Cynthia Barret tossed and turned in her sleep, her body covered with a thin film of perspiration prompted by fear. Her full pretty lips parted as she mumbled protests over and over again. It was the same dream, the same fear welling up out of her unconsciousness once again. Her pretty head thrashed from side to side and an audible No! could be heard.
Cynthia was alone in bed, in her own apartment, asleep. It was near dawn and she was having her recurring nightmare once more. "Nn-ooo, n-nooooo!" she moaned. In her mind, her dream, she was far from home, far from the safety of her apartment.
In her dream, she was once again in Chet Larkin's apartment, at one of his wild parties. Or was it an apartment that just looked like Chet's? She had been in so many strange apartments lately. She was lying on a water bed again and she stretched her arms out for balance or to feel the sides so that she'd have something secure to hang onto. She pitched and rolled and undulated on the bed as other laughing bodies were nearby. As always in the dream, there were other bodies nearby and they were laughing or ... breathing hard.
And, as always in this recurring dream, she was naked and could feel those bodies pressing closer and closer to her own.
And it was her body, naked, unprotected, that was of special interest to her. It was the kind of body that would be of special interest to anyone, male or female. To say that Cynthia was "stacked" was being banal. Drag out all the old superlatives and adjectives and you wouldn't even get close to her shapely form.
Her body had been her problem ever since she could remember. In high school, she had been talked into modeling in a downtown department store. She quit after the first day when the assistant manager, unable to control himself, made an overt pass and Cynthia had to slap his face. Then there had been the way all the boys acted and the way they fought to sit in the stands when she was a cheerleader and the looks on their faces as her breasts bobbed up and down and her cute short skirt flounced up, revealing panties that seemed stretched to the snapping point.
Sex had been a constant thing in her life ever since she first began to develop. Men just wouldn't or couldn't leave her alone and most of her experiences had been unpleasant until she met, fell in love with, and married Mike Barret. But Mike was now a chopper pilot in
Vietnam and she was home alone, tossing, twisting, dampening the sheets of their bed with her perspiration, nearly waking.
But now she was deep in the dream. Chet Larkin's dream as she called it. Only it wasn't always a dream, it was once a reality. There had been the time, months before, when Chet first showed up, telling her that he was a buddy of Mike's, that Mike himself had stopped by and asked him to keep an eye on her since she was living all alone in San Diego, waiting for Mike to finish his tour of duty. Her first clue should have come when she had said, "I'll write Mike you've stopped by!"
Chet hastily said, "Don't do that."
"Why?"
Chet grinned. "He wouldn't know the name. See, I'm doing a little extra work for the army on the peace coffeehouses so, naturally, Chet isn't my real name. Better not to mention me to Mike at all. If you have to, just say a buddy stopped by. Now, for Mike, can I treat you to a good steak? I don't know about you, but my stomach is caving in. I'm still on Vietnam time."
But to get back to Cynthia's body. It was perfect. Simple. A perfect body that brought her all kinds of offers to model, be in the movies, have a drink, be touched, caressed, kissed, mauled, until she found herself fighting for her rights and dignity.
It wasn't all the males' faults. She had a body that was perfect, besides a pert and adorable face set off by long black hair and a dazzling smile rimmed by full red lips. Her breasts were high and firm. And also huge. They were perfect, rounded like two honeydew melons ripening in a hot Alabama sun. Put them on a petite rib cage and mount all that on the thinnest of waists, a real wasp waist, and you have an idea of what her torso looked like. But not if you leave out her flat hard stomach which had just a slight roll to it from hot afternoons spent out on the court. Her hips fanned out deliciously, forming buttocks that rode up and down when she walked in the most tantalizing fashion. She couldn't help it any more than she could help her full thighs and long legs that tapered down to thin ankles. Indeed, Cynthia Barret had everything other women envy and men desire and she had it all naturally, combined with a sweet and understanding nature that spelled nothing but TROUBLE for her after she met Chet Larkin.
Now she was having her recurring nightmare. The room was dark, filled with smoke and the pungent odor of pot, and she couldn't be sure if she were actually in Chet's apartment or at one of the many parties he had led her into. It didn't matter, for she was naked and lying on a waterbed. It wasn't until she had gotten to know Chet that she learned of the subtle thrills waterbeds held for her and others. She was lying on her back and felt the warm water moving below her lovely body. The bed contoured itself to her body completely, outlining the backs of her long lithe legs. Her rounded thick thighs gave her the look and raciness of a fine woman athlete. Her twin buttocks cupped deep into the water bed, trapping themselves as the small of her back curved away, lifting her stomach and causing her to suck it in, thus forcing her shoulders down into the warm liquid and thrusting her breasts out invitingly.
There was laughter and music in the dream, as always. There were figures moving and talking and drinks being drunk. The room was hot and dark and it seemed that more and more people were crowding around the room, around the water bed and staring down at her lying naked.
She put a hand over her crotch and tried to put her other arm across her breasts, wishing with all her might that she might wake up. But she didn't wake up! The dream went on with the people crowding around closer and closer. She could hear comments being mumbled all around the bed.
"I'd give a cool thousand for that. It would have to be for the whole night, but I'd sure give a cool thousand for a body like that."
"We could take her home with us, get her drunk and in bed and really work her over."
"She looks ready right now."
"Chet knows how to get them"
"How would you like to have that suck you off?"
"I can do anything she can!"
"Anything but look like that."
"Why doesn't someone join her? I mean, is this a show or what?"
"Let's see more of that wild body."
Despite herself, Cynthia found herself shocked and thrilled about the smutty suggestive way they talked about her; like she was just a thing to be played with and enjoyed. A strong sense of lewd shame spread through her body, exciting her. Her mind responded slowly and she took her arm away from her breasts, exposing them and listening to the group intake of breath and the mumbled comments as her nipples grew taut and bullet-shaped.
"Ah, look at that," a man's voice said. "Turn this way, my darling, so I can see them better," the voice asked and Cynthia found herself responding, turning slightly with her breasts shifting and quivering. Her breasts quivered and jounced whenever she walked.
"God, what a bitch!" a woman's voice said, full of jealousy.
"Maybe," a man's voice answered dryly. "But you'd love to crawl on that bed with her, baby."
"And I just might!" the woman's voice answered back.
Cynthia had her eyes open now. The room was too dark to make out any of the strangers' faces, but she could feel their body warmth and hear their whispered comments and she felt a lewd excitement surge through her body like a current of powerful electricity!
Men wanted her body and she heard them swear under their collective breath and she heard the room go absolutely silent as she took her hand from her pubic hair and revealed her soft jutting mound of Venus under the soft black pubic hair. There was a long low whistle and a voice said, "Two thousand."
Another voice chuckled. "Fairchild, you gotta marry something like that in order to get it."
"Not at all, gentlemen."
Cynthia stiffened on the bed and her heart began to pound with an increasing rhythm. She knew that voice. Who was it?
"Watch," the voice said.
Cynthia had gone into a curled fetal position at the sound of the voice, her hands trying to protect her body.
Slowly, hands were beginning to rock the water bed. (For the sake of the-uninitiated, a water bed is nothing more than a large plastic mattress filled with warmed water. Filled to just the right amount, it can be an experience difficult to explain or forget. like floating in warm oil, like drifting on a cloud, like floating effortlessly in a pool.) Now people were bending over the water bed, crowding even closer as they put their hands on the edges of the water bed and began to rock the water within.
The bed was encased in a sturdy wood frame and Cynthia began to feel her body undulate.
She opened her eyes and watched as slowly her hips began to thrust out in the most obscene way as the water rolled under her and lifted her buttocks in slow swells and people said, "Christ, look at that!"
Cynthia couldn't help herself. Dream-like, she was beginning to relax again and she let her legs and arms float out. She felt her breasts rise and fall, then her hip bones jutted up toward the ceiling and she knew that her vaginal lips were swelling with excitement as she felt her body undulate in an abandoned kind of way on the bed.
"Fuck her!" someone said.
Another thrill ran through her when she heard the word and thought of the many hot panting bodies that could fall on her. Despite herself, despite what was left of her rational conscious mind, she did the one thing she knew would inflame everyone, including herself. Bending her knees slightly, she slowly spread her legs.
She could hear the labored breath of the men who crouched around the pitching water bed as her hips rose and fell from the power of the water underneath, and the men looked at her nakedness, at the way her vaginal lips were swelling under her dark pubic hair and the hint of glinting moisture which was gathering on her vaginal slit.
Someone was kneeling on the edge of the bed now, taking off his clothes as the others shouted encouragement. "Fuck her!"
"Wait till she gets a load of that."
"Christ, save something for us."
"Wow!"
"Would you believe it?"
Cynthia turned her half-closed eyes and parted lips to look at what they were all talking about. Her eyes widened. A man was naked on the bed, crouching over her. It was too dark to see his face but she could make out the rest of his anatomy. He was naked and his cock was erect and it was his prick she was staring at! She had never seen anything so big in all her life. It was at least two inches thick and over nine inches in length!
An insane thought went through her mind the way she had heard a friend describe a big prick; like a baby's arm with an apple in its hand! This cock looked every bit that big and it was going to fuck her! Hands held her down all around and she screamed, "No! No! Mike!" She started calling her husband even though she knew he wasn't there, that he was halfway around the world, flying choppers. "No! Mike! NO, NO, NO, MIKE, MIKE, NO, MIKE!! ! ! ! "
She screamed and awoke and found herself in her own apartment, safe for the moment. Her fingers groped for a cigarette and she lit one with a shaking hand, telling herself it was nothing more than a bad dream.
A slow frown crossed her face as she took a deep drag and exhaled. All a dream. Or was it?
CHAPTER TWO
There seems to be, in every good girl's life, a guy like Chet Larkin. They come along, a friend of a friend, and they hang around and ask favors, and one thing leads to another and before the unsuspecting victim realizes it, he or she is deeply involved with a person they not only don't know too well, they don't even like. So it was with Cynthia Barret and Chet Larkin.
Chet was so smooth, so charming. Just when Cynthia felt he was getting too nervy, he seemed to sense it and would slip behind a smile and a laugh. "Just stopping by," he'd say, gallant and grinning. "like I promised Mike I would. If I make myself a nuisance, just say so."
Far from it, he made himself useful, replacing a leaking faucet in the kitchen when Cynthia didn't have the vaguest idea how to go about it. He willingly ran errands and gave her advice when something went wrong with her car. "Needs a tuning, that's all. Listen, if you'll pay for the plugs, I'll do it for you. I've got a tuning kit and guide. Take it to some garage and they'll really sock it to you. Come on," he would protest in an appealing way, "it gives me something to do."
He won Cynthia's trust in so many little ways. After a while, she began to relax around him, feeling that he really was a friend of her husband's and that he wanted nothing more than to be a good friend of the family. Gradually, Cynthia got to know him as a nice guy who was all alone in a big city. All alone and on duty watching the G.I. coffeehouses and other leftist activity in San Diego.
During the nights he sat and had a beer with Cynthia, he explained why he had to let his sideburns grow and why he had to dress as he did: in order to infiltrate. "I'm undercover for a while," he would say. "But it's got to be done. Never mind about me. Tell me what do you hear from old Mike?"
But always the conversation would get back to Chet and what he was doing. He would talk quite freely about some aspects of his work: just enough to excite the curiosity of Cynthia. He would make references to having spent the previous night at a party.
"What kind of a party?" Cynthia would ask, cocking an eyebrow. After all, Cynthia was young and attractive and except for such activities like bowling night for officers' wives, or an occasional card game with the girls, Cynthia's social life was sharply curtailed since Mike had been sent to Vietnam. She felt that she lived in a kind of limbo, except for his R and R in Japan when she had flown to Tokyo and met him and they had a second honeymoon.
But Chet would be annoyingly vague about just what kind of party it had been. However, he was always careful to plant two thoughts in her mind: it was the kind of party a girl like Cynthia would never go to, and it was because of his undercover work that he went to these parties. Then several nights would go by and Cynthia would neither see nor hear from him. Finally he would call, casually asking, "Hi. What do you hear from Mike?"
"The same things. Where have you been?"
"Around. What did Mike say?"
"First tell me why I haven't heard from you," she would demand with growing curiosity.
"Been busy. When is Mike coming stateside? Did he say?"
"Chet Larkin or whatever your name is," she would scold, thinking of him as a younger brother who was an enjoyable problem, "you tell me where you've been and what you've been up to or I'm going to hang up on you."
His laugh on the other end of the phone was easy and friendly. "I don't want to talk anymore where I am, how about if I stop by?"
Cynthia felt a thrill go through her body. She realized, even at that moment, he might be talking from some place where he was in physical danger or ... at one of those parties. And, at the thought of those "parties" he kept mentioning, Cynthia felt a thrill she hadn't anticipated. She felt it deep in her groin and it was not unpleasant. The teasing thought made her lips twitch in a smile: just what kind of parties did he go to "in the line of duty" and just what went on there?
A lonely girl, certainly not unattractive and constantly being propositioned or offered dates, she had to be on her toes. When Chet first came around, she had viewed his whole story with good-natured doubt. What harm would there be in her writing her husband asking about the existence of one Chester Larkin? She posed the question to Chet one night.
"Okay," he had responded softly, in a voice quiet and serious. "If you really have to know, I mean, really, you just write him a simple question. Ask him if he has ever known a Captain William Evers. Just ask him a simple yes or no. You just write him that," he went on, just as quiet and gravely as before, looking her in the eye as he said, "and remember his mail gets read and I'll be blowing my cover. He'll tell you about Bill Evers all right."
Cynthia had been impressed into silence and admiration for the way Chet seemed to trust her. It was a week before she saw him again. He'd stopped by to fix the venting on her dryer and she had said, "I wrote Mike asking him about you."
"Oh?" Chet took a long time taking out a cigarette and lighting it with a steady hand before he looked her in the eyes and asked, "What did he say?"
"He said that Captain William Evers was the best friend he had in Vietnam," she said, staring back at him.
Chet took a slow and even drag. "That all he said?"
"No," Cynthia said, "he told me that Captain William Evers-"
"-was missing in action," Chet cut in, finishing the sentence for her. "And that's the way it is, officially, anyway. You know," he said, smiling up at her, "fixing a dryer can work up a thirst. I think I earned a beer."
Chet, or Bill, or whatever his real name and identity was, became more like a younger brother as time passed. His admiration for Mike was boundless and he spent long nights over a beer, raving about him, telling Cynthia stories of her husband's heroics. Soon, any doubts Cynthia had about Chet or Bill was gone, forgotten behind a barrage of nice evenings when he had been helpful and kind. He listened to her whenever she admitted she was lonely and reassured her that Mike would come through his tour of duty unscathed.
And so their relationship grew and Chet began spending more and more time with Cynthia, coming over almost every other night. In her own mind, she decided not to make any further mention of Bill or Chet or whatever his real name was to her husband. For the record, he was missing in action.
Yet her natural feminine curiosity almost drove her crazy. She wondered about what kind of "undercover work" Chet did and if Mike would do any such work when he returned to the states, or even if he was doing any such work now. His letters seemed pretty routine. He spent his days at various airfields, flew some missions that he was vague about, and kept a billet in Saigon with another friend and officer. Each letter seemed like the last, except for a few minor changes about how much he missed Cynthia and guesses on how soon he'd be rotated back home.
Cynthia told Chet of Mike's letters, saying, "He wrote me asking why I asked about Captain William Evers. What do I tell him?" she asked, biting her lower lip prettily. She was afraid she had betrayed some military intelligence in some vague way.
"Just say that one of the wives was asking because her hubby wanted to know, or something vague and complicated and let the whole thing die on the vine," Chet suggested in a bored voice, glancing at his watch. "Time for me to split. I gotta get to one of those parties again."
"Yeah," Cynthia said jokingly, "and just what kind of a party is it you have to go to?"
Chet gave her a slow smile. "Kinda party I hope I never find you at."
"Why?" Cynthia asked, hand on hip, suddenly brazen, shocking herself with the way she was acting. She thrust one well-curved hip out and slowly shook it like a stripper. "Little hanky-panky go on? Something you're afraid to tell me about?"
The slow smile stayed on Chet's face as he put his jacket on. "Interested, aren't you?"
"Who, me?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious. "No, of course not. It's just that you're so mysterious about them, that's all."
He lowered his voice, even though there was no one listening. "Someday, when I know you better, I'll tell you all about them."
Chet Larkin, Captain William Evers-neither one was his real name. But if Cynthia had written Mike asking who Willy Catrano was, she would have gotten a quick reply. Willy Catrano was an army deserter and smalltime hood and black-market operator known to traffic in drugs and women. Chet, William, Willy, was really a pimp. Willy Catrano supplied girls for parties for a variety of reasons: it was lucrative and got him a lot of favors which had paid off well. He found it easy because he seemed to have a natural talent for creating a situation where a girl would let herself go a little. He had a natural flair for leading a girl on, interesting her, reeling her in slowly, easily, taking his time.
Also, he found he liked it. He couldn't give any logical reason-any reason that made sense, but he liked to see a girl get herself in a jam by exposing a little of her real nature and then exploiting and exposing that real nature for what it was: lewd obscene pleasure. Above all, more than anything in this world there was the type of person who loved and valued pleasure more than anything else. There was a type of girl who would do anything, debase herself in any way asked if she thought it would bring her some sexual pleasure.
Cynthia Barret was such a girl. Chet-William-Willy knew this. How he knew this was pure instinct. He didn't have a shred of evidence to go on, yet experience and a strong surge of instinct that told him Cynthia Barret was a case of walking wiggling dynamite. Properly ignited, she could be exploded into a sex bomb of megaton proportions.
Willy-William-Chet felt that it was going to be easy pickings with her, and so he took his diabolical time with her, stirring her sexual fantasies while stoking her gossip-prone mind. Bored, having little of interest in her daily life, she found herself hanging onto every word of Chet-William-Willy as he "let slip" a few things like-"Last night when the stripper got carried away..." or "I forgot. We walked in this room, see, and, like I say, I was pretending I was stoned so I didn't say anything when she turned the light on and there on the bed was these two chicks and this guy I recognize from the demonstrations and I almost laughed out loud."
Cynthia would wet her lips before asking, "What were they doing in bed?"
"Who? The guy from the demonstrations and the two chicks?" Chet would ask innocently.
"Yes," Cynthia would answer testily, "Who else?"
Chet shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know, baby, there was a lot going on there. I keep forgetting what I told you and what I didn't."
"You haven't told me a thing."
"like what?"
"like what was the friend doing in bed in the dark with those two girls?"
Chet would give her a smirk, reeling her in just a little more. "Same thing most everybody else was doing at the party."
Cynthia would give him a playful punch in the arm. "Come on, what were they doing?"
He would laugh. "Come on, want me to get dirty?"
Willy Catrano had been given a dishonorable discharge from the United States Army. He purposely worked servicemen's wives because they were, as he said, "easy pickings." Also because he had been in the service and because he knew of Captain William "Bill" Evers who was missing in action and was admired by all who knew him. He quizzed service wives constantly, picking up any and all information he could on what was happening in Vietnam. Once he zeroed in on a girl, he rarely missed recruiting her. Once he took her through the initial steps, once he tested her sensual response and started teasing their imaginations and set their curiosity and sensuality in motion, it was only a matter of time before he had them crawling the walls with all kinds of questions, each one more smutty than the first. Before they knew it, they'd find themselves with too much to drink and asking, "Take me to one of those parties-just to watch."
