It was late Saturday afternoon on a promising spring day when Betty Sanderson stepped out of the warm driving shower onto a plush, purple bath mat. She lifted the long honey-colored hair from her delicately arching neck and looked at her youthful reflection in the full length bathroom mirror with an involuntary self-satisfaction. It was hard not to be proud of the vivaciously sparkling olive green eyes gazing back at her, slanted slightly above high cheekbones, blinking back at her with a growing amusement; it was exhilarating to be such a beautiful young woman and beneath her quiet and modest temperament she enjoyed it. Though she was to celebrate her twenty-sixth birthday this very summer, her voluptuously curving young body was every bit as firm and taut as a teenager's with high set round breasts curving down over a slender girlish waist to round luscious hips; a flat smooth stomach and full swelling thighs; breathtakingly curved calves tapering down to small well-formed ankles.
A smile brightened her face. She relished these lazy days spent at the beauty salon where her long rich hair was conditioned by the tender hands of Andre, her French hairdresser, with Edith standing by to manicure her nails and chat about the customers.
A burst of laughter from the patio interrupted her thoughts. Wonder who's here? she thought. Who ever it is, I hope they're not planning on my company. Betty wrapped a soft dry towel around her naked torso and lifted one of the slats in the Venetian blinds, peeking out at her brother-in-law and her husband relaxing around an umbrella table enjoying the warmth of the June sunshine, a glass of beer in hand.
Suddenly Betty's jovial mood sunk to her stomach where it churned and bubbled, finally exploding from her mouth with a, "I can't help it, I just don't like him!"
Had the housewife been more introspective of her feelings, she might have admitted to herself the true reason why she felt an overwhelming discomfiture when in the presence of James, her husband's brother: James was a fashion photographer of undisputed notoriety. He'd been flown to Europe on several occasions for the seasonal fashion showings in London and Paris and had made a lot of money at it. But that alone was not reason for such ill-based feelings, Betty had reasoned to herself over and over in her three years of marriage. It was his hobby of taking photographs of voluptuously nude young women and showing them to his friends that riled her anger. "If you tried to humiliate me like that," Betty had warned her husband Carl, "I'd leave you in a second!"
Dragging a hairbrush through her damp hair, the young housewife heard another voice joining the two males. Might have known, thought Betty, "James has one of his models along with him again. I just don't understand how Nancy puts up with him. Must be that he makes an awful lot of money, otherwise no wife would put up with outright adultery like she does. Betty's eyes narrowed and focused more sharply on the strange picture confronting her: James' lean and muscular body was spread out on the chaise lounge in white slacks that contrasted with his deep tan that set off his silvery blonde hair. The petite dark-haired girl, whom Betty recognized as one of James' models, was trying to sit on his lap. Her lushly curving young buttocks slid down onto his pelvis and his arms swooped out to grab her by the elbows and cast her off. But she laughed and bounced right back onto the thickly bulging protuberance now fully apparent, straining upward against his white slacks. Betty blushed and stepped away from the window, exiting quickly for the adjoining master bedroom. This wouldn't do at all, her mind raced while she pulled on her slacks and shuffled her feet into sandals. Not in front of her husband!
I don't like feeling this way, reasoned the young blonde, but it makes me nervous every time James comes over here with one of his models because I know that Carl gets turned on by all these young beautiful women, perfectly made up but plastic as can be. Even though he denies it, I know Carl is jealous of his younger brother-being surrounded with beautiful young women day in and out.
Another squeal of laughter erupted from the backyard as Betty gathered up her car keys and straw purse and, with a flick of the wrist, ran the brush through her hair a final time. She knew it was silly, washing your hair before going to the hairdresser, but it seemed so crass going to a beauty salon like Andre's with unwashed hair. Without greeting her brother-in-law, the Porsche revved to life and a streak of orange sped down the tree lined boulevard for downtown Santa Monica.
"For some reason," began James tilting his beer glass to his lips, "I don't think your wife likes me."
"Ah, come on, James," assuaged Carl, slapping his brother on the shoulder. "It's not that she doesn't like you, it's just that she's, shall I say, 'awed' by you."
"Awed?" asked James quizzically.
"Yeah, that's it. There's a mystique about photographers you know, especially fashion photographers and I guess she just feels uncomfortable because of...."
"Because I take photos of nude women, you mean," added James with a note of finality.
Resting his elbows on the patio table, Carl nodded his head and then drained his glass.
James flashed a glance in the direction of Shirley, the dark-haired model who now sat on the edge of the swimming pool, dangling her lithe tanned legs in the blue sparkle of water, and, with a look of confidentiality, leaned forward. "You know what you ought to do, Carl?"
Carl leaned closer with a subtle movement, barely detected; there was something about taking advice from a younger brother that bordered on humility. "What?"
"You oughta use my polaroid and take some good photographs of Betty...."
"What do you mean? We've got a lot of family pictures!
"No, no." James shook his head smiling. "I don't mean family pictures, I mean fun pictures. You know...." James narrowed his eyes, a wicked little glint sparkling in them.
Carl leaned back in his patio chair, trying to assume the attitude of a calm, relaxed, and satisfied husband, but a shudder of excitement shot through him as he fixed his eyes on the figure of the bikini-clad model at the edge of the pool, stretching out her ripe young body to catch the first rays of sunshine. He tried to imagine how she would look naked, posing lewdly for his brother. Would she giggle and run her own finger around her nipples to get them all hard and puckery? Would she undress in front of him with slow, salacious movements, or would she prefer the privacy of a dressing room?
"Cameras," Carl shook his head. "I don't know beans about cameras. Christ, I'm lucky if I can get both feet and the head in one frame." He chuckled to himself, but it was a chuckle of curiosity, reflected in his probing gaze fixed on the sunglass-rimmed orbs of his brother. Then Carl leaned forward again, his body language speaking for him.
"Listen, Shirley and I just came back from doing a swim suit ad down on the beach. Got all my camera equipment with me in the trunk of the car. Be back in a flash."
Carl watched the erect figure of his brother disappear around the corner of the house and heard the creaking of a car trunk opening. With his back resting against the chair and his hands folded in his lap, the successful young real estate executive drifted off into reveries of what it would be like to be a fashion photographer. Secretly, he'd always envied his younger brother for his artistic flair and his ability to direct action. On rare occasions he'd seen him at work in the studio and was amazed at how the young man could stimulate models into expression, often by getting into poses himself and through encouragement and light hearted comments, put the models completely at ease to bring out the creativity of their body movements. How a married man gets away with it, I'll never know, he sighed. Carl heard the thud of a trunk lid lock and in seconds his brother returned, a camera in hand.
The metal chair legs of the wrought iron lawn furniture scraped against the cement as James set the camera on the table and pulled his chair up.
"This is a polaroid camera. It's the simplest thing in the world to use. All you have to do is aim and snap! In sixty seconds your photograph slides out." He demonstrated with a quick shot of his brother finishing his beer. Sixty seconds later an awed Carl sat grinning at the image of himself hidden behind a beer mug.
"Jesus! I'm going to have to get one. This is great!"
"And here's the timer," explained James. "It allows you to be in your own pictures." He held it up and showed how it operated. "See, you set this thing for up to fifteen seconds, then get in range and the camera takes your picture. Then one minute later, you have your photo, automatically."
Christ, thought the older brother. I wonder if Betty would let me take pictures of us making love. Maybe if I ease her into it. I'd sure like to ask James for pointers on how he gets all these women to strip for him, but I'm the older brother. I'm supposed to be the one with all the answers.
"I don't use this camera for anything except testing-you know, in the studio when I use spotlights and strobes. Keep it over the weekend and see if you like it." He jabbed his brother with a pointed elbow, "See what goodies you can add to the family album."
Carl's eyes narrowed, not certain of what his brother was suggesting.
"Use the camera in the bedroom!" the photographer said and then started to laugh. "Get some real nice candid shots of the ol' lady."
"What?" Carl feigned surprise.
"You mean you didn't think of the possibilities?" was the reply. "That's the beauty of the camera. You don't have to take the film in to be developed. Whatever you shoot a picture of is all your own business." He nudged Carl with his elbow again and winked. "See what I mean?"
Carl could feel his face redden. Sure, he knew what his brother was talking about; he wasn't stupid! But he knew Betty would never consent to be photographed naked ... like she was some nude model in a man's magazine!
"I know what you're thinking, Carl and believe me, once Betty gets into it, she'll be the one to get off the most. I've seen it happen a million times! Christ, I ought to know! Women love having males stare at their naked body. God, once they get over the initial embarrassment, nothing, and I mean nothing holds them back. Betty'll get so hot she'll be beggin' for you to lay her ... and shoot pictures of it at the same time.
The lewd implications of James burned his brain and he was suddenly ashamed of himself for ever thinking of asking his wife to pose nude for him. He liked sex, loved making it with his wife ... but there was a limit. Some things had to be kept private. Yet his emotions were ambivalent. The high principled resolve not to hurt his wife's strict sense of modesty' was suddenly enshrouded by an exciting little curiosity. Maybe ... just maybe, his brother was right.
Although the Sanderson's were a happily married couple whose respect for each other had sometimes become almost stifling,, a fact that he was just beginning to admit to himself, their physical relationship did need a shot in the arm.
Maybe this camera would be the magic potion that would accomplish it.
"Got to go now," James interrupted his brother's thoughts. "Nancy and I are going to a party at Malibu Beach tonight. Gonna be a real swingin' party."
James' sports car roared out of the driveway several hours before the orange Porsche braked to a halt in the same spot. With her blonde hair washed, conditioned, and tinted, Betty emerged from the car beaming, knowing her husband would be well pleased with her appearance, the new dress she had bought boldly revealing her full, firmly shaped breasts.
Carl was standing at the bar, separating the kitchen and the living room, when his wife walked proudly into the house sporting her new hair-do and dress.
"Hey! What have we here?" he beamed, taking a sip of his scotch and water and retreating to the bar to mix one for his sexy looking wife who stood anxiously awaiting his compliments.
"Like it?" she asked haughtily, turning in half-circles to let him feast his eyes on the bare backed sundress with a large ruffle skirting the calf-length skirt.
"You're a natural model, you know that?" He handed her a drink and stepped back to admire his wife. Goddamn, but she looks sexy with that deep tan and her blonde hair all pulled back from her face like that. A strange tingling in his groin began again and a slight, jerk of his penis told him that he was getting excited.
God! I'd love to take a picture of her taking off ... stop it, he told himself ... this is absolutely crazy, thinking like this ... but still his brother's seed-like suggestion whirled in Carl's mind, gathered momentum, and when he looked at his wife seated on the couch with her legs crossed delicately at the ankles, he couldn't help but mentally strip her of her clothes and seeing her as if in a photo....
"Did you have a good visit with that brother of yours?" asked Betty with an air of defiance.
"Hey, come on," urged Carl, well accustomed to his wife's aberrations regarding his younger sibling. "I wish you'd get to know James better ... give him a chance, you know?" He sat down "in the nearest chair, his open shirt revealing the dark curls covering his chest.
"I don't know how Nancy puts up with him." Betty shook her finger in mock accusation at her husband. "If you ever started taking pictures of, of nu ... nude women, I'd ask for a divorce in seconds. Running around with models all day and all night. What kind of a marriage is that, anyway?" Her ice cubes rattled in her empty glass, and politely, Carl rose to fill it and then padding across the wall-to-wall carpeting to where his blonde wife sat, handed her a refill saying, "Now darling you know better than that." Those words had become a ritual in discussions about James.
"Look here, Betty." He strolled over to the living room table and picked up the polaroid camera. "James left this for me to try out. Takes pictures and you don't have to have them developed....
"I know, Carl," interrupted his wife, "I've seen the ad on television."
Carl was beginning to feel the effects of the last two scotches he'd downed and his head was spinning with lustful dreams of his wife nude and voluptuous on the bed, standing on the bedroom rug, stretched out on the couch. Quickly he finished his drink to try and steady his nerves, and mentally berating himself for such lascivious thoughts.
Besides, he knew damned well that if he ever dared to suggest such things, his wife would be righteously angry. Surely not that! Still the images came back to goad him on. He groaned silently feeling his loins suddenly begin to ache with anticipatory excitement.
"Would you like me to take a picture of you, Carl?" Betty was on her feet approaching her husband who stood with the camera preciously cradled in his hands, a far away look glazing his eyes.
With a wide smile, she took it from his hands and with the smiling command: "Say cheese," bent her knees slightly, just enough to zero in on his face without cutting off his wisps of curly hair and snapped the shutter. They took turns then, snapping pictures of each other's faces between drinks of scotch and water until they'd exhausted their imaginations and n's were suspiciously deleted from words and s's sounded more like drawled out z's.
"Let's fool around with the camera some more," suggested the husband, a pulsing hardness in his loins now. He grinned at her, realizing that the liquor had gotten to him, too. "You know, just a couple of shots to put in our album."
"All right," she said, going to the window overlooking the tree lined street and pulled the celery-colored drapes shut, closing out the orange sun that was gradually sliding to meet the western horizon. Betty sat down on the couch, crossing her legs and placing her hands on her knees after smoothing her skirt.
"Right!" Carl quickly snapped a few innocent ones, but his mind was on the ones he really wanted to take of her stripped completely naked.
"How about moving your skirt up a little now?" he suggested casually.
"You're starting to sound like your brother now," she giggled, throwing back her head-a shot that Carl didn't miss.
"My ... you should have been a model, darling. Missed your calling." The shutter clicked again.
With a merry glow in her eye, the young blonde inched her skirt up, just enough to reveal her smooth, round knees. "Do you think that will look all right?"
Carl waved his hand as if to shrug off the worry. "Nobody's gonna see these but us anyway, baby. Go on, pull it up a little higher."
"All right, if you want," his pretty young wife replied, and bunched the material in the folds of her waist.
I can tell he's been under the influence of that brother of his, she thought silently. But I'd never have the courage to do this if it wasn't for the three scotch and waters I've consumed in the past hour. Although the young woman did not want to admit it, alcohol did seem to loosen her strict moral code ... perhaps dangerously? No, there wasn't anything to worry about. If her own husband wanted a picture of her like this, then why not? It was no different than the one hanging in the hallway of her in her bikini on their honeymoon."
"Promise me you won't show any of these to your brother. I don't want him getting any idea that we approve of what he does."
"Never," he promised. He held his breath and snapped the shutter. Then one minute later he sat down with her and showed her the portrait, and he found himself breathing a little more heavily as he admired the smooth, firm swell of her naked thighs as she sat almost nude from the hips down ... the aching built steadily in his pants ... he quickly rose from the couch, trying to hide the rapidly growing bulge. "Let's take some more. That was fun!"
Apple, their two-year old poodle, strolled lazily through the living room enroute to his food dish in the comer of the kitchen.
"Look, he wants to get on the action, too," laughed Carl who suddenly had an idea. "Now put your legs up on the couch. That's it," he encouraged. "Now lean back and arch your back so that your breasts stand out nice and firm...."
She obeyed and when she'd assumed a sexy pose, Carl lifted the willing dog onto the sofa and placed him in such a position that Apple was looking directly up his mistress' skirt. "There! That's it! Yes!"
Click!
Carl emptied the last of his melting ice into his dry throat, as he waited for the film to develop and then he gazed with ever increasing excitement at the photo "Hot damn!" he said, chokingly under his breath. "That's fantastic! Maybe I could sell it to one of those shops, you know the quarter a peek ones!" He loved to tease Betty; she blushed so easily.
"Let me see," demanded Betty, and he handed her the color shot. She gasped, never before seeing herself so provocatively posed, so, so ... sexy! Crimson crept up from her breasts and neck and enflamed her cheeks. "Carl!" she gasped, but her eyes refused to leave the image of herself. She was stretched out on the sofa, her firm, ripely quivering breasts straining against the thin fabric of her sundress, her nipples evident under the thin voile fabric ... her lips glistening wetly where she had moistened them with her tongue seconds earlier ... her sun-tanned legs and thighs were exposed in all their dark silkiness and there, looking up under her provocatively raised dress, was her poodle, his long pink tongue hanging out of his lazy open mouth.
"Carl, that's ... that's almost obscene!"
"I've got another in mind. This time get down on the carpet...."
"What?" he was interrupted.
"Down on the carpet," Carl commanded hoarsely. "This time lie down and lean forward." He made a quick trip to the bar to refill his glass, allowing Betty time to get into position. "I want to see your breasts this time," he blurted in his excitement.
"Carl! What would your mother say?" Yet, in spite of her initial resistance, she did as he bid. For some unexplainable reason she was caught up in a strangely mounting fever. A small, irrational tingling started growing in her loins and inner thighs, and she could tell her vagina down between her thighs was beginning to respond to these lewd poses too. Already she could feel the excited moistness of her inner lubrications.
No! she thought, this is a wrong thing to be doing...! But when she looked up at the excited face of her husband, and then dropped her eyes to the bulge clearly evident in his white summer pants, her own desires grew still more. He's enjoying this ... she concluded. God, he's just like his brother ... but if it's getting him excited I guess it's all right. Maybe that's what's making me feel all Buttery inside, too....I know it's not these wild pictures that's making me feel so passionate. But I'm so happy that Carl wants me physically. Usually he just drinks his scotch and falls asleep watching Archie Bunker, but if this keeps him interested in me, then it's fine with me.
Moving so as not to muss her hair, Betty lay down on the thick carpeting of the living room, leaning forward so that the full expanse of her rounded breasts were in full view. With the soft pile of the thick carpeting brushing her naked calves and thighs-she seldom wore stockings except on the most formal of occasions, considering it a true of an "unliberated woman"-Betty became aware that she was becoming even more excited, that her nipples were rising into tantalizing hardness, pressing against the very edge of her sundress. Stop! her mind raged. This just isn't right! she moaned to herself. Hurry, Carl, hurry up and get this over with!
Carl was on his knees, angling in on the prostrate figure of his wife. "Wait a minute!" the aroused husband said. "Let's make it a little more interesting." He put down the camera on the end table and bent over his trembling wife. He fingered the straps of her sundress,, the electric contact as he brushed against her skin making her gasp. "Let's see more of that cleavage!"
This was it! Betty, her eyes clearly showing her anger. But she had to make a choice: either go along with Carl's stupid little games or say "no" as her sense of decency was crying at her. It was so rare that Carl showed such intense interest in her body, that she didn't want to lose that moment. Who could predict when it would hit again?
Bending over her, he couldn't help but run his tongue the length of her exposed neck to the tanned cleavage of her breasts. Betty jumped with alarm.
"What's the matter with you?" he charged. "You get angry when I don't pay any attention to you and when I do you get pissed!" The alcohol, the growing lust fever of the snapshots, all had now combined to make him lose control in bitter, unweighed words.
"What do you mean?" she asked with a pout of her sultry red mouth. "I'm not your toy!"
"Well it's a damn good thing you're not a model ... because James would never put up with this!"
That did it! That was the magic word! "Okay, Carl, I'll show you what modeling I can do." And to prove her point, she un-buttoned the top buttons of her low-cut sundress, allowing her large melon-shaped breasts to spill out, her already hardened nipples grazing the soft pile of the carpet, adding to heated lust. She could hear Carl's deep breathing as he gazed down with feasting eyes on the tender, uncovered nipples of her tanned breasts. He gulped hard and then click! went the shutter.
"This is it," she sighed, bracing her arms on the floor and rising to her knees, stuffed her largely-swaying breasts back into the modest confines of her sundress, and giving her hair one final primp of the hand, rose to her feet, smoothing out her dress.
"One more, please?" His deep blue eyes begging for her, how could she refuse?
"What do you want me to do this time? Stand on my head?" she laughed, teasing.
"Back on the sofa," he pointed. He angled the camera so that most of the photo would be of her delicious breasts and panties, making sure that the soft warm curls of pubic hair which managed to peek out from under the legbands of her bikini panties were in focus.
"A drink for my lady," he smiled, offering her another scotch and water then bending down to kiss her lovingly on the forehead. Sixty seconds later, he was staring at the image of his wife, the flimsy white bikini panties she wore a teasing cover to the sweet, tempting cuntal slit ... and the rounded melons of her breasts were all but fully exposed, ready to break loose from the sundress. "My God!" he whistled, and his mouth watered.
Thank God this is over with, she sighed to herself, taking a greatly needed sip of the pungent scotch. Now he's had his fun. He'll probably put those stupid photos under his pillow to sleep on. She glared up at him thumbing through his private collection and watched as his bulge gave a final jerk of prurient appreciation. Silently sipping her drink, the recognition of her lustful behavior flooded in on her and suddenly she felt cheap and whorish, cheap and whorish as James' models who posed for him naked for no price other than fun. She had let her husband do his will with her, and worse, she had become excited as he had. True, it wasn't because of the pictures-of that she adamantly refused to admit-but only because seeing her husband wanting her so much made her react.
"Carl!" she called. Only the sound of the dripping kitchen faucet answered her. Where did he go? Probably mauling over those awful pictures.
