"So?" Thora queried, her brow showing only a slight wrinkle. "Is she, or is she not, sucking a nine-inch prick? Is she, or is she not, wife to a stockbroker who makes millions and lives in a country club? Blubber or not, I'll hang her up for a man-eating shark if she farts out of tune!"
Del grinned. "You hate women, don't you?"
Thora got up and nestled into his arms. "I sure do. I never know which one of them can open up enough for my husband. Oh, Del, I'm so ... so miserable!"
"I know what you need," he whispered, dropping his palms to the twin rounds of her lightly clad ass.
* * *
INTRODUCTION By Daniel Gregory, Ph.D.
Impotency! Ah, that word that men fear, almost as much as they fear death. For in reality it is a form of living death. To what lengths will men go to preserve the image of the potent male? In Spanky Panky, Kyle Roxbury has written the story of an older man who becomes obsessed with the thought of having intercourse with a young girl in order to restore his virility.
This is not a new story. Other men were writing of this problem and this particular "cure" over six centuries ago. One of the earliest of this particular type of story was The Old Man Young Again. The exact date of this erotic classic is not known, but from some of the references to the works within the text it is known that it must have been published before Shawwal in the Arabian year, 868, or June, 1464, according to our calendar.
In the older, classic story is found the Arabian philosophy of physical love expounded through the significance of coital positions. This, however, is given a somewhat different twist when the psychological aspects of sex are presented with equal weight. The introduction of a naked young maiden to the marriage bed of an older couple to stimulate the male to erection for copulation with his wife, for example, is unique for the period in which this book was written.
The author's theory, of course, was that copulation made the old man young again, and that this was principally psychological in nature. It should be remembered that the psychology of sex is a relatively modern innovation. Up until the last two centuries, sex was almost always approached on the physical plane, but the psychology of sex is very important in a study of impotency.
According to Dr. Philip R. Roen, assistant professor of urology at New York Medical College, writing in the New York State Journal of Medicine, " ... wrell-informed estimates indicate that virtually nine-tenths of the cases of impotency are based on psychogenic causes, some relatively superficial, others deep-seated and cryptic, lying far beneath an individual's conscious level. Moreover, the higher the intellectual level or cultural level, the greater the percentage of impotentia problems, again indicating the greater effect of the psyche in this ailment."
But is impotency really all this important? What are the historical views of impotency? In his book The Impotent Male, Roger Blake wrote:
"Throughout recorded history, back to the earli est stone age, the phallic symbol, representative of an erect penis, has become man's most consistent contribution to art and architecture. As it was crudely etched into the rock walls of caves thousands of years ago, it is with us today in the obelisk architecture of modern skyscrapers, the Washington Monument, the Eiffel Tower, and the marble slabs of a thousand town squares the world over.
"In the fertility rites of bygone cultures, the phallic symbol was worshipped as a deity, emblematic of man's strength and power, his achievements and progress. Similar customs are observed today among certain tribal groups in Africa, Asia and South America.
"Impotency, on the other hand, has always been a target for the most terrible derision. The castrated eunuchs of the harem, the Skopzes of Russia, the cultivated Mujerado effeminates of the Mexican Indians, were all reduced to the category of women by cultures that held man to be the all-powerful sex.
"In the Catholic Church, where divorce is forbidden, marriages can be dissolved through annulments in cases where impotency of the husband has been involved.
"As far back as 1672, the classic Brevis Delineato Impotentia Conjugalis treated impotency in marriage and authorized separations based on the condition. And in London's Rambler's Magazine of 1783, we read of divorces granted to many members of the aristocracy because of the impotency of the male spouses.
"Here in the United States today, the laws of no less than 32 of the 50 states specifically list the impotency of the husband as grounds for divorce."
Certainly the importance of impotency is obvious to see, but how prevalent is it in society? When the first Kinsey report was released over 20 years ago, it was discovered that an average of 8 per cent of the men between ages 15 and 40 were impotent and an average of 5.3 per cent of the men between the ages of 40 and 55 were impotent. In terms of the estimated population of the U.S. in 1965, this means that over 260,000 males between the ages of 15 and 40, and more than 891,000 men between the ages of 40 and 55, were impotent. Altogether, this means that over one million men during their most productive years cannot participate in sexual activities.
Obviously, there is a significant increase after a man reaches the age of 40. In other words, just when a man reaches the age when he is usually successful financially, he loses his virility. And according to the doctors, over 90 per cent of this is psychic in origin. Thus, if a man is actively to seek his lost youth, the motivation must be of a psychological nature. When Kinsey interviewed his sample, at the top of the list of things to which men responded the most, was woman. Therefore, a man seeking rejuvenation will theoretically experience a higher incident of response to a younger woman. For the theory is that it takes a virile he-man to keep a young woman satisfied. Also, it is believed that a young woman makes an older man look younger. Thus, we see many marriages and liaisons between older successful men in their fifties and sixties and young women in their twenties and thirties. Within the last few years there have been such marriages by some aging movie stars, international financiers, Washington politicians, etc.
However, some men seek even younger females than this, females that are just reaching the age of puberty. But why does an older man seek such a young girl? In Sexual Deviation, Dr. Anthony Storr wrote, "Often, the period when the physical maturation of adolescence is just beginning seems to have a special fascination. The desire for a pubescent girl may be simply the desire for a virgin; and virginity appeals to men because it reassures them by demonstrating that there have been no prior competitors. But the spectacle of emergent youth also recalls to many people that exciting period of their lives when their own vague yearnings became crystallized into a genital orgasm. Partly through a vicarious identification with the adolescent, they hope to recall the rapture of such pristine experience...."
With these ideas in mind, we can objectively study the characters in Kyle Roxbury's Spanky Panky. There is Tom Everett, the impotent, successful businessman, who is fascinated by Eliza, the sexy nymphet daughter of his neighbor. Tom is obsessed with the thought of being alone with Eliza, and uses all his power and money to create the right time and atmosphere for his seduction of her. Eliza, however, is not the innocent that she appears to be, and is very interested in one of Tom's house guests.
Mr. Roxbury has once again skillfully developed one of his many sociological novels that deal with modem problems: namely, that of the society that, through affluence and prosperity, has become obsessed with its own hedonistic life without regard to its consequences. Also, another problem studied is that of the effect of today's sensual advertising on young people. How can adolescents not believe that sex is just a commodity, when even such things as big trucks and heavy machinery are being advertised by sexy young women in low-cut gowns-as opposed to the quality or safety of the machinery?
All in all, Kyle Roxbury asks some rather searching questions in this highly erotic work-questions which are disturbing in that they dip into one cause of the social unrest prevalent in our country today.
-Daniel Gregory, Ph.D.
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
In Thora Magill's estimation, the Panky Club was made to order. The architect had raised the floor around the perimeter, and from her deeply-shadowed booth, she could see partially into every booth and fully into some, and except for the two bar stools at the distant end of the elegant bar, she could watch the action, that constantly occurred in the deliberately intimate saloon. It was a saloon, despite its elaborate fixtures and reasonably select clientele.
Thora appeared to be the raggiest customer the Panky Club could boast. Her wig was badly made and shaggy. Her huge, horn-rimmed glasses gave her small, round face an owlish look, and she cultivated slovenly eye and lip make-up as if it were a religion. Her cheap dresses were two sizes too large, and frumpish, and even in the obscure light, sharks passed her up without knowing that her long drink was eleven-dollar Scotch.
Sol Able, the first-shift bartender, thought she was simply a frustrated rubberneck who liked to drink slowly while she fed voraciously on the joys of less-inhibited customers. Thora didn't care what Sol thought. She stared now at the extremely handsome young man who sat at the virtual center of the bar while the finely-groomed matron at his right felt surreptitiously of his cock. She was a handsome woman, if one excused her obviously middle-forty sags.
It had taken three martinis for her to gather courage to test the space between the young man's thighs-made prominent by the fact that he kept pressing his right leg to her left. They laughed a lot and whispered, and Thora thought the old broad was about ready to climb on. This generated moisture between Thora's legs; she squirmed from the inside out and silently instructed her cunt to behave itself. He was a very beautiful man, in an expensively tailored suit and a fifteen-dollar white shirt with forty-dollar cufflinks, and widely spread upon the bar rail were fifty-dollar shoes. Thora knew, because the pretty man was her husband and money was still important to her.
The old babe was in a quiver, Thora saw. She whispered to Del, and he whispered back. Then he ordered them both another drink. When the frosty glasses arrived, with appreciative smile and subtle thanks from Sol, they picked up the drinks and moved to a booth, directly below Thora's but two away. She leaned back in her booth and watched.
She knew exactly when the matron unzipped Del's trousers because there were certain movements that were very familiar to Thora. The squeal that shocked out of the mink-stoled woman was fol lowed by an embarrassed duck of her head and a strong leaning toward Del's shoulder. He turned slightly toward her and Thora could almost see how the woman's bejeweled fingers closed around his massive and appropriately rigid prick. She patently knew how to frig a man because Del held his drink in mid-air, and the matron breathed against his cheek with slack, half-parted lips.
Thora's right hand curled in a sympathetic gesture. Her knees moved apart under her pleated skirt. The crotch of her nylon panties quickly became wet and she cursed her husband for a fucking son-of-a-bitch. She didn't hate him; she loved him dearly, but there were times when she was sure he took definite advantage of the necessary, contrived situations. The matron was squirming like she had a hot poker up her ass. Thora hung onto her composure and waited.
Their drinks finished, Del signaled Sol for the check. The old babe straightened up, passing her right hand across her mouth in a most revealing reaction, then fiddling in her big leather handbag for lipstick and a pat of powder. Presently, all mirth seemingly evaporated from their quick romancing, they got up and left the Panky Club.
Thora sipped her drink and tried to still the fire in her womb; Two men entered the saloon, stared at her blankly as they moved to a back booth, then sat down without a second look. Fags, probably, she guessed, and if not, they were properly frightened by her wig and the prescriptionless glasses. She sipped some more. Then she heard the click-click.
From her voluminous bag she slipped a small, square instrument. Her fingers pulled two thin, chromed rods from the device, extending their telescopic segments to their foot-long extreme. She ducked her head. "Here!" she spoke into the grilled front of the small, but powerful walkie-talkie.
"Badger one to Badger two," came Del's voice. "Room four-o-two in ten minutes. Okay?"
"No-eight," Thora replied. "She looked hungry." Then she heard the horse-like splash of his urine in the hotel toilet, and she could almost see him pissing through his nearly hard dong while he chuckled into his half of the expensive communications set. She could also envision the idiot woman, probably stripped by now, lying on the bed with her mouth open and her ass spread.
Quietly, Thora left the booth and gave Sol three one-dollar bills for the two drinks she'd had in the past hour.
Del resettled the antenna of the walkie-talkie and put the transistorized instrument in his back pocket. He was naked to the waist and without looking into the mirror, he knew he came on strong, particularly to a woman twice his age. This in addition to the fact that his prick was eight-and-a-half inches long and nearly as thick as his wrist. Now he unbuckled his trousers and dropped them, then his shorts. Naked except for his stockings, he went out and into the bedroom. Her name was Lucie, she had said, which lie didn't matter because he already knew her name was Mrs. Thomas Everett, the Third, no less. She was forty-eight, a member of two country clubs and the wife of an eight-to-eight stockbroker, president of Everett, Hayes and Williams. Her first name was Lulu, and to Del, Lucie was no improvement.
"Oh my God!" she breathed, rising to one elbow to stare at his completely exposed prick. Her legs moved together, then parted. Out of her girdle, she was properly flabby. Her big tits lay to each side of her ample rib cage and her belly hung in a thick roll over the silver sprinkled matt of her crotch and inner thighs. She had a big ass but it was mostly torso bulk and the cheeks hung in listless flaps. Del waddled forward, his cock stiffening at her, his balls swinging.
"Oh boy," he said, as if he had never seen a naked woman of her implied beauty. "You're wonderful, Lucie!"
"Dear boy! come to me!"
She settled her plump body, legs apart, arms upraised as if he should come right in. And Del wouldn't have minded. His hard-on was genuine and he was sure she would come on wild and wig-gly, but it wasn't on the program. He climbed over her, letting his huge penis dangle over her softly-contoured belly, his eyes warm, his smile gentle. He teased her by letting the head of his prick draw invisible tracery on the milk white of her skin and she bumped up at him, momentarily fascinated by the game he played. Impulsively, he ducked his head and kissed her full, dry mouth. She moaned with excitement. Her fingers moved down to grip his cock in tender exploration, and he also moaned, inspiring her to frig him slowly, working his thick foreskin with long intensifying strokes.
Del privately cursed the contingency of time. It had been weeks since he'd had a decent fuck, and Lucie seemed more than willing to risk his mammoth organ, something Thora had long ago ceased to do. He could smell Lucie, hot, acrid and feminine. He shifted his muscular hips and fucked into her hand with obvious delight. His balls ached and his prick jerked with demand and all the while, the clock built into his brain said wait, only a minute more. His instinct was to say, to hell with it and drop onto her with the fury of a lion in heat. Instead, Del began to move forward, bringing his prick up over her splayed tits, twisting to keep her intrigued. She began to lift his organ and her head moved up, as if an inspiration was being born.
"Yes, yes," he whispered. "Oh, Lucie, kiss it for me, kiss it!"
"Oh my God," she murmured, and as she lifted the broad, blood-red knob to her open mouth, he heard the tiny click his ears had been tuned for. He inwardly cursed again-another half minute would have let him feel the eagerness of the trembling lips, the heat, the wetness and the suck. Lucie's tongue darted out and curled under the giant glans, and Del sucked his belly up, putting the animal curl and urge to his strong torso. At the same moment, he turned his head toward the back wall. With a cry of passion, Lucie's head came on and a full three inches of his penis went into her throat.
Del heard the infinitesimal hiss of the air shutter on Thora's little camera. He fucked into Lucie's throat, then dragged back so the full length of his cock was standing before her gaping mouth. The hiss continued and he tried furiously to come, knowing he was not ready but knowing also how the strain of trying swelled his prick and made its jerking look like orgasmic pulsations. Then what he was waiting for came-high-pitched yelp of anger.
"Well, you lousy cheating son-of-a-bitch!" Thora cried. "I finally caught you with the dirty, old husband-stealing bitch!"
"Oh!" Lucie screamed.
"Goddamnit!" Del barked and flopped to the bed, trying to hide his thundering cock from what seemed to be his irate wife. "Now, wait a minute, woman. I can explain-it isn't what it looks like!" Now Thora was hunched over the bed. Her camera was out of sight. She swung and slapped Lucie, but not too hard, and she made menacing faces, panting as if all the hatred in the world was rushing from her flaring nostrils. "You slut! Oh, just wait till I get the pair of you in court! Wait until I tell the judge, the jury and all the newspaper people how I caught you sucking my husband's prick in a cheap hotel room! I'll fix you, you bitch! No fat old cow can steal my man!"
"Now, Alice, you haven't any right to talk that way!" Del protested, slithering from the bed in search of his trousers. "I love you and you know I do! I just couldn't resist Lucie's charm, that's all. I didn't mean-"
"Wait, wait," Lucie panted, twisting to reach for her own panties. "I'm sorry! I didn't know he was m ... married. I didn't know! Oh my God, if anyone ever knew-oh, please, let's be ... sensible about everything. Please, Mrs.-"
Thora drew herself up straight. Out of the wig and the hom-rimmed glasses, she was the perfect picture of the pert, if indignant housewife. Her blue eyes flashed and her broad mouth was pulled to a hard, straight line. Her bold breasts were clumsily pulled into a long, thick roll by the cheap brassiere, and the frumpy dress hid the soft, full flare of her perfect hips.
"I am Mrs. Kelly, and that miserable cheating stud is my husband, John. Oh, John, John! How could you do this to me and your sweet little daughter? Oh, you hateful woman, you! Just wait until my lawyer gets through with you!"
"Now, just a moment, Mrs. Kelly," Lucie said, struggling into her girdle. "It has all been a mistake-a sad mistake. I'm sure. Perhaps I did entice your husband some, but I'm sure we can work out some ... equitable-adjustment. I simply cannot afford to have my name bandied about in a divorce court! I'm certain that after you think about it and we have some solid understanding, the matter will be entirely between your husband and yourself."
Thora's eyes narrowed and she leaned forward belligerently. "Are you trying to bribe me-to buy me off? I know your kind! I can tell by your clothes and your jewelry, you are rich and you think money can buy you anything you want-even my poor, dear husband and the father of my child! Well, let me tell you-"
"Yes," Lucie said, straightening her dress. "You tell me how much, dearie, and we will settle the matter amicably, will we not?"
Thora began to cry. Del, now nearly dressed, admired her with all of his heart. She was the perfect example of the the destroyed wife, forlorn mother. He walked around the bed and put a hesitant arm around her shoulders. She shrugged him away with petulant haste.
"Now, Mrs. Kelly," Lucie murmured, obviously regaining her poise. "Nothing really happened, you know. There wasn't time." She picked up her handbag and snapped it open, rummaging in it with flashing fingers. "Look, dear, I have four hundred dollars here. Why don't you just-"
"Four hundred dollars?" Thora screeched through her tears. "Why, you cheap-"
"Well, then, I can write you a check. I ... I have money."
"A check? Oh, no!" Thora snapped. " And you'll stop payment on it the minute the bank opens in the morning. Oh, I know your kind! And anyway, where would I cash a five-thousand-dollar check?"
"Five ... five thousand dollars?" Lucie gasped. Thora tossed her chin. "A thousand dollars an inch for what you had in your mouth, that's what!"
"Oh, dear!"
"And the four hundred for my little daughter's school clothes!" Thora added, snatching the sheaf of bills from the matron's hand.
"I'm sorry, Lucie," Del said apologetically. "But Alice seems very determined."
"You better believe it!" Thora snarled at him. "Well, we must approach this thing logically like sensible adults." Lucie decided. "Take the four hundred, of course. The banks do not open until ten in the morning. If you will trust me-and I am an honorable woman, despite-this, I shall have the five thousand dollars cash delivered wherever you say. Is that fair?"
Thora stared at her with narrowed eyes. "No. You could just forget the whole thing. Or have hoodlums there to beat me up. No. Give me your address and I will come to your house. That way, I will know where you live and you can't refuse me because I will scream out the whole thing right at your front door!"
It was Lucie's turn to narrow her eyes, which she turned on Del. He smiled sympathetically. A peculiar speculation came over her face and she licked her disappointed lips. "Well, perhaps that would be all right. I assure you-I want to be fair-and friendly."
"Well, then?" Thora demanded.
It took only a minute for Thora to show proper surprise over the engraved card Lucie took from her handbag. Still playing cautious, she demanded to compare the name and address with Lucie's driver's license, then she made the nervous matron sign the card back under, an "I.O.U. $5000" inscription.
At the door, Lulu Everett turned and surveyed them both. "Yes," she said, and left.
"What did you get?" Del asked, flopping on the bed.
"The bit. It was so great I almost thought you'd blown your darned old lump in her throat. Did you?"
Del reached for her, his cock twitching with fresh life. "No. Leaving me hung up-which no dutiful wife with a daughter her husband has never seen should ever do! You were magnificent, baby!"
Thora giggled and felt for his cock. "A thousand bucks an inch. It isn't worth it, you know. Were you really hot for her?"
He kissed her nose and cheeks and finally caught her full mouth under his, his tongue fighting hers with firm delight. "Of course," he bubbled into her lips. "I get hot for every woman who doesn't back away when she sees it, my love."
Thora struggled up out of his embrace. "Go wash her damned spit off of it," she commanded, and began to take off her clothes.
She was naked when he returned from the bathroom, her frumpy image traded for one of brutal sexuality. Dell stood, stroking his cock into bursting rampancy, absorbing Thora's big round tits with their dark nipples and the maddening muff of blonde curls where her tapered thighs junc-tured with her slim, white belly shapes. She writhed impatiently and reached for his penis. Neither of her slender hands could encircle it, but she frigged it gently as she came to her feet, then knelt on the edge of the bed, facing him. She did some relaxing things with her legs, then pulled him in. His cock slipped between the soft, white thighs and the huge head nested between the firm rounds of her bottom. Reaching back, Thora bunched her finger tips around the glans and her hips began to rotate. The huge shaft sawed up in the half-channel formed by her oozing cunt and he felt her shiver ecstatically against his board-like belly. They fucked each other-adequately yet inadequately-and the only wetness was what Thora's starving body exuded and the final bursting jism his gigantic cock spurted into her cupped palm.
CHAPTER TWO
At first he had blamed her for holding out during their mad romance, thereby remaining ignorant of his unreasonable cock. She had blamed him because, Thora had insisted, no girl warranted the shock of discovering that her brand new husband had a prick like a horse.
Still, they had tried diligently for the first three days of their honeymoon, turning, twisting, using Vaseline and face cream, forming a protective doughnut of a bath towel so Thora only had to cope with five or six inches, and it was all in vain. She had given up, weeping, her little vagina so sore and bruised she could hardly stand even his petting fingers. Del had wailed and worried and eventually settled for her kisses and the awkward ministrations of her inexperienced fingers.
"The problem is that I love you so," she had said.
"I know," had been his sad reply. "Do something hateful so I can leave you."
"It would serve no purpose to bite off an inch and a half," she had pouted. "It's too darned big around, too. I'm afraid I'm stuck with not being stuck with it!"
They had laughed because they were in love, and like lovers, possessed some secret certainty that everything had to work out for them. They fucked grotesquely. They would sit face to face, legs up and apart and Del would fit the massive glans into the first softness of her vulva. She would frig him and he would work her clitoris with hard, knowing fingers. Their squirming against each other was constant, funny and grunting and they would kiss and trade tongues and talk silly things until Thora had an orgasm, bouncing on the strong, full rounds of her ass and he followed, spewing his considerable jism high into her gulping, empty cunt only to have it run out and greatly wet the hotel's fluffy towel on which they sat. At other times, they would simply lie, his prick in her hand, her cunt in his palm. They played at exotic rubbing, each furious with need and each hysterical with inventiveness. They had long, semi-frustrating sessions of 69; her jaw soon cramped with the necessary extreme opening and his busy tongue would make her come so many times she wept with strain. Stubbornly, they tried to fuck, with his steaming prick coated with a variety of slippery lubricants, with her lovely ass in weird and theoretically stretching positions, and with sometimes brutal insistence. The latter always made her scream and caused his cock to inflame with pinching.
Finally, they had developed the college "dry fuck" to a science. Thora let him shave her pubic hair to avoid tiny cuts. They did it standing, lying on their sides in spoon form, and any way that permitted his sawing cock to rub up into her cunt while it swelled and throbbed in burning friction. Thora learned to come at her own discretion and pumped blindly on, until his prick spewed in physical relief. This had been "their bag" for the first year. Then many things changed overnight.
The firm for which Del worked as a junior engineer folded. Thora, three months pregnant with his nearly spooned-in jism, had a miscarriage. And on the next Saturday night, at a party given by one of their way-out friends, the fun had gotten sticky. There had been a half dozen couples, ranging from twenty to twenty-five and there had been much beer, some pot and a measured amount of hanky-panky in the three-room apartment.
Still furiously in love, both Del and Thora had learned to move around, separate but indivisible. They had come to some understanding not quite stated. They had joked about each finding a lover-one to fuck Thora while Del plumbed the sex of a large-loose counterpart. They would lie head to head and kiss with their eyes while unnamed bodies managed the good, wet caresses they had not been able to enjoy. All in fun, they agreed, but the strain was beginning to tell on them both.
On this night, Thora found herself between two young men, both ready but unsure of her availability. Del had gravitated to the service porch behind the kitchen, then turned into a bar. The tall, thin girl who had helped him gravitate was a stranger to him, but not for long. She was titless and assless, but she stood with legs spread so she could rub her hard pubic mound to his belly as she kissed him French-fashion. And for some reason, Del liked the way his cock came bounding up to stand like a pole in his trousers.
"Come on!" she had hushed. "You aren't one of those jokers, are you?"
"One of what jokers?" Del had asked, bumping her firmly.
"I know a few fags and a couple of bunnies who wear a phony just to impress a gal," she giggled. "Salami kids, you know!"
Del felt heady. "You think that's phony?"
"Goddamnit, it better be!" Then she had gone down the waist of his trousers, and her little yelp of terror had been almost as pleasant to Del as the grip of her curious fingers. "Oh mama, look what I found! My God, I've got to see it!"
Del had become headier. "Want to try it?"
Her laughter had been derisive. "You have to be kidding! Come on!" She had taken his hand and literally jerked him back into the kitchen. There were two men and three other women drinking, laughing and playing at light-weight sex-baiting. Del, halfdrunk, was unwary and his prick was locked in a hard-on that seemed forever. Before he could protest, the lean girl had opened his zipper and had dragged out his massive organ. Five gasps and three giggles were instantaneous.
"Take a look at that!" she screamed.
Silence had descended among the spectators like a blanket. The girl had skinned back his cock and was moving it back and forth, aiming it at the on lookers like a cannon. Del let the misery of a year's frustrating marriage support his ego. He arched his back and sent his prick through his exhibitor's hand until it gleamed in tautness.
"He ought to be in a carnival," one of the other girls said.
"I'd give a half a dollar to see him give it to Thora!" another laughed.
Then one of the young men pulled the right string. "Put that son-or-a-bitch away," he growled. "If my wife sees that, I'm through!"
"I know, baby," Thora had said when they were home, still half-drunk and frightened by the nearness of disaster. And she had thought she understood; they hadn't let him put his cock away at once. She had tried to remain ca'm while Del had permitted himself to be displayed like a stallion at stud. She had seen the wounded look on his face, and an unreasonable sense of guilt had restrained her first anger. It was not Del's fault that his cock was "carnival material," but she felt it was her fault that in a year, she had worked nothing out to relieve the impossible situation.
"I must have been nuts," Del remarked bitterly. "Now, everybody we know-and that gang knows, will look at at you and snicker. I'm sorry honey. Booze, I guess."
"Well, it's over, baby," Thora had comforted him. "And we know about each other, so we're safe. I had quite a bit of play on my own. I guess as long as we are sure of each other's love, horseplay means nothing." She giggled. "Any good offers?"
He chuckled. "Yeah. Mac wanted to know if I'd rape his mother-in-law for a five-dollar bill. He'd furnish the Vaseline, he said. And Dolly was up to paying fifty cents to see you and me go at it! Oh, Jake wanted to borrow it because his wife is always bitching about his five inches! Crazy, huh?"
And it was then that Thora had sobered up. "Del, baby."
"Yeah?"
"It is an ill wind that doesn't blow someone some good."
"Meaning?"
Her mind racing with unresolved ideas, she had gone to him and taken his huge, now limp prick through the fly of his pajamas. He had trembled and the huge, rubbery tube had begun to solidify and distend in her saddle-shaped hand. For a moment, she had tried to think of herself as bigger, older and equally unsatisfied bv a diminutive cock-or none at all. Through narrowed eyes, she imagined herself to be Jake's unfilled wife; she stared at the rise of the coronal ridge, nearly as high and thick as an unleavened doughnut. The eye was almost large enough to accept the tip of her little finger, and the foreskin lay in thick white rolls behind the bludgeon-shaped head. The shaft pulsed, fed by huge veins that wandered around the thick shank as if bewildered by its size. She slid her hand down and found the roughly skinned fullness of his scrotum. Then she remembered her first sight of it and how her entire body had wanted the massive cock as far into her as it would go-until he tried to accommodate her and they had wept to gether in defeat. But if she had been able to take it-even half of it, she knew exactly how it would have thrilled her.