CHAPTER THREE
"Take me to one of those parties-just to watch!"
It took Cynthia two months of meeting and talking to Chet. During which time she paced the apartment late at night, later tossing in bed until the early hours of the morning when she would lie naked, with all of the covers removed so that the cool morning air would cool her hot beautiful body. Finally, over cocktails when Chet invited her out to "break the monotony," after her third martini, she had suddenly blurted out, "Take me to one of those parties-just to watch!"
A silence hung between them. Chet looked at her with those even gray eyes of his. "I don't know if I can do that."
"Who's to know?" Cynthia asked, surprising even herself with her brazenness.
"Okay," Chet answered evenly, carefully fingering his glass. "But there is my obligation to Mike to think about. Taking you to see one of these parties would hardly be what I call 'looking after you.' In fact, if the shoe was on the other foot, if it were the other way around, I'd be plenty mad if my best friend took my wife to one of those things."
"You know I can take care of myself, that I am over twenty-one and can make legal contracts, you know that, Chet, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I'm old enough to know my own mind and be responsible for my actions. I say I want to go to see what one of those parties is like, that's all. Naturally, I'd expect you to take care of me."
Chet shook his head in resignation. "No way, Cynthia, no way in the world even if Mike is going-" He stopped and smiled enigmatically. Phase three of his operation was underway: undermine Cynthia's image of her husband, have her believing that he is out having a good time for himself, and you make it all the more easy for her to let go, have a little fun on her own.
It didn't take him too long. Reluctantly, he admitted that almost all the guys in Saigon had a girl. They came so cheap and would do the laundry and shine the boots. Some guys had as many as two and three. He was very careful-too careful-to say that Mike had nothing to do with anything like that. Yes, he did have cleaning girls, all the guys had girls or young boys who came in to dust and clean the rooms.
In no time at all-two weeks actually-he had Cynthia seething, sure that Mike was having an affair with more than one Vietnamese girl. Something else was seething in her too; the desire to go to one of Chet's parties and, in some feminine way, "get even" with Mike.
The total lapse in time since she first saw Chet Larkin and when she finally insisted that he take her to see what happened at "those parties" was just sixty days. Two months, with Chet working easily and assuredly at being her friend, being "thoughtful" and running little errands and fixing things around the house and generally being a good guy. Two months and he had her insisting that he take her to a party or their friendship was at stake.
Of course, Cynthia had three Chet-made martinis before she made her demand. Chet stopped by with all the martini makings. He was, he said, celebrating an anniversary.
"Oh, what is it?" Cynthia asked, her eyes taking in his appearance, noticing he was dressed better than usual, wearing a light blue suit of a continental cut and expensive cloth.
He made the drinks deftly, that enigmatic smile on his lips until he handed her a glass that was frosted and filled to the brim with the driest martini possible.
They touched glasses as he looked into her eyes. "It's just two months since we met, since I called up and said that Mike had asked me to keep an eye on you."
"Skoal," Cynthia said, tapping the glasses and drinking. "My, we're all dressed up. Going to some place special?"
Chet sipped at his drink, just wetting his lips. She noticed this was a customary habit of his and, although he always had a drink at his elbow, she had never seen him get high or anywhere near drunk. He looked down at his suit and said, "Oh yeah, got to attend one of those leftist fund-raising parties tonight. Certain group of people are beginning to think it very chic to be leftist. I gotta check it out"
"Can I go?"
"Not a chance."
"Why?" This led to Chet offering a series of excuses which Cynthia shot down, his excuses growing lamer as he went along.
"You'd blow my cover."
"Nonsense. I'd only help your cover. Since I don't know what's going on, I can only be an asset to you."
"Mike wouldn't like it."
"Is this fund-raising shindig private or can anybody with the price and an invitation go?"
Chet wiped his mouth, waved an arm, and refilled the drinks as he said, "Anybody with the money and an invite can go."
"All right," she said, her hands on her hips and her feet tapping, "I've got the money. Tell me how I can get an invitation-and don't tell me I can't get one-and I'll go by myself and write and tell Mike that you wouldn't look after me."
"Aw, come on, Cynth," he said, refilling the drinks once again.
By the time she had her third martini, she was adamant, almost hostile. Chet gave in with a weary shrug. "Okay, remember one thing, it was your idea. It's a pretty swanky affair downtown and there might even be a celebrity or two there, so get dressed up all sexy and we'll have us some fun."
"Darn right!" Cynthia said, draining her drink and heading for the bedroom to change into something more suitable. Already her sexual stimulus was up and she thrilled at the naughty idea of leaving the door open just a crack. She told herself that Chet was just like one of the family and rationalized further that it was easier for them to converse through an open door than it was a closed one. She could stay out of sight and judge where he was by his voice.
Chet set himself to making a new "batch" of martinis, lining himself up with the crack in the door so he could see into the mirror on one wall and thus most of the room. He smiled confidently to himself. It was only a matter of hours before Cynthia would be groveling, begging to be fucked more and wallowing in the obscenity of saying the word aloud, begging for it, wanting just a little more of the thrill she had felt building, building for so long deep down in her groin.
Chet measured the drinks with care, looking through the crack in the door and seeing the smiling figure of Cynthia come into view in the mirror. She was looking into a closet at what she had to wear, standing tiptoe in her stocking feet, revealing her shapely calves and the proud, twin, bulging cheeks of her skirt that clung so seductively to her flesh.
Chet felt his cock jerk in his pants. He liked watching women undress when they didn't know he was watching.
"Are you mixing more drinks?" she called out over her shoulder, half distracted by trying to decide what she was going to wear, her head swimming and her body feeling heavier and ... pleasant.
"Why not?" he called back. "One for the road."
"Right!" she yelled, surprised and giggling at the loud sound of her own voice.
He gave an audible gasp as he looked into the mirror and saw Cynthia reach behind her neck, flick a clasp, and unzip the dress. As it fell silently to the floor and she stepped out of it, he got a full-length glimpse of her figure before it slipped from view, clad only in a bra, bikini panties, silk stockings, and black garter belt.
Chet shifted his position, changing the angle as he stirred the drinks and saw Cynthia, with her back to the mirror, bend over and pick up the simple dress she had been wearing. The full rounded moons of her buttocks came into tantalizing view and Chet had a completely reflected but unimpeded view of the narrow nylon strip of her panties between her firm, full thighs that tightened momentarily as she bent over. The panties slipped teasingly into the crevice of her buttocks from the pressure of the position and then remained bunched up in the hollows as she straightened up again to hang the dress in the closet.
He watched her with bated breath as she walked along the long wall closet, her buttocks joggling slightly as she moved. It was a sexy, squirming walk and he could tell from the expression on her face, whenever she turned, that she was already sexually excited by the evening ahead of them. Good, he thought, she's going to see plenty of it.
His eyes were narrow slits as he took in her form as she turned from the closet. Her sheer stockings gleamed in the not-too-bright light of the room and her black high-heeled shoes set them off to good effect. He thought he'd like to take her like that, in black stockings and high heels. Better still, he liked to see her get taken, fucked, that way.
Beads of perspiration were on his forehead and he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his forehead as he watched her wiggle into a low-cut cocktail type of dress, exactly right for where they were going.
Outside, they got into a white convertible Caddy and drove to one of the better sections of San Diego. It was a well-to-do residential section called "Hidden Hills," a mystifying title since there weren't any hills. But there was plenty hidden. Houses were designed to be barely seen from the road and lots of shrubbery separated one from another.
Cynthia let her hair flow back in the breeze and felt her head clearing a bit from the generous and dynamite-packed martinis he had made for her. She looked at the car, at the lovely scenery, and at the way he was dressed and she laughed. "Wow!" she said, somewhat drun-kenly, "what rough duty you're drawing! How can you take it?" She collapsed beside him in a cloud of giggles.
Chet grinned. "This is one of the better runs. But don't be deceived by appearances, the action can get quite rough and raunchy later on. Just stick with me and do what I say and don't be surprised who you see at this party."
"Hitler?" Cynthia asked and lapsed off into laughter again. The whole thing seemed so unreal and Chet sounded so needlessly ominous.
"No, celebrities. Helping out ultra-leftist causes and the anti-war movement has become very chic now. Just get yourself a drink, then sit back and watch me operate and enjoy the whole thing. Whatever you do, don't talk about me. Talk about anything else, just say what you honestly feel, but don't talk about me."
"But what will I do if someone asks?" Cynthia said, suddenly bewildered.
"Ah," he winked, nodding, "You just say that I'm a friend and let it go. Then, after, you tell me who asked. Don't drink too much, you're going to be in with some fast company."
Fifteen minutes later, an amazed Cynthia found herself sitting crowded on a large couch, a generous drink in her hand, handsome people all around her. It was everything that Chet had hinted and more. She couldn't believe her eyes! Chet was off in one corner talking to an actor who had just become a big star! People were milling everywhere and, out in the middle of the room, where the rug was rolled back to indicate a dance floor, a young sinuous blonde in a low-cut red cocktail dress was doing a sensuous dance and a slow strip!
The place was packed and the lights were being dimmed and Cynthia gulped at her drink and couldn't believe it was happening in front of her! Everything Chet had said was true! Her eyes narrowed and her body shivered with excitement as she saw a group off by themselves. She wasn't sure, but they seemed to be passing something among them and a heavy sickly sweet odor drifted through the cigarette smoke. Cynthia saw some blacks come in and stand by the far wall. The jazz music was swelling and now the dancing girl was wiggling out of her dress. Someone handed Cynthia still another lethal martini and said something to her. She looked around. Where was Chet in all the shifting, changing people? Where was she? She saw Chet and waved. He was looking at her and still talking to the movie star.
CHAPTER FOUR
The thrill that Cynthia felt was something that she would remember for the rest of her life as she saw Chet threading his way through the party with his hand on the elbow of Dan Hoag-land, internationally known movie star, a man who seemed so familiar because she had seen his face on movie screens for years. Dan Hoag-land was the flint-chinned blue-eyed cowboy hero of many an oater, good and bad.
"Dan, I want you to meet a friend of mine, Cynthia Barret. Cynthia, Dan," Chet said with a wave of the hand as he backed away, smiling.
Cynthia couldn't say anything as she smiled, hoping she didn't look like an idiot. Dan Hoag-land looked down at her with his tanned face crinkling around the eyes. He smiled and said in his best drawl, "Chet says you're new around here."
"I live here. I mean, I live here in San Diego," Cynthia said, flustered under his clear-eyed, calculating gaze. It was odd the way he looked at her with a kind of detached sardonic amusement. His eyes traveled from her to the blonde who was slipping out of her dress as her hips did lewd bumps and grinds. For the moment, the blonde dominated all the action in the room with everyone looking at her. Cynthia looked at her face which was expressionless and at her eyes which were half closed with a dreamy detached look to them.
"That little girlie is really goin' go," Dan said in his best Western style, hitching a thumb into his belt and sipping his drink as he wedged down onto the couch next to Cynthia, casually reaching over and squeezing her knee as he said, "Let's see how far she dares to go."
The blonde had a stunning figure and she knew how to use her body, betraying some measure of dance training as she moved, wiggling out of her dress in time to the music and moving around the dance floor in a sensuous prowl, like a lithe cat on the prowl for her mate, as her hands slid up and down her bare thighs. She was dressed in nothing more than a half bra which caused her full breasts to jiggle and quiver as she moved, her cleavage cut deep and suggestive. Her panties were black bikinis, cut extremely low on the hips, riding high and shoving her pelvic bones as they thrust forward as she danced.
Everyone began clapping in time to the bongo drumming of the Negroes as the blonde danced, loose and abandoned, in front of them, her breasts quivering and shaking themselves loose from the half bra to expose her hard, taut nipples as she shimmied and shook.
Her head back, her eyes closed, her mouth open, she hooked her thumbs into her panties and pulled them down slightly as she thrust her hips forward and lewdly rotated her hips in a slow tantalizing rhythm. She turned her back on the room and Dan Hoagland, next to Cynthia, grunted approval as he looked at the blonde's trembling buttocks with the panty material riding high in the deep crack between her bare cheeks.
The blonde kept the beat going as her buttocks swayed and moved invitingly. She bent her knees and stuck her buttocks out toward the room, spreading her legs so that the tight band of her panties could be seen separating her long tapering thighs.
Cynthia gasped, feeling her head lightened from the liquor and the mounting tension and excitement in the room. The blonde pulled her thumbs free from where they had been hooked in her panties with a luscious smacking sound against her bare hips. A fine film of perspiration was forming on Cynthia's face as she sat crammed between the famous Dan Hoagland and a stranger and watched the blonde rotate her hips slowly and obscenely, the tight black band of her panties riding tightly over the swelling crack of her vagina. Cynthia-and everyone else in the room-could see the fine spun tufts of her golden pubic hair peeking from under the black panties! She crossed her legs and squeezed her thighs tight against her own mounting excitement! Chet hadn't been kidding about anything.
Chet! At the thought of his name she tore her eyes from the blonde who was surrounded now by men who were urging her on and looked around for Chet. He was nowhere in sight and she began to worry. Before, when he had alluded to the things that he did and the scenes that he saw, she thought he was exaggerating or lying outright just to impress her. Slowly, she had learned to believe him and now here it was, right in front of her!
The room was in an uproar as the blonde, her breasts jutting out, reached behind her and un-snapped the clasp on her bra. Her breasts leaped free and the bra fell to the floor as she danced on, the men crowding closer and closer to her.
Cynthia licked her lips because they were dry and she felt an unholy thrill of abandonment course through her lovely body as she wondered if she could ever do such a brazen, sluttish thing.
The blonde stood in place, her hips undulating in time to the music as the men's hands caressed her thighs while her own hands cupped her breasts and offered them to the nearest man, who let out a roar and picked the blonde up in his arms and bulled his way through the protesting crowd, taking the blonde off to another, hopefully, empty room.
Dan Hoagland laughed, his laughter rich and easy as he applauded. "Thata way! Love to see a girl take a dare! How about you, Missy? Do you take a dare?"
Cynthia couldn't help herself. She flirted with Dan Hoagland, flirted openly, smiling at him with lowered eyes as Dan took in her deep cleavage with an appreciative eye. The natural female rivalry and jealousy prompted her to be so brazen. Although as vain and unsure of herself as any other female, she was fairly sure that she had a better figure than the blonde they had watched.
Yet, something was wrong. Something made her ask Dan a question. It was the peculiar way he kept using the word "dare," putting an emphasis on it that was odd.
She could not help flirting with him, seeing him respond to her charms. This would, she thought, be a night she would remember for the rest of her life; the night she flirted with a movie star. "What do you mean," she asked, her voice going husky, "by 'dare'? "
Dan cocked one eyebrow in a way that was at once familiar and characteristic. The quizzical grin that split his rugged features was a thing she had seen so many times in so many drive-ins and theaters. If he were playing a role now, he would rub his thumb along the edge of his chin, and Cynthia almost laughed out loud with delight when he did it. "You mean you don't know about the dares?"
"No, tell me all about it."
"Well, it's a game that started up in L.A. In Beverly Hills, as a matter-of-fact. Fella comes up to a gal and says, 'I dare you.' 'Dare what?' the gal asks and then the fella can say anything he wants."
"like what?" Cynthia asked, taking a drink of her martini and spilling a little on her dress. God, she thought, I'm getting smashed. Still, she found she couldn't resist continuing the flirtation.
"Well, like anything the guy has in mind. You know, the usual." Dan looked at her a moment before chuckling. "Chet was right, you really are new."
"I told you I live here."
"New at this game, anyway."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. It's kinda nice to see." He leaned close, putting his heavy hand on her knee again. "Look, here's the way the game is played. Fella sees a gal he-likes and says, 'I dare you to take off that dress,' and the gal either takes the dare or backs down."
"That doesn't make any sense. What does the girl get out of it?"
"Ah," Dan said, holding up one finger, "That's the whole thing, see. Takes the right kind of gal. Right kind of gal, like little old blondie we were watching, gets her kicks out of accepting the dare. That's all. Hell, for the right gal, it's more than enough."
"Sounds fascinating. I never heard of it before."
Dan grunted. "New fad. L.A. is the town for any new fad. Right now, it's fun. Couple weeks, a month, maybe two, and the whole thing will be old hat and a bore."
Cynthia drained her glass and Dan took it from her and motioned to one of the Oriental waiters who hovered around the room. Magically, a dry martini was served her on a silver tray. "I dare you," Dan said.
"Oh? Dare me to what?" she asked, her pulse quickening. She could never do what the blonde had done. No matter how much she wanted to, she could never do a thing like that. Suddenly, she frowned slightly, realizing she was thinking in terms of competing with the blonde! She was thinking of doing something that would have, a few hours ago, been unspeakable!
"I dare you," Dan said, grinning, taking his time, relishing her discomfort, "I dare you to drink that martini down."
"This?" Cynthia said, trying to play it cool. "Listen, I can drink these all night."
"I doubt that. Let's see you drink just this one, huh?"
"Here's to dares," Cynthia said, again feeling a flush of illicit excitement. Forcing her will, she drank the martini down and stopped herself from gagging.
Dan watched the alcohol have an effect on her and he laughed out loud, snapping his fingers at the waiter and nodding for another drink. "There, see, you did it. How do you feel?"
Cynthia caught her breath and smiled back. "Kind of kicky," she said, using a slang expression she had heard on TV. "Kind of funny, but good."
"Dare you to have one more, but kinda take it easy on this one, huh?"
"Oh, sure," she said, taking the glass, somewhat uncertain.
"Hey, maybe you better not take the dare," Dan said, looking at her closely. "You're getting smashed. I don't want you smashed. Let's get some fresh air."
He had her by the hand-and was helping her to her feet, guiding her through the crowd and out to a patio that wasn't too crowded. Most of the people were down by the pool, watching another girl do a striptease while standing out on the diving board.
Cynthia felt dizzy and Dan put his arm around her and said, "Breathe deep, get some oxygen in the old system."
She leaned against him, breathing deep, her breasts heaving under her dress as she felt his strong body and she seemed to melt against him. Suddenly they were locked together and she felt his hot probing tongue in her mouth! She had been away too long to resist, she had been away from Mike and the thought of any and all desire too long to resist. She ground her hips into his groin and let his tongue flash in and out of her mouth.
Abruptly she pulled away from him and they stood in the dim light, looking at one another. Dan put on his best grin and quizzical look. Cynthia found it hard to catch her breath and every nerve in her body throbbed beyond control. "Dare me," she said, her voice low and husky.
Without a word, he took her by the hand and led her along the patio, testing each of the sliding glass doors they came to until he found one that was unlocked. He yanked it open and pulled the drapes back, revealing a startled couple. The man was sitting on the bed, pulling on his shoes while the woman was zipping her dress. Dan grinned. "Busier than the L.A. airport on a long weekend."
"Just leaving, Mr. Hoagland," the man said, getting up.
"Sorry to rush you like this, folks," Dan said, following them to the door, "some things just can't wait." He closed the door on their faces as they looked to see who the famous actor was taking to bed. Dan was all swift easy action now, returning to the glass doors, shutting them and flipping the latch. Then, his eyes twinkling, easy, relaxed, he walked to Cynthia who was standing somewhat unsteadily in the center of the room.
