body through the endless ordeal of bathing away the outward signs of her degradation. She had put on a heavy crepe nightgown which concealed the blemishes of uninhibited sex and crawled back into bed and fallen immediately into the oblivion of utter exhaustion.
As Paul came closer to her warm, sleeping figure she stirred restlessly and flung one arm across him. He stroked the softness of moist skin gently, tempted for a moment to gather her into his arms, but afraid of waking her he lay quietly and let his thoughts wander back over the events of the day.
The quick visit to San Diego was a routine, weekly procedure for Tom Loring and the only surprising factor was that he'd asked Paul to accompany him. As a rule an older, mace experienced employee went along, so Paul was pleased to be chosen and took the gesture as a new sign of confidence in him. Feeling as lightheaded as schoolboys are supposed to feel he had actually enjoyed the rather mundane business trip as a sort of fresh adventure. Throughout the day Loring had been his most austere, professional self, seldom veering from the business at hand even in casual conversation. They had gotten a late start and since he was an offensive driver at best, he had maneuvered the freeways at a maniacal rate of speed. So Paul had welcomed the suggestion he take the wheel on the way back and not until their return up the coast at a more leisurely pace did Tom allow their relationship to relax to a personal basis.
"We're having a little party Saturday night and want you and Carol both to come," he said.
They had been talking business and Tom's abrupt change of topic, even the sudden change of his tone of voice, caught Paul completely off guard.
"A party, sir? This Saturday-? I don't know," Paul said, sounding idiotic to himself. Good God! "What kind of a party?"
"Oh, just a sort of Saturday night open house."
Loring managed to insert such an overture of lascivious suggestion in the simple phrase that Paul felt his worst fears confirmed. "I'll have to ask Carol, see if she had anything planned," he answered rather lamely.
"If she has, tell her to cancel it. Marcia and I feel it's time we all got better acquainted." He laughed heavily, "The good neighbor policy, y'know! We have to get along together-."
By now the man's entire manner left no doubt in Paul's mind. Not only was the implication clear as to how they would get acquainted, but had he detected a subtle threat? We have to get along together-or else. Or else what? Paul Jensen loses his job? Possibly. But almost certainly he would receive no more covert promises of advancement such as he had glimpsed in today's excursion.
The rush of these thoughts kept Paul awake for some time. The subject of the party had been dropped until they were in the parking lot of the main plant and he'd begun to hope he'd been jumping to conclusions when Tom's offhand parting remark that, by the way, the little open house was being held in apartment three-nineteen dispelled any lingering doubts.
Take Carol into an orgy like that? The idea was so preposterous that it made him shudder. He felt a sudden let-down after the exhilarating day. Would he be saying goodbye to most of his ambitions? Because he couldn't possibly expose his wife to an organized gang-bang .... Involuntarily his thoughts drifted back to Sunday night, to his atavistic sexual hunger carried out in lustful wildness.
Carol cried aloud in a dream, startling him from the exotic wanderings and he realized with a sense of shame that his cock had surged to erection and was prodding stiffly at the sheet. What the hell, he thought, feeling ridiculous, excited and angry all at the same time, maybe I should have screwed around in Germany-then I wouldn't be acting like such a damn hungry stud.
When he finally slept he dreamed he was back at the base in Ulm, and he was married to a German girl. And they were making mad, wild love and the girl looked exactly like Carol.
The next day was Friday, for which Paul was profoundly grateful as the past week had begun, in some unfathomable way, to take on the aspects of a nightmare. Subconsciously, perhaps, he hoped to will the unpleasant reality of those seven days into limbo, as if they had never been-thereby giving his marriage a fresh start on a new Saturday. Although genuinely worried about Carol, the valid excuse of her illness offered a welcome reprieve from accepting Tom's invitation. Yet even as he called Tom to give it, he blamed himself for being a coward, for using her to postpone an inevitable refusal and its consequences.
Carol also was glad to have that Friday come to an end for it had been the most miserable day of her life. Physically sick from the excessive drinking and tortured by guilt and remorse, she had lain in bed in a state of numb despair. She wished there were some way to dismiss all thoughts of what had happened, to find some way of facing what was yet to come. Confused and bewildered, she grew almost panicky when Paul wanted to call a doctor, assuring him it was only a touch of the flu, she'd be all right in a day or so.
By Saturday morning her physical recovery was indeed all but complete, making her feel that her body had betrayed her even further by being callous to the raw, unhealed hurt in her mind. She retrieved her laundry, remembering it for the first time, and tried to maintain an outward show of normalcy though still pleading a headache. She deliberately avoided any physical contact with Paul, scarcely able to meet his eyes, and she knew he was puzzled and hurt by her cool reaction to his overtures of comfort. Afraid of breaking down completely and unburdening the whole story unless she kept a tight reign on her emotions, she remained aloof, pretending to be absorbed in household chores.
An almost visible wall of tension built between them. Paul certainly was puzzled and hurt by Carol's strange attitude. Struck by a sudden apprehension he wondered if there was accusation behind her obvious rejection. Did she suspect-? At the end of an oddly strained dinner he was aware that his guilt was pushing him and he felt himself retreating into irritation. In a humanly mechanical defense his hurt turned to anger, unreasonably provoking a quarrel with Carol in a matter of minutes.
Having barely mentioned the Loring's invitation before, his thoughts dredged it up and he now thrust it upon her with her full-blown, distorted proportions. The premise of the heated, practically one-sided argument, was that if Carol felt well enough to clean the whole goddamned house, it seemed damned strange that she didn't have enough energy to walk a few steps to a party-= not even if his future hung in the balance.
Carol was at a complete loss to understand what he meant and her tormented mind seemed to crack, unleashing anger to parry anger. It was either that or dissolve in a hopeless desolation of tears.
"Don't let me hold you back!" she heard herself shrieking at him like a fish-wife. "Go on- have your fun!"
"If that's how you want it, you're damn right I will!"
As Paul stalked out in a fury the fleeting thought crossed his mind, "Now why in hell did I do that?"
CHAPTER 12
Paul walked into a storm of music and laughter and tinkling glass. The Swap Club party was in full swing although most of its members hadn't reached the ultimate stages of undress he'd witnessed before. A well-endowed ash blonde, stripped to the waist and dancing on a low table with a breast-bouncing wiggle, lent an aura of a topless bar to the smoke-filled room.
When Tom Loring saw Paul he let out a whoop and came running. "There's my boy! Glad to see you changed your mind."
He propelled Paul through the noisy gathering toward the bar, at the same time craning his neck to look for Carol. He waited until Paul had downed two straight whiskeys in rapid succession and was nursing a third before coming out with the question Paul had been dreading.
"Isn't that young delectable wife of yours here with you?"
"She's still not feeling too good." He answered Tom with an inward sense of guilt, but thrust it aside as the liquor flowed hotly through his veins.
"Now I wonder why?" Rosemary said with a laugh.
She had sidled up to Paul and with an arm around his shoulders was pressing the full curves of her body suggestively against him. Her odd question was lost on Paul, his attention being centered on the exciting friction of her sinuous rubbing, but she was about to elaborate when she caught a frown of negative warning on Tom's flushed face.
"Drink up, Paul, you're way behind," he told him and turned to Rosemary to say, "See that he catches up and keep him entertained for a few minutes while I attend to a little business."
Since Frank Durfee wasn't the type to kiss and not tell, Loring had already been treated to a luridly detailed description of Carol's wild drugged surrender. Armed with this titillating tidbit of male gossip he knew full well the cause of Carol's sudden malady and forthwith put in motion his idea of an instant cure. Besides, Carol's absence made for uneven coupling in the group and as far as he was concerned she had been the primary target of his invitation. Frank's disclosure had only whetted his appetite.
So he sought out his wife and Ardis Sachs, provided them with the necessary information, some pep pills and a pitcher of martinis, and sent them off to corral his quarry. He rejoined Paul at the bar to find him swaying slightly, fast approaching a state of drunken abandon. The topless dancer had taken Rosemary's place and was virtually sitting in his lap. She was holding up the heavy weight of one lush breast with her hand, waving the pink-tipped mound teasingly under his chin.
