MARC CHAPPEL SAT at a desk at the front of the classroom, idly watching his students take a test on Chapter Eleven of their history text. The semester was almost over, and his thoughts centered around his wife's plans for the summer. Joan, he knew, thought of it as no more than a long period of rest for him, and would expect him to accompany her on long, hot "pleasure" trips all over the country. She refused to understand that his doctorate didn't exempt him from summer work. He would have to try to get her to spend a month or so with her mother and settle for that.
He scanned the classroom, more out of boredom than anything else, looking at each student individually and trying to guess how much longer the test would take. It was almost four o'clock; he wanted to collect the papers and go home. He looked up and down the rows, making mental guesses about each student's grade by observing posture. There was one girl who was cheating.
She had started almost as soon as he handed out the test papers, edging up in her seat to look over a shoulder, exaggerating an occasional fake yawn as an excuse to look around. Marc had been watching, but the novelty soon wore off. He had seen too much cheating to be interested; he simply made a mental note of her amateurish method and found her name on his seating chart-Lynda Roberts. Marc decided that she probably knew as much about the test as she did about cheating; her movements, even if they were taken innocently, were enough to make her stand out in the room. She became more and more desperate as time ran out, straining to get a good view of the papers around her. Marc was embarrassed for her; he decided to try to catch her eye and shame her into stopping. He stared at her intently.
She was dressed like a typical Western University coed; her shift was little more than a long pullover. Because of the summer heat, she wore no stockings, only light sandals. Her black hair was pulled back in a scholarly bun, and her heavily-rimmed glasses added to the image of a secretary disguising her natural beauty. She had the typically dark suntan of the Western sunworshiper.
Finally her roving eyes caught Marc's. He frowned at her, as severely as he could, and thought she would sit quietly for a while, pretending to do her own work. But she smiled at him! It was not a nervous smile or a pretense of innocence. Her mouth opened slightly, revealing white teeth which seemed particularly brilliant because of their dark surroundings. Then the pink tip of her tongue crept out to moisten her lips and the corners of her mouth turned up coyly. She removed the ugly glasses; her dark green eyes now contributed their part. Marc felt his palms start to sweat. His face began to burn and he turned his eyes to the desk in front of him.
After a few moments he looked up again. She still held her glasses in her hand. When she caught his glance, she slowly ran the tip of her tongue across her mouth again. Marc couldn't turn away. She pretended to clean her glasses, blowing across them softly and then wiping them on the hem of her dress. She exaggerated the motion, pulling the cloth up so that Marc could see more and more of her legs. Holding the glasses up to the light, she frowned in mock dissatisfaction and started over again. Her dress was at mid-thigh now, being pulled higher. Eventually she replaced the glasses and her expression became that of the conscientious scholar Marc wiped his brow with the back of his hand and a drop of sweat rolled down into his left eye. He blinked, and when he looked up again, she was staring intently at her test paper. But her dress had not been pulled down, and she was resting her feet on the desk in front of her with her knees raised and spread. Marc could see clearly that she wore no panties; he caught a brief glimpse of black curls before he stood up.
"Class, your time is almost up. Would the last one to finish please bring the papers down to my office?"
A few students looked up as he hurried out the door, but most became even more frantic in their efforts to finish. Marc stopped in the hall to get a drink of water, then hastily unlocked his office and went inside. He stood for a minute in front of the air-conditioner, grateful for the cool flow which dried his sweat. Then he sat down to think about Lynda Roberts. He leaned back, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. He needed time to calm down before he went home for the day.
The knock at the door was welcome; it meant that the class was finished and he could go. He got up and opened the door; Lynda Roberts handed the papers to him.
"That was really a tough one, Dr. Chappel. I think I flunked it."
Marc felt the sweating begin again. "Come in for a few minutes, Miss Roberts, please. I need to talk to you about this test."
She walked past him into the office. Marc glanced down the hall. It was deserted, but there was a class two rooms down which would be leaving shortly. He closed the door and turned to face Lynda.
"Miss Roberts, could you please tell me what I said about cheating at the beginning of the semester?"
"You said, 'I don't care what you do, but don't get caught'." She took her glasses off and put them in her purse, looking at him innocently.
Marc slammed his fist down on the desk. "Don't act like you don't know what this is all about! I'm surprised that the whole class didn't put their pencils down and watch you as a lesson in how not to be discreet!" He sat down and nervously lit a cigarette.
"But, Doctor-"
"Don't call me 'Doctor'-you make me sound like a veterinarian."
"I'm sorry. 'Marc,' isn't it?" She didn't wait for an answer. "But, Marc, I had to do it. I couldn't study last night, and I-"
"I'm not interested in your reasons and I don't care whether you cheat or not. The thing that bothers me is the fact that you were so obvious about it. And besides that, the way you acted when I tried to shame you into stopping-"
"Oh, come on, now, Marc, you're no baldheaded Professor Emeritus. You can't be over thirty."
"My age has nothing to do with it." Marc was beginning to calm down. The girl would obviously not listen to a practical lecture.
"But Marc, it does. I certainly wouldn't act like that in front of one of your senile colleagues. I'd cry and point out that it was my first time, and hope to be let off. But it's different with you. You're young enough to notice the girls in your class. Mine isn't the first dress you've looked up, is it?"
"You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you? I could report this to the Dean, you know. Cheating is a serious thing here at Western, you know."
"Oh, come on, Marc you're starting to sound like the student handbook. And you won't turn me in. I came in here to make sure of that." She reached behind her head to loosen her hair; her breasts rose with her arms pulled up tightly against the cloth that held them. Marc put his cigarette out, studying the ash-tray carefully. She sat on his desk, still working at her hair. Her dress pulled up, but she didn't bother to adjust it. Finally she shook her head; long black tresses fell to below her shoulders.
"Marc?"
"Yes?" He looked up at her.
"Don't you think I look better with my hair down?"
"I think you're very attractive, Miss Roberts. I also think you're a little too smart to believe all the stories you hear about student-teacher relationships. I'm a married man, you know."
"None of that matters to me. I bet I can do better than all the stories and your wife. I bet you'll like me better, too."
Marc wanted to get mad again, to tell her to get out. But he was fascinated by the self-confidence of this would-be seductress. Besides, he had never cheated on Joan before, and their sex life was beginning to get dull. Maybe it was time. Surely the girl was simply trying to save her academic record; she couldn't tell anyone. And he couldn't ignore the stirring in his groin caused by the thought of seeing more of her young body. He would try playing it her way.
"My wife has much more experience with me than you do. Miss Roberts. My tastes don't include amateurish college girls."
"I'm over twenty-one, and I'm not an amateur. See for yourself." She stood up and turned her back to him. "Zip me down."
Marc did as he was told, noting that she wore no bra. She eased the dress off her shoulders, then turned to face him. He decided not to back out.
"They don't look like they belong to an amateurish girl, do they?" She cupped her full breasts in her hands, bringing both forefingers up to toy with the nipples. They rose a little at each touch, standing out stiffly like the pupils of two large, dark eyes, staring at Marc. He coughed and tried to look disinterested.
"What about the rest of me?" Lynda allowed the shift to fall to the floor, then stepped out of it, turning in a complete circle. Marc caught a glimpse of the two high, plump mounds that formed her ass, as deeply bronzed as the rest of her body. She stopped, facing him. A black triangle of curls locked his gaze, inviting his touch. Lynda sat back on the desk, placing her feet on the arms of his chair so that a moist, pink slash formed down the center of the triangle. He looked up at her; her mouth formed an "O" of mock surprise and she leaned forward to brush her swollen nipples back and forth across his face. As he reached for them, she took his hand and placed it over her damp crotch, lowering her head to kiss him. Her tongue darted into his mouth and her hand tickled his right thigh through his pants. He pulled away to get to her nipples, biting them, then sucking and letting them throb against his tongue. Her hand moved to his belt, working furiously to release his rigid cock. It burst out; she squeezed it gently and a drop of liquid formed on the tip. She squeezed again, then rubbed lightly up and down so that his entire rod was lubricated. He was breathing heavily, struggling to keep control. He pushed her back roughly; she lay back, spreading her legs wide and extending her arms in an invitation for him to come into her. He moved forward and lodged the smooth, swollen head of his penis in the gaping redness of her cunt. She pushed him away.
"Wait a minute, Marc. I promised you something better than your wife."
He looked up in surprise. She sat up and kissed him savagely, then her mouth made a slow, wet path down his chest. Her tongue tickled his flesh-first his neck, then nipples, then stomach, then down to his thighs and up a little to nip at his tightened balls. He moaned, gripping her hair with both hands. He pulled her head back; she looked up at him, her eyes flashing and her mouth gleaming hungrily. He pulled back harder. Tears welled up in her eyes and he could see her breasts straining upward between his legs. Very slowly, he eased her head back toward his cock. As she drew near the drooling tip, her tongue flicked out to touch it. At this electric shock, Marc released her. She continued to move slowly; first the tip of her tongue, then of his prick disappeared into her mouth. He could feel himself plugging her throat. Her nostrils flared, straining to keep up with her heavy breathing. Marc put his hands on her shoulders, alternately squeezing the flesh and running his fingers down her back. Her tongue seemed to be everywhere, flitting faster and faster, back and forth, around and around; her full lips opened and closed in a milking action, as close as possible to the base of his cock. Then the pointed nails of two fingers came up to play lightly with his balls and he exploded. She sucked hard at each rush of hot jissom; her left hand moved up quickly to help squeeze the last drop of his come out. She backed off, then rested the side of her face on his left thigh and licked him clean. Her touch became an agony for Marc. He pushed her away and she got up and sat on the desk again. He looked quietly at the swollen lips of her pussy while she got two cigarettes out of her purse, lit them, and handed him one, smiling.
"Was that good? As good as your wife?"
"It looks like you enjoyed it as much as I did," he said, gesturing at her crotch with his cigarette.
They both laughed when she moved back a little, exposing a damp spot on the desk blotter.
"Don't worry. It'll pass for a coffee stain." She got up and walked around the office, pausing to look out the window at the empty plaza below. Marc got up quickly, struggling with his pants, to close the blinds.
"You forget your nakedness, Miss Roberts. What if someone sees you?" He started to button his shirt, but she pushed her hands under it and over his shoulders, pulling it down and letting it fall to the floor.
"Your pants, too, Marc. I want to look at you."
He obeyed; they both stood, naked, and looked at each other. The recent sex bout allowed Marc to observe her more objectively; she was certainly a beautiful lush young woman. Her tits stood out so firmly that a touch was necessary to prove them soft. He turned her and found the same quality in the well-defined roundness of her ass. The lean smoothness of her legs and stomach and the cunt which stubbornly refused to stop pouting made his cock start swelling again. He took more than a little pride in the fact that she had wanted him. Even though he was approaching the dismal years of the over-thirty generation, he had managed to keep himself in shape. And his cock, in its half-hard state, hung far enough down his thigh to satisfy most women. He reached out to pull her toward him. She moved forward quickly, kissing him lightly, then turning around to press her back against him. He moved his arms in under hers, pressing her breasts together and tweaking the swelling nipples. They stood out hard, at least half an inch. He rolled each between a thumb and forefinger while his lips nibbled at her shoulders and the nape of her neck. She arched her back, forcing her taut buttocks up against his prick. It stiffened immediately and she shifted up and over it so that it nestled in the warmth between her legs. His left hand moved down to her cunt, sliding easily down the slick furrow to find her swollen clit. As he rolled it with the tips of his fingers, she ground herself against him and moaned.
"Oh, Marc, I like it this way best of all. Take me this way, please. Take me from behind." She brought her arms back around to hold him close to her and moved toward the desk. He followed, still worrying the knob of her clit with his hand.
She bent over the desk, spreading her legs wide and bracing her feet firmly on the floor. Marc pulled away to adjust his aim; he didn't see how he could miss the slick, pulsing hole. But again, just as he lodged the head of his cock and began a ball-deep thrust, she stopped him.
"No, not like that. I want it the rear way, really!" She reached down between them to moisten his prick with her cuntjuice, then pulled the head up to meet the crinkled lips of her tight little asshole. "Go slow until you're all the way in. It hurts at first."
Marc started uneasily, but regained his enthusiasm when he discovered how hot and clinging her rectum was. He moved slowly in until he felt his balls dampened by her cunt. Then he began to stroke, slowly for fear of hurting her, then faster as he felt her sphincter muscle sucking him deeper and deeper into her bowels. His recent orgasm allowed him to last a long time; he leaned back and then fell forward to bite her neck and rake his fingers across her breasts. She reached down between her legs to tickle his balls; his hand followed hers and discovered that, while she gave him her fingers, she kept her thumb for herself. Finally, he felt the explosion coming. Bringing his hands down between them to squeeze her ass, he bit down hard on her shoulder and shot a second load of hot come into her. Her buttocks tightened in a vise-like grip; she gave a cry of ecstasy as climax after climax flooded with her release. Then her muscles relaxed. Marc came out of her. He stood up, wiping himself with a handkerchief, while she lay on the desk, breathing softly.
"Hey, don't go to sleep. It's about time for us to leave, don't you think?"
She turned lazily over; her hand still covered her crotch. "Thanks a lot, Marc. That was the best I've had in a long time." She took the handkerchief from his hand to wipe her cunt and hand, then dropped it in a wastebasket. "I want some more of that, and I want it soon."
"Fine, but can't we do it normally for a change?"
"We'll see. I don't really like it that way. though." She picked up her shift and put it on, then busied herself with reconstructing her bun. Marc got dressed and collected the papers he wanted to take home.
"Can I give you a lift anywhere, Miss Roberts?"
"No, my brother is going to pick me up at the Student Union. By the way, will you be home tonight?"
"Yes, I suppose so. Why?"
"We might just drop by to visit with my favorite professor. I'm sure you wouldn't mind that, would you? Besides, my brother will want to meet you."
"Why?"
"Because I tell him everything." She picked up her purse and ran out the door.
Marc started to follow her, but she was already at the end of the hall. "Miss Roberts," he called after her, "wait a minute!"
She turned and waved, shouting happily, "You can call me Lynda now."
CHAPTER TWO
DRIVING HOME, Marc worried about a lot of things. What if the girl did show up at the house? Could he handle himself without Joan suspecting something? Could he go home now and hide the memory of what he had just done with one of his students? But he remembered how much better than Joan Miss Roberts-Lynda-had been. There might really be something to that girl. So he would have to try to get by with it; he would probably have to get used to fooling Joan. There was nothing to do but begin now. If she noticed anything, all he had to do was mumble something about a bad day and lock himself in his study. She would probably stay pissed off for a day or so, but she wouldn't know. He would fix things so she never knew. Spending a little more time at the office would be the only excuse he needed. He would work it all out very carefully, because he had to have Lynda again-he was sure of that.
Joan greeted him at the door with her customary peck and "How did it go today?", then went back to the kitchen without expecting or waiting for an answer. Marc dropped his briefcase inside the study door and went directly into the bathroom for a shower. He let the water run full cold for the last minute or so and came out feeling fresh and clean. He did ten quick push-ups on the bedroom floor, noting with satisfaction that the exercise brought no sweat, then dressed and wandered into the kitchen.
"What's for supper?"
"Tossed salad, baked potato, broiled red snapper. I'll fix your drink now. The paper is in the study."
He waited for her to make his customary highball and went to his study to read the paper. He gave the headlines a cursory glance, then dropped the paper on the floor and sipped his drink, wondering idly about what the evening would bring. Joan called him for supper.
They made the usual light conversation, finished the meal, and smoked a cigarette together. Joan fixed the second drink for Marc. He retired with it to his study; she put the dishes in the sink and went to the den to watch TV. They didn't expect to see each other again until the eleven o'clock news. Joan settled down with her regularly scheduled programs, turning to the proper channel at the end of each program. Marc quickly graded the day's tests, noting with surprise that Lynda had a perfect score. He took a break to fix himself another drink and was on the way back to the study when the doorbell rang, so he answered it himself, not waiting for Joan.
Lynda Roberts, dressed in a properly modest skirt-and-blouse outfit, stood beside a young man of twenty-three or twenty-four who was obviously her brother. He had the same black hair, green eyes, and clean, young body as she did, but in a masculine way. He wore tight denim pants and a sweatshirt. It was clear that the sweatshirt hid as many muscles as the pants exhibited.
"Hello, Doctor Chappel. This is my brother, Ron Roberts. I told him about our conference this afternoon and he really seemed interested in meeting you, so we decided to ride over. We aren't interrupting anything, are we?"
"No, of course not, Miss Roberts-Lynda. Come in. Come in, Ron." They shook hands; Marc sensed the reserved power behind the grip of Lynda's brother.
Joan finally came out of the den. Marc made the introductions hinting that Lynda and Ron were there to discuss classes. But Ron ruined that with, "I hope we weren't too forward, making a social call on a hostess we hadn't even met, Mrs. Chappel."
Marc noticed that she almost blushed at the low, sexy tone in his voice. He didn't get mad; her obvious attraction to this young stud served to ease his conscience. "Joan, I have a few things to discuss with Lynda. She's in my World Civilization class, you know. Why don't you entertain Ron for a few minutes, then we'll be out for drinks and small talk."
This was as smooth as any one of the four could have asked for; there were three answering smiles and they separated. Marc and Lynda watched Joan and Ron go into the den, then retired to the study. Marc closed the door behind them, turning to snap at Lynda, "What the hell is the meaning of this? What exactly did you tell him?"
"Well, you don't have to get mad. I didn't lie to him. I told him I sucked you off and you fucked me up the asshole, that's all. He wanted to see what your wife looks like, that's all."
"That's all, is it?" Marc reached out to grab her arm. "No, Lynda, that's not all! In the first place, you made a perfect score on that test, so you weren't really cheating. In the second place my wife is not available to your well-hung brother, under any circumstances. In the third-"
"Wait a minute, Marc. There's no need to get upset. Ron knows about every blow job I ever gave, so you don't have to worry about that. And the women he screws beg him for it. So don't worry about your wife; she won't be forced into it. But, if she does, or if she finds out about you and me, neither one of you can do anything about it."
"Why not? I have a full professorship, you know. That carries a certain amount of respectability with it." Marc refused to be bettered by this girl. He was determined to dominate her.
"Not as much as a Senate seat." Lynda smiled as if at an outwitted child and began to remove her blouse.
"What do you mean, 'a Senate seat'?"
"Come on, Marc, who did you vote for in the last election? Whose picture did you see in the paper in the society section, posing with his lovely daughter? Whose picture did you see in the sports section, posing with his record-holding son?" She had her blouse off, and proceeded to follow it with the rest of her clothing. But she left her hair up this time.
"Senator Frank Roberts." Marc looked absently at Lynda's nude body. "Maybe you'd better give me a full explanation before we go any farther."
"Okay. I guess you ought to know it all," she said, sitting on the floor beside his chair. He sat down and she took his drink. "We are what you would probably call a sick family. There are only the three of us left now-my mother died in an 'unusual accident' while horseback riding. Anyway, Father taught us a lot of things when we were very young-things most adults don't know about. He also taught us how to give the appearance of being perfectly proper, which was necessary since he is a public figure. So nobody knows of anything at all any of us has done wrong. But we do a lot of things that people call wrong. We do them with each other, and we tell each other when we do them with other people." She paused to find a cigarette and take a sip of Marc's drink. "There's one other thing you might have suspected. I can't have sex with you the normal way; I promised Father that I would stay a virgin. We are a part of society, you know. I will probably marry somebody who expects blood on the sheets. So anything else goes, but you can't expect that of me."
Marc retrieved his drink, downed what was left of it, and wanted another. He fumbled for a cigarette; Lynda lit one and gave it to him. He sat back to let his mind absorb what he had just been told, but Lynda decided to become a distraction. She rested her head on his leg, her cigarette in one hand and the other hand playing with the lowest button on his shirt. He looked down quickly; she pulled at his shirt, wanting him to join her on the floor.
"We can't, not here. What if my wife-"
"Ron has instructions. Come down on the floor, Marc. I want to kiss you."
He moved off the chair. His hand brushed across her breast, finding the nipples soft and flat. She lay back flat, pulling him with her. He could feel the heat of her body through his clothes, her nipples beginning to harden against his chest. She rolled him off her to open his shirt and pants. Exposed to her light touch, his cock stood straight up. She kissed him; their tongues fought to exchange places. Then her lips moved to his ear, then neck, then slowly down his chest. She swung her leg up and over him, so that she straddled him at the shoulders-Her mouth came down to nip at the base of his cock; her hands spread his legs as wide as possible and she dipped down to tickle his asshole with the tip of her tongue. Marc stiffened, then relaxed and let her in. She found his prostate and began stroking it. He felt the pressure building in his prick; her ass came down on top of his face, depositing her pulsing cunt directly over his mouth. He nibbled inquisitively until he found the clit. It sprang up at him; he attacked it with his tongue as Lynda came up from between his legs and tried to swallow his cock. She sucked like a starving calf, her tongue whirling around the bursting member, her lips trying to pull it off. Marc redoubled his efforts on her clit; he moistened a finger on her pussy and stuck it deep into her asshole. She pressed down on him, threatening to suffocate him, hunching hard against his face. His buttocks heaved up; the tip of his rod lodged in her throat. She bit down hard, and the pulsing of his prick became a heavy spurting. As she backed off to swallow, Marc felt her cuntjuice moisten his face and her body collapsed onto him. He rolled her off, but her mouth stayed attached, determined to lap up the last drop of his come. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer and stood up, pushing her away.
"We'd better make our appearance in front of Joan and your brother."
"Okay," she said, dressing quickly. "Show me the kitchen and I'll make drinks while you go to the bathroom and wash your face."
Mark pointed out the kitchen and went to straighten up. He met her in the hallway and they walked together to the den, where Joan and Ron were discussing the poor choice of reruns. Marc gave his drink to Ron and went back to the kitchen to get new ones for Joan and himself. When he returned to the den, he turned the TV off and got a hostile stare from Joan.
"We can't talk over that racket, dear."
"It's all right. I'd already seen that one."
Marc sat on the sofa with Lynda. Joan was in her TV chair; Ron sat on a stool at her feet.
"I was just telling Lynda that she made a perfect score on the test I gave today. She's one of my best students. Maybe, if she spends enough time here, I can make a history teacher out of her."
"Oh, Marc, how dull! I'm sure she has better things on her mind than a stuffy old classroom. Don't you, Lynda?"
Lynda winked broadly at Ron before she answered. "Yes, Mrs. Chappel, I certainly do. Your husband is on my mind a lot. We just got acquainted today. Since this afternoon, I've sucked his cock twice, he's eaten my pussy once, and he's fucked me up the asshole. That's much more fun than a stuffy old classroom!"
Ron burst out laughing. Marc choked on his drink and turned a dark shade of red. Joan stood up and drew back her right hand. As she approached Lynda, she said, "How dare you talk like-" Lynda stood up quickly, dodged Joan's swing, grabbed her wrist, and twisted it behind her back. "Like that in your house? I just thought you ought to know the truth. None of us want to do anything behind your back, do we, Marc?" She didn't wait for an answer. "No, we don't, because you might discover us by accident, and then there would be a scandal. And we couldn't stand that-none of us. My daddy would lose his Senate seat and your husband would lose his job. So we all have to be very honest with each other and very dishonest with the rest of the world. You understand that, don't you?"