Nonchalantly, he hooked his fingers in the V of her dress and gave a strong yank, surprising her with his strength. The dress ripped down the front as if it were made of tissue and she stood clad only in her panties, her hands flying up to try and cover her huge, magnificent breasts. "Don'tcha worry none about this little thing. Tomorrow you go buy yourself three new ones," Dan said, tossing the tattered dress on the floor. His eyes took in her breasts that she was trying to hide with her hands and arms as she backed away.
A change came over Dan's genial handsome face. There was a coldness to his smile, a flinty glint in his eyes as he forced Cynthia to back up toward the bed while she was still trying to cover her bare breasts as best as possible.
"No," she said, befuddled, looking around. "Please, I'm not like that."
Dan snorted. "A few minutes ago you was daring me. Well, baby, now I'm daring you. I dare you to take those panties off or do I rip them off?"
"No, wait." Cynthia's hands flew out, revealing her breasts and nipples in all their loveliness.
Dan was in no mood to wait or listen. He seized her wrists in a numbing grip and slowly spread her arms wide so that her breasts stretched and stood out tall and trembling. Then he bent his head and she felt his hot wet mouth close over one nipple and his tongue lick as his teeth bit into her flesh. Her whole body trembled with desire as she felt him suck the nipple erect and hard.
Her mind was a cauldron of hot thoughts boiling over and spilling out into her body. Mike, Mike, where was Mike! In Vietnam with some chippie! Chet had told her so and Chet told the truth! If he was having his fun, why shouldn't she? Why not? Besides, this was Dan Hoagland, the Dan Hoagland! People were excited just to meet him and here he was kissing, licking, biting the nipple of her breast.
Did she dare? For once in her life, she decided that she dared. As Dan took his mouth from her now erect and hard nipple, she turned her body and bent her back, offering him the other nipple. She would dare, she would dare one no-holds-barred night with the famous Dan Hoagland!
Her mouth fell open and she groaned aloud as she felt his mouth close over her other breast and suck hungrily, arousing a hot passion in her crotch that was swelling her vaginal lips and bringing a wetness to her cunt that was exciting. Involuntarily, she began pumping her hips back and forth, feeling the exciting, lubricated sliding back and forth of her vagina. She spread her legs slightly as Dan held her, her arms still spread-eagled, and licked at her nipples which stood out, taut and hard. She felt stabs of pleasure deep in her groin and spread her legs, the tight band of her panties biting into the swollen lips of her cunt and rubbing against her clitoris. Her abandoned pumping of her hips only heightened the pleasure and intensified her craving.
Big Dan Hoagland took her in his arms and crushed her nearly naked body against his and she felt the huge hardness of his cock under his pants pressing against her. Lewdly, a twisted smile on her lips, she ground her groin back against his prick, thinking she was outdoing the blonde stripper when it came to passion.
Locked together, they fell on the bed with Dan's heavy body crushing her down on the sheets. One of his legs fell tightly between her open thighs. Dan found her surprisingly supple and soft and her body was glued into his as though it belonged there. She moved her thigh up against his crotch as he ground his lips harshly into her, bringing his cock to a painful hardness. He could feel the wetness from the seminal fluid seeping from the gland on the hardening tip. It smeared against his leg inside his pants until he was certain she could feel the wetness through the material. He grinned, thinking to himself, this little filly has really got you all hard up!
He could feel the pressure in his prick jerking as she continued to pump and writhe under him and he felt like he would cum at the slightest extra pressure as he felt a force mounting in his testicles below. He thrust his tongue deeply in her mouth and she sucked gently on it, nibbling with tiny sharp nips of her teeth that sent chills running the length of his spine. He pulled his head away to escape the teasing sensation for a minute and Cynthia whispered in his ear, "Is your wife good in bed?"
He snorted. "Which one?"
She spread her legs a little wider, allowing the band of her panties to bite deeper into the pulpy softness of her cunt and bring spasms of pleasure to her groin that made her tense her buttocks under his weight. "All of them," she whispered. "Tell me about all of them!"
He laughed out loud, squeezing her below him. "I'm with you now! Wouldn't be right to run around comparing bed mates, now would it?"
Cynthia laughed and nodded, then whispered, "Let's get naked!"
Dan realized suddenly that she was quivering beneath him. Her thighs were moving against his loins. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?" he asked in a hard voice.
"Yes, God yes, I want you to," she answered, the lewd words coming from his mouth exciting her all the more.
"Then tell me!"
She moaned, "I want you to fuck me."
"How?" he demanded.
"Deep. Deep and hard. Fuck me like I've never been fucked before. God!" she moaned, almost throwing him from her squirming body. "Get your clothes off before I die."
The mighty Dan Hoagland got up from the bed and began stripping his clothes off as fast as he could until he stood before her naked, his cock standing out in naked erection in front of him. Cynthia lifted her buttocks slightly and squirmed out of the panties she was wearing, leaving her wearing nothing but her garter belt and stockings. Her black high heels fell to the floor with a double thud that sounded almost as a single sound since they came so close together.
She looked up at him standing stark-naked above her, her eyes riveted on the penis standing out in the air. She watched the throbbing of the blood-filled head for a moment and said, "I like it. It's so big and it's going to feel so good inside of me, twisting around deep in my cunt! Oh, God, I want you to fuck me with it!"
The wild, lewd words she heard herself uttering for the first time drove her mad with desire. Mike was forgotten. All she wanted was to fuck all night with the great Dan Hoagland.
He lay down on the bed beside her, dragging her over to him with the strength of his arms. He moved one hand down to the smoothness of her buttocks and cupped them. They were beautifully shaped and sinewy as he had expected them to be. Her body was warm and soft against him and she raised her face to his, locking her mouth tightly to him as her hand searched down between them for the hardness of his penis. He gasped as the coolness of her fingers closed around his rigidity. He pressed his head forward and kissed her moistly. Her odor was maddening, a perfume that he didn't recognize but reminded him dimly of the freshness of spring lilacs. Her lips were soft and gave before the harsh pressure of his teeth with a yielding rubbery softness that sent tiny chills over both their skins.
She crushed the full-length of her body against his and ground her pelvis tightly into him before suddenly twisting her body and pulling him over on top of her, opening her legs wide to take him between them.
CHAPTER FIVE
Chet slipped into a deserted room with a tiny two-seater bar and walked behind it, flipping on the soft bar light and mixing himself a drink. He downed the Scotch as if it were water, then, checking the door, he turned his attention to a small console set and TV screen behind the bar and flipped switches.
Now, he thought, now we'll see how stupid Cynthia is doing with old Dan. He shook his head and laughed to himself. Cynthia had been so easy and, although she didn't know it, so hot to go, he could have had her in the sack a month ago. The TV screen glowed alive and blurred images appeared on the screen.
Too bad, he thought, too bad I can't photograph this one but, after all, Dan Hoagland was Dan Hoagland and he didn't want any pictures taken. Dan was a powerful man, capable of harming Chet physically and socially. And, after all, he was doing Chet a favor, getting Cynthia into bed, breaking her in so to speak. Next trip around, he would have a camera ready and photograph her getting fucked from every angle possible.
The room came into sharp focus and Chet found himself staring at a chair and a drapery. He pushed a button and the hidden camera in the bedroom began panning around, reaching the bed where he saw them lying naked with Dan on top. A glazed look came into Chet's eyes. Deep down, he had a feeling about Cynthia. He was sure she was capable of great depravity and he could have her doing anything and everything within a few weeks. He could even have her for his own special pleasures. There was no doubt about it; Cynthia Barret was a welcome addition to his stable of girls and even Dan Hoagland might be willing to pay for this piece of ass. At least, it looked like he would, judging from the expression on his face.
Cynthia crushed Dan tightly to her and ran her hands searchingly down over his body, exploring eagerly the secret hollows of all of him. His cock was resting hard against her thighs, pressed into the narrow hair-lined slit of her cunt. She arched up for a moment, surprised at her own strength and lewdness of thought, levering them both up off the bed with the strength of her back and, reaching under her buttocks with both hands, pulled her vaginal lips slowly apart to give his penis greater contact with the wet sensitive flesh as it lay the full length of the moist, gently throbbing slit. She relaxed, dropping her body back to the bed, his rigid member trapped tightly between her thighs.
He forced his big hands between her shoulders and the mattress and ran them down the soft curves of her back and hips. He could feel the raised ridges of her spine moving almost im-perceptively as she undulated her body up against him in a slow teasing rhythm. The sinews of her muscles rippled lightly just under the thin tan skin, indicating a powerful hidden strength in her body. The tenseness of the cords of her thighs pressed against the outside of his hips. He wondered how they would grip around him later when he had sunk his hardness deep inside her.
"Oh, God, you feel so good," she whispered, crushing her lips against him again and writhing the flatness of her belly close up against him. Her nails trailed slowly across his back, leaving small red welts in their path. He pushed his hands further down beneath her, cupping the fullness of her ass in the palms of his hands and pulled her open crotch tighter up against him. He moved up and down slowly, insinuating the hardness of his full length up and down the widespread slit, sensing it growing wetter and wetter with each passing second. Her buttocks began a more desperate rotation up against his loins until her legs, without warning, snaked out wide on either side of his body, her calves locked against the back of his thighs, pulling him tighter into her.
"Oooooohhhhh! Fuck me, Dan, fuck me now," she moaned into his mouth, her eyes shut, meaning every single syllable of it, meaning it with a vengeance. She loved saying the lewd words, she loved the idea of fucking a famous movie star! She loved the idea of fucking anybody! Why not! The thought exploded in her head like Fourth of July fireworks! Why not! She loved it!
Dan started to move but she beat him to it. Her hands came down between them and circled around his throbbing cock, guiding it between the lips of her hot, desire-moistened cunt. Dan groaned above her as he felt her move it up and down between her legs, parting the soft silky hair of her vagina with the pulsating blood-filled head. They grazed teasingly against it, forcing it into greater hardness until it ached from the excruciating pressure.
He couldn't hold back another second and flicked his hips forward with a sudden cruel thrust that drove it with a pulpy flesh-splitting crash deep into the gaping hot mouth of her cunt.
"Ooooohhhhhh!" she moaned beneath him as he felt the warm elastic-like sheath slip wetly over his sensitive naked flesh. It entered with a slight pop, as though she were a virgin being taken for the first time except that it was easier and infinitely better because she could (and did) control her vaginal muscles that way as he fucked her.
His long thick cock raced up her cunt to the full depths of her belly, warm and tight at first, then easier as the wetness of the passage surrounded him, lubricating the way. Suddenly, he hit bottom, his balls slapping hard against the rounded cheeks of her buttocks.
Cynthia screamed a low, animal-like scream beneath him, twisting momentarily to escape the sudden unexpected pain, but Dan thrust harder, screwing his pelvis tighter into her loins so there was no escape for her. She was skewered good and he lay for a moment to allow the pain of the sudden entry to subside, proud that he could hurt her in this way.
Dan had the upper hand and he knew it because he had hurt her and she could not hurt back in return. It was the age-old plight of women and would always make them subjugated to men. Dan reveled for a moment in the power he possessed over another man's wife impaled beneath him, and he flicked the head again, bringing another low moan from between her clenched teeth.
Jesus Christ, he's really fucking her good, Chet thought as he watched on the closed-circuit TV and nervously poured himself another drink. He dabbed at his sweating forehead with a handkerchief and figured Hoagland ought to be good for at least a hundred for this one and that Cynthia would make him more money than she could imagine in the coming weeks and months. Yes sir, he thought, she's going to be a winner. He gulped at his drink again and half wished they would hurry and get through so he could get in there and fuck her within an inch of her life and leave her begging for more.
Dan ground his pelvis into the squirming, flaccid flesh beneath him as she strained back under him, arching her loins up at him, lifting them both a few inches off the squeaking mattress from the strength of her upward thrusts. She moaned ceaselessly beneath his pounding body, opening and closing her legs around his hips as she worked up and down in a chanting rhythm of intercourse as old as man's world itself. Her mouth gaped open wide, her head flailing from side to side on the mattress again and again in wild abandon.
"Oooooehhhhhhhh God! God, it's good! I love it! Shove your finger up my ass, shove your finger, please!" she screamed, half disbelieving the voice she heard as her own. She ached and roiled under him, wanting him to defile her, humiliate her! Yes! That was it! She answered an age-old instinct deep within women to be humiliated. She would be gratified, thrilled and pleased by his humiliating of her! "Stick your finger up my ass!"
Dan Hoagland reached under her between her buttocks as he drove his cock rhythmically into the wetness of her cunt. He stretched the crevice of her ass wide, searching with the tip of his middle finger for her anus. Suddenly he found it. A small rivulet of warm moisture was running down the widespread crevice from where he could feel his hard rod of flesh hole, lubricating it slightly, and he probed experimentally for a moment with the tip of his finger. He pushed hard, feeling it give a little, then suddenly the tight elastic nether ring gave way completely and his finger slid in up to the first knuckle joint. She leaped forward, almost crawling on her back across the bed to escape the first unexpected pain. "Aaagggghhhhaaa! God, it hurts!"
Dan thrust again, sinking it into the second knuckle.
"Ooooohhhh! Yessss, yesss! Hurt me, hurt me more, hurt me a lot!"
In spite of the pain, he felt her suddenly begin screwing her buttocks back on his finger until it was sunk in deep, up to the palm of his hand. He jiggled it inside, rotating it around the fleshy depths of her rectum. He could feel through the thin wall of flesh separating her two passages, the underside of his cock sliding in and out of her, and began skewering her between them, maintaining the same rhythm for both as she groaned on under him. His nail caught the flesh momentarily in her ass-hole, scraping her, and she jerked, but then caught up the rhythm again, opening her legs wide out over the bed to give him greater access to the ravishing of her loins.
Chet, sitting alone in the small room, nervously sipping on still another Scotch, watched the scene on the TV screen as his body sweated and he felt his prick growing stiff and huge in his pants. Damn, he thought, was he ever right about Cynthia! A natural! He couldn't help himself, he was so horny that he had to do something. Checking the door to make sure it was locked, he unzipped his pants, fumbled out his big cock and began playing with it, getting hornier as he watched the action on the screen.
Dan Hoagland could feel his cock growing and expanding inside her until it felt as though it were going to burst from the exquisite pleasure building in his testicles as they slapped heavily against her buttocks below. It wouldn't be long, he hoped, he knew he could hold it back. She had to cum soon. He began ramming it into her with long hard strokes in time with his finger skewering into her ass-hole to excite her all the more.
He could tell she was near completion as she gripped him tightly between her thighs, opening and closing them around him in time to his long hard thrusts into her. She gurgled beneath him, the sound coming from deep within her throat as though she had absolutely no control over it. He knew she was near and he continued his merciless thrusting with all his strength.
"Ooooohhhhhh, fuck it, fuck it hard, hard! HARD!" she chanted, mumbling all the obscene words that came to her mind and spurring him on with the pounding of her heels high on his back. She had jackknifed her legs up tight, pressing her legs and knees back hard into her breasts and offering him the full opening of her upraised crotch. Her eyes rolled uncontrollably in her head, her face contorted and straining for the final explosion that was so very near.
"I'm cumming," she coughed suddenly, her mouth gaping wide in ecstatic abandon. "I'm cumming," she repeated again as though convincing her self. She mumbled on incoherently until the sounds coming from her throat were a mass of jumbled unintelligible syllables whose meaning were known only to herself. She pulled back her thighs tighter until the whole of her stretched pink vaginal slit was presented to him to batter and use as he wished. Her ankles locked over his massive shoulders, her crotch squirming beneath him in a wild uninhibited dance of abandoned ecstasy. Her mouth hung open wide, unseeing eyes gazed wide up at the ceiling.
Jesus Christ, look at her go, Chet thought, bending over the screen, his breath coming heavily through his nostrils, his cock swelling into a steel, case-hardened shape in his hand. Christ, he wanted some of that wild pussy! The things he could teach her to do!
Back in the room, a low banshee-style scream suddenly formed on the edges of her lips, then pierced through the sounds of the squeaking springs and the two panting bodies slapped brutally together. Cynthia's nostrils flared wide and she screwed herself up on his thrusting cock and locked herself to him with all the strength of her thighs while her loins jerked spasmodically against his belly.
She held her breath for an interminable moment, then expelled it as though hit in the stomach by a solid fist, her body collapsing limply down into the mattress. She lay still, except for the uncontrollable quivering of her pussy still locked tightly around his tortured prick. He pushed deep into her and then lay quiet, allowing her to rest for a moment.
It was all he could do to keep from screwing into her. It had been such a long time since he had had such a wild one. She was inexperienced, but she sure was willing. He throbbed the muscles of his prick deep in her belly, hoping to bring her to life again.
"That was wonderful," she mumbled, "It's been so long since I've had anything at all."
"You're not finished yet," Dan gasped down at her, the ache throbbing hotly in his balls.
"God," she murmured in appreciation, "you held back for a long time."
"But not much more, baby, not much more," he breathed hard, "I'm almost there. But there's something I want you to do."
Cynthia closed her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. "I'll do anything you want," she whispered, the words coming out almost as a guilty confession of a hidden desire. She would do anything, at that moment, that he asked of her. Why not? Hadn't he really fucked her royally? Wasn't he the famous Dan Hoagland? Maybe, just maybe, if she was good enough, Dan could get her a part in pictures. She was attractive enough. Why not? Plenty of girls had gotten into pictures the same way. If she could please Dan Hoagland, there just might be a chance. If not, nothing was lost.
Slowly, reluctantly, Dan pulled his prick out of her belly and rolled over on his back and Cynthia turned her head and saw the lubricated glistening cock standing stiffly erect against his stomach. Instinctively, she knew what he wanted her to do. Despite herself, her body stiffened. Fucking a man was one thing, but sucking his prick ... She hadn't even done such a thing to Mike, her husband!
She turned on her side and looked at him lying heavily and expectantly on his back. His hand touched her and felt her tenseness. "Look," he said, "Don't ever do anything you don't want to do. But if you're going to do something, then you gotta relax. Relax. Force yourself to relax. Give into it, go along with it. Relax and give in."
His voice was hoarse with desire and she looked at his great glistening prick, lubricated with her cum and cunt juice and her hand reached out and stroked it. Relax, relax, relax! The word echoed through her brain over and over until she began to truly relax and feel something else stirring deep inside her.
Lust. She found her naked body trembling. Again, along with her lust, she felt the wild desire to be humiliated! And the idea of being dominated, humiliated, only added to her growing horniness.
She took deep breaths, one after another, almost sighing out loud as her hand reached for the thick swelling prick of Dan Hoagland, famous actor.
CHAPTER SIX
Chet snapped the TV set off and put his cock back in his pants. Damn, he thought, she's ready right now, right now, today. He zipped his pants up, finished his drink and headed for the door. There was some fast talking and arranging to do. With a little luck, he could clear five, maybe six hundred that night. And, he told himself with clenched teeth, get a little of that bitch himself.
There was something about her that got to him. Something about her manner that made him want to really fuck her over good. If she liked humiliation, he was the man for her. When he got through with her, she would never forget him, or be the same. Who had been the last one he felt this way about, he wondered as he went back to the party and looked around for prospects. Who was it? Charlene something? And where was she now? Last he heard of her, she was in a whorehouse in North Africa, entertaining the Arabs.
He saw a prospect and sidled up to him. "I got something in the back room," he said in a low voice, "something that might interest you."
The man looked at him with bored eyes. "How much?"
"Hundred and a half."
The man snorted and half turned away.
"Don't take my word for it, come get a peek of the real thing on TV."
The man raised his eyebrows. "Never hurt to take a look.'