She called again and this time the handsome figure of her dark-haired husband dressed in the antique gold smoking jacket she'd given him for Valentine's Day, emerged from the hallway. Betty could tell he'd combed his hair, judging from the straightly manicured part, normally zig-lagged from his obdurate colic, and the sweet scent of his Aramis aftershave lotion that he predictably wore when feeling particularly amorous.
"You're going to miss Archie Bunker," she chided as he sat cross legged down on the sofa beside her. One look in his glazed eyes and the young woman knew what was about to happen. She glanced down to notice his bare, hairy legs. Secretly, she smiled to herself. It was flattering having a husband who was still excited by his wife.
"Carl, I love you," she mewled, kissing him on the cheek, flirtatiously.
"Mmmmmm!" he answered as he unbuttoned the sundress, letting it fall away from her chest. He roamed his hands over her, playing with her breasts, tweaking her nipples into vibrating firmness. He had never stopped marvelling in her beauty, her wide-eyed, almost shy way she came to him, as though she was a virgin every time, as though he was the only man who could arouse her to where her passion overcame her "first time" reluctance. And he was the only man!
Then she looked on the sofa next to him, and there were those filthy pictures! She gasped, cringing down on the sofa cushion as she saw them. "Put them away. I'm tired of looking at myself."
Carl only grinned lewdly at her, his face a mask of desire. "Why? They're only of you, my sweet. Here, see this one?" He held up the photo of she and Apple. "This is my favorite." Again she saw the image of herself smiling provocatively, her throbbing breasts rich and full, her skirt high and her soft white panties in full view....
"Please! Carl, please put them away. Better yet, throw them away!" She looked down at her naked breasts, spilling from her sundress and noticed that her nipples were hard with desire. Could it be? Was she so low as to allow these awful, disgusting pictures to turn her on?
There was no denying it, she was excited! And strangely, by those damnable pictures.
The force of the realization was crippling; a blow like a tornado, filling her mind with a lurid feeling of degradation and shame. Her eyes filled with hot tears of self-abasement, and in agony, she grabbed the picture from her husband and tore it in half! Better to have done with it! She wouldn't admit her arousal, not to herself, and especially not to her husband. What would a man think of his sweet, loving wife, then? Terrible things! She gripped the heaving, naked chest of Carl, afraid he would cast her aside as some whore, some defiled harlot sick of mind and body, if he knew what those pictures had done to her ... down there.
Her husband answered her silent pleas by slipping each arm out of her sundress, leaving her naked except for her panties. His hand moved from her left breast and began to slide, slowly and deliberately, down across her flat stomach. Squirming under his searing touch, Betty drew her legs up to impede his progress toward the soft, sparsely curling hair of her pubic mound. But she couldn't resist the sensual salaciousness of his caress, despite her aching, tortured heart. Another lewd thrill of sexual desire surged through the aroused young wife, and in her present state, under the influence of alcohol, it seemed that eons of time passed during which she savored every variety of sexual rapture as his hand passed slowly over her vibrant body.
Maybe if I make love to him he won't think badly of me, she reasoned to herself. God, please don't let him know why!
His hand snaked along the carpet on the floor to finger the ragged edges of the photograph now lying in two pieces beside the sofa. His fingers felt their edge and even though he couldn't view it, he knew now from memory what it contained, and the thoughts drove him to new urgency. As he had done many times in the past when aroused to such a point, he dismissed what he knew was her natural aversion to such an act, and groaned to his wife:
"Betty, please, please kiss me down there." He crawled up on her body, straddling her with his knees, his hardened cock jutting out from under the gold brocade smoking jacket. It was almost to her ruby lips now; all she had to do was bend her face a few inches and her mouth would be closing over the sensitive, fully grown head....
A shudder passed through Betty. Back to this game again, moaned Carl to himself. Maybe if I really get her going she'll finally consent to kiss me. After three years you'd think she'd soften to the idea.
He reached down, grasped the hem of her dress and pulled it up over her hips, exposing her pan tie-covered loins to his gaze. In one swift movement the panties lay in a lewd puddle on the floor. Swiftly then, he slid from the sofa to the floor, keeping a firm hold on the smooth skinned buttocks of his wife. He sat back on his heels to bring his face close up to the exposed vee of her pubic mound, and then shot out his tongue to slide it into her hair-lined cuntal slit, pressuring the tip of it inward to part the fleshy outer lips and find the tiny erect nipple of her clitoris.
Summer lightning played there in her openly spread cunt where he probed and licked, and an involuntary gasp of pleasure escaped Betty's lips. She stared downward to where his face was buried in the soft dark curls of her pussy mound and felt the searing sensations wash over her, not understanding how it was that she had gotten so quickly aroused to such intense feelings of pleasure, of sexuality.
She was alive, suddenly, with sensation, her whole body suffused with the tingling warmth of promised rapture, overriding all other rational signals to the thinking brain. Her whole body was inflamed with desire, a wanton craving for fulfillment! Never had she known such intensity, as the ravaging tongue of her husband brought her to full sexual arousal.
Oh, God! her mind screamed back at her writhing body, it's all because of those damned pictures! She closed her eyes tight and the lewd image of herself laying on the floor with her large breasts spilling out of her dress came into agonizing focus.
She could feel the moist warmth of his flicking tongue and the grasping, smoothing and massaging of his strong hands as they caressed her buttocks, hips and smooth tapering thighs. She was being driven wild with desire! She wanted it! She wanted to make love just as much as he did, and it no longer mattered what had kindled that fire in her pussy. The photos were out of her consciousness now.
Quiveringly, her hands moved up to cradle either side of his head, pressing his face in close to her trembling loins, unconsciously giving him her encouragement to continue his wild in and out action of his tongue fucking. She relaxed the tension in her leg muscles, allowing her thighs to spread submissively as she moved her feet farther apart on the sofa, lifting one to rest on the back of the sofa and tipped her pelvis with the flexing of her hips to begin a tiny countering movement of her husband's hungrily fucking tongue. It was a new position for them, a couple who was accustomed to making love only in the bedroom and she moaned softly, the building ecstasy almost too much to bear.
Abruptly, Carl rose to his feet, sliding his arms up around her, carrying the hem of her dress up and over the full round firmness of her breasts. Automatically, she lifted her arms over her head, allowing him to remove the thin garment from her vibrant, wanting body.
The next moment, Betty felt herself being crushed against his hard chest, her naked breasts mashed between their bodies, while the thick length of his throbbing cock pressed into her belly. Betty's arms encircled him, her hands moving up and down his back, her face tilting up for his kiss. His lips sought hers, found them, and welded themselves to her half open mouth.
Suddenly, the half drunk woman felt as though her legs could no longer support her; they were giving way under her! A hand went out to the edge of the sofa to keep her from falling as a wave of dizziness overcame her.
Carl eased her back on the bed, then began hastily to strip his single article of clothing from his anxious body. As he stood tall above her, he marvelled at the perfection of her lush nakedness, his eyes taking in every detail of her voluptuous beauty.
Betty writhed on the bed in an agony of need as her husband stripped naked before her, throwing his smoking jacket on the floor beside him, to join her discarded panties. She looked up at him, lithe, lean and muscular, his hard fleshy cock standing out in virile erection. Oh, but it's so huge! she marvelled. I love it when he gets all hard! A twinge of excitement burned in her cunt thinking of how it would feel when he finally fucked that big thing into her seeping cunt.
He noted the intent direction of her gaze and smiled down at her. "Don't worry, baby, I'll get you so hot you'll rape me before I finally fuck you!"
Betty loved it when he said dirty things before they made love.
"Oh Carl ... oh, my Carl...." she murmured mindlessly, flailing her head back and forth on the sofa, not caring about her newly designed hair do.
Then, he pulled her down on the carpet where he lay beside her, his lips on hers, their tongues intertwining, probing each other, as his free hand caressed her breasts, belly, thighs and pubic mound. Finally, his hand went down between her legs and covered the whole of her steaming pussy, gently massaging the hot wet flesh. Her pelvis moved in tiny churning circles under his hand, and he knew that she was fully aroused ... would remain so until she finally exploded into orgasm. Christ! He was so hot himself, he wasn't sure that he could hold off much longer! He had to get his cock in her little cunt soon and fuck her good!
Shifting his position, he moved to kneel between her legs, levering them apart as he gazed hungrily down at her tempting nakedness, the coralline flesh of her cuntal split glistening moistly in the dim light of the setting sun.
She felt his middle finger gracing the thin furrow of her exposed cunt, and she squirmed involuntarily beneath the salacious probing. Moaning aloud in an emotional agony of sensual desire as the electric shock of his teasing finger rippled along the flesh of her inner thighs, she squirmed her buttocks down into the mattress.
Then, oh, then-oh, God!-he slowly inserted his finger, probing it deep into her yearning cuntal passage, fucking it in and out for several slow maddening strokes before he began to churn it around and around just inside the tiny pulsating mouth of her seeping pussy.
"I want to get you good and wet before I finally put my hard cock in you."
The intrusion was rapidly replaced by intense sensations of pleasure as her husband finger-fucked her in and out, around and around. She lay there moaning, writhing on the sofa, her husband gloating over her nakedly aroused body.
Jesus, I wish she'd give me head, he thought to himself. Three years and she's never done it yet. I thought maybe when I had my tongue in her she'd finally give in. Guess it takes longer for some....
"I don't want you to stop, Carl. It's soooooo gooooood!"
She was reacting with vigor now to counter the manipulation of her wide-stretched cunt, her hips moving uncontrollably in wild gyrations under him, moving, it seemed, of their own volition in an instinctive dance of sex around his probing fingers. And this was only a preview of what was to come, when her husband would finally put his long huge cock in her cunt and actually fuck her!
A wave of disappointment washed through Betty a moment later when she felt him remove his hand from her hungrily squirming pussy. But then she raised her head to look down between her softly mounded breasts-and saw her loving husband leaning forward, his face between her open thighs. He was going to suck and lick her cunt some more! God! She was becoming depraved and it was all because of those damned photographs! Three times now she had thought those words: Fuck! Cock! Cunt! Oh, God! What's happening to me? Letting my husband take dirty photos of me...." I'm being coarse, crass, and crude. Thinking thoughts I'd never thought myself capable of.
Between his sex-crazed wife's legs, Carl gazed hungrily at the narrow pink oval, fringed so delicately with soft blonde hair, where droplets of moisture glistened like dew on the gently pulsating petals of her inner lips. He was pleased to see how aroused she had become. Using his thumbs then, he slowly parted the fleshy outer lips to reveal the coral depths of her pussy mouth, and he saw that the soft, curl-rimmed edges of her cunt lips were swollen in desire to be fucked more than ever before.
He drew her vaginal lips a little farther apart, laying the wet, hair fringed flesh wide open to his lustful gaze. "Betty, you've got the little sweetest cunt I've ever imagined! Wouldn't you like to kiss my cock now?"
Betty froze. Oh God! her mind reeled. I can't. And then she mouthed those words, groaning them out. "I'm not ready for that yet."
"Okay," her understanding husband said from below. "Some other time."
"Do you hate me for it?" she said in a softly spoken voice.
"Of course not, honey," He sounded convincing. With a sigh of relief, Betty gazed back at him through passion glazed eyes. She felt herself lift her pelvis up, offering her nakedly spread cunt to him ... to do with as he would. And it was involuntary, uncontrolled ... instinctive. She was a woman on the brink of an orgasm, a woman who needed to be filled and fulfilled, to be fucked until she exploded into a wildly screaming cum!
She felt the soft wisps of his hot breath graze her secret, sensitive flesh. She moaned aloud, still looking down between her breasts and across the flatness of her belly to the softly curling mound of her naked pussy. She saw her husband lower his head, his face disappearing into the split between her legs and nuzzling in against the wetly quivering flesh, and she felt the full length of his tongue slide wetly up into her more-than-ready cunt.
Her body responded automatically, convulsively, to the thrilling electric sensation, lurching up to him, then grinding back and down into the soft pile of the thick carpet to escape the intense, galvanic shock of desire that seemed momentarily more than her overloaded nerves could bear. But the next instant, her hips were flexing to raise her seething cunt to him once again. Unbidden, her throat gave voice to her utter contentment, her total physical and mental surrender to the lewd rapture that encompassed her and held her captive. There was no reprieve, except through orgasm!
Her stomach churned and she wailed now in submission at her husband's tongue slithered in and out, fucking her cunt with wild, animal-like fury. She herself was nothing but a feeling animal, an animal in heat that had to be fucked and fucked good!
She screamed as she felt her pussy flood with her warm love juices that squirted into her husband's hungrily laving mouth.
Blindly, she entangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his face gently, yet firmly, close, slowly closer up into her wildly thrashing loins. Her head flailed from side to side.
"Oh, baby," Betty finally managed to moan. "Darling, Carl, I need you inside of me, so bad."
"Yes ... yes," he heard himself say. He drew her closer to him, moving one hand down to encase the soft, smooth curves of her buttocks. She glued her mouth to his, darting her pink tongue in and out and along his teeth, and then brazenly moved her hand down to grasp his cock. Her cool contact made Carl quiver and he pressed his lips harder against hers to show his appreciation. Betty could taste her own cunt juice on his breath and it added to her excitement. She strained the full length of her body, grinding and pushing, and then she spread her legs and thighs wide and poised his cock against the snug little mouth of her now hungrily seeping cunt, the thin, hair lined lips relaxing and seeping with her love juices and his saliva, begging for him to fuck it.
There, Carl ... right now! Now!
He lunged, his hips thrusting heavily as he drove into her waiting passage, feeling her fevered, pulsating cunt almost greedily clasp his cock and absorb it. She wanted all of it fucking deep up inside her tonight, and Carl was amazed that in spite of her rejection of the lewd picture taking, she seemed almost wanton, almost completely lost in the world of sexual abandonment ... he couldn't understand her, but didn't try, not with her pussy pushed forward until the head of his cock was pressed hard up against her belly button inside, her motions of a muscle spasming tempo. She held him tightly, not only with her clasping, smoothly sliding cunt, but with her widespread legs, kicking them out to the side and locking her slender ankles tight around his heavily driving hips. He increased his own fucking, fucking into his wife with almost maniacal fury. Oh, God! He wasn't going to be able to last long tonight! Sometimes he would softly and slowly fuck her for hours on end, but not now, not at this rampaging, furious pitch! He was going to cum soon!
"Oooooooooh, Carl! You feel so good! So good!" his now voracious wife whimpered, kissing his neck and shoulders. "Yes! Yes! That feels so Goooooooooddddddddd!" Then she began to babble incoherently and he knew that she was fast approaching her own orgasm, and that spurred him on to new, more powerful strokes. Her knees drew up and her toes curled under as she raised herself even higher off the bed and her moistly splayed cunt bucked wildly back up against his slipperily fucking cock.
"Oooooohhhhhh ... Oooooohhhhhh Godddddd!" she cried out as if tortured. "I'm ... I'm there! I'm theeeeeerrrrrreee!" With a sudden, deep throated groan, Betty erupted underneath her husband, and in doing so it released his own painfully dammed up explosion. His cum churned through his swollen testicles and through his cock, bursting through the unseeing eye to flood far up into his wife's hungrily milking pussy. Again and again hot, white spurts of warm creamy male-cum spurted from him until at last he collapsed, a sigh of contentment mingling with her own soft mewlings of sexual gratification.
As sanity returned to him, Carl edged his body off his wife and rolled over.
"Come on, baby," he said at last, shaking his wife gently awake. "We have to get to bed. Can't sleep on the floor."
He gathered her limp body into his arms and carried her to their king size bed.
CHAPTER TWO
A gentle early morning breeze blew in the half-open window of Carl and Betty Sanderson's bedroom. The brilliant sun streamed through the opened curtains, casting a wide shaft of light on the thick carpet. It flooded over the bed where the couple still lay in deep slumber.
Carl awoke slowly. He squinted his eyes and raised his arm over his forehead as a shield, then turned to his side on the bed in an attempt to escape the glittering yellow light. His arm curled around his wife's naked waist, his fingers trailing through the wispy hair that graced her pelvis.
She sure is sound asleep, he thought with a broad smile brightening his face. Taking those photos must have really turned her on-God! the way she was fucking me last night!
His eyes opened to confront a smooth tanned patch of his wife's shoulders. He opened his eyes completely, rolling over on his back, and glanced at the lovely, sweet smelling sleeping body next to him. Her face was buried between uplifted lithe arms, leaving visible only a strand of long blonde hair, glistening golden in the early morning Sunday sunshine.
"Honey," he whispered, wanting to awaken her gently. A deep moan answered him. He repeated it, this time to be answered by a low, "Wanna sleep some more." The bedclothes rustled as she lay flat on her stomach.
Carl silently lifted the covers and slid out of bed, heading for the kitchen where he filled the tea kettle with water. Instant coffee would do this morning. A scratching at the patio screen door alerted him to Apple's mournful face as he pressed his wet nose to the mesh screen, then scratched alternately with each paw.
"Damn dog," growled the young husband realizing that his morning ritual of drinking his first cup of coffee for the day in the nude would have to be altered by the demands of his pet. Christ, thought the irritated man, last time I let that dog in when I was wearing my birthday suit Mrs.
Adams called the police. He padded over the thick living room carpet and, spying his smoking jacket, picked it up and slid one arm through each silky sleeve. His sleep-puffy eyes fell on the photographs of his sexy young wife, and a broad salacious grin showed off his even white teeth.
With pictures in hand, he gave his animal pet a good morning greeting with a scratch behind each ear. Goddamn but she's sexy in these pictures. James was right! They really do turn you on-and if I'm not mistaken, that means Betty too. Got to thank that brother of mine; that little son of a bitch is always right!
The tea kettle whistled its completion and, with a smile still jewelling his face, Carl heaped a teaspoon of instant into a coffee mug and churned the steaming water into it, thinking: that's what I'll do! I won't go golfing with Ralph-that boring idiot. Christ, if it wasn't for this sale I've been trying to pressure him into I wouldn't give him the time of day. Instead I'll go over to James studio to ask for some pointers. Besides, if I'm in luck maybe there'll be some action brewing.
Minutes later, after having checked in on his wife who lay cuddled in the middle of the bed, the covers pulled over her head to ward off the imminent morning sunlight and doubled protected by Carl's pillow hiding her blonde tresses, he slipped into the dressing room and pulled a plaid Indian print shirt from its hanger.
Having written his wife a curt note telling her life would be gone for a short while, he slipped out of the house and into their orange Porsche, a whistle on his lips and a song in his heart.
James was sitting having coffee with a client of his, the owner of a color processing lab on the outskirts of town, when Carl rang the buzzer to the photographer's studio situated in a high rent district of Santa Monica.
"Morning, Carl," his younger brother greeted him, followed with a cordial slap on the back. "Just having some coffee here with a friend of mine. Come in and meet Sylvester."
Carl noticed the deep wrinkles lining his brother's eyes and the puffiness of the eyelids-a sure give-away for a hang over. Secretly, Carl wondered if James had taken his camera along to the party. It was supposed to be a real swingin' affair; wasn't that what he'd said? Must be great having a social life like that, envied the older brother.
A slender blonde-haired man offered his hand to Carl: "Pleased to meet 'ya. I'm Sylvester."
"Sylvester and I are trying to get our heads back on our shoulders after that party last night, isn't that so, Sylvester."
"That's no lie," chuckled Sylvester, reaching for a half-emptied bottle of brandy sitting on the end table by the sofa.
"I guess we did over-indulge a little," admitted James ruefully. James indicated a chair beside his director's chair with his name written in bold letters, a gift from his wife, and seated himself on the sofa next to Sylvester. He cleared his throat, meeting Carl's eyes; his own were twinkling. "Did you and Betty, ah, try out the camera last night?" Carl felt heat inadvertently rise on his neck and cheeks as the remembrance of the previous evening's activities with his wife sprang full blown into his mind once more. "Well, we...." His eyes darted over to the sofa where Sylvester grinned knowingly at him. Damn, he thought. I wish James wouldn't be so open about these things. "We did take a few shots if that's what you mean."
Sylvester chuckled softly between sips of his brandy-coffee. "Ah, ha, the old polaroid camera on the wife trick," he rambled sagely.
Carl searched for words, but none of an appropriate nature came to mind. It was as if his entire head was mentholated. Frozen. He finally managed, "It's a nice camera for families."
"Did you take some pictures for your family album?" asked his younger brother with an embarrassing insistence.
Carl's face grew an even darker red, even beneath his bronze tan. "Yes, we took some of Betty in the living room-on the sofa."
Jesus, thought Carl, I wish James would leave these questions for a more private meeting. How the hell do I know this idiot Sylvester won't call up Betty and spill everything. She'd be on the phone to her lawyer in a second if she knew I was telling anybody about those pictures.
"Did you take any in the bedroom," the owner of the processing laboratory asked. "That's the beauty of the timer.", "The timer?" Carl assumed the innocent pose. "The fifteen second time, the one I left for you to try out, remember?" His brother sat forward on the white sofa, waiting patiently for an answer. Then he leaned forward even further, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "How far would she let you go? Just a little cheesecake, or did she give you the whole pie?" He laughed heartily at his own humor.