Paul drained his fifth -- or was it his sixth? --drink and stopped counting and enveloped the tempting nipple hotly with his wet mouth. The blonde ran her free hand caressingly over his crotch, feeling the automatic swell of his prick, and winked knowingly over his head at Tom. Paul savored the perfumed breast-flesh pressed into his face and felt the blood surge wildly to his cock, unaware that he was the center of attention of the hot-eyed cluster around the bar, and the only one in the room who didn't know of his innocent young wife's foray into sex.
When he left the apartment in anger Paul hadn't bothered with resetting the lock, so Ardis and Marcia breezed right in to find Carol still sitting at the dinner table. But her thoughts had been far from idle. Paul's quick, unexpected rage had jolted her from the limbo of apathy and self-pity that had fallen over her like a pall through the day. Her retaliating burst of temper had miraculously cleared away the cobwebs of despair, making room for lucid thoughts.
She took a new accounting of herself and while making no excuses for her immoral behavior, for the first time she mercilessly probed the depths of her sexual needs and emotions. Gradually, and for the first time, she came to recognize herself as a girl of a highly sensual nature. Some of Rosemary's straightforward advice came back to taunt her; enjoy sex, let yourself go, forget puritan emotional hang-ups. If only she had, but with Paul-. That thought brought a return of sadness, but she brushed it aside, determined to bury the past and make the most of the future.
Regretting that she hadn't gone with Paul to the Loring's party, yet not daring to follow him, the sudden appearance of Marcia and Ardis seemed like the answer to a prayer. Absorbed in thought, she was unaware of their entering the apartment when the sound of suppressed laughter startled her.
"Surprise!" Ardis shouted.
"You wouldn't come to our party," Marcia said, "so we've brought a party to you."
Carol looked from one to the other in amazement, surprised at how glad she was to see them. Her dark eyes skittered back to Marcia and opened even wider.
"Wild, isn't it?" Marcia attempted a pirouette but staggered tipsily and thought better of it and stood, hand on hip, in an exaggerated model's pose. "With a face like this a gal's got to make the most of her good points," she giggled.
Carol had read about avant-garde creations but had never expected to see one like this without a body stocking. Marcia's opulent figure was completely swathed in a floor length, high-necked and long-sleeved white gown of conservative cut, but the material was an extremely open, lacy weave. Since she wore nothing underneath the total effect, peek-a-boo expanses of bronzed flesh and outthrust red nipples protruding boldly, was far sexier than total nudity. After absorbing the first shock, Carol had to laugh at Marcia's absurd posturing, it was so unlike her usual dignity.
Ardis had rummaged through the kitchen cabinets and located glasses, eight ounce Swedish crystal water goblets, a wedding present from Paul's Aunt Jenny, for the martinis. Before serving them she dug in her bag, and ignoring Tom's white pellets, came up with two red capsules which she opened deftly and then poured their fine, powdery contents into Carol's glass.
When Ardis set the drink in front of her Carol felt her stomach turn over and she shuddered. "Thanks, but I couldn't possibly-," she began. "Sure you can. Don't be a party-pooper," Ardis said. "Why Paul's upstairs at the bar boozing it up with the gang. You can't have and fun if you are the only sober one in that bunch of drunks!"
Marcia joined her in clinking glasses and urged "Bottoms up, Carol. Then go powder your nose and we better get back to the party before we lose our men to some of those other naked hussies running around like horny teenagers.
Carol had a sudden vision of Paul laughing and drinking with a beautiful, fawning, sophisticated blonde and felt a stab of jealous anger. So that's what he's doing, she fumed inwardly, while I'm sitting alone! Childishly, she chose to ignore the fact that she could have gone with him, and she was no longer alone. But in the back of her mind she knew the bolstering courage of alcohol was a dire necessity before she could face him, and the Durfees, with any degree of equanimity. She picked up the glass, trying not to breathe in the pungent, oily vapor of juniper, took a long drink, gagged, then drank again.
The three of them polished off the large pitcher of dry martinis with Carol drinking her share while she dressed. Perhaps undressed is more apt for with Ardis and Marcia's help Carol ended up at the party clad only in a dove grey chiffon dress, low of neck and short of skirt, silvery threads of sandals and a wisp of flesh-colored bikini briefs. With the exception of the soles and heels of her slippers, the entire ensemble could have easily been drawn through the proverbial ring.
She suffered a moment of panic upon recognizing the mirrored room but by now she felt the exciting good of liquor and, as if by merely being conscious of how much she'd drunk, she felt ready to throw off all inhibitions. And to a neophyte like Carol the combination of alcohol and Ardis "speed" was pure dynamite, giving her a lighter-than-air sensation of reckless, almost omnipotent, freedom.
Marcia had disappeared and as she and Ardis went deeper into the room headed for the bar she tried to ignore the boisterous crowd, secretly hoping Paul was watching, and when she found herself seated next to Tom Loring she was delighted. She would show Paul he wasn't married to a drag! She'd act gay and happy and, yes, even sexy!
With a sudden flash of insight Carol realized she didn't have to act, she actually felt gay, happy, -and sexy! She felt wonderful and her husband's boss was charming.
They sat close together, laughing and talking and drinking steadily. When Tom slipped his arm loosely around her Carol seemed not to notice and he accentuated his remarks with playful hugs of increasing pressure. So far his presence was merely friendly and comforting to her, but as he leaned closer to whisper the punch line of a rather lewd story he flicked the tip of his tongue lightly in her ear and Carol jumped.
A tingle of excitement pricked down her spine and she was aware of Tom's encircling arm, his hand almost, but not quite, cupping her left breast. If she were to slump down barely a fraction of an inch, she would feel the strength of his fingers on her breast, on her nipple that without warning felt swollen with yearning. And she was aware of something else, a familiar warmth of moisture spreading between her legs. She held her breath, not trusting herself to move.
My God, she thought, I actually want this man, I hardly know!"
Suddenly the spell was broken as an abrupt lowering of sound settled audibly in the smoke-ribboned air. Tom's arm around her waist, leading her across the room, was once more impersonal and she wondered if the instant of desire had been an illusion, if her legs were like rubber because of too much liquor. But there was no denying the liquid warmth clinging to her thighs as she walked.
Tom pulled her down beside him into the deep cushion of a low couch against the wall. The lighting gradually dimmed until a single overhead fixture cast a pale glow in the center of the room, leaving the outer reaches in almost total darkness. Carol had the momentary feeling of being alone with Tom in a velvet sea of night. Then she became aware of rippling waves of sound, soft rustlings and murmurs and whispers, punctured sporadically by a low chuckle or a shrill laugh.
As her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom she was able to make out indistinct figures lounging on the sofas that lined the walls around them. Faces were indistinguishable; tangled bodies cast spectral, distorted shadows on the walls and ceiling, and here and there unclothed areas of white skin gleamed with a naked lewdness. Cigarettes glowed like fireflies in the dark and the whole room was misty with smoke, giving it a ghostlike unreality. The illusion of eerie mystery disappeared when a large television screen mounted in the paneled wall was suddenly illuminated.
Carol felt a rush of dismay. Her nerves were so up-tight with an intense seething excitement that being forced to sit quietly and watch television seemed like an appalling confinement. The screen directly across from where she was sitting was unusually big so that, after an initial flickering of jagged streaks of color, the screen slowly coming into focus was almost life-sized. It evolved into a vividly clear picture, a close-up shot of a man's rigid, swollen penis nestled snugly in the deep cleavage between high twin mounds of truly magnificent breasts.
CHAPTER 13
Tom said something Carol couldn't hear over the tumultuous pounding of her heart. His arm lightened around her and moved lower, sliding from her slim waist down over the swell of her hip, until his hand rested lightly on the smooth bare flesh of rounded thigh. She knew she should move away, or object, but instead she sat there, silent, unable to speak or think. A wild, scary, hot feeling had hold of her that kept her motionless, staring with wide-eyed fascination at the obscene picture.