She twisted up on Joan's arm. Marc rushed back to break her grip. "That's enough of that, Lynda. Here, Joan, sit down and have a drink."
"Don't touch me. Why don't you deny it? Why don't you throw them out?"
Marc reached down to hold her chin up so that she was looking into his face. "I can't deny it because it's true. And, even if it were a lie, it wouldn't do us any good. They can force us into just about anything they want, Joan. We're powerless. Their father is a State Senator; their word is worth a lot more than ours. We haven't got any choice."
Lynda produced a pillbox from her purse. "Here, give her one of these. It will calm her down."
Ron came over to help hold Joan while Marc forced the pill down her throat. She fought them, but was easily overpowered. Her head fell forward in a few moments and she was unconscious. Marc let her fall back on the sofa.
"What was in that thing? It sure worked fast enough."
"I don't know, but it's a pretty rare drug. Daddy had to oppose some popular bills to get it. She'll be more co-operative when she wakes up, though."
"So why didn't you just slip it to her in the first place?"
"It's not permanent-we still have to convince her to go along with everything. She'll wake up in a few minutes, acting like she's a little high." Lynda sat in the TV chair with her drink.
Ron went to the kitchen to get three fresh ones. Marc sat, quietly, and lit a cigarette. Then he stood up and walked nervously around the room, toying with the furniture.
"How do you propose to get her to agree to all this? I'll admit that you broke me easily enough- I was ready for it for a variety of reasons. But she's different. She never has had much interest in sex; it's like a wifely duty to her. She certainly won't want it outside of marriage, or in any way other than the standard face-to-face, genital-to-genital, approved manner."
"It won't be easy, but we can do it. We've done it before! The main thing is to expose her to a lot of things she thinks are dirty-break down her shame resistance. It'll be easy the first time, because she's still under the influence of the drug. After that, we have to keep it up, reminding her of what she's already done."
"Which is?"
"Ron will screw her, here, with you and I watching. She won't resist, and she'll remember it. Ron will really make it good, too. He's got the biggest cock you've ever seen." Her voice betrayed the fact that she had enjoyed her brother's cock before, and hinted at envy at never having it, or any other, in her cunt.
Ron returned with the drinks. Marc took his and drained half of it at once. He was beginning to feel the alcohol, and didn't want to be very sober for what was coming up. Although he was still shocked by what was happening to him, he couldn't avoid the fact that he had enjoyed his three contacts with Lynda more than his six years with Joan. He looked at her unconscious body. She was certainly a well-endowed woman, and her figure hadn't started to sag. She did exercises to keep it firm, more for the girls at the supermarket than for him, though. If this brother-and-sister team awakened her sexual energy, maybe it would turn out to be worth it. Maybe they would spend a few evenings without the TV. Ron was sitting on the arm of Lynda's chair, whispering to her. They must be planning Joan's initiation, Marc thought. He couldn't act amateurish about this. Ron had to realize that he was an equal partner, not a voiceless subject.
"Hey, let me in on the secret. What's the plan?" Ron looked up. "I'm going to screw her, on the floor. I'll just act like you and Lynda aren't here, but you have to make sure she knows you are. You two can fuck if you want to, but I wouldn't blame you if you're done for the day." He smiled with the last sentence, and Marc could see that he wasn't being laughed at.
"I might just have to pass it up. Besides, I have to pay attention to your technique. It takes a lot of stoking to heat her furnace," he said, pointing at Joan. The three of them laughed, and she woke up. "Oh, goodness! I'm afraid I drank a little too much. I feel just a little high!" She giggled, and the others smiled sympathetically at her. Ron came over to sit down beside her, putting his arm around her to help her steady herself. His hand rested on her shoulder, then moved down to cup her breast. She didn't notice it until he found the point of her bra and gently pinched it, catching her nipple.
"Now, Ron, you just can't do that! Marc won't like it at all!"
"Marc doesn't mind. Doesn't it feel good?"
"Yes. It's nice, as long as Marc doesn't mind."
"Your dress is all messed up. Here, let me fix it for you." Ron adjusted the hem of her full skirt, then slipped his hand under it. Again, she didn't notice. But his hand moved up her stocking until it found soft, bare flesh. She jumped, squeezing her legs together so that his hand was trapped. "Surely Marc wouldn't allow that!"
"Yes, he would. He knows it makes you feel good. It does, doesn't it?"
"Yes, as long as Marc doesn't mind." She looked at Marc for reassurance; he smiled. So she spread her legs wide. Ron's hand moved up quickly, sliding under her panties to find her cunt already dripping expectantly. His other hand came off her tit to turn her head toward him; he kissed her, and her tongue didn't wait for his. He pulled away, removing his hand from her pussy at the same time.
"Stand up, Joan. We have to undress now."
She was perfectly willing to follow this order; she was sure now that everything was all right with Marc, and anxious to get some more of Ron into her snatch. He helped her, making a neat pile on the sofa of her skirt, blouse, garter belt, and stockings. Then, slowly, he removed her brassiere. Her breasts, even though they were a little larger and older than Lynda's, didn't fall an inch. They stood out, almost defying gravity, with the nipples pointing upward and outward. They were a creamy white, since Joan did her sunbathing in a bathing suit, but the whiteness served to accent the deep red of the large circles which surrounded her even darker nipples. Ron lowered his head to kiss them, each in its turn; when he pulled away, they reached out after him like little fingers. He dropped to his knees, kissing and nibbling at her stomach, particularly her navel, as his hands slipped her panties down to her feet. She stepped out of them as an excuse to move her legs apart. He buried his face in the downy brown softness of her bush, giving her clit one quick little flick with the tip of his tongue. Then he got up.
"Go in the kitchen and get yourself another drink, Joan."
She looked at him, her eyes pleading. She didn't think she could walk; her head was swimming and her legs barely held her up. All she wanted to do was lie down on the carpet and take him inside her. But his expression demanded obedience; she walked away slowly.
Ron moved at once to strip. When he took his pants off, he exposed a cock which most men can only dream about. It was a full foot long, but so thick that it looked short. Marc stared in envy, but Lynda placed her hand over his crotch and whispered, "It's almost too big for some things, and yours is just right for everything!"
He felt himself stiffen; he smiled at her, and they undressed quickly. Ron sat on the sofa and signalled to Lynda. She dropped to her knees and began to suck at Marc's organ. Joan re-entered the room and saw them. Ron called her over to the sofa.
"See what they're doing, Joan? Have you ever done that to him?"
"No."
"He likes it. He likes it a lot. All men do. You should learn to do it. Do it to me, just like Lynda's doing it to Marc. Come here, I'll just sit on the sofa and you can sit on the floor between my legs. Put your drink down and put my cock in your mouth."
She obeyed instantly, for she was fascinated with his size. She tried as hard as she could, but her mouth wouldn't hold any more than the head of his giant member. So she licked it, and sucked it, and took it out so she could kiss the entire length of it. But this wasn't enough for Ron. He pushed her back, roughly, so that she fell flat. Then, after pulling her feet up and apart and bracing them against the sofa, he dropped down on top of her. Her pussy was already dripping on the carpet; he aimed his cock and entered her. She felt herself being split by the width of it and cried out. He paused and looked down but the sight of his cock firmly planted in her cunt heightened his desire, and he forged on. Her cries became soft moans of pleasure as his prick forged deeper and deeper into her; she reached down to pull her breasts up and offer them to his lips. He took one between his teeth, pulling it up and down as he lunged at her, alternately ball-deep and barely in. She was used to his size now, and started clamping down on him to increase the pleasurable friction. He released her breast, pressing down on her so that it continued to be stimulated by the motion of his chest. She raised her head to bite his cheek, then his ear. And finally she felt herself falling over the edge; she clamped down on him as hard as she could. He pounded against her with such a force that Lynda, excited by the noise of their crotches slapping together, sucked the fourth orgasm of the day out of Marc. Simultaneously, Joan's body was racked by the combined power of her own multiple climaxes and the potent spurts of Ron's come. Marc spun Lynda around so that she could witness the spectacle, reaching down at the same time to pull at her throbbing clit and allow her the pleasure the other three had already reached. The four of them, exhausted, sat for a few minutes without speaking, went one by one to the bathroom, and replaced their clothing. They sipped their drinks, three of them watching Joan, who was still under the influence of the drug and very happy. She stretched out on the sofa, resting her head on Ron's lap. Lynda was the first to speak.
"I think it would be best if we stayed here tonight. How about it, Ron?"
"Fine. Who gets the spare bedroom?"
"Marc and I. There is a spare bedroom, isn't there, Joan?"
"Sure. It's all made up. But we aren't going to bed yet, are we?"
Marc spoke up. "No. We'll be up for a while. How about fixing us something to eat? I could use three or four raw eggs now."
They all laughed, and Ron accompanied Joan into the kitchen. Marc turned the TV on to catch the news, content to act as if everything was perfectly normal.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN JOAN WOKE up in the morning, it took her a few minutes to clear her mind. She didn't have a hangover, but she didn't immediately remember why she was sleeping with someone other than Marc. She stirred, and felt a slight ache between her legs, then it all came back to her.
"Oh, no! How could I?"
Ron woke at the sound and turned over to smile at her. "Feeling a little ashamed? Don't; you enjoyed it, didn't you?"
She got up and ran to the spare bedroom. There was no one there. She went to the kitchen and found a note from Marc. It said that he and Lynda had already gone to school, and that she should "keep Ron occupied until we get back." She threw it away, noticing with a little shock that she was naked. She returned to the spare bedroom to get a nightgown, then went to the bathroom to find Ron, nude, shaving with Marc's razor. A glimpse of his limp cock made her blush; she ran back to her bedroom and threw herself across the bed, burying her face in a pillow. Ron finished shaving, wiped his face clean, and followed her. He sat down beside her and put a hand on the small of her back.
"It's a little late to be ashamed, isn't it? You remember last night, don't you?"
"Y-yes."
"Everything? You remember sucking my cock, fucking me, watching Marc and Lynda?"
"Yes! Stop it, please stop! Leave me alone!"
"No, I won't; it's just starting. If you remember everything, you remember that you have to go along with what we want. And you might even learn to enjoy it without thinking it's dirty. So stop crying and get up. I want some breakfast."
She turned around to look at him, but his expression held no sympathy. Drying her eyes on a sheet, she got up and went back to the kitchen.
Ron took a shower. As he was drying himself, he smelled coffee, so he walked into the kitchen and sat at the counter, rubbing his hair with his towel. Joan refused to look at his body, but stared at the steaming cup she placed in front of him. She followed it with a plate of eggs and sausage. Washing the dishes while he ate, she turned to pour herself some coffee and he caught her glance.
"You're not as friendly as you were last night. What's wrong?"
"Please, don't talk about last night. Just give me a chance to get used to it. That's all I ask-it isn't too much, is it?"
"No, it's not too much," he said, finishing his food. "More coffee."
She refilled his cup and he walked out dragging his towel on the floor. She drained her cup and went to take a shower, as if cleaning herself would wash away her memory. She scrubbed her breasts and crotch with special care, hoping that the harsh soap would erase completely the touch of his lips and cock. But she felt her nipples stiffen a little under the cool rain and she blushed, even though she was alone, at the thought of her sinful actions.
When she put her night gown back on and entered the bedroom, she found Ron lying on his back on the bed. He still hadn't put any clothes on, and his flaccid organ lay across his left thigh like a sleeping dog.
"Would you please leave while I dress?"
"No. I don't want you to get dressed. Take your robe off and lie down beside me."
She hesitated, but he wagged a warning finger, smiling, and she remembered that the rules of the game favored him. So she obeyed, slowly, covering her crotch with one hand and trying to mask her breasts with the other. Ron quickly pulled her hands away, though, and put them over his cock and balls. The great organ responded immediately to her unwilling touch. She almost pulled away, but his left hand brushed across her stomach and rested over her right breast, toying with the nipple. She felt the heat rising in her cunt, and wanted him again. She kissed him; her lips lingered on his cheek, and she decided to prove that she was worthy of him. Her mouth began to explore his body, repeating faithfully what it had learned the night before. Ron turned over to allow access to his ass, but she would go no lower than the base of his spine. He rolled back, but she would only brush the base of his rod with her lips. His right hand struck out swiftly to grab the hair at the back of her head. With a jerk, he pulled her mouth up and forced it down over his thick knob. She licked obediently, and he was satisfied. He twisted her body around so he could taste her pussy, but, when he pulled her onto him, he felt her tongue pause. I "Lick it all over. Get it good and wet." He pinched down hard on her cunt, and she did as she was told. When he thought it was slick enough, he pulled her off and got up, adjusting her position on the bed so that she was lying on her stomach with her legs over the edge. He stood between them for a minute, looking down with satisfaction at his glistening prick and the twin mounds of her ass. He placed one hand on each swell of white flesh, pushing them apart to expose the pink buttonhole of her anus. Joan started to squirm, wondering what he was going to do. He pushed down harder and crouched to guarantee that his aim would be true. Lunging hard, he penetrated her virgin asshole with the first three inches of his manhood. She started to scream, but he reached up to push her face into the mattress. When he released her, she was sobbing softly. Again he pushed his way in; she tightened against him, causing his cock to swell even more. She tried to wriggle free, but she was hopelessly impaled now. Ron allowed himself to be pulled forward a little by her struggling, then rolled over with her and sat up, so that she was on his lap. He put his hand on her shoulders and pushed down; she slid painfully down to the base of his rod. He reached around to tickle her clit, but she was in too much agony to notice. She fell forward, but the pressure was too much for Ron. He had to bring her back up to keep his prick straight. He put his hands around her waist and began pumping her body up and down on him, masturbating on the hot, clinging flesh of her bowels. She cried out and fainted as she felt his come gushing up his rod and spraying her. When Ron felt himself going slack, he allowed her to fall forward and off of him. He got up and went to the bathroom to wash. When he returned, she ran past him and locked herself in the bathroom. He heard several flushes and laughed.
Ron dressed and went out to the den to watch TV. He found a station showing an old war movie and settled down to smoke a cigarette. At the first commercial, he got up to mix himself a drink and heard Joan in the bedroom. He fixed a second drink, putting one of the pills in it, and took it to her.
"Here, drink this. It'll make you sleep and you'll feel a lot better when you wake up."
She took the glass from him, mumbling "Thank you."
He went back to the den with his drink and sipped it through the first half-hour of the movie. That got boring, so he checked on Joan; she was still asleep. Then he went to the front door, picked the morning paper up, and looked through the mail. There were a couple of magazines, so he brought them in with the paper, fixed another drink, and started reading. By the time he finished with the newspaper, he heard Joan stirring, and soon felt her arms slide down around his neck.
"Hi. Bored?"
"A little. Did you have a good nap?"
"Yes, but my behind sure hurts."
"We'll let it rest for a few days. There are other things you have to master." He put the magazine down and led her around to sit on his lap. "Kiss me."
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, then pressed them against his. He refused to open his mouth, making her work to get her tongue between his teeth. She pulled away, laughing, kissed him on the forehead, and starting unbuttoning his shirt. When she got it off she removed her own blouse and her brassiere, sitting up to offer her breasts to him. He took one nipple between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and the other between his lips, rolling both until they hardened. The pleasure became an aching throb for Joan. She got up and removed the rest of her clothing and Ron's pants. His cock sprang up to greet her. She took it, reverently, in both hands and bent to kiss it, rewarded with a single, large drop of fluid. Ron leaned back and reached down to caress the lobes of her ears. Her soft mouth dipped and covered the head of his rod; she folded her lips over her teeth to avoid causing him any pain and began to suck, gently at first, then faster as her tongue increased its skill at this task. She stroked the exposed length with her right hand. Ron took her left forefinger into his mouth to moisten it, then guided it to his ass. She slid it in, under his guidance, and started to massage his prostate gland. He moaned and thrust forward. Joan almost gagged, but her hunger for his hot come defeated the impulse to pull away. Her tongue became a bit of fire, stabbing rapidly at each separate nerve in the head of his prick. Finally it found the hole in the tip and started to work its way in. Ron came off like a case of TNT and she was forced to back off a little to hold it all. She swallowed the hot cream, using one hand to squeeze him and the other to ram his ass in an effort to make him expel every drop. As he got limper, she took more of him into her mouth. When he pushed her away, she kept her finger up his ass, moving around it so she could sit on his lap. He gave her a little of his drink, draining the rest of it himself, and motioned toward the kitchen. She got up, reluctantly, and bent to kiss his limp cock one more time before she left. Ron looked at the clock on the wall. It was a little after two; the drug would wear off soon after Marc and Lynda got there. That would be good-maybe the three of them could break her down without having to rely on it any longer.
"Here's your drink, darling. Do I get a reward for bringing it so soon?"
"Yes, in a minute. Let me smoke a cigarette first."
She jumped to get him one and light it. He played with it leisurely; when he ground it into the ashtray, she was waiting on her knees at his feet.
"The same way again?"
"To start with. If you do it right, I'll give you a present."
She tackled her job eagerly. When his cock didn't rise as quickly as she wanted, she deserted it to finger his ass and put his balls in her mouth, gargling them lightly. That did it-he closed his eyes in ecstasy and she moved up to lick the base of his bulging pole. He decided that it was time for her reward. He pulled her up slowly, pausing only a second to allow the heat of her tits to envelop his shaft. As her lips reached the level of his, he reached down to pull her legs up over his. When they were braced on the arms of the chair, he found her pussy with his right hand and started to knead her clit. The little pea became a pulsating ball under his expert touch. She moaned and pulled forward, spreading her legs even further and bringing her cunt closer to his prick. He bent it forward a little and hooked the lip of her snatch, then slid forward to get the proper angle and pulled her down on it. She slid on easily; when her ass met his thighs, she braced her hands behind her on the arms of the chair and began a rhythmic back-and-forth swing of her pelvis, working solidly up and down the length of his rod. He reached between them to continue his play with her clit, and the combined stimulation of his cock and fingers changed her rhythm to a frenzied jerking. Her eyes rolled back; her mouth, even though it was wide open, sucked desperately for enough oxygen to keep her going. When she leaned forward, Ron's mouth attacked her breasts; when she leaned back he gave both hands to her clit. The first orgasm hit her like a flash of light. She jumped up, but came back down with his cock still securely planted in her snatch. He didn't stop, but worked faster and faster at her clit. His hands were dripping with cuntjuice; it was impossible for him to get a grip on it. He kept trying, and each time the elusive little knob slid through his fingers Joan shot up to the tip of his shaft and came down harder than the time before. Finally he felt his time coming. He gripped her waist with both hands to get her to pump as fast as possible. He wiped his hands on her stomach to dry them and succeeded in getting a firm hold on her clit. She shot straight up off of him; when she plunged back down, exhausted, his full load gushed deep into her womb.
They got up together and, finding themselves completely drenched in each other's love juices, went to take a shower.
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN MARC AND Lynda returned to the Chappel home, they found Ron and Joan still playing in the shower. The pair had decided to lick each other clean, from head to foot, and were having trouble concentrating on things like backs and elbows. Lynda reached in and turned the hot water tap off; they finished quickly. Marc went to mix drinks, but returned in a few minutes to find Lynda watching the couple experience the same difficulties in drying each other.
"Hey, enough's enough! You two get dressed and come out to the patio. We're going to have a cook-out," he said. He and Lynda left to set up the grill; when Ron and Joan joined them, the charcoal was started and they were sitting in lawn chairs with their drinks. Joan found drinks for Ron and herself and sat on the edge of Marc's chair.
"Anything interesting happen at school today, dear?"
"Not much. Everybody wants to get it over with. We finish next week. My last exam is Tuesday afternoon, so I'll have my grades in by Thursday. Tell her the rest, Lynda."
"I called Daddy to let him in on what's happening, then went by the Housing Office. Ron and I are officially living with you now. Isn't that nice?"
Joan giggled, "Yes," it's like having our own son and daughter. But it's nicer!" She looked around for a cigarette and couldn't find one so she got up to go inside.
"Don't get too optimistic," Ron said, after she was gone. "I tried it this morning straight and she couldn't take it. So I had to give her another pill. It'll wear off soon enough. Then we'll really have to fight her."
Lynda spoke up. "We'll do something really wild. That ought to break her."
When Joan came back, Marc started four steaks on the grill and Lynda went in to fix a salad. They started eating hungrily, but Joan ended up quietly pushing the last half of her steak around on her plate, then silently collected the dirty dishes and went to the kitchen.
"Okay, she's straight. Let's go." Ron got up. Marc and Lynda followed him to the den and helped to move furniture back so that the center of the room was bare.
"Come with me to get her, Marc," Lynda said. They went to the kitchen and found Joan sitting at the counter, staring at the wall.
"We all need fresh drinks, dear. You fix them and Lynda will help you bring them in."
"I don't need any help."
"Now, Joan, don't be difficult."
"What are you going to do to me now? Just tell me that so I'll be prepared. What are you going to do to me now?"
Lynda reached out to pat her on the shoulder. "It'll be all right. You'll enjoy it when you get used to it. It just takes a little getting used to, that's all."
"Getting used to? You expect me to get used to sick things like what Ron did to me this morning? Do you know what he did to me? He stuck his... his thing... in my-"
"I know. It hurt a lot, didn't it? He hurt me the first time, too-he's so big. But I'm used to it now, and I like it that way more than anything. Be patient; in a few days, you won't be able to get enough of it."
"Come on, Joan. The sooner you accept it, the better it'll be. Now hurry up with the drinks." Marc walked out, leaving the two women alone. Lynda tried to be cheerful, but Joan continued to act like she was becoming a martyr, not an enthusiast. They carried the drinks into the den.
"Well, the stage is set, I see. Am I supposed to undress now?" Ron laughed at her sarcasm. "See, she's nowhere near ready."
"Be patient," Lynda said. "Take her clothes off."
Ron obeyed. Soon Joan stood naked, blushing, in the middle of the floor. Marc looked at her, but she just stared at the floor.
"She stands out like a hard cock. Come on, make her feel at home." Ron threw his clothes on the sofa; Marc and Lynda followed his example. Joan looked up and saw Marc's arm around Lynda; she started to cry.
"There, there, now. If you knew how happy Marc is, you wouldn't cry," Lynda said. "Here let's dry those eyes."
She put her arms around Joan and kissed the tears in her eyes. Joan tried to struggle free but she hugged her tightly, grinding her body against Joan's, breast-to-breast and crotch-to-crotch. She forced the unwilling head up to press their lips together. One hand slid down over Joan's ass, then around between them to spread the lips of her pussy and find her shrunken clit. It refused to respond to her caresses. She released her.
"Marc, get on your knees. Joan, all fours. Start sucking. You remember how, don't you?"