"I ... I'm not sure what you're talking about, James."
"Listen," started Sylvester, now on his, feet, his empty coffee cup in hand enroute to the kitchenette in the corner of the room. He rested his hand on Carl's shoulder and, leaning down, said, "There's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Almost everybody who tries out a Polaroid-with-timer has the same ideas and does the same things. They're great little intimacy arousers. Gets you hornier then hell, especially if you use the timer so that you get shots of you and your lover making it."
Immediately Carl noted the use of the word, "lover" instead of wife."
"... Christ, you should have seen the girls get off on it at that party last night." He gave Carl an extra pat on the shoulder before sauntering off for a refill. "Sorry I didn't ask, but anybody else for some coffee and brandy? Sure does set you straight after a hangover ... kinda like a good fuck when you're all uptight and strung out." He laughed and poured himself a cup.
Carl stared at Sylvester. From the moment he set eyes on him he didn't like him. Well, my intuition served me right again. That man is sleazy as hell. Don't understand what James is doing with friends like that. He knew that James was often open about his sex life, but never coarse like Sylvester. Why, he was practically suggesting that he, Carl, engage in lewd practices like ... well, like voyeurism, for God's sake! Self voyeurism is no better than masturbation!
Sylvester settled himself back on the sofa, once more pouring a healthy shot of brandy into his steaming coffee and wincing with the scorching of the first sip. "When I first got into the photography business, I own a color processing lab on the other side of town, I was really amazed at the number of fun loving people who shared my interest. Christ! you should see some of the photographs people come in with to have blown up to life size and hang on their bedroom walls. Hell, I figured, why should they be having all the kicks?"
"You mean you take pictures of your wife? Naked?"
"Sure as hell do, Carl." Sylvester crossed his long legs and set down his coffee cup, leaning forward in the sofa as if giving a sales pitch. "We take pictures of each other fucking almost every night. Christ! You oughta see our collection. Why, thousands of people do the same thing all over the country these days. It's the in-think to do." It was out of self-protection that Sylvester referred to 'his wife."
James allowed his smile to widen. "That's why I suggested the camera, Carl. Give you and Betty's relationship a little lift. What's it been? Three years now? Sex getting a little too predictable for your tastes, huh?"
Carl moistened his parched lips uncertainly. His brother had put him in an awkward position: what he and his wife did in the privacy of their own home was nobody's business but their own. But then again, this whole business of taking pictures was getting out of hand, James putting it on a masculine-pride level and, assuming the role of the elder knowledgeable brother, Carl refused to admit his naivety.
It wouldn't hurt, really, he reasoned to himself, to tell James about the photos he'd taken of Betty last night. It was all innocent anyway. Betty would never have to know; her communication with James was on the level of pure cordiality with terse "hellos" and "goodbyes".
Carl placed his elbows on the arms of the chair and said in a low voice, "Well, we did get. some good shots last night. Some ... some cheesecake as you say."
"Good," said James with a broad grin. "Did you get a kick out of playing photographer?"
"Sure did, James."
Sylvester laughed. "Nude shots?"
Carl felt himself flushing again. "Well, not really. More like old coca-cola calendar ads. Cheesecake, as you call them."
"Got a surprise for you, Carl." Sylvester leaned forward on the sofa again. "Now I wouldn't show these to anybody but James, but since you're his brother and all, and because I like 'ya, I'm gonna give you a Sunday mornin' lift." He reached down to his brief case at the edge of the sofa and clicking it open, removed a white envelope marked in a rubber stamp "Photographs-Do Not Bend."
Carl's nervous grin gave way to a frown. This was getting out of hand. With trembling fingers he tore open the envelope and looked up to see Sylvester staring fixedly at his expression.
"Let me explain: these are stills taken from a movie film. Somebody sent the film strip in for me to develop and I made stills of them. Pretty good racket, you know?" he laughed and settled back comfortably in the sofa.
James rose to his feet, his hand stroking his forehead nervously. Jesus, he thought, I wish Sylvester wouldn't explain his operation to everybody who steps foot in this studio. One of these days he's gonna get busted and I don't want to have my name and address on a warrant. "Hey, guys, 'scuse me, but I gotta get set up for a shooting session tonight."
Carl watched his brother disappear through the doorway into the studio. There was no way out of it, he was stuck with Sylvester and his lewd ideas of sexuality. Out of politeness, he told himself, I'm going to have to look at these pictures even though I know they're going to be filthy and repulsive, but I don't want to be rude to James' friend.
Several glossy prints in full-color, five-by-seven in size, lay staring up at Carl from his lap. Carl sucked in his breath sharply as his eyes fell on the top photograph. "My God!" be managed to whisper.
The top photo was of a lithe, buxom blonde with an angelic face. From her innocent face, Carl guessed her to be no more than fourteen years old. She was lying completely naked on her back on a hammock under a tree; her slender legs were raised and wide-spread, hanging over the sides of the red woven hammock so that the whole of her naked loins were displayed to the eye of the camera. Her hands were cupped teasingly around her pubic triangle, framing the wide-splayed splendor of her softly hair-fringed cunt. She was smiling coyly between her ruby-nippled alabaster breasts.
Carl blinked and looked at the second photo. Another sharp intake of breath, and a small gasp. The same young blonde was in this one, looking just as innocent and angelic, but with her also was a dark-haired handsome male. The blonde was straddling the man's loins, her widespread loins lowered down on the man's hardened cock, so that fully half of its huge wetly glistening length was sunk into her open cunt. She was holding its base between her thumb and forefinger, her small pink tongue held tightly between her full red lips and her eyes squeezed tightly shut in ecstasy. Her other hand squeezing her left breast, very hard, so that the jutting nipple seemed to point directly at the camera.
"That's one of my favorites," smiled Sylvester."
"But this girl can't be over fourteen and the guy looks twice her age," protested Carl.
"That's her father."
Jesus Christ, thought Carl, beads of sweat lacing his forehead and a rising hardness in his loins. He thumbed through the other pictures. One showed a different, gray-templed man kneeling between the opened thighs of a brunette with pear-shaped breasts, his long tongue snaked out so that it touched the hotly swollen nipple of her pink little clitoris nestled between soft, fleecy brown pussy curls. Another depicted a voluptuous raven-haired girl barely out of her teen with her coral-colored lips voraciously encircling the erect, swollen prick of a muscular shaggy man while he used the middle finger of one hand in the wetly glistening hole of her soft pink cunt, her leg being raised so that the full extent of her cunt mouth was presented to Carl's view while she sucked the man's cock and toyed with his sperm heavy balls. Still another photo showed two couples, both in their mid-thirties, engaged in an orgiastic group session which Carl could not believe upon first sight, since one woman was fucking one man while that same man was sucking the cunt of the woman who in turn was licking the balls of the other man. It was a mass of flesh, raw naked flesh and Carl couldn't image anything being that obscene until he flipped it over and another greeted his gaze. This one was of two girls-obviously twins-and a huge Labrador dog, the animal's long hot lolling tongue licking the hotly spread pussy of one of the twins while his huge red cock fucked deep up into the upraised cunt of the second.
Carl was sweating profusely, his breath coming in short gasps, as his own cock tingled with arousal, when he put the group of photos back in the white envelope. "Good God, Sylvester," he managed limply. "I've never seen anything like it!"
"And these are just a sampling, Carl," said Sylvester. "I've got files full back there at the lab in case you ever...."
Carl wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His throat felt raspy and he wished he had a cold glass of water to soothe his nerves. "Isn't this against the law?"
"Naw, there's just average Americans like you and me, Carl-average people looking for a kicks out of life, that's all. You'd be surprised at some of the people who bring in their film to me. Doctors, lawyers, god, even a preacher's wife-Valerie."
"What?" Carl looked incredulous. The image of the photographs lingered in his mind. They were extremely stimulating, more stimulating than anything he'd seen since his Army days down in Tijuana. Just thinking about them made his prick tremble and begin to rise.
"Some people even exchange photos. Not a damned thing wrong with it, as far as I can see. All they do is get themselves and their wives turned on watching some other people doing it, and they're doing the same thing watching us. And it does get you turned on, believe me."
I believe you, all right, thought Carl. I can remember how excited I got last night, taking pictures of Betty-and they weren't anything more than some harmless cheesecake. I wonder if I dare....
He shook his head as if to clear it. No, there was no use even thinking about trying to carry his thoughts past the pure day-dream stage. Betty would never allow him to take pictures of her stripped completely naked, even though she had agreed to let him take pictures of her with her breasts swaying freely last night, and she would most definitely never allow anything as lascivious as self photos of him fucking her. For God's sake, even if she did agree to go that far, she would certainly not agree to let anyone else, much less strangers, see the photos.
And he couldn't expect her to, damn it; what was the matter with him? Betty was a sweet, moral girl, faithful and passionate and able to satisfy his every need up until now-so why was he thinking about asking her to do something which fairly shouted of perversity and lack of respect for privacy and personal intimacy? Why should he be so excited at the possibility of seeing more of these photos which Sylvester had just shown him? Why should the thought of watching other people making love and performing perversion on a regular basis bring the sweat out on his forehead, and bring a tightness to his chest and loins? Well, he couldn't explain it; it was beyond his comprehension. He knew only that the idea of seeing his sweet, innocent young wife, in a provocative position in a photograph, as he had for the first time last night, turned him on like he had never been turned on before. And the sight of these photos of strangers fucking and sucking wildly together today had had the same physical effect on him. "Any time you want to come over to my lab and see more, just give me a buzz or stop by. I try to reserve special hours for my special customers," he said, smiling, reaching into his brief effect on him.
"Any time you want to come over to my lab and see more, just give me a buzz or stop by. I try to reserve special hours for my special customers," he said, smiling, reaching into his brief case and pulling out a business card from a box. "Here, this how you can get in touch with me."
Carl reached for the card and stuffed it in his shirt pocket, then held out the envelope for its owner to claim.
"Oh, no! Those are a gift. Take them home to your wife and turn her on. I guarantee, one peek at those and she'll be begging for you to fuck her." Carl wished this stranger wouldn't make such presumptuous remarks about Betty.
"No, I couldn't show these to her," Carl said, shaking his head. "Betty would never talk to me again!"
"I think you're under-estimating your wife and all women in general. Why not give it a try? You're interested, I can tell from the way you were droolin' over those prints. Take it from me, all you've got to do is put the bug in the wife's ear and get her on the right track. Once they see the kicks involved, they're only too happy to go along. I know, by golly; Nancy, you know, James' wife, she was the same as your wife. What's her name? Betty ... shy and retiring. Now she's open and much warmer-and hell on wheels in the rack, so James tells me."
Carl felt uncomfortable in the face of all this candidness, the unexpected admissions and ideas and concepts which he had been subjected to. He got up from the chair, a twinge of embarrassment warmed his cheeks when he felt the pressure of his hardened cock pulling tightly against his pants. Nervously, he let the envelope swing from his hands, covering the tell-tale bulge.
"Ah, thanks a lot ... Sylvester. I gotta go now. Just want to say goodby to my brother before I leave and thank him for the use of the camera."
But, overhearing their conversation, James came bounding through the doorway, "Hey, Carl. Just want to tell ya that we're gonna have a little fun here later tonight. Tell Betty that if she'd care to come along, she's more than welcome. Nancy should be here and one of the models too." He shrugged his shoulders, "You know, a little drink and a few cameras. Nothing special, just a little fun."
"Thanks a lot, James, but Betty and I were planning to...."
"Aw, come one. Maybe I can give you a few pointers."
"We'll see." Carl was half-way to the door when he suddenly remembered the camera. "I've got the camera in the car, you know the one you lent me yesterday and I forgot to bring it in."
"That's okay, brother. Save it. I have a feeling it's gonna come in handy for you and Betty in the near future."
When he unlocked his car door, Carl knew that there was no use kidding himself any longer; he was going to take Sylvester's suggestion about leaving the photographs in a place where Betty would be sure to find them. Feeling a strange coupling of guilt and mounting excitement at what he was about to do, Carl drove to a small neighborhood park three blocks away from his home and turned off the motor.
Christ! he thought, am I really going to have the balls to show these to my wife? With trembling fingers, he opened the white envelope and glanced through the obscene photographs again. His prick seemed to jerk spasmodically in his pants as he once again saw the lewd, tremendously stimulating acts being performed in the full color splendor of the prints. The ones that really turned him on the most were those depicting oral love: soft feminine mouths closed eagerly, hungrily over the lust hardened cocks of their husbands; masculine lips and tongue paying devoted homage to the warm, secret cunt lips of their wives. These he would put on top, so that they would be the first ones Betty would see when she opened the envelope; maybe they would convince her of the beauty, of the rightness, of oral love....
He started to stuff them back into the envelope when a sudden frown creased his forehead and he stopped. Some of the other photos, besides those depicting oral by play, were pretty animal and raw for the innocent eyes of his wife; instead of being turned on, being interested and excited by the snaps as he intended, she would probably become angry from viewing such blatantly carnal acts as sodomy and three-ways and four-ways. He couldn't include those pictures, not now, not for a while yet just the milder ones, the ones showing a man and his wife making love in all the possible ways.
Quickly, he sorted out the photos, putting those he deemed too daring for Betty's mild taste in a separate pile; the rest he stuffed back into the white envelope. Then he got out of the car and with a wide grin on his face, swept the rejects in the garbage can, thinking how some lucky bum would paw through in search of a morsel of unspoiled food and find the food he'd probably been denied too long. With a smile of perversity, he jumped back in the car and headed home.
Betty was in the back yard weeding the flower bed when he got home that afternoon.
"Hi, honey!" he called from the living room where the plate glass door was slid open, emitting the warmth of the June Sunday afternoon. The kind of afternoon where everything seemed in slow motion, lazy and blissful.
"What have you been doing, Carl?" Betty tried to sound calm and relaxed to camouflage the anger. Sundays had always been a day to be spent together, shared and this morning Carl had left the house, not even bothering to awaken her, and left a terse note: "Be back soon." No explanation, no phone number where he could be reached. He had to be up to something surreptitious.
"Oh, just went over to James studio...." He took a long swallow of his cold beer, and that seemed to oil his throat muscles somewhat.
"Why don't you come out here so I can hear you?" Betty pulled at an obdurate vine that would not loosen its hold around a bush. "Just a second," he waved his arm and then slipped off to his office-den where he put the envelope on top of the bookshelf. Obviously this was not the time to confront his wife with such matters. He could tell by her metallic voice that she was disturbed by his abrupt departure that morning.
"Any phone calls for me?" he asked boldly, offering her a cold beer which she gratefully accepted with a gloved hand.
"Just one-some guy who says you stood him up for golf. Sounded a little angry." She went back to trimming the rose vine, her beer can precariously perched on a fence post.
Carl tilted his head back and took a healthy swallow of the icy beer. Christ! How am I going to tell her I'm leaving again tonight? I really would like to go back over there to the studio and catch a little of the action. I won't get involved, just sit there and watch. Betty should be able to understand that I need to be around people in other fields than business and real estate. Christ it gets to be a bore sometimes ... listening to property prices, tax assessors. It's time I start broadening my interests before I'm too old to enjoy such things as photography.
"Betty."
She lifted her head, her large-rimmed straw hat framing her angelic face, so innocent and trusting. With just a bit of flush in her cheeks she looked like the young fifteen year old in the photos, now safely tucked away in his office. For Betty had that same rare wide-eyed look.
"Betty, I've decided to take some photography classes," he began. "I'm getting tired of reading nothing but Fortune and U.S. News and World Report, you know? Like you've got your garden," he said expansively, stretching his arms to encompass the small back yard scarcely larger than the living room-except for the swimming pool. "But all I see all day is fat, paunchy business men. James has agreed to give me a few pointers and get me started." He looked down at his wife, waiting for her negative response, the same predictable response whenever James' name was mentioned, and now after last night....
But it didn't come.
"I'm going over there tonight to start. I met this guy who's got a color processing laboratory and he says he'll give me a real deal on prints. Color is expensive you know."
She stood up, took another swallow of her beer, and bent down to resume her weed pulling, her motions interrupted only once when she pulled off her right hand glove to yank back a strand of blonde hair that had escaped her hair clip.
"Well ... he asked expectantly.
"Well what? I think it's great, Carl. It'll take your mind off dirty cheap pictures for a change."
She sat on her haunches, picking through the ground cover. Betty felt a small sense of foreboding, as if there was something Carl was not telling her, as if there was some other motive behind his sudden interest in photography. She thought back to the previous evening, and to the snapshots Carl had taken of her-with her dress hiked up and her panties showing; thought back to how excited he had been, how obviously aroused by the sight of her posing so provocatively before the eye of the camera and in its sixty-second lasting capture of it. A small involuntary tremor coursed through her soft young body. She must never let Carl do that again, take pictures of her like that; it was wrong and wicked and it had no place in a happy, full consummated marriage such as theirs. .
"Honey," he began, caution in his voice. "Let's go out to eat and then I'll bring you home before I go over to James' studio. The CBS movie is supposed to be a real thriller, tonight" he added with a note of encouragement.
And from her response, it was the perfect idea.
They enjoyed a leisurely dinner at a well-known Mexican restaurant not far from their suburban t home, and Carl managed to steer the conversation to many things of little consequence, so that Betty would forget about last night, this morning and what he was about to do that night. Her ire , assuaged with a full stomach and several frosty glasses of Dos Equis Mexican beer, she sat relaxed in the car seat. The Porsche swerved into the driveway and he kissed her, promising he would not be late. She whispered in return, "Come home early and love me tonight, Carl darling." He promised he would, kissed her again, said goodbye, and drove off quickly, feeling once more that odd mixture of guilt and mounting excitement as he backed the car out of the driveway.
All the way to his brother's studio and all during the time he was with his wife Carl kept telling ' himself he wouldn't ask her to pose for anymore of ( those photographs, concentrating instead on fantasies of what it would be like to be a photographer. It wasn't the actual photos, he : reassured' himself, that turned me on; it was the V creative process of taking them. Of imagining a picture and watching it develop.
It was Sylvester who greeted him at the door of his brother's photography studio.
Hi, Carl. Glad to see you could get away from the ol' wifey long enough to come play with us."
The Tabasco and hot sauce from Carl's Mexican diner began a slow churning sensation as the unctuous sound of Sylvester's voice slurred on. It was obvious he'd been drinking all day, judging from the slap-happy way he repeatedly pawed at Carl's shoulder and the way his feet kept getting in each other's way.
"Did you show them to her?" Sylvester's thin arm encircled Carl's shoulder and Carl could smell alcohol mixed with cigarette smoke.
"Show them? Oh, Oh, no. Didn't have time." Carl felt his face color.
"What? You mean you didn't show her any of them?"
Here we go again, back in the same embarrassed, defensive position I was this morning. God, but this guy is getting to be a pain in the neck....
"Naw. I don't think she'd be interested."
"She'll get into it. Jes' a matter of time. Seen a lot of women, shy as can be at first and after a little while, you can't hold 'em back. Tell you what, how 'bout I fix us each a drink and then we can go on with this man-to-man talk and I'll give you some more pointers."
James, having heard his brother's voice, came bounding through the doorway, a tripod in hand.
"Hello, there," he said, extending his hand, a big grin on his handsome tanned face. "Glad you could make it, with or without Betty."
"What's up?" Carl tried to appear casual, relaxed, but he couldn't find a comfortable place for his hands that seemed to get in the way of every gesture. Giving up, he finally plunged them into his pants pockets.
"Setting up for a couple of shots. If it turns out as usual, it'll end up in a party." He chuckled lightly and motioned with his free hand for Carl to follow him, an invitation that he readily accepted. Anything to get away from Sylvester.
Carl felt uncomfortable, acutely so, as though again he was getting more than he'd bargained for, but there wasn't any way he could see of getting out of it. He had an inkling that they were setting up for more nude photos, but now that he was here, what was he supposed to do? Leave? Have his brother think him a hen-pecked conservative prude.
"Here you go, pal." Sylvester handed him a double bourbon on the rocks.
He was about to refuse, but on second consideration, reasoned, one drink or two wouldn't make any difference. Besides, he could use it, he told himself; he had a bad case of the jitters at the thought of those filthy photographs on his bookshelf at home. Christ! I should have put them in my filing cabinet. Betty keeps her magazines on that top shelf. And if she found them ... he took a sip of his drink. " ... Well, he didn't want to think about that right now.
It took only minutes for the ice cubes to rattle emptily in the bottom of the glass and, not missing his cue, Sylvester was at hand, as always, with another bottle that tilted and gurgled into Carl's empty glass. Appreciatively, Carl raised the cool rim to his lips, nodding at Sylvester who stood close to him, glued to his body wherever he went, like the right half of Siamese twins.
