Utterly foolish and pathetically frigid, clinging stubbornly to archaic and valueless beliefs about marital sex, hopelessly bound by a code of conduct stressing conformity and decorum at all costs, that's young Mark Fawner's sad opinion of his pert and pretty blonde wife, Evelyn, whose steadfast refusal to try wife-swapping has him contemplating a divorce.
Mark's neighbors, the hedonistic Lionels, are constantly espousing the benefits to be derived from the spouse-switching scene. And Mark is more than ready to enter the wicked world of the swappers, if only to hump the ravishing Shirley Lionel, a raven-tressed temptress whose totally uninhibited nature is in stark contrast to the strait-laced behavior of Evelyn.
Big, burly Frank Lionel is of the opinion that it's time to get though with tough that Mark must show his wife who's boss and deliver the ultimatum, swap or else. And that, precisely, is what the impatient Mr. Fawner does, losing his temper during another argument with Evelyn and spanking the hell out of her poor posterior.
And, lo and behold, a mini-miracle! The fierce pummeling of her ass, so shocking at first, awakens in Evelyn desires that have lain dormant for a long, long time, wholly perverse needs the satisfying of which requires pain and humiliation. Amazed and delighted, Mark wastes no time in applying for membership in the Lionels' swap club.
Thus it is that five nights later Evelyn finds herself in a hotbed of sex, her pleasure supreme as she fucks and sucks her way through a lusty initiation ceremony. In attendance are Matt and Linda Williams, a stunning black couple, Marjorie Finlay and her slightly sadistic hubby, Joseph, a butcher who just loves to deliver the meat. And, of course, the Lionels, without whom a prick and pussy party would be incomplete.
The new, wildly enthusiastic Mrs. Fawner bounces from this fuck fest into the open arms of Timothy Lane, an old flame, whose presence in Cloverdale Village has been prompted by his involvement in a most unusual business-white slavery. To help him seduce the now susceptible Evelyn he has Laura Hampton, a luscious titian-tressed creature whose passion for prick borders on the nymphomaniacal.
Even Mark's employer, the suave and debonair Laurence Marshall, gets into the act, informing Mark that his promotion in the sales firm is dependent upon Evelyn's sexual availability. Mark is not averse to the suggested deal, reason being that he will get the chance to screw Susan Stacy, Marshall's sexy secretary and mistress.
Yes indeed, what miracles that brutal bottom-warming has wrought.
CHAPTER ONE
Mark Fawner's almond-colored eyes followed sultry Shirley Lionel as she left the living room, his attention riveted to the smooth, sensuous roll of her beautiful backside. That firm, well-proportioned fanny, at the moment snugly sheathed in flaming red, cunt-clasping-hip-hugging hot pants, was a most lascivious lure, he thought, feeling his pecker stir in his slacks as lustful thoughts jogged into his mind.
And Shirley, tempting tease that she was, enjoyed flaunting her physical attributes and noting the effect such shameless impudence had on him and others, Mark realized. Like right now, for instance. Look at her there, pausing under the arch separating living room from dining area to bend forward at the waist, the obscenely short hot pants in painfully taut stretch across her luscious ass as she reached down under the antique desk to pick up-what? An imaginary pencil, perhaps.
It was a move designed to further whet his appetite, of course, the wicked wriggle of her bottom being a crude but certainly effective reminder of her availability, of her genuine interest in him as a sex partner. For Mrs. Frank Lionel knew that he would like nothing better than to wrap his hands around her impudent ass, to cup and squeeze her succulent cheeks as he 'plowed her pussy with his throbbing tool.
And would he ever, Mark thought, a small smile springing quickly onto his attractive face as Shirley straightened up and cast a grin over her right shoulder in his direction. Had he gotten a good look, she was asking. Did he appreciate the way she had waved her fantastic fanny back at him? Wouldn't he just love to sock it to her?
Yes, a thousand times yes, Mark answered with his smile and small nod of approval, his rapidly hardening pecker forming an embarrassing bulge in his lap. He watched Shirley move into the dining area and then turn into the kitchen, the image of the ravishing, raven-tressed woman, in nude, sensual sprawl and panting with desire, reaching out hungrily for his pulsating hard-on, refusing to leave his mind.
Shit, but he wanted to fuck her! It wasn't only her ass that he found so alluring, so feverishly provocative, it was her whole damn beautiful body, the totally uninhibited, unashamed way she paraded her charms while riotously refuting, with her husband, what she considered shopworn moral conventions and the ethics of tradition-bound middleclass Americans.
Shirley Lionel just oozed sex appeal. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes she suggested sex-not a prim and stiffly proper coupling on freshly laundered sheets, but a raw, earthy, abandoned mating laced with gutsy expletives and savage snarls of heathenish delight, a furious fuck where body pounded body, rock-hard prick plunging mightily into hot, syrupy, gripping twat.
Extraordinarily fuckable, that was perhaps the best way to describe the twenty-seven-year-old wife of Frank Lionel, Mark mused, as over in the brown leather armchair his friend and neighbor, oblivious to the fact that he'd lost his audience, continued reading aloud from the popular magazine the results of a recent survey taken to determine the extent of wife-swapping in the United States.
Shirley was a statuesque siren, standing exactly five feet seven inches without heels, and her vital measurements, which Frank never tired of quoting, were a sizzling thirty-eight, twenty-five, thirty-six. In shimmering, showering fall her long coal-black tresses rippled over her creamy-smooth shoulders and down her back, gently caressed her large, lovingly-crafted breasts.
Yes indeed, how easy it was to conjure in his mind the picture of an aroused Shirley Lionel, her usually sparkling blue eyes glazed by desire, her hoarse moans of passion lashing the air as he whipped his blood-filled prick into her lunging, lusting nakedness. He could imagine her in dozens of positions; flat on her back with her sleek legs spread wide, crouched low on elbows and knees and offering up for total ravishment her gorgeous behind, bent forward at the waist, posting happily on his hard-on, belly down on the bed-.
There was no end to the number of ways he wanted to fuck her. And right now, in her own home, on this hot, muggy evening of August 26, 1972, Mrs. Frank Lionel looked especially gorgeous. Good enough to eat, in fact, which was something else he very often dreamed of doing to his fun-loving neighbor's voluptuous spouse.
Attired in those wickedly-tight red hot pants and a skimpy white halter, one that barely covered her magnificent mammaries, Shirley was the personification of sex, of mad, frenetic intercourse on sweat-saturated sheets. And, as usual, she was flirting with him, baiting him, deliberately turning him on as he sat here on her living room sofa silently cursing his wife.
Evelyn. Yes, in no small way was she to blame for his being extra horny this evening, Mark thought, anger beginning to well within him as he fumbled in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. It wasn't just seeing Shirley in her blatantly suggestive halter and hot pants that had started his pecker thickening, nor had her flirtatious behavior cued his lustful thoughts.
There was a certain lamentable irony here, Mark realized, exhaling a cloud of smoke and stuffing the crumpled cigarette pack back in his shirt pocket as Frank Lionel, engrossed in the sexologist's findings, turned a page of the magazine and went right on reading aloud. Ironic was the fact that his wife, who in five years of marriage had not once communicated, either verbally or through a gesture, her need for sex, could be considered partially responsible for the hard-on he had now.
Yet such was the case. If Evelyn didn't approach sex with an indifferent, not-again-tonight-darling attitude, if she responded to his sexual overtures with genuine interest instead of conveying the idea that she was "suffering," if, like most healthy young females, she was concerned with orgasms and pleasing a male, then chances were he would not be sitting here with a lust for another woman a yard long.
Evelyn claimed that he was hung-up on sex, that all he ever thought about was "doing it to her." Hell, if he was hung-up on sex it was because she couldn't, or didn't want to, satisfy him. It was Evelyn's obvious dislike of intercourse, her passion-smothering frigidity, that stood like a stone wall between them.
There was no doubt about it, Mark thought, taking another drag on his cigarette. If his marriage wasn't starting to fall apart at the seams, if in the past five years Evelyn had learned even a little something about pleasing a husband, he wouldn't be so inclined to enter the world of the swingers.
"-And so here we have an-expert-who-." Frank Lionel at long last lifted his eyes from the magazine to speak to Mark, but his words trailed off as he realized that his friend and neighbor had not been paying attention.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Frank," Mark apologized. "I guess I was doin' a little daydreaming there. What was that you were saying about an expert?"
A small smile formed on Frank's face as he shook his head and flipped the magazine onto the large white hassock near his chair. He sat back in the comfortable leather armchair and folded his hands, his eyes now taking dead aim on the man sitting across the way on the sofa.
"Mark, old buddy," he said finally, "if you don't do something pretty damn quick about this depression you've been in lately, Shirely and I are goin' to find ourselves visitin' you in a funny farm somewhere."
Mark chuckled nervously, then took another drag on his cigarette.
"No, I mean it, fella," Frank said seriously. "You've got to snap out of it before it's too late. Now have you talked to-."
"Before it's too late for what, darling?" Shirley asked, breaking into the conversation as she returned to the living room. She put the can of cold beer and the glass she had brought from the kitchen in front of Mark, on the cocktail table sitting parallel to the sofa, then promptly sat down beside him. She looked at Mark and then at her husband. "Well, isn't anybody going to fill me in?"
Mark leaned forward and rested his cigarette in the ashtray on the stylish, glass-topped cocktail table, then snapped open the aluminum lid on the beer can and started to pour the chilled brew into the glass. "Your husband was about to lecture me again on the merits of wife-swapping, Shirely," he explained with a smile.
"Mmmm, how thoughtful of him," the black-haired beauty grinned. "I can't think of anyone better able to discuss the subject."
Frank smiled at his wife. "Compliments like that will get you fucked, sweetheart."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"And just how did you know that I have an itch to be scratched, Mr. Lionel?"
Frank chuckled. "You always have an itch you want scratched, baby. In fact, if ever there's a contest to elect the randiest female in Cloverdale Village-."
"Only in Cloverdale Village?"
"Make that the whole state," Frank grinned. "Anyway, if such a contest were ever held you'd be a cinch to capture the crown. I can see you now, luv, parading on stage wearing only a banner that reades 'Mrs. Hot-Pants of 1972.' "
Shirley giggled. "If they vote me the randiest female in this big state, darling, then much of the credit will be yours. Because, you big-pricked devil, you really turn me on."
Mark sat, beer can in hand, and listened to the banter exchanged by the Lionels. Now here was a truly happy couple, he thought. In their eight years of marriage Frank and Shirley had developed a real rapport, a basic, fundamental, harmonious relationship. They didn't just love each other, they liked each other.
He doubted if Frank and Shirley ever argued, so compatible and happy did they seem. They fit together perfectly, like a cup and saucer, each complementing the other to form a concordant whole. Of interest, too, was the fact that while sex obviously played a major role in their blissful union, the Lionels were not completely hung-up on physical beauty.
While Frank had a keen eye for a flash of thigh and was won't to brag about his having humped some of the prettiest women on the East Coast, chances were that he had chosen Shirley not for her fantastic face and figure alone. To be sure, the fact that Shirley had been blessed with uncommon beauty must certainly have played some part in Frank's decision to marry her.
But seeing how well the two of them got on prompted the conclusion that other factors had entered into Frank's decision. Before popping the question, he had no doubt taken into account Shirley's sense of humor, her above average intelligence, her high-spirited, fun-loving nature, and her liberal views regarding extra-marital sex, which, of course, Frank had seen as a necessary prerequisite to engaging in mate-switching sessions.
For her part, Shirley had chosen a man who in all honesty could not be considered handsome. Frank was not an unattractive man, by no means, but only those movie buffs with a peculiar idea of what constituted physical allure would be likely to list him as a matinee idol type.
At twenty-eight, Frank was a year older than his wife. He was about five feet eleven inches in height and weighed in at a little over one hundred ninety, which put him a shade on the chunky side. He was a rough and ready sort of guy with a bawdy sense of humor, a temper that flared quickly but one that died just as fast, and, like Shirley, he firmly believed that foolish are those who don't take advantage of every opportunity to live life to its fullest.
Yes, it was a damn good match-up, Mark concluded again. Everything the Lionels' marriage was the Fawners' wasn't. Frank and Shirley laughed and swapped ribald stories, lid and Evelyn started conversations that inevitably turned into arguments. Frank and Shirley had a ball in bed, he and Evelyn engaged in sexual relations the likes of which only a castrated monk would think satisfying..
The contrast was almost laughable, really. The Lionel's marriage was quite obviously thriving while the Fawner's marriage was foundering badly. Or, to be even more explicit, Frank and Shirley were very happy and he and Evelyn were miserable. It was that simple.
"Say, I have an even better idea," Shirley chirped, slapping Mark on the knee.
"And what is that, beautiful?" Frank asked as he flipped through the magazine in search of the wife-swapping article, a small portion of which he wanted to read again to Mark.
"Instead of reading some silly old statistics to Mark, which I'm sure would bore him to tears, why don't you and I demonstrate the benefits to be reaped from the swinging life?"
"You've lost me, sweetheart. Mmmm, let's see now-oh, yeah, here it is. Now, Mark, when this study of spouse-trading was-."
"Hey," Shirley broke in. "What happened to my idea?"
Frank's brow furrowed. "What idea was that?"
Shirley groaned and turned to Mark. "I tell you, that man is just impossible."
Mark chuckled softly. He ground out his cigarette in the ashtray and reached for his glass of beer, conscious of the fact that his penis, while no longer in painful struggle to tumefy in the restricted space of his undershorts, still made a rather large lump in his lap. Had Shirley noticed it, he wondered.
"I'm not impossible, luv," Frank said with a smile. "It's just that I don't understand what you're getting at."
"It's simple," Shirley insisted. "I'm suggesting that we show Mark here how membership in the swap club has benefited us. You know, how it's liberalized our attitudes and enabled us to fully appreciate the rewards of group sex."
Frank shook his head, then turned to Mark. "Pal, do you understand what this mate of mine if trying to say? If you do, I wish you'd fill me in. I'm afraid she's lost me."
Shirley growled playfully. "Oh, honey, sometimes you're so darn thick. If you'd just put down that magazine and listen to me-."
"You're not making any sense, sweetheart," Frank said, after tossing the magazine back onto the hassock. "First off, you and I didn't join the swap club six years ago to lose our inhibitions-we didn't have any to lose, remember? Secondly, how do you propose we demonstrate something as intangible as a state of mind? The satisfaction that you and I derive from membership in the club can't be showcased like some sort of trophy. It's a feeling that can only-."
"Oh, brother," Shirley groaned, "must we suffer a long-winded and scholarly discourse on the subject of swinging? This isn't a lecture hall, you know."
Frank grinned. "I'm only trying to convey to you the fact that you're not making any sense."
"Well, I think I am, luv," Shirley insisted. She stuck out her tongue at her hubby, then turned to Mark, her fingers tightening on his knee. "What do you think, Mr. Fawner? Does what I'm trying to say make any sense to you?"
Mark smiled a small smile. "The last thing I want is to be placed in the middle of a family squabble, Shirley. But I'll say this, though, like I told Frank earlier, It's not me you have to convince but my inhibited wife. She's the one who needs to see the light. This demonstration, or whatever it is you have in mind, might help her overcome her foolish prudishness." He puased for a moment, then added, "Although I guess it's just too much to hope for. Evelyn will probably never wake up. She'll go through the rest of her life quoting moral maxims that only a religious fanatic holds dear."
"The point is," Frank began, "that it just isn't possible to exhibit, like a statue, say, the inherent benefits of participation in group sex or mate-trading activities. Only through active involvement in-."
"Will you listen to that?" Shirley interrupted again. "I think my husband has memorized that article in the magazine. He'll be going on speaking tours next."
Frank chuckled and shook his head. "Mrs. Lionel, keep that up and I'll screw you right her and now-right in front of our good friend and neighbor, Mr. Fawner."
Shirley brightened. "Now," she exclaimed, "we're getting somewhere. What I'm suggesting is-."
"A fuck?" Frank broke in.
"Will you let me finish, Mr. Professor?"
"Sorry," Frank said, smiling. He looked at Mark and winked.
"What I'm suggesting is that I blow you while Mark looks on. My unashamed performance will brush from Mark's mind any lingering doubts he may have about the inhibition-crushing aspects of swapping. Now that makes sense, doesn't it?"
"Nope," Frank answered. "Mark just got through telling you that he doesn't need to be convinced. Evelyn is the one who needs to realize her sexual potential through mate-switching activities. And like I said before, I don't understand how-."
"Look, do you want your cock sucked or not, Mr. Lionel?" Shirley asked, her voice rising in exasperation.
A momentary silence ensued, the only sound in the living room being that made by the Lionel's air-conditioner, which hummed softly in the background as Frank contemplated his wife's lewd proposal. He found the idea of being blown while Mark watched from the sidelines rather intriguing. Downright exciting, in fact.
Finally, he turned to Mark and shrugged. "How does a man turn down an invitation like that, Mr. Fawner?"
Mark grinned. "He doesn't, Mr. Lionel."
"You bet your sweet pecker he doesn't," said Shirley with a broad smile. She dropped her eyes to Mark's lap and once again took note of the interesting bulge there. Then, still smiling, she lifted her eyes and said, "You're going to enjoy this, neighbor."
Not flinching, Mark looked the gorgeous, sexily-clad woman square in the eye and stated, "That, Shirley, is an understatement."
"Well, I'm waiting, baby. Shall we get on with it now?"
Shirley and Mark both turned their attention to Frank, who had pushed himself up out of the armchair and was now standing in lusty readiness. He had unzipped his fly and hauled out his pecker, the flaccid length of which he was presently fondling.
"I'm ready if you are, luv," Shirley informed her hubby.
With that, as Mark drained the last of his beer and settled back again into the sofa, the dazzling black-haired beauty rose and started toward her mate. Once again Mark zeroed in on Shirley's saucy ass, his eyes wide as they feasted on the provocative wriggle of a female bottom snugly encased in the tightest of hot-pants.
"How 'bout a little kiss, darling?" Shirley asked when she was standing directly in front of her husband.
"I thought that's what you had in mind, baby."
Shirley grinned. "I meant on the mouth, silly. I'll get started on my boyfriend in just a minute."
"You're going to blow me good, right?"
"I'll blow you good, sweetheart."
"You'll suck my hot cock?"
"I'll suck your hot cock-your beautiful hot cock."
"And swallow my gunk?"
"And swallow all your delicious gunk," Shirley repeated, realizing that the crotch of the bikini briefs she was wearing under her skin-tight hot pants was becoming very damp indeed. Which, of course, was not all that surprising, since she had discovered shortly after puberty that precious little was required to set her pussy aflame and to make the acquisition of a throbbing prick uppermost in her mind.
"Then I shall kiss your sweet lips," Frank said smiling. "The soft, sweet lips soon to be wrapped around my meat."
"Oh, how utterly debonair you are, Mr.
Lionel," Shirley crooned, her blue eyes twinkling naughtily as she moved easily, smoothly, into her husband's beefy arms.
Mark watched Frank and Shirley kiss as his pecker suddenly renewed its difficult struggle to enlarge in the constricting confines of his shorts. He felt like a voyeur, a peeping Tom engaged in spying on two uninhibited lovers. Which he wasn't at all, since the Lionels were putting on this sexy little performance for his enjoyment. Even if at the moment it appeared that they were oblivious to his presence.
Mark adjusted his position on the sofa as he continued staring at the kissing couple. Shirley was squirming slowly, sensuously, in Frank's arms, pressing her beautiful boobs into his manly chest, covered now by a thin, salmon-colored sport shirt, and grinding her middle against his still flaccid pecker.
What he wouldn't give to be in Frank's shoes, Mark thought, his eyes following his neighbor's meaty hands as they slid down Shirley's back and wrapped around her provocative posterior. How marvelous it must be to know that every night of the week, and twice on Sunday, if in the mood, you could fuck holy hell out of a woman who responded to your lovemaking with equal fervor.
He knew, of course, the real reason behind Shirley's scintillating suggestion of a blow-job. He hadn't been fooled by her fuzzy line of reasoning, by the gobbledygook she had spouted while trying to explain how sucking Frank's cock would enable him to realize the value of participation in spouse-switching games.
Hell, Shirley knew that he was interested in sampling the delights to be found in the wicked world of the swappers. She knew that he was game, that it was Evelyn who, with her archaic beliefs and pleasure-stifling attitudes toward self-indulgence, was sorely in need of a good course in Twentieth Century Sexual Mores, one that included lessons in the art of sexual gratification and told of the alternatives to traditional marriage now being considered by enlightened couples.
No, it wasn't to demonstrate how liberated she'd become through mate-trading that Shirley had proposed sucking her husband's tool. It was simply an excuse, a quickly-hatched pretense to provide her with yet another opportunity to tease him, to make abundantly clear the fact that if he'd hurry up and get Evelyn to come around she would be more than willing to suck his cock too.
"Mmmmm, that was nice, ' luv," Shirley cooed when at long last the kiss broke. "You really know how to kiss a Mr. Lionel."
"Where's the lady?" Frank grinned.
"Now that wasn't very nice," Shirley said, feigning hurt.
"Mark, you know the kind of woman most men say they'd like to marry-one who's a lady in the living room and a wild nympho in the bedroom? Well, pal, I've got something even better than that with Shirl. She's a wild, crazy cunt in the bedroom and the living room."
"Oh, you," Shirley exclaimed, delivering a not very hard kick to her husband's right chin.
"Ouch, that hurt, baby," Frank complained.
"Suffer," Shirley said, smiling sexily.
"I don't want to suffer, sweets. I want to be blown. Now on your knees, woman-and be quick about it."
"Oh, he's such a masterly man my husband."
"Suck my cock, woman," Frank again ordered, unable to keep a smile from creeping across his round, whiskered face.
Shirley smiled up at her husky spouse, her dazzling blue eyes locking onto his soft brown ones. She ran the fingers of her right hand through his curly chestnut hair and then, after a moment, began slowly sinking to her knees, her hands sliding down his shirt front and finally grabbing hold of the wide black belt supporting his light green slacks. , When she was settled in position, her husband's manhood in excited twitch scant inches from her beautiful face, Shirley turned her head and smiled at Mark. "Ready for the show, handsome?" she asked, a faint, barely discernible mocking tone to her voice.
"Proceed," Mark answered quickly, with a smile. And then, because he was getting just a wee bit annoyed with the beautiful woman's steady taunting of him, he added, "I'll applaud if I think you're doing an especially good job."
Shirley didn't bat an eye. "You do that, Mr. Fawner," she grinned. "I work better with an appreciative audience."
Then, without further ado, she turned to the task at hand, her moist, supple lips parting slowly as she took hold of her husband's meaty member and directed its plum-shaped head to her mouth. Seconds later she was carefully sucking the fleshy root, lovingly laving it with a skill born of many such encounters, not only wthith her well-hung spouse but with dozens of men she'd met through the wife-exchanging club.
Yet as she licked and sucked, her tongue in mad, tantalizing twirl over Frank's slowly thickening tool, Shirley's thoughts remained on the man on the sofa, the one she knew was viewing this cocksuck with avid interest. With a growing hard-on.
Mark Fawner was a helluva good-looking stud, she mused. Tall, about six foot one, with a neat, trim body that probably weighed in the vicinity of one hundred seventy five pounds, he was the kind of guy who just naturally turned women on. Only the truly frigid, the female who likened the loss of her virginity to the loss of a precious jewel, and those who favored members of their own sex, would not be moved by Mark's quiet attractiveness to drop their panties and admit a desire for his manhood.
And just how experienced was Mr. Fawner, Shirley wondered, continuing her lewd labors on the prick thickening beautifully in her warm, wet mouth. Not counting Evelyn, how many females had spent a few cozy minutes playing with Mark's cinnamon-colored hair while gazing into his hazel eyes? How many sets of tits had Mark fondled in his twenty-seven years? How many pussies had his cock plowed?
These were interesting questions indeed, especially when one was looking forward to a number of hot humping hours with the man whose good looks quite rightly prompted such inquiry. It didn't appear that Mark was fooling around at the moment, and it was her guess that if he had cheated at all on Evelyn it was no more than once or twice. But certainly a man as attractive as Mr. Fawner had scored pretty heavily in his bachelor days.
Which is what he was probably wishing he was again-a happy-go-lucky, love 'em and leave 'em bachelor, a man about town with a ready prick and all the time in the world to see it safely into a variety of hungry vaginas.
Evelyn. She was the big obstacle here, Shirley thought. Mark was a good neighbor, a good friend, and it would be delightful to have him as an occasional good bed partner, but until Evelyn pulled free of those silly, antiquated ideas concerning fidelity in marriage, ideas which were preventing her from realizing her full potential as a truly liberated woman, then she would just have to content herself with continuing to tease him until, in desperation, he delivered that "swap with me or else" ultimatum to his wife.
Because that was one rule she had no intention of breaking. The only time she fucked another man was when that other man's wife was getting fucked by Frank. She had never cheated on her husband, in the sense that he didn't know what was going on, and she didn't intend to start messing around behind Frank's back now.
When she and Frank engaged in extra-marital sex it was always together, with each other's blessing, and there was no reason to change this modus operandi now-not even if the thought of getting royally reamed by Mark Fawner was sufficient in itself to start her pussy purring and salivating.