The camera pulled back as the thick white column of flesh began sliding in and out of the soft fleshy furrow with a sinuous, reptilian grace. The focus enlarged to take in a man's figure from the waist down, showing him on his knees with his legs outstretched, straddling a lovely, writhing female form. His lean buttocks rose and fell as he pushed forward and the muscles rippled smoothly under the taut, bronzed skin of his thighs but Carol's gaze was fastened in abject wonder on the slithering motion of his distended cock. It protruded from the underbrush of his springy, blonde pubic hair like the thick stump of a tree and the tight skin seemed stretched to the bursting point over the hard, inflated core. Each time it's fiery-filled tip emerged from between the woman's ripe breasts Carol could see the scarlet head pound with a hot pulsation.
Watching the easy phallic rhythm, her own torso began an involuntary, repetitive undulation in tempo with the thrusting penis on the screen. Tom's hand was massaging and kneading her thigh, digging feverishly into the soft, fleshy inner surface with his fingertips. His touch sent spasms of pleasure rippling up her belly to the rising nipples of her breasts. As she ground her buttocks into the foam cushion the wispy chiffon of her skirt bunched up over her hips and the narrow strip of her panties cut teasingly into her crotch. The friction of the material rubbed sensuously against the moist, throbbing flanges of her wet vagina and she could almost feel the hardness of the inflated cock on the screen rubbing between her trembling thighs. She gnawed her lower lip to bite back a groan of frustration. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps and the nerves at the nape of her neck were a tangled mass of exposed wires that felt like a myriad of tiny needle points.
Beseechingly, Carol's tortured eyes turned to the man at her side but his face offered no succor. Tom's expression was a lascivious grimace of lusting desire. His blood-shot eyes, opaque with passion, were locked straight ahead, and his tongue was darting wetly over his slack-lipped mouth. His forehead was covered with tiny beads of sweat.
Carol's attention returned to the screen as if drawn by an invisible force. The camera had zoomed back in to focus on the lower part of the woman's face. She had raised her head and her hair tumbled in wild disorder over her eyes. She held the man's cock almost tenderly in long, slender hands and was rubbing the sticky underside of the blunt head in a gentle, teasing circle around her open lips. Her tongue snaked out hungrily from between her teeth, licking at the tiny pulsating glans-tip.
With a super-human effort Carol managed to rouse herself enough to force Tom's groping hand away from her leg. She saw pearl-like droplets of fluid ooze into the woman's mouth and lost all sense of reality. No longer was she merely watching a picture, an avid voyeur. She was that face on the screen, licking up and down the underside ridge of the huge semen-soaked head with the tip of her tongue. She could feel the cords of her neck standing out as her lips ovalled and worked to suck the bloated cock into her mouth.
Then she cried aloud, a low strangled moan that was torn from her throat and rose to mingle with echoing sounds throughout the room. Tom's hand had gone inside the loose bodice of her dress and was moving almost savagely from one full breast to the other. His fingers squeezed the soft, resilient mounds, trapping the sensitive nipples to hardened erection between thumb and forefinger until she cried out again at the excruciating pleasure of the teasing pain.
She found herself digging her hands into the couch, trying to keep her body from shattering into brittle pieces. But that wasn't the couch under the frenzied fingers of one hand. It was tense flexing muscles-. Heated flesh that burned through the rough material of male trousers. Tom's free hand clamped down on hers where it dug into his thigh and slid it roughly to his crotch. The inflated length of his cock was a swollen bulge that thumped like a captured animal in her grasp. Her hand felt like it was holding a hot poker and the heat rushed up her arm to spring into a blaze that enveloped her entire body.
Her panting lips had lost the dripping member on the screen and it was slithering wetly back down between her breasts, over her soft, unresisting belly, trailing a slow teasing path, probing, prodding at the elastic band of her panties.
"Oh, God," she groaned. That was Tom's cock jerking under her hand in uncontrolled excitement. It was his hand inserting itself into her panties, teasing thrillingly at the lust-incited vee of pubic curls. It toyed there a moment and suddenly thrust down into the moist, ready opening between her legs, his middle finger probing gently at the tiny bud of her clitoris, teasing it to quivering life. She jerked forward as a shock wave of delight spiraled through her. She gripped his penis so fiercely Tom let out a yelp of pain. Then he was tugging at her dress, trying to pull it up and over the firm globes of her breasts.
"Okay, babe, let's fuck," he whispered hotly in her ear.
At his lewd words Carol lost all control. Still keeping her eyes glued to the screen, she pushed Tom's fumbling hands away and lunged unsteadily to her feet. The camera had followed the teasing path of the man's prick as it traveled over the voluptuous contours of the woman's body almost as if it had a life of its own. The stiff rod wavered over her breasts, then paused to caress each pointed mound in turn, the mouth of its tiny glans planting wet kisses on her quivering nipples. It circled the slightly rounded swell of her belly and stopped momentarily in the puckered shell of her navel. The blood pressured head throbbed hotly, a deep, glowing crimson that looked almost purple, looked like a ripe, purple plum about to burst open and spew its scalding juices into the soft whiteness of her belly.
The man's hand had come into the picture to retrieve his wandering cock as Carol stood swaying, working the low neckline of her dress down over her shoulders. He was guiding it through the dark morass of pubic hair and the gasping tip was nuzzled in the soft, glistening folds of the woman's hair-lined cunt slit when Carol's dress slid down around her ankles with a deft wiggle of her hips. She stepped out of the circle of chiffon and kicked it aside, working with impatient, trembling fingers at her panties, rolling the filmy silk into a constricting band around her legs.
As she bent forward to draw them off, Tom's hot, wet tongue licked moistly down the entire length of the exposed crevice between her buttocks. The air wooshed from her lungs as though she had been punched a jarring blow in the pit of her stomach. The sensation that rocketed through her at the tantalizing swipe of his tongue was so breathtakingly erotic that she fell to her hands and knees, swaying drunkenly in a crouched position and waving her backside frantically in the air.
The televised picture tilted crazily before her eyes to a whirling blur of writhing flesh. Then it was gone from her sight-as if a hidden door at the depths of her being had opened wide and her own lust was gaping in her face. Tom, his rigid penis freed from his pants, had moved swiftly down behind her. She felt his hands close around her hips and his fingers digging harshly into the soft flesh. She groaned as she felt the rubbery tip of his cock pressed teasingly into the hollow of her buttocks and tried to squirm back against him. But his hands kept a cruel grip on her hips, holding her away from the hot, exciting probe of his penis. She swung her buttocks wildly back and forth in torment and heard his laugh.
Suddenly she couldn't stand it. In desperation she reached back between her legs and closed her hand over his penis. It was huge! For a moment she was frightened, unable to imagine how she could take it all, but as she felt the enormous cudgel jerk with the excitement of her exploring fingers all fear was lost in an overpowering surge of desire. Taking a deep, sobbing breath she placed the blunt, throbbing head against the tight opening of her vagina and her eyes flooded with tears of anger at him for making her take the initiative.
With a lusting rage she ground her crotch against his cock, heedless now of pain and past all thought, forcing him to enter her. There was a great stretching feeling in her loins as his hands pulled her to him and he lunged forward. Suddenly she felt like she was being torn apart inside as the fleshy vaginal walls spread the engorged head of his prick in rippling waves of pain.
Then as quickly as it began the pain was gone and she felt nothing but the exquisite delight of sensual satisfaction. Nothing mattered but the tunneling instrument embedded to its full, hard length in her belly. With complete animal abandon, her hips began a steady motion, thrusting back against his loins as Tom set the rhythm, impelling her movements with those of his stiff, pummeling cock.
They wallowed there together in the red-black world, bodies fused with lust, until the boiling stream of cold hot lava inside them both broke its bonds and set them free.
Carol lay prone on the floor, moaning softly, luxuriating in the erotic euphoria of the aftermath of passion, when she glanced up at the still-lighted screen. The picture was now an almost motionless tableau of sated desire, the only life being in the woman's hand on her partner's deflated penis. Yet even as she watched, Carol saw the limp organ begin to grow to renewed tumescence; and she was surprised to feel a fresh arousal of desire stirring in her own body.