"Sure is nice to know that James' has a brother sho's a real swinger." His eyes lifted to the photographer, now on the top rung of the ladder where he was reaching overhead to replace one of the light bulbs in the strobe fixture. Sylvester stared up at him, admiringly, "He sure is one hell of a guy, that James...."
He was interrupted by the sight of a young girl, probably no more than fifteen, emerging from the dressing room adjacent to the large empty room cluttered with tripods, seamless dresses, and now a large wood-framed waterbed.
Carl felt a sharp bony elbow mash into his ribs. "How ya' like the looks of that stuff, eh, Carl? Our fun for the night," Sylvester said with a wink.
The tall, lithe blonde, her luminous green eyes sparkling nodded, "Hi! My name is Melinda."
"And I'm Carl."
"Pleased to meet ya, Carl."
"Hello down there!" called James from the top rung of the ladder. "I'm havin' a few problems here with this circuit, so make yourself comfortable. It may be a while."
She looked up at him and nodded.
"Have a seat and a drink. Have you met my brother yet?"
"Sure have! He's a real groovy cat, James," she said licking her lips and sticking out one narrow hip to rest the palm of her hand on.
Jesus, thought Carl. I can't be acting like this! I love my wife; how can I feel this way about a fifteen year old girl? That damned Sylvester probably put something in my drink, that stupid idiot. But she is one sexy girl. His mind raced back to the image of the young girl spread out on the hammock. He recognized the face. How could such a young thing subject herself people like Sylvester?
"Anybody got a joint?" Melinda's green eyes surveyed the negatively shaking heads of the three men.
"What a drag," her mouth twitched with disappointment. "Tell you what, if somebody'll give me a lift to my folks house I'll bring back a couple of reefers. Just got some real good shit from a friend of mine who just came back from Mexico."
With a double bourbon to bolster his courage and erase any tremor of guilt, the happily married real estate executive set his empty glass on a filing cabinet and said boldly, "I'd be happy to give you a ride, Melinda. I don't smoke the stuff myself though," he admitted sheepishly.
So with Sylvester and brother James exchanging knowing looks and smirks of suspicion, Carl held the door open for the teenager to slip through. Sylvester watched from the window overlooking the street as the orange Porsche revved to life.
"That brother of yours doesn't know what he's getting himself into," Sylvester climbed three rungs of the ladder, just high enough to hand a bourbon and water to the photographer who smiled down at his comrade in sin.
"Do him good," he muttered, still looking upward toward the burned out strobe.
CHAPTER THREE
Carl was all too aware of Melinda's body next to him, even though she sat next to the opposite door. She'd made no effort to pull down her skirt when she got into the car. Her well-shaped thighs were really something to look at, he thought, and the proud upthrusting of her breasts beneath her sweater gave ample evidence that she had not bothered to wear a bra. From the looks of things, he'd be willing to bet that she wasn't wearing any panties either. These thoughts and images of the nude photography of this provocative high school girl brought stirring life to Carl's cock. He knew he was tensing up, knew his cock beginning to swell painfully ... but hell, she was only a kid, what the hell did she know? God, that's all he needed now-a hard on! And with this young girl, too. Jail bait.
It was he who broke the silence. "Is modeling a summer time job for you, Melinda?"
"Oh, no. I've been modeling since I was four years old ... My mother entered me in one of those stupid baby calendar contests and I won first prize. After that I started modeling for catalogs and just last year I started this other business." She pulled her hairbrush out of her leather handbag and dragged it through her wealth of straight blonde hair, wincing as she struggled with a snarl.
"What do you mean by "this business.?" His curiosity overcame his reasoning, as if foreknowledge already held the answer for him.
"Fuck films."
"W-what?" Carl couldn't believe her brazen attitude.
"Yeah. My dad's the one who got me involved in this business. He's my agent. Money's good. The way my dad and me got it all figured out, I'll be able to retire when I'm twenty-one." Her red polished nails scraped the bottom of her handbag til she found a stick of gum which she tore in half and, chewing with an open mouth, carefully wrapped the other half in its wrapper and tucked it back in her purse. She crossed her arms in her lap.
"Y-Your father is your agent?" Carl's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Yeah. You square or somethin?"
I'm begging to wonder, thought the real estate executive to himself. I can't believe my brother is risking his business for such, such trash as this! He must be crazy! Christ, I wish she'd pull her skirt down, it's nearly up to her waist now.
"You married?" He turned to her, just as she put on her heavy plastic sunglasses. She was beautiful.
"Yeah, I'm married."
"Do you and your wife get it on much?"
"Do we what?"
"Get it on. You know," she said sarcastically, pronouncing each work with articulation. "Fuck. F-U-C-K. Fuck!"
Carl could feel his face redden. "Yes, we make love."
"Are you a swinger?" And then noticing his faltering indecision at the traffic light, pointed a long tanned arm to the right. "Take the next exit to Cummingham Road and from there a right onto Kennedy Drive ... second house on the left."
Carl glanced over his shoulder to check the Sunday afternoon traffic, which for some miraculous reason, was all headed in the opposite direction. Good thing, too, he thought. That was an illegal turn and all I need is to get stopped with this young piece of ass in my car. She'd probably proposition the policeman.
"You didn't answer my question," she insisted, snapping her gum.
"Depends on what you mean by swinger."
"Come on, ol' man. You know, like do you take naked pictures of her? Do you like to make it with other couples or what?"
"Well ... we "
"You ain't had enough pussy lately, I can tell," she smiled resting her blonde head on the headrest, staring at the man twice her age.
"How can you tell?" He felt himself blushing, and being all too conscious of his condition that throbbed unforgivingly in his pants, twitched in the driver's seat.
Now she shrugged and gave a knowing little smile. "You're too up tight. You'd be more relaxed ... if something had happened."
"What?" It had been a long time since Carl had been around teenagers .and their gobbledygook language puzzled him.
"You've got a hard on. You had a hard on ever since you set those big brown eyes on me. Didn't you now?"
Carl was beside himself. He'd never met such a brazen female in his life, and at the age of fifteen. Christ! What's she going to be like when she's old enough to vote?
Without a warning, she reached over and touched the bulge in his trousers. "Like so." the contact created the same result in his loins as a match struck in a gasoline-vapored chamber. She left her hand, not teasing him, not caressing ... merely resting her fingers on the throbbing cloth lump created by his desire. Melinda's eyes were locked on his face; the intensity of her glance was something he could feel. She seemed to be asking something he could feel-and receiving silent answers. Carl was aware that he was driving very slowly now-the vehicle was barely moving, crawling along that off ramp. His breath caught with the next comment from the girl, "If you hadn't seen me you wouldn't be all turned on, would you?"
Carl-had to force the words out of his suddenly dry throat. "I, I guess not." He kept his eyes on the road, watching out for any highway patrol man who might find his driving unacceptable for Southern California freeways.
"Then ... I'm responsible, huh?" She looked over her shoulder out the rear view window, then glanced ahead of them. "Keep driving," she ordered. She had some plan, obviously; her actions were unmistakable.
Through a haze of uncertainty and growing heat, Carl felt her hand leave his leg and begin fumbling with his belt. "Take a deep breath," Melinda said. He did as instructed, and she quickly unfastened his waist band. A second later his zipper scraped, and her knowledgeable hand and fingers released his heavily throbbing cock from the imprisoning confines of his shorts. He groaned deep in his throat as she stroked it a couple of times.
I didn't ask for this, Betty. Honest I didn't! the young husband implored of his wife through thought. I didn't ask for her to start turning me on like this. It just happened. Honest!
"My ... it's beautiful," she said, breathlessly. "So big! So hard!" She lovingly pumped it for a few seconds, then rolled it like a thick cigar between her fingers. The reflected light from the dashboard showed her hand moving up and down on his long white prick. God, how he had wanted a girl to do that! It was almost more than he could stand. Already, even though only thirty or forty seconds had elapsed, he could feel the gathering thunderheads in his balls. The girl was an expert; she knew what she was doing. He groaned, and his breath began coming faster and faster.
He was so caught up in the delicious sensation that Melinda had to make the request twice.
"What?" he muttered, not really sure he comprehended.
"Move the seat back further," she repeated.
Carl mentally knew what was coming next. Eagerly, he reached down on his left for the seat release and pushed with his back. The seat slid all the way back. He was forced to drive with his arms almost straight out in front of him.
Melinda glanced out the rear view window again-looked again to see where they were. "Take the next turn to the right," she ordered. "That street is under construction. Just keep driving. Tell me if you see any cars coming from behind." She bent forward and her hot lips slipped wetly down over the head of his excitedly bulging cock.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh," it was a moan of delight wrenched from his soul. How long he had waited for this! He felt his cock give another jerk into its greatest rigidity as if it were alive and independent of him. He tried to will it limp again, to banish the lewd thoughts swirling in his bourbon filled head, but it remained throbbingly swollen, growing with every flick of the fifteen year old girl's hotly licking young tongue.
This is wrong, his tortured mind screamed. I'm a married man ... what would Betty say? I can't go through with it...! He was unable to stop. Nothing had felt so beautiful before, or at least nothing recently. Her tongue flickered at the urethral opening and then ran maddening circles around the head. She had pooched out her lips so that her mouth felt like a soft hot clamping cuntal ring, wonderfully moistened. With her free hand, she reached down into his shorts and began gently squeezing his testicles in rhythm to her sucking movements. Up and down her mouth moved, gently bobbing like an oil pump pulling precious liquid from the subterranean depths. Carl was about to go out of his mind from the sensation. The girl had said to keep driving, but it was almost impossible to do that because of what he felt. He couldn't have been travelling more than three or four miles an hour when the girl, as if sensing his impending orgasm, began taking the cock deep into her throat.
Faster, faster, faster her head moved until Carl could stand it no longer. He arched his back and raised his buttocks off the seat in an effort to jam it further down her throat. She took it all, and as the head of his prick began swelling to enormous size, Melinda started sucking voraciously, interspersing the vacuum with occasional little nibbles using her teeth against the trunk and head. He glanced down and could see her lips pulled out grotesquely as they clung to his white driving male flesh. He continued to fuck up to meet her, and she continued to take him. His mouth was swollen shut and long hoarse pants of breath whistled through it.
His prick felt as though it weighed a ton-a ton of hot molten lava restlessly surging below the surface of a volcano. He knew he was on the verge of cumming and felt he should prepare her but as her motions became more rapid and the suction increased, he suddenly knew it didn't matter. She obviously had done this before-Christ, probably a thousand times in those movies she acted in: she was an expert. The semen gathered, seethed and boiled. The eruption was imminent. Low guttural noises of delight came rumbling out of his throat. He was cumming ... cumming ... almost there. Almost. Now ... Now! Now! The first hot spurts of sperm boiled out of his balls and screamed along the duct leading to the head of his cock.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh ... hahhhhhh." His cry was meant to give her some warning, but the sound merely increased her frenzy. The hot cum roared out of his cock in great, smooth gushing quantities and she went on sucking furiously as he shot everything he had into her wonderfully warm, greedy mouth. And still he came, as weeks, years, of pent up frustration of wanting, yearning for his wife to make him cum this way manifested themselves in almost half a cup of the elixir of love.
She used her tongue to tease, her mouth and lips to suck, until his prick slowly began to deflate. It was as though she felt it necessary to suck every last drop of white, hot cum from his balls. She continued to work until he was sure he was getting ready for another erection, then she suddenly stopped.
Carl gave a mumbled sigh of happy release, and abruptly became aware that his car-light on, motor running-was standing motionless right in the middle of the street. Melinda withdrew her cum-dripping lips from his cock, then kissed its head which was inflamed from her nibbling and smeared with her lipstick. She slithered up until she was enclosed in his arms. Then she kissed him wetly; her tongue darted and licked around his mouth. He could taste the alien taste-the taste of his own cum in her mouth. Melinda's face was slippery-glistening from the seminal fluids and streaked with her lipstick. She scooted back over to her own side of the car, opened her purse, and carefully began to wipe her mouth with a kleenex as he began driving again.
"Just around the corner-to the left."
He turned onto the street where she lived as she glanced over toward him, "Do I look presentable? I mean you can't tell what I've been doing?"
He inspected her face, and nodded.
She smiled as he stopped in front of her house and started to get out of the car to open the door for her. "Don't bother," she said quickly and slid out. "I'll be back in a flash." As her skirt flared up, he realized he had been right; she wasn't wearing panties, after all. The crevice of her smooth young buttocks was a dark inviting line at the top of her white thighs.
Carl saw her father part the curtains of their ranch style home and stare into the dusk.
"That's my dad," she called over her shoulder. "He's a real groovy dude-just like you." She waved over her shoulder at him.
Carl got back in the car. He could hear her laughter until the front door closed behind her excessively wiggling little ass. He leaned forward, resting his head on the steering wheel while his sweating palms gripped it hard until his knuckles turned white.
He could only sigh in contentment. Carl had never felt so relaxed and peaceful in his life, except for those little twinges of guilt that kept clouding his ecstasy. He knew that he should feel guilty now, but the stirrings of remorse and shame were not forthcoming. He only felt like a satisfied, virile male, one who had been satisfied by a woman. He felt a certain power, a certain pride in the fact that here, now, he had proven that his desire for oral sex had been right, and not something darkly evil as his wife seemed to think.
His wife. The thought of Betty echoed in his mind, and a small part of his brain tried to make the self-deprecation come; but he fought the thoughts away and he simply sat there, taking in the musk smell and the permeating odor of their consummated lust.
His head was still resting on the steering wheel when Melinda emerged from the house, a grin on her youthful face.
"Look what I got?" she beamed, sliding into the car seat. "There's gonna be a party tonight!" She held up a baggie full of dark brown organic matter. "There's enough here for everybody to get loaded. It's the only way to film a fuck movie."
* * *
Betty Sanderson, smiling happily and with a warm glow spreading through her from the Martinis, sat back on the divan in the living room and sipped the remaining liquid from her glass. She stretched languidly, thinking, I feel so good tonight, so warm and loved and happy. I'm a lucky woman, a very lucky woman, to have a wonderful husband like Carl, who has a very good job and is a good provider and is a very, very, very good lover.
She picked up the Sunday paper and, finding the pink section thumbed through until she found the Television Guide section. Her long red polished nail traced the blurbs until she came to "The Sunday Night Movie-Marilyn Monroe in "Some Like it Hot". Just fits my mood, thought the young housewife, flexing her bare toes on the soft brocade of the sofa. Just enough time to mix myself another drink.
She giggled softly, and a warm, pleasant ache began between her tender young thighs. She sighed then, squeezing her legs tightly together, wishing Carl hadn't gone over to his brother's studio tonight. They could have had another drink together, and then gone to bed, as they did on Sunday nights, and made love for hours and hours, slow and sweet and good. That was the kind of mood she was in tonight, the mood to make love very, very slowly for a long, long time....
I don't know why I got so angry with him this morning, she thought to herself. Really, he's got to have some freedom too. I believe in people being free with each other-letting them have hobbies, something to make them broader, more interesting people, she reflected generously. It's not as if he doesn't support me in fine fashion. She glanced down at the velvety robe she was wearing and grinned. Not many husbands would buy such a lovely expensive gift for Valentine's Day. Yes, Carl is a good provider and he needs to have other interests than work.
Well, Carl would be home at ten or so and they could make love then. She would have to content herself with waiting television-and, yes why not, having another drink. She was feeling a little audacious tonight, and even though she knew her absolute limit without getting drunk was three drinks in one evening, she decided that, by golly, she was going to make herself a third!
She mixed the drink in the kitchen; so as not to mess up the bar, that the cleaning lady had scrubbed that week, humming softly and a little intoxicatedly, and then decided she'd check the TV guide again. She carried her drink back into the living room and set her drink down on the end table and turned on the colored television set. Lightning streaks of color finally formed a pattern and then finally an image. A deep voice cut through the jigsaws of light: "This evening's movie has been pre-empted by the Los Angeles Rams versus the Dallas Cowboys ... stay tuned for...."
Damn it!" she said aloud, flicking the remote control that dangled from the edge of the divan. "I was really in the mood to watch some television tonight."
Oh well, guess I'll have content myself with other things. Guess I'll check out that Book-of-the-Month club selection they sent me-the one I wrote and told them to please not send. Just as well, she sighed, if Carl is going to take up photography I don't want to be the stupid housewife stuck at home. It'll do me good to read some best sellers-give me something to talk to Andre and Edith about on Saturdays.
Two feet slipped into her matching red velvet slippers that padded their way down the hallway to Carl's office-secluded at the end of the house. He often kept his documents and research materials in that room, just in case weekend decisions on a piece of property had to be made. Let's see, she put her long finger to her lips, where did I put ... Oh, of course! Right where I put all my mail-on top of the bookshelf. Standing on her tiptoes, the petite housewife reached overhead to the top shelf, her fingers just touching a packet of what seemed to small to be a book. Four fingers edged along the length of the shelf and then she drew them away, a cloud of dust filming the air. "Oh, God!" she said aloud. I'm going to have to talk to the cleaning lady about this! she thought and reached up once more for the thick brown envelope now visible at the end of the shelf. Her fingers could touch it, her eyes could see it, but her legs wouldn't stretch that far, so she pulled her husband's swivel chair over a few feet and climbed atop it.
Aw! Finally. She removed a white envelope from on top of the book packet and set it aside, thoughtlessly. The staples flew as Betty ripped open the package, reassuring herself that reading would be a good time passer til Carl finally came home. "Oh, no!" she frowned. "I didn't want that!" She threw the New York Times Book of Plants on the floor in disgust. Stupid people, she thought; can't even keep orders straight. Well, I'm sure there's something else of interest up here-this is where everything gets tossed.
Betty's eyes scanned the length of the shelf. Hmmmmmm, wonder what this is, she thought, staring at the white envelope. Some mail I didn't see? Looks interesting. She flipped it over to see "Photographs-Do Not Bend" stamped in official black ink. Must be pictures of real estate property, she reasoned. Probably those downtown buildings he's been trying to sell for the past six months.
It was tempting. Betty had always stayed clear of her husband's work, never wanting to involve herself to the degree where she had to take many phone messages or get in that abominable rut of typing letters, let his partner's wife complained of. But with all this talk of photography lately, so what? She stepped down off the chair, envelope in hand, and brushed the footprints from the royal blue weave.
She sipped again of her Martini. The liquor was beginning to affect her now, in several different ways. Giddy and careless, she sat down at her husband's desk and opened the unsealed envelope. It always gave her a little thrill to see bits of evidence of his business success-like a peek into his brain, a part she never witnessed otherwise. Her ardour of a few minutes earlier, instead of waning, seemed to have gained intensity, so that she felt a moistening down between her legs, flowing out to dampen her thighs; and she felt, too, a boldness that she had never expected before, an irrational desire to do something she shouldn't do-involve herself in her husband's business.
Impulsively, then, stifling another slightly tipsy giggle, Betty reached out and grasped the envelope. Her fingers fumbled at the sealed flap, finally got it open; and then she was drawing out the photos and holding them in her lap. She let them lie there, on the warm velvet mound of her lower abdomen, as she drained the last of the Martini. Then she flipped them over, saw the photos, and held them up to her slightly blurred eyes, squinting at them very close.
Her first reaction was one of shocked horror. She blinked rapidly several times, her eyes seemingly held transfixed by the full color carnality which she held in her hands. Her brain was spinning with the combined forces of surprise and undiluted gin.
Gotta get another drink! She picked up the unseen photos and headed for the kitchen, having first dropped off the photographs on the living room divan.
My God! she thought when she'd settled on the bed in their bedroom. This is ... it's filthy! It's pornography, that's what it is, plain and simple pornography!
She wanted to cast the offending photos from her, but a curious perversity made her grip them more tightly between her fingers, made her eyes remained fastened to their glossy detail. The top snapshot showed a sweet-looking blonde straddling a dark-haired man; both of them were nude, with their privates fully exposed to the camera, and his ... his cock was pushed halfway up into her open cunt!
Betty swallowed hard, looking at the expression on the young woman's face. It was one of sheer, unadulterated ecstasy, lids dropped, mouth parted and moist, with the tip of her wet pink tongue showing; she seemed to be oblivious to the camera, caught up in the sexual frenzy of the moment, of the feeling of the man's hardened cock imbedded deep within her tightly gripping cunt walls. And she was manipulating her own breast, squeezing it passionately in her ardor....
God! She can't be more than, than, fifteen! gasped Betty in abject shock.
Staring at the angelic young girl's obvious enjoyment, Betty felt a quickening of her breath, a fluttering in her lower belly. The inside of her mouth was dry, and she ran her pink tongue over her lips several times, trying to dispel the arid, cottony taste.
Her now trembling fingers pulled the first photo aside and the second came into view. She gasped, and a little spiral of unwanted heat wended its way upward through her warmly secreting loins, into her stomach and chest, hardening the firm, ruby crests of her snowy breasts. A man, distinguished and older, crouched between the widespread thighs of a small well-proportioned blonde, his long wet, seemingly hard, tongue curled out to flick over the swollen naked pubic area and the erect clitoris of the passion tensed girl!