"You haven't a job and our money is getting low, baby," she had whispered.
"So?"
"I seem to see dollar signs tattooed all over this womb-rake!"
"You're kidding!"
She had kissed him soundly, all the while frigging him softly. "No, baby, I'm not! Listen! How many years can we go on-like we do-like I'm doing now? I know: promises, promises, promises! But we've got to find some way-something that really does it for us without involving us emotionally. I love you, and you love me. Fine. Want to fuck, baby?"
"Jake's wife, kind of thing, huh?" he had responded.
"For you, as well as the bank account."
"What about you, honey? I mean-"
Then she had kissed him again. "Maybe you'll figure out something for me while you're doing what I've figured out for you!" While she let him consider that, she dropped to her knees and sucked his cock into quick orgasm letting it spurt its huge load of jism down between her suddenly pulsating tits. While she was washing his sperm from her quivering skin, he entered the bathroom and stood at her side, his hand going down and under her ass to help her if she needed help.
"You're trying to tell me something, aren't you?"
Then Thora had outlined her idea of a reverse Badger game, in which the bait was a huge, nearly unusable cock, except to rich women who had cunts like caverns and yens no busy, golf-playing husband could satisfy. She outlined procedures and possibilities, and it rolled from her lips'so easily and completely, she suddenly became aware that she had been thinking about it for longer than thirty minutes.
"See you in jail," he had laughed, but not derisively.
"The prison we're in now is no great shakes, stud," she had replied. "Anyway, I think I'd give fifty cents to see you hang that darned thing in a real live pussy, no matter whose it was!"
In six months, Del had become professionally proficient in the little darkroom, and now he held up the narrow strip of film, forty sixteen-milimeter exposures that had whisked through the special Japanese camera in unerring succession.
"I suspect that Mrs. Thomas Everett, otherwise known as Lucie, or Lulu, or Go-Baby, has talent-if you'd given me time to find out."
Thora snorted. "Print 'em, honey. Let's see what we have!"
He turned as if indignant. "We have an excellent, magnificently posed and properly exposed sequence of a rich socialite sucking your suffering husband's considerable prick-that's what we have!"
"Print 'em. I will not only assess their value but take small, vicarious delight in observing the matronly joy I interrupted."
"You are a vengeful wench," Dell laughed. "But beautiful. Give me an hour. Four-by-fives? Maybe an eight-by-ten or two?"
"Only if her mouth is open, and the meat's aimed right."
When he took them off the ferrotype an hour later, Thora was giggly pleased. "Bingo, I think," she said, pointing to a full-face profile of the excited matron, with her lips pursed out to receive the finely detailed bulk of Del's cock.
"You thought about tomorrow morning at all?"
"Sure. She'll give me the frost personally. Look down her nose and ask me what I'm talking about and would I care to leave her posh mansion. I'll say, of course, and as I leave, I'll thumbtack this pic-toral masterpiece on the living room wall. After the screeching dies down, she will pop with the five thousand clams and you will then chauffeur me to our own bank."
With variances, it was a pat pattern, but Del had some inner queasiness about this one. Studying the forty pictures, taken in three split-second bursts, he missed something in Lulu Everett's face. Eager she had been, and showed it, but the expressions she wore did not have the melted-down, fuck-me-quick tinge they had seen many times before. She looked avid, hungry, determined, but not surprised or dazed.
He tried to remember the beginning. She had entered the Panky Club alone and seated herself at the bar, two stools away. Promptly then, she had half-emptied her purse on the bar, revealing an ample wad, expensive accouterments and long, black gloves as she had ostensibly searched for lip stick. She had ordered a drink, and he had not been too surprised when Sol had brought two. One for him. When he had made the washroom after the second Bourbon, Sol had nodded and handed him one of the engraved cards. On the make, buddy, but don't push, had been Sol's advice. Of course, once she had let her fingers drift through the under-bar darkness and had taken just a partial measure of his prick, she had done enough pushing for both of them. Getting her into the Halberd Hotel, a half block distant, had been easy. The room didn't matter because it was a hot-sheet joint for the uptown bars and he had long ago obtained passkeys for each of the four floors. Smooth. But too smooth this time.
He looked at Thora. She sat with that money-hungry look on her face, her fingers fiddling with the two over-sized prints. Now, at the one he had made good by thrusting his cock as deeply into her mouth as it would go.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked. "Being female, probably not. Do you think she could have taken you in that furry canyon of hers?"
"She was working up to it with no noticeable set of goosebumps."
Thora looked at him with mist in her eyes. "Why didn't you screw her, Del? You can get a blow-job at home, you know."
"I said ten minutes, you said eight. It takes twelve or fifteen, unless you've forgotten."
The mist turned her eyes to deep green. "I never forget, said the she-elephant. Maybe you needed one a bit better looking."
"Sol deals only in bags between one and five. You're jealous! Hey, why baby?"
She looked away. "I am not jealous, you idiot."
"Yes, you are, and I think I know why."
"Oh? You and Nixon know everything, huh?"
"Shut up. It's in the pictures. Dear Lulu is no amateur at hustling studs in a bar. Sol had her card. She came on for the jock after only two drinks. Look at her face-where it's closed. She is no wandering wife, riding a hot flash. No matter how long it took her to get back into her girdle, she came out of it like a greased pig. I think we hooked a blubber-coated shark, baby!"
"So?" Thora queried, her brow showing only a slight wrinkle. "Is she, or is she not, sucking a nine-inch prick? Is she, or is she not, wife to a stockbroker who makes millions and lives in a country club? Blubber or not, I'll hang her up for a man-eating shark if she farts out of tune!"
Del grinned. "You hate women, don't you?"
Thora got up and nestled into his arms. "I sure do. I never know which one of them can open up enough for my husband. Oh Del, I'm so ... miserable!"
"I know what you need," he whispered, dropping his palms to the twin rounds of her lightly clad ass.
"No, baby, no," she husked. "I know what I need, too, but don't tease me, please. I'll be all right tomorrow after we get the money. I guess I'm always a little nervous before we collect."
What he really knew, was that she was always very nervous after seeing the pictures she took.
They weren't split-second views, they were static reminders that the man she loved was also adored by many women, and sometimes he wasn't able to look blase with his cock in a big-enough cunt or a mouth like Mrs. Thomas Everett's.
CHAPTER THREE
Tom Everett looked at his wife and grunted. "You didn't make it today, did you?" he queried.
"No. And there's a problem, Tom," she told him. him.
"How much?"
"They want five thousand dollars!"
"They?"
"He had-a wife. She caught him with me!"
He made a silent whistle shape under his acutely trimmed moustache. It was his best feature, and it cost him as much to look like a movie actor as it did to keep his paunch from killing him with heartburn. He was fifty-one and many things cost him money-which he made lots of. He sat now on the edge of his bed, naked, pulpy and frowning. Across from him, Lulu was equally naked, equally pulpy but her brow was wrinkled with concern. She was a slut and a nymphomaniac, expensive, arbitrary and loose as the proverbial goose; he loved her for some reason he hadn't thought about for a number of years. "Tell me," he said.
He listened, and as she excitedly recited the adventure of the afternoon, his cock thickened, but did not follow through. Even feeling the deliberately pantiless bottom of the cute lady barber who trimmed his moustache every day after the big board closed did not give Thomas Everett a hard-on. Tit grabbing with either of his two secretaries didn't do it either. They all thought him a devil, but properly faithful to his be-girdled wife. Only Tom and Lulu knew that he was faithful because nothing did it for him. The doctor had told him it was purely psychological, because Tom had told the doctor that at least once a month, he awakened in the middle of a delightfully wet dream. Tom had grown not to mind too much because he was a brain, not a stud. Now he watched his wife's tits flush as she described the harrowing scene with the irate Mrs. Kelly.
"Shit," he said. "You were had by a pair of finks."
"All they have now is four hundred dollars. For their little girl, she said. Oh Tom I didn't know what to do!"
"She's coming at what time?"
"About eleven-after I've had a chance to get the cash."
"Shit," he repeated. "No cash."
"What will I do, Tom? She was terribly ... insistent."
"Go to bed and let me think about it. How old was she?"
"Maybe twenty-one. He seemed very young, too.
Twenty-five, maybe. Oh Tom, he had the biggest prick I ever saw!"
He chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Well, you have the pussy for it. Name?"
"John, she called him. John Kelly. Her name was Alice Kelly."
"In this town, the Kellys outnumber the Cohens! Go to bed. I'll call the Radcliffe Agency in the morning and see if they've heard anything about a white man with a nine-inch cock. In this town, a cock that size should have made some waves. Don't worry, Lulu. I only look like a potty old dope. Five thousand dollars! That's two thousand more than I've made today!"
"You're wonderful, Tom! I only wish-"
Her story had given him some small twinges and he thought he'd like to try. He had tried many times before and had failed, but there was always some vicarious fun in trying, as long as Lulu didn't really mind if he couldn't make it. He stood and his pot spread in an easy rolling swell that did not seem so objectionable. He was a big, square man and his muscles were toned by three eighteen-hole golf games a week. He moved forward and thrust his groin at his wife. His cock was thick but not distended. His balls were heavy, hairy and of good size. He lifted his circumcized cock and she ducked to kiss it. It began to swell, but he wasn't fooled. It would get out five inches and hang in a disinterested arc.
"Oh Tom," Lulu breathed, then took his prick in her lips. He looked down her rather broad back and at the twin moons of her ass, splayed out on the bed. He thought about a nine-inch cock spreading and pushing between the cheeks. His prick moved out in inspiration. He leaned forward and let his finely manicured fingers feel of her softness. Six hours before, they had dug under the lady barber's, uniform and amused themselves with a shaved pussy that pinched when she jerked over his idle fondling. Lulu's back did nothing for him. Her mouth was moving sharply and he fucked into it, letting the hip movements tighten the unexcited muscles under his balls. "Oh, Tom!" she mumbled as his cock gained some solidity. He fucked harder, and her lips gripped more possessively and he thought it just might be the night, Josephine.
He wondered what kind of a cunt the irate Mrs. Kelly had-if her husband boasted a quarter of a yard of prick. Grand canyon, wet, sloshy-hot and milking. He chuckled.
"What, Tom?"
"Jack it off a little too," he suggested.
It helped because she knew all about pricks. He couldn't guess how many it had taken to educate her. She went cruising every day.
"Good, daddy?"
"Getting good," he admitted. Slim woman, Lulu had said. He tried to imagine the prick she had described being pushed into a slim woman. Had she been born big or had he made her big? Stretch a mile before it tore an inch. Bom big, he surmised. Seven seconds after he'd broken Lulu's maidenhead, she had tried to stuff his balls into her pussy along with his six-inch meat. Little woman, big cunt. Big woman, all cunt-he recited the collegiate philosophy.
"All right, dear?"
"Turn over."
She rolled, bringing her big ass up in bold rearing. He put the nearly-hard head of his gleaming wet cock to her asshole and tried to shove it in. Her hand came back and helped him with tucking movements. His hard-on lasted ten seconds, then it dropped.
"Oh, my dear," Lulu wailed.
"Go to bed," he grunted. "I've got some thinking to do. Five thousand dollars! The woman is out of her mind!"
They kissed peckishly and he turned out the bedroom lights.
His cock didn't get quite soft because he spent several minutes thinking about a nine-inch prick trying to get into a slim woman's anus.
George Gretock possessed several distinctions. He was club champion-carrying a three handicap; he was the youngest retired member, and at thirty-two, his divorced status made him the most sought-after man in the settlement around the Arcadia Country Club. Now, out of habit, he looked across the gardened area and saw the light blink out in the Everett bedroom. He knew exactly what was happening there. Lu was lying on her big, fat ass wishing she had a cock to ease her eternal itching, Tom was figuring out how to make another million, and all through the house, not even a mouse. George grinned. He considered himself a most fortunate man.
He'd made nearly a million in five years specula tion in steel. He'd beaten his punch-board wife in a nasty divorce action, getting off with cheap alimony, the country club property and Eliza, their daughter. There were some that thought Eliza not so much of a victory, but George was not one of them. She sat up in his bed, now, her long, ironed and well-rinsed blonde hair hanging down over her bare shoulders and half-apple tits and sulked. He grinned at her; even hippie eleven-year-olds had disappointments, and hers was the rag, neatly belted around her little waist as the seventh symbol of her blossoming womanhood.
"Goddamnit," she said. "Shitty old period!"
"Tush," George advised her. "A girl only has to worry when they don't show up. Why don't you go into your own room and get some sleep?"
"I want to fuck, daddy!"
"Not possible, or at least, no fun."
"You could rub me, then."
"You'll get hot and bleed all over the bed," he said, moving to where he could pat her blonde head. "I'd get hot and have to jack-off."
"I'd do it for you. Come on, daddy!"
She felt of his cock through the flowered pajamas, giggling when he couldn't keep it from swelling. "Watch it!" he cautioned her, twisting away from the insistent fingers. "You want to get into trouble?"
She pouted. "When I grow up and go away to college, you'll be sorry! Something, daddy?" she added in a wistful voice.
It was a low blow, but he didn't let her know. George, despite his outside affairs and his potential for more, could not bear to think of the time when Eliza would have to leave him for college, or any other convenient reason. Another half a foot of growth and twenty-five pounds would make her a precise image of her mother, whom he had loved very much-along with countless other men George had not been able to tolerate. Now he looked down at her pout, and his groin tightened with a jerk. They both knew what they did was socially wrong, but she believed in what she could understand about modern youth and he had no strength to resist. He loved her slightly profane talk, her apparent blase attitude about incest, and above all, the way she squealed and humped and giggled over his less-than-heroic prick. She adored every erotic thing he could do, and when he tired, she invented eroticism of her own, awkward, gasping and inspiring beyond any female he had ever known.
"Something, daddy?" she insisted.
"How is it?"
"It'll be gone by tomorrow. Not bad, really, daddy!"
"Go get a big towel," he said with resignation. She scrambled out of bed; the sight of her slim body, girdled by the Kotex belt completed his erection. He removed his pajamas and stretched out on the bed. Idly, he stroked his prick. Once in a while he realized that he had begun to love his little daughter because his prick fitted her diminutive, undeveloped cunt far better than it did the horde of man-hungry women he knew.
He was a little worried about Eliza discovering his inadequacy by comparison with another man, but she was only nearly-twelve and he doubted the courage of most men to try her childishness for size.
When she came running back with a small towel as well as a big one, he also noticed that she had abandoned the Kotex and belt. She threw the big towel at him and stood, strangely fascinated by his nakedness, as he spread it on the bed. The look was one he had seen before; it was neither childish nor gay nor adventuresome and the intensity of her eyes made him squirm inwardly with desire. She would be twelve in three months, but he suspected some parts of her had been born twenty years old. As he reached for her, some passionate blindness obliterated the truths George sometimes admitted to himself.
With the slim, warm body in his embrace, he nuzzled into the thickness of her blonde hair. His hands moved over her little breasts, marveling at their firmness and the quick hardening of the small pink nipples. He made no attempt to kiss her mouth and she seemed not to recognize his desire to hold and pet and absorb her. She was trying to get his cock between her legs, and he lay in a taut out-arc while her slim legs opened and slithered around his hips. It was almost enough for George to feel his cock to the softness of her belly and the heat of her flesh to his lean hips. Then she put her little cunt over his prick and went wriggling down on it. Her little yelp of pleasure made his blood race, then his penis was snuggly buried in the wetness and her swift enthusiasm closed around him with furious demand. Only then did he turn over on her and take command. She stilled as his weight forced her slender legs wide apart and his belly pressed her into the mattress. Her mouth slowly opened, revealing her sharp little tongue as his hips began the slow, delicious undulations, sending his cock high in her small body, withdrawing it until only the glans remained gripped in her childish vulva, then repeating the exciting cruise into her sex sleeve. Her hands came up, not as if to hold him but to steady the thrusting, and from her lips came small, soft sounds of pure content. She seemed small in and under him; his cock felt large and growing and George loved her madly. His hands moved down, cupping under the cheeks of her diminutive ass, lifting her to his lunges, twisting her as she reached the ultimate of her up-hunch. Surreptitiously, he let one finger find the under-fork of her vagina, feeling for a moment the way his prick turned the tiny slit into a round mobile stretching. Then he glanced at the finger, it showed diluted blood, weak pink as it mixed with the unusual flow of her sex glands. Satisfied that he was not hurting her, he slid the hand back under her ass, pushing the moistened finger to her little anus. Her quick gasp promised him that when he found enough courage to fuck her in the ass, she would be responsive, probably as avid for that as her mother had been. He settled into ecstasy, fucking with measured rhythm and all the intensity his body demanded. He thought he knew when she had her first orgasm, but as usual, she made no sign except to quiver in fresh tempo as she maintained her hip rotations. When the strong tensions began to tighten his groin, he changed his movements, letting the constantly milking walls of her cunt induce the last sweet friction. He thought once, that soon he would have to do something about spending his copious iism in her raw body; a diaphragm would be too obvious to a druggist or a physician, and he himself was too self-conscious about using a rubber because while most men complained of their smallness and tightness, George's prick became completely enveloped in one. The pill perhaps. Then he groaned in surrender and with a lunge that made her gasp, he spewed his iism into her with jolting force. She giggled and he chuckled, and they played together, lewdly.
Marcia Del Monte stood at the heavily draped window of her new house and her statuesque nakedness quivered for several reasons. Even from his bed in the rear bedroom, Samuel's snores were impressive. In the beginning, everything about Sam had been impressive and Marcia had worked very hard for five years to be a proper office wife. The fact that Sam was twice her age was not a hindrance to Marcia; his big bold way with business, people and all things made him the most attractive man for whom she had ever worked as secretary. She had allowed herself to fall in love with Sam, and if it had taken her two years to snare his buck-horn between her Juno-esque legs, it had been worth it. For three more years, he had fucked her well, if not often, and a peculiarly delightful association had been theirs until Sam's first wife, the fragile and mouse-like Clara, had died. Sam had proposed at once. Oh yes, oh yes.
Part of her quivering now was disappointment.
He snored and she wanted action. Her quivering increased as she stared through the crack in the drapery at Barton Field walking slowly down the darkened street, his back broad, straight beauty in his patrolman's uniform. He looked right and left, peering into dark corners and shaded gardens. He was one of four patrolmen hired by the Arcadia Country Club, to discourage outsiders, burglars, peepers and kids parked in hotrods around the fairways. Marcia didn't know whether Officer Field was married or not, but if her courage had been five per cent greater, she would have found out. Her mind played games. She wondered what he would do if he came by the Del Monte yard and found the luscious Mrs. Del Monte spread naked on the grass. No questions, no talk, just open your pants and get with it, she rehearsed.
Another part of Marcia's quivering was cold. It had begun two or three months after she and Sam were married. She was too young for most of the country club set, and Sam was too obsessed with his kind of living to notice how the clubhouse ladies scowled at Marcia's husband-stealing shape. The other problem, although Marcia did not think of herself as a husband-stealer nor a chippy, was that the available husbands to steal were something less than inspiring. As the cold had increased, she had gone through funny stages of loneliness. She had quietly fallen in love with the mailman, the meat delivery boy, the gardener and driver of the laundry and cleaning truck. Now, Barton Field.
Marcia was completely aware of how silly it was to get up every hour and stand naked at the win dow to see him pass, occupying the between times with erotic thoughts and tentative fingering, until exhaustion put her to sleep somewhere around three. It had been going on for nearly a month. A few times she had considered awakening Sam to ease her thirsting cunt, but Sam was sixty-five and resented anything interferring with his sleep. Anyway, before he would even condescend to pet her a bit, he deemed it essential to go into the bathroom, replace his dentures, brush his thinning hair and use mouthwash. If Sam had impressed Marcia, he had also impressed himself, she knew.
She pushed hard and turned her head to watch Barton Field's progress down the street and finally out of sight. She sighed. It would be ten minutes to two before his next round. She let the quiver evolve into a shudder of self-revulsion and went back to her own bedroom. She lay squirming, her big breasts and Amazon bottom aching for the door-shaker's hands. Finally, she thrust two fingers into her cunt and finger-fucked herself to sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
For the first time since they'd begun the lucrative business of playing the badger game in reverse, Thora was nervous as she walked from the country club parking lot to the address on Mrs. Everett's card. It wasn't that her frumpy disguise seemed inappropriate to the elegance around her, and it wasn't that the photograph in her oversized handbag was less then perfect. Thora couldn't see a single item of the proposition that should be altered, yet as she approached the big sprawling house on the edge of the seventh-hole fairway, she had tremors. She wished that Del had kept his funny feelings to himself, the previous night. They had a bag, and it was filling with bread; she took dead aim on the front door bell and hit it with a determined forefinger.
Whatever she expected, it was not a middle-aged man, with a nice smile, a flashing eye and no clothes, except for a pair of flowered shorts. "Morning, Alice. Come in. It was Alice, wasn't it?"
"Oh! I-I was looking for Mrs. Everett," she stammered.
"I know. Come on in, Alice. We are having the end of our morning coffee-and fiddling around a little!" He stepped back and beckoned her in. The door closed firmly behind her hesitant entry, and she heard the positive snap of the lock.
Puzzled, but still holding to her determination, Thora followed the nearly naked man down a long hallway and then to the left in a shorter one. He stopped "Forgot to introduce myself, Alice. I'm Tom Everett. Glad to meet you-wig and all."
"W-wig?"
He laughed. "I make my living with figures and people. Figures sometimes screw me up, but people never! No man who wears a two-hundred-dollar suit and boasts a nine-inch prick would marry a woman with hair like you are wearing! Come on in."
The fear went swirling from her toes to her head, giving Thora a distinct moment of dizziness. Yet he seemed genuinely friendly and he was hardly dressed for a surprise police raid. She stepped after him into a large, glassed and lightly curtained breakfast room. There, she stopped as if clubbed. The woman she knew to be Mrs. Thomas Everett was on her knees in front of a man who also wore only a pair of shorts. She was avidly sucking a rather formidable cock which stood up through the shorts with vibrant promise. As they entered, she. pivoted her head on the substantial cock and her eyebrows and one hand raised in casual greeting. Then she went back to her noisy slurping, her thin ly robed body shaking with the energy of her action. The rather young man she was fellating merely turned lazy eyes, winked, then raised his coffee cup for a short, disinterested sip.
"Sit down, Alice. Lulu will be done in a moment," Tom Everett said.
Stunned, Thora sank into a cushioned, wrought iron chair, her mind bumping thoughts, her body abruptly a mass of fiery nerves. The handbag slipped from nerveless fingers and her mouth hung slackly. No one spoke, but the room was filled with the soft sounds of wet lips and heavy breath. Thora's cunt tried to vomit, then sought to inhale as the erotic drama hastened. The man had tightened and was pushing up to Lulu's clamping, working mouth. She let her head roll back and forth as she pumped it up and down. Her hands were whisking over the strong thighs, feeling of the tensing muscles and toying with the deep-brown hair around the root of the sturdy cock. Thora stole a split-second glance at Tom Everett. He seemed indifferent, hardly looking while he poured an extra cup of coffee.
"Sugar or cream?" he asked in an audience-soft voice. "Both?"
"S ... sugar," Thora managed. She was sweating between the legs and the tingles were racing. The first shocks were giving way to a monstrous hunger, moving the length of her trembling body, crowding out her first revulsion, filling her with illicit sensations and addling her wits. She felt weirdly alive, aware-yet she felt destruction creeping through her belly like an overt snake. Her tits, bound by the ridiculous brassiere, were ready to burst, with flesh anxiety, and the sweat was now crawling from her twitching thighs under and up between the cheeks of her ass. She wanted to squirm and hump in tempo with the man now obviously getting tensed to come. Thora thought she couldn't stand to watch, but she had no power to turn her head away nor close her eyes. Small moans rode her heaving breath; then Lulu drew her hard-pursed lips the half length of the swelling cock and held the open kiss while the cock began its vital jerking. The man gasped and grunted and the undertube of his penis rippled as his jism spurted into Lulu's mouth.
Thora nearly fainted, her own sex hovering on the brink of unreasonable revolt, her brain pum-meled by the voyeuristic thundering. The orgasm seemed to fade, and Thora exhaled, sucking in a deep, noisy breath as her vibrant passions fought for release. Lulu raised her head and snatched a napkin from the breakfast table. She spewed saliva and sperm into the white cloth, then tossed it to the carpeted floor.
"Good morning, Alice," she said, licking her full lips. "Right on time, weren't you? How was it, Gerald?" she asked the man.
"All right-after I got over the shock of an audience!" he laughed. "I'm Gerald Fairlane-no relation to Fords. Sorry, but it's an old joke. "You're Alice, huh?"
Thora's jaw wagged but no sound came from her lips.
"Yes. Alice came for five thousand dollars," Tom Everett said. "She caught Lulu sucking her hus band's cock yesterday and thinks it is something special." He laughed. "What seems so special about it now, Alice?"
Thora snapped back to normal-or nearly so. A slow smile drew her lips broadly. She reached up and pulled off the wig, tossing it to the floor beside the soiled napkin.
"Okay," she said. "So we goofed!"
Suddenly serious, Tom nodded. "I think so too. Try the coffee. Oh. Where'd you leave your stud?"
"In-in the club parking lot."
"What kind of car?"
"An Olds ninety-eight, sixty-eight model."
Tom picked up the extension telephone. "Who shall I have paged?"
"Del Magill. I'm Thora Magill," she said, unable to resist the truth.
"Now, we are getting somewhere," Tom decided. "Del Magill. I'll get him to the telephone and you tell him to come here."
"I'm losing my goddamned mind," Thora said, but she did as he had told her to do. To Del, she merely said, "Shut up and drive up here. I know baby, but you don't know half the story! Things have happened. No law. But you hurry, baby!"
"That's the girl," Tom Everett chuckled. Then he leaned out and spatted her bottom. "Was Lulu dreaming, or is it really nine inches long?"
"Eight and a half, at least that's all he ever showed me!"
Lulu chortled. "See, daddy? I told you!"
The weakness came again and Thora had to sit down. Puffing.
He had arrived in some undefined state of belligerency, and as with Thora, introductions and explanations turned Del to flab.
"I know," Tom laughed. "Maybe it seems like a drastic method to save five thousand dollars-but maybe it wasn't as drastic as it seemed. Lu and I have an understanding-have had it for damned near ten years. Gerry is the only one who should complain-I guess it is quite a shock to have the boss's wife suck your cock at eleven in the morning."
Lulu giggled. "Now, daddy. Gerry and I are-old friends! Not in the morning and before an audience, but otherwise-"
Del glanced at his still-stupefied wife. His prick was like a log in his trousers, his sense of propriety, never very determined, was rapidly losing ground to another, more exciting sensibility. Inadvertently, they had sailed headlong into a nearly unbelievable situation which seemed spiced by ultra-sophisticated permissiveness and garlanded with money. Big money, bigger than he or Thora had ever even dreamed of. The Panky Club was no match for the Arcadia Country Club, and Sol, in his most blase moments, had never seemed as calm and unruffled as the big-time stockbroker, Tom Everett.