No, if and when she let Mark lay her Evelyn would be nearby, bareassed naked and thrilling to a fierce fuck as performed by her ever horny husband. So Mr. Fawner had better hop to it and start applying some real pressure to his naive schoolgirl of a wife-before she tired of teasing him into painful erections.
And that, precisely, was what. Mark had at the moment-a thick, blood-gorged pecker that, in defiance of all things reasonable, was determinedly trying to punch a big hole in his tan slacks. Having no choice, he pulled down the zipper of his fly and dragged out his rock hard organ.
"Feel free, pal," Frank grinned in response to Mark's questioning, "Do you mind if I pull my pecker" look. "I'd do the same damn thing if I were in your boots."
This was absolutely ridiculous, Mark thought, stroking his warm, throbbing prick. To be sitting here, in the living room of one of your good friends and his outrageously beautiful wife, jacking off like a teenage jerk hard-up for a fuck, was certainly the height of something or other.
Yet he couldn't stop masturbating any more than he could tear his eyes from the lust-inspiring scene he was witnessing the deliciously lewd performance that was being given supposedly for his enjoyment. But not his exclusively, that was for damn sure. Frank, too, was very obviously relishing his wife's fervent fellatio.
Shirley was really into the swing of things now. She was sucking her tasty stalk of flesh with wild abandon, slobbering over it with the enthusiasm one expected from a high-priced call girl who simply loved her work.
Up and down her head bobbed, rhythmically, rapidly, her pursed lips hotly hugging her hubby's now totally tumuscent prick as they slid wetly over its thick, throbbing length. No longer was Shirley of a mind to carefully lick and suck, to tenderly tease cock and hairy balls with her talented tongue.
"This-this is somethin' else, huh?" Frank called over to Mark, who was pumping his prick even faster now. "N-No one sucks cock like my Shirley."
"She's a beautiful bitch," Mark said hoarsely. "Like you said before-a slut in the bedroom and the living room."
"Yeah, that's my woman alright," Frank said proudly.
Hands on hips, he looked down at his kneeling wife and grinned a lust-charged grin. She was indeed a great cocksucker, he thought happily. One of the best he'd know, in fact. Fellatio was a special favorite of Shirley's and seldom did a night pass without her spending at least a few minutes mouthing his meat.
And then, of course, there were those times when his wife, in an especially randy condition, would demand that he stretch out on his back on their queen-sized bed whilst she made great show of tending to his life-giving root. Assuming a comfortable position on the bed, either between his spread legs or curled up on her side next to him, her head resting on his belly, Shirley would then devote the next hour to a fastidious, maddeningly methodical washing of the fleshy fellow she lovingly referred to as her "boyfriend."
Yes, indeed, Frank thought, his beautiful mate rightly deserved the title of "Fellatrice First Class," an honor bestowed upon her by the male members of the swap club, all of whom Shirley had sucked to gut-jumbling orgasms.
"I'm-I'm goin' to come with you, Frank," Mark announced suddenly, his hand a fleshy funnel as it moved up and down his blood-fattened manhood.
"Yeah, soon now," Frank called out. "I-I can't take much more of this."
He would hate himself later, Mark knew, but right now all he could think of was coming at the same time that Frank's sticky passion product gushed into Shirley's hot, cocksucking mouth. From where he sat on the sofa he had a clear, unobstructed view of the deliciously lewd proceedings.
He could see Frank's slick, saliva-coaled cock sliding wetly in and out of Shirley's mouth, between those full, lovely lips, those warmly clasping lips now acting like a velvet-lined vice for his neighbor's meaty member. And what a member it was too-a proud, pulsating pole of hard flesh measuring, Mark figured, close to eight inches.
And he was close enough to the obscene action to hear the wet, slurping sounds of lust made by the slobbering Shirley as she gluttonously sucked her husband's pecker. Shit, but what a fantastically pronographic picture she presented!
There she was in subservient posture, on her knees in front of the burly Frank, her hands clamped firmly over his legs, midway between knee and thigh, with only her head moving in rapid bob as time and again she impaled herself on the mighty manhood.
"C'mon, dammit," Mark shouted, perilously close to letting loose what felt to him like a quart of semen stored in his now heavy, taut scrotal sac. "Fill her mouth with it, Frank. Do it, dammit."
"Now-you ready?" Frank breathed hotly.
"Yeah. C'mon, shove it down her throat, man."
As a fiery lust raged out of control within him, turning his mind into a satanic whorl of wholly licentious thoughts, Mark now started to pump his bloated bone for all he was worth, his vision blurring as he felt the onset of an orgasm that would see his viscous semen shooting, like scalding water from a spewing geyser, up into the air and over the cocktail table.
Frank Lionel, himself on the verge of another memorable come, took hot hold of his wife's bobbing head and ordered her to cease sucking immediately.
Shirley, always the understanding, obedient cocksucker, quickly obeyed her ready-to-shoot husband and made ready to swallow as much of his gunk as she could.
She didn't have long to wait.
CHAPTER TWO
An animalistic and perversely proper groan of delight broke from Frank's throat to provide lewd accompaniment to his wholly satisfying climax. The thick, creamy come, too long stored in his warm scrotal pouch, streaked through his trembling tool and gushed into Shirley's waiting throat.
His strong hands cradling her head, holding it still and in place, he shivered from head to toe and grunted savagely as Shirley endeavored to swallow the syrupy gunk now filling her mouth rapidly. Eyes glazed, he looked down at his wanton wife and the, the sight of his cock jammed deeply into her mouth igniting one forgotten spark of lust, he tipped forward and crammed another half-inch down her beautiful throat.
"Gaaargh-" Shirley gagged, her hands instinctively flying up to the powerful, throat-choking prick.
"C'mon, baby, swallow it all," Frank ordered harshly, his voice thick, laced with excitement.
"Arghhh-." Shirley gagged again, this time succeeding in yanking from her prick-packed mouth that portion of her hubby's eight incher just now rudely added for good measure.
Unlike many another female, who might have taken exception to her partner's crude and cruel antics, Shirley immediately forgave Frank his audacious attempt to cram more of his blood-gorged, ejaculating cock down her tender throat, quickly resuming her own excited efforts to swallow the creamy semen flowing into her mouth when she was sure that he wouldn't act up again.
She knew her husband well, knew that he possessed a small streak of sadism which sometimes evidenced itself on those occasions when he was beside himself with passion. Which really wasn't so bad, she reasoned, because while she would never ever label herself a masochist there were times when she craved domination, when it gave her perverse pleasure to be treated like a whore. And didn't all women have that crazy urge now and then?
It was now, as the sex-hungry Shirley struggled gamely to ingurgitate all the creamy goodness flooding her mouth, that Mark finally came, his blissful release from the sweet torment of impending orgasm having been delayed for a reason he was not now about to stop and attempt to fathom.
One hand tightly gripping the arm of the sofa, the other curled hotly around his shuddering shaft, he pressed back against the cushion, his backside sliding forward, and savored the beautiful sensations afforded him by this self-induced orgasm.
"Yeah, gobble it up, baby," he heard Frank growl to his rapidly swallowing wife. "Get it in your belly. Drink, Shirley, drink."
Bleary-eyed, Mark watched Shirley's frantic efforts to oblige her husband as the product of his own passion bolted from the tiny slit at the end of his organ and streaked, like a rocket, through the air in a long sticky arc.
"Swallow, Shirley, swallow," Frank was chanting, his hands still clamped firmly over his beautiful wife's head.
Between gulps and gasps blocked by the trembling cock stuffed solidly in her mouth, the energetic and dementedly determined Shirley swallowed-and swallowed and swallowed, strange click-clacking noises emanating from her throat as she performed the most difficult task of ingurgitating while forced to harbor a meaty pecker in her oral cavity.
Mastering this trick had taken some time and a not inconsiderable amount of patience, not to mention a healthy number of wildly ejaculating erectiles. But she had learned how to relax her throat muscles so as not to gag on cock or sperm-provided, of course, that her partner didn't add to the difficulty by trying to jam every last inch of his stiff prick down her throat.
Mark's face, which had been contorted with passion, gradually softened as the last of his come flew from the bulbous head of his six incher. At peace now, bathed in the euphoric sense of satisfaction resulting from his manually-induced come, he loosened his grip on his slowly deflating manhood and with some effort pushed himself up into a more erect position on the Lionel's sofa.
To his amazement, he realized that Frank was still at work on Shirley, that his cock was still safely secured between her lipsticked lips. How was this possible, he wondered. Hell, Frank must have already deposited a small pool of gooey come in Shirley's belly.
Had she been able to speak, Shirley might have told Mark that her wonderful husband, virile lover that he was, never failed to disappoint in terms of his remarkable ability to produce rich creamy semen in abundance. She was accustomed to ingesting what she always thought to be, upon reflection later, at least a full pint of Frank's slimy goo. And there were times when it took three mind-jolting orgasms to drain him dry.
But all good things must eventually come to an end, and so it was with this particular cocksucking session indulged in by the swinging Lionels for an audience of one. Almost reluctantly, as if wanting to prolong the moment, Frank gently steered his wife's head back away from his still hard cock.
"Did you enjoy that, sweetheart?" he asked, tilting Shirley's head back so that he could look down into her face.
"Mmmmm, you know I did, lover," the raven-tressed, satanically-sexy woman answered with a warm, loving smile. "I feel so bloated now."
Frank chuckled. "You got down a lot this time, baby."
"It tastes so good, darling." Shirley ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, then added, "I like the taste of your come best of all, Mr. Lionel. It has a nice salty taste."
"Like peanuts, huh?"
"I know the kind of nuts I like," Shirley said, grinning up at her favorite sex partner. "And they aren't peanuts."
Frank grinned and then turned to Mark. "Hey, pal, do you want to see something downright sexy?"
"Sure," Mark answered, his neighbor's question having cut short a brief moment of introspection during which he debated the necessity of stuffing his now limp peter back inside his slacks. The issue not having been resolved, his wet organ still dangled in weary flop outside his fly, in restful curl over one side of the zipper.
"Well, then, feast your eyes on my lovely wife's face," Frank said, gently turning Shirley's head so that she was looking toward the sofa. "Isn't that a sight to trigger another hard-on?"
Yes, it was, Mark thought, returning Shirley's smile with a small one of his own. The gorgeous woman's hair was disheveled-thanks to Frank's excited ruffling of it while she was performing her feverish fellatio-and several long shiny black strands hung like tentacles over her forehead, down past her eyes.
There was on her clear, unlined face the faintly feral look of a woman pleased with herself, with her ability to arouse, yet not truly content due to the absence of an orgasm for herself. She seemed to be saying through her expression, one lightly touched with depravity, "Isn't it just marvelous that I thrill to sucking cock, that I'm so wickedly randy all the time? Aren't I the sweetest little old prick-licker you ever did see? But what about my flaming twat? Where is the hose to put out that fire?"
To add to the overall picture of sinfulness was the fact that Frank's semen, that portion not greedily gulped down, was trickling out from the corners of Shirley's mouth and dribbling down her well-molded chin. And on and around her nose, in her nostrils, too, was more gooey semen, this bit of vixcid come having been accidently left there, Mark figured, when Frank removed his slimy, saliva-coated cock from his wife's hungry mouth.
"You're staring, Mr. Fawner," Shirley said finally, gently chiding the man she knew would like nothing better than to jam his blood-packed pecker into her mouth. Or her cunt. Or her ass.
"Can you forgive me, Mrs. Lionel?" Mark asked, countering quickly.
Shirley's smile blossomed into a full-fledged grin. "I'll try, good-looking. I'll try."
It was less than a minute later, following a bit more banter between Shirley and Mark, that Frank helped his wife to her feet and the two of them cleaned up. With her husband's handkerchief Shirley wiped her face and then, while kidding Mark, polished the glass top of the cocktail table with the sticky trails of semen left there as lewd evidence of Mark's masturbation.
"It's even better than lemon oil," she observed with a chuckle.
"Next time I'll come over the desk," Mark promised, somewhat surprised to discover that at the moment he felt no guilt or shame but knowing that these, plus self-disgust, would surely grip him in the very near future. Perhaps right after he left his happily hedonistic neighbors and returned to his home across the street. To Evelyn.
"And I'll have the chamois handy," Frank said, joining in the moment of frivolity.
But then it was back to the business at hand, Frank settling again into his armchair and Shirley, who had resigned herself to waiting until after Mark's departure for the fuck from Frank she craved, taking a position on the sofa. Now that peckers had been tucked back inside slacks and a pussy calmed somewhat by the promise of a nice juicy prick before the night was over, the talk turned serious. In short, a discussion of mate-switching and Evelyn Fawner's adamant refusal to participate in same was what now developed between the Lionels and Mark.
"Now it's just this kind of information you've got to get across to your wife," Shirley stressed, her words prompted by Frank's reading aloud from the magazine a statement to the effect that over one million Californians, married and single, have already proclaimed swinging a way of life.
"Shirl is right, pal," Frank said. "As that singing poet once noted, the winds of change are blowin' strong. You've just got to impress upon Evelyn that she'll be left by the wayside unless she recognizes the existence of the sexual revolution. Unless she joins that revolution."
Mark sighed. "Listen, you two don't have any idea of exactly what I'm up against with Evelyn. I mean, she just refuses to discuss these things with me. It's like banging your head against a concrete wall."
Frank nodded, then looked over at his wife. "I don't suppose you're getting anywhere with Evelyn, either."
Shirley shook her beautiful head. "A big fat zero, I'm afraid. Every time I try talking to her about wife-swapping she goes into her shell. If I so much as make a subtle reference to the swinging life,, Ev stares at me with that 'you must be sick' look of hers."
Mark chuckled sardonically. "I get that look all the time. My wife is convinced that I'm turning into some sort of a monster."
"She doesn't seem very eager to make you happy," observed Shirley. "Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for Women's Lib and the idea of equality of the sexes. But still and all, a wife has a certain obligation to her husband-just as he has an obligation to her."
"What my wife is trying to say is that a man and his wife must work together and help each other grow. Communication is all important in a marriage, Mark. There's got to be that sense of cooperation, a genuine willingness on the part of both husband and wife to nurture their union."
"Look, you're not telling me anything I haven't already given a lot of thought to, Frank. Hell, there's nothing I want more than a happy marriage. But it's like I said before, Evelyn starts sulking whenever I mention the possibility of her and I joining a swap club."
"Well you two certainly can't continue like this," Shirley said.
"At this rate," Frank chimed in, "you and Evelyn will be filing for a divorce in six months. Or sooner."
"Swinging can put back into your marriage what it's lost, Mark. I'm talking now about excitement, spirit, a genuine liveliness."
"Shirl is right, Mark. A marriage very quickly stagnates when the parties involved lose interest in it. Swinging breathes new life into a dacaying marriage. It restores the exciting challenge that's been eroded by the passing years."
"But that isn't why you and Shirley joined a swap club," Mark noted. "You two weren't faced with the problem of injecting fresh hope into a marriage."
Frank nodded. "True, very true, Mark. I'm not speaking from experience when I tell you of the marriage-saving aspects of swinging. But from close observation of our fellow swappers and from all the literature on mate-switching that we've read, Shirl and I concluded that swinging can only strengthen a marriage. This nonsense that participation in wife-swapping activities can destroy a marriage altogether is just-well, just that, nonsense."
"My wife wouldn't buy that conclusion if you handed her a million bucks with it," Mark said sadly. "Evelyn is firmly convinced that if we get mixed up in wife-swapping-."
"Well she's all wet," Shirley interrupted. "She just doesn't know what she's talking about. I'll bet she hasn't even bothered to read some of the literature that we've given you to show her."
"I think she's burned it."
"That's what I call narrow-mindedness of the highest order," Frank said with a small smile. "It's really a pity that Ev is so unwilling to experiment with something that could give her the happy marriage I'm sure she wants."
It's a damn pity in more ways than one, Frank added to himself. Evelyn Fawner was a real sweet-looking chick, a blonde, blue-eyed little number whose pussy he'd love to explore with his eight incher. Strait-laced and provincial though she be, it wasn't that hard to imagine her in the throes of a mean passion, her succulent, naked body in excited quiver as she awaited penetration of her golden-haired, weeping womanhood. Yes, indeed, it would be a very nice thing to bang Mrs. Fawner.
"Remember the Finlays, Frank?" Shirley asked her favorite cocksman.
"Yeah, what about them?"
"Well, when Joe and Marge joined the club they were in pretty much the same shape that Mark and Ev are in now. I mean their marriage was on the rocks and they were damn close to packing it in and going their separate ways."
Frank chuckled. "Even now I can remember some of their arguments. Boy, they had some beauts, didn't they? Marge and Joe didn't care who was with them or anything-they'd just start tearing into each other like a piar of angry alley cats. But all that changed when-."
"When they finally decided to take our advice and join the swap club," Shirley said, finishing her hubby's sentence for him. "Almost overnight their marriage changed for the better. Both agree that embarking on their 'voyage to ecstasy,' as they called it, was positively the best thing they had ever done."
"That's a fact. And Marge and Joe are still thanking us for putting them onto the idea of mate-switching. Shirl got a letter from Marge just the other day, in fact."
"The Finlays-I don't think I know them," Mark said. "Do they live in Cloverdale Village?"
"They used to," Shirley answered. "They moved about, oh, I guess it was six months ago. But they haven't lost any of their enthusiasm for swapping. Whenever they can find somebody to sit with little Joe, he's their first child, they call and tell us to expect them at the next prick and pussy party."
"And since the Finlays moved to Newburg," Frank added, "Shirl and I have been trying to find a replacement for them. As things stand now, we're the only ones representing the cozy little suburb of Cloverdale Village."
"Believe it or not," Shirley said, "we have members from all over the state. But like Frank says, at the moment we two are the only representatives from Cloverdale Village."
Mark chuckled. "You make it all sound like a political convention. From Newburg, the Finalys-from Saratoga, the Smiths-from Cloverdale Village, Frank and Shirley Lionel."
The Lionels laughed. Then, quickly turning serious, Frank said, "Work on it, pal. Put some real pressure on Evelyn and make her understand the absolute importance of wife-swapping to a 'floundering marital relationship. Talk tough, get a little mean, throw a scare into her if you have to, but yank her out of the grip of those outmoded values and childish beliefs that are stifling the growth of her marriage. She'll thank you, believe me."
"And just think, Mark," Shirley added with a sexy grin, "as a member in good standing of the swap club you won't have to come all over my furniture." She placed a hand on his left knee and squeezed it meaningfully. "You can come in me instead."
While I'm coming in Evelyn, Frank thought, smiling inwardly.
No, Evelyn Fawner decided finally, there wasn't a darn thing wrong with her outfit. Maybe her pretty pink summer blouse didn't fit as tight around her breasts as Mark had told her it should. And maybe her loose-fitting white shorts didn't stretch taut across her bottom the way he liked them to. But her attire was attractive nonetheless.
It was plain, nice and simple, Evelyn thought, doing a slow turn in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door in her bedroom. Mark had termed it "silly and schoolgirlish," of course, lamenting, as he always did, the fact that seemed afraid to exhibit even a small part of her petite but nicely rounded figure.
"And that's just not true at all," Evelyn said to her reflection. She didn't mind wearing stylish clothes that were a shade on the sexy side, clothes that caressed her body and subtly suggested her curvy thirty-four, twenty-three, thirty-four figure. But she wasn't about to brazonly exhibit herself just to give some dirty-minded men a big thrill. She wasn't about to don sluttish attire like so many females seemed to be doing these days. Like Shirley Lionel, for instance.
Now there was a woman who should be arrested for indecent exposure. Shirley walked around with more off than on. No, that wasn't quite right. Mrs. Lionel didn't walk, she strutted. Like a peacock proud of her feathers.
Of course, she had feathers to be proud of, no doubt about that. Mark certainly enjoyed staring at Shirley's big boobs and larger-than-life behind, his eyes almost popping out of his head when he caught sight of her in one of those outrageously flamboyant shorts and halter outfits she was so fond of wearing.
But that, Evelyn supposed, was to be expected. Men would always be men and rare was the one who didn't take the time to ogle a pretty girl as she passed by. Mark was simply acting in a manner expected of his sex. And ogling Shirley Lionel was, all things considered, a relatively harmless entertainment.
But what was not harmless, what was, in fact, downright dangerous and nerve-wracking, was the sickening influence Shirley and her husband were having on Mark. He was forever making up excuses to visit them, saying that he just wanted to pop across the street to borrow this or that. It seemed that every time she turned around Mark was over at the Lionels' place.
Like tonight, for instance. Right after supper he had taken off, telling her that he wanted to further clarify for Frank certain clauses in the life and medical insurance package he was trying to sell his neighbor. That, of course, had been just another excuse, just another reason for seeing the Lionels so that they could brainwash him anew.
Did he really think that she didn't know what he was up to, Evelyn wondered, running a hand through her short, stylishly-coiffed blonde hair as she turned from the mirror and started toward the bed. How silly Mark was if he thought for a moment that she was swallowing all his lies.
Evelyn sat down on the double bed she shared with her husband and looked at the white princess phone resting on the small night stand. Then, after noting the time on her wristwatch, she resumed her musings, realizing that Mark had been gone now over an hour.
And when he returned, his head full of the junk stuffed into it by the hedonistic Lionels, they would no doubt start arguing. It was always thus, thought the five foot four inch, freckled-faced female, the heavy weight of despair slumping her shoulders. Mark would come home and start in on her again, pointing up the dozens of reasons why she should reject all those things she had been taught to believe in and consent to give wife-swapping a try. Grow up, dammit, he would shout angrily, the implication being that at twenty-four she was still mentally an infant.
To Mark's way of thinking it was stupid to believe in things like love and marital fidelity. How utterly useless he made her feel when he launched into one of his tirades, during which he damned her parents for raising her in an ivory tower atmosphere and inhibiting her growth as a human being.
But her folks had done no such thing, Evelyn thought. They had simply instilled in her a respect for traditional values, a love for the simple, uncomplicated life, the kind of life she had hoped to find with Mark in the quaint, peaceful suburb of Cloverdale Village. And now, with Mark so hung-up on swinging, it seemed reasonable enough to conclude that on their wedding night five years ago he'd been annoyed rather than pleased to discover her a virgin.
Well, maybe that was going a bit far. But Mark was certainly doing his level best to make her start wondering if he had ever loved her at all. Getting friendly with the pleasure-oriented Lionels had certainly been one large mistake, for Mark no longer conveyed his love for her when he spoke. Now it was sex. Sex, sex, sex.
He had been perfectly content with things as they were before Frank and Shirley started filling his head with all this nonsense about wife-swapping. Mark's philosophy of life was changing, had changed already, and for this she had her sex-crazy neighbors to thank, two individuals who obviously believed that a satisfactory marital relationship hinged on the wholehearted willingness of the partners to engage in extra-marital relations.
What rubbish, Evelyn thought. Perhaps it was true that her marriage could stand a little excitement, maybe she and Mark had unknowingly slipped into a too-familiar routine, but running off to a wild orgy with the Lionels wouldn't help solve a blessed thing. If anything, it would widen the communications gap between herself and her husband, one which she was already finding increasingly difficult to bridge.
How could Mark ask her to have sex with another man? A stranger, at that. Wouldn't he be at least a little jealous if he saw another man doing it to her?
A year or so ago she would not have had to grope for answers to these questions, because at that time she and Mark were friends as well as lovers. She could have shouted loud and clear that, yes, Mark Fawner loved her very much and that, no, he would never demand of her anything as degrading and humiliating as participation in a scandalous spouse switch.
But now? Now she could only hope that Mark would tire of talking about the whole wife-swapping thing. Perhaps a few nights on the town and one or two discreet sexual adventures would shake from his head all thoughts of the swinging life. Although the thought of Mark making love to another woman sickened her, she could force herself to accept the extra-marital mating in the hope that it would satisfy his sudden urge to stray. She just didn't know how much longer she could take her husband's constant badgering.
The ring of the telephone jarred Evelyn out of her meditative state. She looked at her wristwatch and smiled sadly. Mom was right on time again, she thought. Every Saturday night, regular as clockwork, her mother phoned to inquire about her health, the doings of the week just elapsed, and other things mothers were won't to consider important.
Evely reached for the receiver and at the same time crossed two fingers of her free hand. Once again, when her mother asked, she would say with as much conviction as possible, "Oh, just fine, Mom. Mark and I are still getting along fabulously."
CHAPTER THREE
No sooner had Frank Lionel closed the door behind Mark than his cock-hungry wife was shoving her right hand up between his legs and hotly massaging his crotch through the material of his slacks. Grinning lewdly, he placed his left hand around Shirley's right tit and squeezed.
"Time to fuck, huh?" he asked with a wink. "Is it ever, luv," Shirley answered excitedly. "I didn't think I'd be able to hold out for a minute longer."
"Mark would have been happy to hump you, baby."
"That's a no-no and you know it, Mr. Lionel. Mark will get his crack at me when you get yours with Evelyn. It's how we play the game, isn't it?"
Frank chuckled. "Of course, luv. I was just kidding. You think the little performance we staged for Mr. Fawner will do the trick?"
"It certainly didn't do any harm. He'll go home now and work on Evelyn again. Maybe this is the night she finally breaks down and agrees to enter the world of the wife-swappers."
"Let's hope so. As their sponsors we'll have a chance to capture this month's big prize."
"Right," Shirley beamed. "Two theatre tickets, dinner in a really exclusive, expensive restaurant, fifty bucks to spend any old way we wish-now that's what I call a nice way of thanking us for bringing in new members."