"Y-yes," she said, dropping down and crawling around in front of Marc. She looked up at him, pleading, but his answer was the prodding of his cock against her face. She took it in her mouth and began to work it. Lynda pulled two pillows off the sofa and placed them between Joan's legs to keep them spread and provide a cushion for her own head. Then she lay down on her back and pulled Joan down over her face. She started working at the obstinate clit and it soon responded weakly. Joan's pussy grew damp; Lynda was able to work three fingers into it and start finger-fucking her. Ron took this as his cue to go down on his sister. He lapped eagerly at her clit. It jumped out immediately; he was able to suck and tongue it as easily as Joan's mouth glided over the straining cock of her husband. Lynda's response to his touch made his prick start aching; he wet it thoroughly with her handy cuntjuice which had already overflowed to grease her ass. Working his way up her rectum, he kept two fingers on her clit. Her attack on Joan became a convulsive biting. This, combined with Ron's tongue soothing the ache that remained in her anus, forced Joan to respond. She finally began to suck Marc with enthusiasm; her hands probed his balls and ass. When he responded passionately, she lodged the tip of her tongue against the tiny hole at the tip of his rod, started jerking her head back and forth on him, and screwed a finger into his ass. Ron had taught her well; she massaged his prostate smoothly and used her free fingers to scratch lightly at his balls. He lunged, jamming her throat and choking her with his come. She tried to back off, slapping her pussy hard against Lynda's face, and felt the shock of her own climax. Lynda bit down hard with her lips and sphincter, jerking hard against Ron in the thrill of her orgasm, and he blew his load up her ass. All four collapsed.
Joan was the first to get up. She ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. The other three sat calmly. Lynda lit cigarettes for them. When Marc finished his, he went to look for Joan. He heard the shower running, so he returned to the den.
"I don't think it's going to work."
"I'm starting to worry, myself," Lynda agreed. "There's not much left that we can try. But we've got an ace in the hole, don't we, Ron?"
"Right. Let's get dressed. We have to go over to our apartment to pick up some clothes, anyway. That'll give us a chance to try it on her."
"Try what? I can't think of anything we haven't done," Marc said.
"You'll see. I built a 'pleasure room' for Lynda and I to use. It's filled with handy gadgets."
"Okay. Let's get dressed. I'll get Joan." Marc pulled his pants on and went to the bedroom to get a fresh shirt. He brought Joan back with him. Her face was drawn and white. They went out to his car; Ron and Lynda got in the back seat. Joan sat against her door during the drive across town.
When they entered the apartment, she stood just inside the door, thinking that they were only going to pack a couple of suitcases and leave. The other three went into Ron's "pleasure room."
It was the size of a bedroom, but it had no windows or closets. One door was the entrance; the other led to a small bathroom. The walls were padded (Ron explained that this was the most effective form of sound insulation) with black leather, as were two couches. The remainder of the furnishings were odd-looking machines. Lynda led Marc over to one that vaguely resembled an electric exercise bicycle.
"This is my favorite. What it amounts to is a fucking machine," she said, pointing out the specialized features of the thing. "Ron made it. He started with an exercise machine, but added a lot to it. There are clamps on the pedals and handlebars so you can lock someone onto it. The seat is redesigned, with extra padding and width to hold the legs apart. The center of it is hollow, to accommodate this." She pushed a button on the side of the machine. A large rubber phallus rose out of the center of the seat. "It's heated internally to slightly higher than body temperature and it's a little harder than a man."
Marc noticed two rubber cups, attached to wires, hanging over the handlebars. "What are those?"
"They're part of a little extra guaranteed to drive a woman crazy. They're wired to a small transformer to give a slight shock. They stay on by suction, and the electrodes fit over the rider's nipples like spark plug caps. There's a corresponding electrode built into the front half of the seat so it's directly under the clit. They each give three shocks for each cycle of the machine, which is a total of over five hundred shocks a minute at top speed," she explained. "We'll try her on this one first. Go get her."
Marc went to the door and called Joan. He led her into the room; Ron came over to undress her. He ripped her clothes off quickly and carried her to one of the couches, placing her across it, positioned so that he could easily lap at her cunt.
"Set the machine up," he said, and bent down to start worrying her pussy with his tongue. Lynda pushed a button to retract the rubber penis, then produced a bottle of thick liquid from under the machine and poured some of it on the leather seat, rubbing it in.
"Olive oil," she explained to Marc. "It keeps her from getting saddle sores."
Ron called him. "She's getting damp. Come help me, Marc."
They each took an arm and leg and carried her, spread-eagled, to the machine. She didn't resist, but her eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling and her mouth was closed in a cold, hard line. When they placed her on the seat. Lynda helped Ron strap her securely on. Marc noticed that the pedals had been reinforced to hold the entire foot snugly and at an outward angle, forcing the knees as far apart as possible.
Ron pulled a couch over so that the three of them could sit directly in front of her and observe. He motioned for Marc to join him, and explained some of the mechanical details of his toy while Lynda went to get cigarettes and drinks. When they were all settled comfortably, Ron said, "Turn it on, Lynda. Set it on ten."
"Okay. That means the seat will go up and down ten times a minute," she explained to Marc. "How does that feel?"
Joan refused to open her mouth, but stared as straight ahead as possible. Ron had adjusted the crankshaft of the cycle so that the seat moved a distance of three feet up and down, so her position changed from a squat to an all-fours with straight legs at every pump of the seat.
"Her ass is barely staying on the seat, Ron. Should I bring the cock up?"
"Yes, and start the shocks."
Lynda pushed two buttons. Joan's eyes opened wide in surprise, for she hadn't heard the explanation about the electrodes or seen the rubber prick before.
"How does it feel now? Familiar? I made it from a mold of myself, so it ought to be big enough for you." Ron stood up to move closer to her. She didn't answer. He slapped her, hard, across the face.
"I said, how does it feel?"
"It's too much for, ah, ah, me. Too, ah, ah much!!"
Marc noticed sparks jumping the little distance between the seat and her pussy when her body was pushed back. "Hey! How much voltage is in that thing anyway?"
Lynda sat beside him. Don't worry-it's like static electricity, all volts and no amps. It can't hurt her."
Ron was still teasing her. "You don't really like it, do you!! I'll make it go faster! Twice as fast!" He set the knob at twenty. "Is that any better?"
"Ah, ah, ah, too... ah, too, ah ah much."
"Oh, that can't be too much. I can make it go three times as fast as that." He twisted the knob up to sixty. Her ass was being forced up and down a total of six feet every second; she was sweating heavily with the strain on her arms and legs. Her entire body glistened; her hair was matted down over her face. The sweat worked under the cup on her left breast and it fell off. Ron stopped the machine. Lynda jumped up quickly and attached strips of elastic to the cups forming a kind of bra. After wiping Joan's face with a towel and fastening her hair back with a rubber hand to keep it out of her face, Ron asked, "Are you ready to start again?"
"Oh, oh, ah, no, please, ah, ah, ah, I can't ah stand, ah, ah it! Don't, ah, ah, please. I'll, ah, do whatever you-"
"I know. We all know you'll do what we want. But we have to teach you to enjoy it." He patted her ass then switched the machine back on, setting it at sixty again.
Lynda sat close to Marc. "Watch. The sweat makes the electrical contact better. She'll go wild now." She put her hand on Marc's thigh. He looked at her; her eyes were sparkling with excitement and her free hand pulled her skirt up, revealing her pulsing, pouting cunt. She began to pluck at her clit, but Marc pulled her hand away and replaced it with his. She leaned over to nibble at his ear for a moment, then pulled away to discard her clothes. Marc did the same; when he sat back down, she dropped to the floor and started to suck him off.
"Hey!! Get up so she has a good view of you," Ron called, when he saw what they were doing. Marc stood up on the couch and Lynda crouched in front of him, sticking her ass out invitingly for Ron. He checked Joan to make sure that she was performing according to his desires. She was soaking wet. Juice trickled out of her split cunt to mix with the sweat that flowed from her entire body, running down her legs and forming two dark spots on the carpet beneath the pedals of the machine. He slowed her speed to fifteen so he could keep his hand on the seat and work a finger up her ass. Her moans grew louder, but he continued to pump savagely at her rectum, bending his finger to make up for its small size. She screamed twice; Marc turned to look at her.
Ron withdrew his finger. "It's all right-she's starting to come." He turned the machine back up to sixty and walked over to stand behind Lynda's dripping butt, talking now to Joan. "It feels good now, doesn't it? It feels like the cock is coming up through your heart, and the shocks are coming so fast that your clit is buzzing like a hornet. Did you like my finger in your ass? Do you remember how my cock felt in your ass? Do you remember what my cock looks like?" He stripped quickly to reveal his giant erection. "Watch Lynda take it. She loves it up the ass. And I'm going to teach you to love it like that. When I finish with her, I'm going to give it to you. And then I'm going to give it to you again, and again, and again, until you learn to beg me to stick it up your tight little ass!" He reached over to wipe his hand across the slimy seat and transfer her pussyjuice to his cock, then rammed it swiftly into his sister's ass. His pumping drove her mouth closer and closer to the base of Marc's rod. He gritted his teeth with the sheer pleasure of being planted in this insatiable young mouth and turned to look at his wife. Her head jerked back and forth with the motion of the machine; all her muscles had collapsed under the force of her orgasms. The rapid pumping of her ass on the seat was a highly erotic sight for him. He glanced back down at Lynda and her ass seemed to move just as quickly under the strength of Ron's thrusts. Marc pulled away from Lynda and turned around, offering her his ass. She spread the cheeks and rammed him with her tongue, probing deeply to find his prostate. Marc grabbed his cock and gave it a few fast strokes, spraying his come out over the edge of the couch. He pushed back against Lynda and she lost her balance, toppling over backwards with Ron. They landed in a sitting-up position on the floor; the impact forced his prick farther than it had ever been before up her bowels, and the extra pressure on them both immediately caused two simultaneously violent explosions.
Ron got up quickly and turned the machine off, stopping it with the seat down and Joan in a squatting position. He withdrew the rubber penis, pushed her forward on the seat, and pushed the button to drive it into her ass. Since she had already been speared there once that day, it moved easily into her, although the pain was almost as great. He set the machine at five and went to the bathroom to clean up. While he was there, he turned the taps on to fill a sunken bathtub with water that had been treated with a special body oil. After Marc and Lynda had washed up, he turned the machine off and freed the exhausted Joan, carrying her into the bathroom and carefully lowering her into the tub.
"I'll leave her there for about a half-hour. She's too tired to get out by herself. I left the taps running and opened the overflow valve; it'll be as good for her as a whirlpool bath. Let's have another drink."
Marc was glad for the opportunity to sit with a smoke and a cold drink, untroubled by sexual appetites, and relax. He hadn't really noticed whether or not Joan had suffered on the machine, and envied her the soothing bath, so he didn't worry about her at all. She hadn't been in his mind much for the last two days; he was busy getting to know Lynda. The pretty young coed, in the few hours that they had been together, had almost completely filled a void in his life that had bothered him for the last few years of his marriage. In vitality, enthusiasm, and sparkle, the dark-haired beauty was just the opposite of his reserved wife. Joan had few friends in their neighborhood; the only people who really meant anything to her still lived "back home." And "back home" was a sleepy little crossroads that she had supposedly given up to marry him.
He hadn't lost any sleep over what they were doing, either. From the time when, as a child, he played "Doctor and Nurse" with the little girl next door through the first dates with girls that knew how to kiss to his last days as a bachelor, Marc had regarded the differences between sexes as something to be carefully explored and fully enjoyed. That had ended, of course, with his marriage. He quickly discovered that the enthusiasm for petting Joan showed during their engagement masked a gritted-teeth loathing for actual intercourse. With work, he had been able to force a climax out of her. But she never enjoyed it; if she did, she refused to admit it. It hadn't been so bad during the years when he had to put most of his energy into finishing his education and establishing himself securely in a teaching position. When that was over, though, he still had the wants and needs of a virile young man, and Joan satisfied him only with distaste, acting as if she was helping him with a bowel movement. He clung to hopes that she would change, and remained faithful, if horny. So, when he decided to take the seductive young coed in his office, the wave of release that swept over him washed away the spots of frustrated years and left no room for the consideration of morals. He was willing to do whatever his new love wanted.
He looked at her, lying on the floor, drawing designs on her bare stomach with the water that condensed on her drink. She was as beautiful a person as he had ever seen, her bizarre habits had done nothing to disfigure her body. And he knew that her mind was unusually alert, trained by years of survival as a different kind of person. She had the intelligence, energy, and curiosity to go out looking for new people and things, and the personal charm to fit easily into a new situation. Although Marc realized that he hadn't even bothered to look for her faults yet, he saw her as the personified summary of everything wonderful that Joan didn't have. And he knew that the faults he would eventually find could never balance her worth as a partner, either in sex or in life.
Ron went back to the bathroom and brought Joan out, placing her on a couch. When he started to dry her with a soft towel, Lynda got up. "Let's go clean up, Marc."
They found the tub still full and the water circulating; the tub was large enough to hold them both, so they got in, easing down into the hot, oily liquid. Lynda stretched out at full length. When Marc joined her, she rested her head on his shoulder. They didn't talk or move, and were both soon asleep, buoyed and blanketed by the soft current.
Ron finished his task and spread Joan's legs to inspect her. If any damage had been done by the machine, the bath had repaired it. She didn't respond when he fingered her cunt, but he noticed her wince as his hand moved down between the cheeks of her ass. "Does it hurt much?"
"It aches. All the way into me, it aches."
"Gee. That's too bad. But you'll get used to it. I'll help you get used to it. Eat me."
She looked at him, terror-stricken. "You told me this morning that you wouldn't do it again for a few days!"
"I changed my mind. Eat me." He straddled the couch and walked up so that the soft tip of his cock rubbed against her mouth. She dutifully took it between her lips and began kneading it with her tongue. As it swelled under this stimulation, Ron had to sit on her chest to keep from bending it painfully, and she was forced to hold her head up uncomfortably to maintain her hold on his organ. It lay in the valley between her full breasts; Ron pulled them together over it, stretching them so that he could mash the nipples together and masturbate in the resulting tunnel of flesh. After a few minutes of this, his pole was fully charged. He released her tips and saw that the nipples were stiff. Backing off, he roughly turned her over to expose the spread cheeks of her rounded tail and the gaping lips of the stretched crack that was his target. He planted the head of his cock in it, pushing in just far enough so that his foreskin formed a curtain over the coupling of their two bodies. Moving his hips in a circular motion, he noted happily that she gripped the corners of the couch and her knuckles whitened. He rammed home with one powerful stab, pulled her legs together to increase the friction for himself and the pain for her, and started pumping.
She started crying loudly, but the sobs that racked her body were delightful jerks on his prick. The tip of it was exposed to the heat of the very center of her body and to the grip of one of the first muscles a human being learns to use. Ron pushed harder and harder; at each thrust, her body inched forward on the couch. Soon her waist was at the edge, her face on the floor. The angle became painful for Ron and he reached down to pull her up to a sitting position. He lay back on the couch, pulled her legs apart so that she was straddling him, and started pumping her waist up and down. When he dropped his hands and she did not continue the motion, he hit her as hard as he could in the small of the back and started her moving again. This time she kept moving when he released her, jumping up and down, impaled on this giant staff, forced to torture herself. In desperation, she reached down between her legs to find and caress his balls, hoping for a quicker release. They tightened under her touch, and she moistened the forefinger of her free hand and twisted it into his ass. He exploded at once; each pulse of his come, jetting into her, relaxed his prick a little and brought her relief.
CHAPTER FIVE
WHEN MARC WOKE up, he was alone in the bathtub. He dried himself and walked out to the "pleasure room" to find his clothes and dress. Ron and Lynda were sitting on one of the couches, drinking and talking. Joan was asleep on the other one. Marc shook her shoulder roughly.
"It won't do any good. I gave her a shot to knock her out. She was complaining a little about the pain." Ron got up to get a drink for Marc.
"What time is it? I feel like I've had a full night's rest."
"That's from being in the bath. It's only a little after one." Lynda patted the couch beside her, indicating that she wanted him to join her.
He took the drink that Ron offered and sipped it. "Is Joan doing any better?"
Ron shook his head. "Physically, yes. She responds well to all the things she calls dirty. But she refuses to think of them as anything other than dirty. Until we change that, she won't become one of us."
"Maybe we'd better lay off for a few days," Lynda said. "She's been through hell yesterday and today."
"From her point of view. I think it's best to keep the pressure on. If we relax, she'll think we're giving up," Ron answered. "What do you think?"
Marc hesitated. He didn't want to be the one to decide. "I agree with Lynda. Let's cool it for five or six days. Then we can try again and see if she's changed. It won't hurt to make friends with her. I don't guess I'm her favorite person now."
"Okay. Majority rules. Kid gloves for the next week, and you sleep with her. Let's get out of here before she wakes up though." Ron drained his drink and dressed.
Lynda did the same, and helped Marc dress Joan. They carried her to the car, got the clothes Ron and Lynda wanted, and drove back to Marc's house. Ron and Lynda went to the spare bedroom; Marc removed Joan's clothes and put her in their bed, then stripped and joined her, but he couldn't sleep.
He looked at his watch. It was now three o'clock in the morning. He smoked a cigarette, then noticed Joan beginning to stir. Before she was fully awake, he put his arms around her and kissed her. She smiled up at him, shifting her body around so that he was on top of her. He kissed her again, passionately, and her hands teased the backs of his thighs. He dipped his head to nibble at her breasts. They responded immediately to his hungry caresses.
Joan moaned softly and brought a hand around to stroke his rod, gently at first, then feverishly. He rolled off of her to get his hand into the damp warmth between her legs; she squirmed at his touch, working her cunt over his fingers like a wet glove and squeezing his cock. He mounted her quickly, drove his prick deep into her pussy, and pushed his hand under her to pull her ass up tightly against him. As he started stroking, he looked down at her. Her eyes were closed and the corners of her mouth were turned down in disgust. He felt himself going limp, and quickened his pace to try to finish it, but it did no good. He rolled off. "That was a quick one," she said ignorantly. "Yes. Let's go to sleep." He forced his breathing to become slow and regular, but his frustration wouldn't allow him to rest. When she started snoring lightly, he got up carefully and went out to fix a cup of coffee. He took advantage of the time alone to catch up on his classwork, and had a large breakfast ready when Ron and Lynda joined him, about eight.
"I'll be glad when school's out," Lynda said, between mouthfuls. "I'm exhausted."
Ron smiled. "We were up until four. By the way, I heard you stirring. Was anything wrong with her?" He jerked his head at the bedroom.
"No. But I got enough sleep in the tub at your place, so I used the extra time to grade some papers and arrange my lectures through the last few class meetings. I don't have anything left to do but mark the exams and average grades." He got up and took his dishes to the sink. "Find something for us to do tonight, will you, Ron. Come on, Lynda. We have to get to school." He walked out to his study to get his briefcase.
Lynda ran to her bedroom to dress. She met him at the front door and they walked together to Marc's car. As they drove off, Lynda slid over on the seat and kissed him on the cheek. He glanced at her and smiled, then gently pushed her away from him.
"People will talk." They both laughed. Lynda turned the radio on and sang with the music until Marc pulled into the faculty parking lot beside the history building on campus.
"See you for lunch," and she was gone. He climbed up the stairs to his office, dropped his briefcase off and turned the air-conditioner on, and walked down the hall to his nine o'clock lecture.
Lynda went to the Student Union lounge to look through the newspapers and wait until time for her first class, at ten o'clock. As she leafed absent-mindedly through the morning paper, her thoughts turned to Marc. She liked him, but she didn't love him because of his connection with Joan. She thought of Joan as a potentially domineering bitch who had been thwarted so far by Marc's masculinity. Even though she didn't have the details of their sexual difficulties, she knew that they weren't meant for each other and wondered how a woman who was such a nothing had attracted such a man. She was sure Marc had been taken in during the courtship and didn't realize what he had done until at least a month after the honeymoon. But Marc wasn't the type to be bothered by unexpected developments. He probably shrugged his shoulders, decided to make the best of it, and turned his attention to his work. Lynda wondered if the same thing would happen if she mentioned divorce to him.
She had been engaging in various unusual sexual practices with different members of the family for as long as she could remember, so her love life had been different. Most young girls start having "love affairs" when their bodies go through the changes that prepare them for womanhood. But by that time Lynda had been too experienced to be attracted to a boy just because of her body chemistry. She had chosen her companions carefully, and most of them had never known what she and her brother did together. The ones that she chose to let in on the secret were the ones that she thought wouldn't be completely repelled by the news. They usually weren't, but, until Marc, quickly found some other reason to end the friendship. So he was the first one she really a chance to get close to. She almost loved him; if he loved her, and if he would break completely away from Joan, she wanted to be his wife and forget her family.
The soft ping of the lounge clock made her look up; it was ten of ten. She replaced the paper on a rack, gathered her books together, and rushed off to class.
They ate lunch in the faculty section of the Student Union restaurant. Marc explained to the few scandal-mongers who were brave enough to approach their table that Lynda Roberts and her brother Ron, the only children of Senator Frank Roberts, were now living at his home. This gave the rumor mills some satisfaction, at the same time removing him from suspicion. The word would spread soon enough that it was all right for Marc Chappel to be seen with a dark-haired young beauty.
The afternoon dragged for Marc. His students, wearied by the school term and lulled by the summer heat, fought to keep from dozing in class and listlessly took down the few important notes he gave. The last class, the one Lynda was in, was pockmarked by the empty seats of a Friday afternoon. He gave up and released them after only fifteen minutes.
When they arrived at the Chappel house, Joan was up and had been watching TV. Ron told them that he had left her alone except for conversation; she had responded by reverting to the TV to see if she had missed anything important the day before on any of her soap operas. As it turned out, there had been an illegitimate birth and a separation; she had looked forward to both for weeks and had been cranky for the rest of the afternoon because she hadn't been there to share these happenings.
"And, before I forget, we're going to a movie tonight. It starts at eight-thirty, at the Downtowner. It's The Winter Before Lost." Ron took Lynda to their bedroom and left Marc to cheer up his wife. Marc was unsuccessful, but Ron wasn't.
"Anything happen at school? Did you see Barbara?" He locked the door behind him.
"No. Yes, I saw her at two. She was with Steve Wills, that football player. I caught her in the restroom; she said they were pinned, and she loved him. She said to tell you hello."
"Shit! One more date and I would have gotten her. She knew the feel of my cock and she wanted it. Fuck! And I'm supposed to go no-hands with the TV queen."
"You've still got me, big brother," she said, pulling him to the bed. "Let's sixty-nine."