No one seemed angry at the blackmail attempt, and no one seemed afraid; there was an air of camaraderie, nearly an intimate friendliness among them, that made Del think the Everetts had come to some yet-unspoken opinion about himself and Thora. He decided to push a bit.
"Well, I guess it is back to the old drawing board," he said. "The drawing board being the bar at the Panky Club!"
'"Nonsense!" Tom snapped. "All that will get you is jail, and you'll spend all your dubious profits on bail money. Anyway, we like you, and after taking some risk to capture you, we do not intend to let you get away so quickly. Lu feels cheated, Del!" He looked at Thora. "I want to see her in some decent clothes, anyway."
"Or without any at all?" Del ventured.
Tom abruptly became serious. "I don't think you and your eight-and-a-half-inch cock can ever cure Lu of anything-if she even wants to be cured-but I have a feeling the two of you just might ... improve my condition a bit! I'm a ... a soft-sock, as you may have guessed. I almost get it, but always fail! I have a feeling now, as if the cure-or at least, the antidote-is very near. Look, there are rooms in this house even the architect has forgotten! Move in-be our house guests for an indefinite period of time. We'll play games and have fun-my time is pretty much my own and Lu wanders around at her own pace. As a starter, let's say, three months. At the end of that time, you'll get your five thousand dollars-and a bonus if things work out for all of us!"
"You mean-?" Del husked.
"I'm sure he does!" Thora exclaimed.
"You are so very, very right!" Tom agreed with a chuckle.
"Deal?" Thora asked, and he detected a strong eagerness in her query, directed at him with no hesitancy.
"Deal," Del echoed. Then he thought about Tom Everett trying to fuck Thora, and after the humor died away, he discovered he had a small ache in his belly. After that, he thought about an easy five thousand dollars and a chance to make a bonus. Three months of Lulu didn't seem too great, but it didn't seem impossible.
Tom looked at his watch. "One o'clock. Go get what you need and be back by five or so. We'll have cocktails and get acquainted then. Okay?"
They left then, after spreading the forty pictures out on the table so Tom, Lulu and the easy-going Gerry could amuse themselves and maybe find some inspiration.
"It seems crazy, impossible," Thora murmured as they packed. "My God, Del! That woman is a flesh-and-bone vacuum pump!"
"Jealous?"
"A little. Can't I be?"
"You can be anything you want. I know it is crazy, but it is so crazy I want to see what happens! Hell, we can always cut and run if we want to. But, baby, I smell money there-their dough comes in bales!-and I've a hunch they've got some weird and wonderful friends who've got some sex problems, too! Scared?"
"Make love to me," she said. "Hurt me, split me, leave me in tatters, but I have to have you, Del, to-to be sure!"
"Be sure," he whispered and took her gently in his arms.
The horde of unsettled details that harassed her feminine mind faded as she snuggled into Del's embrace. With something unknown at stake, she knew how very much she loved her handsome, impossibly-equipped husband. She could feel his prick now a massive tree standing hard between their urging bellies, so compelling in its masculinity she could hardly stand it. She thought of all the things they had ever done-inadequate things, always short of fulfillment for either of them. She thought of all the things she had wanted to do with his cock, and had never dared. Abruptly then, she didn't care if he hurt her, didn't care if there was ache and pain and even a little blood.
"Fuck me, baby," she breathed. "Be gentle-but be firm!"
"You fuck me," he suggested. "Then your cries will be your very own!"
They stood close then, both hypnotized by love. As Thora began to remove her frumpish dress, she detected in his eyes a heat and a desire she had hardly remembered. She thought perhaps it was her emergence from the ugly clothes, like a gorgeous butterfly exiting its legless, wingless carcass. Her own hair, wavy blonde and short, swirled about her pert, almost pretty face and she tossed her head, unsnapping the formless brassiere and let her huge, perfectly-formed tits pop free, quivering. He had removed his shirt and she began to adore the strong V of his body, fearing, yet needing, the animal end of his undressing. They they were naked, still staring, still loving, and with a cry of desperation, Thora led him to their bed. His prick was like a white-and-scarlet club; she did not touch it nor stoop to kiss it. These were artificial delights, reserved for more sensible and less poignant times. Her cunt seemed wet, her flesh was as ready as passion could direct.
"How, darling?" she breathed. When he swung around and fell back on the bed, his eyes hot, his belly rising and falling with restrained eagerness, she stared at the massive upstand of his thick penis and let the shivers of horror crawl up her spine and melt into a deep need at the very base of her skull. Deliberately wanting to be lewd, she stood with outkinked knees and opened her small, closely-closed cunt.
She remembered the discussion about nine inches-or eight and a half-and she stood, spreading her cunt, rubbing the oozing wet over the pulsating lips, hoping it would be nine. She wanted to hurt, to carry through the next few weeks the certainty that she could remember and he could too. She let the fluids flow, wiping them over her tender, hardly fucked tissues, thrilling more in anticipation of sweet pain than in the tantalization her enthusiasm afforded. Then to excite him mentally, because his cock was already at its zenith of high and thick, she began to roll her hips and hunch her ass, and his understanding smile was almost enough to give her orgasm. Finally, with a sigh of surrender, she fell forward, dragging first one knee up and then the other until his cock was a waving, jerking pillar under her spraddled crotch. She reared her ass high, her tits resting down on his muscular chest, her lips at his cheek.
"I'm going to, I'm going to!" she murmured. "Knock me up-this one glorious time, baby. Protect me from whatever is ahead! Send your jism right into my womb-way in, way up!"
He didn't move except to rest gentle hands on her back. Thora began a subtle movement of her ass, lowering it until she could feel the throbbing head of his cock nudge her quaking vagina. She moved more, rearranging her hips, seating his prick in the nest of her vulva. She thought she could see it, so huge, so ready, hovering at the small waiting gash, pressing now and beginning the terrible wedging. But she clamped her jaw and continued to work, fluttering her belly to relax her frightened tissues. She knew it would go in; it had been agonizingly there a few hysterical times. Now she felt it plug her cunt and the angle seemed right. With a cry of want and resignation, Thora straightened up and sat down on Del's penis with all of her weight. Her little scream ended in a shuddering wail, but she was on and it was in and she twisted and writhed until the splayed open lips of her cunt kissed deep in the thick hair of his up-urged pelvis.
"Oh, dear God!" she grunted. "Oh, Del, Del! Split me good, baby, and I weep, hurt me more. If I faint, fuck me until I wake up screaming. Oh, my darling, it's good, good, good!"
Even then, he knew he had to be careful. She seemed to be collapsed, but he knew this was only her attempt to relax every muscle in her pelvic cavi ty, to be limp, to claim his cock in total. He held her beautiful ass in his palms and began to move a little, easing her when he felt the tautening, dropping her when the moans of acceptance came. He controlled the urge to hold and ram, the furious need of his prick became a slow burning, from the closely gripped root to the distending head. He could feel her no more than a multi-wrap of a broad rubberband, a closure, devoid of mobility or response. At first. Then as her bottom began to roll softly in his hands, he heard the check and explosion of her breath.
"All right?" he whispered.
"All-right," came her barely audible murmur. "It is in so deep, so high up, so almost in my belly. I feel the head, rippling the tube, pushing the end until it is no longer the end! I am being fucked by the man I love and I want so to bound and leap and spin like a top and I-I can't do anything but lie on it and die!"
"Baby, you don't have to-"
Thora shrieked. "Kill me, you horse-cocked son-of-a-bitch!"
All he did was move a little and her cunt milked him in frenzied orgasm and he blew his load into her cunt, well above the cervix of her displaced womb. Thora moved, feeling the liquid fire as it oozed around his churning prick. Her ass seemed paralyzed, her groin ached with spreading and she had a second orgasm almost before the pain of the first one quit its thumping around the ruthless intruder in her quim.
"Darling?" came his soft query.
She raised her head and stared into his limpid eyes. "Okay, man. I'm ready for the country club, now."
"You're sure?"
"After you, Del, everything is toothpicks and kitchen matches!"
CHAPTER FIVE
By the time they arrived at the Everetts' again the deep inside aches had begun, and Thora had to be helped to the front door. Her vagina felt like hamburger and pains ran in every direction from her low torso. "I'll be all right, all right, I tell you," she kept saying when Del offered several alternatives to joining the obviously sex-minded crowd.
"Baby, it isn't something we have to do, you know," he said at the door.
"Ring the bell," she told her husband. "You have the same kind of a feeling I do-like maybe a whole new world is just inside that door. I'll be fine, baby, if only they don't come on-too strong and too quickly!"
"Say no," he advised her, and rang the bell.
"No" wasn't necessary. Gerald Fairlane was gone but there were two more couples on the patio with Tom and Lulu Everett. One couple was introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Frank Hamlin. The other pair were also man and wife: Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Bell. They seemed to be somewhere between thirty and forty, expensively dressed and perfectly at ease in the elegant surroundings. Thora eyed the women, and her female senses signaled danger; Mary Hamlin was small and compact and splendidly built while the red-haired Florence Bell was lean, hungry and patently the nervously aggressive type. They gushed over Del. In turn, Thora was immediately taken over by the two husbands, neither of whom seemed impossible. Tom Everett was the perfect host and Thora welcomed the stiff drink he brought her. The hot, happy burn of good Scotch eased the other fires in her belly. She sat gingerly, trying to hide the few violent twinges that needled her crotch.
They talked about nothing, drinking, making innocuous remarks and asking only small, insignificant questions which did not embarrass Thora nor Del. Only once was there a tight moment, though Thora was beginning to feel that once let loose, no moments would be tight with any friends of the Everetts. When Frank Hamlin casually asked what Del's line was, his reply was, "Engineering, in the civil field."
"His hobby is photography," Tom put in. "Or is that your hobby, Thora?"
"We share it, I guess," Thora remarked. "Del is better in the dark room than I, but I seem to have the knack of catching people and things at an interesting moment."
Lulu smiled at her and Tom winked, but the other guests seemed not to catch the undercurrent of understanding. There were crab hors d'oeuvres and more drinks, and during two hours not a sexy word was uttered. Several drinks had made Thora feel better, but as the dusk settled and they moved inside to avoid the chill, she could not put down the feeling that something would burst; it was not possible for a pair of people like Tom and Lulu to have friends as normal as the Hamlins and the Bells seemed to be. Her instinct was supported by the mere fact that they had been invited for cocktails to meet her and Del, whose advent into the country club was not without social question. Several times, Thora caught her husband's eye and raised an eyebrow, but he only shrugged and went on talking to Florence Bell. He was getting high.
There was lots of talk about art and sculpture, the theater and a horde of inane subjects. Unable to do anything but sit and coax her wounded quim into healing, Thora found herself between the pudgy, jolly Ernest Bell and the elaborately average Frank Hamlin. They were telling stories about weird golf games and peculiar experiences and while Thora welcomed the banal conversation, she was almost bored.
Then she heard it; the peal of laughter from Mary Hamlin held a different note, a lascivious timbre often heard in the semi-darkness of the Panky Club. Thora looked to where she was sitting with Tom and Lulu, and the sexy brunette was staring straight at the crotch of Del's half-slouched body.
Despite her personal aches and pains Thora suddenly felt a sense of relief.
"Hey, Ernie," Mary said to the man on Thora's left. "You any idea how dangerously Flo is living?"
"Oh? How is that?" Ernest Bell queried. "Her zipper seems intact!"
Abruptly, Thora felt Frank Hamlin's arm over her shoulders and his finely manicured hand became intimate under the short sleeve of her cocktail gown. His fingers thrust into her armpit and moved with very unticklish searching. Florence Bell turned and thrust a long, derisive tongue out at Mary Hamlin, then she laughed and leaned forward, letting her barely brassiered tits bump Del's chest. Her outstretched foot raised and she hooked it over his ankle. Lulu jumped up and moved heavily away from Tom and Mary.
"Anybody for dinner? I only have to call the maid-"
Mary also jumped to her feet, stepping over to within arm's length of Del, half drunk and staring at her lithe little body as if she were the first woman he had ever seen. "Food, hell!" she blurted. "I'm for fuck! Frank give me a quarter. I want to flip Flo for firsties with Del!"
Lulu laughed and extended her ringed fingers, waggling them in a come-on at Del. "Flip for seconds, dearie, because I'm the hostess with certain priorities. He owes me, don't you, Del baby?"
Del blinked, then slowly climbed to his feet. Thora thought he was going to fall, but Mary steadied him. He blinked again, then with courtly flourish, handed his half empty glass to Florence and turned to stumble out of the living room on Lulu's encircling arm.
The fingers in her moist armpit moved as if they were massaging a reluctant quim. It seemed like a cheap hustle to Thora except that when she made a move to twist away, Frank pulled her close and the pressure of his body to hers turned the fingers to live fire. She looked at Ernest Bell and he was smiling, nearly leering, at her, his eyes hot with conquest, his tongue quick on his drying lips. Across the living room, the wives of her two attending men were arguing drunkenly about the toss. The coin Tom had furnished had dropped to the floor and rolled under the sofa. When Mary got down on her hands and knees to find the coin, Tom's hand at her ass became pushy and pressing.
"All right?" Frank asked.
"I-I don't think so," Thora replied. "It's not my day!"
He chuckled. "I like 'em juicy! Come on, baby, I'm hot for you. Goddamn, I thought we'd never get started! Come on, baby!" As he came to his feet, his fingers, still in her armpit, lifted, and Thora controlled a scream of pain as her hips came up, twisting her wounded sex and reviving the inside pains. Then she was up and he was urging her toward the hallway where Del had disappeared with Lulu. No one paid any attention. A knife of fear went through her chest. Then she heard another heavy breath and when she looked, Ernest was at their heels.
"Wait-wait," she breathed. "Not-two of you at once?"
Frank laughed, his hand now down to cup around the cheek of her ass. "It's a game we play. You'll love it, baby. Won't she, Ernie?"
"We guarantee it, Thora," Ernest laughed. "Hey, look-"
He opened a door they were passing. Not wide, but wide enough for Thora to see Del, stripped to the waist, his massive prick thrust through the front of his trousers. Beyond him was Lulu, fighting out of her girdle. For a moment, Thora wanted to scream and rush in, then the two men were close, pushing her to another door. Hands seemed everywhere. She stood in the big bedroom, stunned by the speed of her capture, frightened by her hurts and perversely excited by the frenzy of her companions.
They began to undress her, one working the zipper of her gown, the other kneeling to slide his hands up her trembling th'ghs to the tight softness of her panties. Thora had no sense to protest nor to speak; she wondered what Tom and Lulu had told these people, but whatever it had been, they seemed to take for granted that she was wilb'ng. Her gown dropped and Ernest gathered it on one hand and tapped her calf with the other. Obediently, Thora raised her left foot, then her right. She stood quivering, naked now except for her amply filled brassiere and her garter belt and long stockings. She felt her brassiere being unsnapped, then greedy hands came around from behind and filled themselves with her suddenly eager tits. She felt strangely ashamed because neither man had removed a single item of clothing. When Ernest pushed his face straight into her pubic hair, she had a trapped feeling between the hands and the swiftly searching lips in her cunt. She gasped as his tongue whipped into the lacerated lips, then she began to shake with uncontrollable desire.
"What are you going to do ... do to me?" she whimpered.
"Everything you want," Frank husked in her ear. "Everything!"
"With your clothes on?" She gasped again and looked down at the thinning hair of Ernest's pushing, bobbing head. He was seemingly into her, nibbling, licking and opening her cunt with adept movements of his pursed lips and forcing tongue.
Frank half dragged her back and lowered her to sit on the bed, with Ernest crawling like a hungry crab, his mouth hardly leaving her startled crotch. She braced back on her elbows, staring down at the furious feeling between her legs. Del had done it for her several times, but it had been different. Ernest seemed nearly wolfish in his desire to eat her alive. Then she looked up and Frank was disrobing. He moved swiftly, and as his white body, lightly feathered with brown hair, emerged from his clothes, a new excitement swept down through her to meet the flush of heat that seemed to be soothing the rawness Del had created. He was half-muscular and half-smooth rounds of healthy flesh and she stared at his prick with almost a feeling of relief. It was not too long, nor too thick, and the head was darkly purple and no larger than the circumsized shank. It stood angled upward and jerking, but it was not a cock to be feared. He came forward and nudged Ernest aside with one determined thigh.
"Aw, Frank!" the pudgy man complained. "Just a little more?"
"Later. You like it better with a little jism in it anyway!"
"My God!" Thora wailed, then as the dizziness of Scotch and excitement and still a little fright assembled in her brain, she closed her eyes, unable to resist, unable to assist and totally at their mercy.
Frank seized her ankles and lifted her legs bending them with brute strength. She felt her ass open and spread, and her hot pussy seemed to suck in the cool air of the room. She could hear Frank's heavy, impatient breath, then the bed sagged as he knelt at her ass, and a moment later she screamed in agony as his cock rammed into her swollen cunt. It went in and up and each fraction of an inch was mortal misery. She twisted and thrashed but there was no evading the plunging prick. And at the moment when she thought she could stand no more, it nested, firmly in, Frank's balls hard and thickly on her anus. His body crushed down and he let go of her ankles. Her legs caught on his shoulders, keeping her bent in tight compression, and then he began to fuck her. Instantly, her cries turned to moans of pleasure. Her hands came up to lock behind his neck and Thora fought the darkness of complete delight.
With Del it had always been brutal pain, then a little good fighting to get better through the sickness of being crushed inside. Now she felt the fiery prick, irritating hurt places, but mostly gliding, caressing, exciting the tissues of her quim. There was no sickness, merely the woman-strain of being folded and the sharp marvel of being filled and emptied with each long, firm stroke. His hands gripped her tits, locking her in the tight bend and his face lowered so his hot breath mingled with hers. She opened her eyes and his were closed, his face drawn tightly in the hypnotic mask of building ecstasy.
Then she felt Ernest's fingers at her ass. They moved like smooth spider legs, feeling, searching the union of Frank's prick and her pussy, roughing the wetted hair and sounding the rubbery softness of her in-between areas. She felt a finger at her anus. It felt good, and sent a burst of erotic thoughts downward until they became pure feeling. She waved and undulated her behind, waiting for the finger to enter and soothe the illicit needs; and when it did, she screwed her ass down on it, yelping softly into Frank's expressionless face. She had a swift, unannounced orgasm, and the finger in her asshole gained a joint of depth as her entire body seemed to open to intrusion. She heard Ernest chuckle wetly and she didn't care. Let them fuck her, let them play their games, she thought. Two men-not one too-big man-and as the stupor of ecstasy puddled in her brain, Thora felt Frank shift and rear, as if to hurl his orgasm up and entirely through her pulpy insides. She gasped in disappointment as the finger slipped from her anus, then she gasped in rocketing excitement as the replacement became warm and wet and wiggly, like a slimy snake.
At the same moment, she felt Frank's cock swell and jerk, and the charge of his sperm was like a hot, blunt needle. It thrust once, then her super-sensitive vagina felt the thick ooze from the urging glans, like hot syrup poured from a living nozzle, and she tried to swallow it with her quaking cunt until the effort exploded her second orgasm. She knew when Frank left her because the momentary emptiness was torture, then the tongue abandoned her asshole and licked its way up and into her quim-a bee she thought, after the human nectar. Her legs fell slowly down to rest across Ernest's naked shoulders. Her hands flailed for flesh to seize, then she gripped her own tits and began to milk their solidity into sweet relief. Her head rolled with the ecstasy of insistent cunnilingus and her mouth hung open in imitation of her cunt, saliva exuding as Frank's sperm was avidly inhaled from her vulva. Thora cooed.
Orgasms began to come like hiccups, when she least expected them and briefly sharp. The wet sounds from Ernest's insatiable mouth mingled with grunts and mewls and moans of joy, mostly from her own dry mouth. She felt consumed, absorbed, then popped like a squeezed pimple and when Frank kneed up beside her, she let him fill her mouth with his half-soft prick, delighting in her ability to suck and lip it into hardness. She tasted herself and the faint musk of his jism and erotic needs caused her to hold his rigid prick and begin the head plunging and sucking to refresh the vital flavor. Exhausted, coated with sex-sweat and wracked by pleasures she had never known before, Thora fought the inevitable end of her joys, and when it came, she lay, quivering with shock, unable to understand the mumbled words of her marvelous lovers.
Not until she heard new grunts and the unmistakable rub of flesh on flesh did she groan and raise her head. What she saw tuned every sensual wire again; Ernest was on his hands and knees, his fat bottom reared up to the dog-like shagging of Frank's lean hips. She could see the prick, so lately hardened in her mouth, coursing in and out of the distended asshole. Ernest's head hung down as if his neck were turned to butter. From his only slightly-haired groin, his prick dangled, long and limber, swaying and waving to the stroke of Frank's perverse assault. Thora sat up, unbelieving but terribly excited. After a moment, she slid from the bed and went down on the floor, rolling onto her back. She scooted under Ernest and caught his prick in her mouth. The taste was different, acrid and glandish. Sucking furiously, she stared up at the rise and fall of his plump belly. One hand went to his tight scrotum; the other felt up behind, to feel the pistoning prick in the hot cavern of his rectum. A form of madness came over Thora, and she even forgot to wonder what her husband and Lulu could be doing.
CHAPTER SIX
"Let me just rest now," Lulu murmured. "I haven't been screwed like that in twenty years, darling!"
"I need a drink," Del told her, standing in his shorts beside the bed. He thought her claim to an inadequate twenty years might be reasonable. He had expected her to be energetic, even frenzied, but she had gone absolutely crazy, crying and leaping when the last two inches of his cock had snugged high in her bounteous sex. It hadn't been a task; Del had known few women he could screw without always worrying about a ripped vagina or a hemorrhaging womb. He had closed his eyes and fucked, his mind drawing wonderful pictures of Thora while his cock adored the faceless body under his furious assault. But looking at her now, he felt nothing. "I need another drink," he said again.
She nodded but did not open her eyes. "Go in with the others, baby. They're waiting, I assure you!" She chuckled softly. "Though I haven't a goddamned idea in the world what either Mary or Flo are able to do with you! Toss that quilt over me, honey, and let an old woman rest!"
Wearing only his trousers and shirt, Del stepped into the hallway. He had seen Thora and the two men go by in the brief moment the door had been opened. He wasn't sure how he felt about a man, or two men, making love to her, but they had come to a decision, and nothing she could do would add up to anything more than he had done, and was halfway looking forward to doing. He did need a drink to chase the alcohol dryness from his throat, so he walked on toward the living room. Outside, it was dark and he guessed he'd been cloistered with Lulu for at least an hour.
Both Mary and Florence were either passed out or dozing, side by side, on the sofa. Tom Everett sat in a big leather chair, holding a drink in his right hand, eyes staring at some distant horizon on the other side of the wall. Del walked across to the bar and poured himself a bourbon with water. When he turned, Tom was surveying him with broker's eyes. "Get the job done, son?" he asked quietly.
Del smiled wryly. "She's napping, I think," he ventured.
"They conked out, waiting," Tom said. "I guess you think we are a pretty odd group, don't you?"
"I hadn't thought about it," Del lied. "Everybody has their own thing, and we just happened to hit smack into yours, I suppose."
"You think I'm a raunchy old fucker, to sit by while my wife sucks my salesman's prick and you hang a mule cock in her, don't you?"
"Quit putting words in my mouth-or suppositions in my head."
"Sure. I haven't had a decent, workable hard-on in five years. It's in my head. The doctors say there is absolutely nothing wrong with me."
Del looked at him. "Ever try homosexuality?"
"Certainly! All it gives me is a sore asshole, or heartburn!"
"No dice, huh?"
"Not even a crap-out."
"How about a colored gal? They are pretty basic."
"Black, yellow or Hawaiian tan: no soap."
"Dirty movies?"
"I have the world's most expensive collection!"
"Psychiatrist?"
Tom chuckled. "I'll say you're trying, Del. Any concrete suggestions?"
"My wife."
Tom nodded. "Don't think that wasn't in my decision to go easy on the two of you. But I first thought of something else. Got me at least started last night. When Lu told me how heavy you're hung and how slender Thora was, I got a couple of good moments out of mentally seeing the two of you! Sound crazy?"
"Nothing but crazy is apparently going to do you any good!"
Tom pointed to the sleeping Mary, her tiny body seeming almost child-like-except for her full breasts and woman-full hips-in comparison to Florence's long, lean shape. "And maybe her," he said. "Maybe in the ass?"
Del laughed. "The woman doesn't live who can take me up the keister," he said. "I've tried a few, excluding Thora! Forget it!"
"Now, you excite me, son!"
Del narrowed his eyes, but not without friendliness. "You have all the symptoms of a cultivated voyeur. You know what? I'm starving!"
Tom led him into the kitchen. They dismissed the maid, and the dinner still simmering on the stove and in the small steam table, in favor of raiding the refrigerator. There was cold baked chicken, some colder boiled potatoes, and milk. They talked, and to Del's surprise, he liked the oddly frustrated broker, and he thought Tom liked him.
"Tell me: if you had a private thing between Thora and me in your mind, why the guests, our first night here?"
"Well, if you stay with us a few weeks, you'll meet a number of friends. Better get the whole picture as soon as possible, I thought. Then there was the matter of my own guts. How do you ask even a pair of blackmailers, to fuck one another before an old man and his loose-bottomed wife?"
They laughed, but Del could see that desperation had long ago taken the mirth out of anything Tom could say. Nor could Del find anything repulsive nor unpleasant in the prospect of trying anything and everything to get Tom Everett off to at least a trotting start. Champing cold chicken and liberally buttered, salted and peppered boiled potatoes, he developed a half-hard-on thinking about things. He also wondered if Tom could convince size-nine Mary Hamlin to let him try her up the ass.
"Huh? She'll go for anything!" Tom snorted.
"Weird and wonderful people!"
"Only people worth having around," Tom said positively.
When Del came out of the bathroom, Thora was sitting on one of the beds, hugging herself to steady some nervous trembling.
"You okay, baby?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied with an enigmatic smile.
"Wild, huh?"
"I don't know," Thora admitted. "But they have some kind of a disease, I guess, and it is terribly contagious! They don't seem to care what they do or what they say, once they get started. Did you have a good time with Lulu, Del?"
"I think I did," he said teasingly. He climbed into bed and half turned his back. "How'd you make out with the gold dust twins?"
She moved across and sat down on his bed, her hip against the bulge of his cock under the covers. Her hand went around and found the uprisen rod and Del turned his head to meet her eyes-limpid eyes that answered his question before she spoke.
"It was ... an experience," she murmured. "There's something between a man and a woman, isn't there, Del?"
"Puzzles and riddles at two in the morning," he muttered.
"No. I mean, like homosexuality," she said, and he knew she wanted to talk, no matter how late it was.
"Aha! My wife has learned something tonight," he laughed.