"It's a damn good idea the club members had," Frank said, still rubbing up his gorgeous wife's left boob through the flimsy material of her halter. "Offering a prize every month to the couple bringing in the most new people acts as an incentive to increase membership."
"Right, luv. Now let's just hope Mark shakes his ass and talks Evelyn into joining up'."
"Before the month is out," Frank added.
"Natch. Other wise they'll be credited to our total for next month. If we can get the Fawners initated before August is up, well have introduced three new couples to the club. That's a total of six swingers for us in one month."
"Yeah, that's right. We talked the Richardsons and the Clarks into trying mate-switching during that weekend we spent at the nudist camp. The Fawners, then, would increase our catch to six, and I don't think any other couple in the club has that many."
"I don't think so either, lover," Shirley said, "and right now I'm not going to worry about our friendly competition. All I want to do is get laid-with a capital L."
Frank chuckled. "And where do you want it tonight, beautiful? In your ass, maybe?"
"In my ass?"
"That's what I said."
"Well, it's an idea. I haven't been cornholed this month yet."
"Then you're about due for a hard, mean assfuck, baby," Frank observed, his pecker thickening in his slacks as Shirley continued her stubborn massage of the area between his legs.
"But my cunt needs a reaming too," the black-haired siren informed her beefy, well-hung hubby."
"No problem, sweets. The night is young."
"And you're so beautiful, huh?"
"Horny is more like it," Frank corrected, returning his wife's sexy grin with one of his own.
"All right, tell you what I'm gonna do, Mr. Lionel. If you go down on me like a good boy, I'll let you ram that beautiful eight incher of yours up my fanny. Now how's that grab you?"
"Grabs me good, baby. And right where it counts too. But how about your poor pussy?"
"You just said it, luv," Shirley winked. "The night is young. By the time you get around to my twat it'll be all nice and slushy for your pecker."
"Baby, you're a wicked, wicked woman."
"Yeah, and you just wallow in all that wickedness, honey. Now come on, I'll race you to the bedroom."
With that, after one final hot squeeze of her husband's swelling organ through his slacks, Shirley was off and running, her beautiful bottom in wild, crazy jiggle as she skipped from the small foyer into the living room and then toward the bedroom, which was located in the back of the modest but attractive and comfortable one story white frame house.
Frank remained in the foyer for only a few seconds, his passion building to a fever pitch as he watched his luscious, sexily-clad mate scamper off. Then he was in hot pursuit of Shirley, the thought of once again shoveling his meaty shaft up into the warm, murky confines of her rectal canal quickening his pulse as he hurried through the living room and into the small alcove leading to the bathroom and bedroom.
Shirley was the first to finish undressing, removing her halter and fanny-hugging hot-pants and bikini underpants in considerably less time than it had taken her to don them in the morning. After kicking off her white sandals, she tossed the clothes onto her vanity stool and then skipped to the large bed.
Bare-assed naked now, her pussy pulsating and her anus in lewd twitching pucker, she flopped over onto her back and spread her legs wide. Her hands flew down to her crotch where, with unashamed delight, they commenced a heated massage of her genital area, fingers snaking between pulpy sex lips dampened by sticky, sexy secretions.
"C'mon, slowpoke," she chided her hubby, "hurry up and come do me. I want your handsome face in my snatch, lover."
"Keep your twat twitchin', baby," Frank grinned. "I'll be there in a jiff."
He was as good as his word, kicking off his brown loafers and peeling down his black silk socks in ten seconds flat. Then again he was on the move, clambering up onto the bed and placing himself on all fours between his better half's strong, sleek legs.
"Oh, darling, do me," Shirley pleaded hotly. "Let me feel your wonderful tongue in my gooey cunt."
"My pleasure, sweets," Frank said hoarsely. "My pleasure."
Saying no more, as his rock-hard prick swayed between his hairy legs, he inched back on the bed and then crouched low to feast his eyes on the thick triangular patch of black pubic hair shielding the slit he knew so well.
"Your mouth-your tongue," Shirley moaned softly, arching her hips and bringing her snatch in even closer proximity to her husband's round, whiskered face. "Stick it deep, Frank. Use your tongue like a cock. Ream me with it, baby."
Frank bent to his task, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his spouse's passion perfume as he flicked out his tongue and commenced a slow, sensuous licking of her moist labia majora. Shirley squirmed at the delightful feel of her mate's knowing tongue and then, with no little effort, forced her hips back down against the mattress.
"Oh, yes,.' she chirped happily. "Yes, yes, yes."
I Licking lovingly, with a proven technique, Frank worked his experienced tongue up and down his wife's odorous love slit, reaching deep to swab the tender folds of mucous membrane within the labia majora. Then, when Shirley's lips were well-washed, he plunged his serpentine tongue into her hot hole and proceeded to carefully piston it in and out-a sensuous simulation of the act of intercourse, his tongue a wet mini-prick.
"Oh, Frank, oh, lover," Shirley squealed, the hands she had held clenched on the bed moving now to her magnificent mammaries. "Work on me good, you beautiful man. Eat me all up. Ohhhh-."
Continuing his lewd labors, Frank slid his tongue up his wife's gooey slit in search of her clitoris. He experienced no trouble whatsoever in finding that warm passion nubbin as it was already swollen with blood, erect and quivering with joy.
"Oh!" Shirley cried out, "Oh, Frank. Yes, do me there. Rub my-oooooo-."
Frank now speeded up his cunning attack, burrowing deep between his wife's luscious thighs and plastering his face against her fragrant snatch as his tongue, in swirling, curling frenzy, wickedly worked over her sensitive clit. Seconds later he was adjusting his position just slightly and with his thick thumbs prying open Shirley's leaking vagina, thereby making even more accessible to his roaming tongue her mini-cock.
"Oh, shit, it's so good," the raven-tressed, fabulously-formed female moaned. "Gobble me all up, baby. Eat my sloppy twat. Ohhh, it's so fuckin' fine."
Despite her resolve not to move around too much, Shirley began to rotate her hips in tiny, sensuous circles around her hubby's face. It was impossible now to keep still, so keen was the pleasure resulting from Frank's maddening massage of her swollen clit.
Soft moans of delight, scattered among longer, louder groans of intense pleasure, continued to sweep up from her throat as she briskly tended to her tingling tits, her fingers fleshy claws as they dug deeply into those large, creamy, moon-like mounds.
Trapping her erect, inflamed nipples between two fingers of each hand, she squeezed them cruelly, passionately, as a man might do were he of a sadistic bent. But the pain was like pleasure to Shirley and she continued manhandling her breasts, kneading them roughly, compacting them until they formed one large mass of succulent, mouth-watering flesh.
Meanwhile, down below, Frank was rubbing his face in her tempting black bush, using it as a furry, stationary washcloth in a most wanton, albeit impractical, attempt to wipe away some of the syrupy lubricant smeared around his mouth and nose. The tantalizing aroma of his wife's womanhood wafted up his nostrils to cloud his mind, to chase away the few rational thoughts lingering there.
"Shit, no more, baby," Shirley suddenly cried out, reaching down to push her hubby's head from her sweltering loins. "Fuck me now, Frank. Please, get it into me."
Frank jerked up to a kneeling position on the bed and looked down at his cock-hungry spouse, the provocative taste of her twat clinging to his lips. "You must be really hot tonight, luv. You usually want more than a few minutes of-."
"Just screw me, Frank," Shirley broke in, the need for a thick, throbbing pecker stuffed inside her body causing her to squirm uncontrollably on the bed. "No more talk-just get it in me. Screw the shit outta me, darling."
"I think Mr. Fawner turned you on, baby," Frank grinned, still stalling.
"Damn you, Frank. Will you get-."
"All right, all right. Flip over onto your belly."
"What?"
"I said turn over, Shirl. I'm goin' to fuck your ass now, remember?"
"Oh, that's right," Shirley said, realizing that in her desire to be dicked she had forgotten the port promised Frank's prick. Her twat would be seen to later, after her rectum had received its due. Which was all right, just as long as she felt a hard pecker somewhere inside her body right now. Immediately.
Flipping over onto her belly, the well-stacked Shirley wrapped her arms around the pillow and hunched up her very fuckable fanny. She squirmed around a little as she adjusted her position and then, her face pressed warmly into the soft pillow, told her husband to bang her bottom good.
Eager though he was to sink his meaty member into the dark, dank depths of his gorgeous wife's great derriere, to savor the fantastic friction produced as a result of his drilling his rock-hard cock into her clasping rectal canal, Frank took a moment to admire the classic beauty of Shirley's creamy-smooth backside.
He wasn't an ass man in the strictest sense of the term, but like most males he fully appreciated a beautiful female bottom, one that was provocatively full and firm, rounded to perfection. Shirley's was that and more, he thought happily, gazing down at the succulent seat she was now offering up for ravishment-a salacious sacrifice to the gods.
He had fucked his share of female fannies but could remember none better proportioned, more mouth-watering, than his wife's. Hers was a bottom crafted with care, with love, with the skill of one devoted to his work. Those succulent buttocks, warm and smooth to the touch, spongy half-moons of taut flesh, were of symmetrical excellence, neatly divided by a deep, narrow, almost hairless cleft.
"C'mon, Frank," Shirley pleaded again. "What are you waiting for, baby? Do it to me. Fuck my ass."
"All right, sweets," Frank husked, his eight inch erection now an almost painful thing. "One heinie hump comin' up."
"Do it, man. Screw my shitty ass for me."
Shuffling forward on his knees between his wife's legs, his face etched with determination, Frank brought his meaty hands to his wife's well-molded posterior and proceeded to knead it roughly, his thick, stubby fingers digging into the resilient flesh. He worked on the beautiful behind in the manner of a baker working on a mass of spongy dough, fingers pressing and pinching, squeezing hard.
Then he traced the forbidden furrow of her gorgeous fanny, one tantalizing finger moving up and down, up and down, stopping finally at the small puckered aperture that was Shirley's shithole. Shirley squirmed in anticipation and then emitted a squeal of delight when that diddling digit suddenly popped into her nether passage.
"Oh, Frank," she groaned into the pillow. "Don't tease me like this. Put your cock in me-not a finger."
"Easy, baby, easy," Frank said thickly, wriggling his finger around in his spouse's tight back port.
"I don't want it easy, dammit," Shirley argued. "I want it mean and dirty. Hard. I can take it-you know I can."
That was true enough, Frank thought, proceeding to piston the middle finger of his right hand in and out of his wife's wrinkled anus. So often had Shirley's ass been fucked, so many times had her rectum been stretched by a thick, hard-charging cock, that she no longer required much in the way of preparation.
In the beginning, during the first year of their marriage, he took pains to lubricate Shirley's anus, slopping great globs of vaseline in and around her niggardly shithole to prepare it for his mighty manhood. But now, after innumerable assfucks, many of which had been performed by those anally-inclined male members of the swap club, Shirley could take a prick in her ass with the greatest of ease.
On occasion, when he felt like it, he would put his face down there and wet Shirley's pretty anus with his tongue. But even this wasn't necessary. All she had to do now, as one member of the swap club once noted, "was pull up her skirt, pull down her panties, then bend over and spread her succulent cheeks." It was that simple.
"Yeah, that's what I want, baby," Shirley said, as Frank now directed the bulbous head of his powerful prick to her pinkish-brown nether hole. "Get it in, Frank. Shove it deep."
Reaching back with her hands, the ready-to-be-rectally-reamed female pried apart her ass cheeks and therby made more vulnerable her oft-stretched anus. She held those spongy half-moons open for her husband and whimpered happily into the pillow as she felt the fat head of his big bone pressing purposefully back there.
"Ram it in, lover," she said again. "Stick it deep."
"You're gonna get it, baby," Frank promised, exerting pressure on his wife's shithole with his rigid pecker. "Every last inch you're gonna get-right up you sweet behind."
It took the determined Frank less than a minute to make good his lewd promise. No sooner had the plum-shaped crown of his tumuscent tool popped into Shirley's backside, to the accompaniment of her delighted shriek of pleasure-pain, than he was pushing forward with his hips and working his manhood into the dark recesses of her still surprisingly tight rectum.
And now he was home free, all but his hairy scrotal sac snugly contained in the sweltering tube of her shit chute. Braced on hands and knees, he looked down at the point of connection. How fantastically obscene a sight it was, he thought, his eyes zeroing in on his wife's anus stretched to the limit around his solidly imbedded eight inch cock.
"Hang on, sweets," Frank rasped. "I'm gonna shag your ass like it's never been shagged before."
And with that, as Shirley again moaned her approval of this unnatural coupling, Frank commenced sawing his hard organ in and out of her oft-reamed after passage. He worked slowly at first, savoring the sensations, withdrawing his fleshy pestel until only the bulbous head was hotly sheathed in Shirley's seat and then carefully pushing back inside the clammy warmth of her rectal chamber.
"Good-so fuckin' good," Shirley moaned, hugging the pillow under her head and pressing her face deeper into its downy softness as behind her, grunting lewdly, her husband humped her sculpturesque posterior.
"Faster, baby?" Frank asked after a minute or so had elapsed. "You want it faster now?"
"Y-Yes," Shirley answered excitedly. "And harder, Frank. Do it fast and hard. Split me with cock, baby."
Swallowing hard, Frank increased the tempo of the lewd rectum reaming, his large but firm backside in jerking, jolting swivel as he corkscrewed his blood-hardened manhood into his whimpering wife's dank shit chute. In and out he plunged, his strokes swift and sure, the fantastic feel of his shit-flecked bone burrowing up into Shirley's clasping rectum affording him the sweetest of perverse pleasures.
"More-please, give me more," Shirley groaned into the pillow, her lust-glazed blue eyes welling with tears of happiness. "Screw my shitty ass, baby. Plow me up. Fuck me, fuck me."
There was no way Frank could give his beautiful spouse more hard pecker since she had it all now-eight solid inches of hot, pulsating prick he was booming into her tingling tail-so he did the next best thing. Again he increased the tempo, an animalistic groan of passion bursting from his throat as he reared back and sent his bloated bone ripping up into Shirley's dank, clammy shit chute.
"Owww!" his ravishing wife cried out. "Ohh, dear heaven."
"T-Too much, baby," Frank asked anxiously.
"No, it's good, it's good," Shirley answered, recovering quickly. "Hit me hard, Frank. Smash me with cock. Do it-arhhhh!"
Spurred on by his lust-happy wife's lewd exhortations, reminding himself again that she could take all he could dish out and then some, Frank began banging away at her squirming ass with all the strength at his command, his face contorting in lustful, perverse pleasure as again and again his meaty hips lunged forward sending his powerful, turd-churning tool thundering up into Shirley's foul bowels.
A gutteral moan of pure passion sailed up Shirley's throat only to be partially smothered by the pillow she was hugging fiercely. Her beautiful face was flushed, twisted by lust, and bubbling out of one corner of her mouth was a small, steady stream of spittle.
How utterly marvelous it was to be furiously fanny fucked, she thought dazedly, her mind a jumble of satanically lewd images. How deliciously depraved and wickedly wanton to sprawl belly down and proffer your posterior for puncture, for deflating by dick, as it were.
And Frank was really giving it to her now, his beautifully large manhood like a fleshy meat cleaver as it sliced viciously between her quivering ass cheeks. He was stirring her turds with a vengeance, booming his blood-fattened bone into her hot rectum with an almost demonic fury.
She was being split in two, Shirley's lust-drenched mind told her. Frank's powerful prick was cutting her up back there, halving her heinie, cleaving her down the middle as one might cleave a fresh, ripe peach. Shit, but it was fantastic!
Grunting and groaning, his face a study in passionate determination, he drilled his meaty dick into Shirley's seat with a fiery gusto. He was working with incredible ease now, reaming rapidly, his buttocks a blur of motion as time and again he sent his fleshy cudgel whistling up into the murky confines of his spouse's shit chute.
"More, more, more," Shirley started chanting, shutting her eyes tight as her masochistic rapture threatened to unhinge her mind.
"Beautiful bitch-hot assed bitch. I'll stir your turds, you shitty asshole. I'll fuck it raw!"
"Screw the shitty ass, bastard. Fuck it bloody."
The utterly depraved litany went on and on, Frank and Shirley slipping beyond the boundaries of reason as each was swallowed up by a giant, mind-destroying lust. Frank had but one goal now, and that was the total vanquishing of his wife's ass, the viscious widening of her hot, clammy rectal canal.
And Shirley, who now began chewing on the pillow under her head, couldn't wait to feel her husband's creamy come gush into her.
Meanwhile, in the house across the street, an altogether different sort of excitement was taking place. Mark, once again stimulated to an almost unbearable point by the pleasure loving Lionels, had returned home to discuss with his wife, for the hundredth time, his desire to participate in wife-swapping. And for the hundredth time the discussion had quickly, with unnerving speed, degenerated into a violent argument.
"Shit, when are you going to stop existing like a vegetable and start living life?" Mark asked with cutting sarcasm. He was standing near the bed, hands on hips, his eyes bright with anger as he glared down at his wife, who was sitting with head bowed on the side of the bed.
"Will you please just shut up," Evelyn said through clenched teeth, anger vying with deep despair for control of her emotions.
Mark chuckled sardonically. "Yeah, sure. Let's not talk about it and maybe it'll go away, right? Dammit all, Evelyn, you can't go through life burying your head in the sand like an ostrich."
"I don't do that."
"You do. All the time. You're afraid to meet life head on. It's so much easier to just ignore a problem, isn't it, baby? I mean, pretend none exists and sure enough-."
"There is no problem, Mark," Evelyn interrupted, looking up at her irate husband. "We were doing all right until you got in with those sick people across the street. We were happy and-."
"Happy? Is that what you call it?" Again Mark emitted a derisive chuckle. "If that's happiness then I'd very much like to hear your definition of sadness. C'mon, Ev, define 'miserable' for me."
"I refuse to talk to you any longer," Evelyn stated firmly, rising from the bed. No, he wasn't going to make her cry again, she decided, as she brushed past her mate. She was close to bawling now and if she stayed in the bedroom a minute more-.
"And where do you think you're going, Mrs. Fawner?" Mark snapped.
"Let go of my arm, Mark. Please, you're hurting-."
"I asked you where you were going, baby."
"I told you, Mark. I'm not going to listen to-."
"I know where you're off to, Ev," Mark broke in, his grin mordant, reflecting ridicule. "You're going to the bathroom, right? It's your own personal refuge, your shelter from trouble. You'll go in there and hide and-."
"Stop it, Mark, please. Please stop this."
"And maybe you'll cry a little while you lament the fact that you married such a beast of a man."
"Mark, you're hurting my arm."
"Well, it figures. I mean didn't you hide in the bathroom on our wedding night? It's so typical of you, Evelyn. You always follow the rules-every damn thing you do by the book.
You never deviate. Starting on our wedding night, when protocal demanded that you, the shy, blushing, virtuous bride, spend a few minutes alone pulling herself together, you've continued to play the part of housewife as you think it should be played. It's as if you've memorized all the right words and studied the behavior befitting a married broad."
"You know what you are, baby?" Mark said, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of his wife's left arm. "You're a robot, that's what. A sexless, holier-than-thou little machine that's been carefully programmed for unimaginative efficiency. There's just one little fault here, however. While you're an absolute whiz at keeping the house clean, you come to a complete stop in the bedroom. I guess robot housewives are just not programmed for sex."
"You bastard," Evelyn hissed, realizing, even as she spoke, how foreign that epithet sounded on her tongue. Only when truly provoked, when pushed to the edge of her patience, did she resort to bluntly verbalizing the anger seething within.
"What did you call me, baby?" Mark asked, his eyes narrowing to slits.
"You heard me." Evelyn snapped back.
"Say it again. I dare you to-."
"Bastard!" This time the acrid appellative was accompanied by a sharp slap, one that landed squarely on Mark's left cheek.
Although caught by surprise, he recovered quickly. "Well how about that?" was his sarcastic rejoinder. "I didn't think you had it in you, Ev. Want to redden the other cheek now?"
Evelyn swallowed with difficulty as tears welled in her eyes. She started to speak and then, as the urge to wipe the ugly, smug grin from her mate's face overcame her, raised her free arm again instead and delivered a second stinging blow, the back of her cracking across Mark's right cheek.
This time Mark scowled. "Bitch!" he spat, his eyes burning holes through his wife.
Confused, perilously close to drying, Evelyn raised her hand a third time.
"Oh, no, sweetheart, enough is enough. You've had your fun-now I'll have mine."
With that, Mark spun his pretty blonde wife around in his arms and then roughly shoved her toward the bed. A shriek of surprise flew from Evelyn's throat as she lurched forward, her arms and legs in sweeping, frantic flight from her body when, in belly-whopping bounce she hit the firm mattress.
What in heaven's name was he going to do to her, she wondered, fright dispelling her anger of just seconds ago as she struggled to right herself.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Mark, please-what are you-ughhh!"
"You just stay right where you are, baby. Don't move a single muscle, hear?"
"Mark, let me up. This is crazy. Please let-."
"Shut up! Just shut up, baby."
Quivering with anger, Mark began an impatient search for the button or buttons holding up his pretty blonde wife's summer shorts. Evelyn squirmed in fright, her fingers digging into the sheet-sheathed mattress as she straggled to work her way out from under the strong hand pressing hard at the small of her back.
"How do you get these damn things off, Evelyn?" Mark asked, his voice a throaty growl.
His wife didn't answer.
"Tell me, baby. Or I'll rip them right off, I swear it."
"But why do-."
"Evelyn!"
"All right, all right. On the side-there are three buttons on the left side."
Wasting not a second, Mark proceeded to attack the small buttons. He undid each, one by one, the fingers of his left hand in fast, agitated fumble as he maintained the pressure on his wife's back with his right hand. Then, muttering under his breath, he jammed his fingers into the waistband of the white cotton shorts and began yanking down the loose fitting garment.
"Mark, what are you doing?" Evelyn squealed. "Have you gone mad? Stop this-."
"I told you to shut up, didn't I?" Mark said, spitting the words out. "Yeah, maybe I have gone mad," he added seconds later, still working the shorts downward. "But I'm goin' to do something now that I should have done years ago. Now lift up, baby. Lift up those hips for me."
Outright fear forced Evelyn to obey almost immediately. She had an inkling of what lay ahead and she didn't like it. Not one little bit. Yet there seemed no way of preventing her husband from following through with what he planned. He was truly angry now, perhaps angrier than she had ever seen him, and any attempt to reason with him would certainly prove futile.
Working quickly, purposefully, Mark jerked and pulled his wife's shorts down, working the thin garment around and off her hips and then dragging it past her pantied posterior. Using both hands, he pulled the shorts down Evelyn's well-molded legs to her feet. He left them dangling around her ankles as he sat down on the bed next to her, his left hand moving quickly to the small of her back.
"Now, baby," he began, "I'm goin' to establish once and for all who's boss around this fuckin' place."
"Mark, don't do this," Evelyn whimpered. "I'll-I'll hate you forever."
Mark chuckled derisively. "Well, at least I'll be getting some kind of emotion outta you. I mean having you hate me is better than nothing at all, isn't it?"
"You don't know what you're saying, Mark."
"Oh don't I? Listen, baby, I've had a belly full of your namby-pamby ways. I've tried to talk to you like an adult and it's gotten me nothing but headaches, so now instead of talk I'm goin' to try a different approach. You refuse to listen when I try to convey my feelings in a sane, rational manner, but maybe you'll understand something less intellectual, something physical."
"No, Mark, don't," Evelyn begged, her voice somewhat muffled by the mattress. "Don't hit me, please. You've never-."
"That's just the point, baby," Mark broke in. "In the five years we've been married I've never once established my authority. I've let you run the whole fuckin' show. It's always been Evelyn, Evelyn this and Evelyn that. I've always taken a back seat just to please you baby."
"Mark, let's talk about it, please."
"No, I've tried to talk to you, Evelyn, and it's gotten me nowhere. But starting tonight, right now, things are goin' to be a helluva lot different around here. You're goin' to learn to listen to me and to consider my feelings once in a while. We've had a one-sided relationship for far too long, baby. The time has come to get us back on an equal footing."
"But, Mark, this will just-owww!"
A perverse sense of justice, of satisfaction, bolted through Mark as he watched the lewd wobble of his wife's right buttock. Again he brought his right arm up over his shoulder, pausing only for a second before delivering his second blow-a shapr, crisp smack to Evelyn's left buttock.
"No, Mark, no," Evelyn whimpered, tears of pain and humiliation welling in her pretty blue eyes. "Don't do this to-aiee!"
"You can bawl your beautiful head off, baby. It's not goin' to make one damn bit of difference. You're goin' to get spanked now-and whenever I think it's necessary. I haven't been able to talk any sense into you, but maybe I can pound some into you."
"Mark, don't. Please. No more. You're just making things so much worse and-owww, ohhhh."
With his left hand still firmly planted in the small of his wife's back, holding her down, Mark quickly and efficiently established a depraved rhythm, his right hand whipping the air as he brought it up and down in a painful, methodical pummeling of Evelyn's pantied posterior. He hit her right buttock, then her left, and then her right again, alternating between those two spongy half-moons as Evelyn sobbed into the mattress and tearfully complained about the pain.
"I should have done this on our wedding night," Mark stated. "I should have straightened you out right at the beginning."
"Mark, stop it-you're hurting meee!"