They stripped together and lay across opposite sides of the bed, with their heads meeting in the middle. They pulled closer together to kiss, then moved up on each other. After a pause to nibble, tug, and harden each other's nipples, they moved quickly on, stopping when Lynda's legs clamped down on her brother's head and her mouth worked over the head of his cock. Since she was used to its size, she was better at sucking it than Joan. She grasped it at the base with both hands, pumping up and down the length of it as her tongue lapped busily at the tip. She had to hold her head high to reach the top of it, so she was able to brush her nipples lightly across his stomach at the same time. They were as hard as fingertips, and tickled him delightfully, sending little ripples of pleasure across the skin of his flat belly. He worked at her clit like a demon, molding it up into a knob of pure nerves. Dropping his face a little lower, he ran his tongue quickly in and out of her pussy; each time it withdrew, it pulled out a little juice that ran down the crack of her ass and welled up in her anus. He moved lower to lap it up, then taste and tickle her asshole, which remained crinkled and tight even after years of penetration by his huge pole. She took the hint, and released her suction grip on his cock to dive down between his legs and tongue his prostate, still jacking with one hand and letting the other drop down and rest lightly on his balls. He moved back up to skim his tongue back and forth over her clit; she dug her fingers into the hot tube running the length of the underside of his cock and her mouth jerked up out of his ass. She wrapped her lips tightly around the rim of the head of his prick and packed her tongue into the hole in its tip. Hot come blew it back out; her throat heaved in her attempt to swallow it without spilling a drop. Her cunt bucked against his open lips washing his face and signalling that she had finished too. They collapsed together; when Lynda raised her head and Ron didn't respond, she nipped at the black curls around the base of his slack prick until he pushed her away and got up. They dressed and went out to see if supper was ready.
Joan was still in an unfriendly mood, but she had prepared a reasonable meal, and a drink softened the lines in her face a little. After supper, there was time for a second round for everyone before they left for the movie; she started talking a little, and sat close to Marc when they got in the car.
The movie was of the popular youth-discovers-the-world type, and dealt with a rich girl's experimental life in a ghetto. Exposed for the first time to suffering and squalor, and unwilling to fall back on her father's millions, she came to rely on a strikingly handsome Negro as a lover. He ended up pimping her to his friends; when she finally decided that she had found enough, he refused to allow her to leave. The last scene of the movie was a shot of the once-beautiful white girl, now thinned and filthy, standing in the smoke-stained snow, wearing nothing but an obscenely tight silk shift so that the Negro's sidewalk customers could easily inspect the merchandise.
Ron dismissed the picture as "Bullshit!" Marc recognized it as a very clever satire, but kept his mouth shut. Joan acted as if she had been deeply touched by the girl's plight; Lynda couldn't tell whether she was really that emotional or just blindly being the opposite of Ron, but had to laugh at her.
"You've got to be kidding! It was nothing but an old-fashioned melodrama. The black needed a long moustache to twist and the girl's eyelashes weren't long enough and the hero never showed up, but the rest of it was all there-updated, sexually liberated, and exaggerated. I couldn't believe the audience reaction! I think Marc and I were the only ones that even cracked a smile."
"Marc didn't think it was funny," Joan said, "did you, dear?"
"If it was serious, it was very poorly done. I have to agree with Lynda."
"Well, of all the heartless-"
"Oh, for Christ's sake! I'm sorry I picked it. Please forgive me." Ron, with mock humility, dropped to his knees in the back seat and sloppily kissed Joan's hand as it rested on Marc's shoulder. The subject was closed, and the rest of the ride was quiet.
CHAPTER SIX
ON SATURDAY the four went swimming. Joan wore a bikini even briefer than Lynda's, determined not to be second-best. And she got her full share of appreciative glances at the crowded hot dog stand. With Ron leading, they walked far enough down the beach to find a spot that was deserted because of its low waves. Ron, Marc, and Lynda rushed into the water, but Joan stayed out to sunbathe. Marc swam far out, but Ron and Lynda remained in the shallows, splashing and ducking each other. When they saw that no one was watching them, they moved close together; continuing to splash with one hand, they each slipped the free one under the other's bathing suit. After a few minutes of this, they swam out beyond the breakers to find calm water and a sandbar to stand on. Both removed their briefs, made a bundle with Lynda's bra, and tied it securely to Ron's ankle. Lifting his sister easily in the water, Ron brought her ass down on his hardened cock; they started playing again, and their movements forced her around enough on his prick to make him shoot a load up her butt. They resuited, exchanging pants. His were too small for her because of the width of her hips, and hers were too small for him because of the bulge of his limp rod. Marc swam over to them.
"Whew! I'm exhausted! What have you two been doing?"
"You'll see. Come on, let's get out," Lynda said. When the water level was below their waists, Marc noticed the switch and burst out laughing. Joan sat up on her blanket to look; Ron's cock held the crotch of Lynda's briefs out so far that a ball hung out on either side. Her eyes widened, and she turned over on her stomach. Ron noticed a couple a few hundred yards down the beach walking toward them, so he pulled his sister back into the water and they switched again. They came back out and lay down beside Marc and Joan to sunbathe.
Lynda oiled Ron and Marc, and had Marc massage her back with lotion. She moved over to oil Joan and unfastened her bra, taking delight in stroking her back as sensuously as possible. Joan pretended not to notice, but Lynda looked up and, seeing that the lone couple had passed them, turned her over to do her front. She oiled Joan completely, and noticed with satisfaction that her nipples were swollen. Joan blushed and turned back over. Lynda noticed that Ron and Marc were asleep; she lay down between them and, after a half-hour's sun, covered the three of them with a blanket and dozed. Joan went for a quick swim to wash the oil off, then came back, put a beachrobe on, and lit a cigarette, staring at the empty beach and waiting for the others to wake up.
They returned to the hot dog stand for beer to drink on the way home. When they got there, it was time for supper. Lynda took over the kitchen, leaving Ron to leaf through magazines and Marc to fiddle around in his study. Joan joined him.
"Have they given up on the sex thing with me?"
"No, but I asked them to lay off for a week. You need time to adjust. But you're still expected to come around."
"I never will. You know that. I can only pretend."
"With that attitude, you probably won't even manage that. Don't you realize the position we're in? They can ruin me without even a scandal, through pressure from their father, if they choose to. We can't do anything about it. We have no choice. My advice is for you to learn to get along with them; make the best of it. Break down and let yourself enjoy at least some of this."
"That's easy enough for you to say, Marc Chappel! All you're thinking about is that girl, and the wicked things she does to you. You don't care about the pain and the humiliation I have-"
"Oh, for God's sake, Joan, don't give me that crap about pain and humiliation. The physical pain is temporary, and the humiliation comes out of the fact that your mother told you sex was dirty, so that ends that,"
"What they do is dirty!"
"To you, any cock, in any cunt, under any circumstances, is pure, undisguised, one hundred percent filth! You make me want to vomit."
She blushed, then bristled at his words. "You're becoming one of them, Marc. You're just as dirty as they are. And you're working just as hard as they are to corrupt me."
"No, I'm not. I got them to promise to leave you alone for a week. That gives you plenty of time to think about it. If you're still opposed to the idea this time next week, I'll try to get rid of them."
"Promise?"
"I promise. Now, be a good girl and go help Lynda with supper. Try to get to know her; she's not an ogre, Joan."
"Okay," she smiled. She kissed him lightly on the forehead and left.
The meal consisted of a roasting dish filled with chicken, seafood, and vegetables, heavily laced with white wine. Everyone over-ate; when they left the table, the dish was empty. Joan washed and Lynda dried. Marc decided that they had made friends during the preparations. That left Ron; he took the towel from Lynda, tossed it to Ron, and pushed Lynda out to the den.
Joan started handing silverware to Ron. "Your sister is a good cook, isn't she?"
"She's good at a lot of things-lots of things."
"Yes, I suppose she is."
"She's as good with women as she is with men. She likes them almost as much, too. You ought to try her."
A spoon dropped to the floor. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean you ought to go to bed with her sometime."
"Marc said you were going to leave me alone for a few days."
"We aren't supposed to force you into anything. But if you want to-"
"Well, I don't," she said, and realized immediately that her voice was too harsh. "If I did, I would want you, not her."
Ron laughed. "I'll bet you would," he said suggestively. She turned away to wipe the counter, and he popped her ass with his wet towel. "Fix me a drink."
She fixed four, put them on a tray, and walked out to the den. Ron had to follow her to get his, and snatched it angrily. Marc and Lynda were on the sofa, looking at a magazine together. Joan turned the TV on and sat in her armchair, so Ron was left to use a chair across the room. He looked at Joan. She felt sure of herself, confident because she didn't think he would screw her for a week. She leaned back in her chair, lifting one leg, teasing him with a glimpse of thigh. He caught her glance, smiled lewdly, and patted his crotch. She blushed, gulped her drink, and locked her attention on the TV set.
Marc and Lynda got up and went to his study. Joan pretended not to notice, but took another drink, draining her glass.
"I wonder what they're up to," Ron said.
"Who?"
"Marc and Lynda. They went to the study and closed the door, or didn't you see them?"
"Marc doesn't like TV. He's probably preparing her for her exam."
"In what?"
"History, of course."
"It could be anatomy, you know. Here, I'll fix you another one." He took her glass to the kitchen and mixed a double. She didn't seem to taste the difference, but swallowed it as quickly as she had the first one.
"Are you nervous about something?"
"No," she answered sharply, lighting a cigarette. "Why should I be?"
"No real reason. But your husband's in another room with another woman, and you're alone with a sex maniac!" He jumped up at the last phrase, startling her. The ash of her cigarette fell on her breast.
"Here, I'll get it." He moved forward quickly, before she could protest, and brushed her left breast with the palm of his right hand, leaning across her so that his crotch rested against the crook of her right elbow. When he was satisfied, he tweaked the points of her bra and returned to his seat.
"Hey, don't do that! You're not a very nice boy, you know."
"No, but I'm a very nice man. Don't you remember?"
"I don't want to talk about it. Fix me a drink, will you? I have to go to the bathroom."
Ron chuckled as she moved unsteadily toward the bathroom; he went out to mix another double, and added one of Lynda's pills.
When Joan returned, she took one big gulp and her head began to nod. Ron quickly moved to take her drink. He poured it down the kitchen sink and fixed another one, weaker, filling only about a third of the glass. He replaced it on the stand beside her and sat back to watch TV and wait for her to wake up.
Marc and Lynda had gone over a little history material, but moved quickly to the present. When Lynda had to get up and bend over to retrieve a pen she had dropped, Marc's hand moved out swiftly to dart up her dress, discover that she wore no underwear, and tickle the lips of her cunt. She forgot the pen, backing up to make his explorations easier. As his fingers probed deeper, she bent over further and pulled her dress up completely over her waist, giving him a perfect rear view of her pussy. He leaned forward to lap it, gripping her waist firmly. She turned a slow somersault, pulling his face down to the floor with her ass and his crotch over her own waiting mouth. Quickly opening his pants, she pulled his cock out and wrapped her arms around him to move him down into her. She sucked hard, not stroking him or playing with his balls or ass, but simply grinding away with her lips at his prick. When he came, he flooded her in slow motion, tonguing her clit in time and giving her the same drawn-out release.
Ron and Joan went to the spare bedroom a few minutes before the other couple came out. Joan was still unsteady, so Ron slipped his arm around her waist to help her walk. When he slid it up to cup her breast, she didn't protest, but turned to him for a kiss and ran her hand teasingly across his crotch. By the time he locked the door, his cock was stretching his pants. He removed them quickly, tossed his shirt on top of them, and kicked his shoes off. Joan stared at his great prick as if she had never seen it before; her mouth dropped open in drunken amazement, and her tongue lolled out stupidly. Ron sat her down on the bed, carefully pushed her tongue back into her mouth, and followed it with the head of his rod. Automatically, she started sucking and lapping. He turned her around so that he could sit on the edge of the bed with her kneeling on the floor between his legs. She pulled away from him sluggishly and pushed on his stomach, forcing him to lie down, and raising the bottom half of his body to give herself a good shot at his balls. She placed them in her mouth and gargled gently, rolling them around, more because of her drunken state than her skill, at the perfect rate for Ron's delight. Then she worked both thumbs into his ass, wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, and went back to sucking. He reached down, taking her head in both hands, and plugged her throat with his throbbing meat. Even in her confused state, she remembered how to bring him off. Her tongue wormed its way back in her mouth, slid around his gland to find the hole, and curled in. His orgasm relaxed his hands, and she was able to back off enough to swallow the steaming foam that splashed into her mouth. Ron allowed her to work him until he was completely soft, then pushed her roughly away.
She was not to be cast off so easily; her cunt itched with the effects of the drug and demanded satisfaction. She threw her clothes off; her panties were soaked. Ron sat up to look at her, but she pushed him down and pulled at his side until he turned over. She dove for his ass, starting to rim it with her tongue in an effort to arouse him again. When she reached under him and felt him hardening, she got him to turn over and made little love-bites up and down his cock, then climbed on the bed, on her back, and spread her legs as wide as she could. Ron stood up, pulled her hips to the edge of the bed, and rammed home. As she felt his heat increase her own, she sighed heavily, then started panting as she ground her ass against him. But her pussy, slick with excitement, was too loose for Ron. As she approached the orgasm she craved, he pulled out and jammed deep into her ass. She cried out with the pain; it was almost pleasurable for her, but she felt his flood well before time for her own. He pulled away, dressed, and went out to the den. In frustration, she fingered herself with such desperation that the lips of her cunt closed over her entire hand before she received her anesthetizing climax.
When she came out, she had to steady herself against the wall to walk. She had had trouble getting dressed; her blouse was buttoned crooked and the zipper of her skirt was at the front. "See," said Ron, "she's really plastered." Marc and Lynda waited silently to see if she complained about Ron's treatment, which he had already outlined to them, without mentioning the pill.
She moved uncertainly to her chair, sagged into it, and took a long pull at her drink.
"Wow! I'm about drunk! Ron, darling, fix me another-this one's all water."
"Sure, Joan, baby. You wait right there, and Ron darling will freshen you right up," he said, and left for the kitchen.
"Marc! Marc, honey, and Lynda! I didn't see you there!" She got up, walked to the sofa, and fell against Marc's knees. Pulling herself up, she kissed him wetly on the nose, then hugged Lynda. The surprised girl tried to push her away gently, but she sensed the movement and clung to her fiercely.
"What's the matter, what is the matter? Does Lynda not love Joan? Joan loves Lynda, and Joan wants a great big kiss!" She moved up, planted her lips firmly against Lynda's, and forced her thick tongue into her mouth. Ron returned with her drink.
"Hey, hey. No making out with my sister. Come get your drink, Joan, come over here and get it."
She turned to him, gurgling, "Drink, drink, oh, my drink," and crawled back to her chair to take it from his hand. He laughed and sat to watch her struggle up into her chair. By the time she was settled, most of her carefully held drink had spilled out, plastering her blouse to her left breast and revealing that she had left her bra in the bedroom. Marc got up.
"Okay, this has gone far enough. You're going to drink us into the poorhouse, and now you've started spilling. It's bedtime, baby. Up we go!" He took her drink and placed it out of the way on the coffee table, picked her up, and carried her into their bedroom. He put her on the bed and she seemed to have passed out. After he had undressed her, though, she opened her eyes, smiled broadly, and said, "Fuck me!"
This wasn't like Joan, even if she was drunk. There was a chance that she was changing, he thought, and he'd better try to encourage it. He stripped and climbed on top of her, starting to work at her nipples with his hands and kiss her. But she was already prepared; she pumped his cock impatiently. When it stiffened, she swung her hips under him and thrust upward, impaling herself completely with no effort from him. He started trying to plunge her with his prick, but found himself having an uncontrollable ride on her pounding ass. With five or six jerks that bowed her body so that it touched the bed only at the feet and head, she came, and collapsed. He got off as stiff and astonished as he had been put on, dressed, and returned to the den. Ron and Lynda were gone; it was almost eleven thirty. He went to the kitchen, shrugged at his reflection in the chrome ice bucket, and mixed a drink. He settled himself in Joan's chair to watch the late show, but fell asleep before it was over and didn't wake up until sunlight streamed through a window on his face when Lynda opened the curtains. He started to tell her that he thought Joan was going to be all right, but she interrupted with, "Ron admitted that he used one of the pills last night. But she doesn't know it; don't tell her."
CHAPTER SEVEN
SUNDAY WAS A lazy day for all, with a late breakfast, newspaper comics, and an afternoon ball game on TV. Joan slept late; when she finally made her appearance in the kitchen, her hair was dishevelled ("The comb hurts!") and she washed the pancake batter Lynda had left for her down the sink, settling for a very strong Bloody Mary and two aspirin. She had a pretty clear memory of the night, and faced the others with the expected shame and silence. Marc tried to get everybody together by planning a picnic for Friday, but Lynda had to study for exams and Ron was interested in the ball game, so the day was a social loss. That evening, they went for a drive in Ron's convertible with a cooler of beer. Joan cheered up a little, and even joked with Lynda about her "antics" of the previous evening. So they returned to the house refreshed and ready for a mild party; Lynda and Marc had to be at school at eight Monday morning.
Joan made a pitcher of Martinis, but she and Ron drank most of them. He had been scolded by his sister for breaking his promise, and was willing to play fair for the present. They got out a pack of cards and tried to interest Marc and Lynda in bridge, but they begged off with their duties to the school and went separately to bed.
Ron couldn't resist the temptation. "How about strip poker, then?"
"Well, I don't know. Is stripping as far as it will go?"
"Sure," he grinned. "Deal."
While she shuffled clumsily, he fixed more drinks. They pushed furniture back and played in the middle of the living room floor. They used Joan's rules, deuces wild, and Ron took the first hand easily with two pair on the deal and a two on the draw. Joan smiled and tossed him a shoe. Its mate followed on three fives; he was careful to throw his next hand away and reward her with his shirt. With his help, she had a short winning streak. Ron was reduced to one sock and his pants; he demanded the deal, and immediately gave her two aces and a pair of twos. He pulled his pants off and made a comical attempt to cover his cock with the remaining sock. On the next hand, a king from the bottom of the deck filled a straight for him and got rid of Joan's blouse. The same trick, in reverse, gave him a small pair to her nothing; he demanded and received her bra. His cock started swelling; the sock fit like a cloth condom. Working the cards skillfully, he won her skirt. They were even now, since she wore no stockings, with only his sock and her panties left to play.
"Wait a minute," she said. "Let's smoke a cigarette first. Pour me another drink."
He obeyed, then took the lit cigarette she offered him. They smoked in silence, looking at each other, loan's breasts rose luxuriously as she drew smoke into her lungs; Ron watched them hungrily. As his staff rose to its full height, she looked at it, then into his eyes, licking her lips slowly. She ground her cigarette out and took the cards, shuffling only once. As she dealt, he picked his cards up one by one. An eight, a three, another eight, a four, and a two.
"I'll take two," he smiled. Another eight and a queen. He threw his hand on the floor. "Beat that."
She dropped her cards slowly. Nine of spades, nine of clubs, two of clubs, ace of clubs, jack of hearts. She stood up quickly. "You win," she laughed, throwing her panties in his face and running out.
He started to follow, but saw when he got to the hall that she had already closed her bedroom door behind her. He swore under his breath and returned to the living room to finish his drink. Then he went to the den, but the late movies were all bad ones. With a snort of disgust, he stalked into the spare bedroom to wake his sister.
Monday, too, saw little accomplished in the attempt to loosen Joan's morals. Marc and Lynda left at seven-thirty, and Ron slept until noon. When he got up, Joan was watching TV as usual, so he made his own breakfast and drove to the campus. That was a waste of time, since everyone there was either studying for or taking an exam. He decided to drive out of town and find a nice spot for Marc's picnic. Finding a highway on the west side that ran parallel to the ocean, he rode along until he found himself on a mountain. After he passed the peak, he could see green pastures on the ocean side of the highway. He started looking for convenient places to pull over to the shoulder. At each one, he got out of the car and walked down the mountainside a few hundred yards. On the third try, he found a circle of trees hiding a nicely secluded, fairly level patch of grass. There was a small stream and one large, flat rock. Satisfied, he went back to the car and checked the odometer reading so he could find it again.
When he returned to the house, Marc and Lynda were back. He noted that the picnic spot was sixteen miles away and went to tell Marc. This display of interest on his part, totally unexpected, produced a little enthusiasm in Joan. She sat with him in the kitchen, making a list of foods and supplies they would want to take. Marc joined them to assist in menu planning, leaving Lynda in his study to go over notes for her Tuesday exam before supper.
Joan was determined not to be beaten by Lynda on any level; she had prepared a curried leg of lamb, complete with homemade chutney. She ate with unusual zest, trying to underline the fact that she was as good a cook as Lynda. By their actions, the others agreed, washing down huge piles of the meat with foaming mugs of beer.
After supper, they separated again. Ron went to the den to read, Lynda took her studies to her room, Joan stayed in the kitchen to clean up, and Marc, who had been able to grade most of his papers during the afternoon exam period, caught up with his work.
By eight, though, everyone had gathered in the den. Joan produced two fifths of rum, disguised as a large pitcher of frozen daiquiris, and announced that it was party time. In the midst of unanimous consent, she started pouring drinks. In a very short time, the lights and the stereo were the only low things in the room. They danced, pausing occasionally for smokes and more rum. Although she would dance only with Marc, Joan was plainly aroused. She drifted around the floor on the tips of her toes, breathing hotly into his ear and keeping her arms locked around his waist. Once, as they passed the wall switch, she clicked the last light off and dropped her hand to his crotch. Since the drapes were drawn, the room was completely dark. Her hand quickly opened his fly, tugging his cock out and stroking it until it nudged upward at her soft belly. They continued dancing; she pulled her skirt above her waist and kicked her shoes off. Wriggling her hips to the music, she hooked the elastic band of her panties with a finger and pulled them to her thighs. Her motion allowed them to drop to the floor and she stepped free. She had to back away to get rid of her blouse and bra, but soon his stiff prick was rubbing against her nude body and his mouth had begun dipping to her nipples. They continued dancing; she stayed on tiptoes and he crouched to lodge the tip of his shaft in the slick, swollen slit between her legs. When he stood up, her moan was audible across the room. Ron and Lynda heard it, guessed what was going on, and crept nearer to listen. Joan had jumped to lock her legs around Marc's waist; he began rocking gently up and down on his heels. Her breasts rested on his shoulders; she moved her arms around his neck so that she could work at the nipples herself. Finally Marc lowered her to the floor to position himself for stronger thrusts. Ron, as he listened to their accelerating panting, slipped his hand up his sister's dress and started fingering her clit. But the heavy breathing quickly became forced gasps, then deep sighs. He gave them barely time enough to find and replace Joan's clothes, then turned a light on. They were dancing innocently.
"Drop something, Joan?" Ron held up her panties.
"Yes, I guess so, she laughed. "You can keep them." She released herself from Marc's grip and poured two drinks. "Here, I'm tired of dancing." She gave him one and sat.
"I guess you are," Ron said, dropping her panties in her lap.
The pause was filled with drinks and smokes. There was little left in the daiquiri pitcher when Lynda, by virtue of having kept her panties on in the darkness, was elected to do a striptease. Joan, by this time, was too drunk to do much more than hold her glass and cigarette. She giggled happily as the center of the room was cleared. Ron got a small desk lamp from Marc's study and placed it in the middle of the floor, pointed at the ceiling. Marc sat on the sofa, with Joan on his left and Ron on her left. Lynda cut out the lights, with the exception of the improvised spotlight, and put some hard rock on the stereo. She moved into the cone of light, her feet straddling its point, and the show began.