"Frank screwed me first. It was something of a trauma, I suppose. Good, too, after I got used to not hurting so much. Little Ernie was-somewhere down under, playing cute games with his mouth and fingers. I thought it all very nice, particularly when Frank got away and let Ernie take out of me what he'd so splendidly spewed in. A woman is so much better equipped for this game of sex than a man. She needs little preparation and there seems to be no limit to the times. I got kind of foggy with Ernie's head between my legs. I'm not very experienced at these things, am I, husband?"
"You'll learn, obviously," he said, and for some reason, her will to talk, her desire to tell, amused him. Her eyes were focused distantly and she did not seem to notice that her hand, now frigging his weary penis, was eliciting no great amount of response He listened to her description of how Frank had finished, fucking Ernest in the rumble seat, and he took her admission that she had felt sorry for the chubby man-whore and had sucked his penis with small success, at least for him.
"Motherly instinct," he assured her. "Poor baby, can't get a hard-on, so mama will help. Oh. Our host has a real problem, too. I rather like the man-his sense of humor is a bit degrading, but he seems adequately financed to degrade anyone he chooses. Don't you ever get sleepy?"
Thora giggled, shaking her splendid tits the way he liked to see them shake. "I'm excited, husband," she laughed. "Are we nasty?"
"I would say so. But there seems to be a difference between being nasty under a bridge and being nasty in the midst of elegance. Were I to raise the covers and offer you the privilege of warming yourself against my hide, would you promise to shut up so I can get some sleep? As you remarked, a woman's equipment is much better suited to the circus than a man's."
Thora giggled again and crawled in beside him on the twin bed. It was a bit narrow until she spooned her lithe body to his, making room for his cock between her soft, warm thighs. She squirmed.
"Tomorrow is another day," he murmured into her hair. "And I am told the Everetts have many-exciting friends. Go to sleep."
"Del'?"
"Hm-m?"
"What's happened to us-you and me?"
"I'd say we have arrived at the point where love has totally identified itself as something apart from the difficulty between an eight-and-a-half-inch cock and a pink buttonhole made only for midgets!"
"You fool!"
But he heard the happiness in her voice and it matched the singing in his groin. He went to sleep after one or two deep breaths.
These were the dull hours for Officer Barton Field. The lights in the expensive fairway houses ceased to blink on and off and remained mostly off. Parties broke up with laughing, chattering people saying drunken good-byes and the winding streets following the course contours became deserted.
But Barton liked his job, even if it was never going to make him rich. He knew the floor plan of every house on his beat; a blue-print was furnished to the small guard office to permit the Arcadia Country Club special force to be instantly and fully aware of any irregularity in night or day behavior. The little fire department had a similar map to avoid traps in case of fire. A well-organized community, and one seldom offering a police officer any chance for glory. So Barton played small games.
A party invariably identified its theme when bedroom lights kept snapping on and snapping off throughout the evening. Ostensibly a night patrolman, he had worked days often enough to identify people with houses.
The best and longest parties seemed to be held in the Everett mansion. There were always two, three or four carloads of guests, and if Mrs. Everett wasn't too much to look at, many of the Everetts' friends were very sleek. And they almost always got very drunk by midnight. He had counted ten different on-off bedroom lights one night. A go-go group. Two of their constant guests were the Hamlins and the Bells, who lived side by side adjacent to the third fairway. There was also an awful lot of late night traffic between their houses-this traffic not lighted in either house.
In front of the George Gretock house, Barton always had odd feelings. In another city, he had worked as a juvenile officer; he knew a wiggle-bottomed delinquent when he saw one, and Eliza Gretock fitted the description. She lived with her divorced father, two maids and a sleep-in govern ess. Being a man of some taste, Barton could not suspect that the nightly on and off of certain lights had anything to do with the master of the house and the plump, middle-aged governess. Particularly since one of the blinking lights emanated from an upstairs room, marked "Nursery" on the official floor plan. At first, he had come up with many answers-a milder word than excuses. The kid was afraid of the dark and went in to cry with her daddy. She had a perpetual thirst, and her daddy had to bring her a glass of water at odd times. The governess checked her charge many times a night. In the end, Barton simply decided that the little wiggle-bottom and her rich daddy had something going. An ugly thought, impossible to prove and so better kept to himself.
Not all the houses on his beat were interesting-some, not at all. The one he now approached fell into the latter category: Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Del Monte. He'd seen her once and had been jolted by the difference in age between the nearly pretty Mrs. Del Monte and her grizzled, domineering husband. At first, Barton had expected to note some action there, but as the weeks and months rolled by, he crossed it off as a more compatible household than most. He checked his watch and slowed his step. If his round was too quickly made, the sergeant would think he hadn't checked as thoroughly as the code demanded.
Then he stopped, frowning, focusing his night-sharp eyes on the Del Monte side patio. There was the usual wrought-iron furniture, a gay garden swing or two, a fountain, and a woven-wire chaise, a fat, flowered pad running its full length. Barton blinked, because lying on the chaise was the unmistakable Mrs. Del Monte, her head pillowed on one arm and the rest of her as bare as a newborn babe. Only she was considerably past the newborn stage. Even the weak moonlight painted her rounds and hollows with silver. Her tits were up and full and the dollar-sized nipples were as black as the neat V between her outpushed thighs. His cock jerked, but Barton was first a policeman. He stepped quietly over the stone quarter-wall and moved across the manicured lawn to stand at the edge of the flagstoned patio. Mrs. Del Monte turned her head and kinked a wrist to wave languorously to him.
"You're six minutes ahead of time," she said accusingly, but happily.
"Mrs. Del Monte! You'll catch your death of cold!"
"Ho-ho," she scoffed. "Come closer, Officer Field, so you may see the heat waves I am sending up-and out! Oh, the dull airport sound is my husband, deep in the arms of a five-bourbon Morpheus. And among other failings I have noted in him, his hearing has deteriorated considerably! If your feet are tired, you may sit down here."
She shifted her naked hips to make room. Naked, she looked bigger than he had remembered. Naked, she looked like the mother of all whores, except that everything had stayed high and solid. As he stepped forward, Barton unbuckled the broad, black belt that carried his revolver and the extra ammunition. He knew exactly what she wanted, and by cutting across the fairway and skipping the last half of the round, he could spare time to give it to her.
"How much time?" she asked as he sat on one hip and put his hand on her soft, warm belly.
"Thirty-two minutes, plus five for leeway," he replied.
"That's enough ... for me, baby," she whispered, her left hand going down between his thighs in a searching movement. He unzipped. She found his cock and kept it coming up and out with adept fingers. "Oh my!" He wasted a minute turning over her, his hands sliding, one to her quickly-opened crotch, the other going to her warm and fragrant tits. She rubbed his prick onto her belly and moaned softly into his kiss. He felt awkward, bound by his jacket and the fit of his uniform pants. Any small thought that he had had about her simply fooling around was dispelled the moment his fingers curled into her cunt; her hips began to roll and hunch and mewlings of pleasure escaped her throat, bubbling with saliva no more copious than the flush of her vaginal glands. He raised, panting.
"Wait a minute. Cock spots almost never come out of blue serge!"
He stood up and began to peel down his trousers and shorts. She giggled and stood up too, almost as tall as he. For a moment after his clothes were done, they stood in hard embrace, he waving his cock across her pressing belly, she groping at the hard, hairy rounds of his walker's rump. Suddenly, she began to turn in his embrace, and she did not stop until his rigid prick was standing high between her buttocks. Giggling girlishly she bent forward to a very ungirlish degree, her ass pushing back to his groin as she shuffled her bare feet well apart.
Barton let his hands slide' over her back and down to her bulged thighs, then he brought them back and around and separated her nates. She worked them muscularly in his palms, then he moved his thumbs down and opened her cunt from behind. The lips were soft and hot and he could feel them puffing with pulsing blood. She braced her arms to the chaise and came up on her bare toes. He sent his cock forward and it went right in, slipping up and up until with a gasp, he bellied to her ass cheeks with exquisite force. When she settled down flat-footed, her pelvic bone added new tensions to the meshing and he held her hips and fucked her into swift grunting and groaning. Gradually, he bent to fit the hunching curl of her back and his hands gripped her tits. She rocked and swayed and he forgot everything but the furious fire around his surging penis. Every four or five strokes he had to gather his jacket to keep it from dropping like a curtain between them. Finally, he placed a spread right hand on her ass to hold the jacket high, and when he tested the rubbery pucker of her asshole with the ball of his thumb, she blubbered several dirty words and had an orgasm; he caught his halfway through, and they finished together with jerks and twists, and finally, with shivering sighs of total satisfaction.
While he dressed, she squatted off the flagstones and pissed noisily into the grass. They exchanged hurried promises about the following night, but Barton had already made some plans. He was only two minutes late punching in, but he spent five or ten minutes resting halfway through his next round.
The job might never make him rich, but the working conditions were certainly improving. "Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn!" he chuckled.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Before he opened his eyes, Del thought that another hour or two of sleep would do. Then he came awake and Tom was standing between the twin beds. He wore gray slacks, a sport shirt and a loose-fitting sweater. He stood with his feet properly apart, swinging a seven iron at an imaginary gold ball on the carpet. Behind him on the bed, Thora slept with one big, beautiful tit exposed-which seemed not to interest Tom at all.
"Play the game?" Tom asked softly.
"A little, in college," Del murmured.
"Good. Get dressed in something casual. I'll meet you in the breakfast nook with coffee. I've an extra set of clubs and we'll go around." He turned and moved to the bedroom door, and only as a parting glance did he seem to notice Thora. He grinned and shook his head in admiration. Then he was gone and Del half fell out of the dear, sweet bed. Golf he didn't need, but then, he thought, he was a guest.
Two cups of coffee and some golf lies made him perk up. They drove to the club in Tom's Cadillac.
There Del was introduced to the other pair of the pre-scheduled foursome. He was surprised at the youth of the club champion, George Gretock, and amused at the sputtering of the fat old man whose name was Something Smith.
"Handicap, Del?" Gretock asked as they meandered toward the tee-off.
"Haven't even played in five years," Del admitted, liking the feel of the driver in his hands.
"Probably a whiz," Borden Smith grumbled. "Young, too!"
"I've an eighteen," Tom admitted. "Bordie has a twenty-two."
Del looked down the fairway and the first green seemed a mile away. "Try me with ten," he said, and some of his enthusiasm returned.
"That means you shoot in the mid-eighties," Gretock said.
"Once. When I was young," Del laughed.
He paired with Tom, and they took the club champion and his hacking old partner for ten dollars, plus breakfast in the club. Del was exhausted, but he knew what had happened. His next round, if he ever regained enough breath to play again, would be in the high nineties but on this day, he hadn't been able to miss.
"You could be a good golfer with some practice," Gretock said.
"No time, no money," Del said.
"He couldn't hit a bull in the ass with a golf bag if his dad hadn't left him a pot and a window to pitch it out of," Tom laughed. "Time and money-and a pretty good eye-have made him what he is.
Pass the salt. George, how about coming over for cocktails tonight?"
Del went tight; he looked at the young man, trying to detect a reaction. Tom had already made certain statements about his friends.
"Okay, Tom. Liza can come down and do some twilight ball knocking. Needs practice if she's going to try the kids' tournament next month. Five or so?"
"Or so," Tom agreed casually. "Liza is his daughter. Cute kid and she hits a ball a country mile! Thora play?"
"Not golf," Del felt disposed to remark.
Tom chuckled, but George Gretock did not blink an eye.
Later, driving back to the Everett house, Del felt disposed to ask a question. "He a-close friend?"
"He's getting close," Tom replied significantly. "Odd boy. Lots of money, a clean divorce and a great golfer. Gets around, but isn't pushy about it. Lu tried him and I guess she amused him, though she says he comes on like a weeny in a cut-rate butcher shop. All his power in the follow through," Tom chuckled.
"How old is his daughter?"
Tom's mouth came closed with firmness. He slid the Cadillac into the driveway before the four car garage, turned it off and sighed.
"Eliza is about twelve," he decided, regretfully, Del thought.
"I see."
"No, you don't see," was Tom's wistful statement. "Until you see Liza, you don't see at all!"
The Everett maid said that Mrs. Everett and Mrs Magill had gone to town to shop and would be back around five. Del thought it a bit curious that Thora had become so chummy with Lulu, but on the other hand, he was quite chummy with Tom-who seemed to brighten at the news. They had an after-breakfast Bloody Mary.
"Which reminds me," Tom said, smacking his lips. "This is Frank Hamlin's day to go down to the yatch club and play sailor. Why don't you and I take kind of a casual stroll and kind of drop in on Mary? Two to one she'll be up on their roof garden, lounging around in chiffon pajamas, reading a dirty paperback. Sound like anything?"
Del grinned. "You know it does, or you wouldn't have mentioned it! I wonder who won the toss last night?"
"She did."
The walk was pleasant, Tom naming the people who owned each house. When they got to the Hamlin house, the maid ushered them into the small elevator and pushed the garden button for them. Del could not help but feel impressed; an elevator in a barely, three-floor house was out of his league. Then the doors opened and Tom led him out onto the sheltered roof garden. He had been right. Mary Hamlin, in chiffon pajamas that were barely more than nothing, came bounding across the tiled terrace, eyes flashing, hands outstretched.
"Oh boy!" she exclaimed. "I was just lying there reading about a gal being snowbound with two half-breed Indians! Now you come!"
"One Indian and a wooden totem pole." Tom laughed. "I told him you'd won the toss before you passed out, last night."
She giggled. "Take off your pants and sit down, fellas!"
"She means it," Tom told Del.
Then Mary turned to him and Tom suddenly ceased to exist. She raised her arms high; she was tiny and deeply rounded under the chiffon. Her hands curled over Del's shoulders, pulling her tight, slightly fatty tits up in pointed offering. The noon sun was warm, and abruptly Del was too warm. He glanced at Tom and the older man had taken a seat in a swing chair, as if sitting on the fifty-yard line, waiting for the starting gun. Slowly, Del unsnapped the waist of his slacks and Mary began to bounce on her toes. Then she let go of his shoulders and moved back. She raised the hem of her feathery' lounging jacket and hooked her thumbs into the elastic waistband of the flowing pajama pants.
"One, two three, go!" she husked, and he dropped his trousers as her lower garment was peeled down. His cock leaped up, not quite hard, and her blacky-haired crotch came forward in lewd urging. Then Mary blinked and crossed both hands over her sex.
"Oh, no, no!" she breathed. Then she turned her face to Tom. "Oh, Tom, I can't, I couldn't! My God! It's a f ... foot long!"
Tom laughed with a strange tone to the mirthless sound. "Get with him Mary. You'll work out something, I'm sure!"
Del stood, eager and grinning, and Mary's eyes came back, wide and brilliant. She stepped out of her pajamas and came forward on her high heels. Close, she leaned down and inspected his penis, making no effort to touch it. Suddenly she giggled.
"Oh, you beautiful son-of-a-bitch!" she blurted and stepped sideways to fall back on the lounge, her legs spread, her arms up in frantic welcoming. "Gimme, gimme, gimme!"
Del stared. The out-spread of her legs had parted the deep black hair to expose the symmetrical pout of her neat vagina, with the bottom corner running down to the press of her plump little nates. Her tanned thighs were perfectly tapered, strained now as she pushed her body from the inside. Between the lips, a darker scarlet roll of whorled flesh was growing as her clitoris responded to the moment. He could not move and Mary apparently understood his fascination. She began to roll and undulate, and her cunt opened so the inner labia could push out stiffly and work as she exposed her talents. He saw that it was not as small as it had looked; he could get it into her, he was sure, but the distance from her cunt mouth to her navel seemed childishly inadequate. His cock jerked up, and without even remembering he had an audience, Del went down over the hunching Mary.
"Easy, baby!" she panted when his prick jabbed at her crotch. "No, no, let me!"
One brightly nailed hand slithered down between them and her grasp around his cock was hot and firm. He positioned his hips and Mary skinned his cock back until the swelling head jutted forward, nearly bursting. Her ass moved and his muscles went taut, then she rubbed his glans into the wetness, and he felt the eye tingle and strain like a fishmouth. Abruptly, the head turned to fire as she jerked herself onto it. "Wait, wait!" she gasped, testing herself by slowly rolling her bottom. "A lit-tel now-oh, Jesus, but it's big! Yes ... now, split me!"
He thought he would-but he didn't. For the second time in two days, a writhing, humping woman took his full length and girth into her cunt without even one of the screams Thora always emitted. Mary shuddered, fluttering her impaled body from shoulders to bottom, her hands squeezing his golf-weary arms, her head rolling from side to side in frenzied ecstasy. She signaled him with her ass and he began to fuck her, carefully, deeply. He marveled at her relaxing response. After a minute one of her heels came to his back and she led him like a dancer, pressing, retreating, pressing deeper and twisting as his prick slipped back and plunged again. Then came the other heel, but she did not scissor his hips. She lay open and straining and writhing but he thought she wanted to be fucked not rammed nor crammed. He complied willingly, astonishment mingling with pure animal delight. Presently he arrived at the plateau of total sensation, and his mind departed from the building tension in his cock.
Somewhere behind, Tom Everett was watching and this excited Del. From Tom's viewpoint, Mary's bounding ass must look like that of a small, hairy girl being raped by a flesh-and-blood battering ram. He had seen enough of Thora's clever photography to know how his cock turned a quim into a circle of distended flesh, tucking it in and dragging it out, at least until the ooze sleeked the stretched tissues. Momentarily, Del tried to imagine what was screaming through Tom's mind, and when his curiosity caused him to turn his head on Mary's shoulder, he knew. Tom had opened his trousers and was sitting in a twist, his fingers fondling his half-hard cock. With all his waning strength, Del turned Mary on the lounge to give the obviously suffering Tom a half-profile view. Then Del forgot Tom and began to live for himself. He thought of how much he loved Thora, but he could hardly remember what she looked like. Was she small and dark or long and blonde? He churned his swelling prick in the hot, wet sleeve and restrained the urge to cry, the tragedy of their unmated sexual equipment faded, and he began to chuckle in short, climaxing gasps.
"Okay?" he husked into the tiny shell-shaped ear.
"Hell, I ran off and left you a half dozen times! Blow it in, baby! I think you've displaced my diaphragm, but I'll douche with vinegar and carbolic acid. Come in, man, and let me d ... die! S ... sock it to me!"
He came painfully and splendidly, and after a moment of blindness and deafness, he heard a sound which he identified as the sobs of a grown man. He looked and Tom's cock was still only half-hard.
They had a drink from the roof-garden bar, Del sitting with his temporarily flaccid cock hanging massively at rest, Mary flitting and bobbing, her small fat-cheeked ass, bare and slightly pink from its earlier scrubbing on the lounge pad. Tom had put away his prick, but not the brightness of his eyes. "Hell," he growled. "I'm used to it by now!"
"We could do it again for you," Mary suggested one hand going to Del's weighty penis. "Some crazy way, maybe! What seems craziest to you, Del baby?"
He put his palm to her belly, fingers down, then slid it down over her cunt. Her legs sprang apart as if triggered by his touch, but he did not stop there. He pushed down and curled his middle finger under and it pressed firmly to the soft rosebud of her anus.
"Aw, come on, man!" she gasped. "I wouldn't be able to walk for a week!" She skinned his prick back and shook it like a balloon full of mush. Then she giggled. "It might be fun to try, though!"
"If it would just hurt a little, try it," Tom said. "If you think it will really hurt bad, don't!"
Mary swallowed with some visible effort. "One more drink first, Tom! Jesus, I get the shakes just thinking about it!"
"We'd need something," Del observed, feeling his spine tighten at the thought of his unmanageable cock going into the soft aperture that his middle finger was exploring.
"Suntan lotion," Mary murmured. "No! There's a little can of grease under the bar that Frank uses on the awning mechanism."
"You're talking yourself into something," Tom laughed.
"Don't try to talk me out of it, either!" Mary told him. She got up and searched in the bottom the bar. Del's nostrils flared; her ass thrust out as she squatted and he wanted to sodomize her very much. Then he remembered the several women who had been as eager as this diminutive nympho, but who had wound up weeping and swearing in frustration. His cock seemed not to understand his disbelief and when Mary came back with the small can of lubricant, it was standing up in total rampancy.
"Oh, my gosh!" Mary breathed. "I've got ... I've got to! Here! Let me fix us up!"
Del held the opened can while she coated his cock with a thick layer of the yellow grease. Then she raised one foot to the lounge and began to work the lubricant into her asshole, turning so Tom could watch the intriguing operation. He was leaning forward, watching how her slim fingers opened and stretched the reluctant aperture which soon became un-reluctant as she forced the grease in as far as she could reach.
Heady with unreasonable lust, Del abruptly had all he could stand. He swung around and rose half up, grasping Mary's twisting body and turning her in his big, strong hands. What shocked him when he put his cock to her anus was how easily it went in. She let out a tiny scream, but he couldn't stop. He watched her asshole expand and thin around the thickest point of his rock-hard cock, then it went in, and in, until she went limp with pain and fell under him onto the lounge. Her legs jerked out as if to open herself. His cock formed half valleys where the cheeks of her ass pressed around the shank. He felt her bowel ripple and her motions gave his glans continuing squeezes. He knew he was hurting her, but he could not control the fury in his loins. It was, he thought, the most excruciatingly wonderful fuck he had ever known, and when Mary finally turned her head and moaned with obvious pleasure it was too much. He sent his cock in as far as it would go, and held her while his come burst with red and purple lights and his balls tried to crawl down his prick and into the happily suffering rectum. Sanity returned only when Tom grunted and said, "Aw, to hell with it!"
Walking back to the Everett house, Tom said, "Almost, but not quite, Del. Maybe it was because I know her too well and it didn't-well, surprise me much! Was it good for you?"
"Yes, indeedy! See, Tom, everybody has their hang-up and she cured one of mine. Never thought I'd find an asshole I could get into!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
By three in the afternoon they were very good friends, but Thora had private feeling that she was being prettied and groomed as a door prize for some gala affair. They had been to an elegant salon, had a massage, a hair-do and a manicure. Lulu had shrugged off the expense of this as well as the cost of several pretty but informal outfits.
"Well, Thora, honey, we entertain a lot at the country club, particularly in the supposed-to-be cocktail hour. Drinks and things are always being spilled, and with you as my guest, I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable about accidents. Anyway, for a woman who can just barely get into a fourteen, buying size-ten clothes is such fun!"
"But you spent so much money on me!" Thora protested.
"Dear me, no! And-without being vulgar about it-money is no measuring stick at our house. Tom makes it faster than four women can spend it! Oh. Where do you and Del live?"
"We have an apartment on Gelhorn."
Lulu giggled adventurously. "I'd love to see it-and the pictures you've taken! Could we just go take a little peek, Thora?"
"Well, we don't keep many of the pictures-but we do have a few." Thora thought a moment, then the idea of sitting with Lulu and going through the "closed business" remnants gave her an unreasonable excitement. Lulu passed the address on to the cab driver, and within minutes they were in the apartment. To Thora, it now looked small and rather poor, but Lulu thought it was very nice. "Cozy, dear," she summed it up.
There was a half bottle of bourbon, so Thora made a drink before going to a bedroom closet and getting the fireproof steel box down from the top shelf. Lulu was close behind, her eyes flashing, her laughter close to the surface. When she saw the size of the pack of pictures Thora took from the box, she shivered visibly.
"Is Del in all of them?" she husked.
"Most." Thora laughed. "The big ape is so dam photogenic!"
The bed seemed best, so they flopped out with enough space between them to spread the sets of bright pictures. "He uses the bathroom for a darkroom-sometimes the kitchen if it is a real dark night. There, how's that for action, Lu?"
The excited matron stared at a dozen prints of Del getting his massive cock into a boldly grinning blonde woman of about forty. Her thin legs were spread in strain; her belly was wrinkled as she curled up to embrace his shoulders and her not-del-icate cunt lay open and gleaming. It was like a film strip, except that the expensive camara had worked swiftly and precisely and nothing was blurred. Lulu murmured and inhaled deep breaths as Thora laid out the pictures. She had a minute or so of superiority as the matron was gradually reduced to a trembling wide-eyed frenzy, but presently as she recalled each occasion of photographing Del about to screw a strange woman, the inner excitement and frustration of those few seconds came back to Thora.
Suddenly Lulu raised and held a restraining hand out. "No, no, wait dear!" she panted. "I can't stand it! I ... I have to do something or I'll go crazy. Oh, I want to see them all-over and over again, but-"
She got up from the bed, finished her drink with one nervous gulp, then Lulu began to undress. It was not a slow, provocative strip, but one dedicated to ridding her full flesh of restriction, and as Thora watched, a peculiar feeling of intimacy came over her. She knew exactly how Lulu felt-she had long ago steeled herself against reviewing the pornographic pictures because they had always left her with a wild desire for sex as it was depicted and there had never been anyone but Del-impossible Del-to love. Now she stared at Lulu, naked except for stockings and garter belt and a contour-saving brassiere; the broad V of hair lying between her plump thighs and up her curved belly was more accenting than covering, and Thora sat up, her head whirling with illicit emotions.
"You, too, honey," Lulu husked. "Oh, get naked with me, Thora!"
Thora stood up, fumbling with the zipper at the side of her dress. Her fingers seemed reluctant, but she forced them to move. "I was never naked with another woman," she said. "Oh, but I must ... I must!"
They lay side by side on their backs, Thora's left hand to the vibrating sex organ between Lulu's legs, her own cunt being rubbed and rolled by her companion's right hand. Their two free hands passed the pictures from one to the other, then back again, They gasped and giggled and made profane comments about the various women being graphically entered, mouth or quim, by the seemingly insatiable penis of Thora's handsome husband. They noted how lips were distorted and pursed, how cunts seemed ready to split, and not the least exciting of the details were the occasional looks of surprise when the monstrous cock was out of sight in a distended vulva. Throughout the voyeuristic orgy, they finger-fucked each other with varying tempo.
What had begun as something of a girlish deviltry presently became something else to Thora. The mantle of deep and thrilling sexuality settled around her, the pictures became blurred, tiresome, and she began to feel an alien crawling in her belly. The fingers in her cunt seemed to grow and grow, yet they did not quite fill the hunger.
"Lu?" she whispered.
"Oh, yes, yes!"
Slowly then, as if gripped by the same indefinable emotion Thora felt, the older woman sat up, her eyes going hotly to the havoc she was raising with her slime-covered fingers. She turned awkwardly and settled over Thora's writhing body, her face hesitating only a second before it plunged down into the soft, wet nest. Thora gasped as her cunt was kissed deeply with a smearing movement. Before her eyes, barely a tongue length away, the open shape of Lulu's pussy showed a hundred intriguing, exciting forms. Above the quaking gash, Lulu's asshole, lightly fringed with dark hair, winked and worked as her inner muscles reacted to the passion she was expending in Thora's crotch.
