"It's like a goddamn city; Cherlynn Beckert said. She was standing next to Les Evans, on the crest of the hill, like a god looking down from Mount Olympus, staring across the pale green valley as it rolled out toward the darkened horizon. She shook her head, her mood caught somewhere between dislike and awe.
It was a vivid, shimmering summer night, touched now and agar by cool, gentle breezes. Above them, the Milky Way seemed to have ruptured, spilling stars like grains of incandescent sand, until the clear midnight sky pulsed with its cold, distant light.
"What?" Les asked. His voice seemed distracted, as if he had been somewhere else, faraway, and the urgency of her voice had brought him back unexpectedly, before he was ready to return. There was the stub of a cigarette between his lips, and he sucked on it, filling his lungs with a harsh, bitter smoke. He dropped the cigarette into the grass and stepped on it. Exhaling, he said: "I'm sorry. I didn't hear what you said I was -- thinking."
Cherlynn did not turn or look at him. She continued, instead, to stare out across the valley. Her eyes were large and dark, and the reflection of the stars glinted dully in them. "It looks like a city," she repeated. "Like a goddamn city, all to itself."
As far as her eyes probed through the night, in any direction, she could see nothing but the rich, fertile acres of Mount Shangri-la Lodge, the world-famous vacation resort in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. Miles of rolling hills and valleys, a carpet of neatly trimmed, rippling grass, swaying trees and dense clusters of woods that stood starkly against the night evoked, for some strange reason, her childhood images of the Promised Land.
She could see the artificially-created lake in the distance. The broken light from the stars was dancing upon its surface like fragmented pieces of silver. Beyond the lake was the lush blanket green expanse which marked one of the two eighteen hole golf courses. It was dark and empty, colored with liquid shadows. To the left of the lake, Cherlynn could see the stables with their winding riding paths of crushed cinders, and just a little further on, she could see the pastel-blue supports of the ski lift. They reminded her of sterile steel flowers growing toward the warmless light of the stars. At the foot of the hill, sitting fat and contentedly, was the glass and steel and poured concrete free-form shell of the Recreation Hall. It glowed like a jewel upon the grassy breast of the hill, with soft yellow fog spilling from its translucent windows. Even at this distance, she could hear an occasional spasm of music as it caught upon the hook of the wind, and whispered into her ears.
"It is a city, I guess," Les answered. Cherlynn had her back to him, and he used his eyes to fondle the sensual curves of her ass cheeks. Her dress rippled darkly. "You could live here, I guess. If you had enough money."
The wind rustled her thick, coal black hair, and Cherlynn leaned toward it, using its undulating fingers to fan away the heat of the night. Sweat was causing her expensive, chiffon gauzy Correal original to slick to her back, and. she shrugged her shoulders in an attempt to dislodge it. The coils of gold chain around her neck and the golden bracelets she wore on her wrists clinked mutely, like the sound of coins dropping into a bank.
"It's got theaters, its own highway of roads, even people." Les waited a moment for her to pick up on his previous observations. When he saw that she wasn't going to, he went on instead, barely listening to the words himself: "People. Don't forget people. Christ, what have we got here? Two, three thousand people? Hell, that's more people than a lot of cities. More than say --"
Cherlynn turned abruptly. "It didn't used to be like this," she said.
She looked at Les for a moment, her eyes glowing, and then she looked beyond him, at the endless panorama stretched out behind her. The horizon was a lazy series of hills and valleys covered with wind-responding blades of grass. More cluttered than the previous perspective, she could see ugly clumps of buildings like scars upon the hills. There was the main building with its arc-like turn-around leading up to and away from its open wide doors. She could see into the lighted lobby littered with late night wanderers looking for something to do. A huge hanging chandelier of crystal and cut glass exploded its harsh jewel faceted light, and hung suspended above them like a muted symbol. Flung out, like despairing arms, on either side of the main building were the two separate sleeping quarters: Row after row of uniform rooms into which the resort's guests were stuffed. The one on the right: the more expensive rooms; larger rooms, with sunken baths, and color television, and stereophonic music, and plush rich draperies, and marble statues on the lawn. The one on the left: the less expensive rooms; smaller rooms of a functional design, with clean modern lines and picture window walls and an economical sterility of cheap, plastic modern.
"None of this --" she said, sweeping her arm in a grand, encompassing arc, "-- was here. It was all empty and natural. Real."
Les looked at her. The material of her dress was pulled tightly across her breasts, making them firm and high and hard-looking. With his hungry eyes he judged their weight and shape, his mouth becoming dry, and the familiar, aching stir throbbing in his groin.
"You've been here before? he asked He stepped toward her, his eyes rolling up and down, from her face to the tips of her straining breasts. "You've been to Mount Shangri-la before this weekend?"
"I've been here many times," she said, her voice a whisper for some reason. Her eyes didn't move for an instant from the shadowy horizon, and Les sensed almost that she was seeing something quite different from what he saw. "When I was a little girl. My parents brought me here with them. We were on our first vacation." She laughed privately at some unspoken memory. "I was seven, I think. It was more than twenty years ago "
"I guess it's changed a lot," Les said, trying to feel her out, looking for the key that would open her up. He'd been with her almost an hour now, and he still wasn't sure which way she might go. He said: "Changed over the years, I mean."
"Changed?" She repeated the word as if it were strange to her, as she were feeling its texture with her tongue, trying to savor its meaning. "No, not really changed. Nothing can change this much It's as if it were completely new. As if this-the present had nothing at all to do with the past."
Les stepped closer to her, until he could feel the warmth of her thigh through the material of his gray slacks. He pressed his body cautiously against her side, sliding up a secret arm until his fingers had wound themselves around her waist. He held her firmly against him, leaning his head forward, staring down the length of her outstretched arm, as if looking at what she could only see.
"How has it changed?"
Cherlynn laughed again, shaking her head from side to side with just the barest movement. Her eyes inched up, toward the rounded, time-weary mountain in the distance. It was bare and scarred, dotted here and there with houses and lights. And, up near the very peak, where it met the sky, she could see the dense, impenetrable thickness of trees and woods. Raw, untouched nature. A forest.
"It was all like that," she said, indicating the faraway point of the mountain. "Trees all over, almost right up to the property line, as if the resort had been a part of it, cut right out of the woods. And there were deer, too, I remember. You could see them sometimes."
"I'm sure there must still be plenty of them up there now." Les stretched his fingers carefully, gathering up the soft, yielding warmth of her belly flesh under the dress. He inched his hand up, moving skillfully toward the swollen mound of her breast, halting just the proper distance from it to implant the idea, if it wasn't already in her thoughts.
"None of this was here," she continued, ostensibly oblivious to his advances. "None of these buildings, nor that ugly, phony-looking lake. There was an archery field over there, and a swimming pool that always used to be covered with leaves. You had to rake it clean before you could use it:"
Les shivered for effect, using the movement to slide his hand a little further up her pliant belly, his extended thumb rubbing per the stiff ridges at the base of her bra. He could almost feel the heavy, pressing weight of her magnificent tit, balanced on the point of his thumb.
"It's getting a little chilly, isn't it?" he asked. "Why don't we go back to my room? We could have a nightcap or something."
"And right over there," Cherylnn went on, pointing her finger at the three-story high glass and steel ultramodern main building, "was Mount Shangri-la Lodge. But it was really a lodge. A small lodge-type building made of wood, nothing, nothing at all like that. They still call this place a Lodge, but the lodge is gone."
"It must have grown considerably," Les commented, wondering how it would feel to shove his cock all the way up into her cunt. Would she be hot? Wet? Christ.
"And the owner came from New York. He was a very friendly man, and they lived right in the lodge, along with the guests. He came out here because of his wife. She had asthma or something, and they couldn't live in the city. They were very nice, but I can't remember their name."
Les touched her breast with the point of his finger. He sucked in his breath nervously, and held it. She didn't say anything. He tested it, thrusting the finger up against the restrained softness. He had to consciously fight back the easy temptation to cup her breast in the center of his hand. Too soon, he cautioned himself. Too soon.
"She died," Cherlynn explained. She jerked her hand down, pointing her finger almost directly in front of them. There, in the middle of the hill, was a mansion. It jutted boldly out off the face of the hill, held up by stilts, balanced what seemed to be very precariously. Pale sagging light spilled from many of its windows. It reminded her of a castle. She said: "But he's still alive. He must be in his eighties. He lives over there, in that -- palace, like the lord of the manor. A feudal fief. Like a king, looking out over his own private kingdom.
"He must have made a fortune," Les commented, his businessman instincts rising up and over-riding his sexual impulses, for the moment. "The land alone must be worth millions."
"There used to be cottages there," Cherlynn explained. "Honeymoon ages. But it's all -- gone now. And all that's left is this -- factory. This goddamn resort factory. This impersonal, money grubbing pleasure, palace, where they charge you a buck and a half for a bucket of ice cubes." She shook her head again, pushing memories away. "Christ. Jesus Christ."
"Well," Les observed, shrugging philosophically, his index finger joining his thumb as they rubbed back and forth across her breast, "that's what happens. Things change. Everything changes. It gets bigger, better."
Cherlynn stepped out of his fondling grip. As she moved away from him, Les managed to slide his hand down her firm body, feeling as much of her flesh through her dress as he could. His grip broke off at the top of her thighs, right where the vee of her cunt was joined. She turned and faced him, studying his face for a moment.
"Thomas Wolfe was right."
"Huh?"
"You can't go home again."
Les didn't understand. He wiped his sweaty palm furtively on his gray slacks. "I guess so," he answered, pretending to agree.
At least he's handsome, Cherlynn thought.
He was tall and thin, with dark brown hair which couldn't deride whether to be worn long or short. It was a bastardized in-between, combed neatly, parted with a ruler, hanging straight down over his collar, and swept behind his ears so that they stuck almost obscenely out. Cherlynn guessed that he was about her age, which put him close to thirty. Perhaps he was a year or two older. Les was good looking, in her estimation, even if it were in a plain, uninspired way. He had a moderate-sized straight nose, dimpled cheeks, soft brown eyes, long fluttering feminine eyelashes, and a quick, easy smile so obviously phony it seemed to be held in place with tape. His clothing was expensive and well tailored, and, most importantly, he wore no wedding ring.
Cherlynn had met him in the Recreation Hall, where the traditional weekend dance was tenaciously hanging on judging from the fitful music leaking softly into the night air. She had been sitting alone, successfully warding off countless numbers of advances from lonely unattached men, while she bided her time and waited for the right man to come along. When he didn't seem to be coming (he never had, after all: not ever), Cherlynn, out of a panicked paranoia, decided to settle for the very next one, regardless of who he was. or what he looked like. If she didn't, she reasoned, there might not be a next-, one. There was, of course, and he was Les Evans.
Cherlynn had allowed him to pick her up, although he would have never suspected that the choice -had been hers and not his to make. They played word games for a while, then Les brought her a drink, explaining that he was a businessman on vacation, resting. They danced a couple of slow dances, and she, like all women, had to endure the grinding thrusts of his erect cock every time he tried to hump it between her moving thighs. She allowed him some freedom, enough to build his confidence, and before he became too carried away with his success, Cherlynn asked him whether he wanted to leave the dance. Thinking, of course, that it was art invitation to her bed, Les readily agreed. He was audibly disappointed when she told him that she . wanted to take a walk Now he would have to start all over again.
"Feel like having another drink?" he asked, trying to start all over again.
She watched his face carefully. "Another drink? Sure, why not."
His face went to pieces with anticipation. "I have -- ah -- some wine in my -- ah -- room. Or we could send for --"
"Why don't we go to my room?" Cherlynn suggested. "We can send for anything we want from there as well as we can from your room."
Les looked stunned. "Sure. Fine."
Cherlynn began walking slowly down the hill, her head down, studying the shadows which lay like puddles at her feet. The grass felt ticklish and cool flitting against her ankles. The chiffon crispness of her dress swished softly in the blanket stillness. Les moved quickly up next to her and took her hand, afraid he was going to be left behind
"This is a lovely night, isn't it?" Les said, shielding his eyes as he fried to stare through the glare of light oozing from the Lodge's main building. He was looking for the stars.
"Shhhh," Cherlynn said.
"What?"
"I said be quiet. Don't talk. I don't feel like talking or listening. I feel like thinking."
"Oh. Okay."
They walked on in silence, Les holding fiercely onto Cherlynn's hand, sweating into her palm. His thoughts were wild and sexual, filled with erotic promise and untold possible pleasures. Pride colored his thinking, and he had patted himself on the back so frequently, he was almost tripping over his inflated ego. He walked with a bounce to his step, and a confident, sophisticated, super-cool throbbing in his impatiently erect cock. Cherlynn's thoughts, however, were quite different..
Why did I come back here? she asked herself. Why did I come back to Shangri-la after all these years?
Her shoes were new and expensive and they ached desperately to be pulled off to release her crushed, bloodless toes. The rings on her fingers clinked dully together, keeping a disrhythmic tempo to mark off time. The sound was a jangling counterpoint to the chime-like jingling of her necklace and bracelets.
I must me a masochist to have come back here, she told herself. This place of all places. I could have gone to Puerto Rico for the weekend, or St. Thomas, or the Bahamas. Christ I could have even gone to visit my sister Cecile and her idiot husband on, the Island if I just wanted to get away. But no, I had to come back here, come back to the worst possible place. I had to come home to Mount Shangri-la Lodge.
The slope of the hill became more steep as they neared the base, and their pace increased commensurately. The clinking-jingle-jangle-swish of Cherlynn accelerated until it sounded like a hollow parody against the night. The wind carried laughter to them, and the sound of voices. The music was lively and danceable, but neither felt like dancing.
Cherlynn was an attractive woman, despite what she thought of herself. She saw herself as being fat, dull, and stupid. She was, of course, none of these things, although would never convince .herself of that fact. She was almost thirty years old, and she was unmarried. That single fact alone was all the reinforcement she needed to maintain negative opinions of herself. Her large brown eyes, her soft, vulnerable mouth, the thick rich waves of her ebon black hair could never convince her that she was not plain or homely looking. Her breasts were large and heavy; her waist trim until it flared out into substantial hips, thighs and ass, but Cherlynn was convinced she was fat. She wore her prejudices almost defiantly, as if she were trying to punish the world for not being able to talk her out of them.
It didn't matter that she had an advanced degree in American Literature, or that she was well on her way toward her doctorate. It didn't matter that she was teaching college at one of the most prestigious Universities in the nation, and that she only needed one more summer in order to have tenure. It didn't matter that she was respected in her field, and had published some of the definitive studies on modern American poetry. None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered to Cherlynn Beckert was that she was almost thirty years old, and she wasn't married.
Christ, she thought. When was the last time I was here? Ten years -ago? God, closer to-fifteen. Half my life, almost. The last time I was here, I came with my parents the summer I graduated from High school We'd come every summer up -to that one from the time I was a little girl. It never seemed to have changed much during those years. I was still a virgin then, and perhaps that was why nothing seemed to change: because I hadn't changed. I lost my virginity the following spring, my first year at college. Maybe that's why I haven't come back to Shangri-la. until now.
The hill tapered off and dropped them onto a slow winding concrete path that reminded Cherlynn of the gray, trampled tongue of the building toward which they were walking. It was the building to the right of the hill, where the expensive zooms were. The building in which Cherlynns room was located.
"What would you like me to order from Room Service?" Les asked. His tongue was moving nervously across his top lip. "I mean, what would you like to drink?"
Cherlynn stopped and looked directly at Les. She shook her head and sighed. "Christ, she said. "You've got to be kidding."
Les began to respond, then stopped, finally to understand. It confused him because he didn't know how to deal with it. He stood thinking for a moment, then stopped and had to hurry and catch up- with Cherlynn as she walked away from him.
My parents' favorite place, Cherlynn thought, allowing Les to entangle his fingers between hers. Maybe that's the answer. After living at home with them all these years, like some embarrassing maiden aunt, as their ugly, unmarried liability, the living evidence of their failure, perhaps I've begun to think like them. Maybe I wanted to punish them, or myself, by reminding the both of us of just how much time has passed us by. I knew Shangri-la had to have changed; I knew it had to have changed drastically. But I came here anyhow, perhaps just to have one more miserable weekend.
Go! my mother urged, she thought. Maybe you'll It meet someone! Sure, just like I've met someone all those other times, all those other weekends. Well, Mom, I met someone. I found myself. I'm the skeleton in my own closet; I'm the ghost who's haunting my past.
Another couple passed them on the walk, and Cherlynn avoided looking at them. They were laughing giddily together, holding hands like school-time lovers. At the sight of them, Lee shrunk back into the shadows, rubbing his forehead with his hand, hiding his face from them.
Cherlynn thought: I know why I came back to Shangri-la, why I really came back I came out of boredom, out of desperation; I came with the vague idea that perhaps I might find myself a husband. I came back because I didn't know where else to go.
Her room was number 169, and it was on the ground floor of the five story building. Standing in front of the door, Lee trembling nervously beside her, his dark eyes darting up and down the walk, Cherlynn searched through her gold-lame purse until she found the room key. Sweeping it from her hand in quixotic gallantry, Les inserted the key into the lock, opened the door, and escorted Cherlynn into her own room.
"Say, this is nice," he said. He shut the door quietly behind him, his eyes growing wide with a momentary sense of wonder. Her key remained in his hand, and he twirled it jerkily around on his finger. "This room is really something."
"Isn't your room similar?" she asked.
"No. I'm in the other building."
She laughed bitterly, cynically. I might have known.
The room was large and rectangularly shaped, perhaps forty feet long and twenty feet wide. The ceiling was tiled with row after row of acoustical paneling. Still, it hadn't prevented Cherlynn from listening nightly to the groaning and squeaking of the bed in the room directly above her. There was a red shag rug on the floor, stretched plushly from wall to wall, and there was a narrow living room area to the left of the door as they entered the room. It consisted of two chairs, a round table on x-crossed legs, and a color television equipped with stereophonic sound. Further into the room there was a huge, king-sized mattress with a red leather headboard that had Shangri-la emblazoned across it in gold lettering. A triple dresser faced the bed, and its wide, low attached mirror was directly parallel to the middle of the mattress. The room was neat and orderly, and, in comparison to the summer night they had left behind them, considerably cooler. The hum of the air-conditioner was like a buzzing, mechanical music in the background. Sprawled across the bed, totally out of place in either the neatness of the room, or in the fierceness of the season, was a full-length mink coat.
"Is that your coat?" Les asked, needing to say something to alleviate the electric-like tension that was, filling the room.
Cherlynn stared numbly at the coat. "No, it's not. It belongs to my mother."
"Is she here with you?"
"No, I'm here alone."
"Then why did you bring the coat?"
Cherlynn shrugged helplessly. "Who knows. Maybe I thought I was going to need it."
"In the middle of the summer?"
"Ali, Christ!" Cherlynn pleaded, sitting on the edge of the mattress, her expensive Correal original riding up, exposing her well-formed, slightly parted thighs. Her rings clicked nervously together, and the slender gold bands made a tinkling music as she shifted around. "Listen: are you going to fuck me or not?"
Less eyes widened, and he dropped the door key on the floor. "What?" he asked incredulously.
"That's why you're here, isn't it?" she asked, bitterly trying to decide who she hated more: her parents, Les Evans or herself. "You are going to fuck me, aren't you?"
Les mumbled something.
"Well, get on with it, for Christ's sake. Time isn't going to stand still and wait for us."
Numbly, Les walked toward her. He was confused, and again he didn't know how to handle her. It was like a dream, a wild; erotic fantasy, unlike anything that had ever happened to him in his life. He was about to reach out and touch her, when Cherlynn put her hand between his thighs, and began to fondle his erect cock.
"Jesus!" he gasped, his hands dropping heavily to his sides. He stood there insensibly, his feet rooted to the red shag rug. "Jesus!" he repeated. "Jesus!"
"At least you're big," she said softly, looking for some kind of consolation. She ran her hand up and down, from the base of his belly, to the swollen thickness of his cockhead. The shaft was outlined through his fashionable gray slacks, her slender, rose-tipped fingers circling his erection. She said: "Come and fuck me with it. Come and fuck me."
Les bent over and kissed her. He kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue stiffening as it slid between her lips and pressed into her warmth. He could feel her tongue lashing at his, striking him savagely, making him bleed with her saliva. He placed both hands on her breasts, kneading them in and out while her obviously expert fingers masturbated him savagely.
Cherlynn broke the kiss off. "Fuck me!" she told him. "Don't make romantic love to me. I want to be fucked. I want to be fucked hard and deep!"
Something snapped in Les's brain, and he fell heavily upon her, his fingers pulling at her clothing. He pulled her skirt up and tugged on her pantyhose, inching it down to the middle of her widely-spread thighs. His mouth chewed into her breast, licking at her through her bra and the gauzy material of her dress, leaving a stain of saliva like a wet, misshapen symbol. He grasped the elastic of her panties, and pulled on them frantically, trying to slide them over her gyrating, rolling hips.
"Rip them off!" she cried, opening his zipper and sliding his hard, erect cock out. Her fingers snaked up and down the pulsating pink shaft, jerking him toward her cunt. "Rip them all off ... all of my clothed! Shred them! Tear them to pieces! I've got plenty ... plenty!"
Les responded with raw, primitive, impassioned sexuality, matching in intensity what Cherlynn's passion offered in total abandonment. He gathered his clothing in his fists, twisting it between his gnarled, impatient fingers, and he ripped at it, he tore at it, he pulled at it, he yanked at it until every thread of fiber was gone, and she was stark naked. All that remained on her body was her cold gold bracelets, the coiled gold links of her necklace, and her diamond, ruby, and emerald rings on her fingers.
"Fuck me!" she gasped, lifting her wet, gushing cunt, screwing it down around Less driving cock. "Fuck me hard! Fuck me deep! Fuck me --"
His cock went in, all the way in, until he was fucking her deep and hard. He could feel the moist, clinging walls of her passageway grinding itself around the throbbing thickness of his cock, rippling up and down like sensuous, responding fingers. He could hear himself entering and withdrawing from; her body, her cunt making a wet, squishing noise as he. lifted her thighs and wrapped them around his driving middle. He fucked her in and out, in and out, fucking her until she came, fucking her until he came.
"I'm coming!" she cried, tightening her pussy around the ball of pleasure that was spinning madly between her thighs. The pleasure was prickled and full of thorns, and each time she squeezed herself around it, she came again, more powerfully, more shatteringly. "I'm coming! ... I'm coming! ... I'm com --"
Les grunted. He began to come. He could feel his sperm pumping into Cherlynn's moist, twenty-nine year old cunt, filling its quivering passageway until the thick, hot goo seeped between the fluttering black-haired lips, and left a damp, irregular stain across the huge, king-sized mattress.
Cherlynn's moan turned into a sob as she shuddered to master, the intensity of her orgasm. Inside of her she could feel Less cock as it shriveled into nothing. The sperm became cold and slimy.
Are you satisfied? Cherlynn demanded, thinking of no one in particular, thinking of someone very much in particular. Are you satisfied? Are you? Are you? Are you?
Chapter 2
The door to their room opened with a loud bang, and, laughing and giggling drunkenly, Christina and Michael Williams staggered into their room at Mount Shangri-la Lodge. Behind them, equally giddy, followed Lou and Eileen Graham, their closest and oldest friends.
"Sshhh!" Christina said, raising a crooked finger and holding it against her lips. "You'll wake the children. It's late."
"Children?" Michael asked. He turned around and gave his wife a searching look. "The children are home, darling. You do remember that, don't you? I mean, you're not that far gone, are you?"
"Home? Aren't we home? Oh, yeah!" Muddled awareness rearranged her delicate features, and Christ began to giggle. "I forgot! We don't have any children for the weekend. I don't have to be a mother tonight. That's wonderful."
Michael cocked his finger at his blonde-haired wife. "Only a wife tonight," he reminded her, implying something distinctly sexual in the term. "All you have to be tonight, darling, is a wife."
They began to giggle together, in that almost mindless form of drunken communication that needs no words to express the most complicated thoughts or emotions. They came together, staggering with laughter, holding onto each other to keep from falling on the floor.
"Hey, come on you two," Lou Graham said, only slightly less inebriated. He pushed the doubled-over couple into the room with both hands. "Let someone else get in."
Trying to control himself, Michael tried to explain to his best friend. "Do you know what Chris said?"
Eileen Graham, the least drank member of the group, quickly closed the door to the room, locking it with a decided snap of her wrist. -She was cold stone sober, to be exact, but for now it would pay to play their game. She had some very definite ideas in mind, and she wasn't about to do anything that would interfere with their fruition.
"Come on, people, she said, herding them toward the carefully made king-sized bed in the center of the room. "For God's sake be quiet. Do you have any idea what time it is? It must be after one."
Chris tried to explain to her girl friend. "But we don't have any children this weekend. My mother has them. We're all alone, just the four of us."
Eileen placated her. "Sure, we're alone, but the people around us aren't. They're trying to sleep. We're going to get thrown out if we're not careful."
Michael stiffened his spine and thrust his chest forward as he tried to control his tongue. His roughly handsome face mirrored his struggle.
"They are not sleeping," he said, slurring his words. "They are fucking. That's what everybody does when they go. away for a vacation. They fuck."
A tension gripped Eileen's stomach, and she had to consciously control her impulse to grind her trembling thighs together. Her cunt was sopping wet. It had been for the past hour and a half, and her dripping panties were glued to her crotch like a second skin.
"Well, let them fuck," she said, emphasizing the last word, coloring it with as much raw sexuality and raunchiness as she knew how. "But we should let them fuck in peace."
Her mouth was open slightly, and she was breathing shallowly through her parted lips. Michael was staring directly at her face, and something electric passed between them. His dark eyes blazed with a long smoldering passion; his tousled black hair hanging in sweaty ringlets across his forehead. Slowly, sensually, Eileen ran her pink tongue around the rim of her glistening mouth. Her cunt throbbed in anticipation. She trembled inwardly.
Their eyes were locked upon each other while their partners amused themselves for a moment. Chris staggered over to the bed and plopped unfemininely down on the edge of the mattress. Her thighs were parted, and the hem of her short, print dress rode up over them, exposing considerable flashes of her warm pink flesh. Lou, equally exhausted, dropped into one of the chairs to the right of the bed, his head thrown back, his legs sprawled out in front of him.
"You know what I feel like doing?" Lou said, rolling his head from side to side across the back of the chair. He suddenly jumped up in a disjointed, uncoordinated enthusiasm. He snapped on the radio, searching for some music. "I feel like dancing."
"You still feel like dancing?" Chris asked, leaning back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows. Her skirt pulled higher, exposing more of her thighs, and the pale pastel color of her panties through her pantyhose. "After all the dancing we did at the party in the Recreation Hall? Jesus, what kind of vitamins are you giving him, Eileen? Tell me so I can give them to Michael."