She spread her legs to brace herself and stretch her miniskirt tight against her thighs. The beam of light made it almost transparent; she arched her hips back to allow the spot to accent the under-curve of her breasts. Her hair was in a coil; she raised her arms to release it, shifting her breasts tightly upward at the same time. When her hair fell, she started a frenzied hunching. If she had been a go-go girl, the motion would have passed as a normal dance; the fact that she was normally dressed, however, remolded it into a modern bump-and-grind. She planted the palms of her hands firmly on the hem of her skirt. With every forward push of her hips, it shifted upward slightly. When it reached the edge of her panties, she turned around to unbutton her blouse, giving a well-lit view of her pounding ass. The record cut ended; in the brief silence, she moved out of the light. When the music started again, it was louder. She moved back into the light, her skirt still up and her blouse gone. Dancing again, she pressed her arms against her sides; the motion pulled her skirt inside-out over her waist and the shrugging of her shoulders allowed her bra straps to fall. Her breasts, bouncing in time with her writhing hips, strained to escape the full cups. When the music stopped again, she fled to adjust the volume for the next cut and discard the useless skirt. She backed into the light, feverishly churning her ass in the direction of the sofa. In the glare of the lamp she straddled, her bikini panties barely veiled the gap between the cheeks of her ass. But each time she hunched forward, the light fell on her hands, trying in spite of the speed of her dance to unlock the clasp of her bra. When it fell open, she pressed her arms down to hold it on and turned around. She walked back and bent forward to give an uninterrupted view of her breasts; slowing her pace, she made long thrusts upward. With each one, her breasts bobbed up almost over the brim of her bra. Finally one nipple made it and she raised her arms high, dropping the bra. Marc wet his lips and pulled Joan's right hand to his crotch; Ron caught the movement with the corner of his eye and took her left hand. Her eyes, glazed by the rum and the spectacle in front of her, remained fixed on Lynda. Her fingers opened two flies and two stiff cocks sprang out; she started stroking, unconsciously, both men. The music stopped again, and Lynda disappeared. When she returned, the roar of the stereo was deafening. She hooked her thumbs in her panties and started edging them down. Marc and Ron leaned forward anxiously; as the flimsy material fell, uncovering the first few black curls, she started moving back. The light now barely caught her crotch, but shone full on her face. Her hair swirled around glittering green eyes and a tongue that extended its full length to moisten her lips. She moved forward suddenly and dropped her panties, hooking a foot around the lamp cord and jerking the room into darkness. In the blackness, Joan continued her stroking. Lynda came forward, feeling in front of her to find Ron's head and pull it down to her cunt for a rewarding kiss. After doing the same with Marc, she returned to Ron, removed Joan's hand, dropped to her knees, and started sucking. He had been aroused for fifteen minutes; his load blew quickly into her throat. Still swallowing the last of his hot stream, she moved to Marc, again replacing Joan. Almost as soon as the tip of his prick was smothered by her warm, clinging throat, he erupted, and she received her second drink of hot sap. She got up to turn a light on, and followed it with the dregs of the rum. Ron gave her a cigarette and turned the stereo down, replacing his cock in his pants and grinning at Marc, who did the same. Joan stared dully ahead.
Ron suggested more drinks. Since Lynda's Tuesday exam was in the afternoon, she agreed and went to the kitchen. She substituted a fifth of tequila for the rum and returned with a half-filled pitcher.
They turned the TV on and laughed drunkenly at a late talk show. This roused Joan enough for another drink and a little sloppy giggling. Lynda had replaced her blouse and skirt, and lay on the floor in front of the sofa. Joan reclined, her head in Marc's lap and her feet in Ron's, on the sofa, rising occasionally to sip at her drink. The pitcher was quickly emptied; the talk show ended and Ron switched to a late-night movie. Joan dropped her glass as she drained it and started snoring. Marc started nodding, perking awake each time his chin fell to his chest. Finally he surrendered, crawling to the floor beside Lynda and passing out. She found the strength to pull a cushion off the sofa for them, but forgot to put it under their heads before she curled up against him. Ron smiled, bent over to position it properly, and watched his movie.
When it was over, he pushed Joan's feet to the floor and stood up, yawning. He clicked the TV off; when he turned around, Joan had rolled off the sofa onto Marc and Lynda. The three of them lay in a dead heap, undisturbed. Ron had an idea.
He dragged Joan out to the middle of the floor and stripped her, then placed her across the TV chair in as lewd a position as he could imagine. Pressing on the back to recline the chair, he sat her in it, but spread her legs so far apart that her thighs were jammed open by the backs of the arm rests and her feet dangled, barely clearing the floor on either side. He fingered her cunt; it was still dripping from her arousal earlier in the evening. His cock started stiffening, so he stripped and stood at the back of the chair, resting it on her shoulder. Stroking it thoughtfully, he changed his plan. He turned her around so that her legs hung over the back of the chair and her head rested in the corner of the seat and the back. He pulled Marc over the footrest as a counterbalance, returned to the back, and shoved his cock into Joan's cunt. He started screwing the unconscious form with as much gusto as if she were awake; when he felt himself starting to come, he pulled out and let the liquid spray thickly over her stomach, breasts, and face.
He removed her to the floor, then stripped Linda and Marc, placing them so that Lynda's face rested in Joan's pubic hair and Marc's cock lay across her mouth. Gathering his clothes together, he went to the spare bedroom and slipped between the sheets.
CHAPTER EIGHT
RON'S ALARM WENT off at eight o'clock Tuesday morning. Without bothering to dress, he crept silently into the den. None of his victims had moved. He got a glass of cold water from the kitchen and started dribbling it in Joan's eyes. It ran down her cheeks like tears; some entered her mouth. She choked, gasped, and woke.
When she looked up, the first thing she saw was Ron, nude, standing over her and smiling. She blushed and turned her head away, directly into Marc's soft cock. Sitting up quickly, she was confronted with the sight of Lynda's face nestled in her crotch. She noticed her own nakedness, felt the sticky come on herself, and fled crying to her bedroom. Lynda stirred, saw only that she, too, was nude, turned over, and went back to sleep. Marc didn't move. Ron returned to the kitchen to start coffee, dressed, and got the morning paper from the porch. He stopped by Joan's bedroom and knocked.
"Hey, if you've cleaned yourself up you can have some coffee."
There was no answer, so he roused Lynda and Marc for company. They both drifted around the house, moaning most of the time, until a little after noon, when they had to leave for school. Soon after they left, Joan started stirring. First there was the sound of the shower running, then of the radio, then she appeared.
"Ron, tell me what happened last night," her voice pleaded.
"Well, three people, I mention no names, got very drunk and passed out. The single virtuous member of the group, bored by their lewd antics, went quietly to bed."
"I mean, uh, you know, before we passed out." She lowered herself gently into a kitchen chair and tried to take the cup of coffee he offered, but spilled most of it.
"There was a drunken orgy. Lynda did a striptease, after which the three of you formed a sweating, panting, rolling, disgusting ball of flesh. I left then."
"So, if I did anything, it was with Marc."
"Or Lynda, or both. But not me; I abstained completely. What's the matter, conscience bothering you?"
"No, I don't remember anything after Lynda started dancing. But when I woke up-"
"Yes?"
"We were all naked, on the floor, in a row, and you were standing over us, and you didn't have any clothes on either."
"I'd just gotten up. It looked to me like you had started a daisy chain, but couldn't find enough players. I hope you didn't go out hunting-what would the neighbors think?"
"Oh, if I was too drunk to remember, I certainly couldn't walk anywhere. I don't think I could."
"Oh, I'm sure you didn't. I was just making a little joke."
"I'm sorry, Ron, I didn't catch it. I don't feel too well today. Oh, damn, what time is it?"
"Around one, maybe one-thirty, I guess."
"Shit," she spat, and ran, her head in her hands, to the den to turn the TV on. She had already missed two soap operas.
Ron fixed a sandwich for his lunch. When he finished eating, he took a shower. He passed through the den, wearing only a towel, but Joan had riveted her eyes to the bluish figures on the screen and didn't even flinch when he came through. He put his bathing suit on and drove off to the beach.
He found a group of young people to swim with, and soon singled out a girl to chase. She was a tall blonde, statuesque, in a very small white bikini. Her huge breasts welled out over the edges of the top, held in only by her refusal to make any sudden moves. The pants, too low to be supported by her hips, stayed on by being so tight that they dug deep into the flesh of her ass and made her pussy stand out like a fat, split peach. Ron was able to herd her away from the crowd easily, since she didn't like all the splashing and action. He moved her out to calm water, beyond the breakers. She floated on her back, cutting the water only with her face, toes, and breasts. Ron treaded water beside her.
"Hi. I'm Ron. Nice day for a float, huh?"
"Yes. This damn suit won't let me do too much swimming. It's a little small."
"I noticed. Do you go to the University?"
"Yes. I'm Connie. Do you?"
"No, I just hang around. My sister does."
"Oh. Back off a little, will you? You're rocking me."
"Sure." He moved away and dove under her. Looking up, he saw her outline against a shimmering wall of light. He reached up and popped the snap on her bra, then surfaced.
"Hey, what's the idea!" She struggled to refasten it, but couldn't do it and tread water at the same time. "Help me." She turned back to him.
He took the straps and pushed them over her head, capturing her breasts in his hands.
"Wait a minute. I don't want to lose it." She pulled away, ran a strap under the side of her pants, and knotted it. Then she raised her arms in a gesture of freedom and dove. Ron waited until he felt her hands on his ankles, took a deep breath, and went under with her. Turning a flip, he came down with his hands on her thighs and went for her pants. She kicked at him, surfaced for air, and fled. He chased her, holding the advantage since he could easily get a hold on the bra that was attached at her side. The second time his fingers grazed it, he got a good grip. She kicked back at him, but her feet caught his chest. As she pushed, her legs straightening, the briefs were forced down her thighs, holding them together so she couldn't swim. She surfaced and allowed him to completely remove the prize before he joined her.
"How are you going to keep them from floating away?"
"Simple." He stripped, connected his shorts to her suit, and made a tight bundle with his supporter, leaving one elastic strap free to wrap around his ankle. "There. I won't be able to swim as fast as you now, but then you won't want to run off, will you?"
"I guess not-but I might." She dove again.
Ron started to follow, but saw that she wanted to play cat-and-mouse, so he stopped and surfaced, floating on his back. The movements of the water washed his cock back and forth from thigh to thigh. Connie came up near him, noticed its healthy size even in an unaroused state, and gave up her game. She took it in her hands, using it as a mooring post and stroking it at the same time. Soon it became a stiff mast. Afraid that the group nearer to shore would notice it, she pulled Ron under, holding the tip of his cock in her mouth as if it were an airline. When she had to breathe, she blew the stale air out of her lungs across his balls; the tickling bubbles made him gasp. They came up together, filled their lungs, locked their lips together, and dropped back under. Ron covered her pussy with one hand, slipped two fingers in, and found a clit that could easily account for the bulge that had first attracted his eye. Her legs moved up and apart to lock around his waist; there was no other place for his cock to go than up her hot cunt. As she settled onto it, she sucked the air out of him, mixed it with her own, and gave it back. He kicked to take them up; the motion rubbed the base of his prick against her clit. She was content to ride him, letting the motion of his thighs as he treaded water pump his rod in and out of her. Her nipples, hardened by her desire and the cold water, bore down on his chest. She dug her fingernails into his buttocks. He took a deep breath; she saw him and did the same just as he abandoned treading for rough lunges and they went under. She curled her crotch into him, sliding her mouth over his chest and one long fingernail into his ass. When his sphincter relaxed, she plowed in up to the knuckle. She found his balls with her other hand and squeezed lightly. As the first wave of come surged up the length of his rod, she pulled off and swam back away from him, watching the milky globlets seep out into the water. Furious, he raised his head for air, then attacked. He held her head under until bubbles exploded from her mouth, gave a final kick, and swam away. By the time she had found the surface, he was fifty yards closer to shore than she was. He put his shorts on quickly, waved her bathing suit at her, and joined the crowd in the breakers.
"Connie will want this when she comes out," he said to the most serious-looking girl he saw, holding out the two scraps of white material. She took them, astonished, and he went to his car for a towel.
On the drive back to town, he stopped to pick up a case of cold beer. When he got to the house, Marc and Lynda were back. Marc came out to greet him and carried the beer.
"Been swimming? I don't guess Joan's much fun when Ann is divorcing Tom so she can sleep with John and marry Fred."
"No, she's not."
"Well, be patient. I'm finished, except for a little grading tomorrow, and Lynda's exam is Tuesday morning. Maybe we'll take a little trip south together in a couple of weeks."
"That depends on whether or not Joan will change, doesn't it?" He opened the door for Marc. "Put that in the refrigerator and pop us a couple."
He went to the backyard; Lynda and Joan joined him, and Marc brought four beers. They discussed the picnic, deciding to leave early Friday morning and spend the entire day at the spot that Ron had found. Joan was placed in charge of food, Lynda took over drinks, Marc was to plan entertainment, and Ron was left as a free agent. A wink from Lynda, however, told him that he would be responsible for the necessary alterations in Joan's morals; the week's truce ended at midnight Thursday.
"What's up for tonight?" Ron asked.
"I don't know. I don't have to study for tomorrow, so I'm free. Anybody got any suggestions?" Lynda drained her beer and waited. There was a long silence.
"TV again, then," Marc said, collecting the empty cans. He left for the kitchen to get fresh beer.
They made a light supper of cold lamb sandwiches and more beer. The case was gone by the time they settled in the den, so Marc took Lynda and went to get more.
Ron drove off too. He headed for the University, passed the campus, and entered the dock district. He parked the car and walked, five blocks, to an ancient three-story house. On the outside, it looked just like the other houses on the block; they had all been converted to cheap apartment buildings. But this one was owned by a student commune. It housed seventeen people, all young, all hippies. When the door opened at his knock, a blast of psychedelic sound and the heavy scent of incense rushed out to greet him.
He was conducted to the attic by a thin girl dressed in dirty suede. There, when his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw a single, bearded figure, squatting on the floor and working at a pile at his feet.
"Still clean it yourself, Lenny?"
"Ron, huh? Yes, Lenny handles only the best. Care to take a little extra and help us meet the rent?
"I can't hold too much, but I need a ten-dollar lid."
"Fine."
A bony hand extended a small plastic bag. Ron took it, replacing it with a folded bill, and left. He stuffed it into his pants on his way down the stairs, and walked with deliberate innocence to his car. He drove around a little, found an open market that had cigarette papers, then went home.
Marc and Lynda were there; the beer waiting for Ron oozed foam out of the hole in its top. He locked the door and made sure that the drapes were drawn completely before he smiled at the waiting group and produced his purchase.
"I thought of something better than TV-a little grass."
"Isn't that illegal?" Joan asked.
"Of course it is, dummy," Lynda laughed, "A few states have reduced it to a dangerous drug, but it's a narcotic here. We could all spend a long time in a cell if a cop-"
"Don't scare her," Marc broke in. "It's all right, Joan. Everybody does it, and no one would expect it of us. Roll a joint, Ron. It's a lot better than getting drunk, Joan. It really is."
"But what if I have a bad trip?"
"You don't trip on marijuana, you ass!!! You get slowly and wonderfully stoned." Lynda turned to Ron. "You get it from Lenny?"
"Yes."
"We don't have to clean it, then."
"No, just roll and smoke. Everybody get in a circle so we can pass it." Ron dropped to the floor and made a tight joint.
The others joined him on the floor and waited for him to light it. He put it in his mouth, held a match to the tip, and inhaled deeply. When his lungs were filled, he passed it to Lynda and clamped his hand over his mouth. She did the same, and gave it to Marc.
"Watch how I do it, Joan. Take a little air in if it burns, but don't cough; it'll scrape your throat raw." He took a long, deep drag, held his breath, and passed it to his wife.
She imitated him, cautious until the first neutral smoke went down her throat, then sucking in heavily. She held her breath until the blood pounded in her ears; watching Marc, she let it out slowly and rebreathed the smoke through her nose.
The joint went around twice more. Ron ate the butt and rolled another, giving it to Lynda to light.
This time, when she exhaled, Joan found that the pounding in her temples would not stop, and that Ron was now moving in slow motion. She quickly passed him the joint, but her hand moved at the same slow speed as his hand and his touch was a burning pressure on her fingers.
The third joint was accompanied by beer, since their mouths were getting hot. Ron didn't roll another, but passed a regular cigarette "to keep our lungs moving" and carefully packed the grass into the space between cushions on the sofa.
Joan watched him do it. It took him about three hours, she thought, and the process was fascinating to watch. When he was finally through, she wanted to applaud, but he had gone to the bathroom by the time her hands met. There must be something wrong with them. She put one in her mouth. It tasted like beer and cigarettes and lamb, but mostly like salt. She didn't like it; she removed it and took a drink of beer to wash the unpleasant taste away. It foamed up in her mouth; she tried to swallow, but couldn't remember how. There was a moment of confusion until the amber liquid seemed to slide down her throat by itself. She thought it odd that it only looked, but did not taste, amber. This started her laughing softly. She touched Marc to share her joke, but he was already touching Lynda. Very well, she would share it with Ron. She sat, chuckling and staring into her beercan, until he returned and sat beside her. Very deliberately, she leaned over and pushed a finger into his side, but lost her balance and fell into his lap.
When she finally managed to get up, she noticed that she had braced one palm against his crotch.
Maybe it hurt him. Her smile turned down into a frown, and tears welled in her eyes, but he reached out and touched her chin, so she laughed again. He pulled her close to him, and kissed her. She noticed that his lips tasted like beer, and his tongue tasted like beer, and his teeth were wet with beer. It tasted better from a mouth than from a can, so she tried to drink as much as she could. She was forced to breathe through her nose, but she remembered how to do that, and didn't have any trouble. She felt the back of her blouse being pulled up and down, and twisted. He was unfastening the buttons. She didn't understand why that had to be done, but realized that she was in no condition to argue. She found that she could control her right hand better than her left, so she used the right one to start working at his buttons. They were very hard to open, but he was nice about it and unclasped her bra in the extra time he had, so that they were even when she finished.
She decided to stop kissing for a while, and moved back a little. She looked at his hairy chest and at hers; it was not hairy, but she had the bigger breasts. His, in fact, were nothing more than nipples, while hers were great mounds of white flesh, capped with bright red nipples with long, hard tips. She was embarrassed to be different, and tried to cover herself with her hands. She saw that did no good, though, and settled for hiding the nipples; she could manage that. But something was still wrong. The tips seemed to punch little holes in her palms, and she got a very odd damp feeling between her legs. She tried putting her hands on Ron's nipples, but that didn't change much, because now his hands were on her breasts.
She was going to give up and try to relax, but she started breathing heavily, and looked down to find him kissing her on the nipples, one by one, and unzipping her skirt. She was behind again. She went for his zipper, but had trouble again, and fell farther behind. When it opened, she saw that he didn't have any underwear on, so she had the advantage while he had to deal with her panties. He stood up to let his pants drop, so she got up too, but her skirt was already gone. There was another difference between them; she saw it immediately. This time, she was the one with nothing but hair, and he had the pile of flesh. It wasn't exactly piled; in fact, it stuck straight out, pointed up about as much as her breasts pointed up, except for a little bit that hung down, but the main thing stood up. She touched it, and squeaked with delight. It was very hard, and she couldn't bend it. It was very big, and she couldn't get her hand all the way around it. But it was so much fun to touch the tip!! It was round, like an apple, but it felt like warm velvet. She rubbed and rubbed and rubbed. It was great fun, and Ron was smiling like he enjoyed it too. She was going to keep doing it for a long time, but he pushed on her shoulders. He wanted her to kiss it.
She dropped to her knees and looked at it closely. There was a hole in the end of it, with tiny lips. She kissed it there, and the velvet on her mouth felt so good that she put the whole thing in her mouth and rubbed it with her tongue. Ron knelt too, so she had to lie down to keep it in her mouth.
He pulled her away from it after a while, and moved her toward his face. She paused along the way to try a new trick. Her nipples were still very hard, so she pushed one into the hole in the end of his pole. It fit perfectly! She tried the other one, and it fit, too, and it felt very good, and she was going to leave it there for a long time, but he pulled her all the way up and stuck his tongue into the hair where her legs met. That felt nice, too; she could actually tell that his tongue was sticking deep into her and moving in and out. It felt like velvet, too, but it was very hot instead of just warm. She spread her legs so he could push his whole face into her, but she wasn't big enough down there, so he pulled her back along his body until their heads were even and his rod pushed between her legs. She could tell what he wanted to do, so she rolled over on her back and spread her legs as far they would go. He stuck his rod into her, and it felt a lot bigger and tighter and velveter and hotter than his tongue had. It moved at least a foot when he pushed it in and out, instead of just a few inches like his tongue had, and his nipples rubbed against hers and made them feel better, and she had his tongue to suck and taste, so she was very, very happy.
Soon it felt like her whole bottom was on fire. She started trying to shake her behind to put it out, but she couldn't move fast enough or something, because it got hotter and hotter and hotter. She was about to cry out, but she felt his rod get a lot thicker at the base and she knew that he was going to quench the fire, so she kept moving as fast as she could. The swelling in the base of his pole moved up the length of it, and when it got to the tip, she felt like she had a new, velvet heart beating inside her. Then the swelling came out, and it was like a ball of flame at first, but it cooled her a little. Another one followed it, and another one, and another one, and another one, and another one, and another one, and another one, and another one, and another one, and another one. There were ten in all. Each one started at the base of his rod; she could feel it moving her legs farther apart. Then it moved up his entire length, and fired out the hole that she had put her nipples in. The first few were like fire; the next few were hot oil, and the last ones were a soothing, cooling lotion. By the time he got limp, and shrunk a little, and pulled out of her, she was entirely calm, and she was glad to be able to sit up and take a drink of ice-cold beer and smoke a cigarette, one of those funny little ones that Ron made himself, with yellow paper and no filter.
CHAPTER NINE
JOAN WAS THE first one up Wednesday morning. She showered quickly, and went whistling to the kitchen to fix breakfast. Ron joined her. With a flourish and a hearty "Good morning, Sir. Your coffee, and what will you have to eat?", she placed a cup in front of him.
He stared in amazement. "Eggs and toast, I guess."
"And how would you like the eggs?"
"Scrambled."
"Two? Would you like your toast buttered? Jelly or jam?"
"Yes. Just butter will be fine."
She turned the radio to a rock station and sang with the music, almost dancing as she prepared his eggs. He couldn't decide whether to eat or to watch her. Marc walked in, followed by Lynda. They sat, and she gave the same performance with the two steaming mugs she brought them. As Lynda reached for the cream pitcher, she swooped in front of her and picked it up.
"Let's see-double cream and sugar for you and one sugar for Marc, I think."
"Yes." Lynda gaped as her coffee was prepared. She picked up the cup and turned to look at Marc, who shrugged and waited for Joan to finish stirring his.
"Now, what to eat We have anything you can name, but French toast is the specialty today."
"Uh, that would be fine," Lynda mumbled.
"And you, Sir?"
"The same."
"Bacon on the side?"
"Yes, for both of us."
"Two pieces of toast each?"
"Fine."
"Maple syrup?"
"Yes."