Back in the room, Cynthia was lying on her side and had Dan's slippery cock in her hand and slowly began stroking him, sliding the loose flesh up and down in a slow magical rhythm that caused his ache to increase almost beyond endurance. Then she rose to her knees and hovered over him on all fours, her face a scant few inches from the throbbing moist head of his prick. She held it tightly between both hands, stroking it between the flat of her palms in a teasing up and down motion that caused his loins to undulate in time to her maddening rhythm.
Her head dropped slowly toward the hardness of him and suddenly her tongue flicked forward, the tip boring teasingly into the wetness of the tiny gland on the end. She didn't really know what she was doing, only following his orders to relax and give full vent to her natural lust and instinct. She tasted his wetness in her mouth and found that she liked it, that it only served to heighten her lust and desire.
Dan sucked his breath in from the sudden unexpected contact. Chills rippled along the back of his spine, bringing a groan from his lips. She brought her mouth down all the way and enclosed the whole of the sensitive head in a moist, warm pressure. Her lips tightened like an elastic band around it just below the head, trapping it completely inside the warm wet cavern of her mouth.
"Christ!" Dan groaned, lifting his head from the bed and staring down at her contorted face. The sight of his hard shaft of flesh sunk halfway between her ovaled lips increased the sensation a thousand-fold. It was still wet from the juices of her orgasm and glistened like the stump of a wet tree along the part she had not yet taken between her soft, moist lips.
She massaged the soft resilient skin of his testicles gently with one hand and stroked the base of his cock between the thumb and forefinger of the other as she began to suck rhythmically up and down. He could feel the softness of her tongue twirling maddeningly around it at the apex of the withdrawal, the tip flicking magically across the tiny opening of the gland on the end. He flexed his buttocks, his head still raised, watching the top of her head bobbing up and down below. The sight of her labors made it all the more exciting for him.
Cynthia could feel his throbbing reaction and began to suck his prick a little harder, the tips of her teeth digging gently into the hard, resisting flesh, leaving small, white trails where they had scraped the blood from beneath the surface of the skin. She shifted her position over his thigh without disengaging her mouth from his prick and kneeled on all fours between his open legs. She reached under his buttocks and cupped them in her palms, pulling his loins up tighter to her face.
Her tongue swiped around and around the growing gland furiously until Dan felt it near the bursting point as she took almost all of the rigid shaft deep into her throat. Dan was certain the poor girl would choke but she continued the maddening sucking.
Great swirls of heat were building deep in his balls as he watched her face working above his seating loins. He could see tiny rivulets of sweat rolling in thin droplets from the side of her body as she bucked over him like a demon. The muscles of his stomach tightened until he thought they would snap from the pressure as he arched his back up off the bed, pushing even further between the moistness of her lips. Thin, pink ridges of flesh pulled out from her mouth, clinging greedily to his thrusting cock.
He groaned over and over again, his lips working crazily, incoherent mutterings spitting from between his clenched teeth. Suddenly he gasped. The moment was here and a low guttural sound started somewhere deep in his chest as he felt the hot, sticky sperm begin its mad dash from the sanctity of his balls and begin spewing in hot thin streams into her sucking mouth. Her cheeks expanded and hollowed, fish-like, as she greedily swallowed the warm, flooding gushes to keep from choking. She went on sucking wildly as he emptied his white-hot sperm into the wetness of her mouth.
His hands tangled cruelly in her hair, holding her head to the throbbing of his loins as he pushed his squirting instrument all the way down to her tonsils. She coughed sporadically as she fought to regain her breath. He moaned and grunted in complete fulfillment. Slowly his cock deflated in her mouth as she continued the gentle sucking, drawing every last tiny drop of the warm, sticky sperm from his battered cock.
And then there was nothing else. She had sucked him dry and, with a groan, she let his deflated prick slip from her mouth, rubbery strands of cum sticking to her lips and trailing across his thigh as she lay beside him.
Cynthia relaxed completely and tried to rest. She didn't know how much she was going to need it in the next few minutes.
CHAPTER SEVEN
They lay on the bed together, silent, smiling up at the ceiling, feeling deeply satisfied. "Baby, you got a future in front of you," he muttered.
Cynthia wanted to roll on her side, smile into his face, kiss him lightly, and ask just what he had in mind. But before she could say anything, there came a thumping at the door and a call. "Dan? Yo, Dan Hoagland! I know you're in there, you old sidewinder, and I want some of that action! Dan, you hear?"
The thumping and crashing continued until Dan got wearily to his feet and headed for the door, yelling, "All right, all right, I'm coming."
Cynthia's eyes grew wide and she looked around the room for her clothing, only to realize it was strewn all over and her dress was nothing but a torn rag thrown in a corner. The next best thing to do was scamper under the covers and hope that Dam could get rid of the noisy intruders without them coming in.
He didn't. Stark-naked, he was unbelievably casual as he unlocked the door and threw it open and let three men come into the room. All of them had obviously had too much to drink and all of them obviously knew Dan personally. One of them put his hands on Dan's broad bare shoulders and asked, "Oh man, where is she? What a build, what a build that broad has. Dan, where the hell did you find her?"
"Come on, Danny boy, if you ever want to do a picture for me again, just point the way, where is she?"
They came across the room laughing and staggering as Cynthia cowered under the blankets, not knowing what to do or say. Chet, oh, where in hell was Chet? she wondered. How did she get in such a mess and how did these men know she and Dan Hoagland were in this room? Perhaps the former couple had told. Yet, even now, as they were crowding around the bed, laughing, looking down at her, she remembered one of them just talking about her body. How could he know unless ... unless ... Cynthia put her hands over her eyes and didn't want to think of the possibilities.
They were around the bed now, laughing and talking. Surely Dan would lead them out, surely he would talk to them the quiet way he talked to men on the screen when he wanted them to do something. Dan was going to make them all leave. They would leave as they came, laughing and talking, and she would be alone with Dan and he would explain.
Nothing like that happened. Instead, Dan sat down on the bed next to her and Cynthia, with a small wail escaping her lips, pulled the covers up over her head and cowered, curling into a fetal position, trying to hide, wishing she could become invisible. "Hey, honey," she heard Dan softly drawl, "Honey, it's all right. These here are friends of mine. Come on out."
"Come on out, baby."
"Hey, Dan, what the hell is her name?"
"Cynthia."
"Hey, Cynthia," a voice close to her ear said, "Come on out, we been watching you on TV."
The sheet and blanket snapped down from Cynthia's face and her face was contorted by a very real anger as the enormity of what had happened to her began, like an iceberg, to come clear in her conscious mind. They had been watched!
Dan shrugged. "The fella that owns this little old. place is a funny fella and he's got the place all wired up. Hell, he might be watching us now."
"What kind of a place is this?" she demanded, her eyes wide.
"A swinging place. Before, I saw you admiring it all. Hell, come on, all he did was add a few toys. Wouldn't you if you had the money?"
"But we were watched!" she said, sitting up indignantly, forgetting in her rage that she was naked and that her lovely breasts, like rich overripe honeydew melons, were in full view of every lecherous gaze.
"You bet you were!" said the leader of the three; tall, heavy, tanned, middle-aged, but in great shape from many a daily workout. He leaned over the bed and winked at Cynthia. "Come on, we're not such bad guys. I make films. Both of my friends here are in films. Charlie is an agent. Look at yourself."
Cynthia looked down with a gasp to realize the cover and sheet had slid down to her waist. With an audible gasp, she cuddled the sheet around her breasts, their pointed pink nipples pressing against the stark-white sheet. She slipped back in the bed, trying to make herself as small as possible. "W ... what do you w ... want?"
All the men, including Dan, laughed. Dan rested his head next to hers, leaning his weight on his elbows and spoke in that low, gravelly voice she had heard in many a love scene in many a movie. "Now what did I tell you? Hey, filly, you listening to me? Cynthia, if you're listening to old Dan, you just nod your head. Come on, now, you can't hide forever and I want to talk to you. I think I can help you. If you hear me, nod your head."
Cynthia waited a moment before nodding her head.
"Thatta gal." His voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper, as if the words he had to say were only for her ear. "You remember that piece of advice I gave you? Remember what I said? Relax. It's the whole secret, the secret to everything. Relax and you got it made. Get tense and you're just gonna end up a frustrated housewife with a lot of guilty feelings. Relax. Now if you met these gentlemen out at the party, you wouldn't hide, would you? If you did, there would be something mighty wrong with you, yes sir. Now, all these gentlemen know something about you. They know a hell of a lot about me." There was a pause for general laughter and agreement. Apparently they all liked one another very much.
"Now you can hide under there and make a scene and carry on and go home miserable, or you can relax and meet these gentlemen and have some story to tell your grandchildren or you can meow and spit and raise holy hell.
"It's all up to you, really. The smart thing to do is come out, make friends, then find out just how and what these fine old hell-raisers know."
Dan made such sense it hurt. Besides, he was so damn charming about the whole thing. A moment ago she was raving mad and now she was on the defensive, uncertain what to do. She knew, somehow, someway, she had been taken advantage of and deep down, it caused a seething resentment. It also added a goodly dollop of sexual excitement, a feeling of smuttiness, and-age old in women-a deep feeling of curiosity.
The sheet came down from her head and Cynthia, her face grave, looked around at the three grinning men and naked Dan, who was pulling on his underwear and grinning at her. She tried hard to smile. "All right," she said in a quavering voice, still not quite understanding why she should be on the defensive, "just who are you?"
They laughed and one, the biggest one, turned to Dan and said, "She's got spunk." He smiled down at Cynthia and she had to admit he was not unattractive. "My name is Bill Chambers and I make movies. This is Buck Cunningham, a writer, and Maury Landon, an agent, a flesh peddler. And now that you know who we are, what's your name and what do you do?"
"My name in Cynthia Barret and I'm a housewife," she whispered back, blushing, thinking of how it must sound, how immoral she must appear to be. Just a dumb little housewife out looking for some cheap thrills and in over her head. She was sure they were thinking that of her.
"Cynthia," Bill said, "You are no ordinary housewife."
The words seemed to reassure her and the deep rosy blush that had mounted in her started subsiding as Bill, big Bill, went on. "Since you're honest with us, I'll be honest with you. We saw you on closed circuit TV. The owner of this house has it in every room. Hell, everybody knows. Usually, it's all part of the kicks."
"Well, I didn't know about it," Cynthia said, not without some resentment creeping in her voice.
Bill clucked his tongue as Maury and Buck agreed. "You should have been told. That's not fair. Dan, you old devil, why didn't you tell the lady?"
Dan scratched his head and said, "I was gonna do it, then things got hot and heavy and hell. You saw what kind of a body she has. Take a look!" Dan suddenly reached forward and snatched the sheets away from her. She cried out and Dan lifted his eyebrows and said, "Relax, hell, girl, you got a beautiful body! Relax!"
She looked around at the men as if they were mad. She tried her best to cover her nakedness with her arms and apprehension shuddered through her. What did they think she was? She was no common whore who could be had by just any man. What did they think they were going to do?
Buck Cunningham offered her a drink and she gratefully took it and gulped down the vodka. Maury sat on the edge of the bed and said, "Maybe we could have ourselves a little party with this young lady. I've brought along my girl friend," he added, putting his hand in a pocket.
"Who?" Bill asked.
"Mary Jane," Maury said as they all laughed and he pulled out a neatly but ' obviously home-made cigarette.
Cynthia looked questioningly at Dan.
"Marijuana. Pot. Grass. You've heard of it. It won't hurt you any."
"What will it do to me?" she asked.
"Worse thing is getting locked up in the slammer if you got caught. Best thing and the thing most-likely to happen is that you'll get turned on."
"And what does that mean?" she asked.
For an answer, the four men plied her with booze and puffs on the marijuana "joint" that they passed around.
Soon, Cynthia found herself in an amazingly befogged state of relaxation and she kept asking what time it was and was always amazed when they gave her the answer. It seemed like hours were going by and there was so much talk when just minutes had slipped by.
She was naked, brazenly naked on a bed with three strangers and one man she had just gotten through making love to. So many words were being said as she drank from the glasses they offered her. "Orgy." Had she heard the word used? She was nodding agreement to something and big Bill Chambers was getting out of his clothes and he had the biggest prick Cynthia had ever seen and it was swelling rapidly as he undressed and got on the bed and lay on his back.
Hands were all over her body now and they were lifting her and she found herself kneeling, straddling Bill Chambers big body, and she felt her hand being guided to his cock and Dan's reassuring voice saying, "Relax, just relax."
A chill and shudder went through her as she realized what was happening to her. Chet, she wondered vaguely, where was Chet. Later, much later, she was to think of her husband Mike and admit to herself, with shame, that, at that moment, that lewd thrilling moment when her hand closed on the thick throbbing hardness of Bill Chambers' prick, then, she didn't think of her husband. She didn't think of anything but the thrilling fact that Buck was fondling her breasts in a most exciting way and Maury had his hands around her slim waist and she was kneeling, straddling Bill Chambers' torso, stark-naked, his huge prick in her right hand.
Her cunt was split wide and gaping. Around the pink slit were the swollen pubic hair-covered vaginal lips. A shudder went though her body that made her pump her hips obscenely and she heard and felt the reaction of the men in the room and she liked it. liked it? She loved it! She loved being the center of attention and seeing and hearing the men get excited. Above all, she liked feeling the jerk and the hard swelling that occurred in Bill's prick as she squeezed it.
A shudder ran through her. It was deep within her, she knew, yet there were long nights when she went to bed alone, with Mike off in Vietnam and her being a good military wife, and she would lie awake late, wondering what it would be like to be a prostitute, whore, or slut. Sometimes, when her body was flinching and she was dropping off to sleep, sometimes, her unencumbered brain would think it wasn't a bad thing, that it was something she would, just once, before she died, like to try. Just once act like a whore.
Now that chance was real. Or was it? She'd had so much to drink and been talked into smoking that marijuana, that now nothing seemed real. And yet it did. Too real.
With both her hands, she held Bill Chambers' great prick straight up while he groaned with pleasure. Pumping her hips slowly and obscenely, she ran the huge head the length of her vaginal slit and felt the moisture building there. Someone was cupping her buttocks in his hands. Buck was still caressing her breasts and pinching her nipples into a livid taut life and she felt lewdness running through her body like a sweet electricity and she curled and pumped her hips in rhythm to the feeling in her body.
Men were laughing and giggling and Bill was moaning as she slipped and slid the thick blood-throbbing head of his huge prick up and down the full length of her pussy. Using her vaginal muscles to the upmost, she spread the lips of her cunt so that it gaped and surrounded the head on three sides and he leaped-twitched-whenever she tensed her vagina around the head.
Back and forth she slipped it until she felt huge, rough hands around her waist, forcing her to squat down more. She gasped, feeling all the hands caressing and guiding her body, and feeling strong arms pushing her down on a cock bigger than she'd ever had before. It spread her cunt as wide as it would go and she winced against the anticipated pain. She had never dreamed that she would ever see a penis that size, yet here she was, and the head was spreading her cunt as wide as possible. She hesitated and heard the voice of Dan chuckling and saying, "Relax, just relax."
She tried to relax and found that she could and soon she relaxed her vaginal muscles and felt the head slip into her cunt with a lubricated, plopping sound. She grew giddy with excitement and pain as she sunk down over his sheath and felt it rolling back and protruding that great blood-filled head deeper into her cunt.
She was going to have to do the work. She was going to have to ride up and down on that great prick like she would on a roller coaster. Same thrill, only at the end of the ride there was ecstasy waiting. She began to pump her hips lewdly, abandoned, indifferent to what anyone thought or felt. Her insides were a boiling cauldron of desire: the awful, overwhelming desire to be shamed, to be humiliated. Something in her mind thought it would be all the more exciting in front of witnesses!
Yes! That was it! Someone to watch her do obscene things, someone to demand them of her and then watch, someone to hurt her, whip her, and make her do his will. She hissed aloud with her hidden desire and pumped up and down lewdly, her loins moving cat-like as she took the great shaft into her cunt and enjoyed the pain.
Buck Cunningham was still caressing her breasts and one fevered glance over her shoulder told her that it was Maury who was so expertly tickling her buttocks and toying with her anus in a suggestive way. She turned back to receive Buck Cunningham's hot open mouth on hers and she threw her arms around his neck and shot her tongue into his mouth as she pumped up and down on Bill Chambers lying beneath her.
Then Buck was pulling himself away from her and was standing up on the bed and tearing his clothes off until he stood straddled, his cock in his hand, moving toward Cynthia's head as she raised to watch and see him take her head in his hand, tangling his finger in her hair and forcing her head back and her mouth open. With his other hand, he rubbed the rubbery-hard head of his prick on her soft moist lips. Her hands flew to it immediately and she opened her mouth in masochistic delight and took his shaft, in, her lips closing tautly, like rubber bands around the hard swelling of it.
Maury was now naked and was reaching around and caressing her breasts from behind. She could feel the length of his stiff prick in the small of her back as he pressed his body against hers. Cynthia closed her eyes and tried to relax.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Relax. Yet how could she relax, finding herself in such an obscene position with total strangers? Her former life, thoughts, and feelings prevailed and she struggled and pulled her head away and Buck said, "Ah, come on, now."
The mood in the bedroom changed from one of carnality to hostility. Dan Hoagland was half dressed and had a drink in his hand. "Baby, you oughtin' to act that way."
"What the hell is this, Hoagland?" Maury demanded as he fell away from her.
"Maybe the lady just needs a little priming," Dan suggested. "Little more to drink. Maybe one of those funny cigarettes again."
Again, Cynthia was forced to drink and to smoke the marijuana cigarettes, only this time it was easy, for she seemed befuddled and didn't know quite what she was doing as she lay on her back on the bed and Maury cupped one hand over her cunt and massaged it until her hips began pumping again and he said, "Ah, that's more like it!"
Relax. Yet how could she relax, finding herself in such an obscene position with total strangers? Her former life, thoughts, and feelings prevailed and she struggled and pulled her head away and Buck said, "Ah, come on, now."
The mood in the bedroom changed from one of carnality to hostility. Dan Hoagland was half dressed and had a drink in his hand. "Baby, you oughtin' to act that way."
"What the hell is this, Hoagland?" Maury demanded as he fell away from her.
"Maybe the lady just needs a little priming," Dan suggested. "Little more to drink. Maybe one of those funny cigarettes again."
Again, Cynthia was forced to drink and to smoke the marijuana cigarettes, only this time it was easy, for she seemed befuddled and didn't know quite what she was doing as she lay on her back on the bed and Maury cupped one hand over her cunt and massaged it until her hips began pumping again and he said, "Ah, that's more like it!"
They began the humiliation of Cynthia all over again. She was dragged to one corner of the bed and her legs were split wide over the corner so that her heels hung over and touched the floor. The men looked at her gaping moist cunt with its fluted vaginal lips and saw the pink walls glint in the lamplight from the desire she was feeling as they stood, naked, and she saw their three pricks of different sizes and shapes. Yet all were erect and waiting to plunge into her pulpy softness and fuck her. She gave an expectant shiver of delight.
Her mind was fogged over now by booze, grass, and desire. The only thing that mattered was to fuck as much as possible. Cocks, she thought, cocks everywhere! They can fuck me all night!
Maury, the agent, was first. His cock was short and blunt and thick. He crawled on the bed so that she had to arch her back and neck and tilt her head to see what he was doing ... which is exactly what Maury wanted. "I did this once with a whore down in Tijuana," he muttered, taking her head in his hands and tangling his finger cruelly in her hair. "Always wanted to try it again."