A wave of puritan revulsion took hold of Betty, and again she wanted to throw the offending photos from her-tear them up into little pieces.
Why, oh why did Carl get these? Where did he get them? Isn't he satisfied with me? Am I a poor lover? All these questions, answered only by her own shallow breathing, clouded her mind, mixing! with the gin into a miasmal of self-doubt.
But she did not throw them away, nor did she tear them up. Again, she stared at the photo, at a man, at his tongue licking hungrily at the widespread pussy of the blonde girl. Oral sex! Perversion! cried the half-intoxicated mind of the young wife. The very same terrible thing Carl wanted me to do to him several times! Oh, God, and I'll bet that if I flip over to another photo it will show the disgusting sight of some woman with her mouth around a man's....
A cascade of shame flowed through her, causing her to flush a violent crimson. She was no better than the ... the lascivious people in the photos! Thinking filthy thoughts, working herself into an impossible froth ... Suddenly, she wished again that her husband were home. She was aroused now, aroused by the gin and the perversity of the snapshots which she held in her quaking hand.
"No! No!" she moaned aloud, but even as the words left her Ups she was pulling aside the top photo, revealing the one which lay beneath....
And there it was! Just as she had feared-a girl, a young teenager, with her lips firmly ovaled around the lust hardened cock of a thin muscular man! And she was enjoying it, this young girl was enjoying, yes reveling in the taste of the man's huge cock! She was actually groveling in the very thing Carl had for so long wanted her to do to him, A low cry of despair tore from Betty's throat, and she was finally able to push the photos away from her, to fan out in disarray on the bed beside her. She lay there, trembling, opening and closing her legs in a vain effort to dispel the tingling, flowing excitement which the lewd pictures had built to a fanning inferno between her soft, pulsating thighs.
Carl, she thought confusedly, Carl, I need you. I wish you here right now! I want you, I want you to love me. Carl ... oh, Carl!
Her hands went out on either side of her to clutch the spread. Her belly was on fire now, rolling over onto her stomach, it was as if the sickness she was seeing here tonight had aroused her passions to the desperation point. Tears flowed from her eyes, and her body involuntarily squirmed on the bed. She wiped away the wetness which was obscuring her vision-and her gaze fell on one of the photos, the nearest one.
It showed a couple performing simultaneous oral love in the classic sixty-nine position!
Her hand swept it up as if with a will of its own, and her eyes grew glazed. Breath spewed raggedly from between her open, saliva moistened lips. She stared at the picture, at the auburn-haired woman in the process of running her wetly glistening tongue upward over the man's sperm-swollen testicles to the ridged underside of his hardened cock; as the man's lips pressed tightly to the gaping, pink-red softness of the girl's wide split young pussy, his nose gently tickling the tiny puckered ring of her anus.
Oh, God, I'm sorry, Betty's mind cried, I'm sorry. But I don't care. I can't stand it! I can't!
And in one swift motion, the beautiful young wife rolled onto her back, still holding the salacious, full-color photo to her eyes, and with her free hand drew open the red velvet robe. Beneath it she wore only a thin pair of flimsy panty briefs. As if a separate entity, ungoverned by her will, the hand drew the panties down, slowly, slowly, as she raised her quivering buttocks high off the bed.
Her liquor-fogged, passion-fogged brain blotted out all the evils she had been led to believe came from masturbation. There was only her urgency now, her need for release from the intense arousal of her body by the lustful activities in the photos.
She massaged the smooth flat whiteness of her stomach with the palm of her hand, around and around, raising up to pass over her breasts with their swollen nipples, causing whirlpools of passion to seethe within her. Then her hand with a will of its own moved lower and she arched her back, raising her hips high off the bed, her fingers passing through the downy-soft fleece of her golden young pussy hair and intensifying further the rising crescendo of sexual frenzy.
A groan of desire, and total abandonment escaped her lips, and the young helplessly impassioned wife moved her hand downward between her now-widespread thighs, wet with the secretion of her passion. She gentled her fingers into the moist flesh, and the feeling generated by her own fevered fingers was so very, very good. She manipulated the soft hair-lined inner lips until she could feel them swelling with the rush of blood, and her clitoris was rigid and tingling. Her index finger came in contact with the trembling flesh, and she began to gasp with delight as she felt release imminent. Her hips thrashed the bed and the air, her eyes never once leaving the photo and the lewd oralism depicted there-lips on cock, lips on cunt, lips on cock, lips on cunt....
Faster, faster, faster her finger fucked across the sensitive little titty of her cunt, blanking her mind of all thoughts, all sanity; nothing existed for her in that moment except the delirious coming of her impending climax.
And then she was there!
Oh, God, her hotly arching little pussy was cumming like wild fire!
Her naked hips flailed frantically at the bed as wave after wave of intense, bursting release seized her. It was pleasure so acute that it approximated pure pain. Then, as her orgasm began to ebb, her naked asscheeks sank back to the spread and her hand stilled but did not leave her cunt. She lay there, not moving, her eyes squeezed tightly shut now and her chest rising and falling spasmodically.
And then sanity returned to her brain. With it came abject mortification, a feeling of self-loathing that was almost as great as the delight of her ebbing orgasm. She moaned aloud in despair, sitting up, brushing the photos from the bed and flinging them to the floor around it as if they were vermin of the foulest type. Then she threw herself face down on the bed, crying out her torment, sick with the knowledge of the act of finger fucking that she had just performed on herself.
Those damnable photos! They were the cause of her rising excitement into the throes of lust, her loss of self-control. Those filthy pictures! Oh, damn you, Carl! Where did you get them anyway? But it wasn't Carl's fault, it was his brother's fault for even suggesting this stupid picture-taking in the first place. He was probably the one who gave them to Carl. Well, if this was James' idea of art, let him keep it to himself!
The questions spun and rotated in Betty's tormented, liquor-fogged mind. She felt sick to her stomach, and ... dirty. She needed the cleansing release of sleep; she couldn't be this upset when Carl came home. He must never know she'd finger fucked herself tonight; no, he must never know.
She took off her gown and lay back down on the bed, slipping between the sheets, praying for the respite of sleep to ease her tortured mind. Sobbing into her pillow, all time stopped, the only measurement being the thud of her heart punctuated by the loud wail of her shame. The photos lay scattered on the floor, unremembered.
On the other side of Santa Monica in the back room of a store-front studio Carl Sanderson found himself in an inveiglement that no fiction writer could approximate. It was even better than any of his wildest sexual fantasies. He was a star in a movie, but no ordinary film: this was what the newspapers advertise as "adult entertainment" or as those who frequent those movie houses refer to them as "fuck films."
How it all happened, he wasn't actually certain. His recollections ran as deep as stopping enroute to the studio with Melinda for a "a taste of weed". From there on, he could remember little, but from what bits and pieces he could glue together in his confused drugged mind he was chosen by the fifteen year old nymphomaniac to star with her, claiming she "really got off on the taste of his prick."
Sylvester, standing by with a deeply furrowed frown on his face, glowered at the scene. This was supposed to be his night to fuck young Melinda. After all, wasn't he the one who found her?
What's going on here? he asked himself silently. This idiot comes in and steals the whole show. Square too. Real square. Christ! can't even get his ol' lady to let him take pictures of her naked! How the hell is he gonna make a fuck film? Probably scream for his mommy when that little nymph gets her hot hands on him!
But Sylvester stood by and watched, watched as James' brother nervously read through the lines of the poorly written script, as he mouthed lines to himself, a look of stark agony on his handsome face.
Guess he's perfect for the part, chuckled Sylvester insidiously to himself. A nervous husband-boy he does fit the part. Nancy must have had her brother-in-law in mind when she wrote it.
The script was an easy one for Carl, the emotions and fears of this one Sunday in his life reflected in every line and every action. Even the cues fit perfectly. He was to portray a businessman from out of town who, when drunk, is propositioned by a whore. The man had always craved oral sex, but his wife, whom he loves dearly and has never cheated on in twelve years of marriage, refused him. Once inside the hotel room, the businessman looses his bearings and his head clears of the excess drink he'd indulged in and lets his guilt take over.
As it was, reasoned Carl to himself as clearly as one can after drinking double bourbon on the rocks and smoking marijuana for the first teeth-shattering time, I'm playing myself. Shouldn't be too hard. Besides, his mind relaxed the tight grip it held on his taut neck tendons, if it doesn't work out, what the hell? Nothing lost, nothing gained.
In the first scene Carl was propelled inside the room of the hotel and the door was shut by Melinda. He was alone in a strange hotel room with a whore. As he sat on the bed and the film rolled, Carl stared weakly up at this beautiful prostitute and had to take her in his arms and kiss her, love her up a bit. He wouldn't have to fuck her in this scene, James had assured him, knowing that sometimes people can't concentrate when lights are flashing-it's hard to get it up and keep it up. But Lord, thought Carl, it would be nice to kiss those cherry red lips, caress her breasts to hardness after that little scene she'd treated him to earlier that evening.
He felt his cock jerk into instant rigidity as if it were alive and independent of him. Carl almost wished he wasn't such a good actor. He tried to will it limp again, to banish the lewd thoughts swirling in his bourbon-filled head, but it remained throbbingly swollen.
Melinda chuckled as she stood by the side of the bed. "Carl-baby's got a hard on." She was smiling at his bulging pants. "Carl-baby's got a great big hard-on because he knows he's going to fuck me...."
Forgetting he was being filmed, Carl came to life and proved himself to be a natural actor. He had never heard a woman talk in such lascivious language and in his drug induced consciousness he snarled up at her. "Melinda ... cut it out, for Christ's sake!"
"You're going to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me...." She came toward him, the camera zooming in for a close up. Her breath was like a white hot firebrand on his cheek. She touched his knee lightly, her fingers almost searing the cloth, and then she reached higher, higher ... and touched the throbbing protuberance down between his legs!
"Oooooohhhhhh God!" he managed to breathe, forgetting the written script. He almost leaped off the bed in a convulsing reaction. He could feel his testicles ache with a sudden pressure of sperm, and will as he may, he couldn't pull away from her caresses. Her tongue trailed over his cheek, searching for his mouth, and her hand continued to rub his uncomfortably swollen cock.
Melinda faltered for a moment and then someone from the side whispered "It's physical, fucking is physical...."
The young actress regained her composure and blurted out the line: "It's purely physical," she droned on, mesmerically hypnotically. "You want to get your big cock into my wet pussy, and I want it too...."
That's when Carl's guilt-ridden conscience rose to the fore with an imperious: "I love my wife." It was a protest.
"Sure you do, Carl-baby. All of them do. But that doesn't have anything to do with us, with here and now, with fucking!"
This is wrong! Carl's mind screamed. I'm a married man-happily married. What am I doing with a fifteen year old nympho making fuck films? This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever done in my whole life!
He wrenched himself off the bed, his heart hammering, and he was aware that his prick was still granite-hard and seeping hot droplets of excited lubrication. This was enough, he'd had it. He'd walk off the set and it would be over with, film or no film....Melinda's husky voice whispered, "Carl baby...."
He turned, gathering the courage to reject her, but then the words froze in Iris throat. His mouth hinged open and his eyes bulged.
She stood before him, stripped completely naked!
The lovely young teenager had unhooked the one article of clothing, her dress, and it lay puddled lewdly at her feet. Neither panties or bra were evident, and as he gazed, transfixed, at her white sculpted body, he Could see that she didn't need any artificial supports. She smiled at him, the top of her wet, pink tongue showing. The camera zoomed in for a close-up of that too.
The hair-lined lips of her cuntal valley were displayed for him like an Aztec sacrifice, the golden down glistening lusciously in the pale glow of the dimmed lighting. Her high, perfectly rounded breasts, startlingly alabaster white against the tan of her other parts, jutted out like ruby crested mountains, and her long, slender legs seemingly trembled with desire.
"Well, lover?" Her hands had moved to her golden triangle and when she said "here," her fingers blazed a trail down through the soft, pink lips of her cunt and spread them slowly, slowly apart, revealing the tiny trembling bud of her erect clitoris. She began to stroke it back and forth, round and round.
It was a lust maddening sight to Carl. The thought of kissing, of licking her sweet young pussy set his prick into a wild dance. "Melinda ... please," he moaned, his breath all but stopped as he heard Sylvester and James murmuring just feet away.
"And I'll lick your cock, Carl-baby, I want to lick and suck your big ol' cock ... I love to suck cock, did you know that?" On and on she went, and the one sure way of building Carl to a point where he couldn't say no, couldn't leave this whore, had been used ... again, for the second time that day. He'd been denied oral love by his wife-and that was the truth! ... not just part of this ridiculous script. He had wanted to feel the soft down of a woman's pussy as it opened to his mouth and lusting desire ... if only his wife understood that, wanted his cock in her mouth ... oh, God! he could feel his swollen cock palpitate wildly.
He had to have her! He absolutely didn't care about the film they were making, about Betty, about his adulterousness with a whore, about anything! The only important thing was the billowing heat in his genitals, and the desire to suck and be sucked! Yes, he had to have her! Yes! Yes!
As if somehow spirit-free from his body he watched himself unfasten his belt and remove his clothing, dumping them wherever they happened to fall. He stood before her as she stood before him, this thickly bursting cock standing out at right angles.
"Oh, it's lovely Melinda crooned in ecstasy. "Just as I knew it would be." She walked over to the bed, the very motion of a sensual experience and lay down on the cover. "Come here, Carl-baby," the voluptuous young whore purred, "let me suck you off!"
Carl came to her, a robot of desire, and the next thing he knew he was writhing beside her, feet-to-head, and Melinda's fingers scratching lightly over his cock, her expert lips kissing his legs, belly, and inner thighs, building him to still higher a fever pitch.
"God! Hurry!" Carl groaned, not sure he could keep the boiling semen inside his testicles another moment. "Hurry!" As if in obedience, Melinda plunged her head forward and Carl felt the incredible hot moistness of her lips close butter-like over the sensitive head of his cock, felt her searing tongue licking tiny circles of fire around it. Sighing, completely enraptured in the exquisite manipulations, Carl moved toward her, and buried his face in her cunt. There was a sudden jerk of contracted muscles in the excited prostitute, and she pressed closer to his mouth. The very abandonment, the complete capitulation to sensuality by this whore overwhelmed him and blotted out all thoughts except the delicious debauchery of which he was a willing partner.
Melinda, the practiced professional that she was, tested the piquancy of his fevered secretions hungrily, twirling her tongue faster and faster. Then she began to suck him rhythmically, with full expertise of a woman in love with her work. Carl looked up once and watched her convoluted, lipstick-rimmed lips ripple up and down his hardened shaft, watched the soft skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in as she fuck it up, and down the full entirety of his cock. Never had he envisioned such an erotic sight! and he was aroused still more and his loins tensed and jerked upwards into her face, all the fleshy expanse disappearing with each hard forward thrust so that only a small stretch of it showed white and glistening with the saliva between her lips.
He returned to her soft, hair fringed cunt and drew her firmly rounded buttocks down over his mouth so that he was sunk nose-deep in the soft-rimmed cunt. He held her tightly with both hands on her buttocks, thrusting his tongue up teasingly between the tender fleshy folds. He hear her gasp and renew her hungry nibbling with frenzied motion. Her pussy contracted and opened around his mouth, and then he moved his hands to curl and flick his tongue at the smoothness of her peal-white backside. He sucked and licked while she swayed above him, completely out Of control, her cunt flowering open wider and her secretions mingling with his saliva and rivuleting down his cheeks.
He could feel her muscles cord as he worked slave-like, and then he plunged to her clitoris, sucking and biting it tenderly, his tongue reaming the sensuous little button while she churned and writhed in a lewd dance of lust above him. Carl sensed she was straining to cum, her mouth and cheeks sucking wildly at his cock as she bucked and arched both her back and head in an uncontrollable quaking of body.
Her breasts danced as she sucked voraciously, her pumping mouth making the pressure spiraling to a final, huge release of his building semen.
And then-came the irrefutable cry of her climax and the warm, pungent milk of her softly pulsating pussy flowed hotly across his face. She screamed, out her orgasm, though her mouth was still sucking hungrily at his deep-thrusted cock, and she snaked her heels against his shoulders and rubbed her fervently heaving cunt in an uncontrolled, tormented surge....
Then--
All at once he too felt the eruption of fire leap along his cock. He gasped as though in agony, and then his cock began a wild, convulsive jerking that flooded without advance warning the vivacious fifteen year old girl's maddeningly bobbing head with rush after rush of hotly boiling sperm, bloating her cheeks and forcing her to swallow wildly to keep from choking. Then as quickly as it all started, there was one final spurt and he lay back, half unconscious over the power of his orgasm.
Still the girl sucked ravenously at his lust juices, milking every last drop of the hot gushing male ambrosia until at last, his cock jerked softly and slowly deflated in the warm, sperm-filled cavern of her mouth. She slid her lips from his cock with one last swallow, and cradled her face to his still throbbing groin.
He felt Melinda stir then, and suddenly she was on all fours and beside him, smiling down in his face. She said, "I'm going to teach you things you never knew existed, Carl-baby." She leaned down and kissed him tenderly, the taste of his semen still on her mouth. "Would you like that?"
He ran his tongue across his lips. Already there were faint stirrings in his limp cock, displacing any fears of not being able to get another erection. "Yes ... yes I'd like that!"
"Good." She stretched out and snuggled in the protection of his arms. " ... because now you're going to fuck me dog style...."
"CUT! CUT!"
How Carl Sanderson managed to drive home that evening was a mystery to him. He felt like a limp dishrag after sweating under the hot strobes and flood lights of the studio, not to mention the exhaustion of making love to a woman in every possible position since the history of man began.
What a lover that Melinda is! his mind reminded him while his body screamed for a halt, that it could take no more. And only fifteen years old, too. Christ! It was like Christmas come early: twice in one night he'd been given what he'd yearned for and he felt as if he'd eaten the whole pie instead of his one rightful piece.
Carl slipped his house key into the door lock and quietly pulled open the sliding glass door separating their living room from the patio. The bedroom was on the other side of the hallway and should Betty still be anxiously awaiting his return, he could always arm himself with the excuse that he'd gone for a swim-had too much to drink and sat out under the stars for long enough to clear his head.
All the lights were out, he sighed with relief. With shoes in hand he padded across the living room carpet and into the hall ... no sound came from the bedroom; good. He stopped, waiting in the still, black silence of his home, but there was only the faint and regular pattern of heavy breathing, and Carl took this to mean his wife was asleep.
He didn't know that she'd heard his car drive up, that she'd been waiting all night for him to come home to her, that actually she was very much awake, lost in a troubled state of indecision, hoping that her husband would not want to fuck her tonight, but at the same time desperately in need of his solace, his strong comforting arms around her quaking shoulders. She didn't know why she felt this way, except that it had something to do with those damned photos and that a new undiscovered instinct and desire had been awakened in her. One that she would not test just yet.
No, Carl was unaware of his wife's true condition, but in his own way he was glad that she was asleep and hadn't waited up for him, perhaps to make love. Not now, not after the hours of wild, abandoned sexual games and stints that he'd just staged with that nymphomaniac fifteen year old sex film star. He was satiated completely, in a state of absolute contentment, and in no mood either to argue heatedly with a distraught wife nor try and explain why he couldn't get another erection. Christ! After that Melinda, he'd be luck to raise another hard on in a week.
He went into the bathroom to undress, closing the door so that the light wouldn't bother Betty. Quickly he stripped his clothes off, not as fast as he had done for Melinda and this time hanging them on a hook.
He stepped into the shower and let the needle spray wash off the fragrant, tell-tale perfume of his indiscretions, the odors of mutual lovemaking which would be readily identified by his wife. He thought about Melinda, the lovely enticing whore, and although the light-headed joy of his repast with her didn't fade, the act of cleansing himself seemed to also add some of the regret.
Carl stepped from the shower, mixed of emotion. No longer was he the ignorant older brother, the square; no way! now he was the older, wiser brother, and he vowed that he would not let Betty's uptightness get in the way of his new found way of life. Yet, there but a few feet from him was his loving, faithful wife, whom he loved very deeply. He sighed. If only she was more open, more abandoned like Melinda had been. Well, there was only one think to do about it. Make her understand too that there was more to sex than just climbing on and climbing off!
He toweled himself briskly, his mind made up. Yes, the passive Carl was in the past, and he was going to show her a more forceful, more worldly husband from hereon in. At first she might not like' it, he had to admit, but she would soon see that he was right. And Carl knew just how he was going to accomplish this education of his lovely, innocent wife-
He was going to go ahead with the pictures! He was going to use the Polaroid again, or maybe better yet, get a movie camera. He could take wilder ones! Ones with him in them, too, perhaps even showing his cock fully fucking her! His cock trembled anew and he moaned lightly as he dreamed of all the combinations he was going to do with his wife. But he knew in order to accomplish this task, he would have to handle things gently, diplomatically.