She prepared the food quickly, including a plate for herself. When everyone else had been served, she refilled all the coffee cups and joined them.
"Did you all sleep as well as I did? Boy, I can see why that stuff is illegal!"
"Why?" Ron asked, lighting a cigarette.
"Well, because it was so much fun."
"Are fun things necessarily illegal?" Lynda broke in.
"No. But, when you have that much fun, and you don't even feel guilty about it-"
"So you don't feel guilty any more?" Ron flicked an ash in his plate, and she jumped for an ashtray.
"Well, yes. Of course I do. But, if you're drugged, you don't have control, and you can't be blamed for what you do, so it's not a sin. It's not wrong that way, is it, Marc?"
"I don't think there's a drug clause in the Ten Commandments, Joan. If you are ashamed to do something when you're sober, and enjoy it when you're smoking pot, I'd say there's something wrong with your morals."
"There's nothing wrong with my morals, I can tell you that. I know that what you all want me to do is wrong. I know it's a sin. But you give me pills, or get me drunk, or make me smoke-" Lynda stood up. "Wait a minute. With the pills, you had no control, okay, I agree. But, with the liquor, you just lost some of your sick inhibitions- not all, just a few. And the grass got rid of every one, didn't it? You were stripped bare, and you had no silly taboos, and you loved it, didn't you?"
"I liked it then, when I was drugged. But I'm not drugged now, and I know it was wrong. I didn't know when I did it, so it's all right for me to remember it and be happy."
"No, Joan, you can't have it both ways. You have to stop this pretending, stop this false morality. If Ron fucked you right now, with Marc and I watching, I'll bet you would enjoy it as much as you enjoyed it last night. But no, you wouldn't admit it. You'd cry and yell and say it was dirty, you hated it. And you would be lying, to us at least, and probably to yourself. I think you've enjoyed all the things we've done with you, but you just won't admit it. Somebody, your mother, told you that sex was a dirty word and that intercourse with anyone was dirty; you think screwing is supposed to make babies, not pleasure. You think God made a mistake when he made it fun, don't you?"
"Don't talk like that, please. Don't try to change my mind. It is a bad, evil thing to want to do it the way you people do, and the way you want Marc to. And you carry extra guilt because you are a woman. It's all right for a man to want these things; we expect that. But you should be modest, and clean, and good. You should be like-"
"Like you? I may very well be a sinner, but you're a sinner, too; we all are. At least I'm not a hypocrite." Lynda drained her coffee and left the room.
"What about you, Ron, and Marc? Do you think I secretly like all this nonsense you put me through? Do you think I'm a hypocrite?"
"I think you're a turd," Ron said, and followed his sister.
"Marc?"
"Did you enjoy last night?"
"Yes?"
"And you enjoyed it when they gave you the pill?"
"Yes."
"You enjoyed at least some of it when you were drunk?"
"What I can remember."
"Well, then, you have to face facts. The state you're in doesn't really mean that much. The pills, like Lynda said, are different. But, with liquor or grass, you are in control. And, if you can ease off on the controls in those conditions, you can do it when you're cold sober and your mind is completely clear."
"No, I can't."
"Nobody said it wouldn't be hard. You have to adjust to a new set of morals slowly, so you can understand them better than you understood the first ones you had. We know it takes time. We've given you time."
"I can't do it."
"Yes, you can. You have to, Joan, you have to."
"No, I don't. I don't have to do anything you sick people tell me to. I don't have to do anything," she said, and ran out into the back yard.
Marc watched her flee. "Have it your way, bitch, have it your way."
He joined Ron and Lynda in the den.
"You didn't do any good, did you?" Lynda asked.
"No."
"She's nothing but a silly cunt, and she's determined to stay a silly cunt, no matter how much trouble it is to the rest of us." Ron stalked out the front door to his car and drove off.
"Don't mind him. He's narrow-minded in his own way, too."
"I guess everybody is," he said, holding his arms out to her.
She buried her face in his shirt and started crying softly. "Oh, Marc, I want for her to see it our way. I want her to be one of us."
"I don't think she ever will be. I guess she'll ask for a divorce soon."
"I hope she does. Give it to her, Marc, give it to her. I can see after this morning that we've just been fooling ourselves, thinking that she would change. Let her be free to be with her own kind, and let me be with you-always!" She looked up at him, expectantly.
He smiled and rubbed the tears from her face, then kissed her gently. She hugged him; they stood together, quietly, for a few minutes. When they heard Joan come back into the kitchen they separated.
"Don't give up until after the picnic, okay?"
"Okay."
"And be happy?"
"Yes," she smiled.
He patted her behind and they went out to the kitchen to make peace with Joan.
"I didn't mean to call you a hypocrite. I apologize, Joan. Friends?"
"Friends. It's too nice a day to argue, isn't it, Marc?"
"Yes, dear."
"Fine. You stay here, and mark your exams, and I'll take Lynda with me to do some shopping and run a few errands. Is that okay with you, Lynda?"
"Sure. I'd love to go."
"Fine. Then everything's settled."
It took them most of the afternoon. When they returned, both had huge shopping bags. Joan had bought enough food to last a week, and Lynda had done the same with beer and liquor. They put the things away and fixed a light supper. Ron had returned, sullenly, and there was little talk at the table. Since Lynda had to study for a morning examination, the evening was spent quietly. Marc read in his study, Ron went out, and Joan, as usual, was glued to the TV.
Thursday was another dull day; Lynda spent the morning at the college, Ron slept, and Marc and Joan wasted time around the house. But, when Lynda got home, she announced that school was officially over for the year for her; there would have to be a party to celebrate. She went to take a nap in preparation, and advised Marc and Joan to do the same. By suppertime everyone was up and refreshed. They ate a light meal, then decided to go to Ron and Lynda's old apartment for the party.
By the time they got organized and drove across town, it was after eight. They arrived at the apartment loaded down with bottles of whiskey, chasers, and bags of ice. Ron put a stack of albums on the stereo and Lynda and Joan mixed drinks; the party was soon in full swing.
They sat in the "pleasure room," since it was the largest one in the' apartment. Joan was quiet; she sipped her drink and looked nervously at the machines, particularly the one she had been on. Marc and Lynda started a conversation about the end of school, but soon dropped that subject for other things.
"Do you really enjoy riding that thing?" Marc waved his glass at the converted exercise cycle.
"Sure," Lynda said, "it's still good for exercise, even without the extras. You can thank it for my beautiful, slim figure."
He laughed. "Yes, I suppose so. Well, fix us some more drinks. Maybe, if we get you tight enough, we'll all get a better view of that famous figure."
"Oh, Marc you know better than that! I don't have to be drunk; I'm an exhibitionist at heart."
She took his empty glass, refilled it for him, and returned to stand in front of the machine.
"At the request of Professor Chappel, I will now give a lecture on, and demonstration of, the Ron Roberts Exerciter." She quickly removed her clothes, drained her drink, and threw the glass to Ron.
"As you see, I have the body of a normal American girl-the ripe, full breasts, the softly swelling crotch, the rounded buttocks are all standard equipment. But, you might say, my sexual desires are a little unusual. By mounting this machine, the Ron Roberts Exerciter, I am able both to keep my body in good shape and to satisfy myself sexually. You, too, Mrs. American Housewife, can enjoy these benefits, if only you follow my directions.
"You will note that, for comfortable riding, the entire areas of contact must be well-lubricated. We find that olive oil works very well." She took the oil bottle from beneath the machine and poured some of the fluid out onto the seat. "When the seat is finished, we raise the artificial penis, by pressing this button, and coat it completely."
When this task was finished, she poured a little oil into the palm of her hand. "The body of the rider must be lubricated, also," she explained. "Although this would normally require nothing more than stimulation of the genitals for natural results, I must do the job manually, like this."
She turned her back to her audience, spread her legs, and bent over, exposing fully the dividing line between the halves of her plump ass and the little hole in the middle. She began to massage her ass with the oily hand; soon it glistened under the lights of the room. She worked an oily finger into the crinkled opening, drawing it rapidly in and out until she was sure that the job was completed.
"Now we mount the machine. This is done by swinging one leg over, standing up in the stirrups, and slowly but firmly lowering oneself onto the penis, allowing it to enter the preferred opening, like this. Now the machine may be turned on."
She flipped the switch, setting the speed guide at ten, and gripped the handlebars. "You will notice that I start with a slow speed, allowing myself time to make any necessary adjustments."
She attached the rubber suction cups to her breasts, then reached down to start the electric currents.
"You will notice, ah, that the shocks, ah, cause an immediate response, ah, from the rider. The lecture, ah, will have to, ah, end!" She moaned the last few words. Her hand dropped to increase the speed a little, then returned quickly to grip the handlebar tightly. Her breathing became a heavy panting; she started to sweat. Her tongue hung out of the corner of her mouth, and her knuckles whitened as she struggled to hold on. Ron walked over and turned the machine up to forty; she cried out in ecstasy, and collapsed. He turned the machine off.
"It is best, I think, to follow a ride with a soak in a hot tub," she said. She smiled weakly, and tottered off to the bathroom.
"Marc, they aren't going to put me on that thing again, are they?" Joan had been watching, wide-eyed, and now got up to get a strong drink.
"No, we wouldn't do that to you," Ron broke in, "I promise. Now, you go ahead and fix your drink, and make one for me, too." He gave her his glass and waited for her to return.
More drinks followed; by the time Lynda came out of the bathroom, everyone was pretty high and it was after eleven. Lynda, still nude, sat beside Marc on one of the leather couches; Ron and Joan sat on the other. Since she didn't have to fear the machine, and she had been drinking heavily, Joan loosened up a little.
"It's getting very hot in here, and I'm going to take off my clothes," she said, to no one in particular. "Whatsamatter, Ron? Marc? Are you two going to sit there, fully clothed, and embarrass your ladies?" She clumsily removed her clothes, then stood defiantly in front of Ron. "If you are as much of a man as you claim to be, you will strip immediately and join me in the nude, like a gentleman."
He obeyed quickly; his cock, as yet unaroused, flapped against his thigh.
"Oh my goodness, you are in no way excited by my nudity!" Joan exclaimed. She put her arms around his neck and ground at him with her crotch. She kissed him, sloppily, giving him all of her tongue. As his cock rose between her legs, she pulled away from him and moved to Marc.
"Now, Marc Chappel, you don't want to stand out in a crowd, do you? Take off your clothes."
When he was nude, she dropped to her knees and began to lick his soft rod. It stiffened, and she moved for a moment to his balls, then came back up to give him two long, hard sucks before she stood.
"There, now, you should both be very happy." She returned to her seat and drink.
"Yes, Joan, we are," Ron said, "and now we have to make you happy. It's after midnight, Joan; we've left you alone for a full week. But now we won't leave you alone; we're going to fuck you over and over again until you enjoy it like we do.
"We won't use the machine you rode before, because I promised not to. But there are other machines, Joan. I think we'll start with one of them, to loosen you up."
Her eyes widened at the mention of machines. She looked pleadingly at Marc, but he was standing with Lynda. His expression was blank when he looked at her, but he smiled at Lynda. Ron took her arm and led her to another machine.
"We'll use this one, I think. What do you say, Lynda?"
"Great! That one's a lot of fun!" It was a small leather pad with a motor attached to one end. The motor was connected to a wheel-and-piston assembly; the piston was a large artificial penis, a twin to the one on the other machine. Ron strapped Joan securely to the pad, which stood on four short legs, so that her arms and legs were firmly attached to the legs, her stomach rested on the pad, and her ass was pointed at the piston.
"This one doesn't have any special attachments," he said, "it just pumps you very rapidly. All we have to do is decide what hole to use, and make sure you can't slip off. It would really be bad if you moved; you'd really get bruised."
He ran cross-straps over her back, tightening them carefully. Then, turning the wheel by hand, he made sure that the rubber cock would run up her cunt. After placing small pads under her thighs to spread them as far apart as possible, he turned the machine on. The piston moved, very slowly, deeply in and out of her gaping pussy. She cried out quickly.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Ron said, "I forgot to oil you. Well, it'll feel better when you get damper."
He went to the couch to get his drink. When he returned, he slipped his hand under the piston and found her clit. It was very small and dry. Using a fingernail, he scratched at it lightly. When it began to feel moist, he kneaded it between two finger until it was too slippery to hold. By now, the piston was dripping with the juice that flowed from her hot cunt. He turned the machine up, faster and faster. By making a few adjustments, he was able to run the cock in as far as it could go. Twisting a knob, he turned the speed up as high as possible. The wheel and piston were moving so fast that no motion could be seen, only a blurring of the entrance of her cunt. Her juices, stirred by the rapid motion, became hot foam that slid slowly down her thighs.
"Now, I think it would be nice if Marc and Lynda fucked in front of you, to give you something to look at."
They had been standing close together, watching Joan's second machine-fuck. Marc still had a full hard-on, and Lynda, stirred by the sight of the pumping rod, was beginning to get aroused. When they moved in front of Joan, Ron put a pad under her chin to hold her face up, and Lynda dropped to her knees.
She buried her face in Marc's crotch; her tongue darted out to make little stabs at the base of his cock. Holding it firmly in one hot hand, she waited for the first drop of clear liquid to appear at the tip. When she felt it, she backed off to kiss it away, then went down to take his balls in her mouth. Rolling them gently back and forth, she stroked his burning rod with one hand and worked at his ass with the other.
As soon as they were engrossed in themselves, Ron stopped the machine. He removed the pads that were under Joan's thighs. Sensing what was happening, she started to squirm, but was held fast by the straps. Ron turned the wheel so that the cock came completely out of her, then, using a finger, worked some of the slippery cuntjuice up her asshole. He adjusted the piston again, and turned it on at full speed. Immediately, her tender anus was being worked harder than it ever had been before. Ron gagged her so that she could not cry out, and her nostrils swelled with her labored breathing. She continued to work at her ass, trying to escape the pain, but only made the angle of entry more difficult.
Lynda now worked quickly at Marc's rod; she licked at it until it was dripping wet, then clasped it firmly in her hand, slipping her curved palm up and down it's length. Marc collapsed to the floor; she turned around at once, offering her dripping pussy to his mouth. He pulled her down to him, running his tongue deep into her, then withdrawing to worry her clit with frenzied lapping. Her head moved slowly up the length of pole; she nibbled at it, found the tip, and plunged down, jamming the head into her throat. Her lips started milking him, and her fingers scratched at his balls. When he came, he flooded her throat, and she swallowed without tasting, falling onto his face with her own ecstasy.
CHAPTER TEN
THEY ALL SLEPT on the floor of the pleasure room, and woke Friday morning at about ten. Joan and Ron were sent over to the Chappel house to pick up all the supplies for the picnic, while Marc and Lynda were to clean up the apartment. Marc washed dishes while Lynda took a bath, and Lynda prepared a fun pack while Marc bathed. She collected a handful of the aphrodisiac pills, four iron stakes, and four heavy leather straps, put them in a bag, and waited for Marc to dress. They met Ron and Joan at the driveway, decided to take both Marc's and Ron's cars, stopped at a service station to pick up ice, and headed for the picnic spot that Ron had found.
When they arrived, Joan immediately busied herself with arranging the food and drink on the flat rock, studiously avoiding having anything to do with the others. They spread blankets on the grass a few yards from the stream and changed to bathing suits for sunbathing.
"I got the stuff," Lynda said to Ron, showing him the pills, straps, and stakes.
"Good. This time, I don't want her to get drunk, and I don't want her to have any pills. We'll take them, to keep our energy up, but she's going to have to face us straight." Ron divided the pills into three piles, swallowed his handful, and motioned for Marc and Lynda to do the same.
Joan, self-conscious because she had been avoiding them for so long, came over and asked if anyone wanted a drink.
"No," said Ron, "We're not going to do any drinking for a while. Put a bathing suit on and lie down with us for a nap."
"I forgot to bring one."
"Nude, then."
"No, I don't want to."
He jumped up, grabbing her arm. "Now look, dammit, nobody's asking you to do anything today -we're ordering you! Now take your fucking clothes off!!" He ripped roughly at her blouse, tearing it down her back, and released her. She backed off, cowering, and stripped, then lay down quickly on her stomach beside Marc. Surprised and relieved when everyone else went to sleep, she got up and wandered around the clearing, finally sitting at the bank of the stream dangling her feet in the cold water.
After half an hour, she turned to look at her companions, who were beginning to stir. Lynda had rolled against Ron, resting her right hand on his crotch, and the effect of this warm touch on his dreams caused his cock to harden. Joan blushed at the sight of the stiff, thick rod, and raised her hand to her mouth, too late to stifle a gasp. Ron woke, nudged Lynda and Marc, and they got up. At the sight of Joan and Lynda, Marc shook his head quickly to clear the sleep from his brain and looked down at his own stiff dick. Ron and Lynda moved quickly, running over to grab Joan and throw her to the ground.
"Get the stakes and straps," Lynda called.
Marc brought them to Ron, who used the jack-handle from his car to drive them into the ground as the corners of a five foot square while Lynda secured the straps first to Joan's wrists and ankles, then to the stakes. As soon as the terrified woman was tightly spread-eagled on the grass, Ron jumped on her and drove his huge cock up to the hilt in her cunt. He came quickly, his coming serving only to moisten the lips of her vagina, and pulled out, still holding a full hard on, to give Marc a chance. As he mounted his wife, Lynda lost control and jumped on, spreading her legs and dropping her dripping cunt directly over Joan's face. Marc reached around her, clutching her plump ass, and pulled her throbbing clit into contact with his tongue, moving her body down on Joan so that her asshole was directly over Joan's mouth. Ron dropped to his hands and knees, shouting in her ear.
"Tongue her, damn you, tongue her!" When he could see that she was obeying, he stood up, straddled Marc and Joan, and gave Lynda the head of his cock. She took it, ravenously hungry, jamming it deep into her mouth, lapping furiously at the underside of the head with her tongue and milking the neck with her lips. When she felt Marc's body begin to quiver with his orgasm, she raised her legs so that all her weight rested on her ass and Joan's face, tickled at Ron's balls with her fingers, and jammed one up his ass. The thick stream of come coursing down her throat brought her off, and she flooded the faces of both Marc and Joan with her own release, falling back in exhaustion. Marc and Ron backed off, both cocks still standing high, and waited for her next move.
She quickly untied Joan, motioning for Marc to sit down on the grass. He leaned back, resting his weight on his hands, as Lynda led his wife over and sat her down on his organ. Ron came up behind her, sat down facing Marc, and raised her ass up so that he could bring her anus over his rod, still slick with Lynda's saliva. The two cocks, separated only by two thin membranes, jammed Joan so tightly full that her waist bulged. Lynda moved around to straddle Marc, facing Ron, offering her clit this time to Joan and her asshole to Marc, who immediately plunged his full tongue deep into it. Joan, completely hysterical, lapped madly at the swollen clit that filled her mouth, and rode up and down on her double impalement. Ron put his arms around her, clamping his strong hands down tightly over her swinging breasts, and used them as handles to help pump her up and down, while Marc gave his hands to Lynda's tits, worrying the stiffened nipples until her entire chest was flushed red and she flowed for the second time into his waiting mouth, as his own come redrenched Joan's womb. He pulled off. Ron, furious over his cock's refusal to fall, flooded her ass and stayed in, motioning for Marc and Lynda to keep the movement going while he rested for a moment. He lay back and they took over for him. Standing on either side of her, both grabbed an elbow and shoulder and started pulling her up and down as quickly as they could. On every up movement, Ron could see his great weapon appear, just up to rim of the head, then disappear again as Joan's body was shoved down over it. He quickly regained his strength, clutched at her waist, and took over. Lynda, newly aroused by the continuing spectacle of passion, bent over to offer her ass to Marc. He plugged it immediately and led her, standing up, around so that her crotch would be available to Joan again. This was too awkward to be comfortable, so he pulled out, pressed her thighs together tightly, and pushed his cock between them. The tip, emerging just below her clit, found its way into Joan's mouth when he lunged forward and disappeared between her slick thighs when he pulled back. Joan had lost all sense of what was happening to her; she could barely feel Ron's manhood filling her asshole, and knew only that she was supposed to lick whatever was offered to her mouth and grind her hips. She worked madly at Lynda's clit, abandoning it temporarily each time her husband's member reached her lips.
Ron gushed again into her bowels, and his rod softened enough to be pulled out painlessly. He stood watching as his sister flooded Joan's face, then clamped down on Marc with her thighs and forced him to explode once more, splashing over Joan's chin and neck. As soon as Marc and Lynda were out of the way, he pushed Joan flat on her back and straddled her chest, wrapping her tits around his cock and masturbating with them, pushing forward so that the thick head worked back and forth over her mouth and received the benefit of her mindless licking. He came quickly, dousing her hair and forehead and eyes in boiling cream, and went to the stream to join Marc and Lynda to wash and cool off. Joan lay on the grass, covered from head to ass with come, her tongue stabbing at the air, searching for something to lick.
When the others were clean and dry, they noticed her, threw her directly into the cold stream, ignoring her startled screams as they fixed drinks for themselves. She crawled slowly up on the bank, rolled over onto a blanket, and passed out.
"Well," said Lynda, "That's the biggest shock she's had yet. If that doesn't do it, I don't know what will."
"I do. We'll take some more pills and screw her until we drop, and then we'll go back to the apartment and strap her down on one of the machines, turn it on, and forget about her for a week or two."
"Come on, Ron, we don't want to kill her. All we want to do is break her out of her guilt feelings. If we can't, we can't-that's all there is to it," Marc said.
"No, it isn't. I'd rather be dead than be like her, and I'd rather kill her than leave her like she is. I'm going to find a way to break her, too." Ron got up angrily, choked down his drink, fixed another, and stalked off into the woods.
Lynda watched him, quietly, until he was gone. Then she turned to Marc. "He isn't much better than she is, is he?"
"No, he's not. Has he always been that hard about things?"
"I'm afraid so. He's only got one way of looking at things."
"Well, the fact that his way is like yours, like mine has become, doesn't really excuse his inflexibility, does it?"
"No, I guess not."
"Then the solution to our problems isn't simply Joan coming around to our point of view. Ron has to change too. And I don't know if that can happen".
"It'll be very hard, I guess. But, Marc, it's worth it, isn't it?"
"Yes, it sure is. Things could be so perfect, life could be so great, we could be so happy-if only Joan could be happy too, and Ron could be... "
"Happy too? You're right, Marc-he isn't really happy with this kind of life. It's kind of like, when Daddy was teaching us all these things, Ron got as far as the pleasure-out-of-pain thing, and couldn't go any further. I think that's the main reason he likes having such a big dick. It's so big that it hurts most girls; it doesn't hurt me, but he can pretend that it does. The idea of causing pain is his only pleasure; that's why he likes working on Joan so much. If she did come to enjoy it, I don't think he would admit it."
"You make a pretty good analyst," Marc laughed. "Come on, now, worrying about Joan and Ron is becoming our hang-up! Let's not worry about anything... let's just enjoy getting pleasure. That's the main thing, isn't it?"