"Suffer, baby," Mark growled. "From here on in you'll think twice before refusing me anything."
"No. Ohhh, owwww-."
"If I want steak for dinner, we have steak. If I want a night out with the boys, I have a night out with the boys. If I want to try wife-swapping, then we-."
"No, never!" Evelyn shouted defiantly, a courage she didn't know she possessed suddenly coming to the fore.
"I say yes!" Mark yelled back. He punctuated his words with a particularly hard smack across his whimpering wife's left ass cheek.
"No!" Evelyn shouted again. "No, no, no. I'll never-aiee! Ohhh, damn you to hell. Oh, it hurts so. Owww!"
Yes, that's the way, sweetheart, Mark thought. Let me hear you bawl like a baby. You've had this coming for a long, long time. A few good ass-warmings should make you start acting like a real wife and not some mechanical, wind-up Barbie boll.
How perfectly correct Frank Lionel had been when he opined that it was time to get tough with Evelyn, that a husband had the right to expect certain things from his wife and was a complete fool if he allowed her to behave selfishly, without regard for the wishes, the needs, of her mate.
Shirley understood her role and behaved accordingly, Mark realized, as again he cracked the flat of his right hand across his wife's warm, quivering pantied posterior. But Evelyn would learn. And quickly, too. Even if it meant spanking her every night of the week for the next three months.
He should have know that it would eventually come to this, that any serious attempt to discuss with Evelyn the idea of spouse-switching was doomed to failure thanks to her sickeningly strict upbringing. It had been the height of stupidity to think that he could change the mind of a woman whose mother believed, with all the fervor of a religious fanatic, that sex was only for procreation and certainly not, never ever, for pleasure alone.
How could he have hoped that Evelyn, sweet and proper and narrow minded Evelyn, would sooner or later wake up to the fact that life was to be lived, to be enjoyed to the fullest? Had he really expected her to listen attentively to his arguments, to nod her pretty little head in agreement when he spoke about things like marriage without exclusivity, group marriages, and the simple fact that no one individual could possibly satisfy all the needs, emotional and physical, of another?
Inane rhetoric. That was Evelyn's opinion of the language used by those arguing in favor of wife-swapping. To her way of thinking all swingers were weirdoes, horribly mixed up people with libidos that couldn't be controlled. Every time he tried to make her understand that the world was changing, that experimentation could rejuvenate a marriage, she reacted like one fending off an attack, as if determined not to permit any "strange" ideas to intrude upon her high ideals and sense of righteousness.
So now action was taking the place of talk, Mark thought, still pummeling his pretty spouse's saucy seat. He had tried reasoning with Evelyn and failed. Failed miserable. Now he would bring her around with a little physical abuse, and at the same time punish her for her stubborn rejection of his needs, for her adamant refusal to admit that maybe, just maybe wife-swapping would boost their marriage to heretofore unattainable heights of happiness.
"Please, Mark, I'm begging you, darling," Evelyn sobbed, her aching ass feeling as if it had already been the unwilling recipient of at least a hundred stinging smacks.
"What are you begging for, baby?" Mark asked sarcastically.
"Stop-oww! Stop spanking me. Please-arghh. No more, Mark. I can't take-uhhhh, ohhhh."
"You can take it, sweetheart. You've got a tough little fanny here."
"Owww! Oh, damn you. It hurts so much. It-arghh."
Again and again Mark battered his sobbing spouse's poor posterior, her partially muffled groans and pleas for mercy like music to his ears as he whacked away on her pantied cheeks. Evelyn pounded the bed with her small balled fists as scalding tears of shame and pain ran down her face.
Finally, Mark stopped the bottom-warming. But only because he wanted to heap humiliation upon humiliation.
"All right now, baby," he said, "it's time we got down to the nitty-gritty. Pull down your pants for me, Ev. I want to work on your bare bottom for a while."
"You're crazy," the tormented Evelyn wailed. "You've lost your mind."
"I told you to pull 'em down, baby."
"No! Now let me up, dammit."
"For the last time, Evelyn, pull down your panties. If I have to bare your ass myself, you're goin' to be mighty sorry, baby. How would you like to feel my leather belt on your saucy seat?"
Evelyn gulped. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh wouldn't I? If you don't hop to it and tug those pretty white pants down, you'll find out if I'm bluffing or not. Now I'll count to three, Ev. If your ass isn't bare by the time I'm finished, then my belt will give you a good old mind-blowing strapping. The choice is yours, sweetheart."
Think fast is exactly what Evelyn did as she heard her husband begin the cruel countdown. She was loathe to obey his demeaning demand, to further humiliate herself by pushing her panties down so that he could spank her naked behind. Wasn't it mortifying enough that he had yanked down her shorts to wallop her pantied seat? Now she was being told to perform in the manner of a misbehaving child, one whose wrongdoings had earned her the promise of punishment.
"Two-."
On the other hand, the thought alone of having her poor backside striped a bloody red by Mark's wide leather belt was enough to kindle absolute horror. And in his present state of mind her husband would most surely follow through on his threat. By the time he finished flailing her fanny it would be nothing but a mass of aching, blistered flesh. Sitting down would be sheer agony.
"Three," Mark said loudly. "All right, sweetheart, I guess you've made your decision. I gave you plenty of time but-."
"No-wait," Evelyn called softly, almost inaudibly, when she felt Mark's weight leave the bed. "I'll-I'll do what you want."
"You will?"
"Yes. I'll bare my ass for you, Mark."
"All right, then, go to it," Mark said, a supercilious smile creeping across his face.
Standing now next to the bed, he watched his pretty blonde wife reach back and hook her thumbs in the elasticized waistband of her white cotton undies, then slowly, awkwardly, lift and squirm about as she pushed the flimsy undergarment down off her hips.
"Good-very good," he said when the demeaning task had been completed and Evelyn's panties were banded about her legs, at a point just under her asshole. The twisted band of pants and the hem of her blouse combined to form the bottom and top of a lewd frame in which was pictured her reddened behind.
Once again Evelyn cradled her head between her arms, her tear-washed face pressing warmly against the sheeted mattress. She closed her eyes and waited for her "chastisement" to resume, for the first stinging slap to her already hurting backside that would signal the start of the horribly humiliating bare-bottom spanking.
Silently but with fervor she cursed the Lionels, whose methodical brainwashing of Mark had been of such evil effectiveness that he was now not even beyond subjugating his wife. She cursed Mark himself, berating him for falling so completely for the Lionels' line. And finally she cursed herself for permitting this insane spanking to continue, even though she knew she had no alternative but to see it through to its shameful conclusion.
"All right now, baby," Mark said, once again taking a sitting position on the bed, "let's see if we can't really redden this sweet little ass of yours."
Evelyn forced herself to remain still as she braced for the initial swat on her poor, defenseless fanny. She bit down on her lower hp, unable to remember ever having felt so helpless, so pathetically vulnerable, so completely at the mercy of another human being. And then-.
Splat!
"Aieee!" Evelyn howled, her hips jerking up off the bed.
"That's one, sweetheart. And there's lots, lots more where that came from."
"Nooooo-owww!"
"Yes, baby, yes. And here's another one."
Smack! Splat!
As he had done earlier, Mark very quickly and smoothly settled into a hard spanking rhythm, his right hand pistoning up and down as he beat a wicked tattoo on his shame-wracked wife's quivering, naked posterior. And once again he found her pittiable cries of pain, her continuous sobs of unalloyed torment, to be most pleasurable.
In fact, his mate's moans acted like a strange stimulant, an aphrodisiac of sorts, creating within him the unyielding urge to wallop her pert ass with all the strength he could muster. And as he continued pummeling Evelyn's behind, again alternating between her left and right buttocks, he felt his pecker begin to stir inside his shorts.
"Oh, stop-please, please stop," Evelyn moaned into the mattress, the awful ache at her bottom spreading throughout her body.
"Stop?" Mark asked incredulously. "Baby, I've just begun."
Smack! Crack!
"Owww! Arghh!"
"The next time-whack!-your mother phones-splat!-you can tell her about-smack!-your spanking." Smack! Whack! "That will make for-splat!-interesting conversation."
"You beast!" Evelyn howled, the epithet riding the crest of a deep-throated, crashing wail of pure anguish.
"Some women like to be spanked, baby," Mark said, his words following on the heels of the lewd chortle with which he'd responded to his wife's sudden outburst.
"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."
"You don't mean that, Ev."
"I do, I do. I'll never forgiveowwwoooooo."
Whack! Swat! Splat!
"Hurts, huh, baby?"
"Ohhhhh-no more-noooo-."
For several minutes more Mark labored in earnest, not bothering to respond to his wife's anguished moans and the occasional epithets she hurled at him in her mind-numbing frustration and pain, but devoting all his energy to the scorching of her pained posterior. Again and again he struck the now blazing flesh of her bottom, his hard hand landing with a sharp "clap" on the firm, reddened hillocks that quivered like jello when hit.
Evelyn sobbed into the mattress and prayed for an end to the brutal, depraved and degrading beating, the tears rolling down her cheeks to dampen the sheet under her chin, her sharp fingernails digging into the tender flesh of her palm as she tightly clenched her small fists.
And then it happened-not all at once, but slowly, surely, like the stealthy approach of a fox furtively stalking his prey. So unfathomable was it, so totally incomprehensible, that Evelyn was at first unaware of the subtle change taking place within her, the secretive start of sensations that would turn her around completely and have her wondering if she weren't flipping out altogether.
But gradually, ever so slowly, what had begun as sheer, unmitigated torment, an ordeal so foul and fiendish, moved across the bridge spanning pain and pleasure, from the barren, arid desert of agony to the lush, fertile plains of desire. And then, to her complete astonishment, Evelyn was admitting the presence of pleasure, owning up to the unbelievable fact that a transformation was underway, that where there had been soul-searing, mind-clouding pain there was now a growing, undeniably real and potentially dangerous, desideration.
Her mind boggled at the insane idea that she could be turned on by a sound spanking. It was preposterous, she told herself. The very height of absurdity. But even as she proclaimed this strange new feeling a trick of her imagination, a lewd deceit sponsored by a perversely playful subconscious, the pleasurable sensations continued to snake through her body with mocking ease, increasing in intensity and widening in scope.
What in the name of all things holy was happening to her, Evelyn wondered. Why was she now experiencing pleasure instead of pain?
Her husband was still pounding away on her poor fanny, smacking it with a ruthless abandon, but now she no longer cursed his cruelty while sobbing into the mattress, and the urge to twist and turn, to somehow escape the humiliating spanking, had all but disappeared.
In fact, a most wicked urge to thrust up her reddened rear for more punishment was gradually increasing in strength. And to top if off, she was tempted to verbalize the fact of this peculiar, wholly unreasonable transformation, to cry out to Mark that, yes, she was one of those females who liked to be spanked and please to hit her harder.
As his wife pondered her seemingly satanically inspired shift from intense agony to building pleasure, her gradual ascent from the white hot depths of pain to the heady periphery of passion, Mark continued his lusty labors with unalloyed enthusiasm, beating unmercifully a bottom now redder than a beet.
Caught up in the wicked walloping of his spouse's pert seat, he failed to note her change in attitude, the fact that she was no longer calling him names nor attempting to squirm out from under the hand holding her down at the small of her back. Neither did he realize that Evelyn's moans and groans, at one point gut-jumbling loud, had been replaced by soft whimpers, tiny mewls of pleasure.
Mark was still in the dark when, tiring of the spanking, he moved his weary hand down to unzipper his fly and haul out a pecker now semi-hard. He got up off the bed and started to turn his wife over, the idea of degrading her further uppermost in his mind as he placed her on her back, knees dangling over the side of the bed.
"Mark, I-something strange is-."
"Save your breath, baby," Mark interrupted. "You're goin' to need it."
"No, Mark. Please listen to me."
"I said cool it, sweetheart."
And with that, as his half-hard penis dangled from his opened fly, Mark climbed onto the bed and over his wife, working his way up her body until he was straddling her chest. Then he sat down, his bottom squashing her bra-encased, blouse-covered breasts.
"Now, pretty lady, you're goin' to give me a real good blow job. What do you think about that?"
"Mark, "Not exactly tickled to death, are you? Well, that's just too fuckin' bad, baby, because from here on in you're goin' to suck me off whenever I feel like getting sucked off. And if you refuse-well, we'll just blister your pretty ass again."
Again Evelyn tried to speak, only to be silenced again, this time by Mark's manhood. A licentious smirk broke over Mark's face as he ran his almost stiff pecker up and down and around his wife's freckled face. Lifting up and leaning forward slightly, he brushed her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, with the plum-shaped head of his tool.
He's enjoying this no end, Evelyn thought, looking up at her husband's lewd countenance as the manly aroma of his penis wafted up her nostrils. He's savoring the moment because he thinks he's really demeaning his wife, showing her, once and for all, who was in charge in the Fawner household.
And he was, of course. Demeaning her, that is. Mark was going to use her, to employ her mouth for the purpose of wringing from his penis his store of semen. He intended to stuff his organ into her mouth and make her suck it until the sticky sex cream gushed crazily down her throat.
And, heaven help her, she could hardly wait to feel Mark's manhood plunged between her lips! It was utterly insane, as perplexing as the most archaic acrostic, as unbelievable to her as the sudden appearance of an oasis would be to a prospector burning to a crisp under the hot desert sun.
And yet it was true, undeniably true. A vigorous spanking, the very first one she had ever received, was solely responsible for this crazy pleasure now insinuating itself into the very fiber of her being. Suddenly, without any warning, she had been made aware of the strange masochistic delights to be reaped from pain.
"That's all right, baby," Mark said, grinning down at his wife, "you just take all the time you like. I can wait you out, you know. You'll have to open that sweet little mouth of yours sooner or later. And when you do-."
It was approximately thirty seconds later than Mark glimpsed, for the first time, the curious change in his wife. Giving pause for thought was the smile that crept cautiously across Evelyn's school-girlish face, an ingenuous, gamin-like smile that was at once both intriguing and faintly worrisome. A smile of-acceptance?
Could that possibly be, Mark wondered, his mocking grin melting in the heat of puzzlement, a serious, questioning expression taking its place as he continued swabbing Evelyn's pretty face with his warm, still swelling cock. Was he seeing things? Was that his wife down there? His Evelyn? The woman who in five years of marriage had blown him maybe six times, seven at the most, and then only with the greatest reluctance? No, he had to be dreaming.
Mark quickly convinced himself that his imagination was playing tricks, that his wife's slyly sensuous smile and the gentle beseechment in her eyes were of no consequence. It was more than a little idiotic, he thought, to believe that Evelyn had magically, miraculously, done a complete about-face. It was, in fact, sheer folly.
But Mark's appraisal of the situation withered in a hurry when Evelyn suddenly brought her left arm up and around to gently take in her fingers his roaming organ. In wide-eyed, disbelieving stare, he watched her commence a caress of her face, her fingers carefully guiding his not yet totally tumuscent tool as she moved it up and down and all around.
Now she was coating her eyelids with the tiny droplets of oily lubricant oozing from the slit of his organ. Now she was washing her forehead with the meaty crown, sliding the peckerhead down along the ridge of her pert, turned-up nose. And now a detour to her right cheek, a visit to the left, then came time to rub her chin with the sensitive underside of her fleshy scrubber.
For a fleeting moment Mark wondered if the sizzling spanking had somehow effected his wife's brain, if the mental anguish she had suffered as a result of the humiliating bottom-warming had severely damaged some part of her mind.
Dismissing this as highly un-likely, he next considered the possibility that Evelyn was up to something, that her amazing and certainly sudden acceptance of a subservient role was in reality a ruse, a cunning ploy to make him think that he'd broken her spirit, tamed her completely. Then, catching him off guard, she would bite down hard on his pecker as it plunged into her mouth.
It was with a wary eye that Mark now studied his wife's obscene efforts, unable to believe that she would so willingly slobber over his tool if it wasn't that in the back of her mind a fiendish plot was forming. But suspicion's ugly head, having reared suddenly, now was lopped off just as suddenly, execution effected by the sight of Evelyn lifting and tilting her head and then plopping the fat head of his pecker into her mouth.
Mark jerked forward in gulping incredulity, his arms stiffening as he broke his fall. Now braced on hands and knees over Evelyn's face, his prick poking downward into her mouth, he looked down and back between his arms and stubbornly tried to convice himself that what was happening was not, that somewhere along the line he had conked out and was now in the midst of a delightful dream.
But no dream was it. Evelyn's soft, supple lips were real, as real as the sensual, dreamy expression on her face. She was funneling his hank into her hot, suctioning mouth, spearing her oral cavity with his fleshy weapon, her tongue in serpentine crawl under the now fully erect, pulsating pole.
Up and down she pulled herself on its sturdy arch, her hands pressing hard on his genital area, on either side of his jiggling scrotal sac. Seemingly determined to swallow him whole, to gobble down his hairy testicles as well as his juicy prick, she sucked with gluttonous hunger, with an enthusiasm he could not remember her ever having displayed before about anything.
Sweet Satan below, what hath that spanking wrought, Mark wondered dazedly. He had been prepared to wait it out, to salaciously taunt Evelyn with his thickening tool until she at last reluctantly opened her mouth and permitted him to cram his member deep down her pretty throat.
But here he was, straddling Evelyn's head as she greedily gulped down his cock without the slightest trace of revulsion. Revulsion? Hell, she was sucking holy hell out of his pecker, her lips, teeth and palate stripping it with mind-blowing proficiency. And this was the same woman who had once retched all over the bed right after blowing him to orgasm. It was positively miraculous.
Evelyn was of the same opinion, although she had decided to postpone further examination of her transformation to a later date, when she could concentrate on the sexy subject and grope for some answers to explain it all. Perhaps from her store of memories she'd be able to pry a clue or two that would help answer the questions posed by her surprising response to the cruel spanking.
A liking for pain just didn't spring up overnight, she knew. A girl didn't just wake up one fine morning with the realization that what she needed for sexual fulfillment was a vigorous, painful swatting of her seat. This need for abuse, brought to the fore thanks to Mark and, yes, the Lionels, must have been buried within her for a long, long time. The seed of her masochism had been planted years ago, perhaps during her childhood years. Yes, indeed, a good long look backwards was in order.
But certainly not now, Evelyn reminded herself. There was something else to be attended to, something that needed her complete and undivided attention. If only she had know how good it was to be forced to suck cock, to be spanked and then sat on so that staring you in the face was a long, thick male member.
As if to make up for lost time, to demonstrate conclusively that she had indeed changed, albeit with remarkable swiftness, Evelyn now jammed more of her husband's blood-swollen shaft down her throat. A pause to gag, to issue a cock-smothered cough, and then she was back at work, her mouth pistoning relentlessly on Mark's saliva-coated organ.
"Oh, baby, suck-suck it," Mark breathed hotly, his fingers digging into the mattress as he struggled to maintain his trembling position over his wife's head.
"Gaaaaa-." was Evelyn's unintelligible reply, her head in wild weaving motion, in crazy swivel, as she slavered over the slimy bone banging against her throat, filling her mouth so beautifully. Oh, yes, she thought dizzily, if only someone had told her of the exquisite excitement of being dominated, of having a handsome man break you to his will. Why hadn't Mark spanked her ass years ago? There must have been many times when she deserved it.
"Enough-enough, baby," Mark finally blurted out, having decided that as fantastic as this cocksuck was he wanted to come in his wife's golden-haired pussy, a pussy he just knew would be hotter and wetter than it had ever been.
Sensing his withdrawal from her mouth, Evelyn strained her head and fought to take in even more of the fleshy stalk. She sucked harder and moaned protestingly when she felt her delicious, jaw busting prize slide back out of her mouth, her lips plopping shut in obscene pout.
"Quick, baby," Mark gasped, "on your back."
"I am on-."
"No. I mean stretch out on the bed. With your head on-yeah, that's right."
Having scrambled around so that she was stretched out full length, her head resting on the pillow, her feet at the foot of the bed, Evelyn now moved quickly to unbutton her blouse as her husband yanked off her sandals and tossed them on the floor.
"Leave it, baby," Mark told her excitedly, his hands flying to the white panties still banded about his wife's legs. "Don't bother with that now."
"But, Mark, I want-."
"No time, baby. I-I gotta get in you. I gotta fuck."
"Yes, fuck," Evelyn said passionately. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She was suddenly possessed by the urge to utter all the dirty words there were, to rent the air with her shouts of "fuck" and "cunt" and "cock" and "pussy" and dozens more like them. Gutter words-wicked and depraved and deliciously filthy gutter words. Let them spill from her pretty mouth in passionate tumble.
In furious haste, his bloated cock about to burst, Mark ripped Evelyn's pants off her and hurled them over his shoulder. Then he was scrambling between her legs, his right hand mixing with the two of hers as they both struggled to guide his throbbing cock into the sopping wet, gaping gash of her hot cunt.
"Oh, Mark, get it in me. Shove it, baby. Ram it up to my tits. Pound it deep!"
Needless to say, Mark was as willing as a man could be to oblige Evelyn. And it wasn't long before he was fucking her with unfettered gusto, his cock a powerful battering ram as he rammed it visciously up into the velvety glove of her clasping vagina. He banged away as if his very life depended on it, with flaming, satanic force, with bone-jarring, belly-flattening thrusts that sent his throbbing pecker whistling up into his spouse's quivering tummy.
With a supreme self-confidence born of the knowledge that he had, at long last, discovered what it took to turn his pert and pretty, strait-laced wife into an unprincipled slut, a wholly wanton woman. It was crazy, he knew.
Really far out. For who would have thought that in a moment of anger, when he was hell bent on knocking a little sense into Evelyn, he would stumble across that which could unlock her hitherto closeted passions?
The fanny-fuck had been fantastic, a real beaut, and following the wicked scouring of her shit chute a dazed Shirley Lionel had requested the pleasure of orally cleansing her husband's shit-stained plunger. Which request had been happily granted by Frank, of course.
And now, once again hard, he was carefully and lovingly working his sparkling shaft in and out of Shirley's black-haired twat. Already tonight he had come in her mouth and her rectum, now he intended to top it all off with a sensuous, comfortable churning of her warm and mushy vagina.
As he pistoned his pecker in his spouse's squishy sex hole, skewering her slowly, his thoughts turned again to the Fawners. To Evelyn Fawner, in particular, whose reluctance to partake of the pleasures of mate-trading was becoming downright annoying.
What the cute little blonde babe needed, Frank decided, was a real old-fashioned, back-of-the-barn spanking.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Not much further now, folks," a smiling Shirley Lionel informed Mark and Evelyn Fawner, the two of whom were sitting close together in the back seat of the Lionels' cream colored, 1969 Plymouth Fury. "I'd say about, oh, fifteen minutes."
"I hope they don't decide to start without us," Frank grinned, looking in his rear view mirror to see if he could swing out into the other lane to pass the slow moving car ahead of him.
"Oh, silly," Shirley said, "they wouldn't do a thing like that. Matt and Linda know this is a special night." She turned again to look back at the Fawners and winked. "It's initiation night for Mark and Evelyn."
"Yeah, I know," Frank said, stepping on the gas as he made his move to pass the auto in front, "but the point is-." he left the sentence dangling as he gave the driver of the crawling vehicle a dirty look. Then he swerved in front of the other auto and again checked the rear view mirror.
"You were saying, luv?" Shirley asked.
"Damn Sunday drivers," Frank muttered.
The black-haired beauty chuckled. "I didn't ask what you were thinking, darling. I asked about-."
"I know, Matt and Linda," Frank interrupted. "The point is that of the twenty couples who are members of the swap club, the Williams are about the horniest-after us, I mean."
"So?"
"So I'm just thinking that Matt and Linda might get tired of waiting for us and start messing with the Finlays. I mean, we're a half hour late already."
"Well," Shirley sighed, "so what if they do? It won't make all that much difference.
Frank shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you're right, baby. When we arrive they'll just have to stop what they're doin' and join us in initiating Mark and Evelyn. Hey, how you two doing back there, anyway? You got kind of quiet all of a sudden."
"We're all right, Frank," Mark answered with a nervous chuckle.
"You're sure now?"
"Very sure."
"They're nervous, honey," Shirley informed her husband, her tone of voice indicating that she thought he should realize how unnerving an initial swap experience could be. Hadn't he, an exhibitionist at heart, been nervous the first time?
"Sure, I know that," Frank grinned. "It's only natural that you'd be a little scared. I mean, it's not every night of the week that a couple gets initiated into a spouse-switching club."
"Just try to relax, honey," Shirley said, smiling at Evelyn, who was huddled close to her husband as if for protection. "Everything is going to come off just perfectly. The other will-."
"Yeah, that's for sure," Frank interrupted with a loud chuckle. "Bras will come off, stockings will come off, panties will-."
"Oh, be quiet, you clown," Shirley grinned. "I swear, sometimes I think you're one of the most uncouth men I've ever met."
"Is that a fact?"
"That's a fact. Now just keep your roving eyes on the road, Mr. Lionel. All we need is an accident tonight. I don't want to arrive at the Williams' place all bloody and bruised, you know."
Frank grinned. "Sweetheart, you'd make me horny even if you were in traction."
"A funny-my husband told a funny."
"I'll 'funny' you, all right. Later tonight, when no one is looking, I'll 'funny' the hell outta you."
"Drive," Shirley ordered, unable to suppress a large grin.