Carl headed for the bedroom and, leaving the dim night light on in the hallway, opened the bedroom door and peeked in. The shower had straightened out his twisted mind enough so that he could trust his vision and the scraps of paper on the bedroom carpet puzzled him. Why would Betty go to sleep leaving all this debris scattered around? So unlike her. With the dim wattage in his favor, he bent over and picked up one of the glossy sheets of paper ... and gasped.
My God! She found those prints! The blood flooded his face crimson. Well, the secret is out at last, he sighed. For a brief second he considered waking her up and trying to talk about it, reasoning it was better to get it over with now than have it hanging like a thunder cloud all the next day. He touched her on the shoulder and when she didn't move, he reconsidered. Just as well, he told himself.
CHAPTER FOUR
Betty stared at her husband from across the breakfast table and it seemed to her that he had changed somehow, in some almost imperceptible way, almost overnight; there seemed to be a firmer set to his jaw, as if with some hidden purpose, and his eyes held a new, oddly flashing light that she had never seen in them before. He didn't speak, only held his paper up to his face with a shaking hand and sipped at his coffee with loud slurps.
She wanted to rid her soul of the deep burden weighing her down, but why? What purpose would it serve at eight o'clock in the morning? Instead she picked at her eggs and sipped her coffee daintily. It's all because of that damned camera! she repeated to herself.
Sitting there with her tormented thoughts, she had the odd sinking feeling that her perfect, well-ordered little world was about to come crashing down around her ears. Everything was to strange, too unreal-as if it were the proverbial calm before the storm. She hoped that she was wrong, that it was simply her guilt at her actions last night, her masturbation while looking at those filthy pictures, that was making her feel so morbid and depressed.
Behind his newspaper, Carl Sanderson smiled lewdly to himself. So she did see those pictures after all, he thought with a clear head. That's why she's acting so strange this morning. She's feeling guilty because she enjoyed them. Tonight we'll take care of it all, we'll clear the air. He peeked over the top of his newspaper and studied his wife-his beautiful, passionate, warm Betty. He moistened his lips. She was better than that whore, Melinda, any day of the week. Or she would be, once she learned the art of oral gratification. And she would learn-soon, soon. Tonight, maybe. Carl's cock gave an excited little dance in his robe as he thought of what would happen when he got Betty warmed to the idea.
Could he talk her into more picture-taking?
Well, not in the mood she was in now. But if he could get her a little high-downright drunk would be even better-he could convince her that it would be all right to take more photos. And she would surely be responsive, for even though she hadn't been outwardly excited by the photos he had left in his office (that was obvious from her actions today) she had to have had enough curiosity to open that envelope and see what was inside. That means she has to possess, he reasoned, curiosity as to other things as well; hers was an untapped resource, just waiting for the drilling to begin. She loved him and wanted to please him, hadn't she told him that often enough? Yes, tonight would be the night after all!
He sipped at his coffee again and continued to think of what he would talk his lovely wife into' doing with him of an erotic nature, how he would show her that she was excited by the sight of naked men and women.
Determined to show a calm exterior, not to show the turmoiled nature of her inner self, Betty decided to break the silence. "More coffee, Carl?"
"Huh?" He set down his paper, happy to see her regaining her shattered self-confidence. And then: "What time is it?"
"Nearly eight-thirty!"
The newspaper fell to the floor. "Jesus Christ! I have to get going. Have a meeting with Ralph today over that property down near the beach. Could be a damned good sale, too."
Three minutes intermission and he was running out the door, tie and cuff links in hand.
Betty's afternoon was spent puttering around the garden, pulling weeds and clipping the hedges. She didn't feel calm with her own company, but she feigned a happy mask. That way it was easier to pretend that everything was all right. But the image of those pictures haunted her with a vengeance all their own.
Why do I feel so guilty? she interrogated herself. Am I not pleasing Carl? Do I feel as if I'm holding something out on him? Why? Why? WHY? her mind screamed. She tried to remember her Psychology 101 from college, calling up all sorts of empty phrases like "approach-avoidance,"
"libido," and "id." Nothing seemed to fit. So she sat down on the grass cross-legged and decided she would not move until this enigma was solved and her happy marriage was once more off the rocks and onto the solid ground.. Is there something he wants of me that I feel I cannot give him?
I'm faithful to him; I make love to him whenever he wants; I please him ... but those words, "kiss me, kiss me down there," echoed in her head and something stuck. Her mind refused to reason any further and she felt a chill tingle up her spine like a garden worm squirming under her clothing.
She swallowed hard, grimacing. There are things that need to be worked out, she reassured herself. From now on I'll try, God knows, I'll really try to please him ... in every way possible. I'll even consent to letting him take those nasty pictures of me if he wants. Anything to get things back on their normal keel.
She remembered the coolness with which Carl had ignored her that morning. Unusual. More than unusual, there was a reason for it, and if her guess was worth a dime it was all because of something that had happened the night before over at James' studio.
* * *
"Give me a bottle of the best red wine you've got in the house!" said Carl boastfully, reaching for his wallet.
"And are you having dark meat for your entree, I hope?" the neatly manicured salesman wanted to know.
"Ah, yeah." He opened his wallet.
"May I suggest a bottle of French wine, imported, ah," he checked the vintage. "1947. Good year, Monseiur."
"I'll take it. No, give me two bottles."
The red-aproned Frenchman nodded, his mustached twinging, his dark chocolate eyes twinkling, knowing.
Christ all mighty, thought Carl, setting the paper bag on the car seat. For twenty eight dollars she'd better loosen up. But he knew it would be worth. It was a wise investment in a happy marriage.
As usual, Betty was waiting for her husband at the front door, a drink in her hand. She had taken special care today to appear extra provocative, having spent the afternoon hemming her blue knit dress with the slit up the side, one of Carl's favorites that he allowed her to wear only in the privacy of their house. "Jesus Christ!" he'd said when she'd put it on for the first time for an office Christmas party, "Everyone of my salesmen are going to be pawin' at your ass!"
She felt especially sexy tonight, having spent hours manicuring her nails and artfully app lying her makeup.
Carl whistled through his teeth the moment his eyes fell on her. "Look at this!" he charmed. "What a lucky man I am."
She lifted her head to accept his kiss. "Special dinner tonight: roast beef, baked potatoes, Cesar salad ... and a special desert," she said flirtatiously. "Come, let's eat and get it over with." This is too much, thought Carl as he wiped his mouth clean with a white linen napkin. She's up to something and so am I, and I just hope we meet somewhere in the middle.
"Carl," purred Betty, licking her lips, "this wine is absolutely superb. I could drink it all day and still love the taste." She drained her fresh glass and extended it to Carl to be filled again, smiling, feeling already a little tight and missing completely the dark intensity of his eyes, the way he began to slur his own words. They drained the first bottle and were well into the second.
As planned, Carl had gotten Betty drunk, and she had loosened up considerably, even to the point of smiling and tacitly talking about the photos he'd taken of her. She was warm and cuddly now, sitting next to him on the divan, in an obvious loving and permissive mood; it wouldn't take much to convince her of the rightness, of allowing him to take more intimate pictures of her with the higher quality camera he'd borrowed from his brother last night.
"Mmmm, I think I drank too much . .
"Naw"
She sipped tentatively, smiled at him, she felt secure and warm inside, confessing that she'd been upset and everything had seemed to be drawing in on her at the same time, crushing her under its weight. Now, the liquor removing that worry, she wasn't as sure as she had been that things were going to go wrong in their perfect marriage. Again she reminded herself that Carl still loved her-there was no doubt of that in her mind at all. What, then,-could be terrible enough to override that abiding love?
Still, though there was one thing she wanted to know. And with a boldness that surprised both of them, she turned to her husband and asked, "Carl, did you leave those photographs in your office for me to find?"
"All right, if you must know--yes, I did."
She drank again, emptying her glass, and when she put it down on the coffee table she felt a terrible rise of guilt once more. And with it came the need to unburden herself, to tell Carl she had looked at those pictures last night-but not that she had made herself cum while looking at them, never that.
"Oh, Carl," she blurted out unable to hold it back any longer. "I opened that envelope in your office last night. That's why I was so upset this morning, because I opened it and I saw those terrible pictures, and I ... I was excited by them. Carl, I actually got turned on looking at those dirty pictures!"
She flung herself against his chest, and Carl held her tightly to him. He could scarcely conceal his elation. So she had seen them! Good.
"No reason to feel bad, baby," he soothed, kissing her hair. "There's nothing wrong in wanting to make love after looking at other people doing it; it's a natural."
"But the ... the people in those photos were doing such ... such awful things to one another...."
"There's nothing awful about giving pleasure to your husband or wife," said Carl wisely, tenderly. "It's the whole foundation of marriage, honey. If it pleases the one you love, then it can't be wrong.
You believe, that, don't you?"
"I ... I guess so."
"If, for example, I was pleased taking pictures of you in the nude, you'd want to do that for me, wouldn't you? You'd want to take off your clothes and let me photograph you, wouldn't you?"
"But ... but you wouldn't ask me to take off my...." she stopped short. "Carl!"
"Come on, honey, I like to look at you in the nude. It pleases me, it excites me. I like to look at you in photographs look at you there in full color, any man would."
"You really think so?"
"It's true," Carl said feeling pressure building in his loins as he spoke, knowing that he would win in the end. "I like to look at you in the nude, and I'd be a liar if I said I didn't like to look at other women in the nude, too. Not to touch or anything," he added quickly. "Just to look at and get excited by, that's all. And you're not any different than I am, not really; you're just like other women in that respect. You got excited looking at those photos of other couples making love-and I did, too. When I saw them, I got so excited I thought I was going to have an orgasm right on the spot. But it wasn't them I was thinking of loving, Betty. It was you, you my darling wife. Looking at those pictures of other people doing it made me want you even more than I ever did before!"
Betty could hardly believe her ears, hearing her husband's confession. He had felt the same as she last night, as hundreds of other people did every day if what he said was true. If he was right, then she shouldn't have any guilt at all with her own husband. If only her brain wasn't spinning, spinning....
"I'll prove it to you, sweetheart," Carl was saying in his mellifluous voice. "I have some pictures that a friend of James gave to me. I put them away somewhere. We'll look at them together and what will happen is that we'll both become very excited. You'll want me more than you would otherwise, and I'll want you the same way."
"No, we can't!"
"There's nothing wrong with it, Betty. I've told you that. You don't trust me, do you?"
"Of course I do."
"Then prove it."
"Carl...."
But he was already headed for his office for the same pictures that had excited his wife the night before plus a few more. "Here," he said, holding them and pulling her head away from his shoulder to look at the glossy pictures inside. "Here ... look at them with me."
Betty didn't want to look. She was trembling and she didn't want to look, she kept telling herself that-and yet her head turned and her eyes focused on the picture, and a small cry burst from her moist, pink lips.
"My Gawd!" she cried.
"Look at it, Betty darling. It's exciting, look at it, look at it!...." His voice droned on, mesmerically, and Betty found herself staring at the photo in his hand, staring at the young fifteen year old, fresh-scrubbed-looking, couple performing a sixty-nine-her moistened lips locked tightly around his hardened lust swollen cock; his lips pressed firmly, tongue extended, to her glistening pink cunt.
A low moan of commingled desire and perplexity burst from the young wife's throat, and she felt the soft, warm area between her tightly pressed thighs flower wide with the building secretions of her arousal. Beneath the knit dress her nippled hardened into turgid buds, the way they had hardened the night before. She couldn't seem to take her eyes away from the photo, and her breath began to become labored and shallow.
"You like to look at pictures like these, don't you, darling?" Carl's voice droned.
"Yes," she heard herself reply in a half whisper, unable to control the mounting flood of passion which threatened to consume her in fiery lust. "Yes, yes, yes!"
Quickly, Carl shuffled the photos, bringing another into view. The same couple, the same oral love, a somewhat different position. Betty could see all of the young man's masculinity, her sperm-heavy testicles, the wide girth of his great cock half-buried in his beautiful young lover's ovaled mouth. She gasped, drawing close to her husband, her hand sliding down involuntarily to rub almost spasmodically along his thigh.
Carl shuffled the pictures again, again, and again. Then a different couple in each, the positions becoming more bold, more provocative-seemingly impossible; standing, with the girl turned completely upside down, her legs locked around his neck; sitting, the man's head buried far up between the widespread, alabaster thighs of the girl, his legs locked around her neck and she supporting him with her hands and arms....
Betty was breathing heavily with her intense arousal now, proof to her panting husband that she was acutely excited by these photos of others enjoying sex as he was. "Darling," she purred. "That's enough, that's enough! I want you, Carl. I want you to love me, please, please!"
But Carl was oblivious to her pleas, for his mind was centered on two main objectives; to get his wife to pose for him for more photos; and to get her to perform the self-same acts of oral love which were depicted in the photographs he held in his hands.
He moistened his lips, thinking that his first step would be to get her to undress and pose for him-yes, that was it, she was highly inflamed with desire now and she would be slave to his whim; he sensed this beyond any doubt, knowing that, at last, she was going to be his on his terms.
"Betty," he whispered, his right arm encircling her shoulder, his fingers gently kneading her soft, resilient breast, "Betty, I want to take some pictures of you, darling, some pictures like I took the other night. It'll excite both of us, and you want to please me, don't you?"
"Yes ... yes, I want to please you, Carl, but I'm so excited. I want you to make love to me, Carl, THE PHOTO SWAPPERS-VOLUME I please...."
"Yes, afterwards." This is easier than I thought it would be, thought Carl. Just wait til next time when she's more relaxed about it all, I'll borrow a movie camera and hide it in the bedroom. But he was trembling with his own arousal now, partially brought about by the pictures he had just viewed with his wife and partially because of what lay only moments ahead now. His cock was a thick, quivering fence post in his pants as Betty stroked his thigh, stroked it higher and higher. He began to unbutton her dress, whispering the whole time, "I'm going to make you naked, baby. We'll take some pictures and then we'll make love, slow and easy then hard and fast. We'll fuck like never before."
"Yes! Oh, yes!"
His fingers worked feverishly, pulling the dress down to her waist, baring her rich, cream white breasts with their ruby-capped nipples and pulsatingly dark areolas. He squeezed them lightly, his prick jumping now, and then he could stand it no more. He leapt to his feet, picked up what was left of his drink, and pressed it into her hands. "Drank this, honey," he instructed. "Be right back."
He ran to the linen closet and, with urgency controlling every movement now, he found the borrowed camera from under a pile of dirty trousers and shirts in the closet and returned to the living room, making sure Betty was still on the divan, her bare breasts reflecting the pale light from the lamp, checked the camera for film, and then peered through the view finder. Again, his cock leaped as he saw what the completed print of the picture he was about to take would look like. He snapped the shutter with fingers that were almost palsied.
Sixty seconds later, he was seated beside his young wife and pulling the finished color print from the back of the Polaroid. His eyes gleamed as he looked at it, at the sharp, defined perfection of the color and detail, and he was happy that James had suggested he use this better, more expensive Polaroid. The rigidity of Betty's nipples atop their globular white mountain peaks.
"Look honey," he droned. "Look at yourself almost naked."
And Betty looked, staring at her half-nudity with moistened lips, her pussy flowering yet wider with more arousal secretions. Her brain was a seething miasma of alcohol and sexual need; she was nothing more than a slave now, and Carl her master....
With exigent hands he set up the tripod and prepared the fifteen second timer, watching Betty strip the knit dress completely off then, as if in a hypnotic trance, slide her panties down so that she stood naked and lovely before him, the soft, fleecy blonde triangle of her pubic hair wet with the seeping juices of her passion.
In seconds he had the camera ready, and his eyes were blazing with excitement, the front of his trousers bulging hugely with the fully erect cock, the material stained with the beginning droplets of his seminal emission. "Sit down on the floor, Indian fashion, facing the camera!" And as his nude, sculptured young wife obeyed, "That's it. Now lean back a little so that your breasts are lifted up! Yes, yes! Open your thighs a little more ... oh, Jesus, beautiful."
He activated the timer, then began to undress hurriedly, his eyes never leaving his mesmerized wife sitting there so provocatively on the carpet. At last he was nude, his swollen prick jutting out like a quivering rod from his loins, the head slickly red and pulsating. The camera clicked off the picture, and as he waited his hand dropped almost reflectively to the trembling girth of his cock, began to stroke it lightly in anticipation.
On the floor, Betty murmured, "Carl ... don't do that! Carl, that's, that's terrible! Come to me, baby!"
"Not yet!" he gurgled. "Not yet!" It was time to remove the finished print from the polaroid and moments later he held it in his quaking hands. Beautiful! Oh, Christ, what an erotic shot! I can see her cunt, spread open and glistening wet ... and her clit, too, throbbing there ... Oh, Jesus, Jesus!
"Carl," moaned Betty pleadingly. "Carl I don't want to do this anymore. Please, Carl, I want you inside of me so bad!"
"Goddamnit, not yet!" he shouted. He was busy at the camera again, setting the timer, his cock shaking as if with some inner vibratory power and his balls aching with the buildup of a tremendous load of sperm. "Get on your knees, Betty, sideways to the camera. That's it, that's it! Move your arm up so I can see your breasts jutting down! Godd! Now raise your right knee up closer to your tits, honey! That's it. I can see your pussy now!"
"Carllllll "
"Just hold it like that, just hold it!" He set the timer and then ran over. He had to get in this picture, he had to! He knelt behind her, oblivious to her cries of pleading, and he held his cock less than an inch from the full soft entrance to her warm, wet cuntal passage, turning his face to the camera, holding himself still in spite of the oscillations which coursed through his entire being.
The camera clicked off the shot, and he jumped up and ran to it. The picture was every bit as erotic to him as the previous one, more so because he was in it now! He was kneeling there with his great prick almost touching his wife's cunt!
Again the timer was set, and again he joined Betty on the floor. She was just kneeling there now, with her head hanging down, and she was whimpering softly. He went to his own knees again behind her, his hands on her waist. "This is going to be a good one, baby! I'm going to put it inside you on this one now!" He guided his swollen cock to the warm, butter-soft opening of her cunt, inserted the head inside. Betty moaned, trying to drive her buttocks back against his cock, to impale herself and still the passion inside her, but Carl restrained her with his hands hard at her waist.
"No, no," he told her. "We have to wait for the camera, goddamnit! Now raise your leg a little so the full sight of my cock in your cunt will be exposed to the camera. Goddamn you, Betty, do what I tell you ... ah, that's it! Oh Jesus, this is going to be something else! Now hold it, hold it . .
Click.
And then other pictures were taken, more provocative ones, and each time Carl withdrew his cock and ran to the camera again. As the pictures came out, showing Betty's passion-contorted features and his own, showing his cock pushed into her widespread cuntal passage, he felt his cock leap as if with orgasm. God, oh-God, what sights! He was ready to blow his wad any moment. But first ... yes, it was time to have her do what he had long waited for and to do what he had wanted of her; it was time for oral love. Time for his lips on her pussy and her lips on his prick. Yes, yes! Jesus, what a shot that will make, what a shot!
He set the timer, ran back to his trembling young wife. "Turn over," he commanded. "Turn over and lay on your back."
There were tears on her cheeks as she obeyed. "Carl...."
He moved quickly up along her body, holding his quivering cock in his hand again, guiding it toward her head. "Kiss me, Betty. Kiss my cock, Betty. Hurry! Hurry! I want to kiss you, too! Kiss your cunt, Betty!"
She recoiled. Had she heard correctly? Yes, yes, she had ... and realized it even through the fog of passion and liquor. He wanted her to perform the same perversions they had seen in those photos, do what the other people had been doing in those photos but she couldn't. Yes, it turned her on to have Carl lick and suck her cunt although it was something she let him do only when she'd had a few too many drinks. But to his cock? That was unthinkable. She couldn't, she just couldn't!
"Carl, I can't. Please, don't make me...."
"Hurry up, the camera's going-to go off!" he shouted, trying to push his moist-headed prick against her lips. But she twisted away, moaning.
"I can't! I told you I couldn't."
"Dammit! Don't you want to please me? You said you loved me and wanted to please me!"
"Not this way, Carl."
Click.
"Oh Christ, you ruined the shot! You ruined it!"
"Carl ... I can't, oh please don't make me do it!
Please understand! Anything else, but not that!"
He jumped to his feet, staring down at her. His cock was jerking as if cumming again, and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before his testicles would erupt his building load of sperm. He had been so close, so goddamned close ... But there would be other nights, he would see to that. He had to content himself with the fact that he had gotten her to pose for the camera for him, in the nude and ... yes, with his cock inside her, too! Tonight was a victory, in that sense, the first victory! The second would come soon enough, he knew that. He just had to be patient with her, patient....
"Carl," Betty moaned, writhing on the floor in both passion and love. "Please love me and make it all right ... no more pictures, I beg of you. It was fun, but no more."
"All right!" he shouted. But before he did, he ran to the camera one more time and set the timer. Then he went back to his vibrating young wife, knelt behind her, inserted his cock. She buffeted back against it immediately and he didn't restrain her this time; might as well get a good action shot....