Eileen's eyes didn't move for an instant from Michael's face. "Lou doesn't need vitamins," she said, answering her friend, but communicating with her friend's husband. "Once he gets started, he s full of energy."
"That's right, baby," Lou said, dancing over to his wife. He was into his dancing and was completely unaware of what was going on between his wife and his best friend. He tapped Eileen on the shoulder, causing her to break contact with Michael's eyes for the first time. "Come on, baby. I feel like dancing."
Eileen smiled at her husband "Oh, not now, darling. Pin so tired. I'm exhausted." The smile became wry and mask like, although Lou was totally unaware of the subtle alteration. "Why don't you dance with Chris?" she suggested. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind."
Her husband nodded okay, and danced across the room toward Michael's wife. Chris's close-cropped blonde hair was hanging down behind her, almost touching the bed as she rocked her head from side to side. Her thighs were widely parted, and Eileen could see all the way up her skirt. She hoped her husband would not miss the view.
"Hey, come on, let's dance," Lou said. He tapped her on the knee until Chris looked up at him. "Come on, Chrissie. I feel like dancing."
"Me?" Chris squealed. "Why don't you dance with your wife?"
"Ah, she's too tired," Lou explained. He tugged on her hand, trying to pull her erect. Chris resisted him limply. "She's getting old."
"But I'm tired --"
"Come on, Chris," Eileen quickly cut in. 'Dance with my husband. He's looking forward to dancing with you. He told me you dance very well."
That pleased Chris, and she sat up. "He did?" she squeaked. Her bird-like features composed themselves into a sloppy smile. She stuck her tongue out at her husband Michael who had his back to her. Michael was still staring at Eileen. "Well, at least somebody appreciates my dancing."
The drunken couple staggered against each other, trying to find coordination enough to move their limbs in time with the driving energy of the hard rock. Their movements were loose and fluid, as if all the alcohol inside of them were swishing and sliding and responding to the. pull and tug of the music much in the same way the tide responds to the influence of the moon. Chris danced with her eyes closed, her small, pert breasts bobbing and bouncing under the print design of her dress. Lou was into the music, sweat streaking his pock-marked face, his head, rocking from side to side, the only portion of his anatomy in sympathetic rhythm.
Eileen walked casually across the room and turned the dial on the music. She switched stations until she found a slow, grinding ballad kind of music.
"Hey, what did you change it for?" Lou demanded. He half turned, one shoulder down, one shoulder up, his spine twisted, and his legs sprawled in mid-stride. "I was just getting into the sound."
"It's late, darling," Eileen explained reasonably. "And people are sleeping. If someone complains, we might not be able to dance at all."
Lou considered, her answer.
She smiled at her husband. "Oh, go on and dance, Lou. Music is music. And hung up before Chris falls down."
Lou nodded in agreement, and turned again toward Chris. Her eyes were still closed, and she was swaying from side to side, feeling the sensuality of the slower, lilting tempo. He stepped toward her and pulled her to him. He fitted his body against hers, wrapping his arms around her back. Without losing a step, Chris fell in against him, her arms sliding up Lou's back, pressing her flushed cheek against his chest. They began to dance.
Eileen looked at her husband's crotch. It was a fraction of an inch away from the rounded vee-like curve of Chris's cunt. Sooner or later, Eileen knew her husband would have a pardon, and it would be pressed between Chris's thighs. It was exactly what she wanted.
"I gotta take a piss," Michael said. He watched the dancing couple, and nodded in agreement. He walked past them and headed toward the bathroom. "I won't be long."
When she heard the bathroom door close, Eileen wandered across the room, carefully avoiding the dancing partners, and she took a place on the edge of the mattress. She sat for a moment trying to compose, her thoughts, wondering how she was going to handle the next few steps. A smile spread across her face when she saw that Lou indeed did have a pardon, and he was dancing it against the edge of Chris's cunt. Judging from the tensed ripples of her asscheeks as she pressed forward, Chris was equally aware of its presence.
Michael timed his reappearance perfectly. Just as the song was ending, the bathroom door opened. He had a half empty bottle of vodka in his hand. His jacket was gone and so was his tie. His shirt was opened to the middle of his chest and dense, black curling hairs were visible. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing his muscular forearms. He snapped the radio off.
"Say, why don't we have a drink?" he suggested. He held the bottle up. "A celebration of our first vacation together after all these years."
The mood was one of general agreement, and Lou and Chris parted. Michael walked toward the bed, kicking off his shoes. He climbed into the middle of the mattress, sitting diagonally across from Eileen who had turned around to face him.
"Come on, everyone," he said, unscrewing the bottle. "Everybody get settled on the bed, and we'll have a toast." He helped his wife onto the bed, holding her up as she giggled and stumbled into the center of the mattress. Lou sat on the edge, one leg up, sitting across from his wife.
"Oh, you didn't get glasses," Chris noticed. Her pale blue eyes were shot completely through with blood.
Michael shrugged, flipping his hand out. "The hell with the glasses," he exclaimed. "We'll rough it, drink fright from the bottle."
Chris seemed wary. "Do you think we should? I mean, straight vodka?"
Eileen quickly supported the idea. "Oh, come on, silly. This is what we went away for. To get away from the kids and the responsibilities. To be able to do things like this; to be able to get so goddamn drunk we don't even know what we're doing."
Chris still seemed uncertain. "I don't know. ..:"
Without another word, Eileen pulled the bottle from Michael's hand, and she tipped it against her mouth. She closed her eyes, and the, clear, potent liquid spilled into her mouth. Her throat swallowed, and she shuddered convulsively. Her eyes were watery when she put the bottle down. She exhaled fire.
"Here," she said, her voice hoarse. She handed the bottle to her husband Lou who was sitting across from her. "Your turn."
Lou accepted the bottle without too much enthusiasm. Eileen knew her husband wasn't too much of a drinker, and that he rarely drank anything straight with the exception of a little Scotch once in a while. She also knew she could get him to do just about anything if she made it seem it was what the group wanted from him.
"Don't be a party-pooper!" she chided. She poked her husband in his soft, relaxed paunch. "After all these years of having to watch everything we do, everything we say, I think you'd be glad to act a little crazy for one night. Drink up so everyone,' can have a turn."
Michael caught on quickly. "Yeah, come on, Lou! I want my turn, and so does Chris. Drink it, fellow!"
"Sure!" Lou said expansively. He plucked the bottle away from his wife's outstretched hand, and- he put it up to his mouth. "Why the hell not!" He took a strong, deep sip, and grimaced as it went down.
Michael took the bottle from him. He gave it to Chris. "Your turn, honey. And remember: no kids!"
Giggling gleefully, Chris accepted the bottle. She took a big swig, and the colorless liquid trickled down her chin and stained her party dress. She coughed and shook her head, and handed the bottle to her husband. "Wow," she said breathlessly. "Wow!"
Michael took his drink, then passed the bottle to Eileen, and the circle began again. There was just enough vodka left in the bottle for two more complete revolutions. By that time they were all so drunk they hardly knew what they were doing. They were laughing and shouting, slapping each other drunkenly on the back, falling all over each other. They were call sitting squarely on the bed now, facing each other, their legs crossed Indian-fashion. Lew had joined Michael in removing his tie and jacket. Chris was sitting back, her legs folded under her, her skirt pulled up so that her ass was hanging out from under the hem.
Chris seemed the drunkest of all. "Hey, we should play a game or something. Cards or something. Does anyone have any cards?"
Lou smiled brokenly, his eyes moving up and down, out of focus. "Yeah, let's play cards. Let's play strip-poker!"
Everyone giggled suggestively, each intrigued with the idea. Their defenses and inhibitions were far enough down for them to be able to react to the suggestion with an honest openness. They had been friends for years, even before they were married. Often they'd talked about the possibility of swapping, but it had never developed any further than that: just talk. But tonight was different, and they were all very much aware of that. They were alone without their children, more than a hundred miles away from home, in, another state, with no one around who knew them, and with none of the responsibilities of married life weighing too heavily upon their thoughts or their consciences.
"Hey, wait! I have a better idea," Michael said, waving the empty vodka bottle around. "Lefts play -- Spin-the-Bottle!"
Eileen's stomach quivered, and she rubbed her sweaty palm on her knee. Her curt was on fire, and it ached tube caressed. Her fingers itched to fondle it.
"That's a good idea," she said, struggling to control the trembling of her hands. "I'm game."
"Spin-the-Bottle?" Chris whined. She screwed her face up into a grimace of distaste. "That's a kid's game!"
"Not the way we're going to play id" Michael exclaimed, the vodka robbing caution from his brain.
Eileen quickly looked at her husband who seemed to be teetering back and forth, from left to right, somewhere between acceptance and rejection of the suggestion. She said: "You want to play, don't you, darling? Everyone else does."
Lou blinked his eyes. "They ... do?"
"Of course," Eileen confirmed. Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed heavily. "Don't they, Michael?"
"Sure we do," Michael explained to his friend. "Of course, if you're jealous ... If you can't handle the idea?"
"Me?" Lou exclaimed. "Don't be silly. Of course I'm for it. I think it's a great idea. Just great."
So it was settled, just as Eileen had hoped and Michael had planned. The game began.
Michael spun. "Now, here s how we play. You spin the bottle, and whomever it points to; you gotta kiss that person." He held up his hand. "Now, wait a minute. That don't mean I'm going to kiss Lou, cause I'm not You only kiss a person of the opposite sex. Like if the bottle points to my wife, or to ... Eileen."
Chris giggled. "That's good, because I dolt want to kiss Eileen. No offense intended, but if I've got to kiss anyone, I think I'd rather kiss Lou."
The four giggled nervously to relieve their mounting tension. Four pairs of eyes watched the spinning bottle in the middle of the bed. Perversely it stopped, pointing directly at Lou. The men laughed, and the women teased them. Michael spun again. He got Chris, his wife.
Michael leaned over and kissed his wife. Chris was responsive, and she closed her eyes immediately, pressing her lips hard against her husband's mouth. The wet, slapping sounds of their tongue filled the silent room, and soft, barely audible moans escaped from Chris's lips. just as Michael's hand began to slide down from her shoulder, toward the trembling hill of her breast, Chris broke the kiss off.
"Wow," she said, shaking her head. "And I called this a kid's game? Who's turn is it?"
"Yours, darling," Michael said. He shifted awkwardly on the mattress, dropping his hands against his lap to either side or draw attention to his throbbing hardon. "You spin now."
Chris spun. She got Lou.
She laughed nervously. ."Now what do I do?"
"You gotta kiss me," Lou said, warming to the idea very suddenly. He'd never kissed Chris sexually before, and the idea excited him. He tried to make his voice sound casual, but the excitement was evident.
"That's right," Eileen confirmed, bolstering her husband's uncertainty, telling him, in essence, that it was alright for him to kiss another woman. "Those are the rules."
"Well, I know that," Chris squeaked. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to hide her obvious interest. "I just feel so strange. I've never done anything like this --"
"None of us have," Michael reassured his wife. "But you have to kiss him."
Chris thought for a moment. "I know: tam your backs! The both of you. Don't look at us. Give me a chance to get used to the idea; I feel so strange. Please. ..."
Michael and Eileen tamed their backs. The bed moved, and they could feel Chris and Lou come together. They heard the sounds of flesh pressing against flesh, and the same wet, licking sound of tongue mingling. When Chris moaned, as she had with Michael, Eileen gave Michael a quick, intense look. He returned the look, and trembled, when Eileen ran her moist pink tongue over her top lip.
Lou spun, and he got his wife. They kissed wetly, their tongues lashing back and forth. Eileen became dizzy with passion realizing she was tasting the warmth of Chris's mouth on his tongue. When they broke the kiss off, they saw that Chris and Michael had not been idle. Michael was kissing his wife, holding her breast between his squeezing fingers.
Chris's face was flushed with passion. "Oh, I think I'm going to like this game. Whose turn is it?"
"Mine," Eileen whispered. Wetness was oozing from her cunt, running coldly down the insides of her thighs. She spun the bottle. "I got Michael."
They exchanged meaningful glances. "Are you going to turn around?" Michael asked his wife.
"Do you want us to?"
"We gave you privacy," he reminded.
"I have it," Lou cut in. He was drunk, but it was his passion that was talking. "Why don't you go inside to ... kiss. In the bathroom. We'll stay here. Then, when it's our turn, you can stay here."
Michael looked hopefully at his wife. "Well?"
She shrugged. "I guess so ..." she mumbled. "I mean, I guess that would be a good way of handling it, No, no I don't mind at all."
Michael and Eileen climbed off the mattress and walked into the bathroom. The light was off, and shadows covered the back part of the room. Eileen proceeded him into the room, then turned, and, moaning softly, opened her arms and beckoned Michael to come closer.
He did, pressing his body against her softness. They kissed passionately, exploring each other's secrets with impatient tongues and fingers. Michael grinded his cock between her thighs, and ran his hands up and down her back, squeezing the cheeks of her ass with trembling fingers.
"Oh, Christ," he moaned, .pressing his cheek against his face. Eileen licked his ear and neck with her tongue, her hips grinding hard against his erection. "I've waited years for this. Years. All this time I've wanted you, wanted you so badly --"
"Ssshhh," Eileen whispered softly. She took Michael's hand from her ass, and she placed it on her large, aching breast. "Touch me all over. All over my body!"
Michael's hands moved frantically, sliding from one breast to the other, using both hands, as if attempting to make up for all the time he lost. He pressed his hands down her sides, over the widening arc of her hips, and then he grabbed for her cunt. Eileen shuddered when she felt his fingers gripping her wet, oozing mound, and she began to hump herself up and down, grinding .her pussy into his palm.
"Underneath," she whispered. She touched Michael's cock through his pants, moaning softly when she discovered that he was as big and as hard as she had hoped he would be. Her, fingers stroked him, pinching at the shaft through the sensation-dulling layer of material. "Touch me underneath! Touch my cunt!"
Using both hands, Michael lifted the silky material of Eileen's dress. He bald it in place above her waist with the grinding press of his hips: Excitedly he caressed the damp mound of her cunt, running his fingers up and down, over and across, in and out of her widely spread thighs. Her panties were soaked throughout, and he could hear the soft crashing swish of her pubic hair flattening under the sensual rubbing of his exploring fingers. He found her clitoris, a hard, rising lump, and he fingered it through the panties, taking delight each time she moaned from his caresses. He rolled the bud with the same firm, stroking motion he had used so successfully on Chris, his wife. Obviously, it was a good technique, because Eileen was responding with wild abandonment.
"Take my panties down," she begged, breathing hotly in his ear. Her fingers stroked slowly up and down, exploring every throbbing inch of his stiff cock. "Please ... please! Take my panties down. Fuck me ... fuck me!"
"Take my cock out first; Michael bartered. He slid leis index finger under the elastic of her leg band, and ran the first joint of his finger up and down through the damp, hairy slit of her cunt. Her wetness oozed all over his hand. "Take my cock out first, and I'll fuck you."
Obediently, Eileen unzipped his pants, thrusting her hand inside of them. She fumbled with his shorts, her fingers pulling desperately because she was so close to the source of his throbbing thickness. She found the opening in his shorts, and she liberated Michaels cock. It was thick and hard, and it slithered sensually into her hand. Eileen stroked it. up and down, pulling him toward the edge of her pussy.
"Oh, God!" she moaned. "It's so big! Just as I knew it would be. Put it in me, please ... please! Fuck me with it ... fuck me with it!"
Michael pulled her panties down over her hips, dropping down onto his knees in front of her. He could see her swollen, oozing mound inches away from his mouth, and without a moment hesitation, he darted forward and buried his tongue between the lips of her cunt. As he licked her, he continued to pull her panties down until they were gathered around her ankles. His tongue slithered up and down, licking through the damp, pussy-wet hair, stroking her clit until her hands came down upon his head and pulled his face hard against her heaving belly.
"Fantastic!" Eileen moaned, grinding her naked cunt up and down around Michael's lapping tongue. She was standing on the tips of her toes, her thighs open wide around his face, and she was humping her cunt into his face. Her anus ached pleasurably from the strain of pulling him against her, and her back was arched almost in. half in her effort to bring the underside of her cunt into a more direct contact with his wet, licking strokes. "Eat me, baby! Eat me! Eat my pussy up,"
Michael was holding her naked ass between his widely-spread fingers, squeezing in and out, lifting her juicing pussy up and down around the thrusting wedge of his tongue. Fingers from both hands crept into the crack of her ass, and as he licked her, he could feel the spasmodic, quivering open-and-close of her anus. Cuntal discharge leaked from her pussy and ran down the inside of her thighs.
Michael returned his attention to her clitoris, stroking it rapidly up and down, lashing it with his tongue. He could feel Eileen stiffening, her thighs spreading further apart, and he knew it would be only a matter of moments before her orgasm was spilling hotly into his mouth. He intended to make her come, rubbing her clitoris so violently it seemed to be vibrating under his tongue. He would have, too, but he stopped suddenly.
"Don't stop!" Eileen moaned, pulling him by his hair in an attempt to make him resume his deep wet strokes. "Please, please ... I'm going to come -- Don't ... don't --"
"Listen!" he cried, his voice hoarse with surprised urgency. "Listen for a moment!"
In the background, coming from the next room, they could hear the sounds of moans. The moans were soft and grunting, pleasure ringing clearing in their undertones. It was the sound of Chris' voice, and overlayed upon it, were the sounds of Lou's pleading cries.
"I'm going to come!" Chris' muted voice cried. "Harder, harder! Do it harder -- OOoohhh!"
"Uuhhh!" Lou grunted, the sound of the bed squeaking under them. "Uuuhhh! ... Uuuhhh! ... Now!"
Michael stared up at Eileen. Saliva dribbled down his chin, and he had cunt hair on his tongue. Her pussy was wet and full, the lips parted, and the ruby bud of her clitoris standing like a smoldering ember between them. Her belly was heaving up and down."
"They're fucking!" Michael said incredulously. "My God, they're fucking!"
For some reason the idea excited him. It excited the both of them. Although they were aware that their intention was to swap, hearing it happen, right in the next room, was an incredibly erotic experience for the both of them. Wild sexual images flashed through both their thoughts as they pictured, in intimate detail, the events occurring in the bed just beyond the bathroom wall. Chris and Lou were fucking; more than that, they were coming, the both of them.
"Fuck me!" Eileen pleaded. She pulled Michael up until he was standing between her thighs. She leaned back against the edge of the sink, and, taking his cock in both hands, she inserted him into her wet, leaking pussy. "Push it in! In and out! In and out! Fuck me, Michael, fuck me!" Make one come!"
Leaning forward on the sink, Michael thrust his long, thick cock deep into the bubbling pit of Eileen's cunt. He could feel the shaft sliding in, her wetness and heat spreading like a mist across the head of his cock, her cuntlips rubbing up and down around the sides of the shaft. lie pushed in, as deeply into her as he could, until his balls were dangling between her thighs, and he began to come.
"I'm coming!" he cried, jerking his hips savagely forward, burying the shaft of his spewing cock all the way up inside of her convulsing cuntal passageway. The sperm exploded from the tip of his joint; gushing in thick, colloidal blobs, splattering sharply against the roof of her cunt. "I'm coming ... I'm coming!" ... I'm coming!"
The moment Michael's sperm touched her, Eileen began to come. Her orgasm was powerful and shattering, beginning at the base of her spine, curving around the underside of her crotch, and erupting all the way up the canal of her cunt. She hunched herself down hard upon him, screwing her cunt around his cock, lifting her legs from the red shag rug of the bathroom floor, balancing herself on the edge of the sink. She twisted her thighs around his driving middle, locking them over his tensed, jerking ass, and she rolled her pelvis in a tight, grinding circle.
A long while after the orgasm had subsided, Michael and Eileen remained in that same position, leaning against each other, balanced on the edge of the sink, breathing softly. Sweat dripped from their bodies. His cock was in her cunt; dribbles of sperm oozed from their fluttering lips and trickled across the cheeks of her ass. A wet, irregularly shaped dampness stained the front of Michael's parted gray trousers.
"Christ," Eileen moaned, whispering in Michael's ear. The sound of the squeaking, grunting bed came clearly to her from the other room. "We did it. After all these years, Michael, we finally did it." Even when it was over she couldn't quite bring herself to believe it had actually happened. "We really, really did it"
Chapter 3
Derek Foster studied his reflection in the mirror, deciding ultimately, as he always did, that he was pleased with what he saw. His body was trim and muscular, full of youthful energy and enthusiasm, as was befitting the type of build that Mount Shangri-la Lodge's ski instructor should have. Besides being just tall and handsome, he decided that he liked the way his wide, flaring shoulders made the velvety material of his soft, dark-colored shirt strain across his rippling muscles. Carefully cultivated and professionally styled, his thick black hair was worn fashionably long; not so long, however, as to make him look effeminate, but long enough to give him the kind of rugged individualism that women found so attractive. Threads of pure white licked like bleached flames through the dark waves at- each temple and up and down the length of his long sideburns, giving him just the right balance of youthfulness and maturity. Although the silver had come from a bottle, and it tended to make him appear older than his thirty-six years, Derek Foster was pleased with the result.
It made him look distinguished, he felt, and, in his line of work, that was a decided advantage. More than that, it made him appear sexy, especially the way his hair looked against the deep, year-round tan on his tightly-drawn face. Burning like smoldering embers, his twin brown eyes stared down his narrow, perfectly shaped nose, and, in the reflection, he watched his lips part and reveal a dazzling bright smile.
All that's missing are the sunglasses, he thought. Then the image would be complete. Christ, I've got it made. Too much.
Not quite satisfied, Derek picked up his hairbrush from the dresser top, and he stroked it through his hair once or twice more until he had obtained the desired effect. Quickly then, he picked up an aerosol can of clear, odorless lacquer, and he sprayed it back and forth across the top of his head, not enough to make it stiff or sticky, but enough to make it hold. Nodding with approval, he returned the hairspray to the dresser, placing it next to the hairbrush.
Poor bitch, he thought. How could she possibly resist me? He judged his handsome features from several different angles in the mirror. No way. How could any of them resist?
In the five years he had been at Shangri-la as its ski instructor, Derek Foster had gotten the uncertain art of seduction down almost to a science. He knew exactly what to do and say, and whom to say it to in order to get the best possible responses. A limitless supply that was constantly fed by the ceaseless turnover in his classes, he literally was never without some woman who was deeply interested in the special, private classes he conducted on a subject that had nothing at all to do with skiing. Often there was more than one such agreeable woman, and frequently there were so many that Derek had to make some very hard, difficult choices in deciding upon whom he was going to bestow his peculiar charm and very special talent. Naturally, he chose the best: the prettiest, the most intelligent, the woman with the best .body, and, if possible, the woman with the most money. For some strange reason he had never taken the time to understand, Derek had found over the years, that the best-looking women were very often the most wealthy. And the horniest.
Horniness, of course, was a pail of the resort atmosphere, and was true of almost all of the women with whom he came in. contact at Shangri-la. There was something about going away on a vacation that turned women on sexually. Being away from home somehow turned them all into romantics, until one could almost measure their arousal in proportion to the' distance from home: the farther away they were, the less inhibited, the more promiscuous they became. Everything they saw or did took on an erotic coloration, exciting ,them sexually. Even making love to their husbands became a new and stimulating experience. Women who rarely had a promiscuous thought or idea in their everyday home life, enrolled in his classes, and began to drool all over him, making barely veiled, suggestive hints. He could almost see their nipples getting stiff every time they looked at his crotch, and he knew without a doubt that their panties were already sopping wet. They were fantasizing about him, and there was no question about it: wondering how it would feel to have his cock inside of them, wondering what it would be like to wrap their lips around his throbbing erection, wanting to know again, perhaps for the last time in their lives, what it would be like to be made love to by a real man.
Christ, he. almost had to beat them away with a stick. He got grabbed and propositioned more times in one season than most women ever did in the course of their lives.
And then, of course, there was always the money angle. Most of them had money, and some of them had a great deal of money. He was always getting gifts and presents, tokens of their esteem and appreciation, and some of them were not small: jewelry, a new wardrobe, a car once, and an occasional paid vacation with one whenever it could be arranged. A few had even offered to "keep" him, to pay him a weekly salary and to put him up in an apartment and buy him things, much as their rich businessmen husband were already doing with their own sexual diversions. As tempting as the offers had been, Derek had turned them down, deciding that his best possible course of action would be to remain at Shangri-la, slamming the cream off the top, until something better came along. And it would, sooner or later. One day the right women would come to the resort, and then he'd have it made. Only with her he wasn't going to be a helpless tool. When he found the right one, he was going to marry her, for her money, and then he would be taken care of for the rest of his life. All he had to do was be patient. In the meanwhile, he had more than enough to keep his life interesting. Like Lee Davis, for instance.
Satisfied finally with his reflection, Derek slipped on his yellow tinged sunglasses, disregarding the fact that it was almost ten o'clock in the evening, and he made a few last moment adjustments of his clothing. He picked up his room key from the dresser top, checked himself one last time, then turned finally from the mirror.
His room was austerely functional, as were all the rooms set aside for the employees of Mount Shangri-la. Luxury was reserved for the guests. A double bed set against the far wall, a dresser with mirror, a television, two chairs and a table. Noticeably missing was the red shag rug. The floors were bare wood, with a round throw rug he'd purchased himself to the right of his bed for those cold winter mornings when the floor was like a sheet of ice. The room's standard picture window was covered with a heavy draw curtain that had come to him from the guest rooms the last time the management had redecorated the rooms. The curtain didn't match in color or design the rest of the room, but Derek didn't mind. He used the room for only fucking and sleeping, and anyone who came into the room with him wasn't about to be interested in a lack of decorative harmony. The only time, in fact, he ever brought anyone into the room was when she (it was always a she) couldn't arrange to smuggle Derek into her room. The curtains were the last thing either of them were concerned with.
Since he didn't have to pay the electric bill, he left the lights burning in his room out of petty spite. Like all hotel and motel rooms, Derek's room was illuminated by a series of lamps, one on the two nightstands on either side of his bed, one on the dresser to the left of the mirror, and a hanging swag lamp over his table, each one equipped with a-bulb of the smallest possible wattage. He's never gotten used to living in semi-darkness, and it bothered him. This was one of his ways of getting even.
His room was at the far end of the resort, as far away from the guests as possible, probably to keep them from becoming contaminated. He walked with patient slowness through the summer night, just as he'd walked this very same path countless times before. Only the destinations had been different. A different woman for all those different nights. Tonight it was Lee Davis, a blonde haired woman in her middle-to-late thirties who had attended one of his skiing classes. Now she was about to become his latest conquest: the newest notch on his belt.