Evelyn snuggled even closer to Mark, the two of them exchanging small smiles as up front the Lionels continued their bawdy banter. She tried hard to think of something to say, some witty comment or pointedly sexy observation that, when received by a laugh, would make her feel more like she belonged.
But her every thought was directed toward the upcoming wife-swapping party, the one hastily arranged by the Lionels right after Mark had informed them that, lo and behold, his wife had changed her mind and would attend a swap fest.
Her initiation, and Mark's too, of course, was going to occur in the home of Matthew and Linda Williams. She knew nothing about the Williams except that they lived in Maplewood, a quiet residential community similiar to Cloverdale Village, and that Matthew was a business associate of Frank's. Matt, it seemed, supplied Frank with various equipment essential to the operation of his small construction company.
As for the Finlays, Mark had told her that Joe and Marge were comparatively new members of the club. The Finlays had a baby whom they adored but one who prevented them from attending as many mate-trading parties as they'd like.
And that was it, Evelyn mused. She knew where the couple hosting tonight's sexy shindig lived and what the host did for a living. She knew the Finlays were fairly recent additions to what Frank had described as "a rapidly growing state-wide sex club" and that they occasionally encountered babysitting problems.
Certainly not much to go on. It would have been nice if Frank or Shirley had supplied her with a little information concerning the initiation itself. But they remained mum on the subject, apparently because they didn't want to spoil her surprise.
Surpirse. It was a word that certainly fit the occasion, Evelyn thought. Just sitting here in nervous anticipation, wondering what would be expected of her during the wild, wicked swap party, was surprise enough. Had anyone told her last week that she'd be driving to Maple wood with the Lionels for the purpose of screwing herself silly, she'd have thought that person pathetically insane.
Never ever had she expected to find herself in this situation-a fledgling swinger, a novice hedonist apprehensively awaiting the moment when she'd be launched, naked and untried, into the wanton world of the swappers, propelled into that great cauldron of concupiscence where, mocking convention, Cyprian couples cavorted under the watchful eye of those two tempestuous gods, Cock and Pussy.
But then again, never had she expected to realize pleasure from a sound spanking, Evelyn reminded herself. That had been surprise numero uno, and after many hours of quiet contemplation, as well as longs talks with Mark, she had yet to find in her stockpile of memories a single clue that would suggest a reason for her having responded so enthusiastically to Mark's pummeling of her behind.
And now that the moment of truth was drawing near, she wondered if things weren't going just a little too fast. Perhaps she should have given further thought to her decision to try spouse-switching. Instead of losing herself in the joy of discovery and blurting out a passionate "Yes, darling, yes" when Mark asked again, right after he'd topped the spanking with a torrid screw, if she'd swap with him, maybe she should have postponed her answer until she was convinced in her own mind that swinging would provide a wonderful outlet for her just-awakened desires.
It was last Saturday, August 26th, that Mark had whacked her poor fanny, and here it was Thursday, August 31st. In a mere five days she had changed drastically, wickedly whirling away from a life dominated by decorum, polite and unimaginative behavior, to one that would, she was sure, be chock full of salacious surprises. Out were rigid rules and conformity, in was carefree, dangerous living replete with bawdy behavior.
The bit question was, of course, would she be able to handle this lewd transformation. Would she find performing sexually with and in front of others just a bit too much? She had yet to really adjust to the idea that her sexual pleasure depended on the presence of some pain. Now she was being asked to evidence her new-found enjoyment of carnality in full view of the Lionels and two couples she knew almost nothing about and had never met. It was, to put it mildly, very unnerving.
But we shall see what we shall see, Evelyn concluded. In any event, it was too late to back out now. The tub had been filled and now she would test the water.
"That's the ticket, pretty lady. Unbutton that frilly little blouse now. Yeah, nice and easy does it. Mmmm-like a stripper, sweetheart. Slow and real sexy. Good-very good. Make me feel like comin' in my pants, honey."
The lewd request, and it was a request despite his annoying habit of stamping almost everything he said with the rough mark of authority, thereby making one feel compelled to obey without argument what sounded like a demand, came from Joseph Finlay, a large, baldheaded bull of a man whose barrel chest and bulging biceps made Frank Lionel's own impressive physique seem inconsequential in comparison.
Like the Lionels and the Williams, Joe and his wife, Marge, had gathered around the Fawners to watch the nervous initiates engage in the first, and easiest, part of their initiation-a simple strip, one that would enable the assembled swappers to get a good look at the bodies of the new members and at the same time, in Joe's words, "help chase away those nasty little inhibitions" that might still be loitering in Mark's and Evelyn's minds.
"Don't pay any attention to Joe, honey," Shirley said to Evelyn. "He's the talkative one in our little fun family."
"Yeah," Marge Finlay said, "always with the runnin' commentary."
"A regular chatterbox," added Matt Williams with a grin.
"Hey, what is this? Everybody gangin' up on me all of a sudden? Now you all know that I don't like-."
"Oh, calm down, honey," Marge smiled. "We're just teasing you a little."
Mark Fawner smiled a small smile as he listened to the six sexy swingers. From the moment he set foot inside the Williams house, a small ranch with garage attached that was surrounded by a well-tended lawn and trimmed shrubs, he had made a determined effort to act natural and not let his nervousness get the upper hand.
He was, he thought, succeeding. But it sure as hell wasn't easy. Three pair of eyes were watching him almost as closely as they were watching Evelyn. Sitting in a modern rocker, rocking slowly back and forth, was Joe Finlay, the butcher with the body that appeared to have been carved out of a huge side of beef.
At his feet, comfortably curled up on a bright orange pillow, was his wife, Marjorie, a somewhat chunky but not unattractive woman in her early thirties. She had a nice, pleasant face and an appealing smile. Her eyes, like her carefully-coiffed hair, were an ordinary shade of brown.
And across from Marjorie, also perched on a pillow, was Shirley Lionel, who from time to time winked at him while casting a smile that seemed to say "Well, here we are, good-looking. We finally made it, didn't we?"
Over there, on the Williams' long black tufted sofa, sat Matt William's and Frank Lionel. Frank, it seemed, had turned rather quiet soon after Joe's proposal that they commence the initiation. It was as if he still doubted Evelyn's remarkably sudden transformation from naive, shy, tradition bound housewife to pleasure craving female interested in wife-swapping. And so he was viewing the strip with what could be described as a "show me" attitude.
And, finally, curled up like a sleek, sensuous black cat in a large armchair, was Matt's stunning wife, Linda. She was a true beauty, a lithe, satin-skinned model type with shiny, shoulder length black hair and dazzling steel-gray eyes. In a word, thirty-year-old Linda just oozed sex appeal.
So there they were, Mark thought, six sex-happy people sitting around the Williams' tastefully-decorated living room watching as he and his wife bared their bodies. Now if only he could shake that self-conscious feeling, chase away the nagging little worry that he might not be up to the occasion. This would be a night of innumerable fucks and sucks, and he only hoped that his pecker didn't poop out too early in the game.
"Hey, what's that, a stall?" Joe Finlay asked, turning from the others to speak to Mark and Evelyn. "C'mon, get with it, folks. We got a whole lotta sere win' ahead of us. Evelyn, you stop teasin' us now and get that skirt off, you hear?"
"Y-Yes-all right," Evelyn answered, casting a quick look at her husband as her hands groped for the button and zipper at the side of her pleated white skirt, the hem of which reached a point several inches above the knee.
"You, too, Mr. Fawner," Linda called out. "You've got a nice sexy chest but I don't want to look at it all night. Show us what you've got hiding under your slacks."
Mark grinned. "Nothing very unusual, I don't think."
"That's for me to decide, handsome."
"You'll have to get used to my wife, Mark," Matt said, again flashing a bright grin, the whiteness of his perfectly set teeth in rich contrast to the blackness of his face. "I'm afraid she comes on very strong."
"Don't we all?" Marjorie chuckled. "After all, this isn't exactly a tea social, you know."
"Which reminds me," Linda said. "Anybody ready for a refill yet?"
"Nope, not me," Joe Finlay answered in his customarily brusque manger.
"Marge, how 'bout you?"
"No, I'm fine, thanks."
"Shirley?"
"Soon but not just yet, thanks."
Linda turned toward the sofa. "Gentlemen?"
Frank and Matt both declined a refill, Frank promising to let out a yell when he was ready for another drink.
"You do that, Mr. Lionel," Linda grinned. "Better yet help yourself. That goes for all of you-you, too, Mark and Evelyn. Matt bought enough booze to open a liquor store."
Matt chuckled. "So what's a swap party without some good liquor? We've got to do something between screws, right?"
"The man talks my language," Joe said with a fat grin.
"Sure. I don't mind fuckin' and suckin' you ladies, but if I've got to listen to you talk then-."
"Well, I like that," Shirley broke in, feigning anger. "Just because he's big and black and has a good pecker on him he thinks we're his slaves."
"Haven't you heard about Women's Lib, Matt?" Marjorie asked with a smile. "We ladies don't put up with any nonsense from you males any more. We're equals, you know?"
"I didn't know," Matt grinned.
"Well you do now."
Frank delivered a particularly bawdy line which drew loud laughter from the Williams, the Finlays, and his wife, and small chuckles from Mark and Evelyn. Then again the established swappers turned their eyes toward the initiates, both of whom were now down to their underwear.
"Oh, what pretty panties she's wearing," Joe beamed. "Polka-dot panties, no less."
"D-Do you like them?" Evelyn asked, pleased to realize that while she was still on edge, still self-conscious, she was gradually losing that awful empty, nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach. The two drinks she had downed already were probably beginning to work, to relax her a little.
"I like 'em a whole lot, honey," Joe answered. "But I'm gonna like what's under 'em even more."
"Take your pants off, Evelyn," Frank said, the smallest of smiles on his face. He stared at the pretty blonde female clad now in only her cream-colored bra and snappy panties. He was baiting her, testing her, telling her with his expression that now was the time to put up or shut up. Had she really changed to the degree that Mark had told him she had?
"Go ahead, honey," Mark said softly. "It's all right."
This is it, Evelyn thought, hooking her thumbs in the elasticized waistband of her polka-dot undies. The moment of truth.
"Here, pussy, pussy," Joe called. "Here pretty pussy."
All eyes, including Mark's, now fixed on Evelyn's middle as she slowly pushed down her pants, peeling the clinging wisp of cotton from around her saucy bottom, away from her hips and down her thighs. And finally, to the delight of the swappers, she stood with her flimsy undies banded about her thighs, several inches below the golden patch of pubic hairs arranged in tantalizing triangle around her hole.
"Hey, a natural blonde," Matt cried out.
"A fairy princess she is," Frank added.
"The bra now, baby," Joe said in his usual loud, authoritative and faintly arrogant tone of voice. "Let's get a peek at those little boobies of yours."
"Oh, they're not so little," Evelyn said smiling, her forwardness surprising her. No doubt about it, she thought, she was gaining confidence with each passing second.
"That's telling him, honey," Marjorie piped up. She grinned up at her husband and stuck her tongue out.
"Didn't I ask to see your cock, Mr.
Fawner?" Linda said, one of her highly sensual smiles basking on her black, lovingly-chiseled face. "Maybe you need some help with your shorts, huh?" Uncurling out of the chair, she stood and started toward Mark.
"Hold it, baby," Joe said, putting up his hand like a traffic cop, "let's give Mrs. Fawner a chance to finish undressing. We men are eager to see Evelyn's pretty boobs."
"And we ladies are eager to see Mark's manhood," Linda countered, placing her hands on her hips. "Boobs are boobs but a cock is something special."
Frank laughed. "I remember you sayin' something like that to me the last time we got together, Linda."
"Now don't you start up, Mr. Lionel. Who knows, Mark here might have a prick that'll put yours to shame."
You're wrong there, sweetheart, thought Frank, as into his mind there popped the picture of his neighbor feverishly pulling a six incher and then shooting an arc of semen in the air. No, Mark wasn't a threat to his reputation. He could still claim the largest manhood in the club.
"Why can't they finish stripping at the same time?" was Shirley's query. "Mark can drop his shorts at the same time that Evelyn sheds her bra."
"You'd make a great arbiter, honey," Frank said.
"Really, this is getting silly," Marge sighed with exasperation. "I don't care if Mark shows us his cock first or if Evelyn bares her breasts first. I just want them both bare-assed naked. I'm gettin' randy as all get out."
Following the laugh prompted by the round faced, good natured Marjorie Finlay's statement of her condition, it was quickly decided that the Fawners would remove each other's last article of attire. Evelyn then worked her panties down to her feet and, after kicking the wispy garment aside, turned to face her husband.
"Together, baby," Mark said softly, smiling.
"Right," Evelyn smiled back.
As Mark reached around his wife and began fumbling with the snaps of her bra, Evelyn hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his white boxer shorts and began pushing them down. It took less than twenty seconds for the job to be completed, and then both Evelyn and Mark were standing next to each other in stark naked splendor.
Linda, not really expecting Mark to possess a salami-size cock, approached her new male friend for a closer look at what was dangling between his legs, to see if she could determine its approximate size when fully erect. Shirley and Marjorie, equally curious, stood and joined Linda in obscene inspection of Mark's physique and pecker.
Meanwhile, Matt and Frank and Joe gathered around Evelyn, who stood quitetly, arms at her sides, sopping up their lewd smiles of admiration and their favorable comments concerning her figure. Matt suddenly reached up with his big right hand to cup her spongy left breast.
"You were absolutely right," he said, his brown eyes twinkling merrily. "They're not small at all. I'd say they were just perfect."
"Thank you," Evelyn said demurely.
"Hey, she's blushing," Joe observed loudly. He was standing to Evelyn's left, his eyes roaming up and down her small but nicely proportioned body.
"No, I think she's just getting excited," said Frank, who was behind Evelyn, lewdly appraising the succulent half-moons of her pert posterior and wondering if that luscious ass had ever harbored a fat cock. Probably not, he decided quickly. But he knew for a fact that it had been spanked to a rosy red.
"Are you getting aroused, Evelyn?" Matt asked.
"Y-Yes-I think so," came the shaky reply.
Just a few feet away were Shirley, Marge and Linda, as abosrbed in their close inspection of Mark's trim, athletic body as were their husbands in the smartly curved one of Evelyn's. The comments came quickly and were excitingly explicit, the women smiling and touching Mark intimately as their pussies began pulsing in readiness for his pecker. Any pecker.
"Very, very nice," declared Marjorie, her left hand now trading all over Mark's chest.
'Strong and lean-a healthy stud.
"Nice taut ass, too," observed Linda, the middle finger of her right hand slipping into the dark crevice of Mark's backside.
"And a very pretty pecker," Shirley grinned. "I'll bet there's a whole lot of creamy gunk in those hairy balls."
Mark chuckled softly. "Maybe you'd like a small bottle of my come, Shirley."
The raven-tressed beauty looked puzzled.
"You know, for polishing purposes."
Shirley now emitted a happy, lyrical laugh. "Better than lemon oil, right?" she asked, reaching down with her right hand to cup her neighbor's warm scrotum.
"Right," Mark said, the fact that he was being appraised like a prize bull bothering him not at all.
"What's that all about?" asked Linda. "Lemon oil-polishing-."
"Just a little secret between Mr. Fawner and myself," Shirley explained. "It's unimportant."
"Well I know something that is important," Marge said. "Damn important. And that's gettin' out of my clothes."
"A most excellent idea," Linda grinned.
"Leave it to, Marge," Shirley said. "She always comes up with the right idea at the right time."
The three women started to walk away from Mark, the thought of having him munching on their respective cunts, which he was required to do as part of his initiation, serving to further whet the sexual appetite of each. Linda suddenly swung around and returned to Mark's side.
"C'mon, fella," she said brightly, taking his left hand and putting it in her right, "no sense you staying here when all the action is elsewhere. You know what's next on the agenda, right?"
"Yes, but-." Mark left the thought unfinished as he turned to look at his naked wife. Joe and Frank and Matt were still crowded around her.
"Don't worry about her," Linda said. "I assure you that your pretty little wife is in quite capable hands. Look at her, will you. She's just wallowing in all that attention."
That was true enough, Mark thought. Evelyn was obviously enjoying herself. The men were prodding her, pinching her, their hands wandering all over her lush nakedness, and she was countering their obscene comments with salacious little wiggles of her body.
"See there? Now she's playing with my husband's pecker. I'll bet your wife never had a black prick crammed up her tight hole."
"No-no, she hasn't," Mark said abstractedly.
"Well, enough peeping," Linda stated firmly, tugging on Mark's arm. "You just leave your wife's part of the initiation to the other men. Shirley and Marge and I ah want to see if you know anything about cunnilingus."
Mark hesitated briefly, just long enough for one last look at Evelyn, who was, as Linda had pointed out, gently caressing Matt's flaccid ebony prick. Then, shaking off the touch of jealously felt for the first time just seconds ago, he smiled at Linda and allowed her to lead him away.
Lost in the sheer sexuality of the moment, Evelyn failed to take note of her husband's departure. Never in her life had she had three strong, virile males pay this much attention to her. There were two hands on her breasts, squeezing and pulling, another hand down there between her legs, stroking her snatch, and a third was roaming over her fanny.
It was nice, she thought. Naughty nice, and just as nice was the fact that her fears, which a very short time ago had been large, were disappearing one by one. And taking their place was a sense of wickedness, a delicious, spine-tingling urge to wallow in a cesspool of hot, unbridled sex.
Yes, indeed, Mrs. Fawner, she told herself. You have changed. Have you ever.
CHAPTER SIX
"The girls are getting ready," Joe growled, resentful of the fact.
Evelyn turned and saw her naked husband standing, hands on hips, several feet from the Williams' sofa. He was watching with a smile as the three women undressed, his eyes moving from Shirley to Marge to Linda and back again to Shirley, who of the three was the closest to complete nudity.
They're all eager to get at him, Evelyn thought, a curious sense of pride, of satisfaction, suffusing her at the realization that the three experienced swappers found Mark appealing and desirable. He had passed the visual inspection and now he would be tested on the oral part of his examination.
"C'mon, let's get out of our clothes," Frank suggested.
"I'm way ahead of you, old man," Joe said, tossing his loud plaid sport shirt onto the closest table.
Frank moved off to start undressing, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his lightweight sweater. This left Matthew Williams still artfully fondling the saucy boobs of the naked Evelyn, who in turn was gently massaging his black pecker and hairy scrotal pouch.
"Do you like it when your breasts are touched, Evelyn?" Matt inquired with a tender smile.
"Yes, very much," answered the adorable blue eyed blonde.
"Let me hear you say 'fuck,' Mrs. Fawner."
"Why?" Evelyn asked slyly.
Matt chuckled. "Maybe that's how I get my kicks-you know, from having beautiful females talk dirty to me."
"I can't believe that. You're too much of a man to satisfy yourself in such a childish way."
"Well, indulge me anyway. C'mon now, say 'fuck,' Evelyn."
Evelyn hesitated briefly, then-"Fuck."
"That wasn't hard, was it?" Matt smiled. "No, not really."
"Now let's hear you say 'cunt,' Evelyn."
"Oh, this is silly, Matt."
"Sexy silly," the handsome black man corrected. "Out with it now, baby. Say 'fuck my hot cunt, Matt.' "
Evelyn shrugged and did as told, only mildly embarrassed when the blunt request spilled from her lips. Matt asked her to say another dirty word, and then another, seemingly deriving strange pleasure from hearing her repeat what only a few days ago she would have considered horribly shocking, utterly obscene terms for intercourse and genitalia.
He was certainly one beautiful male, she thought, looking up into Matt's roughly-etched black face. At least six foot three and definitely over two hundred pounds, he looked strong enough to take on three men at the same time. He was a gentle giant, though, as his large hands on her breasts suggested. He wasn't squeezing her pert boobs nearly as hard as she would have liked.
It wasn't at all difficult to imagine Matt in the throes of a wicked lust, his rock-hard black cock protruding proudly from his loins, jerking crazinly as he bounded after her through Elysian fields while yelling like a mighty warrior. Oh, what he was going to do to her when he caught her!
An impudent grin on her face, she would continue to elude him, her naked flight from the majestic black man so thrilling, so deliciously dangerous, that her mind would fill with lust and her pussy would throb hungrily for cock. His cock. His big, beautiful, shiny black cock.
And then, yes, then he would at last catch her. He would tackle her, his strong black arms encircling her legs as he leaped through the air. Once on the ground she would turn over and spread her legs, then plead for his mighty manhood. But no, not yet. He wanted to punish her for running away before he plowed her pussy. Yes, he was going to-to spank her!
"A spanking!" Evelyn found herself saying suddenly, the words coming unbidden from her mouth.
"What was that?" Matt asked. "A spanking?"
"D-Did I say that?" Evelyn stammered, realizing that she was getting very wet and very warm between her legs.
Matt chuckled. "You certainly did, baby. Is that what you'd like-a good hard bottom-warming?"
"I-I don't know," Evelyn answered. How could she go about explaining her recently-discovered enjoyment of pain, she wondered. Wouldn't they think her rather peculiar? True, she was in the presence of sex happy hedonists, people who put pleasure above all, but would they not wonder about a girl who had suddenly learned of the perverse delights to be garnered from "punishment?"
Of course, Mark had told Frank about how he had spanked her poor fanny a burning red. And Frank no doubt had told Shirley. But the others didn't know. Was this, her very First swap party, the time to reveal her need for pain?
"We'll talk about this more a little later," Matt said thoughtfully. "After the initiation has been completed."
"All right," Evelyn said softly.
"You haven't forgotten what's expected of you?"
"No, of course not. First I have to-to suck you and Frank and Joe. And then the three of you will do it to me."
Matt smiled. "You're going to be a most welcome addition to the club, Mrs. Fawner."
"Thank you, Mr. Williams."
"Now stay right where you are, sweetheart. I'll be back with a nice black prick for you to suck on."
Matt took leave of Evelyn and started shedding his clothes. Evelyn watched him join Frank and Joe, both of whom had already stripped down to undershorts, then she turned her head in the direction of the sofa just in time to see Mark drop to his knees between Marjorie Finlay's spread legs.
Marge and Shirley and Linda were lying on the thickly-carpeted floor in front of the sofa. Somebody had hopped into the bedroom for pillows, because now each woman had one studded under her hips. This, of course, elevated the vagina and provided Mark with a clear view of an accessible target.
It would have been much more comfortable on a bed, Evelyn thought. But that would mean leaving the living room, which was a direct violation of the club rule that said new couples had to be initiated together, husband and wife performing their respective tasks in full view of each other. And since the bedroom was apparently too small to accommodate eight people comfortably-.
"Ooooo, baby," Marge suddenly exclaimed happily. "You do know something about a twat, don't you?"
Evelyn smiled inwardly. She remembered the many times Mark had pleaded with her to allow him to perform cunnilingus, arguing that it was a perfectly natural practice and one designed to whet the appetite for intercourse. She had almost always refused, telling him she considered such acts loathesome and perverted. She didn't want him down there slobbering all over her. Now if only her husband had taken the bull by the horns and whacked her ass-.
"Oh, yes," Marge cried out. "Yes, yes, yes. Chew me all up, you lovely hunk of man. Eat Margie all up, honey."
"Make her come quick, Mark," Shirley said, her hands busy between her legs, roughly massaging her dark sex patch. "I'm gettin' hotter by the second."
"Me too," groaned Linda.
Evelyn was about to turn away when she saw Shirley suddenly roll over onto her side and embrace Linda. Soft sounds of pleasure drifted from the females' mouths as they commenced stroking and kissing each other, their naked bodies, one black, the other white, meshing in sensual rhythm, limbs entwining.
"Does that bother you, Evelyn?" a strong baritone voice asked.
Evelyn turned to answer Matthew Williams, the words catching in her throat when she discovered him stark naked, his powerful black body framed by the pale but certainly manly physiques of Frank Lionel and Joseph Finlay. Her eyes went immediately to the cocks of each.
"I asked if lesbianism upsets you, Evelyn."
"Er-no, not at all," Evelyn answered falteringly, her mind on the members she would suck.
"It bothers me," Joe growled. "I don't go for this perverted nonsense. And if I ever catch my Marge makin' love to another dame they'll be hell to pay. Anything besides man-woman sex is just plain perverted."
Uh oh, Evelyn thought. No spanking from him.
"But you enjoy rough and tumble sex, right, Joe?" Matt asked. He looked squarely at Evelyn. "I mean, you don't mind spanking a girl if you think she deserves it."
"Oh, well, that's a horse of a different color. Sure I like to whack a pretty woman's ass.
Once in a while you just hafta show a female who's boss."
Saved, Evelyn thought, returning Matt's stare with a small smile.
"Well, are we going to get sucked tonight or not?" an impatient Frank asked. "Eve got a prick here that needs blowing."
"Don't we all," Joe chuckled throatily.
"Grab that pillow over there on the chair, Frank," Matt said.
Frank stepped over to a black vinyl swivel chair and picked up the large white silk pillow resting on the cushion. He rejoined the others and handed the pillow to Matt, who in turn stepped up to Evelyn and dropped the pillow at her feet.
"Okay?" he asked with a smile. "You all set?"
"All set," Evelyn answered, nodding.
Once again her eyes lowered to the three peckers as the men lined up in front of her. Joe took a stance next to the pillow, it apparently having been decided that he was to be first. Matt lined up next to Joe, on his left, and last but not least was Frank, whose prick was already beginning to thicken and lengthen.