Amazed at how she felt, Thora brought her hands up and began to feel of the huge behind. Her fingers moved the flesh, separating folds, pressing them, feeling into the flaccid wetness with the same insistence her own tissues were responding. Instantly, Lulu's ass began a lewd rolling and bobbing, and in panic for something to satisfy the urgent undulation, Thora raised her mouth and sent her tongue, cock-like, into the oozing gash. The taste was jolting in its acridness and the odor of Lulu's sex filled her nose and then her lungs. The heat and wet and the feel of subtle movement inspired her to furious licking and nibbling. Her hands grabbed big, soft segments of the twin moons above, and a peculiar need to possess the big flabby bottom caused a moan of passion to bubble through Thora's mouth. She found herself fucking up to Lulu's avid kiss as eagerly as Lulu's ass fucked down to hers. The blanket of hot flesh half smothered her, and she inhaled through the wetness, sobbing with happiness, sadness and confusion. Her tits ached delightfully under the press of Lulu's belly and when she felt a wriggling finger touch, then enter, her anus, she hastened to afford Lulu the same burning, spreading joy. And after a minute or two of frenzied experiments, they settled to fingering and sucking and humping, their bodies deformed together in a single pile of passion.
Orgasm seemed unimportant. They came suddenly, faded softly and left new flames to bathe the continuing sensations of persistent ecstasy. What she did for Lulu seemed as wonderful as what was being done, and Thora expressed the waves of goodness by spasmodic frenzies of mouth and tongue. It seemed endless and she never wanted to quit, and then she became conscious of the weight, the hot envelopment and the weariness of her face. With a gasp, she dropped her head to the bed and sucked in several full breaths. Her cunt, numbed by passionate assault, was abruptly bathed by cooler air.
"I'm tired, baby!" Lulu whimpered. "But, oh, it was so very, very good!"
"Oh, I have to piss!" Thora said, then they rolled apart, laughing, and like well-Satyred nymphs, scampered arm in arm to the bathroom. They chattered and peed and compared feelings, soothing the shock of what they had done with hugs and giggles. When they went back to the bedroom, Thora was stricken with a wave of shame.
She looked at the piles of hastily discarded clothes, the lewd pictures scattered over the bed and on the floor, and the saddle in the rumpled bed where she had lain. "I think," she said, "-I need another drink!"
"Me too, Thora, honey. My gosh, it is almost five o'clock!"
Thora giggled, suddenly back to normal. "Cocktail time! I'll make us both a double!"
Eliza tossed her long, straight hair and made a pose against the lawn chair. "I want to go too," she announced.
"But, baby, it's for cocktails," her father protested.
"I don't care! I can have a Coke or something."
"There won't be anyone there but grown-ups," George said.
Eliza turned her head and looked from under her long, feathery eyelashes. "I'm a grown-up," she reminded him. "Or ... almost!"
He could, he thought, still get away with just plain "no!" but for some reason, playing the paternal heavy did not seem quite right. "What about going over and knocking out a few balls? The tournament is only a month away, you know." Instantly, her lower lip came out in a sulk.
"Fuck it," she said. "I can beat those other girls with one finger up my-nose! Anyway, I don't like golf."
"Liza, honey! You love golf and you know it!" he wailed.
"I want to go to the Everetts' with you."
"Why all of a sudden? You never wanted to go to other cocktail gatherings. I don't even know who will be there, except the Everetts and their house guests."
Eliza giggled. "That Mrs. Bell, I bet!"
"Florence Bell? Why do you think she'll be there?"
"I saw the man who is visiting the Everetts. He and Mr. Everett were cutting across our back lawn coming from the Hamlins. Boy, is he a handsome one! Bell will be there, all right!"
George felt a warning tightness in his belly. He looked at his amazing daughter with speculative eyes. She wore hip-huggers and a striped jersey, and her little tits poked the soft material out in audacious cones. The arch of her slim back made her bottom even more prominently round than he knew it to be. But what worried him was her half-wise innuendoes, her seeming understanding of things only the adults of Arcadia were supposed to suspect.
"What do you know about Mrs. Bell, Liza?" he asked quietly.
"Come on, daddy! Everybody knows, I guess."
"Knows what-not guesses-what?"
"Her husband is a fat queer-a doodle gazer! He's always going to the boys' can at the swimming pool. And I've seen him on the golf course with that Frank Hamlin, and it's a pair if I ever saw one! Mrs. Hamlin and that Florence Bell are buddies. Everett took pretty boy over to the Hamlins while Frank was out sailing, or whatever he does on Thursdays. It's Mrs. Bell's turn, that's all."
George was shocked, not at what she had said, but at what she had fabricated out of imagination.
"You go to too many movies," he said with a forced laugh. "If anyone listened to you, they'd think the country club was one big sex orgy!"
She tipped her head and winked at him. "Well?" Then the pout returned. "I'm going with you, daddy. I just want to, that's all!"
"You weren't invited," he said shortly.
Her chuckle was considerably older than twelve. "Tom Everett won't throw me out, I guarantee it!" He felt exactly like he'd dropped a five-iron shot into the lake: defeated. And her victory was more than just the privilege of going across to the Everetts' patio. When he had lost control-even any influence-over her, he did not know, but he was very sure the perimeter dilution had begun the day he had let her see his prick. Then her little-girl quality had excited him, and he had taken some inverted pride in teaching her the erotic intricacies of man-woman sex. Fear gripped him. He had been so absorbed in his own lascivious delights that he had not watched her blossom and grow wise. Hoyden in his nightly embrace, she had somewhere learned that what he wanted from her was a bargaining agent. He was sure she would never tell, never reveal their illicit sex. But like now, she would more and more use her hold on him to secure her way.
"All right, then," he sighed. "Better go up and change your clothes, Liza."
She retreated from the chair back with a lilt and struck another pose, even more sensual than the first. "I get by fine in these, daddy,," she murmured, trying to keep her voice on a Marlene Dietrick pitch.
He knew he'd lost a second battle. "All right. But I've got to go up and shave and shower. Better tell Miss Manning you are going with me."
"Up to help you shave and shower?"
"Liza!" he exclaimed in a hushed voice. "You know how voices carry to the house from the patio. No. Tell her where we are going."
"Later," she said, swinging to his side. "I'm going up to brush my hair and pink up. Oh, daddy, don't be so goddamned square!"
As they entered the house, George fought a feeling of agonizing persecution-not a normal emotion for him. That morning, he had lost a golf match to a rank amateur and a wheezing old man. In thirty minutes, his baby daughter had whipped him from pillar to post. He didn't want to go to the Everett house for cocktails, nor did he look forward to play with their generally swinging guests. He wanted to sit down with Eliza and have a long, serious talk about suddenly apparent developments between them. Then he sighed again, knowing that if they did sit down, she'd feel for his cock and he'd get his hand up under the jersey blouse or down the back of her hip-huggers and sensibility would go out of the nearest window.
"You hurting, daddy?" she asked after his sigh. "Maybe, a little bit."
She rubbed her square little shoulder to his arm. "Want me to come in-and wash your back, daddy?"
"With Miss Manning running around the house? "Why don't we fire the old bag? Who needs her?"
"We do. A part of the divorce specifications was that I find a mature, capable and dependable woman to take care of you until you're eighteen." Eliza giggled. "Doing a great job, too, isn't she?"
"Damn it, Liza! Why are you being so-harassingly difficult today? You know how careful we have to be, baby!"
"I just feel ... kind of bubbly, I guess. Do you suppose I could steal just a little slip of a martini at the Everetts' house?"
His nerves stood on end. "Sure. And we can send one of his maids out for a bindle of pot!"
She flipped her hair and started for her room. "Wild, man, out of this world! For a five-cornered square, daddy, you learn fast!"
Watching her undulating retreat, George Gretock decided he did not learn nearly fast enough. And if he had any brains, they were all in the head of his prick.
CHAPTER NINE
The seeming pattern was one with which Del could find no fault: golf, shopping, casual normalities in the morning and early afternoon, then the cocktail hour-which always seemed to stretch out indefinitely. Looking around at the people seated on the patio, Del had no doubt that sometime toward midnight, he and Tom would wind up eating yesterday evening's dinner, straight and cold from the refrigerator. He thought of himself and Tom, because without it being stated, he was sure that the frustrated broker was depending upon him somehow to find a cure for his impotency. What that cure could be, Del had no idea, but he was a long way from being unwilling to find one.
He looked across to where Lulu, Thora, Florence Bell and the parlor maid were shuffling drinks. He thought Thora was stunning in the new hostess pajamas, and somehow, he forgave her for the confession she had made about her afternoon with Lulu. That he had not confessed his erotic moments with Mary Hamlin he put down to respect for the little brunette's right to confidences-and to the fact that his prick still tingled from its forceful venture into her asshole. Del felt very good.
Then Tom, seated a bit away, said, "Oh-oh!"
Del recognized George Gretock immediately, but his attention went instantly to the small, slim figure swinging along beside George. Two items kept the figure from being boy. First there was the long, blonde hair, then the unmistakable roll of a female, and as they walked across the lawn, he saw a third positive testimony: she was prettier than a boy, and the twin out-pokes of her small conical tits jounced enticingly under her striped jersey shirt.
"What the hell," Tom grunted. "He brought Eliza."
"So I see."
"Now you see, eh?"
"Twelve?"
Tom laughed. "The dirty dozen! I sure wish I were thirteen!"
Greetings were enthusiastic. "Why, Eliza, I'm so glad to see you!" Lulu gushed with a tinge of falseness. "I'd like you to meet our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Magill. Thora, this is our club golf wizard, George Gretock, and his daughter, Eliza. Del, I think you've already met George."
"Indeed he has, and beat me soft," George laughed. "Evening Florence. Ernie here?"
"No. He and Frank were going to fit a new set of sails to the sloop today. I don't imagine they'll get back until after dark, and they'll probably be like rags."
"Yeah, man," Eliza said, and thrust her little hand straight to Del's. It should have been a small, warm nothing in his palm, but instead it was a hot, wriggling something, and he grinned at the smiling girl with private amusement. She milked his forefinger as their hands parted. The end of his spine curled and he blinked soberly. She seemed to pass it off, but when George was served a drink and Eliza a soft drink, he discovered that she had drawn a leather hasscock hetween his chair and Tom's, and her legs in the close-fitting hip-huggers were disturbingly langourous in their out-thrust.
Tom asked her about her golf, but before she could reply, the maid came with a card. Tom squinted at it, then sighed. "All right, Tillie." Tom stood up, flipping the card. "Mr. And Mrs. Del Monte from down the street. They are ... casual friends ... Del. He's a raving old pirate and she is-"
"Hot stuff, I bet," Eliza put in, giggling softly. "Excuse me while I ask them to join us for a drink or so."
"You're a smart mouth, aren't you?" Del said laughingly to Eliza.
"You're keen," she replied. "Daddy says you leaned on him this morning. You a golf hustler?"
Del laughed, slightly pummeled by her brash tongue. "No. Just lucky this morning. Your dad didn't have much support, either."
"Old Bordie's a boob," she told him. "Gave me a doll last Christmas! Blue eyes, hollered mama and pissed its pants when you folded her legs up. Big deal."
Del looked across to where George was talking to Lulu. Help was obviously not immediately available. Then Tom came in with the Del Montes and he leaped to his feet, not because he needed help but because Mrs. Del Monte was about as much properly put together woman as he'.d seen for some time. After introductions, the maid brought a tray of drinks, and, somehow, as the group shuffled, Del wound up on the end of a semi-circle-with Eliza on her hassock, effectively splitting him away from the others. When Del turned distressed eyes to Tom, he received a second shock. The broker was obviously alert to Del's isolation by Eliza and the expression on his face was one of intense interest. Then he felt the touch of a cold glass. Eliza was holding her soft drink to his hand.
"Spike it," she demanded. "The party's a dullsville!"
"Liza!"' George exclaimed from his chair, a few feet away.
She dragged the glass back. "Nuts. Sugar and spice and everything nice. Trouble is, there's no market for nice girls these days. Do you like nice girls, Mr. Magill?"
"I think so. Yes, I do. Something wrong with that?"
"Like Mary Hamlin?"
He nearly dropped his drink. He spent two seconds regailyng his poise, then he looked casually at the sharp-eyed girl. "I've only just met her. She seems very nice."
"Hoo-boy!"
Stunned, Del said something to the bull-voiced Mr. Del Monte and was treated to a five-minute dissertation on the political scene. There was small talk, and Del welcomed it; he dared not look down at the round, totally attentive face at his left elbow. The maid served another tray of varied drinks. The slim little hand in the striped sleeve went well past the fuzzing glass of Coca Cola and clamped around a bourbon and water.
"Put it back, Eliza!" George commanded. "Sorry, folks, I think my daughter has the instincts of an alcoholic!"
"Phooey!" Eliza blurted. "I'm going in and play the hi-fi!"
"Perhaps we'd all better go inside," Lulu suggested. "It was lovely this morning but the clouds have kind of put a chill to the evening. Anyway, we don't want the hors d'oeuvres to dry out!"
Del didn't know exactly how it occurred, but when he was settled in the living room, he discovered to his dismay that he could look straight into the music alcove where a slim, blonde girl with sharp tits and a very limber body was frugging to the throb of a way-out band. To save his wits and keep his cock from tenting in his trousers, he turned to his left. Then he was staring right up between the magnificent thighs of the statuesque Mrs. Del Monte. Furthermore, when she saw him staring, she did not bother to cross her ankles or tug down her skirt. Her smile was like the soft humming of a bee under the boom of her boorish husband, still dissertating on the goddamned Democrats.
Sometime after seven, he journeyed to the guest bathroom. A long, delightful piss relieved his drink-strained bladder, but it did nothing for the headiness. Outside the door, he stood, rubbing his chin to localize sensation. From the living room the buzz of voices was a steady drone under Del Monte's arrogant boom. The thump of the hi-fi was strong; she was untiring and after an hour, Del had noticed some subtle change to the way she twisted and flung her body. And it had seemed to him that every time he had sent a casual glance into the alcove, Eliza was looking at him, the back-pop of her head snapping her hair in a most disturbing way. He had also discovered that Mrs. Del Monte was not naturally an auburn-brunette. She was a brunette, but even the fringes showing around the crotch of her nylon panties possessed no reddish tint. He turned in the hallway and went through French doors onto a side terrace.
Swaying slightly, Del inhaled with great savor for the cool night air. By last night's standards, the party was a bust. Del Monte kept charging and everyone else kept retreating. Del moved and sat down on a stone bench. It was hard and cold, but it made the sweaty space around his balls feel better. He had a half-drunken desire to open his pants and lay his frustrated prick on the cold seat. He sighed.
"Told you it was dullsville," a familiar voice in formed him.
She was standing on the yard side of the terrace. Inside, the hi-fi still beat; he knew at once that she had seen him head for the john and had gone out the alcove doors and walked around looking for him.
"You're quite a dancer," he said stupidly.
"I practice," she said, moving closer. "In my room at home. I take off all my clothes and dance bare-footed. Better action."
He felt daring. "I suspect action is your middle name, eh?"
"Yeah, man," she said and sat down on the bench. He could feel her warmth despite the foot or so between them.
"What grade are you in at school?" Put her in her place, he thought.
"Six-A. I'm up a year because I go to a private school. It is also dullsville-no boys. Wait'll after next year when I go to junior high! Boys like grapes, in bunches!"
"Aren't you kind of young for boys-in bunches?"
"Oh, I'll be thirteen by then-a teen-ager." She giggled. "I sure hope my tits grow some before then!"
Lightning-struck, Del turned his head and stared straight into her laughing eyes. He could see her very well, from the lights of the house and the upping quarter of the moon. She giggled. Then she took his listless hand and raised it, turning her shoulder so the firm cone snugged hotly into his palm. "They're pretty good now, aren't they? For not quite twelve!"
"D ... don't do that!" Del rasped, but he couldn't take his hand away. Quivers of fear ran up his back; he had visions of the offending hand being handcuffed to the other as they led him off to jail. Sweat broke out under his chin and his prick swelled so quickly it hurt him.
"It's all right," she said. "I've been felt up before. I won't tell and it f-feels good. Your wife is pretty, isn't she?"
"I think so," he managed, and his fingers moved in subtle testing, finding, the small hard nipple.
"Is she a hot screw?"
"Jesus Christ!" he hissed to no one and to nowhere.
She giggled again. "Feel the other one, too. A chick can't fly on one wing!"
He actually brought up his other hand, then his brain quit spinning and he stood up. He knew instantly that standing up was a mistake. His cock lifted his trouser leg in a positive, unmistakable ridge. Her hand went to it like a darting snake. He almost blew his lump as she half-clamped it.
"Hoo-boy!" she gasped. "I think I'd b-better go home!"
He went through the French doors at half-gallop. Again in the guest bathroom, he opened his trousers and thrust his cock into a stream of cold water. That didn't do it, so he turned off the cold and turned on the hot. The beginning bum took the starch out of his prick and Del lay back, panting, shivering and trying desperately to figure out what had happened.
"Why didn't you fuck her?" Tom asked.
"You-saw?"
"Certainly! I saw you head for the john and I saw her go out the side door. It occurred to me that you two might have made some ... deal out there in the patio. You talked together long enough So I got up and went to the john, myself. I was standing at the French doors the whole time you and she were on the bench! And I'll tell you one more thing, buddy boy! I had a hard-on a cat couldn't scratch! The first real steamer I've had in damned near five years! If you'd have tipped her back and hunked that cock of yours into her, I'd have blown my load on the curtains!"
"You just told me I should have tried to fuck a twelve-year-old girl! ' '
"She was ready, wasn't she?"
"Probably not! At that age, screwing is probably something she's only heard about!"
"Oh? She put her tits in your hand and grabbed your cock, didn't she? I heard her-been felt up before, and it feels good."
"Being felt up before doesn't mean she knew about fucking," Del argued. "Anyway, I couldn't have got it in her with a shoehorn!"
Tom chuckled, rubbing his hands together like a pawnship keeper. "You'll never know what it was like," he said. "That prick of mine came up and I thought it was going to bust wide open! I watched her sitting there, bumping up and down on her hot little ass and I could just see her little pussy popping and snapping! How did her tits feel? I mean, did they get hard?"
Del chuckled. "They were hard when she came on with them! Hey, is George too blind to see what a little troublemaker he's got for a daughter?"
"That's a good question," Tom admitted. "But I hope he doesn't find out until-"
"Until what?"
"Well, goddamnit, Del. Now that I know what will do it for me, you don't think I'm just going to ignore it, do you? Oh, no! All it takes is a little figuring out!"
"Figuring out what?"
"I'll set it up," Tom said with certainty. "I'll set it up so you can be alone with her for as long as it takes. Okay, maybe you can't get it into her! But you can try-and maybe I can take over where you have to quit!"
"Wait a damned minute! I'm out, Tom. Do you know what you've just proposed? I'm to try taking a fall out of a millionaire's daughter while you stand by and wait to fuck her when she's too far gone to care who screws her! Come on, man! On the following day, with a bleeding ass and ruffles where her maidenhead used to be, she points you and me out to a very tough platoon of cops! Tom, even you don't have the kind of money to beat that rap!"
"There'll be no trouble," Tom argued. "She wants it as much as I do-or you, way down deep!"
"If it's baby-fucking you want, why don't we hit the skid row slums? Or hop a plane to Tijuana for a first-time-piece? For a thousand pesos-"
Tom shook his head. "No. It has to be Eliza! I've been looking at her for a long, long time. It was there, but I didn't realize it until I saw her dancing in front of my hi-fi! And anyway, maybe I'd like to hole out just one time ahead of George Gretock! A lot of things, Del, I could name them all. You've got to help me, Del."
"No."
"Two times in the same place-no!"
"Do I have to threaten you?"
"Threaten me? With what?" Del snorted.
"I'm not sure I'm glad you asked me that, because I like you a great deal, Del. But you did ask. Look. You don't think I took your wife's attempt to blackmail me and Lu like an aspirin tablet, do you? By now, Del, I've tape recordings of the sounds you make fucking Lu, and I've a roll or two of film which no one but an idiot-or a witness-could identify as anything other than rape! Lu is a pretty good actress when she's properly coached and directed! More to your point, Del, is that I've a long sixteen-millimeter film of your damned pretty wife and two guys who didn't care what hole they screwed her in, and for a finale, she's on her back sucking the prostate-dribbling prick of the biggest fairy I know!" Tom sucked in a big breath. "You have to help me, Del."
"Suppose I just strangle you now?" Del asked, nearly angry.
Tom chuckled. "Boy, I can just hear that little bitch hollering for more and singing like a bird when my jism hits her squeaking womb!"
Del got up. "Let's hit the sack. I'm beat!"
Tom's chuckle followed him all the way to the door of his bedroom. It took him a long time to go to sleep because he kept seeing the way long, blonde hair swung and flipped.
CHAPTER TEN
The Everett maid awakened them with a pot of steaming coffee. Del rolled to one elbow and looked at Thora, likewise responding to the odor emanating from the silver pot. "Good morning, husband," she said.
"I presume so. You had adventures last night?"
"Her father was very persistent," Thora replied.
"Whose father?"
"The male parent of that abominable little twitchette you were so occupied with-that's whose father!"
"Surely, you can't be jealous of an eleven-year-old girl?"
"Why can't I? She's almost twelve-and half the twelve-year-olds in China, India and blacker points west have two kids at that age. You seemed interested, husband."
Del sat up, his back bowed, his face hovering over the coffee. "Several things about this menagerie interest me, love. Over and above the penile gym nasties, you understand. You have plans for this morning?"
"No, but I'm sure Lulu has."
"Avoid them. Dress and take your sweet little butt to our apartment. Pick up the camera and an ample supply of film. It may well be that we will find use for a positive record of certain-ah, facts."
"We are still ... us, aren't we, Del?"
He looked at her and their eyes kissed, even if they were too lazy-and too wary-to move together. She was, he thought, very beautiful in the morning, even without having brushed her hair or tinted her kissable mouth. She was not as slim as Eliza, nor did her thighs press and jiggle like Mrs. Del Monte's, but she pleased his engineering sense of put-togetherness. "We are still us, my love. Funny. The last two days seem like a long dream, one of those plunging, head-long orgies of the mind, with no restraints because there are no penalties, and with orgasms decently spaced and surprises by the dozen. You are a surprise."
"I am?"
"I suppose all men fancy themselves too magnificent to be set aside in favor of a fat Lulu or a persistent father."
"I thought we had an understanding?"
"We do. No man is an island, and although I perceive certain hills and delectable valleys, you also do not resemble an island."
"You are poetic, this delightful morning. More coffee, please."
Del nodded, but his mind was not occupied with lingual beauty. His nose wanted to twitch like that of a wary hare; countdown for escape. It was easy to understand that the denizens of the country club had permitted certain laxities to become commonplace and to wax careless because there had been no crisis, but to Del, the achievement of an extreme precluded the logarithmic certainty that the next achievement was disaster. He could still see her waving, snapping hair and her twisting bottom, but more poignantly, he could remember her brash mouth and her childish haste to be a woman.
"One more thing, Thora, and do not question my motives. Do not drive our car to the apartment. Walk to the clubhouse and take a cab. To anywhere. You can get another cab to our abode."
Her eyes narrowed at this bit of cloak-and-dag-gery. "Lulu already knows where we live."
"I know. Did you show her the camera yesterday?"
"Yes. Shouldn't I have?"
"No sweet-as long as she was sure you left it in the apartment. Is she sure?"
"Of course," she replied. "What's the gambit?"
"It's amazing how shy some very photogenic people become if they think there is a camera handy. Up, my love. There is work to be done!"
It didn't seem very complicated, and it was not until she looked up from the clubhouse desk where she had asked for a cab to be called and saw George Gretock. He smiled happily, took her arm, and over his shoulder said, "Cancel that call for a cab, Jake. I happen to be going to within a number or two of where Mrs. Magill wants to go."
"But, I'm going way downtown, George! I-I have to stop and see my doctor-about some tests he made some days ago. I couldn't think of letting you drive all the way downtown!"
"Try and stop me," he said, ushering her toward his Continental. "What time is your appointment, Thora?"
She felt the trap closing. "I-I don't have an appointment. I'm just to come in any time to see if there's a problem, or something."
"How about four this afternoon, then?" he said with a chuckle. He didn't put his arm over and around her shoulders until they'd left the country club gates. "I almost went crazy last night-waiting for Del Monte to run out of wind! You're very beautiful this morning."
"Oh, George, I don't think-" Thora closed her mouth with sudden determination. The camera could wait; they had an understanding, and as she looked at the handsome, athletic man beside her, she knew she wanted to be fucked. She had wanted it last night, but there had been no chance. Watching Del ogling the little teenie-bopper had made it all the more difficult. Suddenly, Thora relaxed, letting the headiness of her inner emotions take over. "Yes, I do think, George!"
His arm moved and his hand slid down the bodice of her dress, to curl around the deep firmness of her left breast. It was only a light caress but the warmth of his hand sent chills of excitement down to meet the awakening pulse between her legs. He drove swiftly and expertly, and she was surprised when they came full into the industrial area along the waterfront. When the big, cream-colored car pulled up to a guarded gate, she was further surprised when the watchman waved them through.
"A steel plant?" she asked.
"I've got a small apartment on the second floor of the administration building. I used to carry on my business from there. It is very private-anyway, this is Saturday and the offices close at noon."
"Oh."
There was a large office, looking noticeably deserted, a big room, half living and half bedroom, a small kitchenette and an elegant bath and dressing room. Thora giggled. "Some business!"
"To make a million, you need a time and a place to relax. I was having wife trouble too. Incidentally, your husband seems very-casual about things."
"And I don't?" Thora turned into his arms. "We came here to make love, didn't we?"
"My God, yes!" he rasped, as his mouth moved over her face in a series of hot, moist kisses. She felt his hands on her, as avid as his lips, pushing themselves over her back, down to her buttocks, then around and up, to lift her tits in adoration. She loved his feeling of her, and when he began to remove her clothes, she quivered in anticipation. He seemed so eager, so overwhelmed by her emerging flesh. She stood, when her blouse and brassiere were off, looking down at his well-groomed head while he kissed and sucked at her breasts, sending new tingles through her belly. Finally, they moved to the broad divan and she sat down, lying back to let her tits poke up in pulsing rolls. As he sat down, he unzipped his trousers, and somehow, she found his rigid penis in her hand.
"Like that?" he breathed.
It was a universal challenge; she failed to grip it for a moment, knowing that when she did, she was lost to any sexual gymnastics he cared to have her perform. Then she felt of it, the hot, loose skin, the fiery head and the intricately-exciting shapes of the glans and coronal ridge. It was not a very big prick, she thought, certainly not one suited to an athlete, then she giggled inside. After two years of fighting what had to be the largest cock in captivity, she was complaining about one she could manage without the pains and after-sicknesses. She frigged it slowly and knowingly, and the organ seemed to swell in her palm as the need in her womb shocked her half out of reality. He was feeling of her again, with less tenderness but with magnificent effectiveness. She unsnapped her skirt waist, and his hand slipped into the top, wriggling down under her panty band and over the rising and falling curve of her belly. She knew when his fingers found the mat of hair, and his gasp came sharply and hotly as he touched the top rolls of her cunt. For a moment they lay breathing heavily as each tested and fondled the other. Like a small, secret beast, his fingers moved down until she felt him find the wetness, and his cock jerked in her hand as if it were going to explode.
"Let me take off my clothes," Thora whispered. "Just a minute."
Reluctantly, George withdrew his hand and she stood up. Her thumbs hooked into her shift and panties and she shrugged her rounded ass and hips free of the garments. She knew exactly how the cheeks of her ass deformed before bounding free, and she stooped to step out of her clothes, turning her perfect ass almost to his face.