The night was dark and there was a slow, lazy summer breeze pulsing against his face. He could hear the grinding strains of music from the Recreation Hall where the weekend dance was still growing strong. Light exploded from the glass facade of the main building where he could see clusters of men and women talking and laughing. As he crossed the road, walking toward the building that housed the more luxurious, expensive rooms, a single car passed him and he had to wait to get by. There was a boy and a girl in the car, neither one could have been older than twenty-one or -two, and they both had white-blonde hair and a deep, well-nurtured tan. They were laughing as they drove away.
Lee's room was on the third floor of the building, and he strode briskly up the stairs, avoiding the elevator. The hallway was carpeted with the traditional wall-to-wall red shag rug, and it muffled the sound of his feet as he searched carefully for her room number. He found it finally, at the end of the hall, and a flutter of uncertainty touched the pit of his stomach. This was the dangerous part. Anything could go wrong. Her husband might still be in there with her, or she might have gotten cold feet, and decide now that she doesn't want to go through with it. It's happened before. It was a risk, he knew, and if found out, he'd be out on his ass. A thousand times he'd asked himself if it was worth the risk. He always got back the same answer: no, but what the hell. Is anything ever really worth the risk?
He knocked on the door.
What should I say, he asked himself, if her husband is in there with her? What excuse could I give him for my being there?
From somewhere beyond the wall of the door, he heard the sound of movement. He tried to read it, to determine who it was and if it meant anything, but he couldn't. He never could. It was only a sound.
"Who is it?" Lee's uncertain voice asked.
He said: "Me."
The door parted a fraction of an inch, and a knifelike ribbon of light sliced into the night: At the center of it he could see Lee Davis. Her long blonde hair was spilled like loose wheat across her shoulder. She was wearing a gauzy blue thing through which he could see her nipples: She was smiling tensely, showing him her teeth.
"Is it safe?" Derek asked.
She pulled the door further open. "Of course. Come in." He slipped in, and she closed the door behind him, locking it with a nervous twist of her wrist.
His eyes took in the room in a quick, functional sweep. The king sized bed had its bed covers thrown back, with the white triangle of the sheets on both sides clearly displayed, almost as if in invitation. The lamps were either dim or off, giving the room a shadowy seductiveness. The back end of the long rectangular room was dark near the bathroom and closet area, but not so dark for him to see that the room was empty of any angry, vengeful husband. The radio was on low, and there was a slow-sounding syrupy music dripping into the perfumed-ladened air.
He turned and looked back at her. She was coming toward him, her face wooden in either passion or tension. She had a tall sweaty glass in her hand, and the amber-colored fluid sloshed as she moved. The blue thing she had on was a floor-length nightgown, the top half of which was completely transparent. Two halter like strips came down around her slender pale neck in a widening vee that bulged over her slightly sagging breasts. They jiggled as she walked, her brown-tipped nipples stiffening against the gentle friction. Her blonde hair was worn down, parted in the middle, with long loose flowing strands gathered like clusters along the sloping lengths of her shoulders. Her red-painted lips were open and her tongue was sliding sensually across them as if she were eating herself. Blue eyes that matched the color of her dress were open wide and full of unmistakable hunger.
"I was worried," she said.
"It's better to be safe," he said indifferently. "I wanted to make sure."
"You should have called."
He ignored her admonishion. "Where is hen Derek asked. He was her husband, Arthur Simpson Davies, a fat, balding man in his middle fifties who probably fucked her once a month if she was lucky. He owned a jewelry store in midtown Manhattan, and openly bragged that he had made a million and a half dollars the year before. All the he's in the world made Derek's conscience breathe a lot easier. Husbands like Arthur Simpson Davies almost begged other men to fuck their wives.
"He's out."
"Where?"
"At the nightclub." She pressed herself against him, rubbing her cunt against his thigh. She wrapped her arms around his neck until he could smell her alcoholic breath as it intermixed with her expensive per. fume. "He's with friends-Business partners."
"How long will he be out?"
Lee pecked a kiss upon his brown mouth. "A couple of hours, at least Probably more."
"What if he comes back before?" Derek could feel his cock stiffening as she trapped his thigh between her legs. Her cunt felt wet even through the fabric of her nightgown and his slacks. It made a dull, squishing noise as the lips opened and closed from being rubbed back and forth.
"He won't "
"What if he does?"
"I made him promise to call me before he comes home. In case I want him to bring me back anything."
"What if he doesn't call?"
"Arthur? Don't make me laugh. Arthur would never forget that He's a very conscientious husband" The bitterness made her lips curl.
Satisfied, Derek relaxed for a moment. He permitted himself to smile, flashing his dazzling commercial smile in her face. Her hips were soft and breathing warmth as his hands slid over them, clasping together at the base of her spine. He leaned forward and kissed her mouth. He rolled his lips in a shallow gentle circle, and when he felt the excited intrusion of her tongue, he pulled back, flashing his dazzling commercial smile again.
"Lee, baby," he whispered, his voice husky with pretended passion. "What did you tell him? How'd you do it?"
She giggled like a schoolgirl. "I told him I had a headache."
"Jesus."
"Kiss me again, baby. I'm wet for you."
Derek kissed her again, and this time, when he felt the gentle prodding of her tongue tip, he opened his mouth and sucked her between his lips. Her tongue was alive and hot in the moist cavern of his mouth. He sucked upon it, draining it of its warm alcoholic sweetness, feeling the stiffening throbs in his groin every time she flit it against the sensitive wetness of his inner cheeks. He remained passive a moment more, and then suddenly, awakened his own tongue, and lashed it against hers, dueling her momentarily for the possession of his mouth. He kissed her hard and deeply, pushing her tongue back into her own body, then followed it with his own darting stabs,: exploring intimately the secret pockets of saliva, the soft sensual curves of her lips, the hard, chewing bites of her teeth. She began to respond, breathing hotly into his mouth, crushing her eager body hard against his, pumping her cunt up and down over the lump of his cock.
"Oh, Christ," she moaned, her eyes closed, clusters of passion like smears of redness on her cheeks. Her lips were trembling, and he could feel the stiffness of her nipples sticking into him through their clothing. "Put it in me. Fuck me with it!"
She was eager, and that pleased Derek. He enjoyed it when they were passionate for him. She was hot for cock, any man's cock, because her husband had probably never satisfied her. Wetness was probably dripping down her thighs. Derek decided to play with her.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Lee groaned softly. "You, baby. You."
"Tell me the words."
"I want you. I want --"
"Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me to stick my cock in your cunt? Do you want me to fuck you and fuck you until you come? Until I come all over you, inside of you?"
"Yell" she gasped, nearly coming from the sound of the words. "God -- yes!"
"Then tell me. Say the words."
Her eyes opened, red with passion, out of focus with her excitement. She stepped back, away from him, her hands sliding up her body until she was cupping her breasts. She slipped her fingers into her halter, squeezing her breasts with a massaging in and out movement, .catching her nipples between her fingers. The nipples became stiffer and harder, growing long and brown against her palm.
"Fuck me, Derek," she begged, the words spilling loosely from her moist red lips. "Fuck me, fuck me!" Put your cock in me -- in my pussy, in my cunt! Stick it all the way up my hole and fuck, me until I come all over your cock. Fuck my box until your hot sperm pumps into my wet, wet pussy! Christ, I'm hot!"
Derek smiled. "Sit on the bed. Go on. Good. Just sit there. I want you to watch something."
When she was settled on the mattress, Derek began to undress. He undressed slowly, teasingly, revealing his body to her much the same way a stripper reveals her body to an audience of eager men. He slipped his jacket off and folded it neatly over the back of a chair. He was wearing a sweater that zippered to the middle of his chest, and he opened it all the way, showing her the naked tanned muscles underneath. Dark curling hairs inter tangled with the silver teeth of the zipper. The buttons on the sleeves opened easily, and in a single fluid motion, he pulled the sweater over his head, hardly disarranging his hair at all.
Lee gasped at his semi-nudity. "My God ..."
"Don't touch yourself," he cautioned, smiling wickedly at her as her hand crept down, from her breasts and slid up between her parted thighs. "I want you wet and hot for me. I want your body aching to be touched"
"Christ, hurry. I'm getting-the bed wet I'm so god-dam hot!"
He laughed softly, then bent over and slipped his shoes off, then his long black socks. He straightened and dropped his hands to his sides, pulling on the material of his pants to exhibit the prodding stiffness of his erection. When her eyes had widened in sufficient anticipation, he touched his belt and then opened it. Another quick movement parted his zipper, and he stepped out of his dark trousers.
"Can you see my cock?" he asked, ostensibly paying attention to folding his pants and placing them with his coat, over the back of one of the chairs. He was wearing kelly green bikini briefs that cut low across his flat, tanned belly, revealing the dark cluster of his pubic hair: The crotch piece of the shorts pulled way from his body, and the head of his cock seemed to be throbbing through the tautly-stretched material. "Can you see my cock, Lee?"
"God, no, not yet. Hurry, please. Hurry!"
Derek put his hands up to the waistband of his briefs, tucking his thumbs into the fold, one on either side of his hips. He dipped the material down, once, then twice, revealing more of the dark tangled hair. Lee was amazed to see that the darkness of his tan did not end as far down as she could see which could mean only one thing: that Derek had sunbathed frequently in the nude. The idea excited and stimulated her almost as much as the reality of what was happening in front of her eyes. Her thoughts were filled with wild sexual fantasies and the promise of his hard, naked body.
The third time he pulled on the shorts, his cock popped out. It slithered upward slowly, disengaging itself from the restricting folds of material. It. was thick and long, and its circumcised head was swollen with passion. His cock stood straight up, pressed against-his belly, held in place by the elastic of his pants, pulsing and throbbing, a bubble of lubrication seeping from the slitted opening on its tip.
"My God, it's -- magnificent!" Lee mumbled, her eyes wide and staring. Involuntarily, her hand moved out toward it, her fingers curling and trembling to caress it. "It's so ... big. So hard."
Her reaction, although hardly novel, pleased Derek. This was his moment, just as when he finally got around to fucking Lee, and making her come, would be her moment. His pleasure came not from satisfying women, or even being a good lover. What he enjoyed most was to be desired by women; wanted by them. He liked to see them squirm for the hardness of his body. It made him feel proud and masculine.
"Do you like my cock?" he asked, moving it for her so that it twitched against his belly. "Does it please you? Does it make you -- hot?"
"Oh, Christ -- yes!" she moaned. "Can I ... May I touch it?"
Closing his eyes, savoring the moment, he said softly: "Of course. Enjoy yourself."
The movement of Lee's hand was swift and sensual. She wrapped her fingers around the swollen shaft of his cock, pulling down his briefs so that it stood straight out, away from his body. His balls were heavy and full, dangling obscenely between his parted thighs. Dark, heavy hair covered his belly from his thighs up to his navel. His cock was magnificent: as thick as her wrist, and at least seven or eight inches long. She stroked it lovingly, pulling her fingers up and down the thick shaft, from the hairy base of his groin to the throbbing knob of his cock head.
Derek stepped back, pulling himself from her grasping fingers. "Now you. Take your nightgown off and lay back on the bed I want to look at you now. I want you naked."
Lee moaned excitedly and complied with a swiftness that was a direct measure of his excitement. She pulled the blue shimmering nightgown over her head and discarded it onto the floor, parting her thighs and standing naked for her lover. Her body was good, even though it had begun to sag with age. Her breasts were firm and high, their nipples stiff and brown, twitching spasmodically. Her belly bulged with middle years, and the beginning of fattiness folded over on her sides where her hips flared widely out. Her thighs were shapely and well-formed, and the blonde sweaty tangle of hair between them was matted down and pressed back against her soft pink flesh. The lips were parted from her excitement, and the ruby bud of her clitoris was winking between the folds of flesh.
"Lay back on the bed," Derek instructed, stepping out of his shorts, stroking his cock absentmindedly. "And spread your thighs. I'm going to eat your pussy."
"Oh Jesus!" Lee sobbed, jumping onto the bed and spreading her thighs. The lips of her cunt were wet, and they pulled slowly open, making a sticky, wet sound. The underside of her crotch was oozing wetness, and the inner flesh between her lips was almost crimson in color. Her cunthole reminded him of a mouth, opening and closing fitfully, squishing wetness at him. She said: "Hurry, please. Hurry!"
Derek climbed onto the king-sized mattress, positioning himself between her thighs. As he leaned forward, sliding onto his belly, slipping her hands under the cheeks of her ass as 'he pulled her toward his open, waiting mouth, the tip of his cock rubbed against the cool erotic softness of the bed sheet, sending a throb of excitement up and down his spine. He settled himself on the bed, nodding toward her cunt, and he began to eat her pussy.
"God!" Lee moaned, her body stiffening with pleasure. She arched her hips, and as she threw her head back in total abandonment, she began to pump her cunt up and down against Derek's face. "Eat me, baby ... eat me!"
Derek's tongue slithered sensually up and dawn the slick avenue between her cuntlips. Her body was hot and wet, and she was oozing juices into his mouth. He licked her slowly from the puckered ring of her anus to the tip of her throbbing clitoris, pausing more than briefly to lap up the drool which was leaking from her dilating cunthole. He pushed his tongue deep into the creaming tightness of her passageway, and he felt her muscles convulse around the slippery intrusion. She was incredibly hot inside, and Derek took particular pleasure in flitting his tongue from side to side, stinging the wet walls of her canal with the rapid thrusts of his licking caresses. When she began to grind her hips in a tight rolling circle, and she began to moan, grabbing at her head with her hands to pull him closer to her body, he slipped- his tongue from her cunthole, and he began to stroke her clitoris. He battered the tender bud savagely with a rapid back and forth movement, until her clitoris was vibrating under his lapping tongue, and Lee's back was arched away from the mattress, her wet, oozing underside glued to Derek's face.
"I'm coming!" she cried, grabbing his head finally, pulling him hard against her quivering quiet. She pumped her hips and gyrated her thighs, screwing her coming cunt all over his face. "Oh, God! Oh God! ... I'm coming ... I'm coming!" ... I'm coming!"
He stroked her mercilessly through her orgasm, feeling the quivering flesh trembling under his tongue. He could taste her come in his mouth, the sudden warm wetness and he dug his tongue into it, flicking it back into his mouth, drinking it down. He parted the dank, hairy folds of her pussy, sinking his teeth into the button of her clitoris, grinding his mouth sensually from side to side, allowing pain to mingle in with her pleasure.
"Oh God ... Oh God!" she cried, tears of release stream from her eyes. "Fabulous! ... Fabulous! ... I --"
He pulled his mouth away and straightened. She sobbed and tried to return his face to her upturned pussy, but he was past that now. Taking his stiff cock in his hand, he guided it at her wet, open pussy, inserting the swollen tip of his shaft between her cuntlips. He watched his cock entering her body, pushing it slowly, carefully in, until his belly of black hair was pressed directly against her belly of white blonde hair, and the entire length of his cock was buried inside of her. He began to push his cock in and out, fucking her.
"Oh-Oohhh!" Lee cried, gasping in pleasure at the intensity of sensation. She humped her pussy up and down the drilling cock, the wet walls of her pussy clutching at his hardness. "Again ... again! I'm coming again!"
He could feel her coming this second time. Her cunt tightened down around him, and he could feel her wetness oozing all over him. He pushed his cock slowly, deeply in and out, stroking her with his full hard length. Her body became very hot, and he could feel her wetness gushing against his driving middle. He watched his cock sliding in and out of her, the lips of her pussy clinging to the sides of his shaft, going in dry and coming out wet and glistening with the discharge of her orgasm. He pumped her until he could feel her pleasure peaking, until she began to respond once again to the in-and-out thrusting of his cock.
"Turn over," he commanded, disengaging himself. His cock was slick with her cuntal wetness, and he stroked himself up and down, the shaft squishing through his fingers. "Come on, turn over. It's my turn now."
Lee, gasped, the pleasure of her second orgasm numbing her flesh. "What are you ... What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to fuck you," Derek said, stroking her wet flanks affectionately. "I'm going to fuck you like a bitch. From the rear."
"But I've never --"
"Turn over!"
Lee obeyed. She turned over, moving slowly, assuming the proper position. Her head was bent low, on a decline, and her ass was high, its cheeks widely spread. Derek could see the sopping wetness between her thighs, and he played with it while he positioned himself between them. Placing his hands on the inside of her thighs, he spread Lee even further open. Taking his cock, he shoved it at the center of her cunt, and, as he looked down, over the pink cheeks of her ass, he watched himself enter her cunt for the second time.
"Oh, God -- it's fantastic!" she groaned, pressing herself back against his driving penetration. His cock went up, all the way up her cunt, and his balls dangled between her thighs. "Fuck me hard. Hard!"
The passageway of her cunt was tighter from this position, and Derek knew he would have no difficulty in coming. He gripped her hips with both hands, and he rippled his hips, driving his cock in and out as he pulled and pushed her back and forth. Lee's muscles gripping him tightly, grinding the entire length of his shaft in the warm, wet prison of her oozing pussy. His hunches became deeper and stronger as the pleasure of fucking washed across his drilling middle: The weight of his pressing body forced her forward, until he was laying on top of her, and Lee was flat on her belly under him. His cock was bent at an angle, increasing his pleasure. The cheeks of her ass were a soft cushion for his belly as he drove his cock in and out; screwing himself in and out of her liquefied cunt. The tempo of his thrusts accelerated and became more frantic until he grunted suddenly, and stiffened as he drove himself in one last hunch.
"Take it!" he cried, his cock opening up and spilling out a fiery spurt of come. "Take it, bitch -- take it! I'm coming!"
His cock pumped and throbbed inside of her as gush after gush of sperm spewed into her tight box. He could feel it splashing against the roof of her cunt, then, like a wave, wash back against his pulsing cockshaft, bathing him in his own orgasm. After the initial spurt he resumed his thrusting, grinding his pelvis into the softness of her sticky hole. The moment he did so, and Lee felt the burning kiss. of his come, she pushed back against him, and began to come a third and last time.
They lay like that afterwards, his cock buried in the puddle of her cunt, her arms splayed brokenly out, her ass and back supporting the entire weight of his body. A warm, pleasant feeling rolled softly inside of her. The sperm dripped from her cunthole and leaked all over the bed
"We're leaving in the morning," Lee finally said.
"That's too bad," Derek said, his deflated cock staring once again inside of her. Furtively he looked at his wristwatch. "I was hoping to see you at least once more. I wanted more than this."
Lee sighed softly. "What do you mean?"
"I care about you, Lee," he said, telling her the easy lie. "Right from the first moment I saw you I knew it had to be more than just a physical thing between us." He breathed softly, moving inside of her. "You feel the same way about me, don't you?"
"Yes, but -- I never thought that you --"
He stopped her. "Well, you thought wrong. I can get sex anytime I want; it's an instant commodity here. You can literally order it from Room Service. But you mean more to me than that, Lee. A lot more." He rubbed her sweaty ass cheek with his hand, kneading her soft warm flesh with his fingers. "Christ, I don't know why I'm telling you this, leaving myself so open ..."
"Don't be sorry, Derek. I'm glad you did say something." She softened under him, snuggling back against his nakedness, bending her knees to keep his flaccid cock well inside of her cunt. "At least now I know you feel the same way about me as I feel about you. You're the first man, Derek, the first man other than my husband with whom I've made love:
"I want to see you again," he told her.
"God, I wish we could."
"I'm not going to take no for an answer, Lee. I'm going to fight to keep you, husband or not."
"All right, then, I'll write to you," she said, her voice purring with romanticism. "We'll work it out somehow; we'll make some kind of arrangement."
"Lee, I think I love you," he said. He kissed her shoulder, telling her the words she wanted to hear.
Lee cried softly in his arms, and he stroked her hair. All the while he told her how much he loved her, Derek Foster was wondering how it would be to eat her cunt after he had come in it. He looked at his watch once more. Perhaps if he hurried he might have time enough to find out.
Chapter 4
It was Saturday night, and the sauna was totally empty, as it had been for the past few hours. It had emptied out, as it usually did, just before the dinner hours, and had remained empty up until the time that Robin Schafer had entered the locker room. It was almost ten-thirty, and Robin had an appointment for a massage.
She deposited her clothing in one of the lockers against the front wall, undressing quickly, feeling self-conscious and embarrassed. She was a young, unmarried woman, in her late twenties, with mouse-colored brown hair, and a thin, almost frail-looking body. Her shoulders were boney and stooped, and her pale, milk white flesh seemed to have been bled of all color. Her breasts-were small and pert, tipped with a blushed crimson pair of erect nipples, much too taut for her apple shaped tits. Her ass was small and narrow, and she had no hips to speak of: her waist went down in twin parallel lines until it became her legs. The hair between her thighs was the same in distinguished color as the hair on her head: scraggly wisps of faded brown fluttering like feathers against her shallow, vee-like genitals.
Despite her perched, bird-like appearance, Robin was almost attractive in a strange, uncommon way. Her eyes were large and full of innocence, childlike almost, haunted and haunting, much in the style of a certain popular artist who employed children's eyes to depict man's wounded soul. Her nose was small and nublike, and her lips were pursed and pouty, ready at a moment to open with words of an apology for any real or imagined transgression. The hollow of her cheeks were eternally colored with spots of red, as if she lived in a state of perpetual embarrassment. A long, elegant neck was her best feature, and she turned it from side to side slowly, for effect, giving her small, compact head a kind of tentative, precarious balance.
She stood naked for a moment or two, peering at the face of the clock on the wall. The wall was a sterile white rectangle, and the numerals on the clock blurred into the stark background. Robin was terribly nearsighted without her glasses, and after another moment she looked away from the clock. She reopened her locker and removed a pair of large round, white rimmed glasses that gave her face a wise, owlish appearance. Satisfied that she had enough time, she took the glasses off, and returned them to the locker. Naked, she walked across the locker room, her hands out in front of her like a blind woman, headed toward the sauna.
Putting her beaklike nose up to the dial she read the internal temperature of the sauna. She turned it up a notch or two further, and. removed two towels from the rack. She wrapped one around her head in turban-fashion, and pulled the other around her naked body, pinning it carefully with a safety-pin where the terry material over folded her covered breasts. She stepped into the sauna.
The heat was incredible, and she began to sweat almost immediately. The room was illuminated by red tinted bulbs, giving the stark, bare walls, an eerie, almost hellish atmosphere. There was the first moment or two of panic when she couldn't catch her breath, when it felt as if her lungs were boiling, and she were breathing in raw steam, but she mastered her anxiety, and walked into the center of the empty sauna, sitting herself upon one of the worn wooden benches.
Sweat was dripping into her eyes, and she took the corner of her towel to clean it away. Her pores were opening in the smothering heat, and wetness was rolling down her nakedness, drenching both absorbent towels almost immediately. Her flesh was tingling from the heat, cooking almost, turning lobster red where once it had been pale and colorless.
Robin enjoyed the sauna perhaps because it was uncomfortable for her. Certainly that would have explained in part her reason in having come so frequently to it in her short vacation stay at Mount Shangri-la Lodge. It was almost like pain, and somehow that made it acceptable. It was so stiffing, so hot, she enjoyed playing games with herself, fantasizing that she was in Hell, suffering for her sins. She would try to endure it for as long as she could, staying in when her lungs felt as if they were melting, and her thoughts became scattered and incoherent, trying to measure herself against the possibilities of eternity. Her eyes would become blurry, and she would feel as if she were going to pass out. She would hold on as long as she could, like a child holding his breath, trying to see how long she could go without breathing. Then she would make a rush for the door, running out almost, her lungs clawing at the damp, humid sir of the locker room.
She did the same tonight, remaining in the red hued room longer than she ever had before. Her breasts were rising fitfully when she finally did emerge, and it took her a moment or two before she could convince herself that she was not smothering. She staggered against the lockers, holding on for support, tears streaming down her face. Weak, and breathing like a steam locomotive, she made her way for the showers; twin tiled booths at the opposite end of the room.
Robin stripped off both her towels, discarding them on the floor. With a clean one she picked up from the rack, she wiped herself once or twice to remove the excess moisture from her pulsing red flesh. She stepped then into the booth and regulated the water temperature of the shower by sliding the silver lever all the way to the left, making it as hot as she could stand it. She was surrounded by water on all sides; There were four nozzles: one above her on the -ceiling, one on the wall behind her, and two others on either side of the stall. They gushed out scalding needles of fire that splattered like molten lava across her bright pink body. Her breath sucked in at the intensity of the sensation, and she rubbed her hand up and down, across her nakedness, spreading the soothing water all over her body.
Her fingers lingered across the tips of her nipples, and she grunted softly as. she caressed the tenderness between her thighs. She was very diligent about her cunt, and took exceptional care to ensure that it was completely looked after. She spread the inner lips and rubbed the moist flesh up and down, fingering the hole carefully, inserting the tip of her finger-down to the first joint. With the tip of her fingernail she could feel the tough, fibrous membrane stretched across the channel, and she sensed herself blushing self-consciously. She withdrew her finger and caressed the erect bud of her clitoris. The sensation, and the momentary anticipation of what might soon be, made her knees weak, and a new kind of wetness leak from her dilating cunthole. Conscientiously, she fingered her anus, convincing herself that it was only for reasons of cleanliness, even after she had inserted the middle finger of her right hand all the way up into the tight passageway of her rectum.
Removing her hand, she quickly slid the lever regulating the water temperature all the way to the other end of the scale, turning it from boiling hot to ice, ice cold.
"Jesus!" she cried, shuddering under the savage impact of the cold water. It was as if her flesh were burning, it was so cold. She could feel each pointed, frigid finger of cold water, sticking like pinpricks into her tender flesh. It was like a vicious shock to her nervous system, and her eyes opened wide, and she gasped fitfully, trying again to catch her breath. "Christ!"
When she could endure it no longer, she literally jumped out of the shower stall, without shutting the water. The rushing sound filled her ears as she grabbed for a towel and rubbed it furiously over her frigid flesh. Only when she was sufficiently dry, and the warm, humid air of the room felt gentle and caressing against her nakedness, did Robin drop the towel and reach her hand tentatively into the shower stall, and return the silver lever to the middle position. The water shut itself off, and the locker room was filled with the sound of silence.
Robin looked at the wall clock again, straining and squinting until she could see the twin black hands and read the numerals on the face of the clock. It was time for her massage.
The massage room was a small, square area, to the left of the sauna. It was windowless, with a single door leading into it. There were two massage tables in the room, parallel to each other, much like the examination tables one sees in a doctors office. Both tables were adjustable, capable of being raised or lowered, and were covered with a rich-looking black leather. The room was sparsely decorated, painted a sterile, antiseptic white, with a single cabinet against the far wall filled with towels, creams and oils, and a single locker, also painted white, for the masseuse's clothing. There was a desk in the corner of the room, and a black leather chair behind it. Sitting at the chair was Brigitta Hansen.