"All right now, Mrs. Fawner," Joe grinned. "Let me feel those lovely lips of yours wrap around my meat. And don't forget, you've got to suck us until we come."
"I know," Evelyn said, the idea of having to suck three men, three strong, tough men, to orgasm helping to keep her desire at a constant high level.
"On your knees, then, baby," Frank said. "You can't suck if-"
Frank and Matt and Joe and Evelyn all turned at the sound of the woman's ecstatic cries. They saw Marge, her hands hotly holding Mark's head at her steaming sex oven, in the midst of what appeared to be a real gut-grabbing orgasm. Her face was flushed, contorted with pleasure, and now sailing from her throat was a long, drawn out moan of utter ecstasy.
"Your husband scored a few points there," Joe informed Evelyn, his fat, crudely-hewed but not unattractive face blanketed with a lewd smile. "Marge doesn't often got her rocks off so good from just a cunt-chewing."
"Me now, please," pleaded a passionate Shirley, who at the sound of Marge's coming had pulled free of Linda's warm embrace. "C'mon Mark honey, get your handsome head between my legs."
Mark lost no time in complying with the raven-tressed beauty's obscene request. Seconds after Marge released his head, thus allowing him to breathe, he was scrambling between Shirley's open legs and crouching low, his come-coated tongue snaking out from between his lips as the aroused female grabbed his head and yanked his face into her dark patch of pubic hair.
"Mark's off to a flying start, Ev," Frank said, turning from the lustful spectacle at the other side of the room to address the still standing blonde lovely.
'He'll pass this phase of the initiation with great marks," Matt added.
"And so will his wife," Joe said. "If she'll just get on with it."
Several seconds later, tearing her eyes from her husband and her neighbor, Evelyn did get on with it. Slowly she sank to her knees on the square pillow thoughtfully provided by Matt, her left hand resting on Joe's thick right thigh as her other hand gripped his flaccid pecker. A pause now, just a brief one, and then she was opening her mouth wide and stuffing into it the plum-shaped crown of the cock that she was expected to suck until it was stiff and throbbing. Until it erupted and the syrupy semen washed down her throat.
"That's the good little girl," Joe crooned, placing his pudgy hands lightly atop Evelyn's blonde head. "Gobble it all up like a peppermint stick."
Evelyn worked the pecker in her mouth with a quiet determination, drawing on it carefully, her soft, supple lips pursed to create an obscene suctioning. This, she realized, was only the second cock to find its wicked way into her mouth. Only on rare occasions, when she was just too tired to resist, had she reluctantly gone down on her husband.
In five years of marriage she had sucked only Mark's manhood. In perhaps about a half hour's time, give or take a few minutes, she will have sucked three other male organs, ingesting the creamy semen spewing from each. It was, she thought, hard to believe.
"Get it nice and thick, sweetheart," Frank ordered, looking down at Evelyn as she suctioned Joe's meat into her sweet mouth.
"Hummmmmm," Evelyn hummed around the prick she was stiffening.
"She's good," Joe informed the other men. "I mean she's trying real good."
"A born cocksucker, huh?" Frank asked.
"All women are born cocksuckers," was Joe's answer.
Across the way, as determined to satisfy as was his wife, Mark labored passionately between Shirley's legs, his handsome head burrowing deep into the clammy juncture of her smooth, firm thighs as he slavered over her odorous pussy.
"Oh, he is good," Shirley crooned joyously, her beautiful head lolling on the beige carpet as wild, wicked sensations of pleasure raced through her superbly molded body.
"I knew he would be," said the black-skinned Linda, who could hardly wait her turn to be sucked by the newest male member of the swap club. "Mark looks like he knows his way around a needy twat."
"He does, he does," Shirley exclaimed. "His tongue-his fantastic tongue is-ooooo, so good."
Delighted by the fact that his efforts were being appreciated, Mark maintained a steady pressure on Shirley's lust-swollen clitoris and resolved to jolt her insides with an orgasm that she'd be talking about for weeks to come.
He had waited a long time to get at his neighbor, to suck and fuck her luscious body until she couldn't see straight. Now that the opportunity was at hand he intended to make the very most of it. And then, after Shirley had popped and showered his warm face with a sticky spray of her cunt juice, he would quickly crawl between lovely Linda's legs and drive her crazy with a feverish cunnilingus.
Nothing had prepared him for the fact of the Williams' blackness. Neither Frank nor Shirley had made mention of the couple's color and he had just assumed that Matt and Linda were white. A reasonable enough assumption when one knew that the peaceful residential community of Maplewood was, like Cloverdale Village, populated almost entirely by Wasps.
But he was not at all disappointed in the Williams. He had been mildly surprised, of course, when Matt opened the front door. As had Evelyn, he was sure. But surprise turned quickly to a genuine liking of the good-looking, ruggedly-attractive black man and his sexy, sinewy wife.
He knew for a fact that Matt had made a favorable impression on Evelyn. During the half hour or so they had all spent chatting and sipping drinks, "a little get acquainted session," Linda had termed it, he had caught his wife staring at Matt on more than one occasion. Which was certainly understandable, since the big, brawny black man gave the impression of having the virility of ten.
"SSSSooon," Shirley suddenly hissed. "It's-it's almost here. My clit, Mark. Do it hard and-ohhh, shit."
Mark continued strumming the ravishing female's passion nubbin, his hard-working tongue an evil, fleshy serpent as it twirled and cunningly curled, coiling around the inflamed, swollen clit in mean, devilish embrace.
Shirley moaned happily, the salacious strumming of her pulsating mini-penis twisting her face with pleasure and rendering her oblivious to all save the hot, depraved sensations emanating from her now slushy vagina. She clenched her hands at her sides, her warm head continuing to roll side to side on the carpet as Mark slobbered gluttonously between her quivering legs, his attention riveted to an ultra-sensitive erectile of small size but great importance.
On Shirley's right was Marge Finlay, resting now after her happy come, content to lie in supine sprawl on the floor and watch Mark tending to her friend's torrid twat. On Shirley's left was Linda, still hotly massaging her breasts and cunt, growing more and more impatient as she awaited the feel of Mark's mouth and talented tongue on her treasure.
As her husband labored enthusiastically to bring Shirley off, Evelyn worked with equal determination to provoke an orgasm from Joe Finlay. His pecker, flaccid at the start, had thickened nicely in her mouth and she was now engrossed in skinning the length of hard flesh with her tightly pursed lips.
Up and down her head bobbed, the bulbous head of Joe's normal-sized member banging against the back of her throat every time she swooped down to engulf the pulsing pecker in her mouth.
"Yeah, baby," Joe groaned thickly. "That's the ticket. All the way-go down on it all the way. Oh, shit, sweetheart."
"Dammit, man, go ahead and come," Frank said impatiently. "My cock's so hard it hurts."
"I'll come when I feel like it," Joe snapped, his thick fingers entwining in Evelyn's golden tresses. "Shit, she's really good."
"We don't want to take your word for it," Matt said, grinning as he nudged Frank in the ribs.
"Give me a minute, willya? I haven't been in the babe's mouth that long."
"I hope she chews it off," Frank mumbled.
Matt chuckled. His impatience was as great as Frank's since his prick had also hardened, thanks to the lust-inspiring sight of the pretty blonde initiate greedily gobbling up Joe's meaty manhood. Like Frank, he couldn't wait to feel Evelyn's lovely lips sliding lewdly up and down his pecker.
Another minute passed, and then-
"Yeah-all right," Joe breathed hotly. "Here-here it comes, baby. Now-now!"
Evelyn thought she was prepared for the explosion, ready to ingurgitate the gooey semen as it gushed into her mouth, but so quick and heavy was Joe's discharge that she had all she could do to keep from gagging on it. Having been told earlier that she mustn't take the prick out of her mouth at the time of ejaculation, she gasped and gurgled around Joe's jerking tool and struggled gamely to swallow the syrupy gunk as it rushed into her.
"Oh, shit, oh man," Joe groaned happily, throwing back his head and surrendering to the sweet sensations flowing through him, his fingers tightening on Evelyn's scalp.
"Swallow, baby, swallow," Frank said loudly, one hand curled around his rock-hard manhood. "Drink it all down-you can do it."
But she couldn't. Much of Joe's viscid discharge spilled out of her mouth, flowing over and around his hot tool and running in sticky riverlets down her chin. Yet still she tried to swallow, odd click-clacking sounds emanating from her pretty throat as the semen washed into her mouth only to come spitting back out seconds later.
And it was now that Shirley Lionel announced her climax, a wicked wail of sheer pleasure tearing from her throat as she sprayed Mark's face with her sticky twat juice.
Unperturbed, Mark kept his head well placed, sandwiched hotly between Shirley's quivering thighs, and immediately set about lapping up the tasty discharge. He licked quickly, his tongue scooping up Shirley's warm flow as it spilled from her quaking cunt.
"Mr. Fawner must have arrived with a real thirst," said Matt, who with Frank had turned toward the sofa when Shirley let loose her lusty moan of satisfaction. "He's knockin' 'em off like flys."
"Two down, one to go," Frank noted with a small smile.
Several seconds later, as a ready-to-explode Linda Williams literally dragged Mark away from Shirley and into position between her legs, Matt and Frank turned their attention back to Evelyn and Joe. They were just in time to see Joe, pooped but pleased, pull his cock from the pretty blonde's mouth.
"Good-you did good, Evelyn," Matt said sincerely.
Evelyn wasn't so sure. Her nose and mouth and chin were coated with sticky come. The gooey substance was dribbling down her chin, trickling across her neck, dripping noiselessly onto her heaving tits. Still and all, she reasoned, she had given it a good try.
"All right now," Frank said. "Matt is next." A lewd little grin suddenly appeared on his face. "And then me."
Still kneeling on the pillow, Evelyn looked at Frank's mighty manhood. Heavens, but it was huge, she thought. How in the name of all things holy would she be able to get that tree-trunk of a penis inside her poor mouth? Now she knew why she sometimes saw Shirley with a swollen jaw.
"Do me nice, sweetheart," Matt said, smiling down at Evelyn as he moved into position by the pillow. "My cock isn't as large as Mr. Lionel's, but it's more colorful."
"It's a beautiful cock," opined Evelyn. She reached up with her right hand, sticky from Joe Finlay's come, and carefully curled her fingers around its pulsating thickness. "And I'm not the least bit prejudiced."
"Good girl," Matt chuckled. "Now let's see you suck me as good as you sucked Joe. I want to see that pretty head of yours bobbing like crazy."
"As you say-master," Evelyn said softly, smiling up at the towering black giant, wondering how his big black hands would feel smacking her poor, pale behind.
And then, as Linda Williams' heated moans of pleasure filled her ears, she opened wide her mouth and slipped come-coated lips over the knobby crown of Matt's ebony cock. She closed her blue eyes and commenced her second suck of the night, her pursed lips pulling easily on the black column of blood-filled flesh.
"Nice-very nice," Matt murmured, placing his hands on his thick hips. "Suck a little harder now. Yes. Like that. Good girl."
Well, there was no longer any doubt about it, Frank thought. Obvious now was the fact that the fierce spanking Mark had administered to his wife had somehow unlocked her libido, freeing from captivity those long repressed desires while bringing to the fore a particular need for painful sex.
It was nothing short of miraculous, of course. Not in a hundred years would he have thought that Evelyn, meek, mild-mannered, sexually uptight Evelyn, would be turned into a normal, feeling female as a result of just one sound bottom-warming. The most open-minded sexologist would probably laugh in his face were he to attempt an explanation of Evelyn's amazing transformation.
But be that as it may, he was thoroughly convinced that Evelyn had changed. And certainly for the better. His only hope now was that she wouldn't revert to her former self and start behaving again like a fusty little old lady. How sad if after taking a giant stride forward she took two back. How tragic.
But Evelyn certainly gave no indication at the moment that she was dissatisfied with her brand-new outlook on life, and the sexual pleasures that life contained if she were inclined to avail herself of them. If anything, she seemed wholly determined to prove that she would be a great asset to the club.
Just look at her down there, gobbling up Matt's thick black cock with all the enthusiasm of a one hundred dollar call girl intent on earning her bread. She was slobbering all over that fat black pecker, her pretty cheeks inflating and hollowing in salacious synchopation as she sucked ravenously, as if Matt's manhood were the tastiest prick she'd ever blown.
Frank smiled inwardly as he contemplated the feel of Evelyn's warm, lovely lips embracing his big eight incher. His tool would truly be a test for her, he thought. And it was going to take considerable control, real will power, to resist the urge to cram all eight inches of his steel-hard prick right down her sweet little cocksucking throat.
Frank turned his eyes from the obscene spectacle of Evelyn hotly blowing Matt Williams to the equally obscene sight of Mark Lionel excitedly eating the satin-skinned Linda. He saw that Shirley had pushed herself up off the carpet and was now sitting back on the sofa, her eyes moving back and forth from Linda and Mark to Marjorie and Joe, the Finlays having apparently decided on a little husband and wife smooching while they waited for the actual fucking to commence.
"Oooo," Marge cooed, shivering on her hubby's large lap, "what's that hand of yours doin' down there, lover?"
"It's ticklin' your hot twat, that's what, baby," a grinning Joe Finlay answered. "Now don't tell me you don't like it."
"I would never tell you-ohhh, Joe, baby, that feels so good. So dirty good."
Joe chuckled. "So Mark's a pretty fair pussy-licker, huh?"
"Mmmm, he's got a nice tongue on him." Marge placed her left hand on top of the one of Joe's that was busy massaging her left mammary.
"Not a bad lookin' pecker, either, right?" Joe asked, increasing the pressure on his wife's tingling tit.
"Long and lean. Not as big as Frank's, though."
"How do you know? He's not hard yet, is he?"
"Sure. Can't you see?"
Joe looked over to where Mark was servicing a most pleased Linda. From his position, in the chair that Shirley had occupied earlier, and because of Mark's low crouch, he was unable to verify the fact of the male initiate's hardness. He was willing to take his wife's word for it, however, since it pleased him to think of Mark as a confident, self-possessed stud and not one of those who took a year and a day to achieve a workable hard-on.
Guys like that pissed him off. As did those who suddenly turned shy and awkward in a crowd and had a helluva time bringing a girl off because of their nervousness. A few such characters and their wives had been granted membership in the club, a very sad blunder many members were still trying to rectify. But it wasn't so easy to throw them out once they were in. In fact, it was impossible to convince these guys that they weren't real swingers, since all were of the ridiculous opinion that they were simply fantastic sex partners. You just could not squash their egos for love nor money.
"Hey, you two," Shirley suddenly called loudly, "don't go working each other up too much now. You know the rules. A husband and wife can't screw until each has been with at least one other partner. And we still have the final part of the Fawners' initiation to attend to."
"Oh, Shirley," Marge giggled, "you're a spoil-sport."
The raven-tressed, usually hot-to-trot beauty shrugged. "Well, a rule is a rule."
"I'm gonna make you forget all about rules in just a little while, Mrs. Lionel," Joe said, his voice just a shade on the sinister side. "When I'm fuckin' your beautiful ass off with my-"
"Oh, so it's my ass you're after tonight, is it?" Shirley broke in, her bright sexy grin mirroring pleasant surprise. "The butcher is going to give the lady a choice piece of meat, huh?"
Joe couldn't help but chuckle. "You know it, sweetheart. And you're gonna cook that meat in the flaming oven of your dirty old shit chute."
"Mr. Finlay, sometimes I think there's a bit of the poet in your soul. A pornographic poet, of course, but still-"
"How 'bout you, Marge?" Frank asked, joining the conversation. "You in the mood to get your rectum reamed tonight?"
The chunky Marge grinned at the beefy male whose larger-than-average prick had stretched her rectal canal on more than one happy occasion. "I'm always ready to be ass-fucked, Frank," she said. "Especially when I have the chance to feel a really big bone packed into my fanny. And when the man is also good-looking-"
"Talk like that will most definitely get you cornholed, Mrs. Finlay," Frank grinned.
"Hell, we could turn this into an ass-fucking party," Joe remarked curtly, twisting his wife's left nipple in his fat fingers.
"Nothing wrong with that, is there?" Marge asked. She reached down into her mate's lap and wrapped her hand around his flaccid manhood. "I'll bet Mark would like to give it to Linda in her sweet old black behind."
Heads turned once again to Mark and Linda. The beautiful Negress was close to coming now, her efforts at articulation stymied by the continuous shaking of her body and the harsh, guttural sobs of pure delight Mark's maniacal sucking and tonguing was wrenching from the depths of her throat.
"I guess he would at that," Frank said. "The way he's doin' Linda she'd probably let him piss all over her."
"Now that's dirty," Marge observed, the small pout on her round, unblemished face belying the fact that she found the idea of being used in such a filthy fashion terribly thrilling.
In fact, she was positively turned on by it! She licked her lips.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ignored for the moment were Matt and Evelyn, both of whom could not have cared less if the others suddenly decided to do cart wheels to California. They were totally engrossed, oblivious to the words and actions of those around them.
Lewd grunts of lust bubbled from Matt's lips as Evelyn continued sucking holy hell out of his blood-hardened cock, the fantastic feel of her tightly pursed lips stripping his meaty member sending shivers of pleasure up and down his spine.
"Suck, baby, oh suck it," he rasped, looking down at the bobbing, weaving blonde head. "You gorgeous little cocksucker."
He couldn't hold out much longer, he thought dizzily. Evelyn was wringing him dry, sucking his prick as if determined to prove her proficiency in the art. Any second now those spasms of bliss would rock him and he'd blast his load into the cuddly blonde's sweet mouth.
Strange slurping sounds of lust were made by Evelyn as she whipped her lips up and down Matt's black cock. She was working his balls now, too, hotly cradling the hairy pouch in her right palm, squeezing it, feeling its wrinkled hardness, pulling on it passionately.
Turning quiet, Frank and Shirley and Joe and Marge now made like spectators at a tennis match, their interest divided between Mark and Linda and Matt and Evelyn as they tried to guess which couple would finish first. Eyes roved from the exciting scene in front of the sofa, where Mark was still slobbering over the luscious Linda's soupy cabbage, to Matt and the wildly-sucking Evelyn, whose face was flushed from the effort she was exerting.
The lewd guessing game was abruptly halted when Matt, emitting a tremulous moan of pleasure, threw back his head and fired a volley of thick creamy come into Evelyn's mouth. A small vein in his forehead throbbed madly as he came, the gut-jumbling joy of ejaculation turning him inside out.
As before, Evelyn struggled gamely to swallow the slightly salty muck as it streamed into her mouth, her wheezing gasps and gagging coughs around the jerking black cock providing wicked accompaniment to her obscene attempt. But again she was only partially successful, much of Matt's gooey cream spitting out from the corners of her mouth and washing down her chin.
"That's one of my favorite sights," Joe remarked with a grin, nodding in the direction of the gulping blonde and the black giant. "Pretty as a picture it is."
"Just like in a dirty movie," Frank noted.
"Hey, speaking about movies, Matt tells me that-"
"Ohhhh!" Linda wailed, silencing Joe immediately. "Oh, shit. Oh, I'm coming-co minnnnng-"
The great glottal gasps that had been breaking in her throat now all meshing into one satanic howl of ecstasy, Linda arched her back and clawed the air as waves of beautiful bliss washed over her quivering black body. Eyes closed, her head swimming, she moaned a joyous moan as Mark, still obviously thirsty, slurped up the warm, sticky juices her quaking cunt was spraying into his flushed face.
Back on the other side of the sex-saturated living room, Matt reluctantly withdrew his messy hank from the wet, slushy confines of Evelyn's mouth, the come-coated corona leaving her lips with a loud sucking plop. He staggered back, his place in front of Evelyn taken quickly by a most eager Frank Lionel.
"All right now, honey," Frank husked, his stare hard, bold, "get ready for the big one. C'mon, open wide for the doctor."
Evelyn took a deep breath and swallowed, several slimy globs of Matt's come slithering down her throat. She would have liked a moment to rest, a brief intermission, so to speak, for her jaw ached and her mind was spinning crazily in her head. But there was to be no rest for the weary tonight.
And so when Frank lifted her head up, telling her again to "open it up," she smiled a tired smile and complied with his wicked order. Hardly able to contain himself, the sight of the pretty little blonde's semen-besmirched face stoking the fires of his lust, Frank began funneling his stalk into her hot, messy mouth.
"C'mon, baby, start sucking it. What are you waiting for?"
Evelyn gurgled around the cock being fed her and, tightening her tired lips, began pulling on the corona. Inch by careful inch she took the monstrous cock in, grateful for being allowed to work at her own speed but still faintly fearful of choking on Frank's eight inch pecker.
Curiosity cueing them, the others now gathered round to view the provocative proceedings. A circle of sinners was soon formed around Evelyn and Frank, neither of whom were about to dissuade their friends from witnessing their sexy performance.
Joe Finlay stood with his hairy right arm draped over the sultry, beautifully-built Shirley Lionel, his fat fingers idly tapping a tune on her succulent right mammary. Not far away were Marge Finlay and Matt Williams, Marge with her left hand in cunning caress of the black man's pecker and scrotal pouch, he with his arm around her little-too-large waist.
And several feet away, completing the ring, were Mark Fawner and the momentarily satiated Linda Williams. Although the taste of the lithe black female's odorous twat lingered on his lips like a pleasant memory in the mind, his attention was riveted to his wife and her hungry sucking of Frank's large manhood.
As the others watched and whispered, sprinkling salacious suggestions between their lewd comments, Mark stood in speechless silence and thought of the many times his pretty blonde wife had refused him fellatio. A pity it was that he had taken so long to discover her dormant desire for painful treatment.
But those days were gone now, he thought happily. If Evelyn's lusty sucking of Frank's cock was any indication, she would never again refuse him a blow-job, never again feign weariness or illness when he desired her golden-haired cunt. And he would soon be able to forget those interminable nights of frustration caused by his wife's sexual coldness, when he lay next to Evelyn and muttered curses under his breath while thinking masturbation was to be preferred to what passed for sex with his mate.
Yes, sir, the future did indeed look promising. Most promising and passion-filled.
"Look at her gobble it up, will you," Joe cracked, pinching Shirley's crinkled nubbin of a nipple. "I think we got ourselves a born fellatrice here, fellas."
"Fellatrice?" Linda smiled. "Where did you learn that big word, Mr. Finlay?"
"What's the matter, you think I'm dumb or something?"
"I didn't say that. I just asked-"
"It was a stupid question," Joe said, visibly irritated.
"Sorry," Linda apologized, regretting what she had figured would be a harmless little wisecrack and nothing more. But she should know better than to tease Joe, she thought, turning her attention again to Frank and Evelyn. He just wasn't the kind to laugh at himself. Not even a little bit.
"Now don't go and get nasty, lover," Marge cautioned her barrel-chested husband. "Don't spoil everything with your temper."
"I won't spoil a fuckin' thing, baby," Joe fired back.
"Look, let's cool it," Shirley said. "We have a whole night of wild screwing ahead of us. Why waste energy arguing over such a silly little thing?"
"Okay, okay, I apologize too. I didn't mean to jump down Linda's throat."
Linda looked up and over at him. "I accept, Mr. Finlay," she smiled. "And later, to really express your regret at having jumped down my throat, you can stick your nice prick down it."
This triggered a laugh from the others, Mark included, and the tension that had so suddenly sprung up from nowhere now dissipated completely. Again all eyes turned to Evelyn, who, with eyes closed and flushed face, was still heatedly engaged in the jaw-busting task of sucking Frank's big shaft.
"Oh, yeah-yeah, this is the greatest," a happy Frank opined. "Nothin'-nothin' like getting blown by a-a beautiful woman."
"He says that now," Shirley grinned. "When Frank's getting his rocks off in some gal's ass, he says that's the greatest. When he's plowing up a pussy-well, you know how it goes."
"It's all good," Mark stated firmly, injecting himself into the bawdy conversation.
"Spoken like a true swinger," Linda said, a naughty smile on her beautiful black face as she reached down and wrapped her left hand around Mark's still-stiff pecker.
Oblivious to those around her, Evelyn continued to labor with unalloyed abandon on Frank's mouth-stretching manhood, those now familiar slushy, slurping sounds created by her hot, suctioning lips on his bloated bone helping to add, in a way she couldn't understand, to her masochistic enjoyment of this servile rite.
"Hey, fella," Matt said, "when are you goin' to come? Stop showing off and give Evelyn the reward she deserves."
"Go fuck yourself," Frank said thickly, his voice passion-charged.
Matt chuckled. "How 'bout if I fuck Shirley instead?"
"Fuck 'er-suck 'er. I don't give a shit." Frank's hands tightened on Evelyn's still rapidly bobbing head. "Holy shit, Mark, your wife is-ohhh, that's good-she's one helluva cocksucker."
"Thanks, neighbor," Mark grinned.
He was almost as proud of himself as he was of his hard-working wife, whose praises Frank was lustily singing whilst she played a sexy sonata on his steel-hard cock. For although he had expended considerable time and energy trying to talk Evelyn into wife-swapping, he had not been so taken away by the prospect of swinging that he overlooked the possibility of jealousy.
He had expected to suffer some jealousy, and maybe even some small guilt feelings, when and if Evelyn decided to start swinging. That, he figured, was probably just par for the course. In time, when he and Evelyn settled into the swinging routine and became full-fledged spouse-switchers, jealousy and guilt would gradually disappear.