"Beautiful, beautiful!" he exclaimed. Then she stood, quivering while he parted the cheeks and kissed deep between them, his tongue flicking to her anus, then up and down the perspiring crevice. She liked that, and held the moderate bend, and he slid down to lash at the under corner of her cunt with his agile tongue. She almost melted, her body wracked with shivers of delight. It was almost all she could stand, his lips nibbling while she stood with feet apart and her body bent. She thought: how different he is from Del; supplicant, gentle, even tender, as if her body were the ultimate marvel of his life. Not Del. He handled her roughly, kissed fiercely and twisted her in painfully wonderful positions.
"You, too," she said, suddenly wanting him naked. He came to his feet behind her and she closed her eyes, listening to the exciting sound of a man undressing. Once or twice, his stiffened cock brushed her buttocks, tracing a path of fire across her twitching skin. Then his hands came around to cup her tits and his hard body, tipped with the jabbing shaft and the molten head, lay up between the cheeks of her ass and they swayed in unison, each entranced with the full length feel of the other. His hands slipped down, pressing her belly to pull her closer, then she felt them slipping down, spreading out on the quivering rounds of her thighs. Obe diently, she moved her feet farther apart; as much as she wanted to be fucked, she wanted also these hot moments of petting and exploration. She worked her ass, feeling his cock slide up and down between her nates. It was very hot and very hard, and she knew when he flexed it in male stretching. Then his thumbs were opening and folding back the lips of her pussy, and she gasped at the sensation of being spread. He found her clitoris and pressed. She twitched and he flipped the gristle-like shape until mewlings of ecstasy hummed from her throat.
"The bed," he whispered in her ear. "This is so ... so sophomoric! My God! I've never known a more wonderful woman! I'm going crazy!"
At the bed, he put both strong hands to her slim waist and turned her as he crowded her down. She saw his prick fully, and the long hanging sack of his balls. A flush of excitement pinked her face and she reached for it, needing the hard, hot feel in her fingers. Now she had forgotten that it wasn't a big cock; it was a cock, with lust tightening the head and thrusting it from the circles of clipped foreskin. She pulled him to her with a strong grip and he surged into her with a snap of his lean hips and a cry of passion. Thora fought for breath and an instant of quiet. She could feel his prick, snuggled tightly in her cunt without pain. A red-hot electrode, filling but not hurting, teasing but not distressing. She let him squirm and hunch as if to get in deeper, and when their hair pads ground together, he sighed and pressed his mouth to hers. Slowly, Thora drew her legs up and let them fall out and out, sending her cunt to his urging with a small ec static hunch. His thighs began to bounce against her buttocks and she did a small, slow gathering of her legs before she started the bicycle pedaling which instantly generated a cross tension around his prick.
"Hoo-hoo, hoo!" he wailed and his hands went under her ass to lift the grinding flesh for his accelerated strokes. She cooed back at him, twisting her shoulders so his lightly haired chest rasped her aching tits into full swelling. She closed her arms around his neck, but not too tightly, as Del had taught her not to do. His breath was harsh and quickening. Hers slithered from her saliva-bubbling lips in gasps timed to the undulations of George's hips.
Then she had no idea how large nor how small the prick was. It filled and pumped and she writhed to catch its coursing on the puffed whorl of her clitoris. She felt his fingers between the cheeks of her ass, and this was good because that deep, soft valley seemed like a dry extension of her sex. She wanted to come, so she speeded her leg motions and his fuck-thrust became harder and shorter and quicker. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what she had decided about becoming pregnant. Then the building tightness stopped her mind, and she shrieked softly as his jism spurted deep and triggered her passion into a huge explosion. Her orgasm rippled and bumped, made a rhythm with his, then departed in a fading of its own. She lay, aware of how furiously she was breathing, how heavy he was, and how sweet was the slowed churning in her sperm-loaded cunt. She worried about nothing, because they had an understanding.
"My dear, my dear," George murmured. "Was it right for you?"
"Perfect! You did everything-just right! No! Leave it in me until it is ready again!" She giggled. "You are able to go eighteen holes, aren't you?"
"You devil," he chuckled. "And I was afraid!"
"Afraid of what, Georgie?"
He raised his shoulders and looked wistfully down at her.
"I heard a rumor-never mind from whom! You see, I've known for many years that I'm not-hung very heavily! I was afraid you-"
She hit him with a sudden unannounced hunch of her ass. "I know how heavily you're hung! But you can't understand how heavenly it is unless you've held my head and helped me vomit after my husband bumps my stomach! I can't stand it, George, even though he is a dear, dear man! I bleed for a day or two-so we just can't, anymore!"
He nodded and kissed her peckishly. "Maybe I know. There was a captain in Korea-lost three wives because they couldn't hold him. You all right now?"
Thora closed her eyes, fighting memories, desires and a lewdness she could not deny. "No, Georgie. I'm not all right!"
He started to rise from the cradle of her thighs and her hands pinched his back flesh in holding. "What then?" he asked.
Thora turned her head and snuggled it in the rumpled bedspread. "Fuck me in the ass," she said.
"W ... what?"
"You men! You feel it and finger it and tease a woman half to death, thinking all the time what daring, overpowering lovers you are. Fuck me in the ass, Georgie, and try not to be naive!"
He was stunned. "I ... I don't think I know how! Won't it ... hurt you?"
She smiled, feeling his prick begin to harden again. She pushed him off of her and stood up, amused but intrigued by his amazement. His prick was slick and shiny from his semen and her cunt flow. She seized one wrist and pulled him to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Slowly then, she turned and did a deep, toe-touching bend, shuffling her feet apart, waving her ass mere inches from his face. She reached back with both hands and pulled the cheeks of her quivering ass apart. Then she worked secret muscles and her asshole pouted, sucked in, pursed and became a live thing in her very lively bottom.
She looked back between her tits and the frame of her stiffened thighs. George Gretock was staring, eyes so wide they seemed totally round. He held his prick in one hand and put a tentative hand to her ass. Suddenly, he stood up and came to her bottom, and she yelped. It was true, she thought, he didn't know how to sodomize a woman, but after two inches of his moderate cock were rammed into her rectum, he learned very quickly.
It was, she acknowledged to herself, everything she had ever thought it would be; Del would probably break right down and cry when she. told him how nice a fuck in the ass made her feel.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
He was not a servant, and as a member of the country club police, he was not unwelcome. He was also not much of a golfer but he intended to play only three holes. When he got to the middle of the third fairway, he deliberately hacked one into the Del Monte back yard. It thumped the house, bounced on the patio and came to secret rest in a thickly grown area of the garden. Barton Field made the proper gestures of anger and walked slowly to the two-foot stone wall that divided the course from the Del Monte house. There was one danger; Del Monte was in the clubhouse, lying, drinking and expounding on politics. He was no menace-but the maid was. His step quickened as he saw the woman come out of the loudly thumped house. It definitely was not the maid.
"Hi," he said to Marcia Del Monte. "My ball went into your yard. Sorry."
She laughed, setting her big tits and bigger bottom into rolling motion. He thought the casual shift very accenting and he wondered if she was wearing panties or a brassiere. Her jiggles were quite free. "We can find it-if we look good," she said. "Why don't you let that foursome on the tee play through and we can look for the ball together? It may have gone through the sliding door into the dinette. It was open. Things bounce quite a bit in our yard." Barton turned and did a massive swing of his five iron. The two men and two women on the tee waved back in response to the universal permission to play through. Barton, head down, moved across the backyard behind the gloriously active bottom, his eyes trying not to see anything as mundane as a golf ball. Inside the dinette, they faced each other.
"I knew you'd come, but I hadn't expected it to be so original."
"Your maid?"
"Saturday afternoon off."
"Your husband is half boozed in the clubhouse."
"He's good through the cocktail hour on Saturdays."
His cock jerked in his golf slacks. Her tits did a special quiver. They moved together, slowly, and their embrace was gentle even though their kiss was a brutal thing of mashed lips and antagonistic tongues. Barton felt the squash and splay of her tits against his thin sport shirt, and when his hands went down to broadly hold the huge cheeks of her ass, she humped against his groin with sudden fury. He felt odd; what he had thought to be merely a hot fuck was abruptly a very desirable woman. She smelled of mild perfume and the heat of her big body burned through his clothes with acute promise.
"Funny," he murmured. "I was so sure of something ten minutes ago."
"Route girl," Marcia said. "All icemen, postmen, delivery truck drivers-and policemen have them. I'm not, really, Barton. I'm not!"
"What do we do now?" He wondered.
"Let's sit down. Make l-love to me while we talk."
They moved to an alcove and sat down, hip to hip, on a sofa. He stole a moment to kiss her neck and the broad expanse of white flesh above the high full swell of her unbrassiered tits. His hand moved down her Venus-curved belly and she hunched at his hand to show him she wanted it under her skirt. This accomplished, he gegan to palm and finger her hairy sex softness. She wriggled a hand to his slacks and got his prick out and in her fingers. His cock was brittle hard and they moaned softly to show each other how delightful it was.
He chuckled. "Crazy! But you know there's nothing in it for either of us, don't you?"
"Why do you say that, Bart?"
"I don't make enough money to pay the taxes on this house!" , "I hate him!"
Barton rolled her skirt up and her Amazonian thighs lay open, allowing his masturbating hand to move more freely. She turned to him and he moved toward her but his cock was still inches from the pulsing vagina in his grasp. He didn't really care; her fingers were sustaining, and he inhaled some savage delight from the squirms and writhings his fingers drew from Marcia. She turned her face to the hollow of his neck and let the passionate vibrations run up her body to quiver against his jaw.
"May I come, Barton? I mean-"
He worked her cunt with harder, deeper friction and she sighed in total surrender. After a minute she increased her frigging speed. "All right, or do you want to screw?"
"Like-the first time?"
"Yes! It's good that way for me, too!"
She stood up and gathered her skirt high around her heaving belly while he dropped his golf slacks and shorts around his sturdy thighs. When she bent over, he stopped and kissed her nates, then undershot his jaw and rubbed his stubbled chin to the low delicacies of her bounteous bottom. She shuffled her feet apart and put out one hand to brace herself on the arm of the sofa, waiting.
Barton stood up straight, holding his broadheaded cock with a thumb and two fingers, aiming it directly at the steaming nest she presented. His head whirled, his eves feasted on the abruptly impersonal drama of a thundering hard cock pointed at the biggest, softest bottom imaginable. He moved then, watching his prick nudge open the hanging rolls of her cunt lips. She moaned and with no pressure, he sent his cock into the wet sleeve, shivering with the instant sensation of being swallowed by an avid mouth. In a flash of clarity, he wondered how he'd ever walk the remaining fifteen holes after he had fucked Marcia this way. Then he was far in her, his arms going down around her waist, his legs vibrating as he stroked her responsive body in long, hard-sent undulations. So huge was his content that he did not try to play with her tits nor fiddle with the sloshing flesh back under her panting belly. He fucked with all of his virile being, and she responded with unholy fervor. Straight through to a spine rattling orgasm; and with massive, unromantic grunts and half spoken curses of pure ecstasy. He shot his sperm, jolt after jolt. As he sagged, she sighed and fell with him. They went down to the carpet, his cock still high in her sex, his balls still tight and jerking. Some way, they braced and Marcia reared to his insatiable loins; he fucked her again, taking longer, but finding greater passion in the delayed screw.
They went to her bathroom together and while she began her douche he washed his prick then moved astraddle her trembling thighs while she flushed his copious jism from her cunt. She took his limbered cock in her mouth and rolled it, caressing the weighty member with joy but no seeming intent. He petted her head, running his fingers under her finely molded jaw to feel the working of her throat. Then she began to sob softly around his cock and he held her head between his big hands, completely at a loss to understand his feelings.
"Oh, Barton, Barton!" she wailed. "What are we going to do?"
He was staggering up the dog-leg seventh fairway before he realized that he had virtually promised a chippy fuck that he would get rid of her old snarl-nosed husband so they could get married and fuck all day and all night.
Del snapped the little camera closed and squint ed uselessly through the tiny viewfinder. "Now that you have successfully opened a new thoroughfare, I presume you expect less traffic on the old," he said.
"Don't be mean. My bottom hurts," Thora grumbled, tipping herself on one cheek. "I just thought I'd tell you for the sake of being honest!" She giggled. "It surprised him as much as it did me!"
"He struck me as being slightly naive," Del admitted. "Having only been married to you for two years, I haven't decided your full character."
"I am dissolute. Whom did you fuck today?"
"Only dear Lulu. She is a bore," Del observed. "I should guess that her husband's impotency is a direct result of his similar decision-that she is a bore. She deserves the services of an Alabama mule."
"You do not like Alabama mules?"
He let her chatter, his mind trying to find some answer to the strange day. Tom had gone out early, but not to play golf, and he had returned at five with no comment nor explanation. Not that Del felt an explanation was due him, but Tom was not a man for silence, especially over a drink or two. Slightly annoyed by Thora's long absense, Del had played an hour or so with Lulu, but even this had been play of a different tempo. There had been none of her usual frenzy and she had toyed with him as if Del were her own special walking, talking, up-cocked doll.
No one had dropped in casually and cocktail time had found the patio deserted. He chuckled. "I had begun to despair of ever getting a hot dinner in this house. Are you going to dress?"
Thora shifted her bare shoulders and let her tits roll heavily. "You don't think I'd be the hit of the program this way?"
He narrowed his eyes and looked at his wife with speculation. "I wonder," he murmured. "Well, we'll see what comes after the roast beef!"
Thora came to him and rested her cheek on his chest. She seemed pensive and not unlike a frightened child. "You're worried about something, aren't you, Del?" she mumbled into his shirt.
"I don't know that it is worry-I just have some feeling that the bomb is about to explode on the front lawn. Inadvertently, we bounced right into the middle of what I think is a fun set-up, but not one of any damned duration. It is good for you and me-kind of turned us loose and eased our own situation. At least, I hope yours is as eased as mine!" She giggled. "I think so. It has been a crazy three days! What do you think can happen, Del?"
"That's too long a list! But I know of a couple of things that are cooking-it seems to me-and they can turn out real nasty!"
"Nastier-than me and George Gretock today?" He held his opionion and chuckled. "Hemorrhoids are more painful than nasty! Wear your sparkly gown for dinner, huh?"
"I didn't think you looked at me, lately."
"I thought we agreed that we are still us," he reminded her.
"I love you so," she told him.
"Write it up and I'll sign it."
Dinner was competely elegant, and intimate, in that there were only four of them. There were fine wines to match every course, and the mass of silver and cut glass was overwhelming. Tom seemed to like being the host, and he sliced the prime rib with all the efficiency of a chef.
To Del, the conversations seemed sterile compared to what he knew was constantly on the Everetts' minds. He and Thora learned a little about their host and hostess, much about the problems of building the house in the first place and some harmless, sometimes funny, things about life in a country club.
Neither he nor Thora were required to furnish any kind of history; the dinner hour seemed so innocuous that Del began to squirm inside. When the telephone rang as they were finishing dessert, the break was welcome.
"Excuse me," Tom said after the maid whispered in his ear. "Go into the living room and have coffee. I'll join you in a moment."
"Business at this hour, Tom?" Lulu asked with no particular emphasis.
"No, I don't think it is business. It's George Gretock."
The look of fright that came over Thora's face was seen by no one but Del. As they moved to the front room, he held her arm in a firm, reassuring grip. Lulu was temporarily occupied with the maid and the matter of coffee and the proper brandies.
"Oh, Del!" Thora breathed up at him.
"Nothing happened today that you forgot to mention?"
"N-no, nothing, I'm sure!"
"Okay. No sweat, baby. Anyway, they are good friends and it isn't late enough to make a thing of it. Could be an invitation to visit the Gretock house and get boozed. You are very lovely tonight, Mrs. Magill. Howsa bottom?"
"Good as new," she giggled.
Del's built-in darkroom timer ticked off the minutes as the coffee was brought and the brandy was added. He could hear the steady buzz of Tom's voice from some distant extension. He paid no attention to Lulu nor to Thora; he merely sat in some state of expectation until Tom joined them, his face wreathed in a pleasant smile.
"Surprise," he said. "That was George. It seems that two of his professional golfer friends are going through town on their way to Palm Springs. They wanted George to go with them-some kind of a non-pro get together tomorrow. Some golf, some booze and a high time at the Chi-Chi club tomorrow evening."
"Oh, that sounds like fun," Lulu observed.
"Kind of short notice, however. They are going to pick George up in thirty minutes-they've chartered a small plane to reach Palm Springs. At first, George wasn't going to go, but they pressured him, he says. Anyway, he's going. Won't get back until Monday morning."
"Is Eliza going with him?" Lulu asked.
Tom turned and his eyes met Del's with firm impact and a light of unholy glee. "No. He's asked if we would take care of Eliza, tonight, tomorrow and tomorrow night. It's his governess's Sunday off." I told him we'd be delighted."
"Of course!" his wife glowed. "It's so nice to have a young person around. Especially one as cute and bright as Eliza!"
"That's what I thought," Tom admitted. "You folks won't mind her about the house for a couple of nights and day, will you?"
Thora was obviously speechless, so Del filled in. "Can't think of anything more pleasant," he said. "Anyway, Tom, who are we to pass judgement on your guests? Thora, will you pour me a bit more coffee and quite a bit more brandy?"
"Oh, Lu, will you see to the maid and a room for Eliza? How about the one in the back? Have Tillie put the portable hi-fi in, too."
"All right," Lulu agreed, getting to her feet. She giggled. "Come on, Thora! You can help me pick some records for her."
When they were gone, Del sighed. "You manage well," he said.
"It took some doing. But I told you I'd set it up, didn't I? I only set up part of it, though," he said with a wink.
"How so?"
"Well, when George asked Eliza with whom she'd like to stay while he was gone, she said with us. She had a dozen other places to go-if she'd wanted to!"
Del made a whistle shape of his lips and a peculiar crawling occurred in his belly. Whatever he had been anticipating as an antidote for the dull eve ning, Eliza Gretock had not been it. He could not help but chuckle at the expression of man-excitement on Tom's face.
"You have further plans, Tom?"
The older man shook his head. "She'll be here in ten minutes, and from then, you take over. You won't hang me up, will you, Del?"
"No. As long as I don't have to twist any little arms!"
"You won't, you won't!" Tom husked. "I've had her number for six months!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thora greeted Eliza with the rest of them, but she wasn't able to put any enthusiasm to it. To herself she said it was one thing to share her husband with the plump and aging Lulu, or some of the other full-grown women who gave the country club an air of promiscuousness. Looking at the slinky Eliza, this night dressed in a pencil sheath, which had had been two sizes too small the day it was purchased, did nothing for Thora's sense of "understanding." The miniskirt barely came below the cheeks of Eliza's bobby ass, and her long, slim legs were prettily encased in a pair of crocheted mauve stockings which turned out to be panti-hose when she sat down-next to Del.
It was, she thought, a prime setting for disaster. She had no idea how far the giggly minx wanted to go-probably no further than kid talk and daring coquetry, but on the other hand, there was Del, grinning and quipping back and a dyed-in-the-wool stud. Thora was also sure there was nothing her husband could do with Eliza, but make a fool of himself and invert the giggles into whimpers of childish excitement. By throwing her eyes out of focus, Thora could imagine Del's huge cock laid up against the slim, impossibly tiny body. Absolutely nothing could happen-and that was what bothered Thora. She had never thought Del an idiot, but he seemed well on his way to becoming one. For some reason Thora could not name, she was more afraid of Eliza Gretock than of any grown woman Del had known.
Neither Tom nor Lulu was making any attempt to entertain the youngster. In fact, they seemed entertained by the senseless talk between Del and Eliza. Then Thora looked at Tom again. He was sitting with half-lidded eyes, watching every move Eliza made. There was no smile on his face; he looked like a man in some pain, or possessed of thoughts he could not express. When his wife said some small thing to him, he murmured a brief answer and did not continue the matter.
No break occurred in the harassing evening until ten-thirty. Lulu yawned. "I don't know about anyone else, but I'm tired!" She accompanied this statement with a sloe-eyed look at Del. "Anybody care if I trot off to bed?"
"Of course not, dear," Tom said with more force than he'd shown since Eliza's arrival. "That's the virtue of a quiet Saturday night. If you want to retire, do so. Thora?"
And abruptly, Thora knew what to do. Give Del a lot of rope and let him hang himself. She smiled. "I don't think I'm sleepy, but I am a little tired. If some nice man would put a little larger light bulb in my bed lamp, I'd read for a while, I think!"
Tom laughed. "Of course. Del, will you entertain our little guest while I take care of your wife?"
Del's laugh was sharp. "That sounds like a leading question!"
"You don't have to worry about Tom," Lulu laughed.
"Hey, let's turn on the hi-fi and dance a little," Eliza said to Dell. "I never go to bed on Saturday nights! No darn school tomorrow. Want to dance?"
"Of course he does," Thora said with a wry smile to Del. "He needs some exercise. He's getting a little fat, between the ears!"
"Good night, dear," Del replied with exaggerated politeness.
As the three of them left the room, Thora glanced back. Eliza was whispering excitedly into Del's ear. When they started up the stairs with Lulu leading and Tom close behind, Thora deliberately threw a few extra twists to her hips, with buttocks loose and her steps springy. She said goodnight to Lulu, then entered her room, Tom going to search the linen closet for a larger light bulb.
For a moment, Thora stood in the big bedroom, thinking. Then she quit thinking and unzipped her sparkly gown. When Tom knocked, she called, "come in!" and when he came through the door, she was naked to the waist, her big tits jiggling from the movement of her haste. Tom stopped, then slowly turned and closed the door. She was trying to get the well-fitted gown down over her flared hips when he pivoted again.
"May I help?" he asked with hushed tones.
"Probably," she replied and patted his cheek with hot, slim fingers.
The beat was easy; the crazy, twisting, side-to-side step was a little obscure to Del but Eliza didn't seem to mind. Her little fingers snapped, her body seemed made of rubber, except that a time or two, the heat she generated wafted up to his flaring nostrils. When they went through a record and Tom had not returned, Del began to relax. By some alchemy he did not question, Thora had apparently done exactly as he wanted her to do; with Tom occupied with her lovely body and encouraged by her adept sexuality, he might postpone, or even abandon his frightening plans for Eliza. Not so frightening now, Del admitted. He let his cock thicken a bit as his eyes rolled around the constantly exposed shape of Eliza's lacily pantied bottom. He could even see the split shape between her flying legs and it seemed delightfully fat and sexily protuberant. After the second record, he sat down.
"To heck with that," he said, laughingly. "You dance, I'll have front row center!"
She giggled. "Gee, you're lots of fun! Okay, here goes!"
She started at the hi-fi, changing from whatever step she had been doing to a slower, more sensuous twist. With her head thrown back so her hair fell straight down behind her shoulders, her slim little neck arched, she began to writhe toward him, shuffling her feet, humping to the beat and swaying her bottom. Her fingers sought the edge of her miniskirt and she drew it up and out as far as it would go. Del sat, staring straight into her lacy crotch, and he was sure she meant him to do just that. Her hips pushed forward, her thighs worked apart and gradually, her head came forward so she could see how he was reacting.
His prick resumed its thickening as he saw the tiny darker place low under the well defined contour of her cunt. Fever struck hard at the small of his back; sweat dampened his shorts and each time she snapped her bottom like a burlesque queen, the wet seemed to spread. It wasn't quite believable, but Del could not discount what he saw. He forgot how young she was, how small and slim, and it was all he could do to keep from grabbing her. And when he looked up, her small smile and languorous eyes told him she knew exactly what she was developing in him. A shuddering relief caused him to grin; Eliza had made her point, but there was still another consideration. His cock, now completely hard and totally distended, formed a pulsing ridge in his trousers. Then the record faded out and the silence was broken only by her quick little breaths and his heavier breathing.
She didn't turn for a new record. She moved closer and stood, gently lilting, panting, vibrating her heat to him.
"Okay?" she asked in a small voice.
"You know what you're doing?" he asked, glancing toward the living room.
'"I'm making the scene, aren't I?"
"You sure are! But that isn't the whole bit, Eliza!"
"You can feel me up if you want to."
He gripped his thighs to keep from being stupid, then he thought, to hell with it, and his hands moved to her legs, just above the knees. The crocheted stockings were rough but the flesh under them was hot and soft. Eliza jerked her muscles and squirmed. He slid his hands up a little higher, then clear to the closely netted rounds of her nates. Almost instantly, she hunched her groin at him, giggling with childish, nearly obscene delight. His fingers tested her flesh, and between the rounds. His hands crept back around her hips, his thumbs pushing over and pressing the soft valley where her thighs and torso joined. He rubbed the hollows hesitantly.
"Hey," she murmured. "I'm blowing my cool, man!"
The split was very wet and he petted the twin rolls of flesh with his entranced thumbs. Eliza squirmed and tried to push herself to his big hands. Without trying to dig or opeii her little cunt, he grew heady and quivery exploring the young shape and the surprising heat of the exciting contours.
"Have they all gone to bed?" she queried hopefully.
"Not all-not yet."
"T-'.ke my panties down," she decided.
His brain screamed no, his cock thumped yes. His thumbs ached to tear through the mauve laciness, and when he looked at her, she was apparently half stunned with sensation. Her mouth hung open a little and her eyes were nearly closed. To test her, he rubbed one thumb a bit harder at the top of the fat buttonhole. Her mouth opened a little more and her tongue flicked out to wet her drying lips. He had a moment of sanity; she had been handled by a man, not a boy, before. The remaining bit of brains he possessed explained to him that he was holding the full width of her hips in his two hands, his thumbs rubbing her little pussy, the two end joints of his little fingers curling around her ass to brace firmly in the taut little cheeks. To think of even attempting to get his cock, or even the very end of it into the diminutive quim was idiocy of a brand he did not want to cultivate.
On the other hand, he seemed unable to resist her and he rolled her panti-hose down until he could see the whisper of blonde hair growing downily over the bold round of her pubic form. And to his surprise, he could smell her sex, not acrid and definite, but faint and sweetly fragrant. He put one finger to her cunt and felt for the soft, wet barrier of her maidenhead. She gasped and jerked, and there was no place for his finger tip to go but in, and when it entered her little vulva, she began a quick, jerking undulation that forced her cunt down over his forefinger until the finger was completely buried.
"Do it until I come," she whispered and hugged his neck to pull her writhing hips in close. "Don't worry! I can come a lot of times without getting tired. Do it, man, do it!"
He thought he hadn't felt anything like the soft, wet tunnel since he'd been fourteen. It seemed alive, wrenching, closely-fleshed and very small. He could hardly find her clitoris, but it was there, a small hardness under the nearly covering flesh, and when he pressed, Eliza giggled and fucked his finger faster. His other hand was curling now to hold and guide her bottom. He wanted to thrust a finger between the tensing cheeks, but he was afraid. Then he wasn't afraid, and when Eliza added a strong back push to her undulations, he broke new sweat, realizing that whomever had taught her the basics had also initiated her to some exotic extras. He chuckled; Tom had only been half-right.