On his knees, his legs widespread, Maury was inching forward so that he could shove his prick down Cynthia's throat. She sensed what he was going to do and she raised her arms above her head, stretching her breasts temptingly and seized his prick and guided it into her wet hot mouth where her soft lips closed over the hard shaft and her tongue twirled as her lips sucked.
Maury leaned over her and began to actually stroke in and out, fucking her in the mouth. His rhythm was slow at first and his face was twisted in a cruel smile.
Buck and Bill stood watching as her body reacted under each thrust by Maury. Her breasts jiggled and her hips were thrust a little forward and it became more pronounced as Maury's thrusts became more savage. Cynthia thought she was going to gag for a moment until she remembered what Dan had said over and over again-"Relax." She began to relax and found that it was working. She liked the idea of Maury's prick sliding deep down into her throat while the men watched.
But not for long. Bill Chambers dropped to his knees at the corner of the bed and she could feel the thick massive head of his cock running up and down the slit of her cunt. And, with a lewd thrill, she felt each cruel thrust of Maury's prick shoving her down, down, down, skewering her on Bill Chambers' cock as her legs were forced wider and wider apart.
Bill's big prick was now in her cunt again and it was exactly like she was caught on a sexual spit, being turned over a carnal fire until she came in red-hot orgasms. Her back arched and Bill Chambers slowly pushed his prick into her willing, wet cunt, the sheath of his prick slipping back, allowing the head to mushroom in size inside her. She was caught with her back arched, lifted clean off the bed, with two men fucking her in the cunt and mouth. The fucking was building to a fury and her body was battered and pushed. Her breasts jumped and leaped with a seeming life all their own. She felt herself coming and was powerless to cry out or stop the onrushing orgasm.
Her back arched even more and her body tensed and her flat stomach quivered in uncontrollable spasms as her cum shook her body. The men, Bill and Maury, seeing her body arch even more, really began fucking her viciously. Maury had a hold on her head and Bill Chambers wrapped his big arms around her waist, pinning her in the awkward, arched position as he fucked her with all his might.
Maury came first, throwing back his head and bellowing as his hips stiffened and thrust forward and he pumped white hot sperm into her mouth and her cheeks acted like a fish in water as she swallowed the cum in order to breathe.
Then it was Bill Chambers' turn as Maury fell away, with rubbery strands of cum connecting his cock to her lips for an instant. He lay on the bed and watched as Bill really laid it into her, fucking her with all his might and Cynthia lay sprawled and moaning, slowly building toward another orgasm.
Bill was on his knees on the floor and had his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he banged away with all his might. Cynthia's body was shaking and shivering as she obeyed Dan's edict and remained relaxed no matter how hard and fast she was fucked. And, in relaxing, she felt herself building toward still another orgasm.
They came together, with Bill roaring like some lion over a kill, and Cynthia letting, out a low animal sound. "Aaaaaggggggghhhhhhhhaaaaa!"
Then she lay on the bed, heaving for breath, covered with sweat, her pussy glistening with cum as Bill Chambers let out a moan, relaxed his grip, and slid slowly to the floor.
Buck Cunningham finished his drink and turned to Dan. "You ready for another ride, old boy, or are you only good for one a night?"
Dan punched Buck on the arm. "Hell, I could outlast you after giving you a head start."
"Let's try something a little different," Buck said.
"like what?"
"Let's you and me relax and" let the young lady do some of the work. Let her up for air."
"Sounds fine to me," Dan said, gulping down his drink and flopping on the bed.
Buck joined him, lying naked on his back with his hands locked behind his neck. "Yeah, why not?"
The two men lay naked side by side, their pricks stiffly erect, grinning down at Cynthia who coiled and curled her lovely body around to see the two men lying together. Their pricks and balls were plainly visible to her. Their erect hard pricks. She knew what Dan's looked like so she looked hungrily toward Buck's erect penis. She crawled up along his legs, a little smile on her lips as the tips of her fingers touched the rubbery hard shaft of his prick and she felt it give a little involuntary jerk under her touch. She moved, sliding almost like a serpent, until her head was level with Buck's waist. Slowly, she let her wet red tongue protrude between her beautifully formed full lips and it started leaving a slow wet trail down to his belly button where she let it sink in and slowly twirl around.
She paused for a moment, laying her cheek on Buck's stomach and feeling it heaving as she smiled at Dan's familiar long prick lying next to her face. Her hand reached out and stroked it back, rolling the skin out of its sheath.
Buck grew impatient and his hands slid down to her head, urging her licking tongue downward. She let him guide her, her hands shifting and cuddling his balls as she took his strange prick in her mouth and sucked hard while her tongue twirled. She took as much of the thick shaft as she could without choking, then let it slip wetly out, her lips clinging to the head of it as if it couldn't, at any cost, leave her sucking
She felt Buck's prick growing huge in her mouth and her pussy was tormented for another cock and, with a cat-like move, she pumped her hips and straddled him at the waist, kneeling on either side of him and squeezing his slim hard hips with her knees. With one hand she rubbed his member up and down the now-wet length of her cunt. Then, undulating, her one hand positioning his rock-hard cock just right, she slowly squatted over him, his prick going into her cunt by degrees.
Using her thigh and vaginal muscles with great agility, Cynthia gripped his cock tight and twitched her cunt as she leaned over and took Dan's prick in her mouth. Dan obligingly rolled over on his side and Cynthia bent her head and held his prick in her mouth with one hand while her free hand stroked up and down the stomach of Buck as she held his prick tight in her inflamed cunt.
Slowly, while still sucking on Dan's prick, she began moving up and down on Buck's prick with Buck twining his hands around her incredibly slim hips and letting them glide up to her huge breasts which jutted out so temptingly. He pinched and massaged her breasts and she let her head fall back, her eyes closed, her mouth open in an admitting moan.
Cynthia began to writhe and undulate and twist like a wild beast caught in heat. She moaned and half-formed incoherent words came from her lips. Her face became expressionless and her eyes were glazed over and unseeing as she bucked and writhed and twisted until she felt Buck stiffening under her and heard him yell as he pumped gushing white hot cum into her eager pussy. She pumped even harder, trying to bring herself off, when he shoved her away with a groan and she turned eagerly to Dan.
With a comforting moan, she mounted the star and put his prick into her cunt where it slid with familiar ease and she began fucking him with every ounce of strength she had left. "Relax," she said in a soft whisper.
"Relax," he whispered back.
Cynthia went wild, feeling she knew what it must be like to be a Kamikaze pilot. .She wasn't going to spare herself a thing and she felt Dan cumming under her wild and wanton ministrations.
She was covered with sweat as she reared and bucked and thought, so what if he cums? There is always Bill and Maury and by the time I'm through with them, there's Buck and Dan again.
CHAPTER NINE
When Cynthia awoke it was with a start, and she lay for several seconds while her heart pounded wildly. She lay still, fighting for breath, afraid she was going to have a heart attack. Slowly, her pulse subsided to the point where she could think, and when she thought, her flesh began to crawl.
How, how could any girl conceivably get herself into the situation she found herself in? How? One night, everything was fine. She was lonely and eager for friendship, that's true, but, still, how could she do the things she had done!
With a start, she sat up. She was in bed, at home!
She held her head in her hands and tried to think. It was so hard for her to do, admit the previous evening and the orgy she'd had with three strangers and Dan Hoagland, the movie star. She almost smiled, for she thought that if she told her story, no one would believe her; everyone would think that she was a terrible liar. And yet she knew she had committed unspeakable things with the four men. The last thing she could remember before she had totally passed out was lying on her stomach while Buck and Maury spread her legs wide and Dan did something to her buttocks. There was a sharp pain and that was all she could remember.
Yet here she was in her own apartment unable to remember how or when she got home. Chet! If she was brought home, Chet was the only person at the insane, unreal party that could have known where she lived. If Chet knew what she had done and ever told Mike! If Chet even had an inkling of what she had done, what would he think of her and would he ever speak to her again?
Chet was quite happy with what he knew of the previous evening. It had been an unqualified success and very profitable for him to boot. Only Dan had given him a little trouble. Toward dawn, when everyone was exhausted and ready to give up, Dan Hoagland had pulled on a pair of pants and prowled the house, looking for Chet. He found him at the TV console.
He came across the room with that tight little smile on his face and caught Chet by the lapels before he could react. "You film that?" he asked, shoving his boozy face into Chet's.
Dumbly, Chet nodded.
"You have any film of me, I'll break both your legs. I'll break them bad so that you'll never walk again. Understand?"
Again Chet nodded.
"Okay," Dan said, sitting down and looking around for a cigarette, "not bad. Run me what you got, just to make sure. Jesus, can that kid fuck! You're getting a tip tonight if there's no film on me."
Cynthia staggered under a lukewarm shower and slowly soaped her body. Surprisingly, few bruises showed on her body. It was her muscles that were sore. And her heart. How could she have behaved in such a way? A thousand excuses flew to her lips: she had too much to drink, she had been forced to smoke dope, she had been literally forced to do what was asked of her once she was wild enough to dare a movie star. It had been such a stupid thing to do! If only she hadn't taken the dare, if only she had known, if only she hadn't had too much to drink, if only she hadn't gone in the first place! The two words, "if only" rang in her mind like mocking reminders that Cynthia was not the good wife, she was not true and loving. Cynthia was a whore, a harlot, a slut.
As she stood under the shower with the spray coming in needle points, exciting her skin as she soaped her huge breasts, her hands slipped and slid over her nipples and she felt them grow hard and taut. Then that rich glow began deep in her loins and she knew she'd love to have an orgy again. Her hands wandered to her vagina and she thought, I don't give a damn, I'd just like to do that one more time. I'd love it!
And she found herself in the shower with her legs apart, her soapy hands on her cunt with a finger probing up inside as far as it could while another finger ran teasingly over her clitoris, exciting her so that her breath came fast and sharp and she had another quick orgasm that made her moan and shiver with delight when she felt the cum in her pussy, making it creamy and making her wish for a cock.
Outside, drying herself off and lighting a cigarette, she sat down to do some serious thinking. For the first time since she had awakened, she allowed herself to relax a little and she realized that she had drunk far too much and she was hung over.
Out in the kitchen she put on the water for coffee. While waiting for it to come to a boil, she fled to the bathroom where she mixed herself a Bromo Seltzer to settle her stomach. Her head was still throbbing. Unused to drinking, leading the life of a recluse since Mike had gone to Vietnam, she had no idea how much she had drunk or even what she had drunk. She remembered taking a drink whenever it was offered and plenty had been offered.
Her thoughts led her back to "If only..." again and she bit her lip against the welling tears. What would happen if Mike ever found out? She could never tell him of such an incident and expect him to believe her or have any respect for her. She would have to live a lie with Mike for the rest of their married life.
She was also going to have to come to terms with herself and her desires. In twenty-four hours, one Cynthia had died and another was born. What to do with her new self was the all-important question. Chet. Her eyes narrowed as she thought of him. Was his story entirely true? Did he really do undercover work? She couldn't remember hearing anything that sounded political. Dan Hoagland certainly was considered to be a conservative, and the others, Buck, Maury, and Bill Chambers, certainly weren't radical and anything like the cloak-and-dagger character Chet pretended to be.
Then there was the question of how she got home, into her own bed. Only Chet would have been able to bring her home unless he had told Dan or someone where she lived. She searched the apartment for a note or some clue. In an ashtray she found a ground out filter-tip cigarette. That told her someone had brought her home, since she always smoked plain cigarettes.
The whistling from the kitchen told her the water was boiling. She returned and made herself some black coffee, then sat down to drink it, strong and hot, and think about her situation. What could she do? The first thing, she vowed, was to disassociate herself from Chet completely. Eventually, she would have to be responsible for her actions and take the blame. Essentially, Cynthia felt she was to blame, but Chet sure made it easier for her to get into trouble. He talked about or alluded to sex all the time. She would be better off without him. She decided to write to Mike about him and try to get more details.
Suddenly, in the cold gray of dawn, with a remorseful and relentless hangover, so much seemed fishy. His being two different people and doing all that glamorous "undercover" work seemed like a story that was so hard to believe, once it was viewed from her on an objective angle. Chet, when she saw him again, was going to have to answer a lot of questions.
Chet didn't show up for a whole week, giving her plenty of time to recuperate and reflect over what had happened. Cynthia spent her time alone, cleaning the apartment and writing to Mike every day, being careful never to bring Chet's name up until she checked out his status. After all, if he was pretending to be an officer in the army, that was a federal offense and Cynthia wanted to be pretty sure of herself before bringing charges against anyone.
Besides, she didn't know how much Chet knew of her conduct that night. With any kind of luck, he wouldn't know anything beyond the fact that she had gotten drunk and he had helped her home or she had been helped home. Hopefully, none of the men she was involved with would know or talk to Chet. Hopefully. The more she thought about it, the less hopeful she became.
When the phone finally jangled and tore into her nerves, she knew it was Chet. One week had gone by; one week of sleepless nights when she'd tossed and turned, torn between desire and guilt. Chet was casual on the phone, suggesting he drop by for a drink on his way to an appointment.
"You going to another one of those parties?" she asked sardonically, suddenly realizing that she had asked the very same question exactly a week earlier and for a quite different reason.
"As a matter-of-fact, yes. This is one I'm afraid I can't take you to, no matter how much you threaten or beg. This one is going to be rough."
"Oh?" she answered, not knowing what to think. She was immediately torn, part of her with desire, part of her guilty and afraid. Another thought flashed through her mind: why hadn't she heard from Dan? The least he could do was call up and ask how things were going.
Over the phone, Chet commented, "Yeah. You had a little too much at the last one, remember? Or maybe you don't. Anyway, it was some job getting you home."
"What did I say?" she asked warily.
"Nothing much. Kept mumbling something about going back or doing something over again. How's your head?"
"That was a week ago, remember? I haven't had a drink since."
"Well, I've got a bottle of Scotch. How about if I drop by on my way, okay?"
"Okay. I'll be waiting for you."
The first thing Chet said when he came in was, "Hi. Don't ask me where I'm going tonight and don't even ask what kind of a party it's going to be.
As he skillfully mixed the drinks, talking smoothly all the while, Cynthia noticed how he loaded her drink and watered down his own. He kept bringing up the party, baiting her with, "Don't ask me who's going to be there." He was leading her on! He had done it the last time without her even being aware of it!
Suddenly, Cynthia decided to play her trump card. "Who are you?" she asked, looking him right in the eye.
To her surprise, he sighed and gave a little laugh. "The question isn't who I am, but who you are."
The answer in the form of a question completely caught her off guard. "What do you mean?"
Chet raised his glass in a toast. "To you, the star of tonight's party."
Cynthia could only stare in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"
"About my business. You see, I got these two groups in from Wyoming and New York City. Now I've promised them a good time and part of that good time is a show and you, baby, are going to be the star of that show."
"You must be insane."
"You might be right. At least the army would agree with you. Anyway, tonight, you're going to star in a little show."
"I'm phoning the police!" Cynthia said in a cold rage as she went and picked up the telephone.
"Do that," he snapped back. "I have some pictures of you with me that they would be delighted to see. If they asked me why I had such obscene pictures of you, I'd just say that I was your pimp. I can just see you explaining that one to Mike!"
She slammed the phone down. "Who are you and did you really ever know Mike?"
"Oh, I know Mike," he laughed. "And Mike knows me. Hell, I got girls for him and his friends. That's how I found out about you. That's how I saw your picture and knew where you lived. I met Mike right before the army caught up with me and said I was crazy and gave me a dishonorable discharge."
"Who are you?" she demanded, "I mean, really?"
"To you, I'm Chet, and I want you dressed in a slinky outfit which I'll bring up from the car. Too bad I've got to do this the rough way. I was hoping I still had you conned."
"I'm not going anywhere with you, you rat."
"That's one," he warned, holding up a finger. "Now, while I run down to the car, here's some still shots of a movie starring you. Don't look for any trace of Dan. We got a deal. Plenty of you and Maury and Buck and Bill. Take a look." He took a packet of pictures from his coat and tossed them on the coffee table and left the apartment.
Cynthia snatched at them and saw her gorgeous naked body entangled with the men, saw herself on her knees sucking their pricks.
Chet was back in no time with the outfit, chewing gum, an easy smile on his face. "I've got lots of copies of those. In a matter of weeks, I could have them all over the country and I'd sure as hell make sure that Mike and all his buddies over in Vietnam got some nice color prints. You show up better in color, don't you think?"
"You bastard! You filthy son-of-a-bitch! You rotten bastard!" she railed at him.
He waved a reproving finger, clucking his tongue. "You can do better than that. I've heard you."
"I'm not going!"
"Oh, yes, you are."
"No, I ... I can't. You wouldn't!"
"Wouldn't what? Force you?" He came to her with a smile, taking her by the shoulders. "That's exactly what you'd love for me to do to you, you little bitch, force you. Come on, I've seen dozens of broads like you. Little numbers that will do anything when someone forces them. Well, I'm forcing you, see? Look, I've got no time to fool. Either you get in this dress and go or, I promise you, pictures of you will go off to Mike and every man in his outfit, including his commanding officer."
"He'll kill you!"
"If he can find me. Remember, to you I'm Chet. He never knew any Chet. He can only guess at who I am and I'll be long gone and he'll have you to take it out on, baby."
"You are a bastard."
"Maybe. Maybe I'm a lot of things. I know what you are, baby, and I know how to make money off girls like you."
"What do you mean?" She tried to sound indignant.
He walked across the room with a cynical smile on his face. He put his hands on her shoulders and said, "You don't know it, but I saw you over closed circuit TV. That house is wired up like a minefield. I got everything but Dan Hoagland on film. like I said, we've got a deal. Now, if you're smart, you'll make a deal with me. If you're not, you'll ruin your life."
"What do you mean?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.
"Just this. Perform for me tonight, one more time, and you can have the negatives and all the prints. I swear to it."
"You liar! How can I trust you when I don't even know your real name?"
"A rose by any other name, sweetie. Look, yes or no?"
"NO!"
Chet whirled to the coffee table and began picking up the pictures.
"No! Wait!" she said, her voice high and tight.
Chet relaxed and smiled. "Thatta gal, I knew you'd come through."
"Just this once?"
"Promise."
"And I can have all the pictures?"
"Sure. Look, it makes sense. After all, I can only run this racket so long before it becomes dangerous. Honest, this is the last time for you."
Cynthia licked her lips. "What do I have to do?"
Chet motioned at her drink. "Better have a couple of good belts before we start discussing that."
"I want to know."
"A little dance, a little mingling with the men."
"All that stuff about undercover was a lot of bull?" she asked.
He nodded. "It worked. You believed it. You'd be surprised how many times that one works. You service wives are an easy mark. I make a specialty out of service wives."
"And I have to wear that dress there and just do a little dance and fool around? When do I get the pictures? You can con me."
"You can have all the prints now and you'll get the negatives this time tomorrow right here. Then I'll move on up the coast to L.A. for some pickings that are ripe and easy. I've already started writing to some chicks up there, finding out what's happening with their men in Vietnam."
Cynthia took a deep breath. "Okay, once more, but that's all. I swear, you try to double-cross me and I'll kill you!"
Chet put his palms up. "I'm going to lead a long life and die in bed a dirty old man. Tomorrow, this time, right here, you'll have the negatives."
"Okay. Wait here while I change," she said, picking up the outfit and taking her drink with her.