She smiled as Robin entered, looking up from the novel she was reading. "Ah, there you are," she said, slipping a bookmark between the pages of her book. Her voice was colored with a Scandinavian accent. "How was the sauna?"
Robin flushed uncomfortably, holding her towel more tightly around her nakedness. She shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile casually.
"It was very good," she answered. "I really enjoyed it very much."
"You should try swimming, or diving into the pool, the next time you try the sauna," Brigitta suggested. "It will be an experience like you've never known before."
The embarrassed flush deepened on Robin's face. "I don't know how to swim," she explained.
"Ah, yes, I remember now; Brigitta said, nodding. "You have told me that already. You must excuse me if I sometimes seem confused. There are so many women to whom I attend during the day. I sometimes get them mixed up."
"Certainly," Robin whispered softly.
Brigitta Hansen was a strikingly attractive woman. She was tall and shapely, muscular almost, certainly athletic, but decidedly feminine. She had shoulder length blonde hair that was more white than blonde, and it hung in loose, casual curls that had to be natural in the damp humidity of the massage room. Her eyes were wide and blue, and her complexion was pink and wholesome, completely unfettered by any cosmetics or blemishes. Her shoulders were broad, and her breasts were high and hard, without a bra, even though Brigitta had to be at least into her thirties. Her waist was narrow, pinched almost, and her hips were wide and flaring, tapering down narrowly again into perfectly-shaped, columnar thighs. She was wearing something that looked like a man's t-shirt, but it fit her like a second skin, clinging to her voluptuous body. Written in blue, undulating up and down the hills and valley of her breasts, was Mount Shangri-la Lodge. Robin could see her nipples through the thin fabric of the shirt. Completing her outfit, Brigitta wore a pair of white hot pants, rolled up around her thighs so that her legs were almost naked.
"So, get up on the table," Brigitta said, "and we will begin with the massage You may leave your towel there on the floor."
Flushing crimson, Robin dropped her towel and walked naked the few remaining feet to the massage table. She climbed up and laid back, looking up at the ceiling, her hands resting at her sides.
"I hope you don't mind my asking for an appointment at such a late hour,' Robin began, aware of the cool licking wetness of the air probing her nakedness. Her nipples were stiff, and there was a growing wet ness between the lips of her cunt. "A Saturday night, and all. I imagine this must be something of an inconvenience to you. You probably have something to do, somewhere to go."
Brigitta laughed, genuinely amused. "Me, go somewhere? No, not really. I rarely go out, even on Saturday nights."
"No ... dates, or anything?"
Brigitta stepped over to the table. "I don't have time for such foolishness. There are too many more important things to do with ones life than to waste it."
Robin flushed. "Oh, really?" She tried to make her voice sound casual. "I would have thought a woman as attractive as you would have had more dates, more men than she knew what to do with."
"I have," Brigitta said, laughing. "That's my problem. But you, a young woman like you, why aren't you at the weekend dance? Is your husband tired?"
"Oh, no," Robin said, shaking her head. "I'm not married."
"Then your boy friend; he is too tired, yes?"
Robin closed her eyes and swallowed the dryness in her mouth. "I don't have a -- any boy friends. Not, at least, here, I don't."
Brigitta stepped over to the table, placing her fingers at the sides of Robin's head. She began to massage slowly, rolling the tips of her fingers around in a slow, shallow circle, brushing back the young woman's wispy hairs.
"I give you a facial first," she said. "All right?"
Robin trembled. "Fine. That will be fine I want the works tonight. Everything."
Brigitta bent down and removed a clear plastic bottle from the cabinet under the massage table. She smeared some of the creamy liquid into the palms of her hands, and then she rubbed her fingers together.
"That's it," she said. "Close your eyes. And relax. Good ... good."
Robin sighed. "Oh, that feels nice."
Expert fingers dug into the young woman's flesh, prodding it, pulling it, rolling it, pinching it, massaging the tensions right out of it.
"You are here then alone?" Brigitta asked, picking up the thread from the previous conversation. "No parents or girl friends with you?"
"Yes, I'm alone," Robin said, purring softly.
"I see," Brigitta answered, her fingers working in and out, up and down, caressing Robin's flesh, toning her muscles, making her body glow with relaxation. "You are here perhaps for the weekend?"
"No, I've been here all week."
"And you wait for the last minute to come for a massage?"
Robin's face turned scarlet. "No, actually, I was here before, at the beginning of the week. I came --" the word somehow stumbled across her lips "-- for a massage the first day I was here."
"Ali, yes. I thought I recognized you."
The memory of that first experience came back to Robin as she lay there, naked on the table, with the tall blonde woman working over her. It had been her first massage, and it was like nothing she had ever experienced in her life. She had been embarrassed and excited at the same time, and, while Brigitta had been working over her, massaging her body, every single muscle, ignoring nothing, Robin had found herself becoming aroused. Sexually aroused. Brigitta had been massaging her thighs, the tender inside part, not at all touching her genitals, when Robin began to have an orgasm from the sheer sensual pleasure of having her body caressed. Both embarrassed and excited, Robin had tried to hold the orgasm back, but that only seemed to intensify it, until it literally exploded out of her. She had tried to cover it over, to make believe it hadn't happened, to try and hide it from Brigitta. All week long she wondered whether or not she had been successful. It took her that long to decide that she wanted to try it again, hoping for a repeat performance.
Brigitta was working on her neck now, running her fingers up and down from Robin's naked shoulders, to the cup of her ears. Playing her as if she were playing a piano, Brigitta tapped her fingertips against her, feeling the younger woman responding to her caresses.
"So, what took you so long to come back for another?" Brigitta asked. "Didn't you enjoy the first?"
Robin stopped and thought. Was she talking about the massage, or was she talking about the orgasm? Did she know? Christ, did she?
"No, I enjoyed it very much," Robin said, her lips trembling as she spoke. "It was a very pleasurable experience. I just wanted to wait a while before I came back for another."
Brigitta laughed softly. "So you waited until late Saturday night."
"I -- ah, I ..." Robin searched for words, finding none, no explanation that didn't reveal her deep, dark secret.
"Well, don't worry about it," Brigitta explained. "You would be surprised at the number of women who have done the exact same thing as you are now doing. Many, many women come to me for massages very late at night. Or ask me to come to their rooms for a massage. They enjoy the ... privacy, and the special attention I can give to them."
A shudder passed through Robin's naked body.
"Many of the entertainers who perform in our nightclub have come to me for a private massage, either before or after their performances. They say it helps to relax them; it releases them of their ... tensions."
Robin opened her eyes. Brigitta was directly above her, smiling as she stared down. Her breasts were suspended in the air above her face, hanging heavy and ponderously, their pink tips stiff and erect, like tiny bumps marring the otherwise taut flatness of her form-fitting shirt.
"I have finished with the facial," Brigitta explained. "Are you ready for the ... massage now?"
Robin was breathing harshly. "Yes ... yes, I'm ready. I'm -- ready."
Brigitta smiled. "Good, then close your eyes, relax, and enjoy what is about to happen."
Robin closed her eyes, vividly aware of the growing wetness which was collecting between the lips of her swampy cunt. She was almost trembling in anticipation.
"I must clean my hands first," Brigitta explained, her voice drifting away from Robin. There was the sound of softly falling footsteps across the tiled floor. "I must get a towel first. From any locker."
Robin listened, and she heard the soft, barely audible sound of a click. Without having to see, she knew the sound hadn't come from Brigitta's locker. It was the sound of a lock being snapped into place. A door lock."
Sweat was pouring down Robin's naked form by the time Brigitta had returned to the massage table. Her thighs parted slightly, until she could feel the gentle brush of cool air blowing at the wetness of her cunt.
"Is there anything in particular you want me to massage?" Brigitta asked. She rested her hands on the edge of the table, barely touching the naked side of Robin's resting form. "A part of your body that aches? Something that needs to be rubbed?"
Robin ran a nervous tongue over her suddenly dry lips. "My legs," she began hesitantly. "I have always suffered from pains in my legs ..."
"Any particular part of your legs?"
"My lower legs. My calves. And my ... thighs."
"Your thighs? Good. I think I will begin my massage there. Would you spread you legs please? A little more. Good. Very good. It's good that you're all open as you are. It gives my hands, my fingers, a chance to get in here and ... really give you a working over."
Brigitta's hands settled between Robin's thighs. She massaged the flesh first with the tips of her fingers, pulling the pale flesh slowly around in a shallow orbit, settling more and more of her hand upon her thighs, until she was digging down between them. Pleasure spread out from the tips of her fingers, coursing up and down the length of Robin's quivering legs, causing her toes to curl, and the lips of her cunt to flutter excitedly.
"You are very tense," Brigitta observed, her fingers moving slowly, carefully up Robin's thighs until she was almost pressing them into the oozing tangle of hair at the underside of her cunt. "You should relax more."
"I'm trying to," Robin said, her eyes screwed tightly shut, sweat dripping almost into her mouth. "But it's getting hard to ... concentrate."
Brigitta touched her cunt.
"Oh!" Robin cried, her body stiffening.
The contact had only been a momentary one, a gentle brushing with the back of her hand, and then Brigitta had moved quickly away, even before Robin had gotten an opportunity to react. Even now, although her suspicions were evident, Robin couldn't be sure whether or not the momentary caress had been accidental or not.
"Did I -- hurt you?"
Struggling to control her twitching lips, Robin shook her head stiffly. Her hands were knotted into gnarled fists, and her fingernails were clawing at the cool smooth, leather under her. Her thighs had pulled back for the moment in surprise, and she slowly, easily returned them to their previous position, until they were flat upon the table once more.
"No, you didn't. I -- I'm sorry."
Brigitta continued to caress the tops of Robin's thighs, running her fingers up and down the crease of flesh between the mound of her cunt and her thighs. Her fingers brushed against the tangle sparseness of pubic hairs, sending shudders and additional wild sensations into Robin's body.
"You are very tense here," Brigitta explained. "The muscles here are very knotted." She stopped for a moment and trailed the tip of her long fingernails up the flat bowl of Robin's belly. "Would you like me to ... massage you here? I will, if you wish."
Breathing heavily, Robin nodded "All right ... if you want to. I --"
Brigitta placed her hand over the mound of Robin's cunt. Her long, expert fingers curled around the gentle sloping curve, folding under her body, pressing out the wide-spread of her already parted thighs. Her middle finger pressed down firmly, inserting itself between the folds of moist, furry lips.
"You have a lovely ... body," Brigitta whispered, her voice a harsh purr. "So soft and ... firm. And wet. The lips so delicate ... like flower petals. Does this feel ... pleasurable?" She rolled Robin's erect clitoris around with the tip of her index finger.
"Oh God -- yes!" Robin cried, drawing her legs up and pulling them back. She pressed her cunt up, pushing it against Brigitta's exploring hand "It feels ... wonderful!"
Brigitta joined a second finger alongside of the first, using both to pull the tender edge of Robin's cunt around in a slow, wet circle. She pressed down hard, causing the bud to slip and slide, ooze out from under her grinding grip. The lips of Robin's cunt fluttered, opening and closing stickily as the tall blonde woman caressed them.
"You like when I do this, don't you?" Brigitta asked.
Robin was covered in sweat, humping her pussy into Brigitta's twirling palm. "Oh ... yes. Yes, I do."
"I make you feel warm and hot? Excited?"
"Oh, God -- God!"
Her fingers moved from the bud of Robin's clit, sliding wetly down the moist, fleshy avenue between the lips, until Brigitta's fingertip was poised above the open, sucking hole of her cunt A wetness was oozing out, and Brigitta could feel wave after wave of the humid excitement basking against-her cupped hand.
"How does this feel?" she asked, inserting her finger into the elastic mouth of Robin's cunt.
Robin stiffened. "Don't please! I --"
Brigitta ignored her, moving her finger instead, in a slow, steady circle, stretching wide the opening and closing elasticity of her hole.
"Does this not excite you? Am I hurting you?"
Robin flushed, arching her back as she drove her cunt against the other woman's fingers. Shame mingled with passion, and she could feel her nipples hardening into a renewed state of intense excitement.
"It's not that," she whispered, clutching her breasts in both hands, squeezing into the fleshy mounds until a swell of throbbing passion washed down into her convulsing body. She said: "I ... I'm a virgin ..."
"A virgin!" Brigitta's voice was breathless, and her hand trembled against the slender, birdlike girl.
Shame made Robin want to deny it, but she closed her eyes in grinding self-reproach, shaking her bead from side to side.
"I ... I'm sorry --" she began.
"Sorry! Don't be foolish, darling." Brigitta pushed her middle finger up inside the swirling pit of wetness until her fingernail touched the tautly stretched membrane of the young girl's virginity. "I am also as you are."
Robin opened her eyes. "You're also a ..."
"Virgin." Brigitta smiled, her deep blue eyes flashing. "Yes, I am. No man has ever ... ever put his thing... his cock! into my body. I would not let one ever. I would kill myself first."
The two women stared at each other, their eyes locked, their totally different lives -and lifestyles suddenly coming together, as if fate had brought them there, drawing them from the opposite ends of the earth. They were sharing something, these two strangers, something that neither would ever be capable of putting into words.
"Be gentle with me," Robin told the older, more experienced woman. "I've never done ..."
"Close your eyes, little sister," she said, moving her finger inside or Robin's cunt. "Close your eyes and let me make love to you. It will be like nothing you have ever known in your life."
Robin listened, closing her eyes. She sensed movement around her, and then she felt Brigitta move away from her. She was about to tell her not to, when she felt something touching her, touching her wetly, and she cried out in a sudden, excited voice.
"Oh, yes!" she cried, arching her back, smearing her wet cunt against Brigitta's face. The blonde woman licked her between her thighs. "Do that to me. Do that to me ... please!"
Brigitta had slid down to the edge of the table, leaned forward, and had begun to eat Robin's cunt. She used her fingertips to hold the sparse, almost hairless lips apart, and her tongue darted slitheringly up and down, through the moist foliage of her oozing cunt. She licked her juices up, drilling her tongue tip first into the dilating hold of her cunt, then pulled it out, and continued with an steady upward movement, until she was lapping at her throbbing clitoris. The bud pulsed under her tongue, and Robin's hands came up, and she trapped them against the older woman's head, locking her against her gyrating groin. Robin pumped herself up and down against the wet, licking mouth, and felt a tongue, where no tongue had ever been before, lapping up the drool of her excitement. She pulled her feet under her, so that she could arch her back even further, and she drove her virginal cunt up and down around the wet spear of Brigitta's tongue, almost as if she were fucking herself upon the older woman's Lesbian caress.
"Oh, God!" she moaned, feeling the powerful, stirring sensations filling her wracked, tensed body. "I'm going to come!"
Insensible of Robin's building passion, Brigitta continued to lick at her cunt with a slow, deliberate lapping motion. She slithered her tongue easily up and down, starting at her cunthole, and brushing the pointed wedge of her tongue across Robin's pounding clitoris. She was drinking in her oozing wetness, her mouth filled with the sweet taste of raunchy cunt, listening to the swishing brushing sound of her tongue's intimate licking. She could feel the young girl's thighs around her neck, and the steel-like hardness of her fingers entangling themselves in her silky blonde hair. Her hands went under her ass, and she lifted Robin, bringing her cunt directly against her lips, as if sipping from a wild, sexual cup.
"I'm coming!" Robin cried, throwing up her legs and wrapping them tightly around Brigitta's neck. She humped herself furiously up and down, her orgasm exploding all over the other woman's face. "Oh God, Ohhhhh! I'm coming!"
Brigitta licked Robin until the quivering spasms of her orgasm subsided, and the young girl lay passively on the table, her arms draped brokenly over the edges of fine black leather. Brigitta untangled herself from Robin's slender thighs, and stood away from the massage table, examining her handiwork.
The lips of Robin's cunt lay open, the hole oozing saliva and cuntal discharge, leaking out, flowing smoothly over the tensed cheeks of her ass, staining the leather. Her cunt was a sodden mass from the middle of her belly to the swollen mounds of her ass, and on both inner thighs. Her flat belly was heaving fitfully, like a tense drum skin, fluttering from the driving tempo of her sexual crescendo.
Brigitta smiled, and then, in a single, fluid motion, whisked her t-shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor, her massive, firm breasts tumbling out and dangling freely, swaying from side to side. Her hands went for the button and zipper of her shorts. Under them she was naked, and her cunt was hot and wet. It was a perfect time to introduce a novice to the deliciously sensual art of female lovemaking.
Chapter 5
"Christ -- I'm coming!" Myra Ross moaned, her eyes closed now. She could feel Kevin's cock inside of her, spewing out sperm like drops of wet electricity. Her orgasm closed around it, like a tender bubble of sensation, and she caressed it and drained it until it grew pale and empty. Her cunt was an insatiable mouth as it drank down his pleasure between its quivering, gulping lips. She arched up against him, and moaned: "I'm coming .... I'm coming! ... I'm coming!"
Myra Ross had arrived at Mount Shangri-la Lodge earlier in the week, taking her first vacation by herself in her entire entire life. The vacation, however, had not been for pleasure or relaxation, but was a necessary way of getting a perspective on her life. A life that had taken a sudden, almost suicidal plunge, and was rapidly falling apart on every side of her. Married for almost twelve years, her life with Paul had disintegrated into an endless series of running battles and ego-crushing confrontations. They fought all the time, often for days on end, and the only periods of quiet that existed between them was when they weren't speaking to each other. Even then they glared with such icy bitterness that they might as well have been shouting.
This, naturally, began to take its toll, and Myra, confused and exhausted from the supreme effort it took to just maintain her defenses against attack, had gone away from Paul for a few days of peace and quiet before circumstances at home had driven her directly into a nervous breakdown. She needed time and distance to get her head together so that she could make some sort of decision about her life. Desperate almost, her emotions frayed to the bare bone, Myra had quite seriously considered divorce as a possible solution to her difficulties. There were always the children to consider, she knew, but more important was her own emotional health. She knew she no longer liked Paul; now she needed time to decide whether she still loved him.
Even her choice for a vacation spot had caused an argument to erupt between them. An argument, really, that went to the root of their difficulties, and one that stretched back to a time before they were even married. Myra had wanted to go Mount Shangri-la for their honeymoon, because she was practical, and because they didn't have a great deal of money to spend. Paul, on the other hand, had wanted to go to Florida for the very same reasons: because they didn't have much money. He wanted to have something to remember, he reasoned, something to look back on. Over her practical objections, Paul had won out, and they had gone to Florida on their honeymoon.
Myra's intuition had proven to be correct. A week after they had returned home from their honeymoon, Paul lost his job, and Myra came down with mononucleosis, causing her to lose her job also. Because of Florida, they had no money in the bank to fall back onto, and so their marriage began on an uncertain, shaky economical footing.
Eventually, Paul found another job, but not before Myra's illness, and their mounting, unattended debts had grown into a sizable liability. He struggled to pay the bills, working a second job for the extra income. Then Billie came, and whatever headway they had begun to make was suddenly wiped out. From that point, everything went downhill, causing Paul, ultimately, to alter his future plans of completing his college education once their life had settled.
There were many long, lean years after that. They had Joyce. Out of desperation for money, Paul left his white-collar, office job to go to work for the Post Office, where; he felt, he could make more money with the overtime. The position, too, because of its hours, would give him the opportunity of going back to school.
He did, finally, working nights in the Post Office, and going to school during the days. Three crushing years later, he had his degree, and a license to teach mathematics. He quit the Post Office, began teaching, and soon after had become disillusioned because, like everything in life, teaching wasn't what he thought it would be. They struggled onward, however, never quite regaining their equilibrium from that first bad start.
Eventually, things began to get better; they had more money, and they began to pay their debts. After almost nine years, they began to buy decent furniture for their apartment, something they had done without all the previous years, except for a few makeshift pieces, and some hand-me-downs from their relatives. Although he disliked his job, Paul did well in it, gaining tenure, salary raises, and ultimately advanced degrees. Branching out laterally, he had gone into administration, and became a department chairman. From that point on, it was all politics, something for which Paul had developed an unnatural aptitude through his many hard years of suffering and poverty. Not long after that he became a high school principal.
Oddly, it was when they were finally economically sound that their marriage began to fall apart. Through all the years of adversity, Paul and Myra had remained together, perhaps because they were sharing their suffering, and it formed a sympathetic bond between them. Once, however, that they could relax for the first time in their lives, and enjoy them selves, they became aware that something had grown between them. Once they didn't have to worry so desperately about literally starving, and they had a chance to take a long, dispassionate look at each other -- both Myra and Paul had decided that they didn't like what they saw reflected back at them.
Paul found himself resenting his wife because she was not a professional, and, pragmatically, he considered that a decided disadvantage for his career.
Myra grew to resent and to even hate Paul because his career had left her standing still, in a role as mother and housewife, when all the while she knew she had the potential to do and be more, if only the opportunity would present itself to her. Of course it didn't, and she languished in her unwanted role, a sensitive and intelligent woman, wilting like an unattended flower, stifling in the desert of her own life.
So they fought: bitterly, with vicious, almost sadistic tactics and strategy, each blaming the. other for their failures, each terrified by the ugliness of their immediate past, each clawing desperately at the present to carve out a secure place so that they would never have to go back again to the way it used to be. Success had driven them apart just as their suffering before had brought them together.
After one particularly terrible battle, Myra knew she had to get away. She picked Shangri-la, not just to be antagonistic to Paul, although that was part of it, but because she sensed something magical almost in it, as if she had been given a second chance, a way of changing the past. It was the last resort for them, really, and she took that chance and came to Shangri-la. She came as a thirty-three year old married woman, the mother of two children, alone on the first vacation of her life, desperately searching or something, like all fragments of the past, that did not exist.
She found, instead, Kevin Elliott.
Myra met Kevin her first day at Shangri-la. She was sitting in the cocktail lounge, sipping from a whisky sour, trying to sort out the shattered fragments of her life. The lounge was fairly empty. Across from her was an old man sipping from a beer. He was a tall, reedy man with a rumpled gray suit that seemed very much out of place at the resort. He had on a white shirt and a thin, out-of-fashion black tie that was twisted around so that the lining showed. He was looking deeply into his drink, as if it were a crystal ball, and the answers to his life might be found at the bottom. There was a cigarette dangling from his lip, but he wasn't sucking on it. The smoke was bending up past his eyes in a thin blue fog.
At the far side of the lounge there were several tables, but they were all empty. Then, further back, there was a row of booths. There was a young couple sitting at the booth, probably on their honeymoon, and they were sitting on opposite sides of the table, leaning forward, holding hands, looking into each other's faces. There were several tables further back, but if they were occupied, Myra couldn't tell. The whole back end of the lounge was draped in gloomy daytime shadows.
From out of -the shadows at the far end of the lounge, a tall blond man slowly emerged, as if he were stepping through a thick fog. Myra, hadn't seen him before, so she assumed that he must have been in the rear booths. He walked slowly, lightly, as if his feet weren't touching the floor, and he were walking above it, on a cushion of air. He was wearing a somber gray suit and a pale gray shirt that matched the suit. His necktie was a pale lavender, and instead of clashing with the gray, it seemed to blend perfectly, complimenting it. The tie was open and loose at his neck, and she could see his tanned, dark flesh through his open collar. The man's hair was almost bleached white, striking against his sun-darkened flesh, and, even in the darkness of the lounge, he was wearing a pair of steel-framed sunglasses. He was extraordinarily handsome, and seemed to be aware of it. Perhaps that was why be walked so coolly and so casually: he wanted everyone else to be just as aware.
He walked slowly to the far end of the bar, where Myra was sitting, and she thought he might be looking at her, although she couldn't be sure through the dark glasses. There was a kind of faint, tight smile on his lips, and she wondered whether there was a mocking bend to them, or whether that was simply her own subjective reaction to his good looks.
When she realized that she was staring at him, Myra looked down into her drink, and quickly took another sip from it. Her glass was almost empty now.
"Another," the tall blond man softly said when the bartender had approached him. He had a glass in his hand, and he placed it on top of the bar. His voice was clear and cultured, and even though he spoke softly, there was an unmistakable tone of authority in his voice.
The bartender nodded.
Myra realized she was staring again, and she took another drink from her glass. The blond man was looking at her now, and she felt an unmistakable flutter in the pit of her stomach. Without understanding why, she pulled her thighs together, as if locking her cunt in a tight prison of flesh.
"And another for the lady," he said, now obviously staring at her.
Myra's hand tightened around her glass, and she looked suddenly up at him. My God, she thought, feeling the fluttering that had been in her stomach suddenly dance lower until it was tickling her between her thighs. He's tying to pick me up!
"That's all right," she said, expelling the words in a tight huff of breath. "You don't-have to --" She searched for the appropriate words.
He lifted his hand and waved away her objection. His tight lips parted and revealed a set of perfectly brilliant white teeth. "Don't worry, little lady," he said, in the same soft, confident voice. "No strings attached. I just don't want to drink alone."
Dread made her body tense. She didn't know how to handle her situation. She hadn't been picked up in almost fifteen years, and she didn't know what to do. She felt foolish and awkward, more for herself than for the circumstance. As a housewife and a mother, Myra rarely came in contact with that many men, and when she did, and they made a play for her, she could fend it off easily because it was either a neighbor or a local merchant who was propositioning her. But this was different. She didn't have her husband or her children to hide behind. She had to sort this out for herself. She didn't want to be hostile or offend him, and she certainly didn't want to give him the wrong idea. At least, she thought she didn't.
The bartender half turned, and be looked directly at Myra, waiting for her answer.
She smiled back at the blond man's smile, and said: 'Well, all right. I guess one won't hurt."
The blond man nodded, pleased with himself, pleased with her response. "Good," he said.
Not knowing what else to do, Myra drained her glass, and looked at her wristwatch. As she lifted her hand, she made sure that her wedding band flashed in the dim light.
"Are you waiting for someone?" he asked tentatively. He cocked his head toward the bar stool next to her, as if asking whether it would be all right for him to sit next to her.
The trembling, forbidden kind of excitement that gripped her body made her answer come out all distorted and magnified. Myra nodded her head vigorously. "No, I'm not. I'm not waiting for anyone," she answered, regretting instantly her naive honesty. "Why do you ask?"
He slid onto the stool next to her, and his knee touched hers. It was like electricity, and she felt the charge surge up her thigh from the point of contact, stabbing wetly into her cunt.
"Your watch," he said softly. "You keep looking at your watch. I thought perhaps you might be waiting for someone."