"Yes, Marc, that's the main thing." Lynda smiled broadly, and bent over to lightly kiss the tip of his cock. The pills still had an effect on him, and it jumped straight up at her, so quickly that it actually slapped her cheek. She laughed out loud, dropping her open mouth down over it. Marc lay back in the grass, pulling her body around so that her crotch was over his mouth, and started pulling gently at her cunt with his lips. She soon had enough of gentleness, however, and attacked him in dead earnest, nibbling down the length of his organ and forcing his legs part so that she could get to his ass, give him a quick rimming, gargle lightly with his balls while she stroked his swollen gland, and return to sucking him off.
He responded in turn, dipping deeply into to her slick twat with his tongue, fingering her ass, nibbling and sucking at the throbbing clit that had swollen and taken over the entire mouth of her vagina. They wrapped their arms around each other's waists and started rolling across the grass, splashing into the stream just as they splashed each other's mouths.
Spluttering and laughing, they sat in the water, throwing water at each other and enjoying the chill flowing over their heated bodies. Finally they got out, dried each other, and lay down on one of the blankets to sleep.
Ron returned from the woods, found the three of them asleep, and got himself a bottle of beer. Just before he opened it, he changed his mind, walked over to Joan, and shoved it up her cunt; she was still too exhausted to notice the ice-cold plug in her pussy. Disgusted, he gave up, got another beer, and drank it. He sat, staring at her, drinking and smoking and trying to figure out something new to do to her.
He got up to get another beer, opened the cooler, and got his idea. He carried the cooler over to the blanket Joan was on, turned her over on her stomach, and started pushing ice cubes up her ass. It was still loose from the stretching his cock had given it, so he easily found room for eight cubes. Still she didn't stir. He sat, watching, as the ice cubes melted and water started to trickle down the inside of her thigh. Ron lost his patience.
He reached down into her crotch and jerked the beer bottle out of her snatch. It had warmed up enough, so he opened it and put his thumb over the mouth before any foam escaped. Shaking it furiously with one hand, he used two fingers of the other hand to spread the mouth of her ass, then jammed the beer bottle in. He released his thumb, and could feel the carbonated explosion by resting his hand against her ass. He removed the bottle, pinching her asshole closed, and she woke up.
"Don't let your ass relax," he ordered, and ran to the flat rock to get a paper cup. Forcing her up into a squatting position, he placed the cup under her. "Okay, now!!"
She relaxed, flooding the cup. He took it and offered it to her. "Drink!"
"She stared at him, unable to believe that he would go this far. "Drink, you bitch!"
"I... I couldn't!"
"You have to. Now drink it, before I have to hurt you!!" He grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head back, and twisted until her eyes watered and her mouth opened in a cry. Quickly he poured some of the liquid into her mouth. "Swallow!!"
She obeyed. He poured, a little at a time, until the cup was empty, then released her, laughing. She fell forward on her hands and knees. "Want another beer, Joan?" he laughed. She turned her head to look at him; her throat started jerking and she retched, her stomach heaving even after it was empty.
"Well, that's certainly no way to show your gratitude. But I won't hold it against you; I'll help you out. You need something in your stomach to calm it down, so I'll give you some soothing lotion. Here, eat me."
She crawled over weakly, wiped a string of spittle off her mouth with her arm, and wearily fell over his cock, lapping at it like a dog licks a wound. It responded, though, and Ron picked her up by the ears and dropped her mouth over its smooth rounded head. She tried to suck it well, working furiously with her tongue, wanting to get it over with quickly, but he kept his hold on her ears and kept pulling himself so deeply down her throat that the tip of his cock triggered the gagging reflex, and her empty stomach heaved.
"Still feel sick, huh? Well, the only thing to do is get something in that stomach and keep it there. Can't waste a drop of it. Understand?"
She nodded her head, continued sucking, and he gagged her again. When he tired of that, he started pumping her head up and down, doubling the stimulation of her lips and tongue. He came, releasing thick, heavy spurts of sperm, and leaned back so he could make sure that she was swallowing it. When she had it all down, he jammed her head down to gag her again and pulled out. "Remember, now, Joany, can't lose a drop of that."
She looked up at him, her eyes pleading, as the heaving of her stomach brought his load rushing back up her throat, but he only laughed. Her cheeks puffed out as her mouth filled; she reddened, regained control of her stomach, and swallowed again, gasping for breath. "Now go eat Lynda."
She broke. She started sobbing uncontrollably, her mouth twisted into a contorted scream of anguish, and she tore at her hair. Ron realized that he had gone a little too far and started slapping her, knocking her face back and forth until she collapsed on the ground. He went to the stream, soaked a towel, and washed her face and neck with the cold water. When she was calm enough to sit up, he fixed a strong drink for her and helped her hold the glass steady; she sipped, cautiously, and asked for a smoke. He lit two, gave her one, and sat down beside her.
"How would you like to smoke some dope, like we did before? If you did that, you could enjoy yourself for the rest of the time we're here."
"Tha... that would be nice."
"Well, I've got some, and I'll give it to you, but you have to promise not to say anything to Marc and Lynda about what we've been doing."
"Okay, I won't tell."
"Good. Now, wash your face again, to get rid of all that ugly redness, and we'll wake them up."
"I think I'll get in the stream and wash up completely."
"Okay, that's a good idea, I think I'll join you," Ron said, and they both waded out into the stream. Joan was relieved at the prospect of cushioning her feelings with marijuana, so she loosened up a little and even started playing a little. Ron got a bar of soap from the car, and they washed each other, having great fun slipping out of each other's grasp, and making so much noise that they woke Marc and Lynda, who joined the splashing to wash the sleep out of their eyes.
"Hey, I'm famished. I gotta have something substantial to eat!" Lynda cried, and skipped over to the flat rock. The others joined her, and she started piling plates high with standard picnic fare-ham sandwiches, fried chicken, potato salad, and rolls. They all ate heartily, and had settled back for smokes and drinks when Ron produced a dime bag of grass.
"Surprise, people it's time to get stoned!!" He waved the bag in the air, and Lynda jumped up and down and clapped her hands in exaggerated glee while he rolled and lit the first joint. It went around quickly, Joan sucking more eagerly than anyone else each time the link came around to her.
"She looks like she belongs in an emphysema ward," laughed Lynda, pursing her lips, widening her eyes, and sucking her stomach in imitation. But she did the same thing when her turn came, and Ron had to quickly roll another when she popped the roach into her mouth. The second one disappeared just as fast as the first, and the third, and the fourth, and the four bodies began to rock back and forth a little, and the four minds became conscious of the entire field waving back and forth a whole lot, and Ron put the bag away.
Joan had one drug experience behind her now, so she knew what to expect. Sitting quietly, expectantly, she waited until she became conscious of the blood coursing through her veins, of the ship's engine throbbing of her heart, of the marvelous process of distention and warm lubrication going on between her legs, of her clit stirring around and finally peeking out from behind the soft folds of skin. She leaned back, moaning, her entire mind centered on her sex.
Lynda moved quickly to her side, rolled over between her widespread legs, and raised her head up so that she could start lapping at her nipples. Joan jerked up at the first contact, then settled back to enjoy the wonder of total awareness, the excitement of sensitive cells touching sensitive cells. Just as her nipples began to take control of her mind, Lynda dropped down between her legs and gave the first long, slow, tantalizing lick to her pounding clit. Using long, light strokes, starting at her thighs, Joan brought her hands up to take over at her nipples, and found them sitting like living pebbles atop the firm twin boulders of her breasts, and Ron dropped his slack cock over her face.
She took it, very gently, in her hands, pulling it near enough so that she could give it the touch of her soft, warm breath, stirring the hairs at the base lightly and relaxing the balls. The mammoth organ started swelling, and grew to a thick staff topped with a mound of hot velvet. She rubbed it up and down over her tits, searing the flesh and causing a skin flush to start and spread over her entire body, burning in turn Lynda's cheeks as they rested against her thighs. She brought the tip back to her lips, blew on it to cool the drop of lava resting on the end, and took it into her throat.
Marc came around behind Lynda, dropped to the ground, and started rimming her, soaking her entire ass with heavy strokes of his tongue, bringing her own juices up out of her cunt and over her anus with deep lapping movements, and forcing her clit to stand up so his fingers could get to it. When his hand got too slick to keep a hold on the burning knob, he wiped the slickness across the head of his own hard rod and screwed it slowly into her ass, feeling it being sucked in almost too fast by the milking motion of her sphincter.
Ron knelt over Joan's face, alternately dipping down to have his balls tickled by her breath and rising to give her lips a chance at the hot drops of liquid which continued to form at the tip of his dick. Finally he dropped down hard, ramming her throat with his entire manhood. Joan got a wide-screen picture in her mind of herself as a snake swallowing its prey, and started working at dislocating her jaw to give entrance to the huge member, never stopping the swallowing movements of her lips and tongue and throat, sending muscular ripples up and down every inch of the staff that she could get to. Marc's efforts were jamming Lynda's face harder and harder against her snatch, and she tried to suck as hard with it at Lynda's tongue as she was with her mouth at Ron's cock. She caught the soft velvety head deep in her throat, and felt the rush of come like waves breaking on the length of her gullet. Her thighs locked Lynda's face deep into the quivering pit of her own orgasm, and Lynda jerked back, jamming against Marc, slapping his balls with her protruding clit, bringing off simultaneously his explosion into her ass and her own deep within her cunt.
Ron got up, went to the stream to wash, and returned without losing his erection. Joan watched him hungrily, her own hands wandering down between her legs to take the place of Lynda's tongue. When Ron sat down beside her, she pushed him down flat and stood over his waist, her legs spread wide, squeezing tightly at the lips of her snatch with both hands her entire body quivering with anticipation as she prolonged the delicious wait for Ron's monstrous plug. She stooped, wrapped both hands tightly around its base, and lowered herself onto it, pausing at the rush of pleasure as the head split the inner lips of her cunt, then taking the entire twelve inches, a hairbreadth at a time, into her fiery canal. She kept her hands in position, fingers wrapped around to stroke at his balls and thumbs in front to form a channel for her clit to rest in. Ron reached up to work at her nipples, rolling them around on the surface of her tits as if they weren't really attached. She started grinding at him with her hips, forcing the buried head of his cock back and forth, grazing the entrance to her womb, giving her a delicious feeling of having her entire body packed full of throbbing, pulsating cock.
Ron put his hands around her waist and pulled her off him, forward, and back down, filling her this time through her ass, and giving her an even tighter feeling of complete physical fulfillment. He worked a hand into her loosened cunt, half wrapping its inner membranes around the neck of his dick, and started stroking. She struggled madly to keep control, to maintain her balance, surrendering completely to his total presence in her body, and collapsed, half held up by the stiff rigidity of his rod and half flapping mindlessly back and forth. His final penetration, the gushing of his come, forced her ass up like a rocket, and she came back down on him knowing that the new load was churning through her bowels. She fell over, fainting in ecstasy.
Marc and Lynda had been sitting, watching, with his rod up her ass, turning on to each square inch of contact all the way up her rectum. The sight of Joan's orgasm, however, made sitting still impossible, and Lynda started rotating her ass slightly, almost in a dance, flexing her sphincter in time with the beat. Marc, in turn, concentrated completely on the hardness of his penis, trying consciously to pump more blood into it at every pulse beat, straining his muscles and squeezing down on her clit with his fingers. She reached down for his balls, found them, and started rolling them gently between her fingers. When she felt them jerk in anticipation of his first spurt, she abandoned them to milk the base of his cock with deliberate slowness, forcing a clean separation between each splash of come, following each one up to the tip with a rolling movement of the muscles of her rectum before she allowed another to escape, and giving him an orgasm that lasted for several minutes. With each flow, his fingers involuntarily snapped at her clit, and she embarked on a long series of multiple orgasms. Marc fell back, too tired even to withdraw, and they both slept.
Ron washed again in the stream and returned to Joan, but she didn't stir when he prodded her with his foot, and his cock had drooped to flap against his thigh anyway, so he rolled himself another joint and sat, smoking, wondering what to do next.
He had found himself a little bored with the dope thing, and wanted Joan to get straight before he tried anything with her again, so he let her sleep for a couple of hours, rousing Marc and Lynda to share a couple more joints with him and get a new high on. Then they lay together, Lynda holding a half-aroused cock in each hand, each getting his own thrill out of the contact and the dope and a long, slow sunset.
It was completely dark when Joan woke up, and they decided to end the picnic and return to the Chappel home. Marc and Lynda dressed quickly, packed Marc's car, and left, while Joan washed up and Ron put the top down on his convertible. Ron giggled softly as he watched Joan try to reassemble her torn clothing, and laughed out loud when she stumbled over one of the stakes in the dark and gave a startled cry.
"Nothing to worry about, Joany dear. We won't be using the stakes any more. Let's go home."
She got in the car, nestled down against her door, and he started the long drive down the mountain. He drove very slowly, unable to tell how fast he was going because of the extra dope he'd had, and unwilling to let the road gain control over him.
"Hey, Joany, I want you to do me a favor; I want you to come over here and rest your tired little head in my lap," he sang, turning his head to giggle at the frightened expression on her face.
She decided that she couldn't antagonize him, since he was obviously stoned, so she leaned over and gingerly laid her head in his lap. He immediately started working at the buttons on her blouse; since it was already badly torn, it came off easily, and he tossed it up in the air, allowing it to catch the wind and flutter down to the pavement.
"Let's do that with all your clothes, Joany, strip your body and strip your soul, lose those inhibitions!"
Terrified, she obeyed, and gave him her bra. He flipped it out so that it caught on the antenna and waved like a flag, and he laughed even louder. She gave him everything else she had on, even her shoes, and he threw it all out onto the highway.
"Now, Joany, we'll be getting into town soon, and you don't have anything to cover up with. But, if you're a nice girl, I'll put the top up and let you lie down on the floor. Otherwise, you have to sit up nice and straight and smile and wave to all the people you see. Now, are you going to be a nice girl?"
"Yes... what do I have to do?"
"Eat me."
With a sigh of resignation, she opened his fly and pulled out his slack limp cock. It stood up quickly, the head higher than the bottom of the steering wheel, and she had to raise her head even with the horn button to get it into her mouth. She sucked quickly, desperate to get it over with before they got back to town, working furiously at his knob, chewing at it as rapidly as she could.
"Oooooh, that feels good!" Ron started making thrusts at her, slowly at first, then increasing the speed of the car as he increased the tempo of his grinding hips. Joan could see the speedometer needle out of the corner of her eye, and watched in horror as it passed forty, and fifty, and sixty, and seventy.
Just as she decided that he was definitely going to kill them both, that there was no escape, his fist came down hard on the back of her head, forcing it down and gagging her on the head of his cock. A wave of nausea crashed in her stomach, and she could feel the bitter bile coming up her throat. She backed off, gasping in disgust, and stared at the giant prick that she had been sucking. Ron forced her back over it, and her disgust took over completely. She bit him, hard; the taste of his blood gave her more pleasure than she had ever received from his come, and she barely heard his scream, but bit down harder, trying to sever the head of his penis completely. Chewing away, she paid no attention as his hands left the steering wheel to tear at her face, no attention as the car left the road, no attention as it rolled over, throwing her free with a mouthful of cock, and landed on top of her, and the gas tank exploded.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SENATOR ROBERTS arrived at the Chappel home before the police did; his insistent pounding on the door interrupted an otherwise perfect shower they were taking together. After a confused few minutes of introductions and "What are you doing here's," he was able to explain what had happened.
"I got a call from the police about ten; that's two hours ago. They found Ron's car smashed out on the highway, burned, with two bodies in it, neither one recognizable. Is it Ron?"
"Oh, Daddy!! Yes, it must be Ron, and Joan-Mrs. Chappel-too! What could have happened?"
"There were tire marks; apparently excessive speed and he lost control. The bodies, even though they were badly burned, were in, ah, somewhat of an unusual state. Do you know what they were doing up there?"
"Yes, Senator," Marc said, "We were up there with them, having a picnic. I, uh, suppose you know about us... "
"Yes, of course, go ahead."
"Well, we left first, and they were supposed to follow us. Ron had been smoking quite a bit of marijuana, and Joan had too. You can imagine what they could have been... "
"I don't really have to imagine; the cops I had to pay off showed me their descriptions of the bodies. Well, there's nothing to worry about. The police will be around to ask a few questions, establish the exact time of the accident, and things like that, but we can keep it out of the newspapers."
"Daddy, don't you even care about Ron being dead?"
"Of course, Lynda, I care very much. But we can't bring him back to life, and we can't let it ruin our lives. We have to go on living, and leave death to the dead."
"I... I guess you're right," she said, burying her sobs in Marc's shoulder.
"Of course I am. Now, I'll stay here tonight. It's too late to fly back out. We'll leave in the morning, and you can spend the proper amount of time in mourning. I suppose you'll want to spend some time alone, Dr. Chappel," he said, more as an order than as a question, then clapped his hands in a gesture of finality. "Let's have some coffee now, and wait for the police to get here."
A pair of patrolmen stopped by and asked a few vague questions, told Marc and Senator Roberts where the bodies were, and took their leave. The three went separately to bed, and Lynda and the Senator were gone when Marc woke up.
He called Joan's family, gave them an acceptable reason for the accident ("It was a freak thing; he swerved to avoid a dog and hit an oil slick"), and made arrangements for the body to be shipped home for burial. Surprised at his own indifferent reaction to his wife's death, he spent Saturday and Sunday just as he would have if she had been alive, enjoying the knowledge that he didn't have to go back to school on Monday, watching television, drinking, reading science fiction, and sleeping late.
He didn't miss her; he wasn't really bothered by not missing her as a wife, but he didn't even miss her physical presence. That worried him, he spent a lot of time thinking about what a typical marriage it must have been. If he had grown so indifferent that her absence didn't make as much of an impression on him as a pet running away, or an old piece of furniture being disposed of, then it was much more than a simple matter of their love disappearing. They never could have loved each other in the first place, at all. He would have been more moved by reading a report of the death of a total stranger in the paper than he was by reading about hers.
He spent most of the day Monday clearing out her things, still fascinated by his own reaction to the death. He wasn't going through the usual packing away of personal effects for the usual reasons-he was trying to erase completely the few little hints of Joan that remained in the house. The pictures, jewelry, old sentimental odds and ends? No, those were easily taken care of, tossed in a box and mailed back home. The clothes? A Salvation Army truck. It was the real pieces of Joan that he made a thorough search for, looking under chairs and cushions for candy wrappers and old television listings, finding a real haul in the bathroom, all kinds of powders and lotions and creams, smelly ointments, mysterious bits and pieces of junk that she smeared herself with every night before she offered him her body in fulfillment of the marriage contract. These things he collected, savored, sat and stared at, before he threw them in the trash, not feeling up to a melodramatic burning scene. These things, he realized, were what Joan was to him, and (even more important) were very easy to get rid of.
The afternoon mail brought a note from Lynda, apologizing for leaving without waking him "... but Daddy was in a hurry to get to the airport. We buried Ron today, and I found myself having to act in order to appear properly mournful. Oh, God, appearance-Daddy says I have to wear black, he didn't say exactly how long, but you can just imagine-probably a whole year, with a dramatic graveside scene at the end. And he's the one who said we have to go on living-life!! I'm going to be stuck in a dreary old house with no friends and nothing to do, and no Marc...
"I miss you, Marc, I miss you already, and I miss you terribly. I want you too much to wait very long-come see me soon, Marc, please!...
"Oh, I forgot, did you get Joan's funeral over with all right? I'll be at Daddy's retreat home in Colorado, all alone, curled up in front of the fireplace with nothing on and dreaming about getting a little of your hot, stiff DICK!!!
Love, Lynda P. S. Map enclosed."
He laughed out loud at the last line and hurried to finish with Joan's things so he could make plans for the trip to Colorado.
He decided to leave on Wednesday, take two leisurely days for the trip, and surprise her Friday morning. So Tuesday was lost to the mechanics of travel, getting the car checked out, leaving a note for the paperboy and milkman, arranging for the neighbors to keep an eye on the house and take care of the mail and the lawn, packing, emptying the refrigerator, and so on and so on.
But Wednesday found him ready at dawn; by noon, he was far enough down the road to feel like stopping for a sandwich and a beer, maybe picking up a cooler full, and taking it easy the rest of the way. He started looking for a roadside diner.
The food stop was a quick one; the diner he found looked bright, cheerful, and friendly on the outside, but there was no one inside but a withered old waitress/cook, yellowish white hair and all. She gave him a nice club sandwich, and cheerfully sold a case of cold beer, but wasn't much on looks or conversation, so he hit the road again. The miles dropped behind him easily; the warmth of the sun on his left forearm and the icy taste of the beer created a perfect balance, lulling him into the dreamlike state of a carefree traveler. Sunset found him far ahead of his plan; he'd had enough beer to make him happy ("mild euphoria" was the phrase he liked,) enough drinking to make him start looking for a motel, and enough time to forget completely about Joan. He was going to sleep well tonight, and the next night, between crisp, sterile motel sheets, and then he would be with Lynda again.
The Lakeview Motel received him cheerfully, gave him the usual "last single," and proudly ushered him into the spacious, warm, all-Formica dining room, where starched young waitress/maids zipped around slinging twentieth century hash- flashfrozen steaks and fresh frozen vegetables. But Marc didn't pay as much attention to the food he got as he did to the service. A sweet young thing, probably spending the first summer away from home to help pay for next fall's entrance into college, had his table, and she was determined to get the big tip. She fussed over him completely, half a mother trying to please her child and half a woman trying to excite her man.
She had very long natural blonde hair, wound tightly on top of her head, exposing a delicate white neck; a few stray wisps drifted down around her ears, giving a little interest to the otherwise practical waitress' topknot. She wore the usual woman's uniform, starched white dress, tight at the sleeves and the bust and the hips and thighs, and she knew how to wear it, threatening to rip out the seams every time she reached across the table to give him a napkin or saltcellar. Her whole body got involved in leaning across in front of him, legs extended to let him know that she wore no girdle, breasts straining to pop free of their thin covering. Marc ate mechanically, conscious mainly of the faint clean animal smell of her body and of the tiny electric shock each time the tip of a breast brushed his shoulder. When he had finished, and she was clearing away the dishes, he gave her thigh a quick stroke under the table, leaving it up to her to decide whether or not it was accidental.
"Will that be all, sir?" She gave him half a smile.
"Coffee, please." He lit a cigarette, watching her fill his cup.
She brought it, with the check, and went on to other tables. He glanced at it, put it back on the table with two twenties and his room key, and went to the office to explain that he'd locked himself out and needed the spare key.
He had just finished a long shower when she knocked. He answered the door in a towel, water still shining on his bare chest.
"Sir, you forgot your key and your change."
"No, I forgot my key and left an appropriate tip. Are you off duty now?"
"I finish in forty-five minutes-eight o'clock. But I've got to hurry back now. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yes, there is one thing." He found his wallet and pulled out a ten. "Is there any way to get a bottle of rye around here?"
"Sure. There's a bar next to the dining room. Mike'll let me have one."
"Good. That's the life of a traveling man-a motel room and a bottle. Well, you can bring it by when you go off duty. I'll see you then."
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
"Your key."