He felt like some lascivious old man. She stood, hugging his neck, her face against his, while she wriggled sensuously to his fingers and panted in her efforts to increase their effectiveness. Then she smashed his mind by reaching down and trying to get his trousers open with shaking fingers. He quit rubbing her asshole and unzipped. His prick jerked furiously to the touch of her hot fingertips. She hurt him slightly trying to work it out of his trousers, but by twisting, he freed it to her clutching demand.
"Wow-wow!" she gasped, and made some space so she could look down at the monstrous club of steaming flesh in her hand. Her ass stopped moving. Her breath softened, as if her lungs had tightened. Suddenly, Eliza was a little girl again. "I thought I remembered from the other night! It's so b-big! My daddy's is-Oh, my gosh, what I said!"
Del's cock went soft. He pushed her away and loaded his prick back into his trousers. He could just hear her, with tittering schoolmates, or with her father, or with some thirteen-year-old boy with whom she was bound to have intimacies, explaining that she knew a man with a penis almost as long as her forearm.
"You better get your ass up to bed," he said, jerking her panties up.
She started to cry, softly, as if also shocked at what had nearly happened to her. won't tell, I promise!" she sobbed. "Will you show it to me again ... tomorrow? I'll let you look at mine and feel it if you want to!"
"Goddamnit, will you go to bed?"
She turned her giggle on then, mixing it with fading sobs.
"Okay, okay!" She resnugged her panti-hose and left him. On her way by the sofa, she grabbed up a nearly consumed drink and gulped the glass dry. Her small hand waved at him, then she skipped, child-like toward the stairs. His regret was almost as compelling as his relief.
Thora hadn't expected much, so she wasn't disappointed. She lay on her back, legs far apart, her cunt thumping up to Tom's experienced if inadequate hand. He lay in a half twist, his half-hard cock resting against her face. Her mouth tingled from continued sucking, and she was trying now to come to his deft manipulations. Come again, because she had succumbed to violent orgasm twice, once when he roughed her eager cunt trying to stuff his limber prick past the small wet lips, and again when he had kissed and tongued her cunt while she sought to stiffen his prick with the same kind of whorling, inhaling and tip-tongue caresses that had many times sent Del into a thrashing, hunching climax.
"It isn't going to do it, is it?" he worried.
"I'm sorry, Tom. Hurts my vanity, too! At my age, a woman just can't imagine a man not ... coming up like Apollo 10! But it has been ... all right for me, Tom!" she hastened to add.
"In some ways, for me, too," he admitted. "You're beautiful! Lulu never saw the day she could begin to be ... as sexy as you are!"
Thora turned her head and gave his prick a hard, swift lick. "It's all right, Tom. I'll try some more if you want!"
"I want it so goddamned bad I can't stand it!" he groaned. "But I guess it is useless! Thank you for trying, Thora!"
They sat up. She curled an arm around him and he cuddled his head to her pulsating tits. His hand crept again to the hairy nest between her thighs, a long way from being resigned.
Thora wasn't happy about anything. She could peek out of one mental window and see Del with the head of his cock rubbing into Eliza's little cunt-for sensation and illicit thrill if not for satiation-and she could imagine the torment in Tom Everett's mind. As a last, feminine loyalty, she let him fall back on the bed so she could scramble around and over his groin.
"Close your eyes, Tom. Don't try to reach me. Don't try to touch! Just let me ... love you a little and let your mind think of the kind of sex you like ... or liked the most. Okay?"
"What a woman!" he exclaimed. "The lucky son-of-a-bitch!"
Thora slid back his foreskin, formed a ball of saliva in her mouth and dropped her lips around the swollen head of his penis. She moved her knees, bracing on all fours, her entire body and mind dedicated to exciting the large but ineffectual prick her hand held softly upright from the thick hair of his groin. She wanted it to harden and distend; her desire to resurrect the sensations he had nearly forgotten was the same as the desire she could remember the first night she and Del had been married. If the love wasn't there, the passion was the same. She beat the soft flesh hard, trying to drive sensation into the unenthusiastic member. Tom sighed and strained.
Thora knew exactly what Del saw when he came through the door, almost silently but not surreptitiously. She knew how her ass reared, how her tits swung and how her mouth was shaped, sliding up and down on Tom's nearly firming prick. She tumbled anxiety, apology, modesty and a little concern in her swirling mind, then she remembered the come-on of Eliza Gretock and she didn't even bother to steal a moment's glance. Nor did he say anything. The only sound from Del was the rustle of his clothing; she hoped he wouldn't ram her, but if he did, it at least meant that Eliza had not quite managed to make a total idiot of her handsome husband.
Then Tom raised to his elbows, his eyes wide with surprise.
"It's Del!" he husked without moving his lips.
Thora slid one hand up his belly and pushed him back with pressure on his chest. She did not take her mouth from his cock but she did wink at the startled broker, an involuntary signal of the abruptly rising excitement in her mind. She wasn't enamoured of what she was trying to do for Tom, nor was she certain she relished the prospect of being so reared up to Del's massive lusts, but when the two merged and became one eroticism in her mind, Thora quivered with the same eagerness, the identical need for abandonment she had felt the night she had been the lone, surrendered female between Ernest Bell and Frank Hamlin. A body, formed of mouth and cunt; and if Del chose, an asshole still hot from the passion of George's cock. Then she felt Del's hands gripping her hips and his tremendous penis kissed the cheeks of her ass; her physical self cringed, but she could not squirm away nor protest. She thought she wanted to be hurt, and in a few seconds he was hurting her. His prick dug low and pushed stiffly into her quim. She gasped around Tom's cock but some perverse need solidified her determination.
Her throat moaned as Del's organ screwed itself in and in: the pains were swift and endless. It seemed to Thora that his cock was bigger than ever before and that it was destined to meet the one suddenly swelling in her mouth. Tom had again come to his elbows and was twisted so he could see, not how Del's cock was wedging and distending Thora's vulva, but the strong thrusting of Del's body and the way her ass waved and jerked in response.
Gradually Thora's mouth and tongue ceased to move as the agony in her belly became paralytic. She stiffened her elbows a bit and to her surprise, Tom's prick came up as her head raised. The head of his prick lost its marshmallow feel and as the tears of distress filled her eyes, she saw his penis as a stiffening, nearly rampant column pushing to her lips. She tried to take advantage of the phenomenon, but by then, Del's huge organ was way in, high, and as filling as an exploding bomb. As much as it hurt her, it felt strangely good until he began to stroke it in her brutally enlarged vagina. A cry of dismay burst from her throat as the dull agonies piled one upon another. She could hear Del panting and the heat from his belly burned her ass. Half out of her mind with nausea, she hung in his grip and suffered the rasp and plunge of the ruthless log in her cunt. When Tom scrambled out from under her, she did not care, nor could she protest. It wasn't even important that he had a hard-on; that contest was so far removed from the one within her own body she forgot its beginning. Through a haze of pain-inspired indifference, she knew when he crouched beside her ass even though she had no curiosity about why.
"Del! Let me, let me!" her hoarse plea sounded.
"Ten seconds more!" came Del's provision.
Thora screamed as his spewing prick came in and stayed, pulsing furiously, bathing her wounded tissues with white, hot semen. He kept urging and urging, trying to get the final two inches of his cock shaft in, splitting her with the insistence of the gushing glans. Slowly, Thora sagged, her arms flaccid, her face scooting forward on the bed as she slid off her husband's now indifferent prick. The organs in her belly roiled back into proper place, and at first she thought she was bleeding to death until the ooze from her collapsed cunt became sticky and cooling at the mouth of her quaking quim.
A body fell forward over hers, but it was a softer belly than Del's and it crowded down with quivering haste. The hands embraced to either side of her head were wrinkled and old, and the cock digging down between her spraddled thighs was nothing like the one that had devastated her sex. Numb with pain as she was, Thora still remembered the wistful expression Tom had worn for the past hour, and with a groan of agony, she raised her ass to give him access to her bloated cunt.
They quivered together and she felt his prick enter her vagina, thrusting fiercely into the lacerated tissues. Then suddenly, there was nothing but the feel of his hairy belly squashing hard and rhythmically to her nates.
"Goddamnit!" Tom grunted. '"So near and yet so far! The son-of-a-bitch has turned to fucking mush again!"
Del's laugh was half sympathy, half amusement. Thora lay in complete exhaustion and abandoned her senses to pain. They talked behind her but she could not hear. Deeply raped, she tried to remember why she had let Del take her so, and presently, she dozed. When she snapped to full consciousness she still lay on her belly, but big, strong, familiar hands were massaging her pussy with soft, cool liquid.
"Del?" she quavered.
"Sorry, baby. It was just something I had to do!"
"Tom?"
"I sent him to bed. I hate to see an old man cry!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Eliza had not put on the bottoms to her pajamas. She lay on her left side, still trembling, legs drawn up so she could play with herself with the questing fingers of her right hand. She wasn't sure what had happened. Except that the dancing had been a ton of fun and after he had started to feel of her, she had become so excited she hadn't known what to do. He had seemed to know everything right and good to do to her, and it had been different than the games her daddy played before and sometimes after they fucked. She quivered. Her fingers curled in memory of the gigantic cock he had let her hold.
It hadn't been anything like her daddy's, which was sort of fish-shaped and not nearly so big. She recalled how heavy the big, hot cock had felt in her hand, almost as if it were loaded with wet sand or gravel. Eliza turned over and put her left hand down to her tingling quim. His finger had been good, but more like just the beginning of something wonderful. She checked her anus with her forefin ger. It felt fine to rub it, but it wasn't the same as when he had rubbed it.
A hundred miles from sleep, Eliza sat up in bed and turned on the night light. After folding the covers back, she spread her legs and looked down at her nearly hairless cunt. It was all wet, she saw, and from the closely pressed slit out to each side, it looked fatter, more fleshy. She opened it with her thumbs and thought about Del's prick. It would never have gone in. No matter, she decided, but the itch around the inside hole made her want to try. She thought about how good her daddy's prick felt, sliding tightly up and rubbing until it was good and wet and then sliding in and out until she couldn't help moaning and swishing her ass around. She leaned back on her elbows and did the movements that felt best when her daddy was in her, but nothing much happened so she sat up again. She needed something. Slithering out of bed, Eliza began to look for something. There was a set of comb and brush on the dresser, but the handles were small and ivory-smooth. She tried the handle of the hairbrush, but it just slipped in and out and only made her want something else that much more.
She tried to remember other things in the house. Everything either had a too big knob on one end or wasn't shaped right. Her bold-faced wristwatch on the mod strap said one-thirty. Eliza giggled. By now, she was sure, everybody had to be in bed. Breathless and barefooted, she opened the door of her room and peered down the hallway, lighted only by a single bracket lamp. With nothing particularly in mind but adventure, she tiptoed to the stairs and went down. The house was very still and there was no night lamp on the lower floor. But there was a tiny light from the moon, and she could see the shape of everything, if not the color and small details. Nothing in the living or dining room inspired her naked, bobbing bottom. She sighed in undefined frustration.
Then she decided to go into the kitchen and have a glass of milk. On the way, she passed the bar and a better idea came to Eliza. She chose a bottle at random and poured some of the acrid smelling contents into a glass on the shelf under the bar. She tasted it and her face contorted as she choked back a harsh cough. Milk, she decided, would be better. She set the glass back under the bar and headed for the kitchen. Here, the moon seemed brighter because there were no drapes. The vinyl-tiled floor was cool to her bare feet as she went to the refrigerator. She knew the maid's room was next to the garages so she didn't worry about opening the refrigerator. It was a big, double-door type and every inch of the four wire shelves was covered with food, in dishes, in plastic sacks and small crispers. There were two quarts of milk and something else that revived her deviltry.
It was at least half of a hard Italian salami, the kind everybody she knew used to make little hor d'oerves or to garnish salad bowls. Eliza picked it up; it had the same round, weighty feel she had remembered. It was not slick, and it was not rough. Instead of a head, it had a blunt end centered by a tiny flower of salami skin.
"By gosh!" she exclaimed softly and put the round end down between her legs and tried firmly to force the cylindrical shape into her cunt. At first, it seemed useless, but it felt so good she kept trying, and presently, she could feel her cunt starting to accustom itself to the intruder. She revolved the salami, moving it right and left and with all her might. Suddenly, she gasped as the round end went right in, and when she pushed harder a full four inches of the salami oozed up her burning pussy. She held it and began to fuck at the delightful fullness and then she forgot the milk and let the refrigerator doors swing closed with a magnetic clicking. Legs spraddled, she started back to her bed.
He seldom investigated a house unless there was a reason, and when the light went on in the second floor bedroom, Barton Field decided to check the Everett house. He was precisely in front of the long bank of windows over the kitchen sink when the big kitchen was abruptly flooded with light from the opened refrigerator.
He knew her at once; the Gretock teenie-bopper, wearing only the short tops to a pair of striped pajamas. Barton's cock did a sudden twitch as she leaned forward to inspect the refrigerator contents and thusly pooched out her pretty little ass. In the light, her bare legs took on a tawny color, soft, yet firm and as tapered as youth and straight bones could make them. He moved one more window north and his mouth went dry as he saw the neat buttonhole of her diminutive cunt.
What happened next made his stout legs quiver with instant weakness. She took the half salami from a refrigerator shelf, inspected its uncut end, then with no preamble, put it to the buttonhole and with straining hand and a vicious roll of her hips, fucked it into her cunt a full hand width. Stunned with fascination, he watched her screw the round shape in, her hips describing very unchildish gyrations, her face assuming a weird expression of total content. She let go of the doors and they swung closed. Barton leaned forward and saw how the little white shadow waddled away, the salami working back and forth to the tempo of her spraddled step.
It was over so quickly, he only half-believed what he had seen. His shirt was damp, and his prick was up so hard it ached. Blinking, he let the breath whistle out of his mouth in shock. He swallowed a big lump in his throat, straightened his cock up in his underwear and moved stiffly out to the street. Then he chuckled and headed for the Del Monte house. His mind kept seeing the salami, easily as large as a grown man's prick, easing up into the supposed-to-be-virginal cunt. She had been goddamned happy about it too, he thought, and what she had done with her limber hips to get it snugged right had been a long way from childish. He was still sweating when he arrived at Marcia's house.
The three cars were gone and the windows were dark; the poker game had ended and the guests were gone. Barton stepped over the wall and moved silently to the side patio. If she questioned his seemingly unrelenting hard-on, he'd simply tell her it had come up while he thought of her coming down the street.
His emotions were mixed. Over the memory of Eliza Gretock's slim nakedness and her obviously practiced sexuality, Marcia's big ass and rolling tits didn't seem so great. On the other hand, she was a hot fuck and she'd do anything there was time to do for him. Further down the list of things he was not sure of was how straight up and down she could possibly be when she'd already chippied on her old man to fuck a night policeman, and the next item on Barton's mental list was his own unwillingness to get married. And at the bottom of the list was the certainty that the only way she could get even a fair share of the Del Monte money was for the old man to get dead before he found out about his wife's nightly orgies with the country club patrol. He shuddered. At the moment, all he wanted was her hot ass, or any other means she could provide to get the picture of Eliza and her salami out of his whirling mind. Right in, right on up and hump it, kid, he thought, and I'd give a week's pay to see how it went when you got back up in the bedroom.
She came out of the shadows and said "Hey!" when he bellied his steaming cock up to her. Their kiss was brief because she was so anxious to get hold of his prick she began to claw at his trousers before his nose became accustomed to her perfume. She let her thin robe fall open and he filled his hands with her huge tits, mostly to keep his mind on her rather than on Eliza Gretock. When his cock was out, she raised and laid it up between her tits and he pressed the flesh globes together, frigging up deep enough for her down-ducked head. Her tongue licked hotly at the bobbing glans and he wondered if Eliza knew how to suck a cock.
It got worse when he was bare-assed and down between Marcia's heavy, out-strained thighs, his cock coursing loosely in her nearly lathering pussy. He tried not to think about how good it woud be to replace the salami, and when he felt of Marcia's winking asshole, he got so hot thinking about how Eliza's would feel he forgot to hold back and his orgasm jolted into the milking sex sleeve before it was ready to receive it.
"Honey, I never saw you so hot!" Marcia whispered. "Oh, we've just got to figure some way-these quickies are wonderful, but we just have to be able, before long, to take our time and do all the things there are to do, time after time!"
"I know," Barton murmured back. "How's his health?"
"The fucking old son-of-a-bitch will live a million years, unless-"
He chuckled with amusement he didn't really feel. "Why don't you try screwing the old body to death? At least, that's legal!"
She wanted to come but he somehow couldn't raise a second hard-on so he used three fingers to bring her orgasm, still wondering what one finger in Eliza Gretock would feel like.
Tom walked the floor in the dark, sleepless but not downhearted. For a minute, his prick had been as hard as it had ever been. The fact that the minute he had stuck to the spread and loosely pulsating lips of Thora's cunt it had gone soft was not discouraging. At that moment, her pussy had seemed as flaccid and nerveless as Lulu's had felt for fifteen years. He was sure that had he tried to stick it up Thora's ass, the inspiration of seeing her fucked by the super-hung Del would have lasted. He rubbed his palms together. With Eliza, it would be different because it was certain that Del could not get his prick up the girl's little pussy, and it would be just right for him. He glanced over at his wife, a big lump of snoring flesh.
The only miracle was that he still loved her, despite her constant infidelity and her non-inspiring ass. They had come a long way together, and in the beginning years, it hadn't all been so easy. Later, when it had become easy to make money and impossible for him to screw her, their minds had still used the same pathway. No point, he had said, in trying to run an automobile without oil simply because your favorite brand was not sold by the available dealer.
Del and Thora had shocked him because they had, perforce, been face to face with the same problem-if of different physical origins. Tom chuckled. Del, with all his meat, was no better off than he. He had seen how Thora had squirmed and struggled and finally given up. She was a beautiful girl and stacked like a movie starlet; unless Del settled for a cow like Lulu, or maybe a ghetto brownskin, his cock was strictly a detriment.
He thought about Eliza Gretock. For some reason, he didn't expect her to be a virgin. He tried to think of himself being her father, living virtually alone with the wild youngster. Incest was a nasty word, but desperation was something to offset frustration. He thought about holding her on his lap, cuddling her in one of her rarely girlish moods. He could almost feel her firm little thighs on his knees, the round of her pert ass against his groin. How did a man put an arm around a small pair of shoulders without his hand hanging close to, or on, maybe, one of those tight, bouncy tits? And if a man felt of one, would his young daughter think it was lewd or merely adoring? He thought Eliza might have in-between thoughts. Adoringly lewd ones, which he was sure she was old enough to appreciate-movies, television and news-stand periodicals being what they were.
His time-jaded senses imagined the horde of mysterious tinglings and sensations her lively body was capable of generating. More than capable, he thought-nearly impossible to control. His fingers twitched as he dreamed of touching her in particularly sensitive places and having her giggle and writhe in nearly innocent response. And suddenly, Tom's cock was hard. He didn't finger it nor rub the tent it made in his pajamas. He glanced at Lulu, then moved to the door. Why not?
In the hallway, he walked toward the door to Eliza's room. If not the daring thing, maybe just a peek. She might be lying with some delightful area of her delectable body bare and exposed. His breath quickened and now he felt of his rigid prick just to be sure it was not an illusion.
He was getting better; twice in the same night he had experienced the excruciatingly wonderful stretching, the tingling, the knotting in his balls. He was not through, that was a certainty. He paused at her door, afraid she might have punched the knob center into locking. But it turned easily in his nervous hand and he eased the door open an inch or two, enough so he had a full view of the bed.
The light was only a gray dullness because it was late and the moon was low. But the bedsheet was white and the half-naked little body gleamed on it. What shocked and excited him was that she lay with her slim legs flung akimbo. He squinted, then suffered another shock. Something round and dark was protruding from the entered fatness of her crotch. Carefully, Tom swung the door wider and on bare feet, moved silently across the plush rug to the bedside. Now he could see better. She seemed to be sleeping very soundly. He bent down.
The diagonal cut of the round thing shoved into the distended split told him it was a cut piece of the imported salami he loved so much-with stuffed eggs and big green olives. He extended a cautious finger and touched the out-thrust end. It seemed solidly, excitingly imbedded. He let his finger trace the circle of hot flesh gripping the diameter. The stretched flesh was sticky, inflamed and yet soft.
Suddenly, Tom began to shake. He fought the urge to rip the cylindrical delicacy from the enticing nest and slam his body down and his prick in, but he lacked the courage. Instead, he tested his cock with frigging fingers, aiming it at the perforated crotch, quivering with intense sensation. He debated; his hand moved faster and he struck a stance, back arched as he masturbated. It took several minutes and once he was stilled by a movement of Eliza's legs, but he kept on frigging himself until with a nearly painful jerk, his jism spat out in a needle-sharp jet to fall on the small sprawled body. Two spews and it became a dribble from the pulsing eye of his surprised cock. He stood, sweating, trembling, soothed, but immensely excited.
If he could do it once, this way, he could do it five times the sweetly right way. He moved back, very pleased with everything. Two things had been established. He could get a hard-on and could come, and when he did, he would not be raping a virgin, nor risking the fate of a middle-aged rapist. Stunned by erotic adventure, Tom went back to bed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Del came down to the patio, Tom was reading the financial section, and Eliza was an angled heap on the flagstone, reading the Sunday comics.
"Morning, you two," he said, heading for the coffee on the wrought-iron-and-glass table.
"Hi, man!" Eliza chirped.
"Morning, Del. Thora coming down?"
Del looked at the man and grinned. "She's a bit indisposed," he said. "Had a bit much yesterday, she says. No stamina, I guess!"
"Here, want the sport section? Lu's gone to church."
Del's eyes came full awake. "Oh? That's ... interesting!"
"No. It's the new minister who is interesting," Tom said.
Del sat down with his steaming coffee. He liked the hip-huggers and jersey pull-over Eliza wore-polka dots today. He liked the way her little tits jiggled when she turned the funny page, and he looked at the rounds of her bottom and liked them too. When she unconsciously scratched her crotch, his blood heated; she was pure female, including a not too carefully guarded mouth. When he saw that Tom was watching him, he grinned and shook his head in male admiration.
"Today?" Tom asked with no further explanation being needed.
Del shrugged. But a little later, he managed to get Tom alone. "That's murder, man," he said. "My advice is to forget it!"
"I can't," Tom said seriously. "Why murder?"
"Look, Tom, she's female, ass and elbows-and mouth!"
Tom seemed sure she would never say anything about anything.
"No?" Del snorted. "Maybe not intentionally, but kids are kids. I was working on her last night. It almost got out of hand-or into hers! Of course she was jumping, but just before she jumped, she made a boo-boo by telling me my cock was a hell of a lot bigger than her daddy's! Shock, sure-I always shock 'em, but that doesn't shut their mouths. San Quentin, here we come!"
Then he listened while Tom recounted his erotic discovery the night before. "Del, can't you understand that we must go through with it?" he pleaded. "You want to, I know you do!"
"You're a dirty old man," Del muttered.
"I'm within a hair of finding myself, that's what I am!"
"With Thora, when she tightens up a little."
"No. WTith Liza."
"What do we do with Lulu-and Thora, if she can get on her feet? Two maids and your usual Sunday drop-ins? This will take some doing-and some time!"
"That's my boy! Let me work on it for a while, huh?"
Later, they took a couple of putters to roll some balls on Tom's private three-hole putting green. Del got so nervous watching the handle of Eliza's putter wave precisely in front of where he wanted to shove his cock he couldn't hole out even one of the four balls he was practicing with. Her giggle gave him goosebumps.
Apprehension kept him alert, but when Gerald Fairlane arrived at twelve-thirty, Del was not sure Tom had called him or that it was just a chance visit. He was in casual clothes which fitted the warm Sunday and he joined them on the patio with no special effort to be other than informal. His greeting to Del was easy and unembarrassed; it wasn't until he caught a brief exchange of raised eyebrows and a slight nod toward Eliza that Del became sure Tom had sent for the handsome and free-wheeling stock salesman.
Lulu came home shortly after Fairlane arrived, her prim and sedate church clothes rather a shock to Del. She gushed over Fairlane, then patted Eliza's blonde head.
"My goodness! Just one girl for all of these men?" she teased the bright-eyed Eliza. "Oh, where's Thora, Del?"
"Still sleeping, I guess. She wasn't feeling too spry this morning."
"Oh. I shall have to go up and see if there's anything I can do," Lulu said. "Tom, why don't you have Tillie bring you something while I change clothes?"
"I gave Tillie the afternoon off," . Tom told his wife.
She merely shrugged and left them. Minutes ticked by, broken only by casual conversation and no overt remarks that might have relaxed the tensions building in Del's belly. Presently, Lulu returned with Thora on her arm. Both were wearing lounge pajamas, and when Del took his wife's hand and asked how she felt, her smile was quick but not too genuine.
"All right," she said. "Maybe ... maybe I'm getting used to it!"
"Good girl," Del remarked. "You remember Gerald, don't you?"
She did and so did Fairlane. They paired off in a garden lounge, talking animatedly about what, Del could not imagine. Lulu brought iced wine and soda water; anxiety broke a fine bead of perspiration on Del's upper lip as he watched Lulu calmly serve Eliza one of the cherry pink beverages. Like a pyramid, he thought, building stone by stone to what apex he could not anticipate.
"Boy! That warms the little old tummy!" Eliza giggled.
"The downfall of man-and quite a few women, too," Tom said.
Again the giggle. "I know! Candy's slicker, but liquor's quicker!" Then she blinked, her eyes sud denly glued to Thora and Fairlane. Dell turned his head and tried not to be obviously upset.
Fairlane now had his arm around Thora's shoulders and his adept fingers were playing openly with the shape of her bowl-round left tit. Thora, laughing up into his face, had placed her hand on his thigh. It moved with seeming idleness but she had only to push her hand a bit further to find his trousered cock with her fingertips. Lulu seemed not to notice. When Dell glanced at Tom, the latter only fluttered one eyelid in response.
Del sipped his wine cocktail, taking heed that the lounge where his hussy-type wife was snuggling to Fairlane was amply protected from chance eyes behind the Everett grounds by flower-laden trellises and well manicured shrubbery. He spent a moment silently congratulating Tom for his obvious generalship, then Thora turned over Fairlane a little and their bodies writhed together while they kissed, with broadly open mouths and visible throat constrictions as their tongues met in obscene argument. Fairlane's free hand was no longer free. It was curled over Thora's thinly-clad bottom, the fingers kneading the firm flesh with excited searching. All right, Del thought, but you don't have to like it that much. He is, after all, only a paid stooge. His pique did not stop his cock from thickening slightly. It was rather a provocative drama, if geographically and time-wise, absurd.
Eliza sat as if hypnotized, her rosebud mouth hanging slack and dry. Lulu unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, baring the beginning of her deep cleavage. She also uncrossed her ankles and let her legs fall slightly apart.
Del had some feeling of being a peeping tom; neither his wife nor the enthusiastic Fairlane seemed aware that four pairs of eyes were following their every move. He credited the young salesman with being an excellent actor, and he promised Thora a clump or two for her passionate cooperation. A big V of milk-white skin now appeared at her hip when Fairlane ran the pajama zipper down. Fascinated, Del watched the hand slip through the V and curl over the bare nate, ruffling under the seat of the close-fitting garment in obvious delight. This seemed to please Thora; her ass began a movement very familiar to Del, and he was also very sure of what her hand between them was doing to the front of Fairlane's slacks.