The camera lens was in wide focus, revealing a bed and the full length of the reclining nudes. As her titillated gazed wandered idly over the lewd scene she caught sight of a tangle of white, lacy fabric bunched in a careless heap at the foot of the bed and memory stirred. Bare flesh peeking through an open weave--. Carol recognized Marcia's mod gown.
Even before her eyes sought out the faces at the head of the bed, somehow Carol knew that the man at Marcia's side, the man whose cock was being deftly manipulated to rigid erection, was Paul, her own sweet Paul! Oh God, what was happening to them!
CHAPTER 14
Marcia Loring had realized very early in life that her face would never be her fortune. Since she discovered this at about the same time when she heard her father referred to as having more money than brains, and she never had reason to doubt his intelligence, it was a great relief to know that she needn't depend on her face for riches. Although when she was ten, and her interest turned from dolls to boys, she would gladly have forfeited all the money in the world in exchange for a pretty face. But by the time she was twelve, when her budding young figure gave more than a hint of what was yet to come and drew the stares of every young buck in the neighborhood, her worries ceased. In a long since forgotten poem she ran across the phrase "a body sculpted for pleasure", and she took it for her own, making the giving and receiving of sensual pleasure her life's work. And she was an expert in her field.
Paul lay quietly at her side, savoring the post-orgastic afterglow that spread through his rangy frame. He was still far from sober but he had been very drunk when Marcia took him to bed, and leading and following her passionate mood had released the weight of all inhibitions. As she began a slow, gentle stroking of the deflated member hanging flaccidly between his legs, he was rather dumbfounded to feel the surge of sensation moving up from his knees and down from his neck.
A few, final droplets of expended seminal fluid still oozed from his prick, yet already he could feel a fresh hardening in his groin and knew that his cock was crawling slowly along the inside of his thigh, like some insatiable addict, up and ready at the teasing hand. Even though fired up by alcohol to such an intense degree, he was surprised at such an immediate reaction so soon after the torrid session brought to skull-splitting culmination but moments ago. Every erogenous zone in his body had been titillated to unbelievable heights of rapturous excitement.
His breath caught in his throat. Marcia's knowing hand had gone to his balls, her fingers were exerting a light, squeezing pressure, and his hot, bloated prick, with the foreskin tight back, reached yearningly up to the ceiling.
Oh, God, he thought, if only Carol would-. Instantly he was ashamed of his thoughts. He knew he hadn't been able to satisfy her, that he was always too quick to climax, but now he couldn't help thinking-if she would let herself go, instead of repulsing him, give in unremittingly to the passion of which he was sure she was capable- Christ, how glorious their love-making would be!
Merely thinking about Carol had sent a heated surge of blood rushing to his balls and Marcia felt them churn in her hand, and she studied his aroused cock, waving angrily in the air with avid fascination.
"Ohhhh baby," she cooed. "How about that! You're all ready-again!" "Jesus, Marcia-."
"You're a lot of man. You know that, darling?"
She looked up at Paul's face. It was flushed with desire, but she was surprised to see a frown wrinkling his forehead and an unmistakable glint of anger struck out at her from his eyes. She released his balls and went back to fondling his distended penis, but although his mouth opened and closed in torment the expression on his face remained a look of anger.
"Smile, honey," she said, "remember you're on candid camera." Her hands paused in their tantalizing ministrations.
"Don't stop now," he said thickly. "Dammit, this is no time for kidding around."
"Whose kidding? The whole party out in the living room is watching us make out," she told him. "Right now we're the featured attraction. So don't look so fierce, you'll ruin my reputation!"
"Good God! You can't mean that--!"
Suddenly he remembered seeing the huge screen mounted in the wall by the bar and wondering, before he got too drunk to be curious about anything, what it was for. Closed circuit television! In his present mood he might get a bang out of watching erotica, but he sure as hell didn't want an audience of voyeurs drooling over his own fucking prick! Jesus Christ!
Paul's mouth went dry and suddenly he wanted another drink more than anything in the world, even more than he wanted the maddening caress of Marcia's hands on his hot prick. He rolled over, jerking his penis from her grasp, and fell off the edge of the bed to the floor. He scrambled to his feet and, in furious haste to escape the hidden eye of the unseen camera, literally sprinted out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Out in the hall he collided with a tall, naked figure coming toward him and as each clung to the other to keep from losing their balance, Paul was aware of warm, unresisting flesh pressed passionately against him, and felt the twin points tipping the resilient breasts squashed against him burning into his chest. The woman in his tight embrace felt a softening column of flesh pressing into her pelvis, then his knees bent and she felt the softening flesh harden into a thick, rigid pole that was a hot pulsation between her legs.
For a brief moment they clung together wordlessly with a fierce, swift urgency.
Then Paul felt a sudden, unaccountable sense of embarrassment, almost shame, at his prick's instantaneous response to the pliant, sensual body eagerly thrusting against him. The delicious hunger of desire surged through him, like wine throbbing in his veins, yet, somehow feeling a strange reluctance, he staggered back from the clinging radiance in his arms and held the girl at arm's length with a firm grip on her shoulders.
The area where they were standing was illuminated only by soft reflected light that filtered from around a bend in the hall. Staring into the dark eyes blazing up at him, Paul thought that the flickering shadows must be playing fantastic tricks on his imagination. Then the girl spoke.
"Well," Carol stormed at him, "this is what you wanted, wasn't it? For me to come to the party? All right, here I am! And I've been fucked too!"
The words came out clearly and distinctly, with the conscious effort of one who is very, very drunk. Tom Loring had realized that upon recognizing her husband on the screen Carol had been on the brink of near insane hysteria, and he'd lost no time in anesthetizing her with brandy. Rosemary had come to his aid with more of her magical "purple passion". After all, the night was only beginning and they saw no sense in breaking up the swinging rhythm of the party.
Although Carol was glaring at Paul like an animal at bay, she had little or no conscious idea of what she was saying. The seemingly lucid spurt of anger had erupted from some subterranean level of her mind. She was wrapped in a glorious, isolation of alcohol and drugs. Nothing hurt-not thoughts of Paul or Marcia nor her own wretched degradation. By turns she was melancholy drunk and happy drunk and pepped-up drunk-ready for anything. Above all else she was ready for sex. In her drugged mind she thought Paul was holding her off, denying her what she craved with an all-consuming need. She struck out with lust-incited rage.
"Let me go, lover-boy! I got another date to be fucked!" Her voice was thick and her words slurred.
Paul stared at his wife, speechless, in cold-sober shock. His hands dropped to his side and released her, and she rounded the corner of the hall out of sight. By the time his stunned brain transmitted the impulse to his feet to go after her, his wife had disappeared.
* * *
Slowly, Carol made her way down the hallway, half sick from the converging feelings of guilt and remorse at seeing her husband and shouting all those awful, obscene things at him and the lewd sense of desire that was coursing through her from the last capsules her drink had been doctored with. She had a momentary thought of turning and running back to him but before she could carry it further an arm reached for her and pulled her bodily into the open bedroom door she was staggering past.
"Gotcha, baby," she heard his voice hissing at her in the darkness. "Ole Frank wouldn't miss this little pussy chance for the world."
Carol remained silent as she felt herself being pulled slowly toward him, the hardness of his upstanding penis suddenly pressing tight against her naked stomach, the soft sensitive tips of her nipples coming into electrifying contact with the hair of his chest. A quiver of coming passion rippled through her and battered slowly at the memory of her husband's face as she had twirled and staggered off down the hallway a few moments ago.
Oh God, she groaned silently to herself, anything I get now I deserve a thousand times over. Well, let it come, Mrs. Jensen, you deserve anything this depraved idiot does to you! Then he was pulling her through the darkness and turning her around until she could feel a bed brushing hard against the backs of her calves and suddenly she sprawled down on the giving mattress, her legs spreading wide apart in a, now, open invitation to whatever he wanted to do to her.
She was aware of his hand rummaging teasingly through the soft pubic curls of her vagina and could feel it growing wetter still, even wetter than the flooding gush of Tom Goring's cum had left it a few short minutes ago.