But praise be, Mark said to himself now, he felt neither jealous nor guilty. He had overestimated the extent to which these two feelings would infringe upon his enjoyment of the hedonistic life. For a fleeting moment, just before being dragged off to suck pussy, he had experienced a twinge of jealousy, a microscopic urge to push the arrogant Joe Finlay away from Evelyn.
But it had passed quickly, very quickly, and now, as he stood with the others and watched his pretty spouse gluttonously gobbling up his neighbor's great prick, his mind was filled with thoughts of seeing Evelyn screwed insane by the men whose cocks she had sucked. It was going to be simply fantastic.
"Uhh-ohhh," Frank started grunting, his orgasm approaching full speed ahead. "Oh, baby. Oh, sweet shit, you're killin' me."
"This looks like it," Linda said with a grin.
"Here comes the big explosion," Matt added.
"Watch out, honey," Shirley warned Evelyn, "you're about to be flooded with come."
"Oh, baby, ohhh," Frank moaned.
For the third time Evelyn braced herself to take a load of warm sex syrup in her mouth. But then-surprise! Frank suddenly yanked his ejaculating organ out of her mouth and, holding it like a garden hose, began showering her whole face with his creamy discharge.
Caught unprepared, Evelyn emitted a gasp of surprise and quickly turned her head away. But Frank grabbed her head with his free hand and forced her face back to his spewing prick, his thick fingers wrapping around her blonde tresses as he continued spraying her with his thick, gooey come.
"Hey, look at that shower," Joe exclaimed, the excitement of seeing the pert and pretty Evelyn get her face washed with sticky semen causing him to pinch down hard on Shirley's tender nipple.
"Ouch!" the raven-tressed beauty cried. "That hurt, dammit." For revenge, she reached down quickly and with her left hand gave Joe's limp pecker a cruel squeeze.
"She's really getting it," Marge observed, almost wishing she were in Evelyn's place at the moment.
"Yeah, but she's lovin' it," Matt added. "Just look at her-look at her face."
Matt was correct. There was no mistaking Evelyn's enjoyment of her degradation. She was wallowing in this foul act, the dreamy expression on her face clearly evidencing that plain fact. Slowly she turned her head, moving it this way and that as she felt the gooey globs of Frank's semen splash onto her face. She wanted to have her countenance coated with come-wonderful, beautiful come.
Eyes closed, she slipped her tongue from her mouth and began a lascivious licking of her come-laden lips, seemingly determined to lap up, with broad strokes, all of Frank's syrupy sex juice as it dribbled down from her forehead to her chin, trickled from nose to lips, ran in slimy riverlets down her rosy cheeks.
Finally, Frank stopped coming and staggered back, his legs feeling as if they were about to give out under him. He stumbled to the armchair and collapsed into it, wheezing loudly as he tried to bring his breathing under control.
Evelyn, her lips swollen and her face dripping with sticky love cream, emitted a weary moan and rolled over onto her side, curling up on the floor like a contented kitten after receiving her bowl of tasty milk.
"Well done, people," Linda said loudly. "That was quite a show."
"A superior performance," Matt added.
"A round of applause is in order," Shirley grinned, taking her hand from Joe Finlay's pecker to commence clapping.
The pleasure-loving swappers joined Shirley in congratulating Frank and Evelyn for a truly memorable demonstration. Mark, too, applauded his wife, thinking as he clapped his hands that he would like to do to Evelyn what Frank had done. Perhaps when they next made love at home-
There was a pause in the lustful proceedings now, the happy hedonists content to chat for the next fifteen minutes while Evelyn recuperated and cleaned her sperm-besmirched face. Matt made another round of drinks and passed one to each guest, handing Evelyn a potent rye and ginger ale, which she had requested, then watching her down half of it in one long swallow.
And then it was time to begin phase three of the Fawners' wicked initiation. This phase, the final one, was to consist of the Fawners fucking the individuals who had enjoyed their oral ministrations. Evelyn would get screwed by Messrs. Finlay, Williams and Lionel. Mark would lay the men's wives.
A mini-debate ensued as an attempt was made to determine the order of things, it finally being decided that Linda, who had been the last to be eaten by Mark, should be the first to fuck him. Linda loved this decision, of course, and volunteered to flip the coin that Matt suggested they use to determine whether Shirley or Marjorie followed her.
Shirley called the toss correctly and clapped her hands in glee. Marge, rather disappointed, took solace from the fact that Mark seemed to be a very virile stud who would have enough energy left over after two screwings to bring her off very nicely.
After a brief discussion, the men decided to break with tradition and allow Evelyn to choose which of them she would fuck first, second and third. Evelyn very quickly relegated Frank to third place on line, the thought of having his huge pecker stuffed deep inside her tender twat right now, even though she was wet down there and really horny, suffusing her with faint fear.
Better to work up to Frank, she thought, telling the others that she would like to ball Joe first, Matt second, and then, after she'd been stretched a little, Mr. Big himself.
"That's the same order in which you blew them, honey," Shirley noted with a sweet smile.
"Is that bad?" Evelyn asked.
"Not bad at all, baby," Matt answered quickly. "What's that old saying-as ye suck so shall ye fuck?"
Everyone laughed.
"I don't think it goes quite like that, darling," Linda said.
"Well, you know what I mean. Now how 'bout if we stop all this talking and get on with the fucking. Poor Mark looks about ready to shower us all with his cream."
All eyes, including Evelyn's, zeroed in on Mark's manhood, which after all this time was still in a state of pulsating tumuscence. Linda and Marge and Shirley were especially pleased at Mark's ability to maintain a nice erection, for it was further proof of his excellent health and, even more important, of his horny nature.
Evelyn made no comment but took careful note of the three female's obvious appreciation of her husband, a warm glow suffusing her as she took another sip of her drink. It was, she thought happily, very nice to be married to a man other women found sexually stimulating. Just wait until he plunged his prick into their respective vaginas. Then they would really have something to shout about.
It took only a few minutes to make ready for the first fucks of the night, the two couples, Mark and Linda, Joe and Evelyn, standing off to one side like performers waiting in the wings to go on while the others set the stage. Pillows were removed from the sofa and the seat cushions, comfortably hard, were covered with a large white sheet retrieved from the linen closet by Linda.
As he watched Matt and Shirley spread a green satin comforter in the middle of the living room rug, Joe remarked as how it would have been better to hold the initiation in his home, since he and Marge had a very large bedroom in which at least eight people could fuck comfortably without any trouble.
"You can host the next initiation party, Joe," Shirley said to soothe the quick-tempered swapper.
"I'll hold you to that," Mrs. Lionel."
"All right, now we're all set," Matt said, straightening up. "Okay, kids, go to it. And remember, no quick comes and no faking it. Put everything you have into the screw."
"That's going to be very easy," Mark said with a sly grin.
"I won't be faking a darn thing," Evelyn added. "I'm so hot it's positively shameful."
Everyone laughed. Evelyn then stretched out on her back on the long sofa, extending her arms in welcome as Joe climbed awkwardly into position atop her. Mark watched Linda, whom he thought to be the personification of the idea that black is beautiful, stretch out on the quilted bedcover and spread her smooth, sleek legs. Then he dropped to his knees and proceeded to crawl toward her.
"I don't need much foreplay," Evelyn informed Joe in a provocative whisper. "My pussy is so wet now."
"Is it?" Joe grinned.
"Feel it and find out."
"Don't mind if I do, baby."
As Joe reached down and began a rough stroking of Evelyn's very wet twat, his thick fingers plunging inside her hair-lined hole, Linda savored the feel of Mark's strong hands on her black breasts and suggested he end his misery by immediately shoving his patient prick into her impatient vagina.
Which Mark did, delighted not to have to spend time getting his partner ready. In one sure, swift stroke he slid his bloated bone into Linda's clasping cunt, burying himself to the balls in her heavenly mush. Then he began moving in her, slowly and methodically, his cock a well-oiled piston as he plunged, withdrew, plunged and withdrew.
"Oh, good," Linda crooned. "Simply divine, Mark. Do you think you can last a while?"
"I'll-I'll try," Mark grunted, wondering all of a sudden if he hadn't spoken too quickly when Matt reminded him of the importance of not coming too soon.
"I'll help you, honey," the svelte black woman promised, her arms sliding around Mark's back. "I won't move around too much until you're ready to explode."
"All right, good," Mark breathed, not missing a beat as another slow swivel of his hips sent his pecker corkscrewing up into Linda's slushy sex chute.
"Do it now, please," Evelyn pleaded softly. "Please, Joe, get your cock in me. I need it." She squirmed under the stocky man hovering over her, the butcher with the chunk of meat she wanted in her hot love oven.
"You're sure you're ready, baby?" Joe asked, taunting the pretty blonde initiate.
"You know I am, dammit. Oh, please, I'm so hot for you. My cunt is on fire, Joe."
"Okay, sweetheart. I've got just the hose to put it out."
With that, Joe reached down with his right hand and directed the bulbous head of his cock to Evelyn's pouting pussy lips. His pecker had thickened and lengthened during the time it took Linda to prepare the sofa, and his desire, whetted by the prospect of laying someone new, was such that he was more than willing to get on with the hot humping.
"Oh, that feels so good in me," Evelyn sighed happily when she had all of Joe's meaty member in her soupy twat. "Hump me now, Joe. Give it to me good."
"Hard and fast, baby?"
"Yes. Hard and fast, Joe. Fuck me good. Stretch my pussy."
Evelyn started to whimper with pleasure as Joe, braced on hands and knees, commenced churning his blood-packed prick in her tight, greedily-gripping cunt. After a while she began moving with him, rolling her curvy hips up off the sofa to greet his hard organ as it slid wetly between the folds of her pulpy sex lips into her hot, pulsating prick port.
It wasn't long before the couple on the sofa and the couple on the living room floor were in lewd competition to see which twosome could make the loudest noises, utter the foulest language. Evelyn, wallowing in the knowledge that this was the very first time someone other than Mark had screwed her, fell to chanting the grossest obscenities, the vulgarisms pouring from her mouth as she dug her fingers into Joe's big hairy chest and thrilled to the feel of his bloated prick trundling back and forth in her weeping womanhood.
Linda, meanwhile, was finding it increasingly difficult to remain more or less inert as Mark humped her with ever accelerating speed, his pecker plunging into her pulsating cunt with a rapacious rapidity she found almost unbearably sweet. She gasped and grunted, raked her nails across Mark's smooth back, pleaded in loud, lust-charged voice to be banged out of her skull.
"Here we are again, folks," Shirley said grinning. "Wondering who's going to come first."
"How long have they been at it?" Marge asked.
"Long enough," Frank answered with a faint smile, his eyes glued to Evelyn and Joe whose feverish fucking was causing the sofa to issue squeaky complaints.
"All right, everybody," Matt said, his voice almost a shout, "you can come when you're ready. You've already exceeded the minimum time limit that we re-"
"Ohhhh," Evelyn suddenly moaned, her wail of pleasure drowning out the rest of Matt's sentence.
"Gads, what timing," Shirley exclaimed.
"Better get ready, Matt," Marge suggested. "You're up next."
Matt moved to the sofa, his cock once again rock-hard and ready to be thrust into a hungry female vagina. He looked down at the couple bouncing wildly on the sofa, his eyes flitting from Joe's rapidly bobbing buttocks to the passion-contorted countenance of the female receiving his creamy discharge.
"Ugh, ugh, arghh," Joe grunted hoarsely, madly pumping his prick as he spilled his sticky seed inside Evelyn's palpitating cunt.
"Ohh, Joe, fill me," Evelyn crooned rapturously, hooking her legs over her partner's as she washed down his ejaculating pecker with her own copious discharge.
Unable to hold out a single second longer, Mark now let loose with a torrent of creamy come, the feel of his ejaculate gushing into her viscid vagina dredging from Linda's throat an animalistic howl of sheer delight. A mighty moan of satisfaction was ripped from Mark's throat by the savagery of his release, his whole body in satanic quiver as the thick semen streaked through his shuddering shaft to inundate the black beauty's sex well.
Emitting a final groan, Joe collapsed atop Evelyn, his large hairy chest squashing her pert, passion-swollen boobs. Mark, after spilling the last of his sticky seed, issued a weary moan of contentment and slowly rolled off a pleased Linda.
"All right, old man," Matt said, tapping Joe on the ass, "you've had your taste. Let me now show our newest member what she can expect from Mr. Williams."
Reluctantly, Joe pushed himself up off the sofa and onto his feet. "She's all yours, pal," he said thickly. "Enjoy her-she's got a real tight little twat."
As Joe moved off toward the bar, a grinning Matt Williams took his place on the sofa. Linda found the strength to rise and now awkwardly get to her feet, Mark's semen beginning to dribble out of her just-reamed vagina.
"Good, huh?" Shirley asked her black friend when Linda was standing beside her.
"Very good. He's got all the moves, Shirl."
"And at the moment a very pooped pecker."
Linda smiled. "Well, I'm sure you know how to revive it, honey. Give Mr. Fawner a little sample of your sucking technique, why don't you? I'm sure he'd enjoy it."
"That," Shirley said, looking down at Mark, "is exactly what I had in mind."
Linda wandered off to join Joe at the bar. Shirley sank slowly to her knees and without delay spread Mark's legs wide apart. Mark opened his eyes to discover the black-haired temptress crawling into prick-licking position between his legs, her left hand curling around his wilted pecker.
"Resuscitation time, handsome," Shirley explained. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Mind? You must be crazy, Mrs. Lionel."
"Crazy for cock," Shirley smiled sexily. "Now just you relax and let me put some life into this here noodle. I happen to be a girl who likes a cock to be very, very hard when it's in her pussy."
"Is that so unusual?" Mark asked with a grin.
Shirley didn't bother to answer. Instead, she dropped her head over Mark's loins and, lifting up his pooped organ, placed the come-coated crown between her experienced lips. She sucked on it briefly, then began licking the whole penis from hairy base to the tiny vertical slit at the tip, her tongue in lazy, maddening swirl.
"Oh, Shirl, suck it," Mark breathed. "Get it hard. That's it-oh, so good."
Meanwhile, over on the sofa, Matt was working his ebony prick in and out of Evelyn's clutching cunt, asking her if she liked getting pronged by a black man.
"I love it," was the reply he received.
"You have a good cunt, baby. Nice and tight."
"Thank you," Evelyn said, matching Matt thrust for thrust as she synchronated her sensuous, hip swivels to his slow, methodical, downward plunges.
"Later I'll eat you," Matt promised, smiling down into Evelyn's face. "Would you like that?"
"Yes, of course I would. I want to try everything, Matt."
"That's the purpose of our swap club, sweetheart. In the company of friends one can indulge himself or herself to the fullest. Nothing is forbidden if it provides pleasure."
Evelyn wondered if she dare verbalize her thoughts, ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue. Then, her decision made, she began, "Matt, I'd like-I mean-"
"Yes? Out with it, Evelyn. I'm not hurting you, am I?"
"Oh no, it's wonderful. I can catch my breath this way."
"Well then what were you going to ask me?"
Evelyn hesitated, then, "You said each member of the club should feel free to-to live out his or her fantasies. Is that right?"
Matt nodded. "It is, yes. We get together to transform dreams into reality."
"Then would you help this girl satisfy a strange urge?"
Matt smiled. "Name it, suger."
"I want you to-to spank me. Really whack on my ass."
"I'd be delighted."
"You're not surprised-or disgusted?"
"Of course not. Why should I be? We don't go in for the real heavy sado-masochism scene-whips and chains and that stuff-but a good spanking is just another way of making sex better."
"Really?"
"Really. In fact, I spank Linda regularly. She doesn't mind at all when I tell her to bend over and lift her skirt."
Evelyn was thrilled at this revelation and wanted to pursue the subject further, but she suddenly found herself more concerned with Matt's manhood than with his spanking technique. Without warning, as if to inform her that conversation between them should cease, he had increased the tempo of his thrusts and was now pistoning his prick into her cunt with concentrated effort.
Which was certainly all right. The night was still young, Evelyn reminded herself. They'd be plenty of time to talk. To screw. And, of course, to spank.
CHAPTER EIGHT
While the Fawners and their lusty friends were merrily mating in Maplewood, Timothy Lane and his mistress-of-the-moment, Laura Hampton, were lying in wanton sprawl on a double bed in unit number four of Sleep 'N' Wake, a clean and unpretentious motel located on the outskirts of Cloverdale Village.
Tim, a hip, hump-happy twenty-six-year-old who dressed with impeccable style, and Laura, a stunning, titian-tressed temptress of twenty-four who preferred nakedness to being clothed, had checked into the motel about an hour ago. After unpacking and undressing, both of which had been accomplished speedily, the two had hopped into bed, there to do what each did best, fuck.
A little petting ensued, a few hungry kisses and nibbles were exchanged, some intimate caresses were savored, but the screw itself had failed to materialize, thanks to the green-eyed Laura's belated realization that she was going to be stuck in this "stupid little suburb" for an indefinite period of time.
If there was one thing Laura loathed more than any other it was boredom, and the idea of having to spend more than a minute in Cloverdale Village, a community not unlike the one in which she had been monotonously reared, filled her uncommonly beautiful head with very ugly thoughts.
After all, she reasoned, this was no place for a hip, fun-loving girl like herself. Why, just a quick drive through the streets of Cloverdale Village and you knew the town was Dullsville. The place reeked of Saturday Night Barbecues, of Lovingly-Mowed Lawns, of Snot-Nosed Children, of Crispy-Crinkly White Wash Hung Out To Dry.
Everything was so pretty and perfect. And everybody seemed so ridiculously happy-even the cats and dogs pranced about as if they were high. Cloverdale Village was the kind of quiet suburban community one sees pictured in women's magazines, a nice, orderly place where bright-eyed, bushy-tailed housewives gossiped over the fence or met for coffee in mid-morning to regale one another with positively marvelous stories about the new detergent they were using in their Discount Department Store Washer.
Ugh! How insane can you get, Laura wondered. How could people live such mundane, totally useless lives? No, this was certainly not the place to be-not even for an hour. She needed the bright lights and the gay crowds, the excitement of wandering about a big city chock full of the unexpected, the perverse and thrilling.
Years ago, more than she cared to remember, in fact, she had fled her home town, it having suddenly occurred to her that if she remained she would grow up to be just like her mother, chubby and contented and interested only in that which happened on her block.
Now here she was again, back in Dullsville for heaven knows how long. Why?
Which question Laura now once again put to the man she had been living and traveling with for the last two and a half years.
"Oh, for cryin' out loud, baby," Tim Lane groaned. "Haven't I answered that question a dozen times already?"
"So answer it one more time," Laura said, stretched out on her back on the bed, her hands locked behind her head as she stared up at the motel room ceiling. "Go ahead, humor me a little. If it isn't too much trouble."
"Now you're getting sarcastic again, Laura."
"I'm not sarcastic, lover. What I am is disgusted with this perfectly horrible place I'm stuck in."
"I think it's a rather nice motel, baby. I mean, it's neat and clean and-"
"Don't be smart, Tim," Laura broke in. "You know damn well I'm not talking about the motel."
"You don't like Cloverdale Village?"
"That's putting it mildly."
"Why?"
"It reminds me of my home town, which I left in a hurry when I realized the world didn't consist only of apple pies, babysitting, and Saturday night at the movies with a freckled-faced, skinny boy who enjoyed tinkering with automobiles."
Tim, who like his mistress was stretched out on his back on the bed, hands clasped behind his head, thought for a moment and then said, "Well, baby, no one is stopping you from leaving. There are no bars on that door, you know."
Laura turned her head on the pillow to look at her lover. It was only natural that he'd say something like that, she thought. It was in keeping with his philosophy of life, the gist of which emphasized hanging loose at all times and not getting too involved. Emotions, he believed, had a way of messing up one's goals.
It wasn't an altogether bad philosophy. In fact, she too was usually willing to admit the benefits of living a life unfettered by deep emotional involvements, a life where one was responsible only to himself or herself and could do, say and think whatever the hell he or she pleased.
The problem, and she was starting to think of it in exactly that way, was that she had allowed herself to fall in love with Mr. Timothy Lane. She loved his dark, faintly arrogant good looks, his coal-black wavy hair and mischievous, twinkling hazel eyes, his lean, hard, six foot two inch, one hundred seventy-five pound body.
She loved his cock, especially when it was thick and throbbing and churning happily inside her hot pussy.
And last but not least, she loved his life style. Tim was an exciting man, a shrewd opportunist with a keen understanding of human weaknesses and the cunning to turn those weaknesses, through various and sundry means, to his advantage. He had a flair for life, an uncontrollable urge to do and see it all.
His total defiance of those things "right" and "proper" was just beautiful to behold. She had never met a man so willing to embrace danger, so cynical and calculating, so deliciously depraved in terms of exploiting others to his financial benefit.
In short, Timothy Lane was a terribly exciting, outrageously stubborn, very handsome inconoclast. The kind of male most women like to dream about.
"Well, baby," Tim said, breaking the silence, "are you going to walk out on me or not? I won't try to stop you if you feel the need to search for greener pastures."
Laura turned her head so that she was again peering up at the ceiling. "You can always find another traveling companion, right?"
"I didn't say that, baby, you did. I wouldn't like to see you leave, but if that's what-"
"Oh, Tim, knock it off," Laura broke in. "You know damn well I don't want to walk out. It's just that I feel so closed off from reality in this stinking suburb. It's like being locked inside a closet and waiting for somebody to find the key."
Tim chuckled. "We haven't been here two hours yet, sweetheart."
"That's two hours too long," Laura cracked.
Tim turned over onto his left side and wormed his hard nakedness against the voluptuous, lust-provoking body of his nude bedmate, his right hand sliding up her smooth, flat tummy to soothingly caress a full, delightfully firm tit.
"Listen, honey," he said softly, "we won't be here that long, I promise you. It's simply a case of our having to go where the pickings are plentiful. Just as soon as we've finished our business in Cloverdale Village we'll get the hell out. I don't like this lousy little burg any more than you do-and I was raised in a town not far from here."
"And what makes you think you'll be successful with this Evelyn what's her name?"
"Crowley-Evelyn Crowley. I mean that was her name when I knew her. I suppose she's married now-might even have a couple of kids, too."
"I repeat. What makes you think you'll be able to seduce her? She's probably very happily married and very content playing the sweet little housewife scene. Why should she even give you a second look after all these years?"
"Well, sugar, it's like I told you," Tim said, his fingers worrying the nipple of Laura's left breast. "Six years ago Evelyn and I were a pretty hot item, as they say. I met her at a party, liked her, and asked her out the next week. Before very long we were dating each other almost exclusively."
"Sounds like you were hooked on her."
"Not really," Tim smiled. "Oh, Evelyn was real sweet and all that. Very pretty, too. And I think she was damn close to falling in love with me."
"So?"
"So the only reason I did the you're-the-only-one-for-me bit was because it pleased her to think I really cared."
"But you didn't."
Tim chuckled. "I cared more about gettin' in her pants. I figured that if she knew I was faithful to her she'd eventually let my cock into her little pussy."
"So this sneaky plot of yours worked and one fine summer night, while parked in a lover's lane, you screwed the brains out of Miss Goody Two Shoes."
Tim chuckled again, louder than before. "I wish the script read like that, baby. But the truth is that my virginal girl friend couldn't be tricked or talked or tempted into lowering her pretty panties. And believe me I tried everything. The closest I got to her cunt was one night when I plied her with a little booze and managed to sneak my hand up under her skirt to cup her pantied-crotch."
"How utterly thrilling," Laura sighed.
"Utterly frustrating is more like it. Our petting sessions, of which there weren't very many, always ended with my taking an angry Evelyn home and then returning to my parents' place to masturbate."
"You masturbate? I don't believe it."
"I wasn't as sophisticated then as I am now," Tim explained with a sexy smile. Then, as the smile gradually faded, he added, "I suppose Evelyn remained a virgin until her wedding night. That's what she always told me she intended to do."
"You don't know if she married," Laura noted.
"I'd be willing to bet on it, though. Like I say, she was a nice looking kid with a sweet personality. Some guy who liked the idea of marrying a virgin probably came along and swept her off her dainty little feet."
"And this is the female you intend to seduce and talk into leaving the country with you. Tim, darling, this time I think you've bitten off more than you can chew. It'll never work-not in a hundred years. You make one move toward her and she'll go screaming to her husband."
"Maybe and maybe not. In any event, for ten thousand bucks it sure as hell is worth a damn good try. And with your help I might just be able to pull it off."
Laura had to admit that the thought of running her fingers through all that lovely green stuff was indeed delightful. She was also ready to admit that of all the weird schemes, all the crazy, illegal, immoral, unethical businesses Tim had been involved in, this was by far the most exciting, the strangest and most dangerous.
She still didn't know exactly how he had gotten mixed up with white slavery, thanks to his unswerving, and unnerving, determination to remain closed-mouthed about those details that would fill in the gaps. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, of that she was certain. His stated purpose in remaining silent when questioned about names, places and dates was, in fact, a simple one. He just thought it best if only a very few, those directly involved in the operation, knew such things. Because one innocent slip of the tongue and boom!-everybody is carted off to jail.
Which made some sense, of course. Yet it in no way mitigated her curiosity. She knew only that six months ago Tim had met a United Nations diplomat in New York, a representative from one of the oil-rich countries in the Middle East, and that during their conversation the subject of harems had cropped up.