The bartender brought their drinks. The blond man's was a dark looking amber fluid, potent in appearance, with a single ice cube floating in it. Myra clutched at her drink, grateful once again to have something to do with her hands, and she rolled her sweaty palms against the cool glass.
"Are you here alone?" he asked, lifting his glass.
Myra didn't know how to answer him. She didn't know whether he was referring to her being alone in the lounge or whether he meant was she alone at Shangri-la. Besides, she wasn't sure whether she wanted him to know the answer to that question. An answer would mean she had made a certain commitment toward him, and that was something she didn't know how to handle.
"Yes, I am," she said finally, trying to be casual, afraid of looking directly at him. There was a wetness in the crotch piece of her panties, and she felt giddy and lightheaded, as she hadn't felt in more years than she cared to recall. "Are you?"
"Alone?" he smiled crookedly. "Oh, yes. Very much alone." He shifted on his seat, turning toward her. "Are you going to be here for the rest of the week?"
"I'm leaving Sunday," she explained, her confidence growing, the blood throbbing in her ears.
He smiled. "So am I." He picked up his drink: "Shall we drink to a long, friendly ... relationship?"
Myra lifted her glass, afraid that her trembling hand would be- noticeable, and she tipped the glass toward his. They clinked dully.
"All right," she said. "To a long and friendly relationship."
Myra pressed the cool glass to her lips and she took a deep drink. Fire .rolled down her throat and splashed in her stomach. She was beginning to feel the first drink already, and her head felt as if it was throbbing. Her ears were hot with excitement, and she could feel her nipples tingling against the cups of her bra. It wasn't the drinks, however, which caused her breasts to respond. It was his knee: he was rubbing it softly up and down against the edge of her leg.
Close to him now, Myra could see how unbelievably handsome this stranger was. Perhaps beautiful was a better word. His features were finely chiseled, and his tan was a rich deep flawless brown. Almost bleached white, his hair was very soft, flowing into a long, mod style that had to have been professionally styled She could see his eyes now under the dark glasses, and they were alive and piercing, with an intelligence and a subtle knowledge that hinted of dark things that might be. He had long, long eyelashes, and they fluttered like delicate webbing. The clean erotic aroma of his cologne assailed her nostrils like a perfume, and she found herself inhaling its fragrance deeply, almost involuntarily.
"I know," he said finally, a smile on his lips, mischievous humor in his eyes. "I remind you of someone, don't I?"
Myra put her glass down on the bar top. "As a matter of fact, you do. Do I know you from somewhere?"
He chuckled warmly. "Perhaps you've seen me on television," he said. His leg was pressed tightly against her thigh. "I've done a series of commercials for --"
"Yes!" Myra interrupted. "That's where I know you from. You do those commercials on television about that plastic. ..."
He nodded and sipped his drink. "Well," he said, "it's a living."
"No, they're very good, those commercials," she said suddenly excited. It was a stupid thing to say, but she couldn't control her mouth. Then she said another foolish thing: "Do you know what I used to say to Paul about you? Paul's my husband."
He smiled broadly, and she could feel his calf against her calf, as if he were trying to mold his leg against hers. "No, what did you used to say?"
Myra remembered suddenly what it was: she used to think he looked like such a raving faggot in those commercials. Now, however, up close, in real life, right next to him, she was overwhelmed with his masculinity.
She blushed. "Nothing," she said after a few desperate moments. "Forget it."
He laughed, and the secret awareness she had observed in his eyes seemed to come alive, making them sparkle. It was as if he was telling her that he knew what she was thinking. Perhaps she wasn't the first woman who had reacted to him in that manner.
"Okay," he said softly, "I'll forget it on one condition."
"What's the condition?"
"Tell me your name."
"Myra," she said. "Myra Ross. What's your name?"
He sipped his drink, then put it down slowly. She was aware again of the rub of his thigh against her leg; aware again of the growing wetness in her panties.
"Kevin," he said. "Kevin Elliott."
Myra tipped her drink toward him. "How do you do, Kevin?"
He smiled "I do very well, Myra."
They spend the balance of that first day in the lounge, nursing their drinks, talking, exploring their pasts, enjoying each other's company immensely. Myra learned that Kevin was just getting over a divorce, and that somehow drew them even closer together. She saw the relationship through eyes filled with her own pain, characterizing them as two lonely, wounded human beings, gravitating toward each other, sharing their sad, sorry secret.
Myra spent the rest of the week with Kevin, hardly out of his sight for a moment. They ate together, took walks together, went horseback riding together, like two adolescents on their first experimental dates.
The only time they weren't together was ;at night. Kevin, like a dutiful schoolboy, escorted her to the door of her room; spent a few moments talking lightly with her, shook hands and said good night. Then he fumed away and went to his room. He knew Myra was married, and that she was going through a particularly difficult period, and so, explaining his behavior, insisted that he didn't want to confuse her any further than she already was. The gesture seemed so gallant, so selfless that it made Myra's head whirl, just as it was intended to. She began to think of Kevin in romantic terns, more as a boyfriend than a lover. He further fortified this impression as frequently as possible, treating her gently, affectionately, complimenting her constantly on the way she looked, on the clothing she wore, noticing little pleasing things about her, sending her a single long-stemmed rose each morning, and generally romancing her. Myra, who had been starved for affection, literally ate up all the attention she was receiving.
She found herself fantasizing about Kevin. Her fantasies took usually the form of three separate dreams. In the first, she saw Kevin as the answer to her problems. She was going to run away with him, run away from Paul and her children, and leave forever behind her all of the hassles and difficulties of her life. She was going to start anew, fresh, with a man who appreciated her value as a woman and as a human being.
The second was a variation of the first, and rather than run away with him, which seemed to her even extreme, she saw herself divorcing Paul so that she could marry Kevin. In either case, they would live happily ever after.
The third fantasy excited her because it seemed the most probable. She intended to have an affair with him. In all twelve years of her marriage, Myra had never had an affair with any man, although, like all women, the idea had entered her thoughts. The only thing that had prevented her was the lack of opportunity, and the fear that she would be found out by Paul.
Kevin released her from those two fears. Paul would never find out about Kevin simply because he had no way of knowing he even existed. And the opportunity certainly was there. They were two consenting adults, alone, hundreds of miles away from home, with no one there to stop them. It still surprised her even now that they hadn't done so before this. During the past few days, the desire had grown stronger and more difficult to ignore. Besides, if she did have an affair with him, there was no way to know how it might turn out. It might go on for years. And there was certainly the possibility that either of her first two fantasies could become real possibilities. She didn't seriously consider that, but she fortified herself with the thought that one never knows how his life will turn out. The smallest incident, sometimes is the one which produces the most considerable effect. Was Kevin Elliott that incident in her life? Before she went home to Paul she had to know, one way or another.
The week wore on until it was Saturday night. Myra knew this had to be the night. Sunday morning at eleven o'clock they both would be checking out, Kevin to go back to his job, and she to go back to Paul, her problems unresolved. It was now ... or never.
Together they went to the nightclub, listened to the two bands and the comic, drank an endless string of strong drinks, and danced every dance after the show was over. They laughed and teased each other, and had a marvelously good time. They danced until the nightclub closed down, and they they walked, like lovers, arm-in-arm to the diner where they had coffee and cake. As usual, Kevin escorted Myra to her room.
She slid the key into the lock, smiled at him, and took the plunge. "Would you like to come in for a moment?" she asked, her stomach fluttering uncertainly.
Kevin studied her face. "Are you sure you want me to, darling?"
She laughed nervously. "No, I'm not, but if you want to come in, you'd better come in now. I don't know how I'm going to feel about this later."
"Well, in that case, I think I'll come in." He flashed his spectacular smile at her. "For a little while, at least. Thank you."
Ten minutes later, they were sprawled across the top of her bed, locked in a passionate embrace.
Kevin kissed her wetly on the mouth, and Myra parted her lips to permit entrance of his tongue. He tasted hot and wet in her mouth, his tongue flitting from side to side, stinging her sensitive flesh with the licking lash of his slithering caresses.
He was on top of her, and her thighs parted until she twisted her legs through his, crushing upward with her cunt, grinding her body against his as they kissed. Kevin had his arms under her, and Myra had hers interlaced across his back. If there was a part of their bodies that was not touching, it could not be discerned with the naked eye. Her breasts were flattened sensually under his massive chest, and his cock stiffened excitedly in the prison-like confines of his pants. She felt it driving up against her, rubbing the edge of her cunt, sending ripples of intense anticipation down through the many layers of her clothing. Her panties were sopping wet between her thighs, clinging to her underside until the driving hunches of his body had jammed the material between her hairy lips. The hole of her cunt was opening and closing like a puckering mouth, licking at his hardness, aching wetly for his cock.
Kevin's hands worked with expert precision, loosening the clasps of her halter top so that it came down, revealing her braless breasts to his hands and eyes. Myra had always been self-conscious about her breasts because of their size, and even more so since the birth of her two children, and the beginning of her long middle years, which had caused their previous firmness to begin to sag. But she felt no such shame tonight. Her body was alive with passion, and she knew the passion she received in return was equally intense. All week long Kevin had wanted her body, had ached for the touch of her body, had lusted after her body, and she knew now, as she gave herself so freely to him, that the merest touch of his hand across her stiffened nipples was more exciting to him than any memory or fantasy with which his mind could use to draw comparisons. Her body excited him, made him ache with desire, and that, more than anything else, stripped her totally of inhibitions, and drove her against him with compelling abandonment.
"Oh, God -- it feels so good!" Myra moaned, crushing Kevin's face toward her tits as he scooped them into his mouth. His tongue lashed her nipples, striking them until they were so stiff they were throbbing in his mouth. Saliva dribbled from his lips and poured hotly, wetly down her sensitive, quivering flesh. She humped her cunt hard against his plunging middle, rubbing his stiff cock between the lips of her cunt, until her panties were squishing with wetness, they were so soaked. "Fuck me, Kevin -- fuck me! Fuck me, baby, fuck met I want you to fuck me, baby --"
His hands moved down to the base of her back, fumbling for an instant with the button and zipper of her pants outfit, then opened them. He slid his hand into the yawning wedge of material, sliding his fingers over the driving firmness of her pantie covered asscheeks. He gripped her flesh into his palms, rolling her over until she was on top of him, driving his cock up hard against her as he pushed down with his fingers. He could feel her heat and wetness even, through his pants.
"Take it out, baby!" she moaned, going completely wild. She humped herself hard. "Your cock! Take your cock out. I want to feel it! I want to suck it! I want to shove it all the way up my cunt until I'm coming! I want to feel you coming! Come all over met Inside of met God!"
Kevin slipped the balance of her parted clothing down over her grinding hips and legs, until all she wore was a pair of very brief, very wet bikini panties. He hooked his fingers inside them, and he rolled them down to the middle of her thighs. Her cunt was naked against his crotch, and he could feel her hair rubbing against his clothing.
Kevin rolled her back onto her ass. He leaned over her, whisking the blue panties the rest of the way down her legs. Sensually, Myra parted her thighs, revealing the wet tangle of her black-haired pussy. The lips were parted wetly, and the slit between them was deep red Cuntal discharge oozed from her quivering hole.
"I'm going to fuck you now, baby!" Kevin gasped, opening his zipper and releasing his throbbing ereotion. It slithered out, standing away from him a full, thick seven inches: His cockhead was engorged with blood, swollen like a cap, and a bubble of pre-come lubrication oozed from its stetted opening. "I'm going to fuck you hard!"
His cock went into the molten pit of her curt, and Myra gasped with pleasure. She crushed down with her pussy, bending the walls of her cuntal passageway around the drilling thickness that was opening her up. She tilted her hips back, pushing her black-haired cunt up against his grinding middle, swallowing the full-length of his shaft into her creaming cunt. She could feel the cold metallic teeth of his zipper catching in the hair of her cunt.
"Oh, God -- it's so big" she cried, locking her feet around his ass, humping herself up and down around the plunging rod. "Bigger than Paul ... I knew it would be! I knew it would be! Oh, fuck me with it, baby! Fuck me ... fuck met Christ! I'm gonna come!"
Kevin grimaced with excitement as he drove his cock in and out of Myra's gripping belly. The intense rub of friction, and the pleasure it gave him to watch his cock parting her pussy nearly drove him insane with passion. His balls tightened, and there was a burning sensation around the tip of his prick. He thrust in deeply, stabbing the full-length of his shaft into the fleshy canal of Myra's dripping crotch.
He began to come.
The moment his sperm touched her, Myra began to come. She came from the idea more than she came from the reality. Kevin was the first man, the only man other than Paul, who had ever come inside of her body. The sheer sensuality of the thought drove her mad with passion.
"Christ I'm coming!" Myra Ross moaned, her eyes closed now. She could feel Kevin's cock inside of her, spewing out sperm like drops of wet electricity. Her orgasm closed around it, like a tender bubble of sensation, and she caressed it and drained it until it grew pale and empty. Her cunt was an insatiable mouth as it drank down his pleasure between its quivering, gulping lips. She arched up against him, and moaned: "I'm coming. ... I'm coming! ... I'm coming."
Chapter 6
Steve Hamilton kissed his wife, Tracy, gently on the lips. Her mouth opened, and as he licked at her tongue, he could feel the pleasant nibbling of her teeth as she chewed into his bottom lip. He held her soft and easy in her arms, bending slightly to accommodate for the differences in their height. A gentle summer breeze blew at them.
"Hey, hey, lady," he. said quietly, pulling his lips away from her hungry mouth. "Is that anyway now for a decent married woman to be acting?"
"Decent," Tracy purred back, rubbing her body against his, rolling the curve of her cunt across the stiffening thickness of his cock. "Who wants to be decent. That's so dull. I'd much rather be indecent."
They were lying in the grass, side by side, the summer midnight sky a blazing tapestry of brilliant stars woven against a velvet cloak of the deepest, darkest black. The trees around them swished gently back and forth, rustling crisply from the easy press of the cooling breeze. The grass rippled against them, like tiny waves in a green meadow sea, lapping at their bodies. Behind them, where the hill fell away, the silhouetted buildings of Mount Shangri-la Lodge were like blurred shadows against the dusky horizon. Beyond it lay the lake, the moonlight dancing like an electric bubble upon its glass-like surface. And then more hills and hills until they became a mountain, standing for all eternity with stone fingers pointing accusingly at the sky.
"You talk like a loose woman," Steve whispered. He put his hand on her breast, and caressed it through her blouse. "I don't know if I like that. A loose, indecent woman."
"Oh, but I am though," she answered, pecking at his mouth, licking him with her darting, snake-like tongue. The wind got into her hair and danced it against his face. "I am a loose, indecent woman. I do dirty things."
"Oh, really? Do something dirty.'
She humped her cunt against his cock. "What should I do that's dirty? Oh, I know -- I'll talk dirty. Would you like me to talk dirty for you, darling?"
Steve snuggled his face against the soft paleness of Tracy's neck, breathing in the perfume of her growing excitement, lashing the tip of his tongue swiftly around the perimeter of her ear. His fingers, in the meantime, moved up, away from her breast, and slowly, furtively, began to undo the buttons of her blouse.
"Okay," he said, stabbing his tongue into the hollow of her ear. She shuddered under him, and he knew she was very excited. "Let me hear you talk dirty. Give me your worst. Be raunchy."
"I want to fuck you," Tracy whispered, hissing her voice, stretching out the vowels until her voice seemed to growl with passion. "I want to take your ,cock and shove it into my pussy! I want to jerk you off and have you come all over my belly. I'II rub it all over me, all over my cunt and tits and --"
The words, connected with the memory and idea, excited Steve, and he leaned forward and kissed his wife hard on the lips. His stiffening tongue tapped at her lips, and she parted them, permitting his entrance. She sucked it into her mouth, drawing upon it with her draining breath, rubbing it against her teeth and the inside of her mouth. She teased it with her tongue, licking it, prodding it, lapping at it until he dug it deeply into her mouth, extending it its full length, rippling it across the back of her throat. He moaned softly in her mouth, halting, in his excitement, the unbuttoning of her blouse.
Steve broke the kiss off. 'Well..." he said, trying to sound unconvinced. "That wasn't bad, I mean, for something dirty, but it was only talking. It wasn't as if you did something dirty ..."
Tracy burrowed herself again between his thighs, feeling the familiar thumping of her husband's cock against the curve of her pussy. She was very much excited, and her panties felt as if she had peed in them. Even her jeans were wet she was so aroused.
"You want me to do something dirty," she said, pulling her arms around from behind him. "That's different. I don't know, now. Maybe you'll have to convince me --"
Steve kissed her again, harder, his tongue probing sensually in inside of her mouth. He moved it across her lips and teeth, and lapped it up and down the wet sweet walls of her cheeks. He teased his tongue across the ridged hollow at the roof of her mouth, grinding his hard body in a tight, humping motion against her.
"Convinced yet?" he asked.
Tracy shuddered excitedly. "Well, I'm not sure. Why don't you try that again?"
Steve kissed her another time, using his tongue the way an artist used a paintbrush, dabbing at her mouth, licking at it, stroking it with long flat strokes that washed themselves across the spongy wetness of her tongue. He resumed the unbuttoning of her blouse, parting it to the middle of her chest, inserting his fingers against her warm flesh.
Tracy was wearing a bra, and Steve slipped his hand into the cup, holding the trembling, tender mound in the palm of his squeezing hand. Her breasts were very sensitive, he knew, and she enjoyed having them played with more than anything else; more than fucking, he sometimes thought. So tonight he played with them. He squeezed it in and out, turning his hand back and forth, allowing the quivering flesh to slide between his fingers. Her nipple was throbbing with stiffness, and he caught it between his thumb and index fingers, pinching it until his wife was moaning wetly into his mouth, lashing her own tongue against his in her sudden responsive excitement.
"Better?" he asked, breaking off the kiss.
Tracy's eyes were closed, and he could' hear the wet, harsh sound of her breathing. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead, and her mouth was open loosely, her lips trembling ever so slightly. Her pale cheeks were flushed with passion and she was grinding herself hard against his cock, putting both her tiny hands on his ass, pressing his weight down against her.
"You almost had me convinced ..." she began.
Steve humphed with mock indignation. "Almost!" he exclaimed. He pinched her nipple, feeling it deflate between his fingers, then feeling it again grow full with a renewed stiffness. He said: "What am I going to have to do to convince you? Fuck you right here on the grass? Fuck you right here, right now?"
"Oh ... baby!" Tracy moaned.
"All right," he said, fondling her intimately, moving his hand awkwardly under her restraining bra from her right tit to her left. "I'll try one more thing, my secret weapon. If that doesn't work, nothing will."
Tracks cunt was oozing wetness the way an overly wet sponge oozed a puddle of water. She closed her eyes, her body trembling, grinding her cunt erotically up and down amend the stiff column of her husband's cock.
"Oh, yeah," she asked, eyes closed, her lips trembling with anticipation. "What are you going to do to me?"
"You'll see," Steve answered, teasing her with his voice. He returned his hands to her blouse, pulling it from her jeans, and continuing to unbutton it until it parted under his fingers.
"Oh ... baby!" Tracy moaned excitedly, understanding at last. She thrust her bra-encased tits up toward his face. "Oh God -- that's wild!"
He tugged on her bra, pulling it up above her breasts. "Ssshhh, for Christ's sake. Let me do it to you first before you say anything:
"Oh God, baby -- hurry! It's making me horny!"
In the dim, sagging light of the moon and stars, Steve Hamilton stared down at his wife's breasts. They were not especially large, but they were firm and well-shaped, like a rolling teardrop that had been frozen suddenly and was warm. Her nipples were stiff with the exciting kiss of the night air upon them, throbbing and twitching madly at the stars. Her flesh was pale and frail-looking in the shadows, but he could clearly discern the darker circle of brown Surrounding each breast tip, like a perimeter around her nipples.
He lowered his mouth and began to eat her breasts.
"Oh, Jesus!" she moaned, stiffening under his wet, licking attack. Tracy arched her back, thrusting her tits into his face, rubbing her nipples over the wetness of his lips. She could feel the feather-like brush of his hair like slender tendrils trailing across the quivering orb. "Oh, my God, that's fantastic ... fantastic!"
Steve sucked her nipples up into her mouth, dabbing the stiffened points with the edge of his tongue. He held her tit with his fingers, squeezing it up between his lips, and he rolled his tongue slowly, wetly across the end of the curve, lashing at her nipples. He dug his tongue into her sweet-tasting, tender flesh, rolling his tongue up and over, flattening her nipples as he licked back and forth. He could feel her stirring under him, her body squirming with a burning desire.
Tracy moved her hand and slid it down between their bodies. Her slender fingers wrapped themselves around Steve's stiffened cock, and she squeezed the shaft through the material of his jeans. He was hot and throbbing in her palm, and she rubbed him up and down, from the base of his shaft to the swollen tip of his cockhead.
"Convinced yet?" Steve asked, lifting his fate from her tits. His mouth was wet with his own ;saliva, and he licked his tongue slowly, casually up and down over the swollen stiffness of her nipple. Her flesh was soft and wet, and he could hear the sound of his tongue moving against her, making a wet, lapping sound, like waves of an ocean washing against a lonely beach.
Tracy shuddered. "Oh, I love you, baby ... I love you so much --"
"You didn't answer my question," Steve teased, humping his cock up and down in the hollow of her gripping hand. He could feel the fingers of the grass rubbing against his face as the wind blew darkly.
"Oh, baby," Tracy moaned. "I want to make love to you. I want to get laid so bad ..."
"Just as I thought," Steve exclaimed, pretending to be indignant. "I convince you, and you forget all that you said you were going to do to me."
Tracy opened her eyes, trying to focus through her passion. Her eyes were red and clouded, and she was breathing fitfully.
"Did I promise you something, baby?" she asked, her voice breathless with her excitement.
"Did you!" Steve began massaging her breasts again, squeezing his fingers in and out. "You were going to do something dirty to me, remember? You're a loose, indecent woman, right?"
Tracy smiled sensually, closing her eyes again. "Oh, yes. I remember now. Now, let's see. What shall I do to you?"
"Something dirty," he coaxed, sliding his trembling cock up and down between her fingers. "Something immoral and indecent. Something obscene and sexual --"
Tracy purred "Ah, yes. I know. Turn over, baby. On your back."
Excitedly, Steve turned over, releasing his grip upon Tracy's saliva wet breasts. The wind rippled her parted blouse, flapping like a banner against him as her tits dangled down, wet nipples brushing lightly across the edge of his chest.
"What are you going to do to me?" Steve asked, knowing already what his wife had in mind. "Is it going to hurt me?"
Tracy laughed sensually. "It's going to feel so good it's going to seem as if it hurts."
"Oh, yeah. What are you going to do?"
Tracy laughed softly. "I'm going to suck your cock."
Steve shuddered excitedly. "Do you think you should?" he asked breathlessly. "We're outside, you know, darling. What if someone should walk by? What if someone should see what you're doing?"
"They're going to get a eye-full then," she purred, opening her husband's zipper. "They're going to see me sucking your cock!"
Steve closed his eyes, his mouth dry, the air in his lungs tasting like bitter steam. He tried to be cool and casual, pulling his hands away from her body, folding his arms under him, cradling his head like a pillow, but he was incredibly excited. He sucked in his breath and held it, desperately trying to contain his passion.
Tracy pulled his cock out. It stood stiff and rigid in the cool night air. The chill of the summer wind was exciting against his trembling shaft, and he could feel his flesh under his clothing pucking into tiny bumps of sensitivity. For a moment he couldn't decide which was more exciting: the touch of his wife's hand against his naked cock, or the realization that he was exposed and naked in the middle of an empty field where anyone, any one of the Shangri-la guests could stumble across them at any moment.
Tracy played with his cock, teasing him with her fingers. She pulled his balls out and laid them across his open zipper until they hung down between his thighs. She clamped her fingers around the base of the shaft, and jerked him slowly up and down, slithering her fingers up the length of the throbbing erection until she was squeezing the ball of his swollen cockhead between her fingers. Moisture seeped from his glans, and she rubbed it across the sensitive flesh, watching his erection quivering and tremble sensually. She stroked him deeply, tightening her fingers around the thickness of his shaft until the head of his cock seemed swollen to almost twice its size. Up and down she jerked him, stroking the full length of his hardon, feeling the smooth slippery slide of his flesh rubbing against the collecting sweat of her pahn.
"Christ! Suck it already!" Steve moaned, arching his hips up, assisting her movements by driving his cock through the hollow of her fist. "Suck it already, before I come all over my belly."
Tracy moaned. "That would be nice. I like to jerk you off and feel you coming all over my hand, between my fingers. So hot ... and wet ... and sticky! I'll lap it all up from your belly ... Drink up your sperm --"
"Jesus Christ -- suck it!" he moaned, feeling his balls tighten. "You're teasing the hell out of me."
Tracy laughed softly. "I know it. I know exactly what I'm doing. Do you want me to suck your cock? Then you've got to ask me. Ask me nicely, and maybe, maybe I'll do it for you. Say please."
"Please," he moaned, his cock quivering spasmodically. "Please, baby ... please!"
"Please what?"
He shuddered. "Please suck my cock!"
Tracy grinned. "All right," she said, and she lowered her head.
Tracy hesitated a split-second, then lowered her mouth and began to suck on Steve's cock. She felt the huge shaft push into her pliant lips, parting them as he entered her warm mouth. She could taste his hardness, the salty heaviness weighing against her tongue. The shaft of his cock slid across the edge of her teeth, and she licked at it enthusiastically with her tongue. Wild sensations filled her body at the strange, uniquely sexual excitement it brought her to be performing something so intimate in such an open, unprotected place.
Steve moaned when he felt his wife's soft lips close over the pole of his cock. Her licking tongue tickled him until he was groaning softly with pleasure. The inside of her mouth was soft and wet and hot, and the flesh of his cock tingled sensually. As he pushed himself in, growing stiffer and harder between her lips, he felt the hard edge of her teeth scraping erotically around the sides of his shaft, chewing into his erection. There was an unmistakable stirring in his balls.
"Oh, baby," he moaned, arching up gently, prodding the back of her wet throat with the end of his erection. "That feels so good. So intense ... hot! Christ!"
Steve brought his hand down, and placed it on top of Tracy's bobbing head. His fingers spread through her dark brown hair as he attempted to hold her lips in place around his hardon. He could feel the wet cold licking fingers of the air, wrapping themselves around his wet cock each time his wife pulled her head back, and permitted his stiffness to slide from her tighly puckered lips. The tingling in his balls intensified, and he found himself humping sensually up and down, fucking his cock in and out of his wife's wet, sucking lips.