"You're really ready, baby. That little pussy's wetter than a soft piece of liver," he breathed down on her face. "The four of us are really gonna have some fun."
"F-Four of us?" Carol managed to stammer through her alcoholic haze, her hips still twisting under the teasing ministrations of his fingers.
"Yeah, we're really gonna make you a member of the club tonight."
"But, I can't do it with more than one man at a time. I-I just can't."
"Too late, baby. Here come the boys now."
Carol was vaguely aware of the door opening and one of the bed lamps being turned on and she opened her eyes and tried to see through the sudden flood of light. She could make out a small skinny man she had seen around the pool and had not liked. He looked like the innocuous little office worker who masturbated in the men's room at lunch time thinking about the mini-skirted secretaries he had been watching all morning. There was just something too sneaky about him. The other man was Joe Kaplan and her eyes gaped wide in sudden terror at the unbelievable size of his cock even in its semi-hard stage. It looked like the huge, rounded pieces of Italian salami she had seen often at the super market. God, she could never take that down between her legs. He would kill her with it!
"Oh please," she groaned out, closing her eyes so that she would not have to look at their hungry leering faces. "Don't all of you do it to me at once. Just one at a time. Please, please ... !"
"Honey, we're experts at this," the one named Joe grinned down at her. "You'll be climbing the walls before we get through with you."
"Come on, come on, enough talking, let's get with it!" the skinny man squeaked out impatiently.
"Yeah, she's wide open inside that lil pussy. Man, she's really ready for it, whether she knows it or not," Frank chimed in. "We can fuck her anyway we want."
"I want her cunt," Joe enjoined, his hand slowly stroking his huge bulbous penis into a threatening rigidity.
"I get her asshole," Frank grinned hungrily, his tongue swirling around his mouth. "Guess that leaves you with them hot little lips, Floyd, me boy," he said to the skinny man.
Carol cringed down into the bed in horror as the lewd, horrible words flickered through her ears. My God! They were actually going to do all those obscene things to me that the others do! Oh Paul, Paul, where are you! My God, where are you, darling!
"Okay, Floyd, you gotta hold her tight until we both get our pricks in her, then you can let her suck you off." Frank's words shattered against her tortured mind. There was nothing she could do . . . absolutely nothing! They intended to defile in this way and it could only be God's punishment for her shameful adultery before.
Frank walked to the other side of the bed and she felt the mattress give from his weight as he rolled her over on her stomach and pressed her face tightly down into the giving mattress. Then she felt the heavy fleshiness of his cock insinuated in the soft yielding crease of her buttocks as he rolled half onto her and began to smooth his hand over her naked skin.
"Mmmmm . . . she's soft like silk," he said, his big hand moving up to clutch at her breast, kneading it harshly and tweaking the nipple into hardness between his fingers. "God, feel that young firm tit."
They did, each one in turn and harshly while Frank's middle finger found her open cunt from behind, playing with it, teasing her clitoris, then thrusting wetly up into her soft, yielding vagina. From that second on, hands were all over her naked body, kneading and pinching at her breasts, worming into her squirming cunt . . . but none were as lewd and lascivious as Frank's who forced her tighter down on her stomach, spread the soft, doughy cheeks of her buttocks apart and began to unmercifully taunt her tightly puckered anus.
"God, you two ever see anything like that?" he hungrily asked the others. "Hairless as a newborn babe's .. . tighter than a cat's pussy!"
"Go on, Frank," Floyd's eyes bulged excitedly. "Fuck her asshole! Shove your cock into it!"
And then, in quivering dread, Carol felt his hands opening the soft, trembling cheeks, drawing the buttocks apart even further. She clenched the smooth ivory spheres and tried to hold them together, but it was useless. She felt lewdly naked and unprotected beneath their lust filled gazes, and as he pressured them further open she could feel the cool air of the room brush over the tightly clenched mouth of her rectum. Tears suddenly wet her cheeks as her husband's painted expression in the hallway again crossed her mind and then she heard them gasp as a finger teased at her tiny rubbery rectal opening. A sharp, abrupt pain followed with the lewd worming insertion of the finger up to the first knuckle joint. The muscles of her buttocks clenched automatically and her anal passage gripped defensively at his finger like a closing fist.
Frank, kneeling above her trembling buttocks grinned like a Siamese cat. "Look at that little asshole grab, will you?"
"Well go on, damn it. Ram it to her." Joe exclaimed impatiently. "I'm gonna shoot my wad all over her back if you don't."
"Slow down, we got all night and besides, -we want to do it right to make sure she'll come back for seconds." Frank said tauntingly. "She's really got to be ready to take three pricks at the same time."
"She's ready, she's ready, look at her squirm!" Floyd almost screamed, mistaking Carol's desperate movement to escape the impaling finger in her anus for passion. "Come on let's fuck her!"
Frank grinned his lewd grin again and thrust his finger deeper into the soft, rubbery channel to the palm of his hand causing the young helpless wife to grunt painfully from deep in her chest while he reamed and sawed in and out of her helplessly exposed anus, obscenely stretching the warm velvety passage in preparation of the greater entry that was to follow.
Finally, in hopeless desperation, Carol relaxed in resigned surrender. She wished she could pass out ... or now, that they would hurry and get it over with. But, she was fully conscious and with the light on she could see all their reflections in the huge mirror that hung over the vanity to her side . . . She lay flat on her stomach, Frank's legs lodged between hers, holding them wide apart and exposing her naked loins to him. She couldn't help but gaze in wide-eyed horror at the mirror when she saw him pull the heavy foreskin of his un- circumcised penis back, displaying the hardened, lust-bloated head, then point it directly at the tiny puckered hole of her rectum he had so agonizingly stretched and prepared with his probing finger.
Once more, he spread her buttocks wide with his hands, then rolled further onto her naked back to slowly press the huge head of his cock down into her moist, open vaginal lips. She shivered at the contact, her muscles consciously tensing as he laid the full length of the hardened shaft into the soft, spread crevice of her ass, its throbbing head poised to leap at her snug, throbbing anus. Then, unable to take her bulging eyes from the mirror, she watched him raise to his elbows and press his hips forward, aiming the head of his hungry cock directly at the cringing mouth of her back passage.
And then she felt it, felt it pushing excruciatingly against her anus and she gaped wild-eyed into the mirror to see the brutally stiffened cock suddenly pop like a cork through her tightly resisting sphincter muscle.
"Ooooooh God, you're splitting me," she moaned out through tear streaked eyes.
"Don't worry, baby, it'll get better," Frank hissed down at the back of her wildly thrashing head.
And then, she froze as she was, and watched again the grotesquely stretched orifice give more, spreading obscenely, slipping over like a glove and absorbing the probing tip of his cock. The pain spread through her like wild-fire and she saw Frank grin victoriously at the others just before he thrust his hips heavily downward, burying half the hardened fleshy shaft into the soft velvety channel of her protesting rectum.
Her groans choked back into her throat as automatically her buttocks jerked and twisted beneath the depraved assault, but her every move only served to impale her deeper because with each jerk and twist of her tortured body, Frank's massive, turgid cock was sinking that much deeper into her desperately resisting anal passage.
"Hold her shoulders down while I lift her ass," he grunted to the others.
Carol felt their hands moving on the naked flesh of her back and shoulders and then she was being held firmly, unable to struggle as Frank lifted her firm, rounded buttocks up in' the air, his knees moving in between her thighs to push them wide apart, spreading her asscheeks farther and farther apart to allow his cock to enter deeper into her stretching rectum. She felt warm tears trickling from her eyes as the pain spread and made her stomach convulse with a sickness that rose to her throat. Once again, her eyes locked to the mirror and saw the desire-inflamed faces of the other two men as they moved closer in toward her up-raised buttocks to watch the heated rod of thick, hard flesh that was slipping deeper and deeper into the warm soft depths of her defenseless rectum ... until all of a sudden with a loud smacking noise it was sunk unbelievably to the swaying balls hanging beneath it. She had stopped struggling, realizing in a dazed panic that her only escape from the splitting agony was to lay as still as possible, for it was hopeless to resist the horrible attack of these lust-incited men whose only desires were to satisfy their carnal passions in this her initiation to real group sex. The hurt was nearly unbearable from Frank's inhuman penetration of her rectum, and if she moved but the slightest it only served to suck him deeper into her, stretching the tight resisting channel to even more painful widths.