Chet grinned to himself. This was going to be easy. She took her drink with her, which means we'll have another by the time she's dressed, and I'll have her half smashed before we get there.
Besides, the little bitch-likes it. He knew, because she'd left the door ajar again.
CHAPTER TEN
After they had crossed the border into Tijuana, Chet drove through the streets like he was an old hand at these things. All the way down, his conversation had been enigmatic.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
"What do I do when we get there?"
"You'll see. I'll tell you."
"Tell me now," Cynthia said, the Scotch she'd had somewhat fogging her mind and making her belligerent.
"Okay," Chet said with a sigh. "You just go out on a little stage, pretend you're waiting for your boyfriend to come, and then you do a little striptease."
"And then what?"
"That's all. Who knows what will happen after?"
"That's what I'm afraid of."
"Don't you trust me?" he leered at her.
"Frankly, no."
Chet managed to look hurt. "Didn't I give you all the prints I had?"
"All the prints you had on you. How do I know there are not hundreds more?"
"My word."
"Your word," she said with scorn.
They pulled up to a big house on the outskirts of town. It was easy to see whoever owned the place had plenty of money. It was also easy to see, from the cars parked outside; the Caddys, the Rolls', the Jags, and TR-4's, that the people inside weren't hurting either.
Chet steered her in a back door and down a dark hall. Off to one side, Cynthia could hear the murmur of voices and the kind of laughter that swells when a party is in full swing. To her surprise, there actually was a stage with a red velvet curtain. Chet led her out and explained once again what she was to do. All she had to do was pretend that the audience wasn't there, that she was alone in her bedroom at home.
There was a table and divan on the stage. On the table was a picture of a man. All she had to do was come out on stage, look longingly at the picture, then strip naked, lay down on the divan, and caress herself. That's all she had to do. She and Chet had gone over it a hundred times. Once she had completed her chores, the curtain would come down and they'd drive back to the city and he would give her the negatives.
All the time he was talking to her and telling her about the stage and how the lights would affect her, he was plying her with drinks. They drank tequila together, with Chet showing her the way to bite the lemon then lick the salt. Cynthia was eager to drink all that she could because she knew it wasn't going to be easy for her to do this thing. She was aware that she was submitting to blackmail. She had made up her mind she was going to strip for these strangers, then get those negatives and never see Chet again.
As one last gesture, one last little preparation, Chet appeared with one of those funny-looking cigarettes in his hand. "Hashish," he said. "Everybody in the audience is smoking it, no reason why you shouldn't."
Cynthia already had enough booze in her to make her reckless and saw no reason why she shouldn't at least try to enjoy what was going to happen to her. She had one last suspicion: "Are you sure there are no more cameras around?"
Chet shook his head. "The people out there wouldn't stand for it. They're all too rich and too powerful."
"Well, this whole thing seems too easy."
"Just pretend there's no audience there." He looked over his shoulder. "They're just about ready. Here, take one more drag."
Cynthia inhaled deeply and held the sweet, sickening smoke in her lungs as long as she could, then released it. Almost as if on cue, the curtain went up.
She found herself bathed in light. A collective, appreciative 'Aaaaahhh!" came from the other side of the footlights. She couldn't see them and it was just as well. Heavy pungent smoke drifted under the tiny spots that lit up her little world. The hashish had affected her and she stood absentminded, trying to remember what it was she should do.
To the audience, she was innocent-looking and one of the loveliest young things they had ever seen. She looked at the picture on the table and a look of melancholy actually came over her face.
Cynthia picked up the picture from the table, looked longingly at it for a moment, then pressed it tenderly to her full breasts which were clearly beneath the tight black dress she wore. She placed the photo gently on a pillow on the divan, pretended it was Mike, and slowly began to undress.
She was wearing a long gown and she slipped it slowly upward, exposing her high-set calves-then the full well-rounded thighs. The black of her long silk stockings, held in place by a dainty, lace-trimmed garter belt, contrasted sharply with the creamy ivory of her exposed flesh.
Cynthia could hear sounds of delight as the dress snaked its way over her head and her beautifully rounded torso emerged. She liked the feeling of having some power over men's emotions. She liked the idea that her body could so arouse men. Her bra fell to the floor with a flick of her fingers and the full beauty of her firm, ripe breasts swung into freedom. They stood high and proud in the stage light and their quivering turgid nipples stood out on the luscious half spheres, peaking higher as she raised her arms high above her head, pulling her long hair up, then releasing it to cascade softly over her alluring shoulders.
She was almost naked now, in high heels, long black hose, the garter belt, and the thin wisp of sheer panties, all supplied to her by
Chet. She smiled slightly, thinking with a thrill what strippers must feel like. She turned and bent over slowly, her back to the audience, and drew the silk panties tantalizingly down over her curved hips and buttocks-brushed them sensuously against her smooth thighs and calves, then discarded them at her feet by the dress. She stretched languidly and teasingly turned to the front. All her delicious nudity was exposed now-from her high, rounded breasts to the soft, dark triangle of her womanhood.
Cynthia lay, fully naked, on the divan now, the picture of her lover in her hands. She thought of Dan and of the night with the others. The audience could see she was becoming aroused and marveled at what they thought was her acting ability. Yet, she was aroused, aroused and needing release!
There was an audible gasp from the audience as her free hand began to massage her breasts in tiny teasing circles, tweaking the soft nipples into sudden throbbing hardness. Cynthia's legs scissored open and closed slowly, exposing the thin slit of her vagina nestled teasingly in the soft dark hair between her thighs. Her feet were pointed directly at the heavy-breathing audience watching her slowly work herself up into a burning passion. It came on her so quickly, so unexpectedly. All she did was think of the time with Dan and Buck and the others and she was aflame with abandoned passion. Her buttocks twisted against the mattress as though she wanted to bury herself in it. Sheer wanton desire reflected in her eyes.
She writhed more lasciviously now, as though being attacked by some unseen lover. She had placed the picture of her "lover" on the bedside table and both her hands were running over her body, while in her mind she was chanting over and over, just once more, just one more time!
Her fingertips danced over the flat ivory belly, coming to rest at the vee of her soft, down-covered crotch. She groaned on the stage at the sudden contact of her fingers with the moist slit between her thighs and pulled her knees up, her toes on the mattress. Then she straightened her legs like two beautifully carved ivory columns above the bed. With a deep groan, she let them fall wide apart, exposing to the excited onlookers the moist glistening furrow between. Her fingers clawed at the soft, hair-covered lips and spread them slowly apart until the pink wetness was fully visible and the mouth-like orifice opened hungrily. The half-moons of her rounded buttocks shone in the stage light. Her tiny anus nestled mysterious and inviting below the swollen and agitated lips.
The audience gasped in disbelief as Cynthia slowly inserted a middle finger into the glistening pink flesh, stroking the tiny bud-like clitoris.
Cynthia directed her fogged, desire-laden eyes offstage. She really hadn't meant to go this far, yet she was powerless to stop! When were they going to bring down the curtain? Just a little strip, he had said, to tease the men a bit. . . Run your hands over your body and that's it, that's all. That's what Chet had said. Why didn't they ring down the curtain?
She was becoming possessed. She inserted another finger and sawed back and fort,. Her frustration and excitement grew by each thrust and she found that she was twisting and pumping her hips in a lewd way, trying desperately to get some Satisfaction and last out the curtain. Where in hell was Chet? she wondered.
She writhed under her own fingers driving her toward an uncontrollable passion. The rapid rhythm drove grunts of pleasure from deep in her throat as the fingers sunk into the tight pint opening, making a moist, sucking sound as she withdrew then pushed them in again. Her face as becoming red-straining for a climax. She groaned in frustration now as she thrust three fingers now deeper and harder. They were not enough. Her head rolled from side to side on the pillow on the divan, her long hair flying in frustration at her inability to bring herself to a climax, even though she knew people were watching. Still she tried, her hand beating a wild staccato against the spread while she strained her buttocks, the grunts faster and louder with each passing second.
Suddenly, a giant German shepherd leaped onstage and up onto the divan. Cynthia's eyes widened in terror and she jerked the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from screaming. She moved to lower her legs and roll from the bed, but the dog stood and growled viciously in warning. Cynthia was frozen in the position of masturbation-thighs spread and with her knees drawn up to her breasts. She didn't dare move or call out as the huge dog growled menacingly over her, his great panting head just above her defenseless, upturned crotch.
A shock wave ran through the audience at the sight of the huge dark dog and there was a collective intake of breath as everyone leaned forward to see exactly what would happen next. What would the girl do? What would the dog do? It looked to each of the observers that they were going to get their money's worth.
The giant German shepherd lowered his head to the helpless girl's soft hair-covered crotch and sniffed it. His tail wagged and He trembled as though he had found a bitch in heat. Cynthia moaned in terror as the cold nose suddenly made contact with her tiny puckered anus. She was too afraid and too stoned and fogged with drink to move as his tongue snaked out and licked wetly up and down the crevice around it, the tip burrowing slightly into the outer fleshy anal ring.
For a moment, she tried to squirm away but the dog raised his massive head and growled again and began greedily lapping the narrow pink slit between her thighs. The beast ran his tongue over the full length of it, from the tight closed little pucker, up over the fluted pink edges of her cunt and over the tiny sensation bud atop her pubic mound.
His great tongue spread through the soft, hair-covered lips like a knife through soft butter. It flicked relentlessly between the girl's widespread legs, stopping sporadically to curl its way deep into her gaping cunt. She jerked spasmodically as she squirmed under the German Shepherd lapping and sniffing at her loins.
The audience became excited by what it saw as the dog relentlessly attacked the open cunt with his tongue. Cynthia was doing everything in her power to fight it, but she was gradually giving in. They were amazed and electrified by the change that came over the girl on the bed. The frightened moans that had come from the girl's terror-contorted face changed to soft mews of involuntary pleasure-pleasure that Cynthia did not want and had set her mind against, but that the slithering thick tongue licking at her had forced her to enjoy. She raised her hands, held them in indecision for a moment above her squirming body, then dropped them to grasp the dog's ears.
With a deep animal sound, she kicked her legs back over her head and pulled his nose forward into her well-lubricated cunt. His giant tongue thrust up the moist passageway like an attacking lizard, ravishing her up-thrust crotch without mercy. Wild, incoherent shrieks streamed from her lips, pleading and encouraging the dumb animal salivating between her writhing, upturned buttocks. He worked like the savage beast he was, the rutting lust of the wild driving him.
The great animal now began nuzzling the lust-paralyzed crotch of Cynthia who let out a moan and relaxed her whole body. The dog began pushing his massive head between her pelvis and the mattress. Amazingly, he was lifting Cynthia's buttocks from the bed. What he wanted was plain and Cynthia knelt obediently, elevating her spread buttocks, bending before the huge animal in abject surrender. The relentless tongue had lashed her to servile defeat, crushed what resistance she had with its vigorous and unremitting attack on her sensitive organs for interminable minutes.
Cynthia was on all fours and the huge dog mounted the spread rounds of her buttocks, paws on her back. It was then that most of the audience noticed the tight leather pouches that had been tied over the animal's paws to keep him from tearing her to pieces. The glistening scarlet penis slipped from its huge sheath, dripping, the tapered point slipped and danced in the hot wet crevice as the animal trembled and jerked, trying to bury the tapered point and the thick shaft in her body.
Sobbing with lust and shame, Cynthia looked around, shifting her round buttocks to try to capture the lengthening shaft. like a bitch in heat, she strove to sheath the long scarlet organ in her voracious grasping vulva. The sharp tip missed, slid up to find the momentarily relaxed anus, and attempted to enter. With a cry, she tensed and evaded the bending, up-slipping prod in fright but the huge dog returned immediately to the attack, having tasted success. However, he thrust blindly, the thin point sliding unsuccessfully beneath into the soft hair-nested crevice, rubbing against her clitoris. The hot scarlet of his jabbing penis contrasted startlingly with the fevered pink of the girl's passion-inflamed cunt, spreading the lips wider as his still unhoused rubber shaft rubbed between them.
Everyone crowded forward, their bodies touching and caressing as they watched the huge beast bucking madly behind the moaning girl, attempting to skewer her on the still-lengthing taper of his huge dripping penis. Out of control now, the dog growled in desperation and Cynthia gave a wild cry of her own as she reached back and, grasping the slippery organ, guided it into the pink red slit, spreading it wider and wider apart with each forward thrust.
Groans of disbelief rippled through the room as the giant dog jerked forward and buried his huge cudgel deep into her squirming cunt, slithering forward with a wet rush until it sunk to the hilt, his hairy balls swinging below her wet pubic hair. A moan of relief came from her lips as she began to move rhythmically, meeting the thrusts of the panting dog.
As the forelegs trapped her waist, she began to undulate her body and move her buttocks in circles, abandoning herself to the delicious animal fucking she was receiving from behind. Her face twisted sideways toward the excited audience so that they could see the full effect it was having on her nervous system. Her face was contorted in rapture from the delicious screwing the dog was giving her. Her large taut breasts moved in time to the skewering cock of the dog as he slid, deep into her from behind, a relentless hot poker of glistening flesh which buried itself in her belly.
The audience watched Cynthia go completely out of her mind as she shouted encouragement to the dumb beast through clenched teeth. She was begging him to fuck her harder and faster and to spew his cum up her cunt. She wanted to be filled with the animal sperm in her drugged madness and that was all that mattered. Cynthia was no longer human but a quivering mass of sweating, lust-deranged flesh that begged to be subjugated. She was reveling in the humiliation at being screwed by this panting beast in front of the crowd and ground her buttocks back against his hairy, jerking body like another animal. Rivulets of moisture were building in the crevice of the girl's rotating buttocks. They glistened in the light of the stage and droplets ran slowly down the backs of her thighs, soaking the hose on her straining thighs.
Suddenly there was a cry from the stage and Cynthia found herself twisting her head from side to side wildly, her long hair churning on the divan. She was in the beginning throes of an orgasm and screwed her buttocks greedily against the dog like a she-demon. The giant animal's tongue hung from his mouth as he fucked into the waving buttocks from behind, saliva dripping from his jowls onto her back.
She screamed suddenly and rammed back against the dog wildly just as he jerked forward and his cock began spitting its sperm in hardy spurts deep in her clasping vagina.
Everyone watched in fascination as Cynthia's buttocks began contracting uncontrollably, signaling her own orgiastic upheaval deep in her quivering belly. Thick white fluid came from her tight cunt and oozed down the ivory columns of her thighs. Her buttocks glistened, displaying soaked pubic hair and pink flesh as she pitched forward on her face, unconscious, the rapidly deflating cock of the dog slipping from her mauled passageway with a sucking sound that echoed through the stunned silence of the room.
Cynthia was obviously out cold and the dog stood over her, wagging his tail in obvious appreciation. He dropped his head to her widespread crotch and quivering cunt. He gulped at it hungrily as all watched until at last there was no more, then he lay down contently between her open legs, his giant head nuzzled gently into the soft vee of her ravished pelvis.
The curtain closed slowly. Once the curtain was drawn, there was plenty of action on both sides of the curtain. On one side, couples were entwined in passionate embraces. On the other side, Chet saw to it that the dog trainer led the big animal away from Cynthia's body, then he threw a robe over her and helped carry her offstage.
When she awoke, she lay exhausted, unable to move or speak. She didn't know where she was but she knew where she had been. She knew just what Chet had done to her. He had tricked and humiliated her again.
Humiliation!
Wasn't that what it was all about? Wasn't that what she had felt with such delicious glee so many times before, because of Chet? Wasn't humiliation all part of the whole thing? Mike had never humiliated her. He had always being so kind and considerate. No, there was something different, something strangely thrilling to be screwed by a dog in front of people and know that somebody tricked you into it. Why? To humiliate her! Chet, or whatever his name was, understood that aspect of her. He understood something about her that no other man, not even Mike, knew about her. She had loved the orgy with Dan and his friends. She had thrilled and loved the dog even though it frightened her. She loved depravity and when she got hot enough, when she was really into it, she could think of things to do that would make most of what happened look like a Sunday School picnic.
She closed her eyes and rested, waiting for Chet to come. She knew he would, sooner or later, come for her. And he would have a proposition or deal in mind. She shut her eyes and rested. She was going to need all the strength she could gather in order to prevent him from convincing her she should do whatever else he wanted.
She loved sex and she loved depravity. She was beginning to feel like she'd like to try every conceivable sex act in the world just once. Yet she knew she would kill herself if she went on this way. She didn't know how she knew this dire prophecy; she just knew she knew it. She had to, for the sake of sanity and her marriage and Mike, try to find some way out of it.
She lay naked under a robe and tried to breathe quietly, thinking, a deal is a deal. He must give me the pictures and the negatives.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Her first visitors were a man and a woman who had seen her performance. They entered the room somewhat nervously. It was obvious from the moment that they entered that they had been drinking and were drugged. The were both attractive and in their late thirties. They were elegantly dressed, as if they were going to the opera; she was in an evening dress and he was in a tuxedo.
"I say," the woman said, "you must be exhausted." Her tone and voice were cultured and clipped, as if she had been to all the best schools.
"Who are you?" Cynthia asked.
The woman giggled and the man cleared his throat. "It seems we're your first customers. At least we outbid all the others. We'll be quite frank. My wife here loves to go to bed with another woman and I delight in watching and joining in. Have you any objection? I mean, unless you like that sort of thing there isn't any point in it, is there?"
Cynthia had to laugh. The man was being quite direct and a bit droll. "You mean you were bidding for my body? Is Chet out there selling me like I'm some kind of slut that will do anything at all?"
"Well, he is taking bids from various, uh, interested parties."
"Mister, you kill me, whatever your name is."
"You can call me Claude. This is my wife, Pam."
Cynthia looked at them; they were not unattractive. "All right, Claude and Pam, you've won me. But nothing too perverted, okay? Just let me get up and take a shower."
Both of them gasped as they caught sight of her nude body as she got off the bed and walked to the bathroom. Whatever the room she had been put in, it had all the furnishings; everything one could ask for, including an ornate shower where the jets of water played on your body from all angles.
She stayed long in the shower, enjoying the feeling of the warm water, and thought of the couple that waited for her outside. Was she crazy to accept them? No. It was Chet who was crazy. Transporting a female across state lines for immoral purposes. Chet was someday going to end up in a pool of blood. Was she insane to get mixed up with him? What about Mike? Mike seemed so far away and of another life. Mike didn't seem to have anything to do with the couple waiting so patiently in the next room. Chet was selling her body like she was a common whore and he her pimp.
She soaped her breasts and felt her fingers slip and slide over her nipples, exciting them. Despite the animal fucking she had had earlier, she found she was still excitable and, under her own ministrations, growing more excited each moment. She knew now what it felt like to be nothing more than a common whore and she found it exciting.
With a moan, she closed her eyes and soaped her crotch and felt all urges to flee the scene ebbing. Just this one night, that was all. She had already allowed herself to be debased to the point where she'd had a perverted act in front of strangers. A sexual act with a dog! She found she was stroking and soaping her groin rhythmically.
Just this one night, she decided, finishing the shower and finding the woman with the evening dress on, Pam, standing outside the shower with a huge towel held up. "You have such a lovely body, my dear, let me rub it dry for you."