He fucked his swollen soon-to-bursting cock deep inside her, feeling the head slam up against her belly inside, hearing her moan loudly in pleasure-pain. His balls slammed resoundingly off the moistened slit of her cunt below as he fucked into her, and he leaned his upper body low over her back, teeth biting lightly into her shoulder, hands finding and squeezing her swaying breasts.
Click.
The sound of the camera shuttering seemed to act as a trigger for Carl's boiling desires. He imagined in his mind what the finished print would look like, the eroticism of it, and he could hardly wait until he could pull the print from the camera back. But then the hotly swirling cum in his balls became overpowering, became the only thing that mattered, and he heaved and bucked up into the soft, warm cunt of his slavishly kneeling wife with insane vigor, striving to empty his testicles of the great load of sperm seething there....
Betty felt Carl's gigantic cock fucking into her cunt, filling it, the head ramming hard off her cervix and she knew she was going to cum any moment. She had never in her life been this excited, and the knowledge that the excitement had come as a direct result of looking at dirty pictures, of partaking in them herself with the man she loved, was like a hot knife of confusion in her brain. She wanted Carl, wanted to please him, and yet it was becoming increasingly apparent that she didn't know how; her cunt alone, so moist now and so filled with his masculinity now, apparently wasn't enough any longer to satisfy her man. It would take more and more, she thought dazedly as her orgasm spiraled higher and higher, more and more to please him ... more pictures ... more eroticism ... and, oh, God, even sucking him with her mouth.
And then all thoughts except for the crescendo building with a passion vanished from her mind as she fucked like a rutting animal back against her husband's cock, striving for the crest, almost there, almost there, feeling him hard and deep within her, feeling his hand curving down around her back kneading and manipulating her breasts, almost there, and then ... and then....
But Carl only barely heard her wild cry of release, for his cock in that moment had begun to jerk out of control and torrent after torrent of hotly boiling semen burst along the full length to spew out deep up into her hungrily milking cunt, commingling with the juices of her own orgasm to form a floodtide of passion that poured out around his spasming cock and flowed in thin rivulets down her eagerly straining thighs.
And then his prick gave one last spurt of his seed and began to deflate almost immediately inside her wetly clasping cunt and they both sank forward on the carpet, spent and in a state of near-unconsciousness.
Oh Jesus, that was a beautiful screw! Carl thought, completely satiated. One of the best ever, even if it was so quick. And it's going to get better and better, once Betty starts to come around fully....
And Betty, lying there with the full weight of her husband on top of her, his warm sperm flowing hotly inside her cunt and belly, was thinking different thoughts now in the lulling aftermath of her tremendous orgasm. She was thinking about the pattern of her life, and how it was changing, how she could no longer deny that after what had happened her tonight. But changing for the better, or for the worse? She didn't know yet; she just didn't know yet....
After a long while, Carl raised himself up and lifted his wife in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. They crawled between the sheets on their bed, and Carl went to sleep almost immediately; but he did not cuddle up to her as he usually did, did not speak to her except to say goodnight, and she had the inauspicious feeling that she had failed to please him completely tonight, in spite of the wildness of both their orgasms-failed to please the way this new Carl wanted to make love, the new Carl who was sexually liberated.
CHAPTER FIVE
Betty scraped the egg yolk from the breakfast dishes with the weariness of the unfriendly coupling of indecision and confusion. She just stood there, letting the warm water rush over the plates as she played over the events of the previous evening. Something had changed her husband drastically-something she had no control over. The young housewife moaned involuntarily. Who was putting these thoughts into her husband's head? There was but one finger to be pointed, and that was at James Sanderson, the hotshot photographer.
It seemed as if James was suddenly becoming the producer and director of their lives. His influence seemed to seep more and more into what she and Carl were doing and enjoying, and it was an intolerable intrusion. Before that horrible camera showed up at their house, her husband had been so kind and gentle in his ways of love, had seemed to understand that she wasn't some salacious glutton, but a sensitive, moral wife. But not any more! She seemed incapable of keeping up with his growing needs in the world where nothing mattered but debauched eroticism.
Only the liquor which she had drunk last night had loosened her to the point where she too was aroused by lewd pictures-though, she now decided with a shudder, nowhere near as strongly excited by them as was her husband. And it was the drinking that had made her able to participate willingly with Carl, to actually be naked and be made love to before the camera!
Those damned pictures! Everything seemed to center around them. Carl had been more interested in them last night than he had been in making love to his own wife! His constant running back and forth to set the camera, his snappish answers to her pleas for understanding and patience at her ignorance, of his still more angry response when she refused to take his cock in her mouth....
Oh, God! It was all getting out of hand! What could she do? How could she once more garner her husband's attention? She dwelled on the subject, the water gushing profusely, brooding over the loss of his interest in her, over the way he was turned on by the pictures, over the way she was excited by them ... She suddenly stood bolt upright, the dish slipping between her hands, cracking against the shiny aluminum sink.
"No! I'm not like that! I don't like seeing others in private displays of sex acts ... of seeing myself to them ... no, its my husband who's like that now, thanks to his brother ... not me! Not me! Never!
Yet the more her conscious mind rejected the idea that she was incited by such photos to almost overwhelming passion, the more her subconscious mind admitted it. Deep, deep down, underneath all the excuses and rationales she could muster, beat the emotional heart of a truly pagan woman of lust.
All it would take to strip the layers away and bare her soul was the right combination ... a combination that her husband and his new found friends were busily working on, and one which fate would soon take a hand in as well.
At the moment, though, Betty Sanderson was in the throes of agony over her inability to please her husband. What could she do? The pictures ... she had the feeling that in them lay the answer.
With a distraught sigh, the young housewife turned off the water and, pouring herself a cup of coffee, plumped up a billowy cushion on the divan and comforted herself. Carl had cautiously put the camera away, but bits and pieces of evidence still scattered the monochromatic living room.
Her eyes fell on one photograph, discarded in the frenzy of last night's debauchery, and a growing, almost gnawing tingling started again down between her legs as she cast her thoughts momentarily from her own agony to the predicament of other wives who suddenly found themselves thrust in this inveiglement. What would they do?
She tilted the rim to her lips, her eyes never leaving the image of herself, completely naked, her breasts thrust out in open invitation to lust. It set her subconscious at work again, building the fires of prurient desires faster than her consciousness could bank the flames. She tightened her inner thigh muscles, wishing away the feather-like proddings of her sensual nature ... and was unable to.
Something else happened. Why not have a blowup made of that photo? Why not become a swinger? If her husband enjoyed looking at photographs of them making love, then why not give him the entree instead of the appetizer?
The thought made her gasp! What would that lead to? Would the next step be joining camera clubs? But she had to have a solution ... even if it meant showing her naked body to strangers. Trembling, she downed the coffee. But there was no other way. This way she would be pleasing her husband, wouldn't she? Yes, and not only would the pictures themselves make him respond, but it would give her time to adjust to this new licentious lifestyle. Maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to ease into these new values that permeated their lovemaking these days.
But where could she find a printer who would consent to such a job; and secondly, was it even possible to make a print from a polaroid shot?
She found the telephone book in Carl's office and the frenzied, desperate housewife began madly thumbing through the yellow pages. Her finger traced the listings and suddenly fell on an advertisement that read:
"Sylvester's Color Processing Laboratory. Discretion and Speed Our Business."
An unctuous sounding voice answered the phone, the tone of his voice making her spine tingle. But it was with a satisfied grin that she set the receiver on the cradle.
Sylvester's Color Processing Laboratory was situated on the far side of Santa Monica and if the young housewife had applied discretion to her task, she would have given second thoughts to doing business in such a neighborhood. It was situated next door to a drug rehabilitation center where empty-eyed addicts and prostitutes roamed the streets, waiting for their next fix, waiting for that connection that would make the world tolerable .for the hapless souls whose fate lay in discarded needles and empty wine bottles clogging the gutter.
When Betty Sanderson entered the color lab a tinkle, tinkle brought a lean, sinewy looking blonde man from the back of the store. Her first impression of Sylvester was that he was an alcoholic; she could smell the dank odor of last night's whiskey and stale cigarette breath across the counter. His eyes were dry looking and vacuous, and his eyelids were heavily puffed.
"Hello," said Betty sheepishly. "I'm the one who called about having a blow up made...." She I carried the photographs in a folder.
Sylvester smacked his thin taut lips and crushed out the cigarette butt with stained fingers. Hey, j boy, that's one hell of a woman there ... He j smirked, noting the twin wedding bands of her finger and knowing full well she'd been fucked and fucked and fucked by her husband.
He couldn't keep his beady eyes off her, his brain fermenting with lascivious thoughts. Her faltering, hesitant, almost embarrassed mutterings about this being "a joke for her husband," made her perfect prey. Then he saw the picture and his mind began formulating wicked, evil thoughts.
That face, he rubbed his chin trying to remember where he'd seen that man's face, the man who was stroking his cock. And when she signed the check for advance payment, it all fell in place. So this is Betty Sanderson, huh? This is the little woman who wouldn't let her husband take pictures of her? This was the wife of the man who pre-empted his seniority in that fuck film he was supposed to be in?
Well, this was sweet, he smiled heatedly to himself. This is the best stroke of luck I've had in years. We'll see if that ignorant bastard, Carl Sanderson, takes over any more of his territory, he thought as Betty wiggled out the door.
But he'd think of that later. Right now Valerie Cummings was on his mind, that sweet little dark-haired minister's wife. He glanced at his watch. Ten to ten. She should be here any minute. Sylvester grinned excitedly to himself. The plan had worked perfectly: blackmail was an easier business than he'd ever imagined possible, at least it didn't take much to convince Valerie that her husband's status as Minister of the Presbyterian Church could be a very unstable one if word ever got out that she had been making money posing naked on the side.
Young, angelic-featured Valerie Cummings sat apprehensively squeezing a handkerchief between her small hands in the front seat of the bus as it raced across Santa Monica. Her slender, high-breasted body was rigid with the foreknowledge of what was about to happen and a nauseous feeling eddied in the pit of her stomach.
Oh God, she prayed, don't let it be awful! Let it be quick!
She twisted the handkerchief convulsively, and an almost moan of despair burst past her soft, moistly red lips. She moaned again and this time the bus driver asked her if she was okay. Valerie quickly replied that she was and sank lower in the seat, twisting her handkerchief into a twisted rope in her fingers. Why, oh, why, did this have to happen? And yet she had known that she had to, knew that now as well. If she didn't ... submit to Sylvester's demands, then her husband, the Reverend Cummings, known founder of orphanages throughout Southern California, missionary to South Africa, would be fired, humiliated. No, she was doing the right thing. She could endure a day of torture if it meant keeping her secret employment a secret.
Those damnable photographs! Why had that stupid photographer taken them to Sylvester instead of printing them himself? Well, this was the end of it, she promised herself. Valerie, distraught and helpless, looked up then through the window at the sunshine. What an awful think to have to confront on a Monday morning.
She rubbed her damp eyes with the handkerchief, peering out through the window. The surroundings were now familiar-an old, dingy, run-down section of Santa Monica-and a shudder coursed through the frightened, tormented young wife's warm, vibrant body.
They were almost there.
Sitting in the back of his color laboratory where Sylvester lived as well as worked, his sinewy hands busily working among the contents of the wooden coffee table before him. Sylvester drooled in anticipation of the arrival of the tender young Valerie Cummings. Oh, he was going to fuck her good today! He was going to subject her to every trick in the book, goddamned right he was!
He would do to her, he reflected, the same things he would do to that uppity little snip of Betty Sanderson when her time came.
But Betty Sanderson was the main event. She's the one who would set him straight with the world. His cock throbbed with aching desire as his fingers worked almost independently of his mind, with practiced ease, for this was a task he had performed many times before.
On the coffee table were a small cigarette rolling machine, several packages of wheat straw papers, a scarred wooden cigarette box, and a large cellophane bag filled with a dark brown, shredded leaf that resembled tobacco but wasn't tobacco at all. It was Acapulco Gold, the best marijuana he had.
Sylvester chuckled to himself as he rolled another joint. He'd been damned lucky to get grass as good as this, and he'd had to pay a premium for it, too; but it was worth it, every penny. Good stuff like this really turned them on, these young bitches like Valerie Cummings; it made them forget their inhibitions, their fear and hatred of him, so that they were his complete slaves to subjugate and to do with as he would. They never forgot a session with Sylvester.
His huge Labrador, Blackie, came bounding to his side from the kitchenette, where Sylvester fed him. The great animal, sleek and bright-eyed, its long red tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, sat on its haunches next to its master, wagging. Sylvester chuckled again, finished rolling the joint, and then leaned back on the sofa, reaching down to pat his dog on the head.
"So you're eager, too, eh, my friend?" chortled the man.
"Well, don't worry.
You're going to get your share of it today. And you're going to get plenty of Carl's little wifey, too. She's going to get your prick fucked all the way up to her hot little titties, Blackie, don't you worry."
The lewd mental image of the beast's speckled red cock buried in the tight, warm, seeping pussy of the haughty Betty Sanderson caused Sylvester's own cock to leap into erection. Damn, he was horny today. He was going to really fuck little miss Valerie, all right-but first, there would be games to play and he would get it all on film, on the video cameras he had stationed all over the room in inconspicuous places. And he would make a lot of money with that film. Boy, would he ever!
Sylvester began to rub his erect cock through the fabric of his pants, slowly, tantalizingly, his face split into an animalistic grin of lust. It had been a great morning. Victim number two had stepped through the door that morning, offering herself to him in supplication, although she didn't know it ... yet. Well, her turn would come and when she saw those films of herself, she'd be back for more, and more and more. After Betty Sanderson there would be others and within a year, he would have the greatest sex film industry in the world and for FREE! That was the magic of it: it would cost him nothing for actors and he could be the star.
Faster and faster the wickedly-grinning man's hand rubbed back and forth over his swollen cock as he gazed into the future, planning impossible orgies with a dozen women and more, planning games and perversions which would sell like crazy! His glazed eyes sought and found the old wall clock.
Hurry up, Valerie, he thought.
The bus stopped in front of the dingy, musty building. Valerie shuddered again, her trembling fingers still clinging to the sopping rope that once served as her handkerchief. Would once be enough? She would soon know.
The bus driver turned to look at her as she descended the steps. "You sure this is where you want to go? Looks like a hell of a section of town for a lady like you." He laughed.
"Y-yes, this is the place," Valerie quivered, convulsing violently at the driver's innocent comment about this part of town. If only he knew what lurked in that building!
She stood on the cracked sidewalk a moment as the bus meshed gears and pulled away from the bus stop, trying to compose herself. No, she wouldn't be like ice, like a manikin; she wouldn't plead with him, curse him, scream at him. She would let him use her as he would, and in that way get it over with as quickly as possible so that she could go home to the safety of her own house.
Straightening to her full height, the long-legged, slim-hipped, dark-haired young minister's wife walked quickly up to the front of the building and stepped inside.
A bell announced her presence, and he came bounding from the back room almost immediately, and the evilly-leering countenance of the man materialized only inches from her own face. In spite of herself, Valerie gasped and took a faltering half-step backward in fear of his approach, not knowing what to expect, but armed with caution.
"Well, well, Mrs. Cummings, it's about time." He reached out for her and she reached toward the door. "No need for that. I think you know why I called you, Valerie. It seems there's a discrepancy in the bill and I want to settle that difference," she heard him say. "My cock has been hard for you, just thinking about you and your fine young body, heh heh. Come in, come in."
Valerie's eyes inadvertently dropped to the front of his pants, saw the bulge there, the stain on the material, and she shuddered again. But then she composed herself and stepped past him, careful not to touch him, and walked proud and tall in the direction of his extended arm.
Sylvester, licking his rubbery lips, followed her and said, "Sit down on the sofa there, Mrs.
Cummings. In front of the coffee table there." He laughed obscenely. "As you can see, I've set out a few photos of yourself, the ones your photographer brought me. Just thought you might want to have another look at them."
Valerie closed her eyes, blinked them open, and crossed to the couch, sitting down as Sylvester had directed her. She didn't look at the pictures displayed on the corroded surface of the table.
The smirking photographer crossed to her and stood in front of the table, looming over her, looking down at her silky black hair, at the full swell of her rich, creamy breasts, at the taper of her soft downy thighs. His cock leapt violently, and his balls ached with the buildup of his semen. I "Take your dress off, Mrs. Cummings," he husked. "It's warm in here. Make yourself comfortable."
Like a marionette, the man's voice its strings, Valerie stood woodenly and pulled the simple cotton dress she wore over her head and tossed it aside. There was no use arguing with this man and she knew it. All she wanted was to do what he bid and get out of there. Then, quickly, she sat down again, clad only in a thin, wispy bra and panty briefs. She wouldn't look at Sylvester at all.
His breath quickened as he saw her half-naked body before him, and his eyes traveled like hungry beetles over her firm, resilient flesh. Her breasts were high and proud, good breasts, but not as good and as voluptuous as those of Carl's wife. Still, he wanted to see them in all their splendor, nakedly presented to his lusting eyes.
"Take your bra off, Mrs. Cummings," he commanded, his hand dropping down to his bulging pants and stroked lightly.
Obediently, the tormented young woman reached behind her and unhooked the fasteners of her gauzy bra. She let it fall away, leaning back a little to pull her firm, pinkish-red-capped breasts up high as she knew he wanted her to; there would be no need from him to tell her lewdly what to do today, she'd been the subject of too many photographers to feign ignorance.
"You have nice tits, Mrs. Cummings," wheezed Sylvester, rubbing his swollen cock. He had unzipped his fly now, and his fingers were travelling eagerly over the surface of his shorts. "Very nice tits, I like them. I like them very much."
Valerie stifled the groan which threatened to escape her throat, and remained sitting there almost like a statue. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. Oh, God, what kind of filthy things is he going to do to me? No, no I can't think about them, I can't think ahead ... have to make my mind a blank, a blank....
Sylvester came around the coffee table, still massaging his huge cock with his fingers, and sat down next to the beautiful, almost completely naked young wife.
His rubbery lips were parted wide, and thin rivulets of saliva coursed out at their corners. His eyes were fever bright. "Won't you have a cigarette, Mrs. Cummings," he said gratingly. "It will relax you while you look through the pictures of yourself. These are good I cigarettes, Valerie."
Pot! Her mind screamed. Oh, no, marijuana! She t remembered the first session with her photographer, how he had suggested she smoke one of the little brown cigarettes, and another, how she had become giddy and light-headed, responding to his commands almost eagerly as the I fear and hesitation left her body under the influence of the drug. But wait ... maybe that was
; the best think now ... yes, for if she allowed herself to become high under the emotion-numbing drug the day would go quickly and she would not be fully cognizant of the certain humiliating things she knew he would do to her. Yes, she had to get high, very high ... pretend it was the kind Reverend Cummings touching her body as Sylvester would surely touch it, pretend that her loving husband's cock was being fucked inside her when the time came, as she suspected it would, instead of the grotesque monster of this man ... yes, that was what she would do, that was how she j would survive this experience.
Almost eagerly, Valerie's fingers sought the scarred humidor on the table next to an odd looking, black-cased, slender thing which she could not identify. She opened the box, extracted one of the crude brown cigarettes, and placed it between her soft, moist lips. Beside her, Sylvester snapped a lighter into flame with his left hand, his right still stroking his blood-heavy cock, and lit the joint.
The young wife drew smoke into her lungs, holding it there as he watched intently. She released it and repeated the process a second, third and fourth time.
"That's fine," Sylvester reassured her. "Now the pictures, look at the pictures while you smoke. Look at them."
Already, after the first deep drag, the marijuana cigarette was beginning to have an effect on the tense young woman, relaxing her somewhat, making some of the fear and loathing and hate disappear, and she reached out and lifted the stack of photos. She held them up to her eyes, drawing on the stick again, then began to shuffle through them.
She knew them well, these photos. Tom, her photographer, had taken them last week. She wished, God, how she wished they never existed! But she had seen then, and they did exist, and she looked at them, at one after another of them....
A man by the name of George and she, lying on the bed, with her hand circling his huge, erect cock while his middle finger was extended and half-buried in the warm, glistening fold of her wise splayed pussy ... George with his lips pressed to one of her jutting breasts, while his extended finger tickled her erect, quivering clitoris ... George with his mouth buried in her pubic hair, and thumb rubbing across the swollen head of his cock ... George with his head full between her wide-splayed thighs, his tongue pressed into the hotly tingling lips of her excited cunt and her face twisted grotesquely with the joy of the warm, wet contact ... her, now, with her lips on his stomach while she stroked his cock and his testicles ... her with mouth poised above the red, seminally-lubricated head of his cock ... her with her mouth closed over the head now, sucking as her fingers tickled his rectum (God, she remembered the taste of his cock, the bittersweet flavor of his masculinity; she had liked it, because it was her lover and she had loved him and wanted to please him, but not it seemed so obscene) ... her with the full length of his great cock pressed tight into her ovaled lips, her nose gently tickling his wiry pubic hair ... the two of them on the bed, she straddling George, her buttocks raised to the camera, knees spread wide on either side of him, his penis inserted into the shimmering, petal-opened expanse of her cunt as she rocked back on it while kissing him full on the mouth ... the same photo, only with George's middle finger teasing along and partly inserted in the tiny, rubbery opening of her anal passage....