Carol groaned aloud as again the piteous picture of Paul flickered through her tortured mind and she wondered if he too were locked in an obscene struggle of the flesh this way and what he would think if he were to walk in now and see her this way. But, her thoughts faded quickly as she could feel the enormous cock pushing solidly into her now, rubbing and expanding to a far greater width the soft skin of her back passage. She became aware of Frank's hands gripping her hips a hard numbing pressure as he fucked and sawed into the darkened depths of her ass. The pain continued on and on, and each further thrust brought mumbled groans from deep in her throat. The pillow was wet from her tears, and he rammed into her with longer smoother, strokes, worming the entire length of cock right up her rectum until she could feel his bloated balls buffeting each time down against her tight, straining cunt.
Again in the mirror, she saw Joe climb onto the bed, his cock hard and standing out like some great log fresh cut from the forest. She felt him squeeze at one breast and trace his hand down her body, pulling and kneading at her soft, white flesh until she thought he might go insane in his desire.
"Jesus, Frank flip'er over!" he half shouted at the other man who was bug-eyedly concentrating on the thin, pink ridges of anal flesh that pulled from her roundly stretched rectum each time he withdrew his thick, pulsating penis.
"Okay, baby," he smiled down at her hollowed back. "Now we're gonna start the initiation with a double fuck. Then we'll go from there."
The others leered their approval and there was no way she could protest. She had asked for it and she could only hope that Paul stayed elsewhere while these awful, obscene acts were being committed upon her body in the name of initiation. She knew she couldn't fight or scream, all the other women had gone through it and none would even so much as lift a finger to help her. Besides, it might attract Paul and there was nothing that even he could do she reasoned . . . but maybe if she just co-operated . . . there might be chance that it wouldn't hurt so much . . . that was the most important thing at this moment.
Then, as her thoughts rolled on futilely, Frank grasped her hips again and rolled over to one side, pulling her backwards on top of him, bringing another groan of pain and surprise from her lips as he lay outstretched beneath her, her smooth, hollowed back pressed down against his stomach and chest, her legs splayed out lewdly on the outside of his own, while his huge, throbbing cock lay buried to its entirety deep up into the heated depths of her asshole. She was hopelessly skewered like a roasting duckling on a spit of unyielding iron.
Joe, grinning like a lewd satyr, crawled on top of her, forcing his thighs between hers and Frank's, spreading her legs even farther apart and aiming his hard jerking cock to push it quickly into the moist, pressure stretched channel of her open pussy.
"Oooooooohhh, God!" Carol groaned piteously as it wormed up into her until she felt his heavy, sperm-filled testicles slap hard against the open cheeks of her buttocks, joining the other impaling cock, sunk deep in her ass. She whimpered helplessly, both in the throb of the pain and also in the horrid humiliation, sandwiched like a whore between these grinning men who were skewering her mercilessly on their angry, fiery cocks. She could feel it greater now as they thrust deeper into her young tender body with only the pitiful layer of their fleshy tissue between rectum and cunt, separating their hardened shafts.
The third man, Floyd watched in an almost dazed state of unconscious lust. He pulled at his own aching penis as he watched Joe begin fucking into the wildly writhing Carol's hot, moist pussy with maddened anger, while Frank's hips undulated up and down lifting them all three up off the bed, in and out of her asshole like a jackhammer with hard cruel strokes . . . the two of them finally falling into a smooth rhythmic cadence that pounded her between them like a rag doll. Man, that was something to see, he thought, they're dual fucking the little cunt like she was a foam rubber dummy.
He bent over until his face was just a few short inches from the wet, glistening cocks ramming into the girl's wide-stretched genital openings like high powered punch drills. He watched breathlessly the pink frayed edges of her pussy flesh pulling out with Joe's penis on the outstroke and disappearing lewdly back inside as he plunged again deep into her quivering little belly. The same view came to his eyes of Frank's thick hardened cock sucking and pulling down out of her, drawing the tight pink ridges of her tightly clenched asshole with it, then wetly reaming back up into her until his sperm-bloated balls were wedged hard up into the soft yielding cheeks of her buttocks. Holy Christ, he couldn't wait another second to get in the act or he would blow his cum all over the whole pile of them.
He lay on his side next to Frank's head until his hard pulsating cock was even with Paul's wife's shame contorted face.
Humiliated and debased, her head twisting from side to side back against Frank's chest while his fingers teasingly kneaded her breasts, Carol felt only a great wetness and tearing between her legs. She felt soiled and all of her being seemed to be concentrated down at those two great holes they were drilling between her thighs. Her mouth opened and closed in torment at the feeling and thought. Periodically she tried to squirm up or clench her buttocks together to contain the pain in her rectum, but then she was cognizant only of the further stretching of her vaginal passage and the greater pain that followed from Joe's hard merciless entry.
Then, as she was slowly adjusting to their dual presence down between her legs, she felt a hand entwining gently in her hair, guiding her face to one side, and then there were fingertips opening her mouth and a smooth rubbery thing teasing against her lips. She opened her eyes and saw the third man's thick hardened penis leading down to her mouth. For a moment, she tried to tighten her lips and resist him, but knew it was useless to do so. Resigned, she relaxed her lips and let him open them with his fingers and slide his cock into the moist warm saliva of her mouth. She could feel it slither up the full length of her tongue, filling her cheeks completely with its fleshy rigidity. He held her face firm with his hands and began to fuck into her mouth brutally, causing her to choke as he rammed it halfway down her throat, almost its full length disappearing between her lip-sticked lips. She struggled to breath and gasped for air on his outstroke.
Oh dear God! she moaned out in her misery as they fucked her between the three of them like some whore they had hired off the street. She was glad that Paul was with another woman and could not see them using her helpless, naked body as a thing into which they would soon gush their hot seething male semen. She felt debased and humiliated beyond all logic, and that the lustful rape of her defenseless body had been going on for an eternity.
Then suddenly as another picture of Paul, coupled with a strange woman, flickered through her half-conscious mind and the very thought of herself being brutally fucked at every bodily entrance by three men at the same time, lewdly began to excite her, causing a strange masochistic hunger to begin swirling in her belly, and from around the cock fucking into her face, a low ecstatic moan helplessly escaped. Involuntarily, her slowly awakening body began to undulate her buttocks and clench fist-like with her cuntal and anal muscles at the hard, lust driven rods of flesh pummeling into her.
She moaned and her lips tightened more hungrily around the cock fucking into her mouth, her cheeks ballooning and hollowing lewdly with Floyd's hard vicious drives, and suddenly delighting in the touching of its veins and wrinkles as her tongue lapped voraciously at the throbbing head, its tip searching hotly for the tiny split on the end. At the same time, she was aware of her buttocks moving downward against Frank's upcoming cock digging into her naked rectum, and then forward and upward to suck all of Joe's pis-toning cock into her now insatiable pussy. All sense of her husband and the lewdness of her position seemed to blank from her mind in a sudden wild flood' of ecstatic and masochistic sensation that was racing like some obscene sheet of wildfire throughout her whole being. Nothing mattered any longer but the lust-hardened cocks fucking into her every bodily opening and she rocked crazily to their demonic attack, while she sucked like a wildcat at Floyd's rising rod of flesh.
Ooooh God, she wanted it to gush out into her throat . . . dribble down her throat . . . fill her belly with as those fucking into her cunt and widely stretched anus would fill her there!
Oh God . . . she could feel Floyd's cock bloating in her mouth and tongued it madly . . . cum . . . cum . . . cum . . . trip hammered through her mind.
And he did!