His free hand moved, and Steve cupped her naked breast into his palm. It felt cool and firm between his feverish fingers, and he enjoyed the sensual in and out lifting and drop of the orb as her body pulled back and forth above him. He caught the nipple of her right breast between his fingers, holding it steady so that her breast pulled taut on the back stroke, and plopped heavily between his fingers on her downward plunge. Touching her nakedness excited him, as it always did, but tonight, under the stars, with the cool summer wind tickling at their partial nakedness, the sensations seemed so much more intense.
"Oh, Christ," he moaned softly, squeezing her tits, driving himself in and out. Her lips made a wet, squishing sound around his stiffening cock. "Suck it, Tracy ... suck it! ... God, that feel so good! ... Fantastic ... fantastic!"
Pleasure throbbed in Tracy's head as she gobbled down Steve's cock. She dropped her jaw all the way down, and tightened her lips around the slick, saliva coated column of his hard pink flesh. Sensually, she rolled her tongue across the swollen head of his cock, teasing it around the underside of the shaft until he was squirming in pleasure under her. She began to move her mouth up and down, in a short rapid arc, sliding her lips across the rigid length of his throbbing hardness.
"Fantastic!" he groaned. "My God -- you're going to make me come if you do that much longer."
His words excited her, and Tracy redoubled her efforts. Her lips trembled, and she had to suck in air through her nose. She plunged her face down, sucking upward on his cock, drawing him deeply into her mouth, and she pushed her lips down to the base of Steve's belly. Rubbing against her nose, she could feel the scratchy brush of his pubic hair. The steel teeth of his open zipper was cold against her flushed cheek. The entire length of Steve's cock was engulfed by her mouth, and it twitched and throbbed madly against her tongue as he pushed the shaft gently against the opening of her throat. She wanted him to come, she knew suddenly. She wanted her man to come in her mouth.
"Oh, Cod," Steve moaned, holding her hard against him, his knees up and parted to permit her bobbing head and shoulders. "Tracy -- that's great! Wonderful, fantastic! You're going to make me come ... you'd better stop ... Oohhh!"
Instead of stopping, Tracy's tempo increased. She plunged her face down hard, flattening her throat so that his cockhead was almost down inside of it. She tightened her lips around the thick base of his shaft, drawing her breath inward, hollowing her cheeks against the throbbing sides of his erection. She sucked up with all her strength and might, creating a wet sliding fleshy vacuum around his cock.
"Baby ... baby!" he cried, his body trembling. He released his hold on her breast and placed both hands on top of her head. He used his fingers to push her in and out, up and down, holding her down hard around him, sticking his cock all the way into her mouth. "Christ, you're gonna make me come! ... Please, baby ... please!"
Tracy broke her deep caress off, pulling her head back. Steve's long hot cock popped from her mouth and rested against her flushed cheek She clutched at his hardness with her hands, rubbing his cock back and forth against her face, exhaling softly, wetly.
"Come, baby ... come!" she whispered, her eyes closed, the summer wind cool against her saliva damp face. "I want you to come, baby. I want you to come in my mouth. I want to feel your come pumping into my mouth, sliding down my throat ... Oh, Steve, I love you so much!" .
Steve shuddered at the thought. "What about you?" he asked, his voice a trembling moan. His cock was like a hot poker against her warm flesh. "What about you, baby? It would be unfair. ..."
Tracy squeezed his cock with all her strength, her fingernails digging into his rigid, fleshy pole. Licking her tongue over his swollen cockhead, chewing into it as if it were a piece of obscene, sexual candy, she said:
"Do it for me, baby ... do it for met I want you to come. I want to taste it ... I want to drink it down. Oh, baby, please ... please. Do it for me ... do it for me. Come in my mouth!"
"But you --"
"If you love me, let me do it. I want to, Steve. I want to!"
He shuddered convulsively, feeling the wild erotic kiss of the wind upon his balls. He could hear music in the distance, and the faraway sound of laughter carried to him across the stilled mountain air.
"Oh, God -- yes!" he cried. "Do it, yes! Do it! I want you to ... I want you to! I want to come in your mouth! I want to -- Christ!"
Excitement made Tracy's head swell with passion as she returned to her work. She began to bob up and down on the end of Steve's cock. She drew her lips back, allowing the swollen shaft of his cock to slide from her mouth until his cockhead was pressed against her teeth. Then she plunged down again, reswallowing his entire throbbing length, until her lips were sealed tightly to his hairy belly. Tracy repeated this jerking, in and out movement over and over: up and down, up and down, up and down, gliding his hard cock in and out of her mouth.
She could feel him stiffening under her, and in her mouth she could taste the pungent saltiness of his, preorgastic discharge. She drank it down greedily, as if it were a sensual delicacy, coating her throat with its honeyed sweetness.
Straining forward, Tracy tightened her lips around Steve's cock, trying to provide for him an even, more intense feeling of licking friction. She pumped her lips up and down his shaft, lapping him, eating him, feeling her saliva bubbling from the wrinkled corners of her mouth, trickling down her chin, staining wetly the front of his jeans. Tracy sucked as hard as she knew how, trying frantically to draw Steve's sperm into her mouth.
"I'm going to come!" he cried, his shrilled voice piercing the night. "I'm going to come -- now!"
Tracy's mouth was suddenly flooded with a thick, hot discharge, plopping like mucousy blobs against her tongue. The moment it touched her, she went completely insane with passion, and she began to suck desperately on her husband's gushing shaft. She used her mouth as if it were her hand, trying to wring the sperm from his cock with the pressing friction of her tongue. She gobbled the thick fluid down, swallowing the slimy wetness with an insatiable greed. It was like a wine, an ambrosia, burning her stomach and making her head dizzy with excitement. She could feel it on her teeth, on her tongue, coating her lips, smeared all over the insides of her cheeks. She gulped and swallowed, and swirled her tongue across the tip of his cock so that she could feel it pumping out and splattering against her tongue.
"Oh, God!" Steve moaned. "I'm coming! ... I'm coming!"
Steve's cock spewed hotly all over her tongue, and Tracy began to swallow in self-defense,. to keep from drowning in his copious discharge. She could feel thick lumps of the fluid pouring from the end of his cock, gushing slipperily down her throat, splashing in her stomach. Sperm oozed out from between her lips, and ran like milky rivers over the point of her chin. She brought her hands up to the base of his cock, and squeezed into his throbbing flesh, drawing even more sperm from the limitless depths of his convulsing balls.
"Enough. ..." he moaned. "Enough."
With her mouth still hot with his sperm, Tracy released his limp cock. It dropped from her lips, a thin dribble of sperm oozing from its tip. She climbed up on top of her husband, and kissed him full on the mouth. Isis lips parted, and his tongue pushed into her mouth, slithering sensually into the puddle of his own orgasm. Tracy kissed him hard, her spermy tongue darting in and out of his lips, transferring his come back to his body.
Steve accepted her gift, understanding without words what it meant. It was an act of love.
Chapter 7
Gail Culver was late for the weekend party, although through no fault of her own. One of her smaller tables of guests had been very late in arriving to the dinning room for their evening meal, arriving almost at the last minute, and she had been forced to remain behind while they settled into their chairs and ate their meals. Naturally, because they were late and she was in a hurry, they each had wanted all four courses, from soup to dessert, with extra cups of coffee, and they ate with an inexorable slowness that nearly drove her up a wall. She had no choice, really, but to wait patiently while they talked and ate, dropped their utensils, and asked her to explain some of the mysterious names Shangri-la's chef used to disguise some very commonplace food Throughout her grinding ordeal, Gail had smiled plastically at them, the corners of her lips almost tacked up in a perpetually pleasant grin, knowing full-well that it was terribly important to leave her guests with a good impression with them, especially this late into the weekend.
Tomorrow would be their last day at the Lodge, and she would be receiving a new batch of arriving guests to take their place. Sunday was the day when the departing guests would leave their tips to her for having served them their meals all week long. Past experience taught her a simple rule: the better her tables liked her, the bigger tip they would leave her. It was well worth the few extra moments of attention to insure that she did nothing to upset them. The cards on the tables left by the management suggested a tip of five dollars a day, per couple, and some of her tables had as many as four or five couples at them. For Gail, that could mean up to fifty dollars a table, just for the weekend, if she played her cards right. It was too late in the season, and she wasn't about to screw up now, not with the summer almost over, and her tuition money almost all secured.
While she waited for them to complete their meal, Gail busied herself in setting up her tables for the Sunday morning breakfast. She put out the glasses and the flatware, the plates and the linen, and made sure the plastic flowers on each table were arranged as tastefully as possible.
They finished finally, and she bid them good night, and hoped they would have a pleasant evening. They were hardly out of the dining room door, when she had dumped all their soiled dishes and utensils into a serving tray, hoisted it up on her shoulder with a steady technique she had perfected over the course of the summer, and was on her way into the kitchen where she would leave the mess for the kitchen help. She scurried back into the dining room, stripped the soiled linen from the tables, replaced it with fresh cloths, and completed her set-up for the following morning. Her time was her own now.
That pleased her, and she couldn't help but smile as she made her way toward her cottage. Freedom was a new experience to the eighteen year old girl, and she savored it like a connoisseur. The most important choice she had ever made in her young life had been the decision to go away to college rather than to stay home with her parents and go to a local school. Her second most important decision came when she decided to take this job as a waitress at Mount Shangri-la Lodge for the summer. She never knew what it was to be responsible for herself until she had gotten away. Now that she knew, she was filled with a confidence and a self-assurance she had never had before. She was handling her own life, all aspects of it, and that made her feel all right. It made her feel mature. It made her feel like an adult.
Well, damnit, she was grownup, she told herself. She lived alone with three other girls, had her own money, was paying her own tuition at college, and was free to do what she wanted, when she wanted, without any interference from anyone. Hell, some of her girl friends were even living with their boy friends. She, of course, hadn't gone that far, but there was a certain amount of security in knowing that she could have, if she'd wanted to. It's not that she was a prude or anything-Christ, she hadn't been a virgin for almost a year now! - and she did sleep around when she met a boy who attracted her, but it somehow made her feel virtuous not to live with a man, especially now, why she could have done so with no effort at all. There was something very mature in not giving in to that easy temptation. It was almost as if she looked down with distain at those who had given in, and she considered them something less than women. And Gail Culver, above everything else, considered herself a woman.
She rang the doorbell at her cottage, but didn't ex. pest a response. It was late, and the party was probably in full swing over at Peggy's place. When no one answered her ring, she inserted her key into the lock, opening the door.
Mary, one of her roommates, had left her a note and pinned it to her pillow. Gail picked up and read it carefully, shaking her head with patient exasperation. It was a love letter from Mary. For the past two months, Mary was into a Lesbian thing. The letter expressed her undying devotion to Gail, and that she ferverently prayed that Gail would one day reconsider her position, and take Mary again as her permanent lover.
Gail crumpled the note and tossed it with a overhead hook-shot into the wastepaper basket that separated Mary's bed from hers. She felt very cool and sophisticated about the way she had handled Mary. Gail had no guilt about her brief dabbling into Lesbianism with Mary. Rather, she was proud of it in a strange way, and would find herself boasting about it to anyone who might be interested in listening. She had considered it a normal part of maturing, and had gone into the affair with her eyes wide open. She was, after all, a woman, and how could one be a complete woman if she knew nothing at all about the mystical kinship which all women shared. Many of her women friends who worked with her at the Lodge had, in fact, experimented similarly, and after ward they had gotten together for weekly women's rap-sessions in which they had long, beautiful, philosophical discussions concerning the university or their experiences.
Very few of the women, really, were actually into Lesbianism as a way of life; probably not even Mary was an out-and-out dyke. But it was good to know that if she wanted to, Gail Culver could have an affair with any woman she knew, and not have to suffer any of the guilt or the social stigma which a malechauvanist society normally attaches to it. And that, in her opinion, was a very healthy way to live her life.
Besides, Gail thought kittenishly, stripping off her uniform and dropping it on her bed, she liked cocks too much for her to ever become a Lesbian on a fulltime basis. She just loved the way that cocks made her feel. She loved to feel them in her cunt, between her breasts, and in her hands. And God, did she ever love to give head! No, no, Gail Culver was definitely heterosexual.
Thinking about cocks was beginning to make her wet, and that made her angry. For a moment she vented her frustration in a breathless string of silent curses directed at that inconsiderate table that had made her late for the party at Peggy's. Being late for the weekend party meant that everyone had probably been paired off by now, and that she would have to take potluck with whomever was left. Which meant she would be stuck with either Gary or Robert, or maybe even Mary if she hadn't convinced some other chick to be her weekend lover. Certainly George would be gone by this time.
The thought of George and his enormous cock made Gail want to grab her pussy and start playing. Only the awareness of what would follow later in the evening prevented her from actually doing so. Even Gary or Robert's small, measly cocks would be better than her fingers.
But George, damnit! she continued to think. Christ, he makes her hot. He had the biggest goddamn cock she or any of her women friends had ever seen. And he knew what to do with it; he was a regular fucking machine! In mock tribute to his massive size and spectacular technique, the girls had even proposed a mythical epitaph for his tombstone:
"Here Lies George Joseph Franklin. He Was Good In Bed."
Fondly, Gail recalled the night she made it with George. It bad been one of her first weekends at the lodge, and George had taken a liking to her. She had been assured by her new friends that this was quite an honor for a new member of the group to make it with him. Timidly, she had gone off with him and had gotten the fucking of her life. He put his thing in her, and she was coming all over him not thirty seconds later. And she kept on coming and coming and coming, not matter where his put his cock. He fucked her like a berserk pile-driver, ramming his cock in and out of her pussy so furiously, she walked bowlegged for the following two days. He was so long and so wide, she could barely get half of him into her mouth. She had to suck the top half of his cock, and jerk off the bottom half. Christ!
She pulled her hands out of her panties again, shaking her head, trying to dislodge her wicked thoughts.
I'd better get going, she told herself, realizing that she was wasting precious fucking time. Hell, if she was very late, she might not be left with anyone. And then what would she do?
Gail continued to undress, standing before the full length mirror on the inside door of her closet. She was a medium-sized girl, with firm youthful breasts that were remarkably large for her age. She pulled her bra down and unhooked it, hefting her boobs in both hands, fondling the supple firmness between her fingers. Her nipples were long and thin and brown, and she tweaked them sensually between her fingers. She licked her thumb and index finger, and spread the moisture across her breast tips. When that wasn't erotic enough of a sensation, she pulled the tit up, and, watching herself in the mirror, licked the nipple with her flittering pink tongue.
She had short-cropped brown hair, large innocent brown eyes, and a scattering of freckles across her nose that a tan hadn't hidden, only accentuated. Her waist was flat and lean, and, if she held her breath, she could just about get her fingers around it. She liked having a small waist because of the way it looked, but mostly because it made her tits seem bigger than they really were, which was large to begin with. She was wearing, a pair of light green panties, and she could just about see the dark triangle of her pubis through the material if she flattened her hands below the elastic. She peeled them down slowly across her wide, flaring hips, watching with growing excitement as her cunt was exposed.
Her legs were long and strong, and when she was out of her panties, Gail practiced posing naked in front of the mirror. She had a firm, well-shaped ass, and was quite hairy between her thighs. Not quite so hairy as jenny Bauer, and certainly not shaved naked like Mayella, but enough hair to give her a good looking, sexy cunt.
Tempted by her naked body, Gail pulled a straight-back chair over to the mirror, and sat in it, looking at her naked reflection. She sat studying herself, parting her thighs, and slumping down in the chair. She was fascinated by her cuntlips and -her clitoris. She enjoyed watching the lips pulling wetly open when she spread her legs all the way out. She tried different positions, like putting her legs up and the edge of the chair, and squatting forward, opening the lips with her fingers. The slash between her furry lips was a deep wet-looking red, and the entrance hole of her cunt was pinkish, reminding her of a tiny mouth, opening and closing, drooling wetness.
When she began testing how tight and wet she was inside by pushing her middle finger in and out of the bole of her cunt while she was watching it in the mirror, Gail Culver knew it was time for her shower. If she didn't stop, it would have been too easy not to, and she would be coming like a nympho. So she pulled her finger out, sniffed at her wetness, and turned on her shower.
While the water was running, Gail decided she wanted to smoke a joint. Leaving the bathroom, she went into the bedroom and took a joint, a book of matches and a roach clip from their collective stash in the top drawer of their dresser. That was another benefit of living by yourself, without the adult world.
The three girls, Mary, Gail and Janis shared their grass equally. They bought it together, they took turns in rolling it and there were no regulations about using it. Whenever they wanted, as Gail wanted now, they would go over to the stash, take what they want, and no questions would be asked. Moderation was expected, but it wasn't insisted upon. The arrangement, Gail felt, was a very sophisticated, democratic one, and she, personally, was quite proud to be a part of such a civilized relationship.
Switching on the stereo, relaxing for a moment, Gail lit the joint, smoking it deeply and slowly, savoring the pleasure it gave her. Next to sex, Gail liked grass best. In her opinion, it was a stupid fucking middle class society that made something so good, illegal. She had faith, however, in her generation, and knew secretly that some progressive-thinking legislator would sooner or later get around to legalizing pot, and then the rest of America could know the happy-stone of a grass high.
She smoked the joint down until she couldn't hold it any longer, and then she held in with the roach clip. She took long, deep drags, filling her lungs with the harsh, bitter smoke, until the joint was nothing more than a powdery white ash, and she was pleasantly stoned.
With the music blaring loudly, marching to her own internal music, Gail made her way back into the bathroom, and into, her shower. The water was luxuriously hot, and she really got into soaping herself up and standing under the spray to wash it off again. She did this several times, halting finally, when her skin began to ache from so much rubbing, and from the hot sting of the near-scalding water.
Drying herself was dangerous because, being zonked, she began to get carried away with cleaning her pussy. She rubbed the soft terry towel over the furry mound of her cunt, between her lips, cleaning out the inside of her cunthole by inserting a finger with the edge of the towel. The sensation was so pleasurable that Gail completely forgot about drying herself, and stood there, swaying gently back and forth, drilling a finger from each hand in and out of her box. Several times she brought herself to the threshold of orgasm, but fortunately she had enough foresight not to cross it. By the time she decided to stop with her playing, the inside of her thighs were coated with her sticky discharge, and she had to wash her cunt and hands all over again.
By the time she was getting dressed, her high had mellowed out, and she was coming down pleasantly. The edges of her awareness were blurred nicely, and the world seemed to be a very nice place to live in indeed. Gail donned her usual weekend uniform: a pair of faded jeans, a loose-fitting sweater without a bra, and her latest pair of outrageous platform heels. Satisfied with her reflection in the mirror, Gail took a handful of joints from the stash, and headed finally for Peggy's place.
The party was going full blast when she arrived. Gail had to lean on the bell and pound at the door with her fist to get their attention inside. The music was loud and screechy, and she heard it three cottages away. When the door did part, admitting her, there was enough marijuana smoke in the air. to give her a contact-high so intense it would have taken a week to come down from it. So, naturally, the first thing she did was light another joint, pour herself a glass of wine, and search through the rooms for some action.
"Hey, Gail!" Mayella called to her from the other end of a crowded room. She wove her way toward her, her blonde-haired head bobbing. uncertainly through the dancing cluster of young people. "Where ya been?"
Gail shrugged. "I just got here. I had a late table, and it fucked everything up for me tonight. Jeez, I hate a late table on a weekend night."
"Yeah," Mayella commiserated, "I know how you feel. That happened to me once; it's a real drag."
"How're things going here?" Gail inquired. "Are you 'with anybody?"
"Yeah. I kind of hooked up with Alan Berman."
Gail looked around. "That's not bad. Alan's a nice guy. Where is he, by the way?"
"Oh, he had to go and meet a friend of his. He'll be back in a little while." She held up a smoldering joint between her fingers. "So, in the meantime, while I'm waiting, I'm kind of getting in the mood."
"I hope his friend is not a chick," Gail kidded, "or that's all you're going to wind up with tonight. It looks kind of crowded."
"No, it's no chick," Mayella assured her. "A friend of his from college, coming up for the weekend. I &Ink he said his name was Pete."
"Pete with the peter, I hope," Gail joked. "You've got to introduce me when he gets here. Doesn't look like there's too many free men around."
"There ain't. But I thought you were into chicks?"
Gail sucked hard on her joint. "Who told you that?"
"Mary."
"That's bullshit. I mean, I made it with Mary a couple of times, and now she's coming on strong. I'm going to have to set her head straight before this gets out of hand."
"I know what you mean," Mayella said, nodding.
"Hey, what about George? Who's he with?"
"Ha, lots of luck. He's long gone. With Louise again."
"Again?" Gail looked disgusted. "What the hell does he see in her? She's a bitch."
"I think he's in love with her," Gail was told. "Either that or he's fucking her up the ass."
"Uhhh, with a cock like his, that must be painful. Better her than me. I could barely get him into my cunt, he's so fucking huge."
Mayella made a sound as if she were clearing her throat. "Well, at least some of us have known that pleasure, while others of us-namely me-haven't been all that fortunate."
Gail felt a sudden throb of pride, and she used it to beat against her friend's ego. "Oh, yeah," she said, pretending surprise, "you've never made it with George, have you? Thai's a shame. You don't know what you're missing. You've got to try him before the summer is over, or you're going to kick yourself for the rest of your life. There's just-not that many cocks like his available in this world."
"Don't I know it!" Mayella groaned. "Christ, I'd like nothing better than to fuck myself all over his cock. I just can't get him to say yes." She took a deep drag on her joint, a thoughtful look coming over her pretty face. "Why do you think he feels that way about me?"
"Maybe he don't like shaved pussies," Gail suggested cattily. She laughed and turned it into a joke, but there was more than a little barb in her intent. "Why don't you let your cunt hair grow out?"
"Ha, ha. Very funny. Bitch."
"No, really, May. Why do you shave your pussy? Something to do with hygiene or something?"
Mayella looked around for eavesdroppers. She beckoned Gail in closer to her. "If I tell you, will you promise never to tell anyone?"
"Of course," Gail lied, desperate to learn her secret. "You should know better than to even have to ask me such a question. It's almost insulting."
"Do you promise?"
Gail exhaled tightly. "Jesus Christ. I promise."
"I shave my cunt," Mayella whispered, "because I find it a turn on. I'm basically a voyeur, and nothing turns me on as much as watching myself getting fucked. With all that hair it's hard to see. So I shaved it off, and I've got a clear, unhindered view of my cunt. Christ, I can watch those cocks going in and out of me all day long ... the lips going up and down around the sides of a joint ... getting it all wet --?'
"Jesus," Gail said with a sudden shudder. "Stop it. You're turning me on already. You've almost got me convinced to shave my own snatch."
Mayella shrugged philosophically. "Try it," she suggested. "You'll like it!"
Gail put her hand up to silence her friend. "Hey, listen for a second. Was that the bell?"
Mayella screwed her face down in concentration. "Yeah, I think it was."
"Well, let's go sister. That might be Alan with his friend. We'd better hurry before some other lonely chick gets there before us, and we're both out a man."
It was Alan at the door, and Mayella greeted him with a wet, slobbery kiss. Standing behind him, in the shadow of the door, looking confused and uncomfortable, stood his friend, Peter. He was tall and slender, beardless, wearing faded jeans, a work shirt, and a stained leather vest.
"Hi," Gail said, greeting him. "You must be Peter."
He smiled tentatively. "Yes, I am. I ... ah --"
"Well, my name is Gail, and before the night is over I'm going. to suck your cock!"
Peter's brown eyes widened in stunned surprise. But that was nothing compared to the surprise he felt a little later on when she actually did it to him.
Chapter 8
Although Sandi Hubbard was only sixteen years old, she was, in Ray Cooper's opinion, some piece of ass. She was built like the proverbial brick shit-house. She was one of his best scores in years.
Sandi slid her key into the lock and opened the door, stepping into the darkened room. She smiled suggestively at him, her innocent, dimpled face beaming in the shadows. "Come in," she said.
He hesitated. "Is it safe?"
Sandi's laughter reminded him of music. "I told you it was all right. Mom and Dad are at the nightclub. We've got plenty of time."
Ray stepped tentatively into the room, recognizing immediately the familiar pattern of the standard
Shangri-la room: the red shag rug, the king-sized bed, the table and chairs, the long dresser, the color television. The only variation he was aware of was the second single bed over at the other end of the room, pushed against the far wall. The illumination was feeble, and out of habit, he found himself probing the shadows and dark corners.
Sandi moved shimmeringly inside her brief silver dress, and he had to step out of her way as she closed the door and locked it.
Christ, she was a piece of ass! he thought. It gave him a hardon just to look at her.
"What if they come back?"
She sighed with exasperation. "I told you. Their reservations for the nightclub had to be paid for in advance, and my daddy is not about to throw good money away. He's a cheap old son of a bitch who believes in getting what he's paid for. If he bought a reservation to a nightclub, then you can rest assuredly that he is going to use that reservation for everything that it's worth. Even if he hates the goddam show, he's not about to be back here before two o'clock in the morning, at the earliest. Now stop worrying."
Ray Cooper, however, was not about to stop worrying. He'd played this game too frequently and for too long a time; he wasn't about to fuck it up now. There was too much hanging in the balance.
Living in the town just outside Mount Shangri-la Lodge's vast rolling acres as he did, Ray was especially vulnerable because his face was so well known around the lodge. Management, for years, had known that he was spending all his free time on Shangri-la's grounds, using the lodge's rooms and facilities, attending the dances on the weekend as a way of picking up any loose female guests that he might find floating around.
They had tolerated him, and others like him from the town, for the simple reason that he had never given them any cause not to. He did his thing quietly and with a certain amount of finesse, never making waves, always covering his tracks. He played by their rules because the town, like all resort towns, was a dreary little empty place that would have long since blown away if it hadn't been for the lodge. Town was a place of crushing boredom, filled to. its rooftops with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Fucking guests from Mount Shangri-la Lodge was its single virtue and sole form of entertainment. Without the lodge, Ray Cooper would have committed suicide.
"You sure?" he pressed her again.
"Jesus, Ray, I don't want to get caught any more than you do. Less: they're my parental!"
Ray smiled. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm sorry. I just feel a little strange, that's all. You understand, don't you?"
Sandi returned his smile. "Sure. Say, you want to hear some music? I feel like dancing."
Ray had picked Sandi up at the weekend dance, after having carefully weeded her out from, a handful of others he had been considering. When he had decided upon Sandi, he gave her his full attention, turning on his charm, just running right over her. He danced every dance with her, sweeping her off her
feet with his style and grace as a dancer. He'd accomplished the technique over the years; attending all the weekend dances at Shangri-la for so long, he had everything down to a science. The slow dances told him the most, and when Sandi had pressed her warm, sensuous body so firmly back against his, grinding her groin against the stiffening hardness of his cock, he knew then and there she was the girl for him.