Cynthia obeyed without a word, closing her eyes and letting the woman wrap her in the towel and rub her body all over. The woman was bold and caressed her breasts and buttocks, rubbing them vigorously to get them dry. Cynthia remembered Dan Hoagland's advice to relax, and soon she found the two of them standing face to face, breathing heavily, while she felt the woman's playing with her vagina, running up and down the length of the slit over the fluted edges of her vulva and nestling in the vee where they played with her clitoris.
"You have such a lovely body," Pam whispered, "and I'm going to do such nice things to it."
"Yes," Cynthia murmured.
"Let's go out to the bedroom," Pam said, taking her by the elbow. Back in the bedroom, she looked at Claude's sweating face and said, "Everything is fine, darling. Isn't she a prize? Sit down and watch how I make her hot for you."
There was a sound in Pam's voice, a look in her eye as Cynthia and she exchanged looks, and Cynthia knew that Pam was like her. "Lie down," she asked and Cynthia obeyed, laying down on her back, stark naked, on the bed.
She and Claude watched as Pam got out of the evening dress and stood in bra, panties, garter belt, and sheer black hose. She was a natural blonde and, for a woman in her mid-thirties, she had a good figure. Nothing as sensational as Cynthia, but good. She popped her bra off and her breasts sagged only a little. She wiggled out of her panties and stood looking down at Cynthia. Her bare buttocks were exposed to her husband who sat in a chair by the bed. Already his breathing had become heavy and he could feel his cock swelling in his tuxedo trousers.
Pam sat on the edge of the bed, taking in Cynthia's beautiful naked form. "Spread your legs a little," she said and Cynthia did as she was told.
Pam sat, drinking in the luscious contours of Cynthia's body, saying over her shoulder, "She is attractive, isn't she?"
Claude, positioning his chair so that it was at the foot of the bed facing toward Cynthia's feet, watched, his breath light and fast as she spread her legs ever so slightly, revealing her mound of Venus in all its glory. Her well-formed vulva was just beginning to swell its pulpy lips just prior to the point where her pink moist slit would be revealed. "She has a lovely body," Claude answered in a low hoarse voice. "Go on. Start it," he said impatiently.
Pam leaned over Cynthia and smiled at her, saying in a low voice, "Don't worry, I'm going to be gentle with you." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Although I'd like to get you alone, I'd like to have you all to myself. But, I'm just going to get you hot for him."
Their lips were almost brushing when Pam said, "You bitch, you delicious little cunt!" And then she kissed her full on the lips, her mouth open and wet and hot as she darted her tongue into Cynthia's protesting mouth.
Cynthia felt Pam's finger running over the turgid nipples of her breasts and felt them swelling and growing taut. Maliciously, Pam tweaked them, knowing Cynthia would leap and that her loins would twitch.
Suddenly, Pam's mouth was locked over one nipple, sucking, and Cynthia let out a moan and writhed in pleasure as she saw what Pam was trying to do-get her hot and horny in front of Claude. Pam's talented mouth locked on her other breast. She knew exactly how to arouse Cynthia and she let her groin roil and pump as she looked at Claude who was down by her feet, straining forward in order to see better.
It was too much for Cynthia and she spread her legs a little wider, bending her knees as she did so. Slowly, Pam pulled her wet lips from Cynthia's nipple and began licking her body with the flat of her tongue while her hands explored down over Cynthia's undulating belly while she exchanged a knowing look with her husband. It was only a matter of seconds before he was thoroughly excited.
Cynthia lay in front of him now, undulating, rotating her hips as she spread her legs so that he could catch glimpses of her wet pink slit in the dark pubic hair. Claude felt there were few people in the world who would understand his wife's and his own sexual proclivity. But, with those that were, he was most excited and wild in his actions. Now, he could barely restrain himself until his wife brought the girl to the right pitch of excitement.
Pam's tongue was now licking the flat, undulating stomach of Cynthia while her hands ran up and down the girl's thighs, drawing closer to her groin all the time. She suddenly wedged her hands under Cynthia's buttocks, cupping them and raising them silently. Without a word, Cynthia bent her knees and spread her legs a little more so that Claude had a better look at her cunt and her tight buttocks that sheltered her tight, puckered anus. Her cunt was swelling and a pink slit showed it moistness to his practiced eye. He liked the loose way she moved her hips as Pam crouched beside her, naked, working to make Cynthia hotter than a pistol for him.
Pam's tongue and fingertips appeared around the edges of Cynthia's cunt at the same time. Slowly, as Claude watched with his mouth open, her fingers pulled the lips apart, revealing the gaping, pulsating mouth that was pink and wet.
Cynthia's body tensed, her back arched, and a low moan escaped from her as Pam ran the tip of her tongue lightly down the length of the slit.
Claude was breathing faster now as he watched his wife lick slowly up and down the length of the slit. Quickly, he began taking off his clothes and throwing them at his feet. His naked prick gave a leap when he saw his wife linger over the girl's clitoris and lick it into budding life.
Cynthia now had her legs spread wide and her knees bent as Pam had her arms locked around her buttocks and her fingers were pulling her cunt wide open while her tongue danced maddeningly around. Then, with a cry escaping her lips and a thrust so that she lifted her hips clear of the bed, she reacted to Pam's slowly sinking the length of her tongue deep into her cunt and twirling it around.
Claude had his prick in his hand now, crouched at the foot of the bed, watching every move. Cynthia had now gone mad from Pam's ministrations and her hips pumped lewdly up into Pam's face, wanting that tongue thrust deeper, wanting to be satisfied by that licking method.
But it was not to be. At the last moment, just as she sensed that Cynthia was approaching her climax, she leaped away and oh top her. Cynthia grabbed her as if she were a drowning woman holding onto a life raft. Her arms wrapped around Pam and she circled her legs, locking them the small of the women's back. Pam spread her legs and their cunts rubbed as they gyrated and crushed their flat stomachs and pelvises together.
Claude was not ready. He kneeled between the women's widespread legs and, holding his prick in one hand, he rubbed the thick head up and down the slit of first his wife then Pam as they both moaned and spread their hips wider. His wife spread her buttocks so that he could see her excited wet cunt palpitating, waiting to be fucked. He could also see her anus exposed and vulnerable, defenseless against whatever he might want to do to her.
He knelt and, with a sudden savage thrust, stuck his prick in Cynthia's willing cunt. She gave out a little cry of surprise and pain at the bigness and hardness of his member. He began fucking her as if he had been hunting for her for ten years and was now going to fuck her to within an inch of her life. At the same time, Pam clamped onto Cynthia's struggling body and ran her tongue into her mouth, twirling it while she tweaked her nipples.
Cynthia exploded into an orgasm. She tore her mouth free to cry out in a quavering voice, "I ... I ... I'mmmmm cummmmminnnnggg!" Then she let out a scream that could have been heard a block away, were the room not sound proof. "AAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHAAA!! "
The moment Cynthia came, Claude pulled his prick out of her convulsing, creamy cunt and, sitting on his knees, he sunk his prick up to its hilt in his wife's cunt from behind and began fucking her just as mercilessly.
Pam reacted accordingly and Cynthia felt about to explode as Claude pounded down, thrusting home in Pam's cunt and forcing their groins together in a most lewd and tantalizing way: like a never-ending chain of first excitement, then cum. Her cunt was wet with cum as she kissed Pam and ran her tongue in her mouth and Pam's body stiffened and arched and she came, a cry choking in her throat.
Pam raised herself on her elbows and the nipples of their breasts just touched and Pam began brushing them lightly back and forth, brushing against one another and furthering her arousal as Claude continued to fuck her with all his might.
Then Claude seized his wife by her thin hips and pulled her free with a roar and a grunt and crawled up the length of Cynthia's torso to where he crouched with his knees cruelly pinning her shoulders down hard on the mattress and his thick glistening cock held high right in front of her face. Putting his weight on his elbows, he leaned his weight forward and looked between his arms to see his great hot prick dip down and brush against her lips.
Pam was not to be denied in what was going to happen. She screwed one hand under Cynthia's buttocks and felt their firm roundness and let her middle finger glide down the deep crevice between the snowy cheeks until her finger came onto her tight and puckered anus. She let her finger toy with it while her tongue began to lick Cynthia's still inflamed cunt.
To Cynthia it was clear what Claude wanted and she seized his thick prick eagerly and wrapped her' lips around the hard, hot member and gently began sucking in a teasing fashion. But Claude was in no mood to be denied or meddled with. He rammed his prick home all the way to the back of her throat, causing her to choke and gasp for breath.
Cynthia now felt herself getting it from both ends and her body was bucked and battered and her breasts jiggled with firmness as Claude fucked her in the mouth and Pam was acting like a terrier with her tongue and mouth. Claude, with a deep guttural roar, spewed white hot sperm in Cynthia's mouth. Her cheeks bulged, full of the hot sticky liquid, and she swallowed the cum only to have another ejaculation fill her mouth. She kept swallowing and sucking until she felt his cock grow lax in her mouth and he fell away with rubbery strands of cum connecting her lips with the tip of his deflating penis for a moment.
Cynthia Barret lay back and did what Dan Hoagland had told her ... relax. She relaxed and let Pam lick her cunt while her husband watched and got excited all over again. Cynthia smiled. It was going to be a long night and a most enjoyable one.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When Mike Barret got the letter, he went into shock. There was no explanation, just a bare message in which Cynthia said she was getting a divorce and for him not to look for her. For the first few minutes, he was too stunned to have any reaction at all. He simply didn't believe it. He put the letter aside and tried not to think about it. He walked down to the PX and ordered a beer and almost punched a guy in the mouth who simply said, "Hello," to him. He left the PX without drinking the beer and went back to his hootch and sat down and read the letter again.
-DEAREST MIKE, I'VE THOUGHT IT ALL OUT. I'M GOING TO GET A DIVORCE. I'M ONLY TAKING MY CLOTHES. EVERYTHING ELSE IS YOURS. GOOD-BYE AND PLEASE DON'T LOOK FOR ME.
LOVE, CYNTHIA
Love? What kind of a letter, he wondered, would she write if she hated? What the hell was going on here? What was she trying to pull?
It took three big MPs the better part of an hour to subdue him once they got a report that there was a maniac tearing his hootch apart. When they found out what his trouble was, they were sympathetic and all charges of assault and battery were dropped. Their report reached Mike's commanding officer together with the letter and a few hours later, Mike was winging his way home on an emergency furlough.
A big city is a bad place to look for someone. They can just vanish among the thousands of people there. Cynthia had left no forwarding address and told the landlord that her husband would settle affairs. She had even paid an extra month's rent. Mike stayed in the apartment, slowly tearing it apart for some clue but found nothing.
He poured over her letters and only found one thing out of the ordinary, when she'd asked about a flyer that was down and missing, a pilot that everybody liked. Why would she ask such a thing? How come she knew of him? Because someone had to tell her. Someone had to know that he'd known Captain William Evers. Hell, every man in his outfit had liked him. Yet it sure wasn't Bill Evers who had passed through. Mike had seen his flaming helicopter plunge and disappear into the endless green jungle. The puzzle wasn't much to go on. Hell, she could have, by accident, meant any number of guys rotating back to the states that knew Evers; maybe even guys that knew him.
The apartment was clean, not a trace or clue to where she had gone. He searched everywhere. In the curt note, Cynthia had said she was getting a divorce. Notice of the divorce would have to appear somewhere and he would have to be served with papers. Unless it was a Mexican divorce !
It was in the border city of Juarez, the city full of red dust, that he found a fat attorney with bad teeth who looked at a picture of Cynthia and, for the price of a few drinks of tequila, admitted that he knew her. "Si, I have seen her, senor."
"Where?"
"Here. She was getting the divorce. A quickie."
"Was she alone?"
"No, senor, she was with another man."
"Who was he?"
"I do not remember, senor. There are so many men and women coming to me with unhappy problems. Who wants to remember all those unhappy faces? Hey, you know something? The heat of the day has given me a terrible thirst."
"This man, did he act as a witness, did he sign anything?"
The fat Mexican lawyer screwed his face up. "Let me see. Si. I think maybe he was a witness."
"I want his name."
The fat lawyer laughed, his belly jerking. "I cannot do that, senor. That is privileged information, a sacred trust between me and my clients."
"Would twenty American dollars make any difference?" Mike asked, holding out a bill.
"He is one Chet Larkin," the lawyer said, making the bill disappear fast. "A bad gringo, senor, bad."
"What makes you say that?"
The Mexican gave an eloquent shrug of the shoulders. "A look, a way of talking, a way of treating the senorita. I've seen many of them."
"One last question. Did they say where they were going to go?"
The Mexican drank his tequila and shrugged again. "I could take you for more money, but I like you, gringo. No, not even a thousand dollars could get me to tell you where they went. It is simple: I do not know."
Mike flew back to San Diego and the apartment with only a little information more than he had before. She had gotten a non-contested divorce in Juarez. Someone who called himself Chet Larkin had signed as her witness.
In the apartment he poured himself a drink of Scotch and sat down to work things out. It wasn't like Cynthia to do things in this way. The whole thing was a puzzle that didn't fit.
The Scotch!
He almost choked on it! Cynthia wasn't a drinker! It wasn't like her to buy a fifth of Scotch and have it around the apartment!
Something was very wrong and it was entirely possible that Cynthia was being forced or talked into doing things against her will. He had to find her, had to at least talk to her before he gave up. He got on the phone and called everyone in an address book he found next to the phone. With the exception of the grocer and drug store, they all turned out to be friends of Cynthia that hadn't seen or heard from her in weeks. Most of them, like herself, were the wives of men overseas, waiting for their loved ones to come home. They could tell him nothing.
He searched the apartment again and then thought of returning to Juarez and really leaning on the fat lawyer. Then he gave it up. The lawyer had been honest with him.
He decided to look up some of his old buddies and have a beer with them and see if they could steer him straight on this fellow named Chet Larkin. He might have been a guy from another outfit.
The next few weeks were spent in the tedious job of tracking down old buddies and others he knew in the service and meeting them for beers and asking them questions.
It was two weeks later when he was near giving up that he ran into a guy who had been in charge of the NCO club in Saigon while Mike was there. Mike had once done a favor for him, cooling a fight, and the guy was eager to return the favor.
"Chet Larkin? Sure I know him. You know him too, the fucking little weasel."
Mike shook his head. "I never knew any Chet Larkin."
"Sure you did, only his name wasn't Chet Larkin then. He was Spec third Willy Catrano. Wily Willy Catrano. You remember him."
Mike did remember him, straightening at the bar with a barely concealed rage. Willy Catrano was a slug, an indecent guy that Mike was foolish enough to let him get girls for him. They were girls of the highest quality. Willy finally got busted by the military police for selling dope-hard stuff-to the troops and there was some talk that he was selling guns and ammunition too, but that couldn't be proved. If it had been established, he would have been tried for treason and probably would never have gotten out. As it was, he was only given a dishonorable discharge.
If Willy was involved with his wife and if Cynthia had allowed herself to become involved with such scum, he would kill the both of them on sight. The question now was, where were they?
Actually, they were not far away. Willy-Chet had no way of knowing that Mike was home on emergency leave and besides, had he known, he probably wouldn't have cared. Willy was now in with the rich set; the fast rich set that had boats in the marina and big Spanish-style houses up in the hills. The bored rich set that wanted things for kicks, things like Cynthia. Willy now had Cynthia drinking all the time and she was almost continually high on grass or hashish. There was no longer any pretense between them and he took her to parties with the idea in mind that she would be the main attraction.
There was the "trip" on the water bed. They had gone to a party where the host and hostess boasted of their new water bed and urged people to try it out. The bedroom was crowded, full of drinking, shouting couples who were busy taking turns on the water bed. Smutty and suggestive comments filled the air as one clothed couple after another wanted to try the exhilarating experience of lying on the water bed.
The party was a wild one and, as usual at these parties, there was much drinking and a lot of promiscuous sex. Most all of it took place in bedrooms until somebody said, "Hey, Chet, how about you and your girl giving us a show on the water bed?"
"Yeah," someone called, "why not?"
"Come on, Chet!"
It was quickly arranged. Most of the people who knew Chet had nothing but contempt for him, but he served a useful purpose in their lives: he supplied them with marijuana and hashish and plenty of girls who were good-looking and willing to do most anything. And the star of his collection, the girl he saved for the very best parties, was Cynthia.
It was quickly arranged. Chet never did anything for free. Anything unless it led to a later payment. Since being discharged dishonorably from the service, he had done very well, clearing as much as two thousand dollars a month with his illicit activities. Now it was arranged. Cynthia was to put a little show on for the crowd, a little thing on the water bed and Chet was being paid handsomely in return.
The host was a man renowned for his sadistic sense of humor and so he insisted that his black butler, Bernard, be involved with Cynthia. "It is my house," he said, "My bed, my servant, and besides, I'm paying. Wait until you see the size of Bernard's cock."
First, Willy-Chet felt he had to get Cynthia in the proper mood. He took her to a little room and lit a hashish cigarette for her. "Here," he said, "have a couple hits of this and we'll go out and have some fun with the peasants."
"Richest-looking peasants I've ever seen," Cynthia said, taking the cigarette and dragging deep on it. The change that had come over her in the last few weeks was remarkable. She looked harder, dressed flashier and more daring, showing more cleavage and leg than ever before. It was sex with her almost every night now, and she found that she was no longer satisfied with one or two men no matter how good they were. The number had now grown to three or four and even a woman or two had been thrown in. Cynthia didn't care. All she looked for now was new and better kicks.
Chet-Willy's hold over her was practically complete. She agreed totally with his analysis of her: a nympho who could never get enough. She even knew a lot about him that she had never guessed before: like his real name and what he really did for a living. She called him "Chet" because that's how he preferred to be known.
This party was to be the last of any action for the two of them in the San Diego area. Chet had grown restless lately and wanted to move on, change the scenery, start up a new action in a new area. He was thinking of Las Vegas. Over a bottle of Scotch, he'd say, "You dress right, do what I say, act the way I tell you and we'll make it big in Las Vegas. Believe me, Vegas is the hustler's town. There are more hustlers per square foot on Vegas than anywhere else on earth. With your build and face, we'll make it big. Vegas is where the big orgies go on."
He would talk to Cynthia for hours, describing the kind of set up they should look for and telling her he had enough money to bankroll them for a couple of months. "Besides," he would say, restless, agitated, nervous, "I just feel like we should get out of town, like we should move on. I just got a funny, bad feeling," he would say, pacing the floor.
So this was to be the last little fling in San
Diego. Chet was getting paid five hundred dollars to provide all the grass and hashish and girls needed for a fine big party. And the host was an odd type who threw this kind of party partially for business and mainly for his own twisted sense of pleasure. He loved seeing people acting in an abandoned way, forgetting their personalities for a while and letting themselves go, behaving as they really were, while he sat back, observant and amused.
Indeed, the girl Chet had brought along this time was smashing-looking, having the breathtaking quality of a Hollywood starlet with a sense of unbridled sensuousness about her. After an initial doubt, he was more than satisfied that Chet had filled the bill again. Now he was off with his girl and he must stage the whole thing. He signaled Bernard, his black valet and butler, who turned the lights down on a rheostat. An excited murmur ran through the room and everyone began gathering around the as yet unoccupied water bed. Bernard flicked another switch and a dull spot came on overhead, lighting the confines of the water bed in a soft spotlight through which drifted a haze of hashish smoke.