It burst like a gushing hose, shooting forth thick streams of the creamy white liquid deep into her throat, her cheeks bloating and contracting and she swallowed demonically to keep from gagging on the great continuous jets spewing endlessly from it. She swallowed in voracious quick gulps, fastening her lips like a rubber ring tightly around the cumming cock, afraid of losing even a tiny single trickle of the precious male fluid. Even so, small droplets dribbled from the corners of her mouth as Floyd groaned and rolled away from her and his deflating cock slithered limply from between her still sucking mouth, thin sticky strings of the warm white semen stretching from her lips to his cock as it slowly backed away . . . but there were still the others.
"Oh God, fuck it, fuck it, pleeeezzzzzzz . . ," she grunted thickly to each continuing thrust they made into her cunt and asshole. Wild and almost crazed they became, slapping into her without mercy, yet, she fucked them back with the same wildness for every stroke they rammed into her, until all three began to moan in strange, unintelligible cries of endless sexual abandon.
"Aaaaaaaahhhhh, Oooooooohhhhh, Eeeeeehhhh . . . God, yes! I can feel both your cocks fucking into me! Split me! Hurt meeeeee! Oh God, keep fucking . . . keep fucking .... !" Carol cried out to them, egging them on now, the lewd, salacious thought of having two men fucking into her while the pungent white sperm of another still filled the recesses of her mouth suddenly driving her into an uncontrollable frenzy of lust. On and on it went. .. the rising crescendo of it.. . the hungry fingers playing like lecherous insects over her naked flesh as she was mercilessly impaled in cunt and rectum from above and below. Her mind exploded, . . . and nothing else mattered . . . Paul forgotten . . . nothing existed but the unholy sensations of lustful rapture about to burst deep inside her swirling belly.
"Fill me! Now! Oh God fill me now with your cum! Shoot it into me together!" she wailed like a lost banshee, the smooth slippery walls of her cunt and rectum contracting like a sucking baby's mouth around the cocks skewering into her.
And then, Frank began to shout obscenities and at that second Carol, her body writhing and twisting like a belly dancers between the two men, felt the hot boiling river of his sperm shoot deep up into her rectum as her own orgasm rippled over her, sending unfathomable sensations of feeling jetting through her, and she could feel every throbbing pulsation of his jerking cock as it spewed out its load of hot white cream deep, deep up into her still sucking bowels. Then, Joe grunted and rammed his cock as far up in her wildly clasping cunt as possible as she kicked her legs back as high as she could, her groans heaving from her chest, and his throbbing prick let loose and began spewing its thick white jets of scalding semen far into the depths of her trembling belly, her own sexual secretions mixing and pooling hotly with his, an almost insane convulsion of ecstasy momentarily overwhelming her . . .
And then it was all over . . .
For a long while their panting filled the air and finally Joe rolled from between her legs, his limp cock slipping from her flooded vagina like pulling the stopper from a sink. Then, Frank lifted her from him, his cock popped out with a wet sucking sound . . . and she was lying there alone. Her legs were still obscenely spread as they left her, the refreshing air of the room a cool, soothing medicant to her raped and ravished genitals.
"Man, she's a tiger," she heard one of them wearily say. "I can go for that again a little later.
"Not right now, boys," Frank's voice came through. "Rosemary's bringing that young husband of hers in to teach them "togetherness." Maybe you can try it again after that little party."
Carol was only aware of the sound of the door closing and the now familiar male odor of Frank as he crawled back over her still lewdly spread body and the blunt entrance of his penis as, again hard, it wormed like a snake into her still sperm soaked vagina.
* * *
Rosemary found Paul at the bar, downing drink after drink with the wild-eyed look of a man gone mad. This time, for reasons of her own, once again she took his glass and administered her elixir of desire.
What followed was a blur of frenzied, lusting sex for both Carol and Paul. Carol's "date" had been with Frank and the two other men, and while they were secluded in one of the bedrooms Rosemary had turned on Paul like a wildcat, pushed him down on the floor by the bar and flung herself upon him.
Paul had no conception of the passage of time, but the next thing he knew he was on a bed and it was tilting like the deck of a ship. Lying on his side, he was sandwiched tightly between warm, womanly angles and curves. He hadn't the foggiest notion of how he came to be there. He remembered sprawling on the floor with Rosemary on top of him, her flesh soft, incredibly hot, her hair spilling over his face. Then all memory faded into a mind-blowing chaos of uncontrollable lust, a savage sexual combat with a procession of faceless bodies whose passion was as devouring as his own.
The woman now stretched out before him on the bed was a stranger and she was tearing at him in various stages of loving violence, nipping at his chest with sharp little bites and running her hands hotly over his thighs. She was middle-aged and unlovely, built on flat, angular lines and with sad, sagging breasts.
That minuscule part of his brain that was still alive asked how his body, depleted from the long night of undisciplined sex, could nevertheless be so helplessly aroused to desire by this unknown female, a woman he found unappealing, even repulsive. He felt a swift yearning for the oblivion of sleep, but his raw penis was awake with a relentless energy. When he made a reluctant motion of withdrawal from the avid hands now fondling his cock to heated erection, the genital-thrusting buttocks at his back not only hemmed him in but the satin flesh wildly buffeting his backside acted to stimulate him even further.
He was dimly aware that the rocking of the bed was caused by the furious gyrations of a couple crowding the other side. The rise and fall of their labored breathing and their guttural sounds of animal passion filtered through his numbed brain. Their lewd proximity revolted yet at the same time excited him, and he verged on to-hell-with-everything surrender to the urgency of his own lusting body when a sharp exclamation seemed to explode directly in his ear.
"Ohhh! Not so hard, that hurts!"
As he heard the startled cry he felt the writhing bundle of flesh at his back stiffen .with a violent reflexive jerk of protest. It rammed full length against his prone figure, forcing the blunt head of his cock into a bony hip fronting him with such a sharp, hard thrust that the unyielding arm of rigid muscle felt like it was knifing right back through his balls with the keenness of a finely honed razor.
A wave of excruciating pain sky-rocketed through his skull at the same instant that the girl's voice registered in his brain. Although her words were roughened by passion, he recognized Carol's voice and he felt his head split wide open at the thought that his young sweet wife was getting fucked by a strange man right on the same bed with he and another woman!
CHAPTER 15
When Paul discovered that the girl behind him was Carol, that she was his own wife, sharing the same bed but being fucked by another man, he went berserk. Insane with jealous horror and maddened by the lust raging unabated within him, he turned the bed into a sea of flailing arms and legs as he rolled over and dived at them with a roar.
Carol looked at Paul with a bewildered, unseeing stare when his fingers dug savagely into her soft flesh, and her drugged body involuntarily clung to the shadowy form fucking into her loins. Paul lashed out and smacked a jarring blow on the side of her face that tore their naked bodies apart and sent her sprawling. In the split second of uncoupling them he glimpsed the inflamed lips of Carol's vagina wetly as the man's swollen prick pulled free and he let fly with a backhand blow to Carol's other cheek.
Her eyes cleared and went dark with frightened recognition as she saw Paul glaring at her with maniacal fury. With the reaction of terror she tried to ward him off, but he scooped her up and lunged unsteadily to his feet, her kicking and pummeling form locked in his arms.
Carol was a tall girl and her well-rounded proportions were far from lightweight under any conditions, and Paul had already gone through one hell of a debilitating night. But he was imbued with the demented strength of rage. He carried her struggling body, alternately pounding at him with fear and clutching at him with desire, out through the panting dimness of the living room and down the corridor to the elevator as if she were weightless. He ignored her struggles and even seemed oblivious to their nudity, striding tall and sure, his penis held to a tower-like protuberance, jutting out from between his legs, by the thrust of her breasts burning into his chest.
For as they emerged into the well-lighted public areas of the building Carol's struggles ceased abruptly. She buried her head in his shoulder and snuggled into his embrace with an instinctive flinching of shame. The beat of Paul's heart pounded against her lips through the throbbing pulse in the hollow of his throat and Carol heard the answering thunder of her own heart-beat loud in her ears. She felt a rush of desire unlike any she had ever known, a sensation that bore no resemblance to the lusting passion of the past few hours. The feeling that swept through her was so sweetly intoxicating she felt drunk with a hidden, exquisite power, a power so awesomely beautiful that it took her breath away.