"Don't you ever get tired?" He watched her bend over the radio, waiting for it to warm up. The hem of her dress slid up behind her, and he could see her long slender thighs, his line of vision terminated just below the curve of her firm ass, just when it was getting interesting.
"I love to dance," Sandi answered, moving her feet, wiggling her ass from side to side, matching the tempo of her humming. She switched the radio dial around until it squawked and sputtered. into music. Satisfied, Sandi kicked off her shoes and turned away, swaying and shifting her body in an easy, in place combination of steps. "I love to dance," she repeated. "It makes me feel so sexy!"
That stirred Ray's attention, and he trained his eyes on her dancing form. She had her back to him, her ass bent out toward him, the silver material of her dress stretched tautly across the firm twin cheeks. Her head was rocking from side to side as she danced, and her long blonde hair swished like whispers across her naked shoulders.
"Well, by all means," Ray said, "dance. I want you to feel as sexy as possible."
Sandi danced around until she was facing him. "That's not the only way to make me feel sexy, you know."
"Oh, really. What else turns you on?"
"You do. Why don't you come over here and give me a big wet kiss."
Ray's stiffening cock throbbed in his pants as he raped her with his eyes. This chick was not to be believed Not only was she a piece of ass, she was willing and probably promiscuous to boot.
Sandi was a petite-sized girl, with straight long blonde hair and large blue eyes. Her body was slender, and she moved with a graceful ease, in rippling fluid motions. jiggling up and down inside the glimmering harness of her backless and sleeveless silver dress, her breasts bobbed up and down, dancing their own kind of dance. Her belly was as flat and as narrow as her hips were wide and curved; For a small girl,. her legs seemed exceptionally long and well formed. She danced on her toes, and the tension of shifting muscles rippled erotically up and down the length of her body.
"Are your sure you're only sixteen?" Ray asked.
Sandi giggled, tossing her head from side to side, her yellow hair splattering like fine old lace torn by the wind.
"That's all," she teased. "My do you want to know? Does it make a difference?"
"No, not at all. I was just curious. He walked over to her. "It's just hard for me to believe that you're so young. You certainly don't act sixteen."
Closing her eyes, grooving on the driving, savage beat, she smiled until her teeth flashed brilliantly, and her dent-like dimples curved round her pink painted lips. Sweat was beginning to collect in the creases of her face, making her makeup shiny.
"That's because I'm very sophisticated and worldly." She stopped dancing and opened her eyes. "Now are you going to kiss me or not? We're wasting time."
Ray pulled her against him and kissed her. Her mouth was ready and open for him, and he slipped his tongue between her lips. Sandi was hungry for him, and she accepted his tongue with an excited eagerness, molding her mouth around his. His tongue snaked deeply into her mouth, bringing with it a hot, squirming fire that prodded and lashed out at her tongue, licking itself all over her teeth.
Sandi had an excellent technique, and Ray pushed his throbbing cock against her pressing belly. She kissed with the same self-assured confidence he had observed in her all night long, and he sensed her obvious abilities had come to her through long hours of practice until it had been well perfected. His tongue explored the wetness of her mouth, moving hotly from side to side. She kissed him back passionately, lips pressing against lips, rotating the kiss slowly, grinding against him with just the proper amount of pressure and abandonment.
"Oh, baby," she moaned, her eyes closed, her cunt riding up and down against his hardon. "'You're good. I like the way you make me feel"
While she was talking, Ray ran his tongue around the inside of her lips, thrusting in and out, punctuating her words with wet hot stabs. He caught her lower lip between his teeth, and he began to nibble at her, grinding his mouth from side to side.
"And I like the way you make me feel," he said, his hands sliding down from her naked back, over the rough, scratchy material of her 'dress, until he was cupping the cheeks of her ass. He held her firmly against him, grinding his cock over the slope of her pussy.
She purred in his mouth. "How do I make you feel?"
"Hard," he said. His fingers squeezed in and out, and he began lifting her, rubbing her up and down over his cock. The head of his shaft caught between her gyrating thighs, and she pushed down hard until he could feel the heat of her passion baking into him through their many layers of clothing.
"Oh, that makes me wet."
"I've got something that's going to mike you even wetter."
He unwrapped her hand from behind is neck, and drew her hand down between their bodies. He pressed her palm into his crotch, wrapping her fingers around his throbbing cock. Then he put his hand back on her ass, pushing himself hard into her softness.
"Oh, wow. You're big," Sandi moaned. "Oh, God, I never felt' such a big cock."
Her fingers gripped his cock hard, pulling at him excitedly through his pants. She ran the sweaty palm of her hand up and down the length of his throbbing shaft, from the broad, grinding base to the swollen, sponge-like tip. Her fingernails dug down into his flesh, wrapping under the material of his pants so that she was holding his cock up, away from his body. She squeezed it again, and Ray moaned.
"Christ, that feels good." He licked his tongue up and down her neck, slobbering her excitedly. "Take it out, Sandi. Take my cock out!"
"Oh, yes ..." she moaned, humping herself up and down, coming alive with passion. "I want to ... I want to ... I want to touch your cock!"
Her. hand was trembling with passion, and her fingers fumbled with his zipper. She found it finally, and with a soft wet moan, slid it down over the pulsing lump of his hardon. As if a spring had been released, his cock popped loose from the parted zipper, slithering against her dress, stark naked. She grasped at it with fingers that were on fire, excited by the thought that he'd worn nothing under his pants. But then, as her hand explored up and down the burning shaft, she felt a pair of shorts under her fingers. In an instant she realized that he'd pulled his cock out of the slitted opening of his shorts. He'd arranged it that way before he'd come with her to her parent's room. He was that sure of himself, and that even excited her more.
His cock was thick and long, and she stroked it with a slow, steady, almost expert up and down movement. She could feel him pulsing and throbbing against her palm, and the heat of his excitement was almost incredible as it burned against her fingers. She caught his cockhead between her fingers, and squeezed into the soft, spongy flesh, listening to him moan as it deflated. A moment later it was swollen again, with wetness oozing from the tip.
"Let's lay down," Sands gasped. "The bed ... The bed! Lay down ..."
They stumbled together toward the bed, falling heavily against it. Rays hands went up to her breasts, and he crushed deeply into them with his fingers. Sands perked his cock up and down, reaching her hands into his shorts, and pulling out his balls. She rolled them with her fingers, aroused by the strange, elusive sensations of soft and hard. The loose wrinkled flesh felt hot against her palms, and the brittle, thread-like hails tickled between her fingers. Ray's hands slid away from her breasts, and he struggled with the clasp on her dress.
"Yes," she moaned, squeezing his cock with all her strength. "Open it, please! Push it in ... that's it! ... that's it!"
The dress parted, and Ray slid his left hind down and caressed her breast. His hand tightened over the fleshy orb, sending shivers of warm electricity down into her body. Her nipple was stiff and hard, and she could feel the sweat on his palm sliding against her nakedness. His fingers tightened into the firm, supple mound, and the nipple grew harder and stiffer, swelling like a balloon, threatening. to come right off between his fingers.
"Oh, suck my titties!" Sands moaned, thrashing wildly from side to side, splaying her soft blond hair across the mattress. "Oh, suck my fifties, please! ... Please! Suck them please! Make them feel good!"
Ray slid his open mouth wetly down the length of her neck, licking at her hot flesh with his darting tongue. He moved his mouth over the bone of her chest, then down to the base of her quivering breast. She was trembling with anticipation, but he moved slowly, teasing her with the wet, erotic play of his tongue. She could feel his hot breath as it snorted from his nostrils, spreading a thick,, heavy layer of moist, warm sir across the quaking, puckered flesh of her pink-tipped tit. His mouth moved suddenly to the nipple, and his tongue stabbed out against it.
"Yes!" Sandi cried, excited beyond control. Her hand moved jerkily away from his cock, and she cupped her cunt through the shimmering silver material of her dress, spreading her thighs all the way out. She ground her fingers into -the throbbing ball of her clitoris, but, dissatisfied with the dullness of the sensation, flipped back her skirt, and began to pull on her panties and pantyhose. When she had lowered them to the middle of her thighs, she cupped her long fingers around her naked cunt. She began to play with her pussy. "Oh, yes! ... Suck my titties! ... Lick them good! Lick them all over! ... Christ, I love it!"
While Sandi was playing with herself, Ray was working deliberately on her breast. His tongue started at the base of the nipple, stroking wetly upward. He flattened his tongue against the stiff nub, and flicked upward violently, vibrating the nipple until it shuddered with excitement. He continued to roll his tongue over the ,trembling bud until he was on the other side of the nipple, and then he reversed the slow, torturous procedure, flitting the nipple back the other way. The slowness, the deliberateness of his strokes was driving her out of her mind with excitement.
Sandi's free hand clutched desperately at Ray, feeling up and down until she found his cock again. She grasped it hard with her fingers, running her hand up and down. Her clitoris was like a pounding pulse under the caress of her other hand, and she pinched it between her thumb and index finger. Her cunt was so wet and sticky that she could feel the whole outline of her crotch. The lips were opening and closing fitfully, sliding back and forth like a hood over the ends of her fingers. Further down, under the curve of her body, the entrance hole of her cunt was open, oozing out a wet, flick discharge all down the wrinkled underside of her hairy slit. Almost savagely she attacked the seething pit with her fingers, sinking them up into her body.
"Oh, I'm gonna come!" she moaned, her fingernails scratching into the swollen column of Ray's cock, clawing at the tender wet lining of her cunt with . her other hand. "Don't stop, baby! Don't stop! ... Lick my titties, darling! ... Lick my -- Oooohhh!"
Sandi began to come, her hand rammed tightly against the furry kips of her cunt, flitting her finger from side to side against the walls of her sticky, sugary canal. She could feel the passageway quivering with her orgasm, tiny pulsing ripples along the length of her finger. Her cunt made a wet sopping noise as the wetness gushed from her fluttering cunthole.
Feeling her coming, Ray tightened his lips like a drawstring around her trembling nipple. His lips were hot and wet, and the contact was so intensely pleasurable, Sandi began to sob with ecstasy. -He sucked her nipple up into a pool of wetness, drawing the bud to its full-length, pressing his teeth firmly around the tender nub of flesh. While he ground his jaw from side to side, sawing his teeth into her nipple, he began to lick the top of the quivering member with the flat part of his tongue.
"Oh, God -- I'm coming!" Sandi moaned, twisting his cock back and forth in her merciless fingers as if she were trying to unscrew it. "I'm coming, baby! I'm coming! ... Ooooohhhhh-uuh!"
At the height of her orgasm, Ray pulled his mouth away from' her breasts. He slid down between her wide, open thighs, pulling her panties and pantyhose the rest of the way down her legs. He flipped back her dress, and for a moment, watched Sandi burying and withdrawing her finger in and out of the wet blonde tangle of her runt. Then he began to eat her; plunging finger and all.
His mouth was opened, and he could taste the wetness of her creamy orgasm. Her cunt was slapping against his face, his, nose sliding up between the flapping lips until he was breathing in her raunchy, fishlike odor. His tongue slithered down between the sticky slit, and he thrust it up into her seething dampness. He could feel her finger inside of her, wriggling excitedly back and forth against the soft, spear-like point of his tongue. The canal began to open and close around him, as if she were trying to impale herself upon the wet, stabbing prong.
"Oh, baby -- yeah!" Sandi groaned, hunching her cunt hard into his face, grinding her pussy lips against him. She, pulled her finger from her cunt, and placed it on top of Ray's head, joining it a moment later with her other hand. As his tongue went in and out, she wiggled her cunt, and rocked her cunt up and down, around and amend, leaving a smeared path of cuntal discharge all over his lips. "Eat me, Ray! ... Eat me good, baby! Eat me goooooddd!"
He slid his hands around the gyrating cheeks of her ass, grabbing into the greasy flesh with his tightening fingers, pulling her even closer to his mouth. He squeezed into her, drawing her so close to his face that he was breathing in and out of her pussy. There was wetness all over his face, and her fine blonde cunt hairs were catching between his teeth. He could hear the slurping noise of his own tongue as it ate in and out of the dripping canal of her cunt.
Saudi groaned, sweat pouring down her semi-naked body. "Oh, baby. It's going to happen again! ... I can feel it coning! I can feel it coming! ... Oh, baby, make it happen again ... Make it come, baby -- make it come!"
Sensing her tense, Ray slipped his tongue from the dilating hole of her cunt, and, over the moaning protestations of her pleading voice, he began to lick at her clitoris. The moment he made contact with it, Saudi hunched down furiously, and her cries of criticism turned into wet, electric moans of pleasure.
Ray shoved his tongue straight up between her lips, starting at the back flap of the slit, then dragging his tongue forward, he pulled it wetly through the valley between the lips. He continued the forward movement until the tip of his tongue slithered into contact with her clitoris again. He continued over it, however, running his flicking tongue over the swollen bud with a swift, slapping lick that sent tremors of pleasure down Sandi's legs. He repeated the wet slide, moving his tongue back to the rear of her cunt, parting the hairy labia again, as he readied his tongue for another slippery journey between them.
"Here it comes, baby!" she cried, her arms straining to hold him hard against her blonde box. "Here it comes, here it comes --"
Ray pulled his face away.
"Nooooo!" she pleaded. "Don't -- don't!"
He mounted her, brushing the swollen head of his cock against the edge of her cunt.
"Do it!" Sandi moaned. Her hand reached down between her thighs for him. "Do it, baby! ... fuck me!"
Sandi arched her ass up. The tip of Ray's cock pushed thickly between the wet lips of her cunt. She juggled his cock back and forth with a few short tugs of her hand so that he was firmly implanted in the doorway of her cunt. just the tip of his cock was in her.
Then Sandi pushed down, hard.
"Ooohh!" she groaned as she felt the thickness of his shaft push up into the wet canal of her cunt. "My God, it's so big!"
Ray jackknifed his hips and drove himself into her soft, open wetness. Her cunt was like a tight, restraining fist around his cockshaft. His fingers dug into the mattress for leverage, and his knees strained against the sheets. Her cunt felt as if he were splitting her apart as his cudgel-like cock opened her wider than she had ever been before in her life. She could-feel the lips of her cunt pulling into thin stress lines around his great width, and the walls of her cunt screamed in exquisite agony at the stretched pleasure of his broadness.
"My God! You're so tight!" Sweat poured down, Ray's face. The tip of his cock felt as if he'd dipped it into liquid fire. "So fucking -- tight!" .
"Push harder!" Sandi begged, aching to be opened even further by Ray's huge humping wedge. "Push harder!"
Pulling back a fraction of an inch, Ray thrust forward suddenly, savagely, and Sandi met his drive with a downward hunch of her cunt. There was a moment of straining against each other, and then something gave way inside of her, and she began to moan in blinding pleasure when she felt the full-length of his cock push up into the wetness of her cunt. The lips of her pussy rippled down the swollen side of his shaft, and the damp passageway inside of her imprisoned his cock like a wet sleeve. His whole cock was inside of her a moment later, and she could feel the hair on his balls tickling against her ass.
"It's coming this time!" Sandi announced. She wiggled around from side to side, teasing her pussy with his massive hardness. "It's coming ... it's coming!"
She locked her calves under Ray's, and ground her cunt against his cock. She pressed so hard that her hips and thighs ached with the strain. His cock was like a chugging locomotive inside of her: standing still and then coming into motion with a slow, steady, driving acceleration. Like a piston overcoming sluggish inertia: pull, push, pull, push, until he was pounding against the roof of her cunt.
Sandi's orgasm exploded.
"Take it, baby, take it!" she shuddered, tightening her coming cunt around Ray's plunging pole. She could feel his thick cock banging into her like a pile driver, and she could hear her cunt squishing around him. The shaft of his cock was completely wet, slippery, and he drove it through her tightness as if it were a precision tool, made to fit the liquid housing of her cunt. The fit was tight, incredibly tight, but there was movement and a grating wet friction that was driving her insane with wildly vivid, shatteringly exquisite waves of orgiastic pleasure. "It's coming, baby! It's coming! ... Oh, God-its coming!"
Sandi's orgasm began in her toes and in the tips of her fingers. She could feel the pleasure coursing into her body like two electric currents, racing toward each other from opposite poles. The two crackling pleasures collided shatteringly in the hollow of her cunt, exploding like volatile gases. The eruption fragmented her cunt, sending waves and tremors out into the quivering extremities of her body, like rippling sexual tides. Her toes stiffened, and the hair at the back of her neck stood on end. Pleasure spilled out of her cunt like water cascading over the edge of a precipice. She could feel her body burning.
Then Ray began to come.
"Now!" he cried. "Now ... now!"
Sperm spewed from the end of Ray's cock as if it were under pressure. Sandi could feel his cockhead opening up inside of her, and his come gushed out, splashing into the wet lining of her cunt, making a puddle inside of her. She could feel each drop and blob of his sperm, like a hot liquid fire, branding her cunt with the hardness and thickness of his cock. He came and came and came until the thick, milky wetness oozed from her fluttering blonde haired lips, and dribbled all over her tensed, grinding ass.
Chapter 9
It was twenty minutes to eleven, and Cherlynn Beckert was all packed and ready to leave: Check out time was eleven sharp. She collected her things and placed them all neat and orderly next to the door, then went back into the room and carefully went through each and every drawer, just to make sure that there was nothing she had left behind. The drawers were empty, but she still couldn't escape the feeling that she had left something behind. Perhaps what she was looking for she could never find.
The trig home, like all trips home, would be tiresome and uncomfortable, and, in planning for it, she had originally decided to wear an old cashmere sweater and. & pair of worn, faded jeans. For a reason she could not quite yet fathom, she had instead worn her most expensive, formal evening gown. She felt vaguely absurd as she swished around the dimly illuminated room.
And, even more bizarre, she found herself wearing every piece of jewelry that she had brought with her. While she was packing she was overcome with a desire to see and touch each piece, and she dumped her jewelry box out on the bed. After she had put the gown on, she found herself putting the pieces of jewelry also on. Every ring, every bracelet, every necklace, every string of pearls, every pin, and every pendant she owned, until she clinked and clanked like something mechanical when she walked.
She studied her reflection in the mirror, aware that she was looking at a mocking parody of herself in' the reflection. She opened her makeup kit and dumped its contents on the dresser top. She picked up her lipstick and painted, in dark, heavy lines, a mocking red mouth across her lips. Then she smeared circular red smudges on her cheeks, and made her eyes up so heavily that it seemed as if she were wearing a mask. She put shadow under her eyes as well as above them. She looked again at the mirror. A strangely sad, symbolic clown stared back at her.
Swishing and clattering, she made her way over to her suitcases, found the one she required, opened it, and removed a battery powered cock-shaped vibrator. She turned it on, rubbing it against her face as it hummed softly in her hand.
Slipping on her mother's fur coat, Cherlynn considered it the final absurd gesture, yet she didn't feel foolish. All she felt was sad.
Walling, swishing, glittering with jewelry, she walked over to the king-sized mattress and sat down on the edge, lifting the hem of her gown. She was wearing a pair of lacey white panties, through which she could see the dark threads of her pubic hairs. She pulled the panties down to the middle of her thighs, and lied back on the bed. She put the vibrator between her thighs, inserting it in the topmost flap of her cuntlips, just above the bud of her clitoris. She could feel the vibrations rippling down into her body, and knew before long she would be coming.
She lay there thinking, humping herself against the cold edge of the dildo-like vibrator, the gold rings of her bracelets sliding down her arm, humming against her flesh, causing her rings to thump against each other. Sweat was coating her body, collecting under her arms, sliding down her back, staining, ruining her expensive dress.
Her mood was one of nagging disappointment. The weekend was over, and she was still unmarried. True, she had exchanged telephone numbers with Les Evans, and they had vowed to get in touch with each other, but so often such arrangements had a way of never materializing.
Something always seems to go wrong, she thought, arching her back, screwing her cunt down around the prod of the vibrator. I wonder why?
Before she had a chance to find the answer, she began to come.
Robin Schafer had a window seat on the bus, and she stared out, watching the highway slip silently past her, a dull, monotonous blur that every once in a while broke into a spectacular mountain panorama. The scenes registered only marginally upon her awareness, for she was lost somewhere deep in her own thoughts, and, for as much as she cared, the world outside of her mind might not have even existed.
She could see herself on the bus window, her large empty eyeglass eyes staring back at her, like some mysterious ghost which never moved as the drifting horizon rushed eternally past her. She looked at herself, as if she were seeking some answer that could be found in the delicate, unbeautiful features of her birdlike face.
The woman next to her coughed self-consciously, as if she were trying to get Robin's attention. Robin ignored the attempted communication, pretending that she hadn't heard. She had too many things on her mind, and the last thing she wanted or needed was to share these last few silent moments she had before she got home with a total stranger. There were too many things to sort out, and she knew, once she did get home again, her perspectives would alter, and this great moment of truth which was dawning upon her would have slipped forever away. So she ignored the woman.
The woman, however, was persistent. She tapped Robin on the shoulder, and said "Excuse me," in a clear, unwavering voice.
Robin turned, sighing with exasperation, allowing the woman to understand her company was an imposition. "Yes, what is it?"
The woman, Robin saw, was not really a woman at all, but a young girl, in her early twenties, perhaps even younger. She was thin and frail-looking, with sand-colored hair that hung limply to her shoulders. Her eyes were a faded blue, hidden behind thick, rimless eyeglasses, and her pale, colorless face was marred with red pimply eruptions of a lingering adolescent acne. She was a rather plain looking girl, not at all pretty, the kind who get a reputation as being bookish, simply because she had nothing else to do with her time other than lose herself in the fantasies of reading.
"Ah, I hope I'm not being rude," she began, her voice an insecure whisper.
Robin smiled out of guilt. "No, of course not. I was simply daydreaming. What can I do for you?"
"In case I fall asleep," she said, her hollow cheeks coloring red, "would you wake me up? I live in the Bronx, and that's the first stop once we get back into the city. I went away one time, and I fell asleep, and I missed my stop. I didn't wake up until the bus was all the way back downtown at the terminal. I had to take a taxi all the way back up to my home. It cost me nearly five dollars, and I just can't afford that, especially after this weekend. I saved for three months just to be able to get away, so I'm on a very tight budget. ..."
Robin had a feeling that she would have gone on endlessly, if she hadn't stopped her.
"All right," she said, staring at the strange, pale looking girl. "I'll wake you if I'm able to; if I'm awake myself."
The girl smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "That will be okay, I guess. Thanks."
"That's quite all right. ..."
"My name is Annie. What's yours?"
Robin stirred uncomfortably. 'Ah -- Robin."
"Robin? Oh, that's such a pretty name. I hate my first name. Annie. God, it's so common. You stayed at Mount Shangri-la, didn't you? Yeah, I thought I recognized you from up there. What did you think of it? Did you like it? I personally thought it wasn't t worth the money --"
Robin cut her short. "I thought you were going to go to sleep?"
"Oh, yeah," the girl said softly, her eyes down cast, her cheeks coloring deeper. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I get to talking a lot sometimes. I live alone in the Bronx, and I don't get much of a chance to talk to any body. So I kind of sometimes make up for it. I guess I'm lonely or something. I'm sorry."
Alone? Robin thought, picking out the single word from the young girl's explanation. Her thoughts turned immediately sexual, and she felt a sudden dryness in her mouth. Memory brought back flashes of Brigitta Hansen. Did she say she lived alone? Oh, Jesus Christ.
"I'm sorry," Robin said after a moment, her thought preoccupied. "I shouldn't have been so rude. I didn't mean it. I guess I'm just tired."
Annie smiled at her. "Oh, that's okay. I understand. I know how it is. Besides, I am tired."
"You're sure? I mean, I hope I didn't --"
Annie touched Robin's arm, her fingers lingering there a moment too long. "It's cool. I understand. I really, really do." She smiled again, moving her hand finally. "Thanks, Robin. You're a good person. I really appreciate this."
She closed her eyes, and a moment later, Annie was asleep.
Robin stared at her, her heart pounding in her breast, her blood racing. Her eyes found themselves tracing slow pattern across the gentle swell of the young girl's rising and falling breasts. Without wanting to, she found herself thinking: She lives alone. Alone in the Bronx. She's lonely and she lives alone. Oh, my God ... Oh, my God. What have ! become?
For the guests, Sunday was a kind of easy, casual day, especially after check-out, and they had settled their weekly bill, with nothing much to do, and nowhere else to go until after lunch, their last paid-for meal, when they would each bid their goodbyes to Mount Shangri-la Lodge, to begin their various journeys homeward.
For the staff, however; it was a bitch of a day, for they were on the other end of the perspective. For them, Sunday was not a day of goodbye, but the day all the new guests arrived for the next week's stay at the lodge. Sunday meant extra work, double work, hustling around, and going through the seemingly endless process of orientation for the newly arrived patrons.
For Derek Foster, Shangri-la's ski instructor, Sunday was an especially bothersome day, especially in the summer months. In order to remain at the lodge year-round, he had to double as a tennis instructor when there was no snow on the ground, and his special talents were not required. Not that he really minded all that much, for he was a better than average tennis player who could have easily turned pro when he was in his prime. And he didn't mind the classes so much because they afforded him countless opportunities to meet a new batch of women each week; women from whom he would make his weekly selection, finding the one he would grace with his limitless charm and hard, throbbing cock. The thing that bothered him the most about Sunday was Saturday night.
On an average, Saturday was the night he made his big move; the night the woman he had selected would be ripe for his seduction. Unless he moved especially quickly, it was Saturday night that took such a drain out of him, fucking them furiously, getting them and himself drunk, hardly sleeping the whole night through, and frequently putting up with their guilty hysterics after the deed was done, and they realized what they had done. No, Saturday night was a bitch, but it wasn't until Sunday morning that he really felt like hell. It was a rare Sunday morning that Derek Foster felt in the mood to face a mob of strange faces with a smile and pleasant wit and all the charm he could muster.
This was not one of those rare Sunday mornings. He had to drag himself out of bed, his mouth tasting like his tongue had died and decayed during the night, his body aching with fatigue, his cock limp and pained from the enthusiastic humping he had given to Lee Davis. The cold shower didn't help much, and by the time he stood in the lobby, by the recreation desk, gathering the men .and women who had signed for his class, he might have looked fit and able to perform, but he was far from it.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," he said, reciting his introductory speech, desperately attempting to infuse it with a thread of spontaneity after so many tiresome Sunday mornings. "I'd like to take this opportunity to extend to each and every one of you the warmest personal greetings from the management of Mount -Shangri-la -Lodge. My name is Derek Foster, and, when I'm not a ski instructor, I teach classes in tennis. I'd like to add my own welcome to that of the management, and hope that your stay with us will be a pleasant one. Naturally, if you have any questions at all about the Lodge or anything in general, feel free of course to ask them. I'm only too glad to help."