The room was hot and the talk was low and excited. The odor of the sickly sweet smell of hashish was heavy in the room and the guests sat around the room with glazed eyes and an expectant air. They sipped on their drinks and were ready for anything. Most of them were veterans at the party. A few were new, like the last fellow to slip in the door right before the lights went low. His name was Mike Barret.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Once Mike had found out that Evers, Larkin, and Catrano were one and the same person and that his wife had somehow gotten mixed up with him, it was only a matter of hours before he located them.
Making sure he had plenty of cash, he had started asking questions and making it obvious he would pay money for the right answers. He was amazed at what the dollar would do: everybody had answers for him. Not everyone was as truthful with him as that Mexican lawyer in Juarez. He was sent on several false leads, but finally, he ran into people who knew of Chet Larkin. Chet was always on the lookout for new dope sources and also girls, although he preferred to recruit his girls from the ranks of lonely servicemen's wives than from bars and strip joints.
It was easy for Chet Larkin's friends to give him away. No one, not even Cynthia, liked him. Most people-like Mike-detested him and soon broke off all contact with him. Cynthia stayed with him because Chet had a power over her-she liked to be humiliated.
Now Mike mingled with the partygoers, glad for the low lights, nodding and saying hello to people he didn't know so that others would think he belonged. Most everyone was too stoned or drunk to care or even notice him. To act like he belonged, Mike took a drag on a hashish cigarette that was handed to him by an attractive-looking blonde who smiled at him. Having been in Vietnam and knowing about dope, he expertly inhaled and held his breath. A black butler walked toward him. Knowing the best defense is an offense, Mike turned to him and said, "A Scotch on the rocks." Bernard nodded. He acted like he belonged, therefore he belonged.
Above all, Mike tried to cool it. Everyone was gathered around what looked like a cushioned bed in a big semicircle, and he joined it, sitting next to the blonde on the floor in the semidarkness and not asking any questions, just making with the small talk and sipping his Scotch and smoking the hashish whenever it came around. In no time at all, he lost all sense of time and space. Colors had deepened and tne blonde next to him seemed all the more enticing.
It was apparent everyone was waiting for something. Whatever it was, Mike wasn't going to ask and give himself away. He would give the party a little time and then, if he hadn't seen Chet or Cynthia, he'd ask and then move on.
Right now Bernard was back by the wall, stripping to the waist and displaying a powerful and well-developed build. Mike watched him and decided that a man doesn't get that kind of build unless he spends a great deal of time working out with the barbells.
Back in the little bedroom, Chet and Cynthia were still smoking the hashish. Cynthia was well into her second Scotch on the rocks. "Take it easy with the booze," Chet warned, "nobody-likes to see a broad who's had too much."
"Only my second," she said. Drinking had now become a daily thing with her, heavy drinking that blotted out memories and helped her get to sleep at night. She twitched her hips at Chet, "Besides, I haven't had too much." She was beginning to feel in a good mood. This was to be their last evening in San Diego and she was happy to leave, happy to leave so many memories behind her.
"Come on," Chet said, finishing his drink. "Let's get out there. I really want you to turn them on, give them a show they'll never forget. Turn those women on. Make them insane with jealousy, make them eager to get out there and act like the whores they are!"
Cynthia always wondered about Chet whenever he made his little speech which he invariably did before she went out to earn him all kinds of money, while he stood and watched her perform with a sweaty little smile on his face. It was one of the amazing things about the relationship between Cynthia and Chet: he had never fucked her; he had never even tried nor did she think that she could ever tolerate it. She was glad that he never asked or tried or even brought the subject up. She didn't mind doing what he asked of her; even loved doing it in a perverse sick way that she knew would bring her to her own self-destruction, yet she felt driven and looked forward to wallowing in lewdness and seeing the looks on men's faces.
She came walking out into the dark room with a sure step that told everyone that something was about to happen. She sprawled lazily in the middle of the water bed and her body undulated and rocked in a slow rhythm, while she held one lacquered hand out for a cigarette.
It was obvious from the way her body moved under her miniskirt that she had removed all underwear. She was barefoot and her long, lovely legs were completely bare.
She looked around the room with a bored, glazed look. Actually, she couldn't see anyone outside the ring of the spotlight other than a halo. She was sure that Chet was standing off in some corner of the room, observing everything. Until her eyes grew more accustomed to the dark, everyone was a dark silhouette to her.
Mike recognized her as she walked right past him without him having to raise his head. In one way, it was good that he had smoked marijuana in Vietnam, for he was used to the reaction and still felt that he was able to function within the confines of the drug. In fact, the sight of his wife's shapely legs walking past him gave him such a shock that he sobered. He resisted calling out her name or doing anything. He felt as if he had been scalded with hot water when she sprawled on the water bed and laid there so lewdly ... like she never had for him. His jaw clenched and he curtly shook his head when offered more hashish by the blonde at his side.
Slowly, furtively, he began looking around, trying to spot Chet-Willy. He saw him standing with his back against the wall, a drink in his hand and a dreamy, drugged look on his face. Mike crouched down, hoping that Chet hadn't seen him. Slowly, he began to inch toward Chet, stopping now and then to watch his wife.
She smoked the cigarette happily and bounced on the bed. The wave-like motion of the water made her body seem all the more enticing as it rippled and undulated in a lazy motion not of her own making. With a lazy smile that allowed the tip of her wet tongue to slowly slide around her pulpy lips, she bent one knee slightly and let her hand trail down over one hip until her fingers stroked one thigh.
A hush came over the room. With her knee still bent, she let her hands stray upward to her shoulder straps which she pulled free with a languid motion. She was almost, but not quite, the professional stripper. Everyone immediately sensed that they were going to see something happen that was very different from a mere striptease. It was in her eyes, in her look, her very motions, and the way her hips rose and fell with the swelling of the water under her relaxed hips. Since Dan Hoagland, she had learned the trick of relaxing and learned it well.
His eyes narrowed, Mike inched closer to Chet.
Her long lovely legs held close together and her knees slightly bent, she slowly pulled up the hem of her miniskirt to reveal her naked hips. Gasps went around the room when it was seen that she wasn't wearing any underwear.
And Mike inched closer to Chet.
He stopped to admire his wife's hidden beauty, suggested by the wedge of downy, pubic hair that peeked out from under the dress. He froze as he suddenly saw the black form of Bernard the butler ease into the spotlight, naked to the waist and sit on the edge of the water bed, making it ripple and wave all the more, causing Cynthia's hips to pump, showing more of her mound of Venus to the room.
Mike thought, he's stripping her and he hasn't even touched her yet! The thought hit him like a thunderbolt and he was powerless to move as he watched the black butler sit next to his practically naked wife. Suddenly he realized, that man is going to make a pass at my wife and maybe even fuck her and I'm going to stand here and watch it. He was both fascinated and repelled by the idea. The more he thought of it-the more it became a reality to him-the more torn and powerless he became. He stood like a statue and watched. It was all he could do.
Bernard the butler smiled down at Cynthia. Moments before he had served her drinks, now he put out his hand and stroked her leg and thigh, giving her a hard, knowing smile. No matter how grand she looked, she was nothing more than he was, a servant, and they were going to humiliate one another for the amusement of their employers and love every minute of it.
She put her hand on Bernard's thigh and felt his hard muscles under his pants. This, she thought, was going to be a good beginning and maybe she could cum at least once with the butler before things got too far out. She let his black hand force its way between her legs and run up, parting her milk-white thighs until her cunt was exposed for everyone in the room to see.
Clenching his jaw and fists, Mike inched closer to Chet.
Chet leaned forward as a gasp and groan went up around the room as each and every one saw her hidden loveliness. He never tired of seeing her spread those long, lovely legs and exposing her cunt with its long moist slit, red and glistening from excitement.
He watched as Bernard got to his feet and with a look of contempt on his face, he began taking off his pants as Cynthia took it as her cue to wiggle out of her dress.
Mike froze again as he saw his wife lying naked before a crowd of strangers and saw the butler getting out of his pants, revealing the biggest prick he had ever seen. It was at least nine inches long and a good two inches thick and you could tell that it wasn't even beginning to swell.
One look on the face of Cynthia, when she saw the size of the cock, set the room on fire. She had never seen anything so big and it caused a tremor of fear to run across her face. Anything that size had to hurt.
With a cruel grin, leaving Cynthia to a fate he felt she was asking for and deserved, Mike swung around, blocking Chet's view. Chet started to step aside, then looked up and saw who was blocking his way. Before he could utter a word, Mike put a finger to his lips, warning him to silence. He motioned with his eyes which way they should go, toward a door through which Mike had come.
They stepped out into the cool night air. Chet was thinking fast, determining to leave rather than make a disturbance inside and risk earning his evening's money and feeling fairly sure he could talk Mike out of anything long enough for him to get away.
They walked down a path away from the house, neither saying a word. They stopped underneath a tree and Mike offered Chet a cigarette. Chet took it, feeling he had it made, feeling that he would talk his way all the way out, never realizing that the white cigarette was a slender target in the dark.
Mike moved close with a fighter's instinct and skill. He hit Chet a short jolting right to the stomach, feeling it give like a sack of loosely packed oats. Chet coughed and started to bend over. But not before Mike hit him with a murderous left hook, pivoting his body neatly and getting his weight behind it, using the cigarette as a target.
The result was Mike grimacing in pain and shaking his hand as he knew he'd broken several knuckles as Chet crumbled to the ground with an expensive dental bill forming in his mouth. Lifting him to his feet, Mike held him at arm's length with his battered left hand, measured him, and hit him on the nose with a hard right hand.
Chet put his hands to his face as he rolled across the lawn and let out a moan.
Mike followed him at leisure, picking him up and hitting him once more before dragging him to his knees and holding him by the lapels. "I'm going back inside. When I come out, if you're still here, I'm going to really work you over."
He let Chet flop to the ground in a bleeding, blubbering mess. He walked back toward the house, rubbing his knuckles. He had one more score to settle and he wasn't quite sure just how he was going to do it. Chet-Willy, whatever name he called himself, was through, finished, as far as he was concerned. His face would remind him, every time he looked in a mirror, of what might wait in store for him around any corner. His mouth would have to be reconstructed. He had paid enough.
But Cynthia. Cynthia was another matter entirely. He could guess at a lot that happened between her and Chet and he could forgive her a lot. But there was still a powerful lot she was responsible for: like what was going on inside at this very moment.
While Mike had insisted that Chet escort him outside, Cynthia had been lying naked on the water bed, staring up at Bernard standing above her, his cock huge and black, bigger than anything she had ever seen before. A thing like that was bound to hurt her, maybe even tear her. A prick that big was abnormal. And Bernard seemed to know it as he grinned down at Cynthia and saw her cower. It always excited him when women were afraid of his prick. It stood rigid and erect, flat against his belly, over nine inches long, swelling a good two inches more.
Women around the room who envied and were jealous of Cynthia's contours smiled maliciously when they saw Bernard's prick. This was going to be some fucking to see!
Naked, his prick held in one hand, Bernard knelt on the bed and his action caused a wave motion that forced Cynthia's buttocks up, then her waist, then her breasts. She kept her knees together and looked at Bernard with doubt and fear on her face. She shook her head in a quick brief no.
Bernard laughed and knelt over her on all fours, causing her body to swell on a wave beneath, raising her toward Bernard. She whispered, "No."
For an answer, Bernard let out a low rumble in his chest that burst into harsh cynical laughter. Roughly, one of his hands reached down to spread her knees. A hand reached into the circle of the spotlight and seized her ankle. Everyone watched, fascinated, as the hand drew her legs apart, revealing Cynthia's cunt to all the onlookers.
Other hands and arms slithered onto the bed, caressing her vulnerable flesh and seizing her other ankle and pulling it toward the edge of the bed. Cynthia was being split wide and unable to stop the motion. Other hands joined, seizing her legs with a fury and spreading them, then slowly forcing the knees to bend. There was an anger in the crowd now. She had come so far, been so tempting and sexual, she had enjoyed that, she wasn't going to back out now, not now when things promised to get hot. If she wouldn't do it, they would do it for her.
Bernard knelt between her legs and watched her huge breasts quiver and shake as she tried to struggle, but hands were holding her arms too. All she could do was twist and turn her torso in an effort to get free and say, "No, please," over and over through gritted teeth. With his black hands, Bernard cruelly tweaked the tender, turgid nipples of her breasts and heard her cry out in pain.
Despite her fear, Cynthia felt tremors of excitement and sensuality course through her body like molten lava pouring down the side of a mountain. Her breasts stood tall and firm as other hands reached out to massage and pinch them. Cynthia closed her eyes and let her mouth fall open as her head fell back and she wailed out a very unconvincing, "Nnnooo!"
With a tight, cruel smile, Bernard let his hand shift to her cunt and she leapt like a wild horse when his finger touched her cunt and rubbed her clitoris. She struggled, finding she could only rotate and grate her hips, which only added to her building excitement.
Ignoring her pleas and cries, he roughly massaged her clitoris into a swelling life of its own. Cynthia's movements on the water bed were involuntary now and, as she moved, only aided Bernard in his endeavors. His thumb ran down the length of her slit and he felt the gathering moistness there and he smiled that cruel, cynical smile again; he knew, despite herself, she was growing hot!
And it was true. Cynthia's head was thrown back now, exposing her long neck and her naked body pinned in place by so many hands. A deep moan came from her and those around the water bed when Bernard, using his thumbs, spread the glistening red lips of her cunt and everyone could see her excitement as a deep shudder ran through her body.
Spreading the vaginal lips with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, he used his other hand to rub the thick, flat head of his monster prick up and down her throbbing slit, moistening and lubricating the head. With a little smile, he placed the head against her cunt and gave a playful little shove with his hips and saw Cynthia wince. The walls of her cunt were not used to being so stretched.
A final plea wouldn't have done any good and Cynthia was well beyond any plea when Bernard stuck the head in. Everyone crowded around to see as her vaginal lips were stretched as far as they would go, turning white from the strain under the pubic hair.
With just a twitch of his strong hips, he made the head go in with a wet plopping noise and Cynthia's face contorted in real pain. Everyone crowded around the water bed could see that her cunt was stretched to the utmost as she was skewered on the great blood-filled head.
Changing the way he was kneeling, Bernard put his arms under Cynthia, wrapping them around her waist and pulling her up off the mattress, causing her hips to tilt and her breasts to bunch and fall back toward her face. She looked down between them and saw the shaft of his thick black cock poised like a battering ram.
From some invisible signal, he began fucking her and from the first thrust, everyone present could tell this was going to be a merciless fucking. Bernard really leaned into it, his lips mean, and Cynthia opened her eyes wide and screamed. Mike had slipped unobtrusively back into the house and stood by the back wall, massaging his knuckles, looking around to see if anyone noticed his quick and quiet entrance. No one seemed to notice him at all. He leaned against the wall and tried to catch his breath.
No matter what he saw now, some of the aggression and anger had flowed out of him, taken out on the hide of one Willy Catrano. No matter what he watched now of a servant fucking his wife in the most brutal manner he had ever seen, he could not well his anger up the way it was before. He wanted to do something to her, something to pay her back for all the worry and concern and final humiliation he had suffered to discover his wife was nothing more than a common slut. Something had to be done to her, but what?
He watched, drained, unthinking, as Bernard began to increase the rhythm of his fucking and his wife began to scream and plead for him to stop. Let her plead, for all he cared. He slumped against the wall, feeling a strange kind of horniness; the same kind of excited sexual feeling he got back in Vietnam whenever he shared a girl with another guy. There was something so goddam lewd and horny about it, even though it was his wife.
Bernard was beginning to feel his prick swell to its true size and strength as he sawed in and out of the poor girl's stretched cunt and she begged him to stop, her breath coming high and heavy. His only answer was to increase the tempo and depth of his brutal thrusts, plunging a little deeper into her ravaged cunt.
"Aaaaahhhhggggg! Stop! Please, OH GOD STOP!! ! " she begged, but Bernard only held her in an iron grip and began to fuck her harder, the head of his prick banging against her cervix, making her cry out and wince all the more.
Then there was an audible gasp coming from the more perceptive in the crowd and Mike leaned away from the wall in order to see what it was they all were staring at. To his amazement, he saw a change coming over Cynthia. She was still groaning, but no longer pleading and her groans and mews were of pure animal pleasure. As she quickly mounted toward her first cum, the signs of ecstasy were unmistakable on her face.
Suddenly Mike knew what he could do to get even with his wife as he watched her beginning to fuck for her life and enjoy it. Those fine hips and thin waist was pumping for all they were worth, begging for more of Bernard's prick. Very well, he'd fix her.
Quickly he stripped off his clothes and joined the group around the bed. Several of them were in various stages of undress. A real old-fashioned orgy was about to begin. "Turn her over," Mike shouted.
Both Bernard and Cynthia looked up for different reasons: Cynthia because she recognized the voice and her heart almost stopped in her throat and Bernard because he heard the tone of sharp command. A thin smile split Bernard's lips as he saw the naked man. Why not? Using all of his great strength, he rolled Cynthia over on top of him and they lay undulating, belly to belly with Cynthia's buttocks stretched wide and inviting to the viewers' eyes. Mike was on top of her instantly and the onlookers tensed as they realized they were going to see two men take Cynthia at once.
When she realized what her husband was going to do, when she realized that he wasn't going to kill her immediately, Cynthia heaved a huge grateful sigh. Anything would be better than death. When she realized what he was going to do with her, a whimper came into her voice. Below her, Bernard held her tight as hands dragged her legs apart again, exposing the puckered bud of her anal ring to everyone's view.
She had been so excited by Bernard's fucking near the end that some juice had trickled down and wet her anus and she had remembered it and now Mike cruelly stuck his finger in there, feeling it go in with a pop. Then he pulled it out and put the head of his own great prick against her anus as he knelt and dug his fingernails into her sides.
A long moaning, "Nnnooo!" came from deep within her. "Nnnooo, Mmmmmiikkkeee, pleeease!" she moaned and everyone knew she knew him.
With a malicious grin, Bernard shifted his grip to take hold of her buttocks and he spread them wide so that her anal ring stood out against the brutal blunt end of Mike's cock.
It was a strange kind of masochistic joy, perhaps from the very helplessness of her position or from the thought of being fucked half to death by two men at once like this. Her hips began to move backward to meet the up-thrust of Mike's cramming it into her rectum and then forward again to swallow the whole of Bernard's plunging cock into her suddenly hot steaming pussy. Her whole body undulated between them as the water bed rolled and waved beneath them and her buttocks moved in tiny abandoned circles.
Damn her! Mike thought, I'll make her pay. And he plunged his cock home and heard her scream as his mushroom head popped through the nether ring of her anus and into the soft pulpy skin of her rectum.
"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhgggggg," she screamed. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahggg! Oh God, keep ... keep on!" she gasped, eager for him to hurt her and, in some small way, repay for all that she had done wrong.
Mike pushed in deeper, feeling the shaft sink it, her anal ring like a tight rubber band around his prick. He thought for a moment that he wouldn't be able to stand the pain himself. But he pushed on, determined to fuck her deep into her ass. People crowded around and saw her tender rectal flesh cling to the shaft of his cock as though it didn't want to let it go, then they saw it roll in as Mike gave another brutal thrust home, while Bernard skewered her on his cock below.
Cynthia closed her eyes in bliss as she felt both her cunt and anus being ravaged and she knew that there was nothing else that could ever happen to her that would come as a shock or a surprise. She had experienced it all. She began moving her body in rhythm as she felt first Bernard then Mike cumming, pouring white-hot sperm into her belly and rectum, filling her with cum until she finally began to lose consciousness from the great fucking she was getting.