"You like them, don't you?" Sylvester intoned next to her, his fingers inside his under pants and wrapped around his tremendous cock now. "You like them, and you're getting hot looking at them, aren't you?"
"Then lean back and put your hand down between your legs," commanded Sylvester, hoping he'd set the hidden camera for the right angle. "Play with yourself like I'm doing. Put your fingers in your cunt. Ah, that's it ... no, no, don't pull your panties down. Just pull them aside between your legs, and put your finger in your slit ... yes, yes, now you've got it!"
Under his droning directions, the young marijuana-drugged housewife had begun to slide her middle finger slowly, slowly, up and down the moistening expanse of her tender young cuntal slit, feeling the juices of her femininity begin to flow in spite of the situation and because of her relaxed state of being. It's my husband's finger, not my own, she told herself over and over, it's the Reverend's finger, not my own....
Sylvester, tremendously excited now by the sight of the sweet young woman slowly masturbating before him, removed the swollen, blood-engorged cock from his underpants, letting it jut high into the air as his claw-like fingers stroked it up and down. Goddamn, but this was going to make a good movie! To have young married sluts like this at his command were the finest moments of his life, the things he really lived for....
"Another cigarette?" he suggested, "here, I'll light it for you ... no, no don't take your fingers out of your cunt, Valerie! Keep playing with your clitoris and your cunt lips spread while you smoke ... good, good!"
The second joint relaxed the young woman even more, and she felt all her emotions go gently ebbing away, so that she was relaxed to a large degree and no longer apprehensive. And ... yes, she was beginning to feel, in spite of her hopeless situation, a gentle tingling in her softly warm cunt. How can this evil man be doing this to me? her mind outraged. But he's doing it, he's getting me excited.
She finished smoking the second joint, and her head was swimming now, her fingers moving with increasing rapidity in her cunt, her eyes glazed over and her breasts heaving. Sylvester, watching her and stroking his own burgeoning cock, smiled as he saw the mounting sexuality in the young wife brought about by the marijuana and the pictures of her own manipulations. She was going to become a regular goddamned hellcat; he'd teach her a thing or two, he'd show her what pornography was all about.
"On the table, Valerie," he droned. "The vibrator ... yes, that. Now take it in your hand ... good, good, there's a little button on the bottom ... click it forward, now you've got it." Vibrator? What ... what did he want her to do with that? It was an ugly thing, black-cased, resembling an elongated candle stick with a rounded head-almost phallic-looking, like a slender ugly cock. It was slippery in her hand, and when she clicked the button forward as he had directed, it began a gentle tingling against her palm and she saw that the rounded head was oscillating from side to side with steady rhythms. Vibrator, vibrating against her hand ... what did he expect her to do with...?
"Now," Sylvester whispered hotly, reaching down to turn a switch carefully hidden under the chair, the switch that would record these lewd ministrations on film for eyes of the world to witness, "Put it down between your legs, Valerie." She seemed to stiffen. "Be-between my legs?"
"You heard me, you cunt!" he flared at her hesitance; this was expensive film wasting away, clicking away while she faltered. "Do what I tell you! Now put the vibrator down between those hot little thighs of yours ... that's it, that's it ... pull the band of your panties farther over so that you can get the head of the vibrator up your cunt ... now you've got it! Move it up and down, up and down, up and down ... ohhhh, you're doing fine, Valerie."
The young wife felt the tingling vacillation of the battery-powered vibrator against the moist sensitive flesh of her cuntal region and her entire body began to shudder tremendously. Oh, God, oh, God, it ... it feels good! It feels good, up and down, up and down, it's sick and disgusting with him watching me doing it to myself but it feels sooooo gooooood!
"Now face this way!"
She was excited now, in her drugged state, and her hips began to move back and forth restlessly on the soft material of the worn couch. Sylvester watched with bated breath as she moved the slender black vibrator up and down between her widely spread thighs, holding the crotchband of her panties away from the glistening wet folds of her tight, hair-lined young cunt.
"Shove it inside now!" he hissed. "Shove it all the way up into your cunt, Valerie. Do it, do it now!"
Valerie's mind seemed to rebel for a moment, to reject that totally alien concept of inserting a vibrating instrument, a mechanical creation, into herself. But the marijuana, mixed with her predisposition to obey and thus bring to a hopefully rapid conclusion this day of horror, finally overcame the objection of her morality. She let the oscillating head of the instrument move along the head of each of the tender, softly pink lips of her pussy, back and forth, and then, slowly, she inserted a little more of the head of the big vibrator inside, spreading her legs as wide as she could and drawing the band of her panties wide across her open pubic area. The machine tingled, and she felt passion begin to flow through her as the electrical device teased the buttery walls of her cunt.
"All the way, all the way in inside your cunt!" Sylvester prodded breathlessly, his hand wildly stroking his exposed cock.
And she obeyed, thrusting the tingling vibrator deep, deep inside her until she could feel its oscillating head pressing maddeningly against her cervix. The sensations brought low moans from her throat, caused her to flair her head from side to side, abandonedly. Her high, rounded breasts were sheened with sweat, bobbing excitedly on her chest.
The photographer could scarcely stand the excitement of witnessing the subjugated young wife thrusting the vibrator far up into her own hungrily gripping little pussy-hole. He was becoming so hot now that he knew his balls would soon burst. And yet, he had to hold out for just a little while longer ... his own pleasure was foremost, of course, but there was one other thing to think about as well, the cameras hidden all over the room. He had to get ample footage to guarantee a full length film, taking splicing and cutting into consideration. And then there was his friend, his true and trusted friend who was now in the back gobbling down the raw hamburger dished out for his dinner. He couldn't cum until his friend had had his fill of this black-haired little preacher's wife.
He turned his head reluctantly from the salacious sight of the young wife fucking herself with the vibrator, and looked in the direction of the kitchen, his eyes glinting wickedly and his slobbering lips parted wide.
"Blackie!" he shouted. "Here boy!"
At once, the huge, furry form of the black Labrador came bounding in from the kitchen, panting eagerly as if it had been waiting anticipatorily for its master's call. Chuckling, Sylvester patted the animal on the head, still rubbing his erect cock. Then he said to the young housewife, "Take the vibrator out of your cunt now, Valerie. Rub your breasts with it, make them nice and hard, make your nipples tingle. Hurry now!"
Slowly, obediently, and almost hesitantly she withdrew the oscillating device from her trembling cunt, moved it up to her quivering breasts. It was wet with her lubrications and seemed to glisten maniacally in the light from the naked lightbulb overhead. She pressed it to her breasts, in her drugged state not noticing because of her tightly closed eyes the presence of the great, panting black lab.
"Keep the band of your panties pulled over, Valerie!" ordered Sylvester. "And keep your legs spread wide. All right, good ... now, Blackie, now you can go!"
The massive dog went directly to the girl, its enormous jowls parted and its long, furled tongue panting wetly, redly. Then its cold snout pressed against one of Valerie's thighs, and she froze, her eyes opening and staring down at the beast which sniffed hungrily between her legs.
My god, my god! her mind protested. Not a dog! Oh, dear Lord, please not a dog!
But even as she thought this, she knew what was about to happen, she knew she was about to be subjected to the most wild and wicked of perversions, to the sexual attack of a dog! She wanted to leave, to leap to' her feet and run, to get out of that House of Horror-and yet she remained immobile, knowing that she must submit, that there were things of more importance than a single night of personal depravity at stake. She pressed the vibrator tight to her swollen breasts, rubbing it back and forth across her already throbbing, hungrily aching nipples as she watched in mesmeric shock the Black lab lowering its huge head down between her naked, defenseless thighs.
Tail wagging excitedly, Blackie sniffed at the trembling, moist-haired slit exposed beneath the pulled-aside panties. Then its tongue snaked out with a long exploratory lick on the fluted edges of the tender cunt, causing the young housewife to shudder violently and her hips to begin to move freely.
The dog ran its tongue wetly the full length of the young wife's nakedly exposed cunt, up and down her pink little cunt-lips from the wetly flowing entrance to her throbbing clit, then back again, then up again, flicking relentlessly the juices of her flaming passion. Mewls of shame and delight, the ambivalent mixture which courses through Valerie's body, burst from her lips as the dog continued to plunder her tender pussy with its long, glistening tongue.
"Wider!" shouted Sylvester's lust-incited voice. "Pull your panties wider so he can get his tongue up inside your cunt! Goddamn you, do what I say, or your husband is going to end up in line at the food stamp office!"
She did as he bid, pulling the panties over as far as she could without ripping them, and the immense dog responded immediately by flicking its long tongue into the wetly pink opening of her cunt, its cold snout pressed tightly to her lips as it eagerly licked at the juices of her desire. She moaned aloud now, tossing her head and her body, her free hand coming down in helpless surrender to convulsively grasp the great furry head buried in her hungrily clasping young cunt.
Oh, Jesus, oh, goddamn son of a bitch! Sylvester thought. What a sight! That little bitch with her legs spread and Blackie's tongue flicking into her hot little cunt, while she rubs the vibrator over her tits!
I can't take much more of this before I blow my wad! Let's see ... he stroked his pointed chin. What would make the best film? Should I keep beating my cock while Blackie licks her pussy, and then cum all over her goddamned sweet little face? That would be good ... no, no, wait! A better idea! I'll have Blackie fuck her from behind and shoot his cum into her snobbish little cunt. And at the same time, I'll shove my cock into her mouth and fuck her face and blow my cum down her throat. Jesus, I hope I have the lightning bright enough for that camera behind her.
Valerie Cummings, the preacher's wife, was almost insensate with passion now as she felt the fire-hot tongue of the dog licking wildly at her cunt. She was past all caring, for her mind was controlled completely by the forces of lust and drugs. Her cunt was on fire, her breasts were on fire, her brain was on fire ... she knew nothing else, cared about nothing else ... she was a helpless slave, a tool in the hands of the evil sorcerer who sat a hand's stretch away, stroking his burgeoning cock and shouting obscenities and encouragements to the dog.
It was time, it was time! thought the lust-crazed man. Time for him to enter into the picture.
He leapt to his feet, his cock jutting blood red out in front of him in the palm of his hand, and screamed, "Back, Blackie! Back boy! You're going to get plenty in a minute, you're going to fuck this little bitch like I know you've been wanting it! Be patient, ol' dog!"
With apparent reluctance, the huge beast drew back from between the quivering thighs of the young wife, sitting on its haunches with eyes that seemed almost as glazed as its master's. Then Sylvester commanded harshly, "Take your panties off now, Valerie. Make yourself naked, then get on the floor on all fours by the table there, down on the floor on all fours like the bitch you are! You're in heat and we have to see that you're serviced, don't we, Valerie?" He cackled with insane lust.
The beautiful preacher's wife, responding like an automaton, stood up and stripped off her last remaining garment, revealing the dog-saliva soaked expanse of her naked, softly hair-fringed cunt, then in total surrender, dropped down on all fours on the floor.
"Move your knees apart and get your ass higher up in the air!" directed Sylvester. "Open that cunt up! Now you're in the right position, aren't you, Valerie? Answer me!"
"Ye-yes!"
"You want to be fucked, don't you?"
"Yes, yes!"
"You want dog cock inside you, don't you?"
"Yes, oooohhhh, yes!"
"You heard her, Blackie!" screamed Sylvester, "Fuck her boy! Climb on her ass and fuck her like the bitch in heat she is!"
The dog seemed to need no further encouragement. It ran in one graceful jump to the quivering buttocks of the woman, sniffed the moistened expanse of her pubic exposure in a single time, and then climbed up on her from behind, its long, shining, wetly red prick coming into view from its concealment in the furry sheath of the animal's loins. The tapered head slid in and out of the wet covering as the dog fought to bury its cock deep in the waiting, subjugated young wife's cunt.
The beast's forepaws sawed rhythmically at her waist, its long tongue lolling out on the smooth, textured surface of her back.
"He's ready! Blackie's ready!" Sylvester was beside himself with fiery lust now, his hand beating his cock until it seemed to be a blur of motion, standing over the girl and the dog like some evil and perverted film director shouting arrangements for a new scene. "Reach back and take his cock in your hand, Valerie! Put it into your cunt! Put my dog's prick in your pussy, Valerie! Help him fuck you, put it in, put it in!" he shouted in glee thinking how hot and lewd it would appear in replay.
Valerie's hips rotated in mad anticipation and to her it was in her drugged state her husband, not a dog. She reached back to grasp the slippery organ pressing against the back of her thigh, its redness contrasting almost ludicrously with her soft pink cunt lips. It slipped from between her fingers, but she grasped it again, guiding the huge, wetly throbbing dog-cock into her soft, hair-fringed slit, spreading the opening wider and wider until it seemed as if she would surely split apart. The animal bucked wildly, fucking his immense animal-cock deep into the young wife's hungrily squirming pussy, slammed home; its monstrous balls bounced against her defenseless pubic mound as she lunged backward reflexively to meet the panting dog's forward thrusts. Her face was contorted mindlessly now, and she buffeted back against the invading prick, thinking it was her husband's cock or may be even George, fucking her, as the monstrous animal drove its crimson cock faster and faster, deeper and deeper, into her eagerly devouring cunt.
Got to fuck her face, now, right now, while Blackie is fucking her cunt with his big dog prick! Got to shove my cock into that soft, tender mouth of hers and fill it up with cum, choke her with my cum! What a movie, Jesus, what a movie this is gonna make!
Feverishly, Sylvester lay supine on the threadbare Persian rug, twisting his body so that his loins were beneath the bobbing jerking head of the young woman. He held his cock up to her, like some obscene offering of wonderment while Blackie continued to fuck his great red cock deep into her hungrily gripping young cunt from behind.
"Suck me!" he screeched. "Suck my cock, Valerie! Take it in your mouth! Just hurry! Do it now!"
The young housewife obeyed, screwing her hips back hard on the thundering cock of the great dog mounted upon her, filled with uncontrollable lust and total subjugation. Her sweet, softly warm lips opened over the naked loins of the photographer, her tongue slipping forward between them so that it was poised less than an inch over the heavily throbbing cock head. One hand came up to grasp his huge, swollen cock tightly, and then her head moved slowly downward, boring teasingly at the then dilated opening. Sylvester sucked in his breath at the electrifying contact, and he groaned aloud as the young wife opened her mouth wide and enclosed the whole of his smooth, fleshy cock with her hot, damp interior cheeks. Her mouth tightened, and her tongue began to swirl around the crown like some fantastic dervish; he raised his loins high, twisting his body so that he was lying almost parallel with her, his face near her churning hips and his eyes glaring feverishly up at the jerking dog's cock buried far up into the voraciously clasping pussy-hole of the ecstatically grasping woman.
Goddamn, goddamn, goddam! his warped brain howled as he watched the firm, resilient breasts of the young wife dance tightly beneath her writhing body as the huge dog fucked his hot, wetly shinning cock deep into her hair-rimmed cunt. Fuck her good, Blackie boy, fuck her good! You'll be a star, Blackie, a sex star! Every dog in the country will....oh, Jesus, I'm going to cum any second now, her mouth is like warm honey around my cock and I'm fucking her face like I like to do to all hot little bitches like her ... ohhhhhhh!
Young Valerie Cummings was now reduced to little more than a quivering mass of erotically quivering female flesh between the pounding onslaught of the dog's cock in her pussy, and the heaving girth of the sweating printer's prick fucking deep between her tightly ovaled lips. Her torso whipped madly from side to side and she rammed her buttocks with abandoned frenzy back against the animal, her mouth working voraciously over and around the palpitating cock of the totally lust crazed man who bucked his loins into her face, licking and sucking his prick as if it were her husband's, as if she were trying to please the man she loved....
And then, without advance warning, the panting, fucking dog began to spew hot fire-torrents of sticky white animal cum from its flame-red cock, leaping like molten drops of lava into the very core of her body. Thick sperm oozed from her cunt as it clasped the jerking prick of the dog, began to trail down along the backs of her thighs.
Sylvester saw the animal sperm erupting around Blackie's cock, and the sight triggered his own tremendous orgasm. He screamed high and loud, his eyes rolling in their sockets, bucking and heaving his buttocks upward to drive the full length of his huge cock into the mouth of young Valerie Cummings, filling it, threatening to strangle her. Then his balls erupted their great buildup of semen, sent jets of white fire shooting the full length of his spasming prick to flow deep against the larynx of the wildly convulsed young wife, filling her mouth to overflowing so that his cum poured out around his cock locked tightly in her lips to flow down her chin as Blackie's cum was flowing down her thighs. She swallowed spasmodically to keep from choking, her lips and tongue nuzzling and licking the jerking cock of the man, swallowing as much of his semen as she could as his testicles seemed to empty forth a never-ending stream of the bittersweet liquid.
Then, at last, it was over for the completely enslaved girl. She felt the dog's huge cock slip from her animal-cum flooded cunt to retreat back into its furry crevice, felt the cold snout nuzzle her as if in compliment and then retreat. And, too, she felt the now deflated cock of Sylvester slide from between her semen glistening lips with a soft, gentle plopping sound. She collapsed forward in that moment, falling across Sylvester's naked thighs, uncaring of that which pillowed her body, thinking in her drug-hazed mind, it's over no, it's all over, George has cum, and my husband has cum, one in my mouth and one in my pussy, my two lovers.
But it was not over, not by any stretch of the imagination. Young Valerie Cummings had only begun to participate in a day of such lewd carnality that it would leave her almost witless at its end. For Sylvester, with remarkable regenerative powers, had his huge, swollen cock half-hard again even as she lay exhausted over his legs and the dog was sniffing once again at her still sensuously throbbing cunt.
"Suck me again, Valerie," commanded the printer/photographer. "Suck me to full hardness. I want to fuck your cunt next, fuck your cunt like Blackie did. Come on, Valerie, suck me some more with your soft, soft little mouth."
And Valerie obeyed, mouthing Sylvester's erect cock, so that he could fuck her-submitting to other, incredible sexual acts involving the perverted man and his insatiable dog on and on into the late afternoon, on and on and on....
And then, at last, when the last reel of film was used, Sylvester allowed her to dress and gave her the fare home for a taxi.
He watched as she half-fell into the taxi. I did everything to her today that I wanted to do-except fuck her in the asshole. But that's all right, because I'm saving that film for someone else, for someone more exciting and deserving.
I'm saving it for Carl's wife, that snooty little Betty's virginal little asshole. Man, how tight it would be!!!
Yes, this was a fine business he had chosen, a fine form of entertainment, he gloated guilelessly to himself.
CHAPTER SIX
Betty Sanderson lay prostrate on the floor, her arms clinging to the living room carpet, her face contorted and straining red. She was doing her morning exercises ... one ... two ... three ... her legs raised and lowered, raised and lowered.
The phone rang just as her legs lowered to the floor before the next set of waist trimmers.
It was Carl, sounding suspiciously jubilant.
"Hi, honey. Just called to tell you I'm over at my brother's studio," his voice mellifluous. "Decided to stop by and check out the action. Anyway, he says that he's having a party-an all week end party-and he wants us to come...."
Oh, God, thought Betty, that's the last thing in the world I want to do. James' studio? Certainly there would be half-naked women running from lap to lap. What's gotten into Carl, anyway? He'd changed so drastically, especially since that night when she had allowed those nude pictures to be taken ... for since then, there had been three successive nights when he had wanted to repeat that horrible performance, to once more set up the tripod and the camera and writhe in abandon on the rug, or, as the case last night, on the bed. The very sheets seemed now permeated with debauchery, with the sins of carnality, and the remembrance of how he had tried again to push her head down on his penis and the damp, coldness with which he had treated her afterwards when she had refused to do it brought tears brimming to her eyes. She wiped them carefully and opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
"Betty ... Betty, are you there?"
"Y-Yes."
"What's the matter with you?"
"It's just that I have this headache," she lied. "Well take some codeine or aspirin or something and get yourself together because we're going to that party."
"Carl, I really don't. .
"Cut it out Betty! Get yourself together because we are going to that party. Jesus, it's going to be a great one."
There was no way to override his objections to her protests.
Betty slumped in a chair, all energy leaving her, her arms dangling limply over the sides like a rag doll. I knew it! I just knew James was behind this somehow. God, how I wished he'd stayed in Hawaii and left us alone. Nothing has been the same since that damned camera found its way into this house.
But I can't refuse, he made that clear right off. I've got to find somebody to talk to. Maybe Nancy will be. there, maybe I can talk to her about these things. She must have some secrets of how to please a man after putting up with James as a husband.
Yes, that's what she'd do. That's what she'd do and then decide about her future course of action regarding her own husband photographing her in lewd, provocative positions....