"Keep it. You can let yourself in; I'm going to take a nap. Put the bottle on the dresser, and keep the change."
"Thank you, sir."
He shaved and turned the sheets down on the bed, took off his towel and lay down. Beer, driving, the full meal, and the hot shower did their work on him, and he was asleep before he thought to pull the sheets back up.
The gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder woke him. "You're going to catch cold if you're not careful. Would you like me to cover you, or turn the air-conditioner down?"
"Turn it down. That white uniform really makes a nurse out of you, doesn't it?"
"I guess so," she laughed. "I got the bottle. Do you want mixers?"
"No, but you could run get some ice and I'll put some pants on. You will join me, won't you?"
"Well, maybe just one... "
He turned over on his back, made a quick grab for her ass, and she fled, stopping to pick up the room's styrofoam icebucket. He got up and dressed, lit a cigarette, turned the TV on and found a movie, a western. He pulled the cellophane wrapping off two glasses, broke the seal on the bottle, splashed whiskey into the glasses, sipped at one.
She returned with the ice, and Coke for her drink. He added ice to both glasses, Coke to hers, gave it to her.
"Are you a traveling salesman?"
"No, just traveling. I'm not too busy in the summers. And you, I think, must be a college girl who's paying her way through. You work too hard to be a pro."
"Exactly right. I'll be a sophomore in the fall. But right now I'm mainly interested in fifteen percent of the check. It's a nice break when I get a customer like you."
"I'm perfectly willing to pay extra for the extra service... for all the extras."
"I try to give all the extras." She sat on the bed, crossed her legs, a true expert at stretching white nylon to just below the breaking point. They watched the movie.
By the time Marc gave the glasses their third splashing of rye, his new coed had changed from mixers to on-the-rocks, and conversation about the movie drifted far from the actual plot line.
"The trouble with these movies is that they have no sense of reality. Somewhere along the line, there must have been a dull day in Dodge City."
"Yes," she giggled, "and there must have been some average or pint-sized men. I don't think I've seen one yet under the six-foot-five range."
"Except me."
"Except you. But you're a big man, too."
"I am?"
"Yes. You can't fool me; I saw."
"Saw what?"
"Saw you-before, when you were asleep."
"Oh, so that's what you mean!"
"Yes, that's what I mean!" On "that's," she reached out for his crotch, gave it a little squeeze, and fell back across the bed, laughing hysterically. Marc turned the TV off.
She'd gotten all she could out of the tight dress now, and stopped trying to use its restrictions for effect. Lying across the bed, bouncing along a little with her laughter, she let the hem work up to her waist, and started moving her legs hungrily. Marc lay down beside her, tried to stop her giggling, finally covered her mouth with his, and she changed from laugher to teaser, clamping her teeth together and refusing to open. Marc's tongue went to work, gently at first, playing lightly at her lips and making little stabs at her teeth. She tried relaxing just enough to nibble at the tip, but he took advantage of the tiny opening and worked his way in, fighting a duel with her tongue, then taking over completely, exacting submission, finally allowing her to make a trade, and they tasted each other's mouths.
She had run out of oxygen now, and her body relaxed. Marc got up, sat up, and started undressing her. She worked with him, shared the task of unbuttoning, worked her legs in time with his hands as he tugged at her panty hose and bikini briefs, fell forward into his chest when he reached around for the clasp on her bra.
He pulled away, piled her clothes on a chair, and turned on all the lights in the room. As he flipped the last switch, beside the door, she caught what he was doing and stood up, giving him the exhibition he wanted. She had taken her hair down when she left the dining room, and it fell halfway down her back, retaining just enough of the wave that her waitress' style had put into it. She put her hands on her hips, spread her legs to the at-ease position, and grinned at him.
He lapped up the sight of her full breasts, so large that they would have been obscene were it not for the magic of a young body that held them firmly up and out, defying gravity, hanging in space as if still in the mold of her bra. They had the white outline of a bikini tan; the nipples looked like they had been carefully painted on. Huge aureoles of dark body make-up, outlined in a clearly-defined circle of dark mascara, sat on the exact tip of each huge mound, surrounding pencil-eraser nipples that begged for a kiss, the very pinnacles of two beautiful ledges over a lean, flat stomach.
Marc's eyes dropped to her crotch, to a fleecy blonde triangle that belonged on a twelve-year-old, just barely shading the fleshy mound, barely blurring the lips of her swollen slit. He had a full minute to wonder at the focal point of her athlete's thighs before she turned around, proudly displaying her crowning asset, a perfectly rounded ass that wouldn't go convex under the tightest vaginal squeezes. She tossed her head, looked over her shoulder at him, and found his eyes glistening and the crotch of his pants bulging, his tongue licking in vain at his dry lips. She sat on the bed, beckoning with her half-open mouth for him to join her.
He came over quickly, pushed her down flat, and covered her body with his, nibbling and sucking hungrily at her lips. Her hands fought quickly to get between them and loosen his clothing, to get rid of it, to get to his stiff cock, but he fought back, trying to prolong. He slid down a little, burying his face in her breasts' valley, and using her hard nipples for handholds. She gave up her fight; she clutched his head, twisting it to turn his lips to her waiting nipples. He bit at them teasingly.
Quickly, then, trailing his tongue lightly across her flesh, he made a long, sweeping movement down to her stomach, circled her navel, and dove for her crotch, lapping at the hair to convince himself that its softness was real. Marc could tell that this was her first experience with cuntlapping; she tried to hold her thighs tightly together. But the natural pout of the lips of her cunt, amplified by the swelling of arousal, gave his tongue entrance to within a maddening eighth of an inch of her clit. He probed, deeper and deeper, waiting patiently for her surrender.
She fought him, mixing revulsion with the aching desire for his cock, but finally the stabs started getting to her, and she relaxed. Her legs flew open like the jaws of a trap; Marc dove, and she pulled her heels down against the small of his back, bucking in rhythm with his tongue. It worked at her clit, rolling it around like a greased marble, swelling it and coaxing it out from behind its curtain. Her juices were flowing heavily now, lubricating his chin as it pushed against the entrance to her womb. Marc paused for a moment, to try to dry her slippery clit with his breath, and she pushed him quickly back over on the floor, jumping on him insanely, tearing at his clothes.
In her excitement, she ripped his shirt completely off, but had trouble with his pants. Finally the zipper gave way, his cock sprang out, and she took it into her mouth, half trying to swallow it and half simply wanting to wet it. He twisted around, reached up to pull her pussy down to his lips, and turned over, burrowing deeper and deeper between her thighs with his tongue and dropping the entire weight of his body on her face. She sucked mindlessly at his thick rod, and this added stimulus brought her over the edge. Her legs shot straight up in the air, knees firmly locked -a huge V with a writhing, foaming point.
Thrown out of control with the ecstasy of orgasm, her ass started revolving, pumping itself off the floor with each forward stroke and throwing her back up on the backstroke. Marc, riding her wildly, struggled to stay on and keep working, but was finally dislodged. Alone on the floor, she continued to move, muscle spasms accompanying her chain orgasm. Her movements grew slower as exhaustion started to take over, and soon she lay still-until she saw Marc, lying on his back, his cock still stiff and uncooled. She jumped up, straddled him, and sank down over it, assuming the position of a jockey, and started to ride, her feet planted firmly on the carpet, her ass bouncing crazily up and down. She took the part of both horse and rider, supplying enough energy and motion for both. Her ass continued to bump rhythmically; her mouth hung slack and her nostrils distended as her body fought to suck in enough oxygen.
Again the orgasm sequence struck, and again her movements lost their smoothness. She started to buck wildly, and Marc exploded, scalding her cunt with four days' come. She screamed when she felt Marc's orgasm begin; her bucking became a heavy pounding, the slapping of her ass against his loins making gunshot noises. Marc lost his hard, and fell out of her, but she hardly noticed, her entire being absorbed in the thrill of multiple orgasm. She slowed, spreading her legs to gain more contact with his body, finally falling against him, rubbing her slick flesh against his, then giving up. Her body was quiet, except for an occasional muscle spasm at her stretched crotch, and her breathing became regular.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MARC MADE A slight change in his plan, deciding to spend Thursday at the motel and finish the driving early Friday. The waitress, Mary Sue Williams, had Thursdays off, as it turned out, and didn't mind spending the entire day in Marc's room. Her first orgasm with Marc had been her first real orgasm, and it had broken her completely; she made it clear that she was willing to try anything, to learn anything. And Marc felt like teaching.
So the rest of Wednesday night was devoted to pleasure, Thursday morning was spent in sleep, and Thursday afternoon the lessons started. The first thing to do was to take advantage of Mary Sue's crown jewel, her beautiful ass. For a warm-up exercise, they did a dog-style fuck, on the floor, and she proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that she knew how to use her muscles. Marc, once he mounted her, was completely involved in holding himself on, clasping her ball-joint waist, wondering at the way she devoted herself entirely to the sex act. He kept his cock firmly planted in her, the base of it locked firmly in the grip of her vaginal sphincter, swivelling rather than pumping, flipping the head back and forth across the slick knob of her womb. He kept his head up, watching her, trying to remain objective and last as long as possible. He stared at the deep, fleshy dimple at the base of her spine, watching it alternately purse and spread open. Then he decided to take over, and pushed her down flat on the carpet, bracing his palm against the backs of her thighs, circling the balls of her buttocks on each side with thumb and forefinger. She lay perfectly still, tensing her muscles in an up-and-out position, allowing her cunt to spread open like a pink flower. Marc started a very slow pump, pulling out to allow the ridge of the head of his rod to work at the mouth of her hole, then coming out and down to tease her clit, then dipping as deeply as possible into her cunt. Her juices flowed, dripping onto the carpet, soaking his balls, finally loosening her tight young pussy. Now, each time he pulled out, Marc slid the tip of his cock both down to her clit and up to her asshole, tempted simply by the incredibly tiny fold of crinkled flesh that formed its opening. Soon it too was slick and shiny, and Mary Sue had grasped his purpose and was consciously opening it. The tight folds blossomed out to a fleshy vortex, still only large enough to form a guide for the very end of his member, and maddeningly inviting. He drew out of her cunt for the last time, locked his aim, and screwed the purple knob of his cock into the firm grip of her anus. She gasped and covered her head with her hands in pain, but quickly recovered from the initial shock and started an inviting, sucking muscular rippling action in her rectum, and Marc allowed himself, having to help only a little, to be pulled completely into her tight, burning bowels. He started pumping, very slowly, pausing at each stroke to reach down for a handful of cunt-juice and grease his rod, satisfied only when all friction had been eliminated, leaving only a hot, slick, tight clinging of flesh to flesh. Mary Sue, confused by the contrast of the new thrill in her ass and the aching emptiness in her cunt, slipped her hand beneath her and curled three long thin fingers into herself, concentrating first only on her own hungry nerve endings, then gaining confidence and, through two thin membranes, wrapping the fingers around Marc's shaft, masturbating it with quick little strokes, then feeling the come spurting into the center of her body. Marc lay still, conscious only of the thrill of discovering the second completely sex-centered person in his life.
They paused for a protein-packed supper at the motel dining room, then, without wasting any time with drinking or TV, continued the lessons. Mary Sue polished her role in both cocksucking and cunt-lapping; when she collapsed into Marc's arms at three o'clock Friday morning, she was fully as sense-conscious as he was-the perfect pupil.
Marc tried to talk her into going to Lynda's place with him, but she decided that it was definitely too early in the summer to give up her job, satisfying him with a promise to switch from student to teacher in the future. So he left, and drove hard, and rolled up the road to the Roberts' resort just at sunset.
He parked in front of the place, a barn-size A-frame, and brought his things to the door. The bell got no answer, but the door was open, so he stuck his suitcase inside and walked around back. The redwood roof had been extended in plexiglass, covering a twenty-by-forty heated pool. Through the glass, he could see Lynda playing in the water. As he came in the sliding door, she noticed him and climbed up to greet him.
She wore a plastic bathing cap, and nothing else. The last rays of the sun cast a reddish-bronze hue over her natural tan, catching fire in the drops of water that clung to her pubic hair and presenting her entire body as an essence of warmth. Wordlessly, she padded to his side and started stripping off his clothing. With his help, the job was done in a few seconds, and he was able to discard the grime and fatigue of the road for the fresh, warm cleanliness of forty-five thousand gallons of Colorado water. Lynda quickly threw away her cap, releasing her hair to the sun, and dove back into the pool. Marc dropped to the bottom, holding himself down by gripping the last rung of the ladder. She followed him. Cheeks puffed with air, they kissed, releasing a deluge of bubbles in the exchange of tongues. Lynda pulled away and went down on him, sucking herself down to the hair at the base of his soft rod. He ran out of oxygen, released the rung, and started to rise, floating up with Lynda still firmly attached. By the time he had surfaced and assumed a spreadeagle floating position, his cock was standing stiffly, and Lynda had to give it up to reorient herself. Treading water, she positioned herself between his legs. She took a great mouthful of water in and started spraying it gently over his barely floating balls, then moved her stream up the length of his rod, running out of water just at the tip and replacing that stimulus with the quick lapping of her tongue. That proved impractical, though, so she abandoned him to swim to the edge of the pool for an inflated air mattress. Marc got on this, on his back, with his hips at end of it. Now he was buoyant enough to support her weight, and she was able to give up treading water in favor of a firm grip on his thighs.
Her weight brought the tip of his prick down to water level, so she was able to get back to work and still keep her nose out of the water. She held him in her mouth quietly at first, getting used to the meat that filled her and gluing all available tissue to it. Then, beginning with her tongue, she started working on him; her actions started little currents going in the water, gently washing his balls back and forth over the slick plastic of the mattress. Finally, bracing herself against his thighs, she half pushed him down, half pulled herself up, allowing him to slide off the mattress and go under just as he shot his load, giving her a tasty mouthful of come.
Having thus cleansed, relaxed, and satisfied him, she proceeded to dry him and feed him supper. Over cold sandwiches, they forgot entirely about their brief separation and concentrated on their newly intensified togetherness. Marc told her about Mary Sue, and she listened hungrily to the details, eyes glistening and tongue darting nervously around the edges of her mouth. But when he talked of the one straight fuck they had had, she replaced knowing enthusiasm with impatient longing.
"Oh, Marc, I just don't see how I can stand to go through what Daddy calls a 'decent' period of mourning! I feel absolutely empty because of this technical virginity thing of his, and it's driving me up the wall!"
"Well, I don't really know your father that well, but it seems to me that the mourning and the virginity are his main flaws. And it's not because I don't like the wait as much as because it's inconsistent with the rest of him. Isn't he against the denial of pleasure?"
"Yes, he is. But he has to make a lot of compromises in his public life, of-"
"Of course he does, since that is the public life he has chosen; compromise and politics go hand in hand, even with the honorable politicians. But I don't think that our happiness is as closely tied to his public life as it is to his private life; do you?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, then, there's no reason for a compromise of his personal moral standards. But this is all pretty useless; why don't we get him up here and talk it over with him?"
"Oh, Marc, you're an angel," she laughed. "He called last night and he's coming in a week. And we'll work on him, and we'll be married in another week, won't we?"
"Damn right we will, because we have seven days to work out a firm, unshakeable, overpowering moral vision that's based, among other things, on an immediate wedding ceremony."
"Damn right!" She bit down with affected firmness on the last half of the last ham sandwich, wadded up a paper plate, and threw it at him.
Marc was ready for a day of rest, so Saturday was spent lying around. On Sunday morning, though, Lynda woke him with a series of sharp, reddening bites on his groin.
"I have come to seduce you," she said, "and I will not be turned away!"
"Oh, yes, you shall!"
"Marc! You sound serious!"
"I am. We have to get to work on our moral code, and a moral code built on shaky discipline is a house built on sinking sand. No sexual activity until we are married."
"MARC!"
"Assuming, of course, that we are married within two weeks. Seriously, Lynda, discipline is necessary, and we might as well take this moral code seriously -it'll probably lead to a perfect marriage. Besides, a few days of self-imposed celibacy can be a sort of symbolic ritual, and everybody digs a little bit of ritual."
"I don't know if I do."
"It's only for a week, or maybe two."
"Well-"
"I'll tell you what I'll do. I hereby promise that, no later than fourteen days from today, you and I will engage in sexual intercourse of some form, Daddy or no Daddy."
"Well, okay."
"Come on, Lynda, show some enthusiasm."
"All right. I can be a nun, and you can be the priest, and the house can be our church. What should we do first, Father Chappel?"
"Well, confession would be too exciting, I think. How about a little food for the body?"
"Right. Breakfast it is."
So Sunday morning started the ritual of celibacy. For seven days, Marc and Lynda either worked on their moral code or took advantage of the resort, swimming, hiking, sunbathing, and just loafing. The following Sunday, as they were sitting around congratulating each other for not having to resort to cold showers, Senator Roberts arrived. They gave him a few hours to get settled and take a nap, then launched their attack.
"Daddy, Marc and I have decided that this period of mourning is a bunch of shit. We want to get married immediately," said Lynda, as she set them all up in the den with coffee and snacks.
"Well! That's certainly a straightforward statement. I suppose it's an indication that you two have talked this thing out fairly completely."
"Can't outfox a politician, can you?" Marc laughed, "Yes, we think we've worked everything out."
"Okay, let me in on it. First of all, what do you see wrong with the period of mourning?"
"It's a lie," Lynda said. "We're not mourning Ron, or Joan. If anything, we're in mourning because we can't do what we want to do."
"And you want to get married?"
"Well, marriage itself is just a silly ceremony. But we want to live together, and we can see going through the ceremony for that. We don't want to stir up any snakes for you or Marc."
"Doesn't doing it so soon after the accident stir up snakes?"
"We don't think so. It's being honest, and all we have to do to be honest about it is to go ahead with it, not loudly and with a big church deal, but not secretively either. After all, your friends like me, and Marc's colleagues like him; they're not going to be malicious about it."
"Yes, I guess some of them will accept it completely."
"And the rest can think we're just comforting each other in our mutual sorrow," Marc broke in. "That's a sick enough lie to satisfy the sick ones. Besides, we don't have to care about them, anyway. Do you?"
"No, I don't think so. There's bound to be a little static, but I guess a greasy old politician like me can take care of all that. That's what daddies are for, isn't it? I'm convinced that the marriage will be good for you both, so I'll be glad to take care of all the silly details."
"Oh, Daddy, you're a doll!" Lynda jumped up to kiss him, slopping a little coffee around, but nobody noticed that.
"Wait a minute, now, Lynda. I can't miss my one chance to give a little fatherly advice to the prospective couple."
"Uh-oh. Dry philosophy, here we come." Lynda returned to her seat, grimacing mockingly.
"Cool it, Lynda," Marc said quickly. "This is probably serious."
"Right, Marc. Thanks. Yes, it is serious. I would like to say that I think you two can be very happy together, but you're going to have to keep a few things in mind. The main one is that, to be happy, you have to always do the things you dig, and avoid the things you don't dig, within reason. It's probably silly for me to use words like 'dig,' but you understand what I mean, don't you?"
"I think so, Daddy, but what about this 'within reason' thing?"
"Oh, that just means to use your common sense -like going ahead with the marriage bit instead of just living together. Ron, you remember, died because he overdid what he dug. And Joan died because she refused to do what she didn't dig. You have to be a little flexible; that's all I'm saying."
"Anything else?"
"Not really. I could give you the standard list of aphorisms, but you know them already. So, I'm going upstairs to get on the phone and work out the details, and you two can stay down here and celebrate your conquest. What's a good date?"
"Tomorrow!!!" from both of them.
"That's probably physically impossible, but I'll come as close to it as I can. Here, with no guests?"
"Here, with no guests."
"Okay. I'll take care of everything."
He was true to his word. Monday was impossible, and so was Tuesday. But Wednesday, at noon, the thing was done and all the papers were signed and everyone but Marc and Lynda Chappel had gone.
"Mr. Chappel, it's legal now. Let's go to bed."
"Mrs. Chappel, you have no sense of ritual. We shall go to bed when it gets dark. Meanwhile, I have set up a wedding-day plan of action. First, we take naps-separately. Then we eat a big meal, raw oysters and thick steaks, and take showers, again separately. Then, at dusk, you can dress yourself in a flimsy nightgown, preferably a cheap one, since I shall tear it off in my frenzy when I come to your bed to claim the archetypal trophy of marriage, your maidenhead."
"Fuck you, Marc."
"All in good time, dear lady, all in good time. Seriously, Lynda, let's do it that way; we've got a lifetime, you know."
"Okay, I can dig it. But, Mr. Marc Chappel, I want to remind you of one thing. Someday, when you're old and impotent, and I'm old and dried out, we're both going to regret this wasted afternoon."
"Maybe. But we're a long way from drying up now. Go take your nap."
"Yes, Massah."
Lynda, of course, had impatiently sheathed her body in silk when the sky started turning red, but Marc didn't come to her until it was completely dark. He sat on the edge of her bed and kissed her lightly on the forehead, then turned off the lamp on her bedside table and pulled the covers off the bed.
He was already nude when he lay down beside her, but he left the gown alone at first. He kept kissing her full on the mouth for what she thought was an eternity, until she started squirming so much that he went down her cheek to nibble at her earlobe. Then, fumbling, he shifted the gown around so that one full breast was exposed; he licked and sucked at the nipple until it stiffened completely and the rush of blood inside it heated his mouth. He moved to the other, recovering the first one with the gown but keeping it hard with light flicks of his fingers. One hand slid down her body, slowly around the hip to the thigh, then back up to her crotch. It was already slick with her juices, and his attempts to get a grip on her swollen clit were enough to start a slow, rolling hunch in her hips. She freed a hand from the weight of his body and found his cock, fully hard and already oozing one small drop of slick liquid. He stuck a finger into her, finding the maidenhead to be definitely present, but already stretched conveniently. Returning to her clit, he worked her almost to the pre-orgasm plateau, then repositioned himself on all fours directly above her waiting body.
She reached up to pull his lips to hers, but first he pushed one of her arms away and ripped the nightgown off as he had promised. Then, lowering himself, he lodged the tip of his cock lightly between the inner lips of her cunt. He started easing himself in, moving his hips up and down to wedge the head of his prick into her. Her stretched maidenhead let it pass, then locked around the rim. He began a slow move forward, but Lynda, driven half-mad by his teasing, had reached the boiling point. She stuck her legs straight up in the air, imitating Marc's description of Mary Sue, and twisted her ass as far forward as it would go. Then, gripping Marc's ass in both hands, she wrenched him down, smiling triumphantly as she felt the flesh tear and beginning to concentrate on the use of her vaginal muscles. Marc's plan of prolonging the experience had worked, though, and her first good squeeze brought him off. In turn, the warm come bathing her virgin womb was all she needed, and her crotch went into convulsions. They collapsed, and lay still for a long time.
"Marc, that must be the only way to fly!"
"Like it?"
"Love it."
"Well, don't restrict yourself too much. Variety is the spice, you know."
"I know. Damn the restrictions, full speed ahead. Any time you want it, any time I want it, any way you want it, and any way I want it, we're gonna ball. Ball, ball, ball."