This, she thought, must be like dying and going to heaven.
But soon all thoughts of heaven were routed from Carol's mind. She was jolted back to earth when Paul dumped her roughly on their own bed and dived down on top of her, his muscular strength crushing her violently into the mattress. As they flattened against him the swollen mounds of her breasts ached with the bruising pressure of his chest. She tossed her head wildly back and forth, fighting for breath and trying to avoid his searching lips. Then she gasped with shock when he seized a handful of her streaming hair and hauled down her uptilted face.
This time her lips didn't evade him. He held onto the silken strands he'd grabbed so she couldn't turn away and his mouth crashed down on hers. Her mouth was stiff and passive, refusing to respond, and his teeth cut into the taut flesh of her lower lip. She tasted the warm sweetness of blood when the brutal pressure of his hot mouth forced her lips to curl back against her teeth to allow the wild fencing of his tongue with hers.
Suppressed groans of pain bubbled in her throat as his hands seized her breasts and roughly squeezed the soft, yielding flesh. The sensitive nipples, already aroused to agonizing hardness, throbbed with an almost unendurable ache under the maddening friction of his rubbing thumbs and fingertips. Then with a sudden shift of position he lowered his head to one upturned breast. Drawing the quivering tip into the heated recesses of his mouth he bit down, hard, on the flushed nipple.
Carol screamed and went rigid beneath him. He reared back to a semi-kneeling crouch between her legs, his cock a flame-tipped rod pulsating angrily over her moist tangle of pubic hair. With horrified disbelief he stared at the maimed nipple-tip. In a circle of pale indentations made by his teeth he watched the pink flesh diffuse to a deep, ruby red, and an agonized moan escaped from his lips as he sank his face into the warm hollow between Carol's heaving breasts.
Tenderly now, his hands moved to the moist, dusky softness of her inner thighs. He felt a shudder race through the length of her body when he pushed her legs gently further apart, and he could feel her tensed muscles begin to relax.
Then suddenly Carol turned into a raging tiger with a belated reaction to the pain of his ravaging mouth. She caught Paul unawares and it wasn't until he realized she was trying to knee him in the groin that he understood what was happening. He swore, unnerved and stunned, as her hands became fists and she beat at his face, his neck, his chest, fingernails tearing at his skin.
A small but violent fist slammed into his nose as they tumbled and twisted in a tangle of thrashing arms and legs on the disheveled bed, and Paul heard an elated laugh burst from Carol's lips. He struck back with a savage swat to her squirming buttocks. Her hips surged violently, arching and twisting wildly, and her quick move trapped the inflated length of his penis in the clenched furrow of her thighs. She could feel the throbbing hardness of his cock, the taut skin cool and smooth on the hot, wet opening of her inflamed cunt, and momentarily she dropped her guard as a rapturous thrill of perverse desire raged through her body like a whirlwind.
That brief instant of surrender to sensuality was enough for Paul's superior strength to gain control. He raised up and sat astride her, grabbing for her wrists and pinioning her arms to her sides, and then he forced her legs brutally apart with a vicious thrust of his knee. The harsh, ragged sounds of their breathing filled the room, panting gasps of exertion combined with raging emotion.
Paul looked down into Carol's face and somehow, despite the ravages of alcohol and tears, the smeared makeup and bruised mouth, she was joltingly beautiful and desperately desirable. Her lips, moist and swollen, moved slightly, and her eyes blazed with the hot fury of longing. Yet he could still sense the surging resistance in every line of her trembling body. His mouth went dry and the urgency for her was a savage demon within him. It seemed like every drop of blood in his veins had flooded to the hot bursting head of his cock.
"Damn you!" He spat out the words in a hoarse whisper. "You were fucking you ass off with that prick upstairs! I'm your husband, remember? Stop holding back!"
"Oooooh.....Paul . . . please-!" Her answer was a low, begging, almost childlike whimper.
The anguish of love and yearning and lust showed in his haunted eyes as he fell upon her like some starving animal.
"Forgive me-!" he cried out from the depths of his agony against her soft parted lips.
And then Paul was too dazed for further speech, too aroused for thought, as Carol's fingers clenched fiercely around his cock. Her thighs flared apart and with feverish urgency she guided his thumping prick to the exquisite wetness of her open cunt, pressing the blood-filled tip into a hot velvet pool of bubbling lava. He plunged recklessly into the depths of the hotly raging inferno and she hurled herself against him, churning with joyous response to the hard driving thrusts of his cock. And she was roiling frantically and calling out her need, and her legs were thrashing freely in the air and her nails were blades in his back.
They caressed and clawed, lips clashing savage- ly together, bodies arching, battering and assaulting each other with a volcanic velocity. And then there was the hammering convulsion that was more wonderful than anything he could have imagined and she wrapped him in a loving death grip. He knew, as he heard the gnawing, savage noises tear from Carol's throat, that it had happened for her, too.
Throughout the night they dozed and wakened and dozed and wakened again to experiment boldly and thrillingly with each other.
In the faint light of early morning Paul awoke to find Carol shivering against him and wrapped up in a blanket although the room was warm.
"Hold me tight, Paul," she said. "I'm frightened."
"Ah, baby . . . baby . . ." He gathered her tenderly in his arms. "Don't worry, it will be alright. I love you, and we're together," he said softly. "It was all my fault and I'll try to make it d to you. I don't know what got into me since we moved here, I must have gone a little crazy-."
Carol started to cry. "I couldn't stand it if anything happened to us,! she sobbed. "Oh Paul, let's get out of here!"
Epilogue On the following Wednesday morning, when the movers arrived at apartment one-fifteen of the Forum, the first signs of Autumn were in the air. The changing of seasons in Southern California is such a nebulous illusion that they were evident to only the most discerning, those sensitive to the subtle nuances of nature who felt the different coolness in the breeze, caught the hint of curling yellow on the leaf of an occasional Liquid Amber tree, and noted the sun-worshippers were a trifle later in gathering around the pool. (They seemed to have a built-in barometer all their own.) The movers were merely grateful for the welcome drop in temperature, especially when they discovered that only a few personal articles had been removed by the apartment's former tenants, leaving everything else for them to sort and pack. Beyond a passing remark that this was a little out of the ordinary, since they were paid on ah hourly scale and work was work, the men thought little more of it.
Not so with the other tenants of that particular building.
To the members of the Swap Club the Jensen's sudden departure, their leaving without good-byes and almost furtive stealth, was a seven day wonder and the prime topic of conversation and much speculation for just about that same length of time. For within a week a new couple had moved in, a mature man, reasonably attractive, and his not quite as attractive wife. A couple hand-picked from the hand-picked waiting list by Rosemary Durfee. The club found them very adaptable, Rosemary was happy with them, and if Frank was secretly disappointed he never dared venture an opinion. At least, as far as he was concerned, the Jensen episode, along with leaving pleasant memories, had been a financial success.
For Carol was so frantic to get away from there that she persuaded Paul to forego all deposits, feeling sure that would also avoid any problems concerning their lease. Which proved to be the case. And although Paul might never admit it, not even to himself, he was equally anxious to escape. He, too, had been frightened by what had happened, perhaps even more than Carol. In order to live with himself he had no choice but to find some excuse, some justification, for his actions. But the underlying suspicion that the taste of forbidden fruit had been sweet was a devil hard to lay. Especially in light of the fact that Tom Loring was after all too smart a man to allow pleasure to interfere with business. If a little coercion, or playful intimidation was effective in that respect, fine. If not-well, better luck next time. He recognized Paul's worth to the firm, and proved that he was a good loser by living up to his own image of himself. He saw to Paul's transfer to the San Diego plant in a better position and a higher salary.
So everything worked out very well all the way around and Paul and Carol, obviously two of the Beautiful People, were extremely happy together. If she ever wondered if Paul really had to spend the night in L.A. when he was supposed to be there on business, or if he was overly concerned when Carol was late getting home from a day spent visiting her mother, their doubts were never put into words.