After a brisk ten minutes when he answered the general barrage of questions, cracking a few tried and true jokes to set everyone at ease, Derek Foster led his class toward the outdoor tennis field where he would begin his general introductory lesson.
He walked slowly and casually, , his fatigued arms swinging at his sides, his clipboard of names clutched in his hand. He was halfway there, when one of his students stopped him with a question.
"Do you ever give any private instruction�?" she asked. She- was a tall swell-looking blonde woman, well-preserved, flashing deep blue eyes and a diamond ring that reminded him of an ice cube. Her breasts were soft and big, straining at the material of her jersey. Her legs were thick and shapeless, but she wore -hot pants regardless. They always did far some reason.
"Oh, yes," he answered, consulting his clipboard. "Yes we do, Mrs. --"
"Barclay," she said. "But you can call me Madge." She smiled seductively at him, running her pink tongue across the edge of her lips.
Jesus, he thought bitterly, feeling the trap closing over him again; the never-ending cycle of making love to rich, middle-aging women was beginning again.
"Well, Madge," he said, resigning himself to his fate, "I think you and I are going to get along together just fine. I'm always available for private lessons. ..."
The sleek forest green sedan slipped like a blur down the endless ribbon of highway, weaving in and out of the sparse Pennsylvania traffic. Following diligently behind, trying to keep up, was a small gray compact; scurrying like a. summer bug across the countryside.
"Are they still behind us?" Eileen Graham asked, leaning toward Michael as he steered the big green car. She looked in the rearview mirror.
"Yup," Michael Williams answered, nodding distractedly, taking his eyes from the road for an instant to consult the mirror. "They're right behind us. A couple of car lengths back."
"Don't you think you should slow down a little?" Eileen asked. "It looks as if they're having trouble keeping up with us."
Michael laughed. "In more ways than one, baby."
"What do you mean?"
"Didn't you see their faces? I don't think either one of them was overjoyed with your suggestion that we play our swapping game until we get home. Not your husband or my wife. Their reception to the idea was decidedly cool, don't you think?"
Eileen snuggled over on the front seat, pressing her body against Michael's side. "Well, I don't care. Re. ally, I don't. I liked the idea. I liked it very much, and after all these years, I'm not about to give it up so easily." She placed her hand furtively on the inside of his thigh, just below the end of his cock. "How do you feel. about it, darling?"
Michael laughed briefly. "Me? Christ, I think it's a fantastic idea. I've been wanting you for a long time, baby, and, as far as I'm concerned, last night was only the beginning. Tin going to have you again, Eileen, regardless of how they feel."
Playing between his legs, Michael's cock began to stiffen, and Eileen slipped her fingers around the pulsing shaft, playing with him through his trousers. Michael's breath sucked in, and he began humping himself against her squeezing hand.
"How do you feel about it?" Michael asked when she didn't say anything.
"I think I'd like to suck your cock," she answered. "Right now. Does that tell you how I feel?"
"Jesus Christ! Does it ever. Well, don't let me hold you back. Go ahead and do it."
Eileen put her hand on his zipper. "Do you really want me to do it? I mean, right here, right on the highway? While you're still driving?"
"Christ, what do I have to do? Get you an affidavit?"
Eileen opened the zipper, prodding his erect cock with her fingernail, poking at it through the open pants. "Tell me what you want," she teased. "Say the words, and then maybe I'll do it."
A shudder of excitement went through Michael; he couldn't believe how horny he was for her! "Jesus Christ!" he moaned, his cock throbbing against her caresses. "If I wasn't driving this damned car --"
Eileen giggled. "Oh yeah. What would you do?"
"I'd grab you and fuck the piss out of you."
"Too bad!" she said, shaking her finger at him teasingly. "Too bad. I guess you'll just have to wait until we get home."
"What do you think I'm hurrying for?" Michael asked.
Eileen's attention was drawn again to his cock. She put her hand into his pants, and pulled his hardon out. It stood stiff and straight in the air, her fingers pink and small around the pulsing red column of the finely veined shaft.
"You never asked ,me to do it to you,-" she reminded, lowering her head until her lips were open wide above his cock. She blew hot. air at him with her pursed lips; watching his cockhead swell when he felt the warmth. "Ask me, baby. Ask me nice and I'll do it for you."
"Jesus Christ!" Michael moaned, beside himself with excitement. "Will you suck it already! Please, Eileen, please -- suck my cocky!"
"With pleasure," she whispered, and her head lowered, her lips parted, and she began to suck Michael's cock. Her lips closed over the head of the shaft, and she licked her tongue against him, tasting his excitement, tasting his warmth, tasting the manliness of his sweat. She sucked up deep and hard, drawing the shaft all the way into her mouth, until she could feel him scraping against her teeth, the head of his shaft pounding gently against the wet opening of her throat. She screwed her face around until her lips were nuzzling at the hair-covered base of his joint, and the full length was buried deep in the wet, licking cylinder of her mouth. Eileen began to bob her head up and down.
A moment later, Michael began to come. His cock opened up and sperm began to spill into Eileen's sucking throat. When she felt the wetness, she rolled her tongue across the tip of his shaft, lapping up the spewing goo that was gushing from him. She sucked on his cock as if it were a straw, and she drained it of every drop of sperm. Only when his cock was limp between her lips, and her mouth was clean of his sperm, did Eileen release him. She sat up and cleaned her lips with a tissue, fixing her hair with one hand, staring in the rearview mirror.
The small gray compact was .still behind them.
Myra Ross sat on the edge of her bed staring at the wall directly ahead of her. The curtain was drawn, and she was staring out of the window at the bright clear summer Sunday morning. Outside the window came the sounds of laughter and voices, and tight clusters of men and women strolled past, suitcases in hand, rushing to meet the eleven o'clock checkout deadline. Her own suitcases were packed and stood mutely by the door for the journey home she did not want to make.
She was dressed in a sleeveless pink blouse and a burgundy crushed velvet skirt that was pulled up to the middle of her thighs. A neglected cigarette rested in the ashtray next to her on the bed, and absently, preoccupied with her thoughts, she fished another cigarette from the rumpled package, and placed it in her mouth. She lit it with her lighter, then placed it in the ashtray, next to the dead cigarette she had forgotten.
He must be still at breakfast, she thought reassuring herself. That's it. He had a late night last night, and he slept late this morning. That's all. Simple explanation. Should be back by now. Of course he is.
She looked at her wristwatch. I'll call him now, she told herself.
She picked up the telephone on the night table at the side of her bed. She hesitated for a moment, then dialed the numeral seven before she dialed Kevin's room number. She waited patiently for the call to go through. A moment later it was ringing.
He'll answer now, she told herself confidently. He's certain to be back by this time.
The phone rang.
After all, she thought, remembering last night, I did keep him awfully busy. Memory flashed instantly across her brain: she remembered the feel of his cock in her cunt, the heat of his orgasm, the way his tongue licked through the lips of her pussy, the great weight of his cock when she took it, still wet from her cunt, into her mouth. Christ, she couldn't remember how many times he'd made her come. She lost track after ten or twelve.
The telephone rang again.
God, he was so big, she thought feeling a sinking heaviness in the pit of her belly. So much bigger than Paul. And so much better a lover. So accomplished. Fantastic technique.
The phone rang a third time.
Maybe he's in the bathroom, she said, swallowing the dryness in her throat. That's it. He hears the telephone ringing, but he just can't get to it at the moment. I'd better let it ring a few more times just to make sure. I know how it is when I'm in the bathroom; you pray that the telephone won't stop ringing until you get to it.
Myna Ross let it ring ten more times, then hung the receiver back onto the telephone.
She looked at her wristwatch again. She seemed to be doing that a great deal this past week. It was five minutes to eleven.
Of counsel she told herself, kicking herself for her stupidity. It's so obvious, I can't understand why I didn't realize it before. It's late. Kevin must have gone to checkout first. He's probably on his way over here right now.
She got up from the bed and walked confidently over to the door. She opened it and stepped out onto the walls. Summer heat touched her face. The walk was crowded with hurrying people. None of them were Kevin Elliott.
Her telephone rang, and Myra Ross sobbed with joy. Leaving the door open, she ran across the length of the room, and had the telephone against her ear before it exploded into its second ring.
"Hello, darling!" she said breathlessly.
"I have a long-distance call or you, Mrs. Ross," the telephone operator said to her, her nasal voice twanging like an echo in her ear.
"What?" Myra said numbly, not understanding. "Who?"
There was a sound of switches as the connection was made. Paul's voice, like a ghost from her past, spoke into her ear. "Hello, Myra. It's me."
Myra Ross rubbed her lips nervously with her hand. She tried to sound happy, but her voice died in her throat. "Oh, hello, Paul. How are things?"
"Fine, fine. All right, I guess."
She didn't know what to say to him suddenly, after twelve years. "And the children? How are they?"
"They miss you."
They miss you, she thought. Not I miss you. She said: "You surprised me, Paul. I didn't expect your call. Is something -- wrong?"
He sighed tiredly, and she sensed it was as difficult for him as it was for her. "Well, it's Sunday. And -- uh, I was just wondering if you ... were going to come home today or not." His voice trailed off. "For the lids, you know. They wanted to know."
"Home?" she echoed, the word sounding strange on her tongue. "Yes, Paul. I'm coming ... back today." For some reason, she couldn't say the word. Home. Home.
"Have you ... worked out your ... problems yet?" he asked hesitantly.
Myra thought of Kevin Elliott. "I can't talk now, Paul. This is not something we can discuss over the telephone."
"You want me to meet you?"
Myra shrugged. "I ... I guess so. The bus gets to the terminal at five." She shrugged again. "I guess I'll see you then."
"Fine, fine. Myna. ..."
"Yes?"
"Nothing. Forget it. I'll see you later."
With her head swirling, Myra Ross dialed the -front desk the moment the telephone was free. Her hand was trembling, and she struggled to keep her voice steady.
"Hello. This is Mrs. Ross in room 877, and I'd like to ask you a question .... I've been trying to reach a ... friend of mine all morning on the telephone, but I don't seem to be having much luck. ... Thank you, that would be a great help. The name is Elliott. Kevin Elliott ... His room number? Let me think a moment .... Oh yes. Room 651. That's correct, Kevin Elliott. ... Thank you. I'll hang on while you check. ... Yes? ... Oh. He did. He -- checked out this morning. ... Could you tell me when? About what time? ... That early? I see. Yes ... yes, of course. I understand. Yes. ... Oh, could you tell me whether or not he left any ... messages? ... He didn't. You're sure. I see. ... No, that's all right. I understand. Of course. Thank you ... thank you very much --"
Myra Ross hung the receiver up and sat silently on the edge of the bed.- She felt hollow and empty inside, as if her intestines had been ripped out. Her week away was over, and nothing was resolved. Her problems with Paul still existed, and she knew no more now how to solve them than she did when she first came to Shangri-la. She was still as confused and dissatisfied with her life as ever.
She looked over at her luggage across the room from her. She was all packed and ready to go. But where could she go?
Ray Cooper leaned across the bed and plugged the extension wire of the telephone into the jack. It was an old-fashioned heavy black instrument that they'd had around the house for years, but it suited his purpose: it worked.
Lowering the music spilling from his stereo, he stretched across the bed, lifted the receiver, and dialed the long-memorized number of Mount Shangri-la. Lodge. He cradled the heavy piece of equipment under the sideways tilt of his head, humming absently along with the music as he waited for the call to go through.
"Room 317, please"
"Hello?" an uncertain voice answered. He recognized it right away. It was Sandi.
"Hey, Sandi. It's me. I hope you don't mind that I called?"
Her voice was warm with giddiness. "Oh, not at all. I was hoping you were going to call, in fact. I've been sitting here just waiting. ..."
Ray smiled knowingly, and rubbed his cock through his tight-fitting jeans. It never fails, he told himself proudly. The pussy-stretcher strikes again!
"Hey, can you talk?" he asked, unzipping his fly and pulling his flaccid cock out. He played with himself while he talked to her. "I mean, can you really talk?" "Sure," she answered. "For a little while, anyhow Mom and Dad are at the pool."
"Fantastic," he said, his cock stiffening suddenly into an erection. The memory from last night, and the fantasies of how he would spend today were exciting him. He was really getting in the food. "Hey, you know I had a really great time last night. ..."
"Oh, you're terrible!" she giggled.
"No, seriously. I really did. I mean, for a girl your age, you're really great." The memory of her incredibly tight cunt made his cock stiffen even harder, and he moaned softly, under his breath at the pleasure of his hand moving against him. "I mean -- you were really great. Dynamite."
He could almost hear her blushing. "You were pretty good yourself," she said softly, embarrassed with the frankness of her own words. "I ... I've never had a guy as ... big as yon. His ... uh ... thing."
The tempo of his pumping fist increased, and he toyed momentarily with the idea of coming while he was talking to her on the telephone.
"Really?" he asked, assuming a false modesty he didn't believe in for a single instant. "I'm not all that big."
"You're big enough. For me at least."
"Hey!" he exclaimed, pretending the idea had just come to him. "Say, what are you doing this afternoon? Maybe we could get together again, or something."
The. disappointment was clear in Sandi's voice. "I wish we could. I meant to tell you last night --"
"What?" he asked, sitting up, concerned. "Is something the matter?"
"We're going home today," Sandi said despondently. "I wanted to say something last night, but-I didn't know how. I was afraid I'd lose you ..."
"Oh, Christ!" Frustration quickly turned to anger, and his cock lost interest. "That's a bitch: I was looking forward to seeing you today, too."
"I was looking forward to seeing you, also," Sandi whispered romantically, totally misunderstanding Ray's words. "Are you very upset?"
"Well, yeah -- a little," he said, muttering under his breath.
"Well, rd still like to see you, Ray," Sandi said. "We could spend a little time together. I could give you my address, and you could give me yours. We could make an arrangement or something to see each other again. ..."
"Yeah, sure. Sure." He stuffed his limp cock back
Into his pants and rezippered them. "That's a good. idea. Yeah."
Sandi was overjoyed with his thin agreement. "Oh, wonderful, good! I was so afraid that you wouldn't want to-but never mind that. Where could I meet you?"
"Oh ... I don't care Anywhere. You pick a place.'
"The game room?"
Ray suppressed a yawn. "Yeah. Why not? One place's as good as another."
"God, I'm so excited. How soon before you can be there? No, don't even answer. I'm going there now. I'll meet you there as soon as you can get here. All right?"
"Yeah, sure. Sure."
"Hurry, darling, please. We don't have much time, and I have so much to say to you. Hurry, please; I can hardly wait!"
"Yeah, sure. See you in a little while."
Before she had an opportunity to answer him, Ray slammed the receiver down, and cursed loudly. He pulled the plug from the wall with a savage yank. He sat thinking on the bed for a few moments, then got up and locked himself in the bathroom to jerk off. He came into a tissue, and flushed it down the toilet.
When he came out, he returned to his room, pulled out his books, and sat at his desk studying. A while later, his mother knocked on the door of his room.
"Aren't you going out today?" she asked espying the books.
"Naw, I've got too much homework to do. Goddamn summer session is a pain in the ass."
"Raymond, please! I don't know where you get language like that. Certainly not from your father or I."
He shrugged his shoulders. Tin sorry, Ma. I guess Pin just in a bad mood. Studying doesn't agree with me, especially on a Sunday. Believe me, if I had anything better to do, rd do it."
"You're not going over to the lodge today?"
"Naw. Sundays over there are a real drag. Nothing at all to do. All everybody does is check out and go home. A real bummer."
After his mother had gone, Ray shook his head, admonishing himself silently.
Boy, you've got to watch your ass, he thought. You are going to fuck yourself out of a good thing. You're just damn lucky that you didn't give her your full name or telephone number, or you'd really be in a jam. You've got to be careful next week. One slip like that, and you're going to fuck yourself right out of a good thing.
Lunch was almost over, and Gail Culver was ecstatic. She was raking in money like it was going out of style. Of what she had counted, she had almost eighty-five dollars. She still had three or four envelopes that she hadn't gotten a chance to open yet. Most of her tables had been generous, giving her what the card had suggested, and sometimes, even a little more. Only one table had been a bitch about it, and had left her only ten dollars for four people, after she had served their meals all weekend long. Christ, if she had been a waitress in a restaurant, and she had served them three meals a day, for three days, and they's left her only fifty cents a person, she would have made out better.
There was a time when she would have been hurt or angered over such lack of consideration, but she had learned over the course of the summer that you can't expect the world to be fair. There would always be a table like that table, and regardless of how well she had treated them, she'd always wind, up getting shafted by them. That was one of the irrefutable facts of life: certain people were unequivocal pricks, and there's nothing you can do about it. Fortunately, most people were fair and generous, and, in its own way, that kind of made up for all the mother fuckers of the world.
"Excuse me, Miss. Could I have another cup of coffee, please?"
The request had come from her "problem" table, the one that had been responsible for Gail having gotten to the party so late last night. They had come late for lunch also, as they had for breakfast, as they had for most of their meals all weekend long, in fact. And the woman who had asked for the coffee was, in Gail's opinion, the one most responsible. She was an older woman, in her late forties, with dyed black hair, and a middle-age spread that she had stuffed into a pair of skin-tight out-of-style slacks. She was the slowest, pickiest eater that Gail had seen all summer.
Gail smiled at the woman, shrugging philosophically to herself. Sure the old bitch was a pain in the ass, but so what. Almost everyone was a pain in the ass, so that was no big thing. Besides, Gail was in a good mood today, and she wasn't about to allow anything so petty as that to bring her down. She had a great deal of money in her pocket, the summer was drawing to a close and she would be back in school before long, and Peter, the boy she met at Peggy's party last night, was not only a damn good lay, he was truly a beautiful person, as well.
"Certainly," Gail answered, finding a small consolation even in the extra work. They were going home after lunch, so, at best, this was the last time they could ever make Gail late again, for anything.
She poured the coffee into the woman's cup. "Does anyone else want any more coffee? Sanka?"
The man across from the troublesome woman, her husband -- a middle-aged man in a loud sports jacket-looked into his half-empty cup. "I think I will, young lady," he said. "If it's not too much trouble."
Gail beamed at him, walking around to his side of the table. "No trouble at all, sir," she said. She filled his cup with steaming black coffee. "Can I do anything else for you, sir?"
He was the jovial kind; easy - to talk to, always cracking jokes or playfully kidding. Gail liked him.
"Yes, little lady," he said, his shiny apple, cheeks and balding head qualifying him as being "cute." His eyes were a lively, intelligent blue, and the twinkle of a practical-jokester lurked behind their tired, middle-class solidness. "As a matter of fact, you can do something for me. You can answer me a question. What's your name? I've been calling you "little lady" all week long, and it's getting a little tiresome even to me."
Gail laughed because he was an easy person to laugh with. "Gail," she said. "Gail Culver."
"Gail, my name is Sam," he said, half rising, extending his hand. "Sam Sharp, and this here's my wife, Evelyn. And I just got to tell you, Gail, that we think you've done one hell of a job. One hell of a job."
Gail flushed happily. "Why thank you, Mr. Sharp."
"Sam, Gail. My name is Sam. Now, I want you to remember that."
Gail nodded. "I will ... Sam."
"One hell of a job," he repeated. "Ain't that right, Mother?"
Evelyn Sharp smiled at Gail. "He's quite right, you know," she explained. "We have been admiring you all weekend. You do your job really well. You're quite conscientious."
"Why, thank you. That's very nice.'
Sam Sharp put a match to a long green cigar. "It does my heart good, Gail, to see youngsters like you. Clean living, working hard, saving money. Christ, I wish my kids could see you, then they'd know what I was talking about all those years. Especially my son."
"Sam!" His wife shot him a stern look across the table.
"Well, damnit, Mother, it's true. Marvin's s a bum. You know it and I know it."
Her voice was full of ice. "That's no reason to let everyone know it" And, before he could respond, she turned toward Gail and asked: "Do yon go to college, dear?"
Gail nodded. "Yes, I do. I'm just doing this to make a little extra money. You know, for tuition and stuff. To help my parents."
"See, Mother, see!" That's wonderful, kid. Wonderful. To help your parents. My Marvin wouldn't work if he was starving."
"Sam!"
"Don't pay any attention to her. You're doing just fine, Gail. You've got a head on your shoulders, and you're going to go far someday. You're not lazy like some people we know." He shook his head in silent disgust. "A hippie, that's all he is. A bum. Taking drugs."
"Marijuana is not drugs!" Evelyn Sharp corrected, repeating their old, unresolved arguments.
"It doesn't make any difference what it is. If he's got to take it to get out of the real world, then it's a drug!" He used his cigar like a baton, jabbing it toward her to make his point.
Realizing she was never going to convince him, Evelyn turned her attention back to Gail, smiling as if the exchange with her husband had never happened. She got back at him by looking at Gail while she was addressing him:
"But it seems to me, dear, that we've forgotten the real reason we called Gail over, haven't we, dear?"
"Huh? Oh, yes! The envelope." He reached his hand into his loud sports jacket.
Later, after they'd gone, Gail examined the contents of the envelope.
Twenty-five dollars! she exclaimed. Twenty-five dollars just for the weekend. Wow, that's fantastic. She thought back to the Sharps, nodding her head in unmasked admiration.
They are really generous people, she thought. Jeez, why couldn't my parents have been like them?
"Your mother says the kids are fine," Tracy Hamilton said to her husband, Steve. He was struggling to snap the lid of their overstuffed, borrowed suitcase closed. She said: "Freddy peed on her living room rug."
Steve looked up. "How'd he do that?"
"She left him in his training pants, and when she checked him and saw that he was dry, she pulled down the. pants to take him up to the bathroom. That's when he peed on the rug."
"Jesus," Steve said, suppressing a laugh. "What did she say?"
Tracy shrugged. "What could she say? It was her own fault. She never should have taken the training pants down in the living room. She should have waited until she had him in the bathroom. That would have been the sensible thing to do."
Steve knew better than to say anything to Tracy when she was talking about his mother, so he concentrated on closing the suitcase. It closed with a sudden snap.
"What about Lori?" he asked, referring to their seven-year, old daughter.
"She didn't pee on the rug, but she misses us."
Steve hefted the suitcase over to the door, setting it down next to the half-empty gallon of Italian wine hidden inside of a shopping bag. Also there were the two other shopping-bags filled with souvenirs for everyone back home, mementos of their weekend vacation.
"Ah, I feel sorry for her," Steve said, saddened momentarily by his daughter's sadness.
His reaction bothered Tracy. "I do too," she said, feeling miffed at her husband's insensitivity, "but I'm certainly not going to feel guilty about it. We earned this vacation. It's the first one we've taken in three years, and the first one ever without the kids. That's more than eight years, and I'm just not going to feel guilty about it."
"Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything. I was just kind of feeling sorry for her." He looked at his wife. "You're not angry, are you?"
Tracy tried to contain her feelings. "Well, yes, damnit, I am. I mean, we have some rights too, don't we? I enjoyed this weekend alone together, and I don't want you to go and ruin it for me. I really enjoyed talking to you, getting to know you again, being alone with you. That may be romantic and female, but I enjoyed it. I was hoping that you would have enjoyed it. to."
Steve walked quickly over to his wife, putting his arms around her shoulders. "Hey, hey, honey. I did enjoy it"
"It didn't sound as if you did," she said, petulantly refusing to look at him. "I'm sorry if I've bored you."
"You didn't bore me, silly. I enjoyed this weekend. I enjoyed being with you spending all this time with you. It was like a second honeymoon. I love you, Tracy. We've had such a good weekend, no fights or anything, let's not end it now on a bad note."
"Well," she said, refusing to give in all the way, "you shouldn't have said what you said."
Steve nodded firmly. "You're absolutely right I apologize. I was insensitive."
She looked up at him tentatively. "Do you really mean that? Or are you just saying that to shut me up?"
"Of course I mean it, darling. I love you. I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings. I'm truly, truly sorry. All right?
A grudging smile broke across Tracy's face. "Well, in that case, then, I forgive you."
"Thank you."
"And you were right," Tracy added, gloating. "You were insensitive."
Steve pressed his body against hers, rolling his stiffening cock across the broad vee-like mound of her cunt. "I'm not all that insensitive."
"Why you dirty old man," she said, giggling playfully. She rolled her hips tightly against his groin. "Why it's broad daylight."
"The better to see you with, my dear."
Tracy relaxed in his grip, snuggling up close to him. The idea excited her, and she was impatient to see it happen. Sex in the daytime was almost impossible with children in the house,, and spontaneous sex was so rare it might as well not have even existed. But here she was being offered the possibility of both at the same time: the idea made her wet with anticipation.
"Do you think we have time enough? It's almost eleven."
"We'll make time," Steve said, kissing her tenderly on the lips.
Tracy began to melt. "What if they should say something?"
"I'll tell them I'm sorry, but I was fucking my wife."
Tracy's cunt throbbed. "Oohh, that was dirty."
"And if they don't like it, well, then, that's too bad Let them charge me for another day. But I am not," he said, snuggling his lips against her slender neck, "going to leave this room before I make love to you one more time."
Tracy kissed his mouth, slithering her tongue in and out of his lips. She ran her pink wet tongue all around his biting mouth, teasing him erotically.
"Only one?" she whispered, her fingers working excitedly down the buttons of Steve's shirt He was naked under it, and she slid her hands in around his chest. She loved to feel hair against her cheek.
"For a starter."
"Hhhmmm. Do you know what I think? I think you're trying to seduce me."
"I am."
"Ooohh, yesss!" Tracy moaned, sealing her lips across Steve's mouth. Her tongue snaked in deeply, licking wetly, excitedly, slithering almost down his throat. "Let's go to bed."
Topping the mood off, Steve bent low, and scooped his wife up in his arms. Kissing her wetly on the mouth, he carried her over to the bed, and set her gently down. Then, without breaking the kiss off, he stripped her stark naked, and he fucked her on top of the bed. His strokes were deep and sensual, and after a very short while, he brought them both to a mutual, simultaneous orgasm.
As she came, Tracy Hamilton's mood was one of blissful happiness, touched with moments of wistful sadness. She was happy for the pleasure of the moment, yet, at the same time, she saw the moment for what it truly was:
A respite, she thought, from the everyday hassles of married life. Tomorrow it will go back to the ward it was before, to the way it has always been, to the way it will always be. The vacation, the romance, the second honeymoon was over, and it will be bills and work and the children all over again. Back will be the guilt and the blame and the petty little arguments.
But, goddamn it, it was worth it! It was good to know that, once in a while it could be as good as anyone could ever imagine it to be! It gave you the strength to carry on. For a little while longer ... for a little while anyway...