According to Tim, the diplomat had lamented the fact that in most sultans' harems there was a regrettable dearth of young white American women. There were Oriental women aplenty, several blacks, a smattering of Scandinavian and English lovelies, but representatives from America were few and far between.
While Tim found this to be of some interest, his ears really perked up when he was informed, in whispered tones, of course, that not every girl in the sultans' harems was there because she wanted to be, because she favored the ease and comfort of such a life to that of working for a living or marrying. Some had been smuggled into the country.
And when the diplomat, slightly inebriated by this time, told him of one sultan so desperate for young, succulent American females that he'd be willing to shell out ten thousand dollars for a choice, truly All-American Woman, Tim's interest grew to gigantic proportions. Ten thousand bucks for one girl! Unbelievable.
"What are you thinking about now, baby?"
Tim asked, breaking into Laura's moment o musing. "Getting laid, maybe?"
Laura smiled. "I'm thinking back to the time you told me about the diplomat and the sultans' need for American pussy."
Tim chuckled. "It was a great stroke of luck my bumping into that guy, wasn't it? I mean, it's not everyday in the week that you meet a diplomat who's working as a procurer for a disgustingly wealthy sultan."
"I don't know if it was all that great," Laura said, reaching down with her right hand and curling her fingers around her lover's flaccid pecker. "We've been at this white slavery thing for six months now and we've only managed to get two girls to the Middle East. And you were only paid twenty-five hundred for each."
Tim nodded. "That's because both girls were ugly as sin."
"Agreed. But the point is that we went to all that trouble, made all those underworld contacts, bribed scores of-"
"Yeah, I know, I know," Tim interrupted. "You're saying it's hardly worth the trouble."
"Exactly. Hell, we could pull a Bonnie and Clyde and rob a bank for our five thousand. We wouldn't have to involve ourselves in all that dangerous intrigue."
Tim smiled down at his mistress, his hand sliding from her spongy breast, across the smooth, flat plane of her tummy, down to the inviting juncture of her creamy thighs. He cupped her crotch, then squeezed, feeling the pressure of her hand on his limp prick increase as she began squirming.
"What are you trying to do, lover? Change the subject quickly?"
"I'm reminding you that you like the intrigue, sweetheart. Now don't deny it. Danger turns you on and you know it. Just the idea of luring some pretty innocent from her safe nest gets you hot. You like to watch me seduce the woman and then drug her. It works like an aphrodisiac on you."
"You're saying I'm a horribly wicked woman, Mr. Lane."
"Well, aren't you?"
A provocative, faintly feral smile slowly crept across Laura's clear, unblemished countenance. "Yes," she answered. "I suppose I am wicked and depraved and-"
"Very beautiful. Very, very beautiful."
"Well thank you, kind sir. But I wish you'd tell me that more often."
"I'm telling you now, suger."
"Tell me again."
"You, Miss Hampton, are a very beautiful woman. In fact, you're about the most beautiful girl I've ever laid."
It suddenly occurred to Tim that he was telling the complete, unvarnished truth for a change. His admittedly tawdry adventures had taken him to all parts of the United States and to several countries in Europe, Africa, and the Far East, and in the course of his travels he had fucked and sucked many a pretty female.
But none could really compare to Laura. She was one of a special breed of female, the kind who possess great beauty, genuine intelligence, a sense of humor, and an insatiable lust to experience life to its fullest. And when you added to this a delicious wickedness, a passion for the perverse, and a sexual appetite that bordered on the nymphomaniacal, you had in Miss Laura Hampton a girl worth her weight in gold.
How he loved to run his fingers through her flowing, silky titian tresses, caress her firm, full breasts, slip his blood-hardened cock into her warm, velvet-like copper-colored cunt. And her ass, her fantastic, mouth-watering ass. What bliss it was to knead those firm, succulent cheeks, to tongue that pretty pink asshole, to bury his root in the dark depths of her dank rectum.
"Have you ever considered drugging me and then having me shipped to one of those sultans?" Laura asked. She expected her question to evoke a startled expression, a look of surprise mingled with dismay, perhaps. She got it.
"Now what kind of a stupid question is that?" Tim said, parrying his girl friend's question with one of his own.
"It's not such a stupid question. I've thought about it a number of times, Tim. In fact, if you remember I asked you this same question twice before."
"And I answered?"
"That the idea had never crossed your mind. That you wouldn't think of handing me over to some fat, sloppy sultan."
"All right, then. So what's the problem?"
"You haven't changed your mind. I mean, some night when I'm fast asleep you won't give me an injection of that stuff and-"
"Oh, Laura, now this is absolutely ridiculous," Tim broke in. "I'll tell you again for the last time. I would never do such a lousy thing to you. I mean, I just couldn't. I couldn't live with myself if I knew you were being pawed by some greasy old pig."
Very convincing, Tim thought, continuing to methodically rub up Laura's moistening pussy as he allayed her fears of one day waking up to find herself in a tent, surrounded by a bevy of veiled females. She should only know that the idea of collecting ten thousand clams for her had indeed crossed his mind, and that it was only her fantastic face and figure and her tendency toward nymphomania which prevented him from following through.
Girls like Laura couldn't be found on any old street corner. When a man found one he was a fool to let go-even for ten thousand bucks. But if Laura were to cross him, if she were to, say, run off with another guy after taking all the profits from a particular caper, he'd track her down, beat her up, and see to it that before the week was out her beautiful backside, the one he loved to fuck, was planted on the front seat of some sultan's Cadillac.
"All right, lover, I believe you," Laura said finally. "Now why don't you make love to me? Your cock is getting so nice and hard in my hand."
"We should talk a little more about this caper, baby. We have plans to make and-"
"Later," Laura interrupted. "You can explain my part in the Evelyn caper later. Right now I have to get laid. Can't you feel how wet my twat is getting?"
Tim poked a finger into Laura's love hole and wriggled it around, the little gasp of pleasure she emitted like music to his ears. He grinned and said, "You're right, sugar. You are ready to be fucked."
"Aren't I always?" was the ravishing redhead's snappy retort, one accompanied by a broad grin.
"Always," Tim echoed.
"Then do me, lover man. Sock it to me good tonight."
"I want your ass tonight, Laura. It's been a while and-"
"No, Tim, please," Laura said, her grin vanishing as quickly as it had blossomed on her beautiful face. "Do me the regular way, darling. I want it in my pussy. Please, Tim."
"And I want your fanny, baby," Tim snapped, his expression suddenly stern, almost threatening. "Now why waste your breath arguing when you know I'll wind up fucking your ass?"
He was right, Laura thought sadly. There was simply no point trying to talk to Tim when he had made up his mind about something, whether that something concerned a caper he planned to pull or a sexual act he wanted to perform. He could be cruel and demanding at times, as stubborn as an ass, and should she refuse him now he would only make her suffer later by acting surly and ignoring her when she wanted normal intercourse.
"All right, you win," she said finally. "B-But not the other, Tim. Don't make me, please. I'll be-"
"It's high time you started to develop a liking for analingus, sweetheart. I'll be damned if I can understand how you can be so crazy for sex and still act so childish whenever I mention ass-licking or ass-fucking. There's nothing to be frightened about, you know."
"It doesn't frighten me, Tim," Laura said, trying to explain. "I just find those acts-repugnant. They're not healthy."
Tim chortled. "Baby, sometimes I think you have a split personality. You're the last person on earth I'd expect to draw the line at a particular sex act." He suddenly pushed himself up and turned around on the bed, sitting back on his haunches as he looked down at his mistress. "Now I'm going to stretch out belly-down on the bed. You'll take it from there, understand?"
Laura turned her head on the pillow, averting her eyes from her lover's hard gaze.
"I said do you understand, baby," Tim barked.
"Yes, I understand," was the beauteous redhead's soft, sad answer.
"Good, I'm glad you do," Tim snapped, his smile cocky, his tone of voice arrogant.
Seconds later he was sliding down into position on the bed, his lean, hard body in slow squirm as he stretched out on the bed and rested his head on the pillow, between his arms.
One day she would get up enough nerve to refuse him this most disgusting act, Laura promised herself. Did he really find it so hard to understand her revulsion, her detestation of analingus? Why did he find incompatible her love of normal cunt and cock intercourse and her total dislike of ass-fucking?
The one gave her intense, mind-blowing pleasure, the other provided little more than a feeling of fullness in her rectum, an urge to defecate. As far as she was concerned the two acts were as different as night and day, having in common only the fact that a hard prick was necessary to perform them.
How many females were there who liked to roll over and have their anus licked and tickled by a tongue? She didn't, not particularly, although the act did cause some funny tingling sensations to ripple over her body. But real pleasure, real satisfaction? Sorry, but getting her shit hole swabbed orally just wasn't her idea of ecstasy.
"I'm waiting, sweetheart," Tim called out.
"All right," Laura answered softly. "All right."
Less than a minute later, her tummy already doing flip-flops, she was positioned between her lover's legs, her magnificently-shaped body in lewd, obsequious crouch as she stared down at the taut backside she was expected to bathe with her tongue before zeroing in the puckered port itself.
"Come on, Laura," Tim barked into the pillow. "Get with it, dammit."
Laura swallowed hard. What absolutely lousy, rotten luck, she thought. There were only two sexual acts she truly abhorred, licking an asshole and getting fucked in the fanny, so she had to go and flip out for a stud who thought they were the greatest perversions going. Fate could be crappy at times.
CHAPTER NINE
"Yeah, honey, just like that," Tim said softly, his look of annoyance replaced now with a gently smile as his mistress commenced her obscene labors. "Up and down-that's it-slow, baby, nice and slow-."
Crouched low, her hands flat on the bed, one on either side of Tim's hips, Laura licked up and down her lover's right buttock and attempted to think of other things. Her long, silky smooth titian tresses fell about her face and trailed across Tim's flesh as she weaved her head left to right, up and down.
"Nice, sweetheart, very nice. You'll get to like this yet, I bet."
That'll be the day, Laura thought.
"A little higher now," Tim ordered, squirming his bottom up into his luscious girlfriend's face. "Up a-yeah, there we go."
Slowly Laura swabbed the taut ass cheek, her tongue in lazy circular swirl as she coated the flesh with her sticky saliva. She was like a cat licking the bottom of a bowl of cream, like a friendly pup lapping her master's hand.
"All right, the other cheek now, baby."
Laura lifted up and sat back on her haunches. She took a deep breath and chased from her mind that thought that-the worst was still to come. She knew the sickening routine by heart, having tongued Tim's tail on the average of once a week since deciding to become his mistress, or if you will, traveling companion.
First she was required to swab his right buttock, then his left, making sure that she missed not an inch of skin. Then it was down to the nitty-gritty, to the most humiliating part of all, to the puckered portal of his anus.
"What happened, sweetheart?" Tim asked. "You fall asleep on me or something?"
"Give me a minute, dammit," Laura said, her voice not expecially loud but very firm.
"What are you doing, Laura? Tongue exercises, maybe?"
The bastard thinks he's funny, Laura thought. Perhaps she ought to suggest that he visit a shrink and have the good doctor explain to him the reasons underlying his peculiar sexual preferences. That just might take the arrogant smile from her lover's puss.
On the other hand, implying that he needed mental help might so anger him that he'd refuse to fuck her when she needed to be fucked. Then she would be climbing the damn walls and cursing herself for calling him abnormal.
"Baby, will you get on with it," Tim said very impatiently.
"Lie still," Laura said without emotion, again slipping into a low crouch and moving her face to Tim's backside.
Seconds later she was treating his left ass cheek as she had his right, her hard-working tongue trailing up and down and across the hard hillock of flesh. Using broad sweeping strokes and long, lapping motions of her tongue she bathed the taut half moon, her long hair again falling around her face and shielding it from view.
A few minutes later, Tim was ready for the piece de resistance, his voice curiously thick as he informed his beautiful mistress of this fact. His pecker had started to enlarge soon after Laura began ministering to his right ass cheek, and now it was indeed of troublesome thickness, pressing hard into the mattress as it struggled to achieve total tumescence.
"Go ahead, Laura," he urged the reluctant beauty. "Stick your nose in the crack. Let me feel that wonderful hot tongue of yours in my ass.
If it wasn't so disgusting it would be laughable, Laura thought, once again bending to her demeaning task, her tongue snaking out from between her lips to commence a caress of the dark divide, the narrow groove separating left buttock from right buttock.
"Mmmmm, good, baby. Get it in deep now. I want to feel it wiggling around."
Starting at the top of the crack, Laura slowly licked downward. Tim told her to open his ass. She obeyed with phlegmatic calm, bringing her arms up and over his bottom and prying apart his cheeks with her thumbs.
"Yeah, that's the ticket. Now lick, sweetheart. Let me feel that beautiful tongue in there."
Almost as disgusted with herself for permitting this atrocity as she was with her lover for demanding it, Laura resumed her wholly degrading ordeal, her tongue drilling deep as it probed the cleft of Tim's behind. Up and down she licked, sliding slowly ever closer to her destination, her nose wedged warmly in the crack as her tongue wormed its way toward the dark private port.
And then-.
"Mmmmm," Tim moaned. "Stick it in, baby. Stick it in!" Laura stuck it in.
"Oh, shit, that feels good."
Determined to get this horribly perverse and demeaning deed over with as quickly as possible, the green-eyed redhead drilled her moist tongue deep into Tim's tail. She pushed her tongue into his anus just as far as it would go, her nose still sandwiched between the warm, quivering half moons of his hard ass.
"Work it, Laura, you know, in and out."
Fighting off the urge to retch, Laura began pistoning her tongue in her lover's shithole. He was clean, thank heavens, yet a faint telltale odor emanated from that wrinkled cavity, one which reminded her, as if she needed reminding, of the exact location of her tongue at the moment.
The wicked analingus continued for the next several minutes, the beautiful Laura repeatedly reaming her lover's anus with her thrusting tongue as he squirmed his bottom up into her face. Then, when he could no longer stand the painful pressure of his pecker, its pulsating thickness sandwiched most uncomfortably between the hard mattress and his belly, Tim called a halt to the perverse proceedings.
It was time now to fuck a fanny.
Laura lifted her face from her lover's bottom and fell back on her haunches, her upper body in gentle sway as she gulped down some fresh air. She ran the back of her right hand over her mouth as Tim flipped over onto his back, his passion evidenced clearly by the cock which sprung up to slap against his belly.
"All right, baby, get into position. I'm goin' to fuck the shit out of you tonight."
"Can't you give me a minute?" Laura asked angrily.
"I want your ass now," Tim fired back. "Not a minute from now."
"Go to hell."
"You don't mean that, baby."
"And suppose I did? What then?"
"Then the next time you craved a fucking I'd hand you a candle."
"You bastard," Laura cracked, glaring down at her aroused lover.
"And you're a beautiful bitch-my beautiful bitch. Now he down before I really get mad."
After a moment's hesitation, Laura crawled up the bed next to Tim and dropped down onto her belly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him push himself up off the bed, then she felt the up and down movements of the mattress as he maneuvered around behind her. Then his hard hands were on her ass.
"Your ass was made for fucking, sweetheart," Tim said, as if he suddenly felt obliged to explain his enjoyment of anal sex, the fantastic thrill he received from drilling his dong deep into his girl's oh so tempting tail.
"Just get it over with," Laura snapped.
"I'm going to eat you out first."
"Just do it and stop talking, dammit."
"Give me the pillow under your head."
Emitting a disgusted groan, Laura lifted her head from the pillow and pulled it away. She pushed it down toward Tim and then settled her head back on the mattress, resolving once again to one day get up the nerve to refuse her lover her behind.
"Now lift up, Laura," Tim said.
The titian-tressed beauty lifted her hips up off the bed and Tim immediately began stuffing the pillow under her belly. When all was ready, when her hips had been elevated and her gorgeous bottom was in provocative pose, he sat back on his haunches and commenced a gentle kneading of two spongy half moons of flesh.
Laura, her head now cradled between her arms, remained indifferent to the lazy fondling of her fanny. Perhaps she might have felt something, some small pleasure, perhaps, if it weren't for the fact that she knew this caress was but a prelude to the degrading dicking of her derriere.
It wasn't long before she felt Tim's face rubbing across her buttocks, his nose poking into the resilient flesh as he weaved his head about. He was kissing her now, slobbering over her bottom, his tongue like a creepy, crawly thing as it wormed wetly all over her.
What if she were to fart at this very instant, Laura wondered. Now wouldn't that be something? She was sorely tempted, as she had been on other occasions, to bear down hard and let loose a wicked blast of gas.
But it probably wouldn't accomplish a damn thing. Tim, fanny-worshipper that he was, would simply express a little surprise and then asked her to do it again. A man with a fanny fetish simply knew no bounds.
"Mmmm, so soft, so full," Tim was crooning now, his body in low crouch between Laura's legs as he paid oral homage to her breathtaking backside.
"Stop drooling all over my ass and do it to me, Tim," Laura again requested, her voice laced with exasperation.
"So now you want it, huh?" Tim said, a sardonic smile on his attractive face.
"Tim, sometimes I-."
"Well, if you want me to hurry up and fuck your bottom then you must want it. Maybe you've suddenly changed your mind about fanny-fucks. Is that it, sweetheart?"
Laura muttered a curse under her breath. She was hung-up between answering her lover back or suffering his sinister teasing. Either way she lost, she realized. It made absolutely no difference if she traded insults with Tim or if she let him taunt her. The end result would be the same-he'd thrust his hard, thick prick into her rectum and start reaming her as she prayed for a quick end to her revolting ordeal.
"No answer, huh? Well, all right, sweetheart. I'll just wet your pretty little shithole and then fuck it."
With that, Tim pried apart the firm cheeks of Laura's sensational seat and went about lubricating her niggardly nether hole, his experienced tongue darting into that resisting ring of wrinkled flesh as if it were seeking immediate shelter. He pistoned his tongue in and out of his girl's ass for a while, then pulled out altogether and began swabbing her anus, his tongue a fleshy brush as he coated the shithole with his saliva.
And then he was ready. More than ready. His blood-filled manhood protruded proudly, defiantly, from its hairy nest-a steel-hard stake of flesh ready to be driven into the dark, dank depths of Laura's shitty rectum.
"Okay, baby, get set. Here we go."
Laura closed her eyes and grit her teeth, the look of nervous expectation flashing onto her face. This was the part she hated the most, that first aching thrust of prick into her behind, the one that succeeded in breeching her poor bottom.
It wasn't so bad once he was all the way inside her rectum, once he had established a rhythm and was methodically pistoning his prick in and out, but what hurt like hell was the initial penetration, the sudden popping of cockhead into horribly stretched anus. It always wrenched a shriek of pain from her throat.
"C'mon, Laura, relax," Tim said, supporting himself on knees and one hand while he worked the head of his pecker around and in the spittle he'd left at the stunning female's shithole. "Shit, we've done this so often you should be able to take a coke bottle in there."
Seconds later he was again braced on knees and both hands, staring down at Laura's back while pushing his hips forward in an attempt to secure a foothold, a cockhold, in her stubbornly resisting nether hole.
"Oh, oh," Laura whimpered, expecting the awful pain any second now. A sharp cry of anguish was lodged in her throat, ready to be released when the time arrived.
Tim continued to bear down, the bulbous head of his bloated manhood straining against the miserly port. And then, after considerably less time had elapsed than he thought, his patience and perseverance was rewarded.
"Oww!" Laura cried out. "Oh, dammit to hell!"
"Easy, baby, easy," Tim soothed.
"It hurts, you bastard," Laura moaned into the mattress.
"The worst is over, you know that."
Having secured partial entry, Tim now began burrowing up into his girlfriend's beautiful bottom, his pulsing pecker inching its way up into the clammy tunnel of her rectum. Deeper and deeper went his meaty manhood, shoving aside all in its path as it traveled slowly, inexorably, through the shit-lined passage.
"One of these days," Laura threatened. "One of these-owww, on, shit."
"One of these days what?" Tim asked, resting his rigid root in his girl's dank rectal canal.
Laura was too angry to answer. But when Tim flexed his prick in her shit chute she emitted another groan of pain.
"Answer me, baby. What's goin' to happen one of these days?"
"I'll do this to you, dammit," Laura said through clenched teeth. "I'll-I'll shove a broom handle up your ass."
Tim grinned. "No thanks, Miss Hampton. I'm perfectly satisfied with your tongue. That you can stick up my ass any old time."
A pause now, a little derisive chuckle, and then Tim was again working his rigid rod into Laura's fantastic posterior, his hips in slow, jerking swivel as he threaded his tool through the humid much of her hurting after passage.
The scintillating redhead clenched her small fists and tried to ignore the dull, throbbing ache at her ass. She wondered how much of the painful prick was in her already. Three inches? Four? It was impossible to know for sure.
And still the prick came, pushing deep into her bottom, filling her aching rectal canal with its throbbing fullness. It felt as if a fleshy fence picket were being wedged inside her ass, as if her behind were being shored up with a fat, pusling beam of flesh.
But finally-.
"There we are, baby," Tim said triumphantly. "You got all of me now, sugar. How's it feel?"
Laura said not a word.
Again Tim flexed his cock in her fanny.
"Oh!" the stunning female cried out.
"Ready to be reamed out, Laura? Answer me, honey."
Go to hell, you bastard, Laura thought, knowing that her lover was gloating over her, laughing inwardly at her helplessness and humiliation.
"I thought you wanted to get this over with quickly," Tim said, staring down at Laura's beautiful face, the right side of which was pressed warmly against the sheet-sheathed mattress. "I'm not going to move until you tell me you're ready."
Insult to injury, the ravishing redhead said to herself. Now that he had packed his throbbing prick inside her poor, hurting backside, he would heap humiliation upon humiliation by insisting that she tell him to go ahead, to commence the revolting reaming of her shit-lined after passage.
"Well, baby?"
"Ream me out, Tim," Laura said softly. "Fuck my ass."
"Louder, sugar. I can't hear you."
You bastard, Laura cursed silently. And then, "Fuck my ass for me, Tim. Screw my shitty ass. Pound it hard, dammit."
"You want my cock, baby?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Fucking my fanny. I want it hard and deep. Do it to me-fuck my shitty rectum."
Less than a minute later, having extracted from his hapless mistress additional shameful requests, wicked pleas for prick blurted out in angry exasperation, Tim began moving his pulsating manhood in the clammy confines of her gripping back passage.
Slowly, steadily, savoring the fantastic friction, he would withdraw his cock from Laura's stretched shit chute until only the plum-shaped head remained snugly sheathed in her anus, then push back inside her beautiful bottom as a low moan of displeasure escaped her throat.
"How's that, baby? Good, huh?"
"Yes," Laura lied, experience having taught her the futility of ignoring her lover's lewd taunts. If she didn't answer when he spoke, he would simply stop all movement and repeat the question, then wait for her to respond while he flexed his imbedded cock.
"You want it faster now? A little harder?"
"Yes. Harder and faster."
"And deep."
"Yes, deep," Laura breathed. "Shove it in deep-up to my tits, Tim."
The lean fanny-fetishist, whose love of all things anal dated back to his high school days, to the time he wickedly cornholed a lusty little blonde cheerleader in the back seat of his jalopy, proceeded to increase the tempo of Laura's rectum reaming, her grunts of discomfort and tremulous moans like music to his ears as he worked his pecker in and out, in and out.
"Oh, baby, you're beautiful," he rasped.
"What an ass. What a sensational ass."
"Screw it, lover," Laura said into the mattress, hoping to prod Tim to a quick ejaculation. "Ram it in me, baby. Pound my ass with your prick."
In and out Tim plunged, faster than before but not with the unbridled abandon that would mark his thrusts into Laura's backside when he was about to come, when in quivering ecstasy he splattered her shit chute with a thick volley of creamy semen.
How delightful, he thought, how utterly thrilling it would be to fuck Evelyn's fanny. Although six years had elapsed since he saw her last, he still remembered her cute freckled face and her nice compact little body. In his memory she remained the adorable blue-eyed blonde, the tempting little chick ripe for plucking.
As lust inspiring as it was, he had not given much serious thought to screwing Evelyn's bottom during the time the two of them were dating. He had been too busy trying to do it to her the regular way, to somehow work beyond that frustrating point of petting her through her clothing to the point where, aroused by his tender caresses, she flipped up her little skirt and yanked down her pretty panties.
Of course, success had never been achieved, Evelyn having kept from his the precious jewel of her virginity-fore and aft. Was it foolish, he wondered, to think that now, six years later, she would bare her body for him and admit his throbbing tool into her vagina and shit chute? Maybe yes, maybe no.
If Evelyn were still single and playing the dating game, there existed the possibility that she had matured to the point where she now gave freely of her charms. Well, maybe not so freely. But it was not unreasonable to think that she had advanced to the stage of her sexual life where she was dispensing her favors to those men she truly liked.
If such were the case, if time and experience had combined to mature the sexually uptight Evelyn, then his sudden reappearance on the scene might be to her liking. He was certain that she had felt something for him six years ago, a certain affection if not outright love, and it might not be so hard to rekindle that feeling and arouse her to a point where, because she was now sexually experienced, she would not hesitate to screw with him.
From there, from the seduction itself, it would be only a matter of time before he charmed her into a state of total vulnerability and, with his usual craftiness, thrust her delightful little body into the open arms of a sex-happy sultan.