"I believe Gerald is going to screw your wife," Tom observed.
"How nice!" Lulu exclaimed.
"Wow-wow!" Eliza gasped. "Don't you care, man?"
Del smiled mirthlessly. "It seems I was not consulted. Will you enjoy watching, Eliza?"
"Wow-wow!"
Abruptly then, Thora's perfectly contoured bare bottom was being industriously rubbed and petted by Fairlane. He spread the twin moons, felt vig-ourously between them and sent curled fingers low and into the dark shadow shapes of her crotch. A fat, red knob appeared in Thora's hand and they shifted in unison to let her stretch and frig his rigid prick so all could see. Del tried not to sulk and suc ceeded when he saw how flushed and squirmy Eliza had become. Lulu was now rubbing be-ringed fingers into her clothed crotch and her eyes were nearly as hot and flame-flecked as Eliza's. When Thora raised to let Fairlane completely remove her lounging pants, he mentally resolved to get his wife a job in a carnival; she stood naked from her waist down and Fairlane availed his fingers of her bottom and his lips for a deep kiss into Thora's writhing sex. Neither looked at their enthralled audience, silent except for the growing hiss of quickening breath. Idly, Del wondered when all this had been arranged, and he scolded Thora for being so gleefully secretive. A dirty daylight movie, properly cast and efficiently enacted! It now was Fairlane's turn to unclothe his lower segments, and Eliza began to whimper like a hungry puppy as his big bold cock came into full view, with its accompanying sac of hairy and bloated testicles. They stood in hard embrace for a minute, rubbing bellies and sexes and feeling of each other like a bride and groom. Then Fairlane turned Thora down and she threw her perfect, shaking legs apart to form a cradle for the lean tanness of his hips. His prick seemed endless in its distending and it jerked as he lowered it to her widely spread crotch.
"Oh, Jesus!" Lulu gasped as the heavy organ slid easily into the gleaming gash. Thora squealed and Fairlane grunted and then the lounge began to vibrate with the first fury of their fucking. Admirable, Del mused, but deserving chastisement at a later moment. His cock now made a straining tent in his slacks, it seemed incredibly insistent and he needed some place to put it. He looked at Lulu as the logical recipient but she was busily masturbating through the flowered cloth of her lounge suit. A well-trained wife, instructed not to interfere in her husband's voyeuristic dramas. Tom sat as if half asleep, his narrowed eyes aimed at the union of sloshing, coursing sex. Abruptly, Del laughed. Then he stood up, revealing the condition of his penis. Before he reached the living room, Eliza was clinging to his waist, and just behind came Tom. Momentarily at least, Lulu seemed absorbed in the patio obscenity and the ministrations of her busy fingers.
Eliza seemed in some sort of trance. She could not control the chattering of her jaw, and when Del opened his trousers and let his massive prick leap out, she stared as if it were a hissing, darting cobra. When Del was free of his slacks, he sat down on the divan and began to loosen the wide white belt of Eliza's hip-huggers. He wasn't sure of what he was doing, or of what he intended to do. Tom had availed himself of a deep leather chair across from the divan. He was smiling with a hardness of a Me-phistopheles and his hand toyed testingly at his groin. He twitched when Del rolled Eliza's hip-huggers down, baring her animated ass and the slim taper of her thighs. Of her own accord, she skinned her jersey pull-over up and away, then she threw herself onto Del, gasping and clutching. His brain exploded at the delicious contact with her wriggling body. His cock slapped against her legs, between them and up to her heaving belly.
"Fuck me, man!" she whispered. "It won't hurt-I'm big inside!"
Del had no intention of even trying. The feeling of having been put upon by Tom, Lulu, his wife and sundry aides was now strong enough to chill his lust. He turned Eliza in his arms, cradling her in one and sending the other hand to her instantly opened crotch. As his fingers found her cunt, and one went swiftly into her vulva, she yelped and began to flop on his lap like a landed fish. He let her arch back, a position that stretched her pulsing little tits up in delectable offering. Her head hung back, rolling so her long, blonde hair waved like a flag. Her legs jerked and her heels described small circles in the air. He massaged down around her pubic flesh, then dragged his hand up, letting two fingers plow in the swollen, fatty lips to rake the shrieking nerves buried in the mucous tissues. Every other time or so, he let his fingers curl farther, to smear her flowing juices to the tiny bud of her back hole. She moaned and nearly howled at each deliberate excitement. His cockhead, hidden by her ass, rubbed exquisitely against her buttocks. Once he nearly lost his head, but the very smallness of the nymph in his hands controlled his fire; Tom had come to his feet, his slacks down around his ankles and his shorts at half-mast. At his side, Lulu crouched, one plump animated hand fondling and stroking her husband's hardening prick. Del turned the half-hysterical Eliza on his bare thighs, presenting her spraddled ass.
"No, Del, no!" Thora's trembling cry came to him. "You can't! Oh, what a terrible thing we've done!"
Dazed with the fever of lewdness, Del looked; Thora stood, legs apart, her belly covered by Fairlane's hands. He was too tall to be in her from behind, Del thought, but he was moving against Thora while he watched as they had been watched.
"Now, now!" Tom panted and came forward. He dropped to his knees, his rigid prick up-thrust and aimed at the drooling slit Del held open. Tom's breath mingled with his, the heat of three inflamed bodies mingled, then with a moan of helpless surrender, Tom hunched forward, straining to reach the little pussy. With a deft twist, Del slid from under Eliza, letting her body settle lower to the divan cushion, and Tom fell over her, ramming in until his paunch smashed hard to the small, nearly pointed ass cheeks.
Eliza howled, but not in pain. Her slender legs kinked and hooked across Tom's back as her arms whipped around his neck. She fucked up with a frenzy Tom nearly matched, and Del slid away, his prick dry but needing wet so badly it ached with demand. Almost instantly, Lulu squatted beside her husband's hunching hip, her fingers feeling to find the unbelievable meshing. Thora, too, moved forward, fascinated by the lewdness she had protested, and Fairlane crowded over her back, trying to get his prick into Thora from behind, without giving up his view of the lusting.
Cold now, Del stepped to the fireplace mantle and took the little camera from its hiding place behind a gold-framed picture. He moved to an advan tageous position, aimed and pressed the shutter button. He had set it on single exposure, and with all the cool of a professional newsman, he took forty pictures of Tom Everett, broker, country club member and husband of a regular church goer, fucking an eleven-year-old girl half out of her mind. He used two final exposures for private purposes. By kneeling, he got two detailed pictures of Gerald Fairlane's skinless cock sliding into Thora's asshole. Then he put the camera back behind the picture frame and stood, gently frigging himself while Tom sobbed and laughed and licked his own come from Eliza's splayed and oozing cunt.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was eight o'clock and barely dark, but Barton Field possessed a strong sense of survival and a curiosity he could not control. He hesitated only a moment before squatting low to peek through the narrow V of a hastily drawn drape. Through the glass wall came the muffled sounds of laughter and talk, all pitched to a key of excitement that could only arise from something more than a normal Sunday evening of friends. He grunted and folded lower. He was looking directly into the Everett living room.
His breath froze in his throat. There were six naked people in the elegant room, three men, two women and the Gretock teeny-bopper. The girl stood on a footstool, her arms draped clutchingly around Mrs. Everett's neck, her head shaking and bobbing, her blonde hair a thinly spread veil over the matron's big sagging tits. The salami plunging in and out, low between the plump little ass rounds had never come from a refrigerator; it was hooked to the hairy groin of Tom Everett and the gray-haired man had departed any vestige of dignity for the panting, pumping struggles of a thoroughly entranced stud. His hands were gripped around Eliza Gretock's waist to guide the jerky humps of her bottom.
On the divan barely two yards away, a very pretty and voluptuous young woman was on all fours, her ass reared high to the stud who had a full six inches of thick cock up her ass. He was fucking slowly, exquisitely, sending his prick in until his groin bumped the soft white pillows, dragging back until only the coronal ridge of his cock kept him from popping out of the pretty ass. But if this made Barton's cock snap into growing, his mind snapped equally as he noted the size of the cock the other man plied in the girl's grotesquely distorted mouth.
Half full cocktail glasses were on every table top. Two or three towels lay crumpled damply on the rug and on the footstool between Eliza Gretock's bare feet was a box of Kleenex.
Nobody seemed to be fucking very enthusiastically; Barton instinctively knew the orgy had been going on for some time. A butterfly of face tissue protruded from Lulu Everett's pussy. She was murmuring and patting the slim girl clinging to her for support. The trio on the divan kept turning their heads to watch Tom Everett hump into the little quim. Once it came out and his next thrust sent the obviously swollen head of his prick between the trembling thighs of the slender girl. It snapped back out of sight and Lulu Everett reached down to help her husband reenter the slippery little sleeve.
Then Barton saw Tom Everett open his mouth and the muffled cry filtered through the glass door. The elderly man half hurled Eliza from the footstool and his wife spun and scrambled, poising on all fours where the giggling girl had stood. Her husband, obviously on the verge of orgasm, fell over his wife's big bare ass, jabbed his cock at the mass of flabby flesh, found the nest he sought and went through a short series of dog-shags before he collapsed over the jiggling, wriggling body. And the teenie-bopper climbed the stranger with the immense prick trying to inveigle him into something.
There were words and head-shaking from the athletic looking stud, and more words from the others. The pretty girl with the steaming prick up her asshole lifted her head from his cock and laughed as she talked. As if surrendering, the big stud picked up Eliza and set her small ass on the divan back. Her legs flew out and when he turned, his cock fitted snugly into her pussy. She tried to hunch onto it but Barton could tell the man knew it was impossible. The girl being sodomized reached up and began to frig the monstrous cock and after a moment, the straining stud had orgasm. The jism made his cock ripple, then it spurted back around the unburied head and Eliza kicked her legs in glee.
Barton stayed until the lesser stud blew his load in the jumping, waving ass. The six people merged, caressing, feeling, laughing and no doubt, comparing ecstasies.
Sick with want, excited beyond reason, Barton Field came erect, swaying like a drunken man. Even the confiscated stag movies they showed at police banquets faded in comparison to what he had just witnessed. A hundred thoughts mix-mastered in his brain; charge in and pinch tljem all for almost every sex crime on the books; call the wagon, call George Gretock, fire his pistol; walk down the street four houses and get his prick into one or another of Marcia Del Monte's eager holes before his prick exploded and loused up his uniform trousers. He waddled across the lawn and headed for Marcia.
In front of the Del Monte house, he realized that it was hardly more than eight-thirty, quarter to nine, exactly. The living room lights were on and he could see Samuel Del Monte sitting in his easy chair, reading a magazine. Barton changed his angle of view; he saw her sitting some distance from her husband, also reading. Her legs, which he needed very much to get between, were laid across a leather hassock. Barton cursed, but his cock did not relinquish its stoniness.
Of course she didn't expect him at such an early hour. Their system was pat. If he made a round and found the house dark, he made another round to make sure old Del Monte was asleep, then he went to the side patio. In agony of mind and body, Barton went on.
Ten minutes later in the Arcadia Country Club patrol office, he risked calling the Del Monte house. Talking guardedly to keep the desk man from hearing, he breathed instructions into the telephone.
"I'm going crazy, baby! I'll explain why later. But somehow, get out of the house for a few minutes! Tell him anything, you left something at a friend's house, you forgot to tell somebody something. Anything. Just thirty minutes-even less! Got it?"
She said yes, but it didn't sound very positive to Barton.
"See you," he said and was about to hang up when her protest came. She didn't have any excuse to leave the house at nine o'clock. But her husband was reading a long, very interesting article. Come to the side door. She'd let him in and hide him in her bathroom. Then she would announce her intention of taking a bath. Bingo.
"Bingo, baby!" Barton husked. "I'll skip a round-at this hour, nobody counts. Be there in five minutes!"
Whatever else he wag; Samuel Del Monte was acutely aware, and when his mind said, subconsciously, it was time for the bathwater to be turned off, he lowered his magazine and frowned. Anything pertaining to his big, beautiful wife also registered with his consciousness. Warned by his doctor that he was susceptible to heart attacks and diseases of the aged, Samuel kept accidents in the forefront of his mind. He laid his magazine aside and came to his feet. Then he walked slowly to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. His slippered feet made no sound at all and he was naturally a man of easy movements. He stopped. Side patio, the beige rug he had always disliked showed two, no three-and-a-fading-half big footprints of lawn dew. Samuel frowned, knelt and felt the residual dampness, then slid a foot forward. He wore tens, and a man who wore at least twelves had recently entered the never-locked side door and headed for Marcia's bedroom. Samuel came erect; he owned no pistol and he didn't understand even a butcher knife, but he was also no coward, and his big hands had once been very strong. Head slightly lowered, he moved quickly into Marcia's bedroom. It was empty and unmolested. He looked at the bathroom door. It was closed, and through it came the unreasonable sound of heavily running water. He hesitated only a moment, then went to the door and slowly opened it.
He had seen Officer Field many times, but never with his pants down and his surprisingly adequate cock up Marcia's asshole. She stood in the tub, now overflowing through the drain, her body bent forward and looped by the big policeman's arms, her luxurious hair hanging over her passion-swollen tits. Field had his mouth open and fitted over the flesh at the back of Marcia's neck. His eyes were closed in ecstasy and his belly spatted against the huge white rounds of Marcia's ass. The bathroom was filled with steam, giving the crude fucking match a mystic, unreal aura. It was very real to Samuel. As was the pistol in the holster amid the pile of black belts on the toilet seat.
Samuel weighed matters rapidly. A shout, struggle, a fight perhaps. He was sixty-five, Field could not be over thirty. Marcia suddenly didn't matter; any woman who would sneak a lover in the side door while her husband read in the living room, then offer her big, animated ass to a penniless sidewalk pounder was below consideration. On the other hand, the lewd scene was an insult to Samuel Del Monte. He tipped foward and flipped the holster strap, and, protected by the noisy water and the roiling steam, slipped the thirty-eight from its nest. He stepped back and closed the door, standing in the perfumy bedroom, the revolver gripped firmly in his hand. It felt very good in his grasp, and anyway, he'd already lived sixty-five years. Somewhere, he'd read a piece about a policeman's greatest disgrace-to die from bullets out of his own, purloined gun. Samuel chuckled and went back to the living room. He resumed his reading, the big revolver hidden in the folds of his smoking jacket.
He did relinquish half a mind to wondering what Officer Field would do when he discovered his gun had been taken from its holster, resting on a toilet seat three yards from where he was fucking the thief's wife in the asshole. Samuel laughed-it had to be a little funny, really. Then he became slightly angry. A time or two, in the beginning, he had tried to sneak an occasional hard-on up Marcia's ass, and she had whimpered pure crap about it making her feel like some kind of an animal. Needing only another animal to make it acceptable?
It was real good now. Within ten seconds of following Marcia into the bathroom, he'd taken her down on the bath mat and had barely gotten his cock into her when his balls had blown and he'd spurted his boiling semen into her startled quim. There were two or three problems his first orgasm hadn't solved, however. It did not dissolve the memory of Tom Everett fucking Eliza from behind, and it did not eradicate the eroticism generated by watching the overly-hung stud blow his load in her unentered cunt. The fifteen-second fuck hadn't done anything for Marcia except excite her to whimpering demand, and it had not taken any of the starch out of his tingling prick.
Fortunately, Marcia had remembered where they were and how it might be. She had stepped into the tub, ducked down to wet herself in case she might have to appear at the door as having just stepped from her bath. He had gotten her on the way up, his cock jerking furiously at her big, bending bottom. He stood on the floor, she on the bottom of the tub, and though she had yelped when he had slipped his cock between her wet ass cheeks, it had gone on in, and it was real good now.
He grunted and sent his prick deeply in, feeling how her bowel gripped and milked with secret muscles. His strong back curled and straightened, pumping strongly to the cushions of wet flesh. His groin delighted in the pressure against her ass and the feel of her big body in his grasp was pleasant. He could tell he was hurting her, but her small moans were for more, not less. He dropped one hand to her cunt, the wet hair matting under his fingers. It was pumping too, and he pushed two fingers in to feel through the wall of her vagina. His cock was pistoning, hard and thick; the pretty girl on the Everett divan had liked it, too. Barton smeared his mouth over the sweetly fragrant skin of Marcia's back, and she put one hand up and over to pet his head. Her feet slipped slightly on the tub bottom and the tensions she created by reshifting them came around his penis like a coiling snake.
"Honey, let me down a little. The water!" she whispered. Her hand reached but could not touch the faucets. Like struggling wrestlers, they both let their knees bend until she could turn off the water. The silence was deafening, then Barton straightened up, forcing her to rise with his relentless cock. "You had it yet?" he husked.
Her head nodded affirmatively. "Twice! Oh, Jesus, my asshole is on fire, baby!"
"Fuck back to me!" he demanded and his hand on her belly became deeply massaging. He tightened his tiring knees and rooted hard, feeling his come creeping closer and deliciously closer. He seemed all prick, swelling in the hot responsive rectum, plunging deeper and higher with each long sliding stroke. "All right! Can you-"
"Oh, yes, yes, baby! Oh, screw it harder!"
His chuckle was purely male ecstasy as his cock spurted. He held his penis hard in, feeling how his jism formed a steaming pool around the pulsating glans. He felt her come, a deep thumping with alternate spasms of contraction.
"My-my cunt!" she panted.
Only then did he realize that his right hand was clamped in her pussy with brutal force. He relinquished the soft handful of fiery flesh and they swayed together while the core of their orgasms melted and became one. Barton raised and looked down, watching his jism-coated prick slip from her inflamed asshole. Brown streaks of churned shit tinted the white and dark scarlet skin. He felt sud denly weak and dizzy, and he staggered away to lean on the washbasin.
"Hey, hey!" Marcia muttered and stepped out of the tub, moving with haste. She snatched up his uniform harness and handed it to him as she flipped up the toilet seat lid. As her broad bottom hit the seat, she flushed the toilet. He neither heard nor saw nor smelled.
The empty holster seemed unreal-but it was very real.
"My gun!" he gasped. "It's gone!"
"G ... gone?"
"Yes, goddamnit, gone!"
"But how-maybe you lost it stepping over the patio wall?"
He snorted, then snapped the retaining strap with his forefinger. "Not possible! Anyway, a cop's gun is like his hand-he knows where it is at all times."
Returned to sanity, he clearly remembered balancing the belt and shoulder harness on the toilet so the holstered weapon would not slide to the floor. He stared at the empty leather pocket, and a flush of apprehension reddened his neck. He looked at the bathroom door. Had he been so deep in her asshole he hadn't heard the door open? He hung the harness over one shoulder, his eyes narrow with angering speculation. Turning, he washed his very limp penis at the washbasin.
"What could have happened to it, Bart?" Marcia asked, slipping down into the soothing, laving water.
"Your old man-who else? Ghosts? Men from Mars? That old son-of-a-bitch came in to see you for some reason and saw us both! I know it! And I'll bet you all the tea in China the old fucker is standing right outside that door, waiting to shoot us both the minute we open the door!"
"Ooh!" Marcia wailed. "Oh, no! He wouldn't ... shoot me ... us!"
"Wouldn't he? What did he steal my gun for, then?"
Marcia got up from the water, seized a big towel and hastily half-dried herself. "Bart, baby, what are we going to do?"
He didn't reply. He dragged up his trousers and tucked in his shirt. He took his coat from the pull-man top and put it on, then he buckled the harness in place and topped his disheveled hair with his hard-billed cap. His mind was scattered a dozen directions; he had to get out of the Del Monte house and away without trouble; he had to throw open the bathroom door and go out low, below the average man's line of fire, kick the old man down, regain his gun and get going. To what? Del Monte knew him by sight-now even by the length of prick he'd had up Marcia's asshole. Grimly, Barton Field admitted to himself that if he did get out of the bathroom and on out the side door, he had only once choice and that was to keep going until a hundred miles separated him from this unreasonable trouble.
"Bart, oh Bart, I love you s ... so! Listen, Sam wouldn't shoot me, I'm sure. Let me go out first. If he's there, I'll--I'll do something! You've got to have a chance to get away!"
"All right. If you grab the gun, grab it back over the hammer. That way, he can't fire it. All I need is a second to get him, understand? Just a second!"
"Yes, baby." She slipped into her robe and shook her hair back. As she put her hand to the door knob, Barton stepped to one side, patting a quick kiss to her cheek.
"Just in case," he whispered. "It has been wonderful Marcia."
She blinked back tears and stepped into the bedroom. He held his breath but no shot sounded. Working on the same breath, he was out of the house in fifteen seconds.
Standing between the pillars of the front gate, Samuel raised the revolver. He knew exactly how to aim and fire a gun. He pointed it at the skulking, hurrying figure now headed up the street and pulled the trigger. He pulled it five more times, partially blinded by the muzzle flash, thoroughly deafened by the sharp series of reports. When the gun was emptied, he cursed. It hung in his fist, shaking. The figure had now broken into a dead run and Barton Field did not falter.
"Missed the son-of-a-bitch!" Samuel decided, not entirely with regret. He tossed the revolver into the street and went in to beat the hell out of his chip-py-assed wife. That he could do, he thought, shaky hands or not.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
For the past hour, they had sat upon the perimeter of the slowing whirlpool, dizzy, exhausted but somehow compelled to witness the seemingly untiring lust of Tom Everett and the giggly, insatiable inventiveness of Eliza Gretock. Thora lay back in the loose embrace of her husband, and to her left, Gerald Fairlane slouched in total flaccidity. On the other side of the amphitheater created by removing the furniture from the center of the living room, Lulu lay in a plumply, naked ball, her chin resting on one palm while she watched her middle-aged Satyr play furiously lewd games with the slim, blonde child.
There were damp spots on the expensive carpet where Tom's endless supply of jism had leaked from Eliza's constantly thirsty cunt, and many balls of soaked Kleenex. Eliza's white body was marred with many red marks, testifying to the vigor of male fingers. The small cones of her tits were totally inflamed from Tom's greedy mouth; by bowing his back sharply, he had managed to suck her breasts into scarlet peaks while he fucked her again and again.
"Unbelievable!" Thora murmured to Del.
"Truth is stranger than fiction," Del observed. "The fact is that he has enjoyed ten years of hard-ons in the last six hours! And while Liza was undoubtedly possessed of youth's indefatigable instincts, she is also possessed of a leather-lined pussy and the soul of a nymphomaniac! Disgusting, of course, but highly intriguing!"
"No! He isn't going to screw her again!" Thora gasped.
"Yes, he is screwing her again!"
Del sighed. They had been wrestling on the floor, Tom more interested in rubbing his perpetual hard-on against the softness of Eliza's belly and bottom than in subduing her. His balls, which had been tight and round with sperm in the beginning, were now low and floppy and no longer floating. His rigid organ gleamed stickily; the head was considerably swollen from abuse, and the hair at the root of the rampant bludgeon was thickly matted with jism and quim juice. Eliza lay on her side, one leg drawn high, one thrust downward and Tom's cock was rooting lustily in her fatly-puffed cunt, his balls dragging on the inner round of her thigh. She was giggling and wriggling but Del thought she was showing weariness. Tom's knees, already roughed and reddened by contact with the rug, slid with each heavy hunch of his ass.
Del was down to analyzing the fine points. He noted how Eliza's belly palpitated in rhythm to the deep plunge of the meat pole and he could count her twinges because her drawn-up leg jerked following every third or fourth stroke. When her upper arm raised and her fingers crawled around Tom's shoulders, Del anticipated her orgasm. She seemed required to hold onto something fleshy during her orgasms. Her giggles softened and her eyes closed. Obviously Tom understood these symptoms because his lunges lengthened and his grunts became audible.
"By God," Gerald Fairlane muttered. "I believe the old boy is going to make it again!"
Lulu laughed wearily. "He sure is! My God, suppose he'd gotten started with me instead of Liza! Oh, my aching ass!"
Tom let a deep arch develop in his back as he buried his cock in the writhing little body. His head came back, his tongue flapped through dry lips and his arms, stiffened to the floor on either side of Eliza, trembled with strain and weariness. His paunch bobbed and pumped and Eliza whimpered at the pressure. Tom rested his belly on her hip and sucked in several ponderous breaths.
"Goddamn!" he exclaimed. "My back is busted!" Del laughed. "Why don't you quit while you're ahead?"
Tom drew out of Eliza, his prick still firm and up-angled despite the jism stringing from the swollen eye. He laboriously climbed to his feet, staring down at the slender, relaxed and momentarily limp body on the floor. He chuckled, moving his hips so his prick waved back and forth in unbending glory. "I never really believed it would happen, but I guess there's no damned doubt that I'm cured!"
The first sound was the tinkle of shattered glass, then a significant thud on the opposite wall. A second later or less, the bark of a gun, not too distant, came through the night. Followed then a second gunshot, and then a third, slightly preceded by a scream from Tom Everett. Everyone stared at the frayed stub of blood-gushing cock Tom was trying to grasp. Three more shots sounded, but they came as faint punctuation to the quavering screams from Tom's agonized throat. Then shock buckled his knees and he fell to the floor, kicking and squirming and shrieking, his blood spraying over the atrophied Eliza like burning red coals.
When the sixth bullet whistled harmlessly over his head, Officer Field took another breath and banked sharply to the right. He stopped between two tall Italian cypresses, his eyes needling back to where the rising moon cast a faint silver glow on Samuel Del Monte's white hair. Barton thought he saw the arm movement, then he distinctly heard the matallic clack-clack of his gun landing on the street. He hesitated, watching the old man move to the front door of his house. A burning need flared in Barton; he dog-trotted the one hundred fifty feet and swooped down for his gun like a rodeo rider. He ran on, another lot or two before stopping. He swiftly checked the action of the thirty-eight. It seemed unhampered by its concrete kiss. He reloaded it from his belt container, then snugged the gun back into its holster. Barton chuckled.
The police department was back in business.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Del tossed the envelope onto the coffee table and took the drink from his wife's hand. It was Scotch instead of bourbon so he wrinkled his nose and took another long swallow.
"And what is that, my spouse?" she demanded, pointing to the fat envelope.
"That," he replied, "-is twenty-five thousand dollars, less the price of two tickets to Nassau in the glorious, sun-drenched Bahamas."
"You are heartless," she said, then Thora giggled. "Was he mad?"
"Slightly. But when you are lying in a hospital with only half a cock-and that very limp-with pictures of your one ascension to sexual glory being sold to you by a well-cocked, unsmiling blackmailer, some pique is understandable!"
"Did he threaten you with ... anything?"
Del chuckled. "With what?"
"Well, blackmail is illegal, you know."
"So is humping an eleven-year-old girl. So is lying to the doctors, the police and sundry investigators. So is conspiracy, even if the law is not yet aware of just who the conspirators all are."
"Do we qualify?"
Del took another, smaller envelope from an inside pocket. It bore the insignia of a transcontinental airline. "Thusly, the Bahamas. If one con eludes that certain unknown circumstances created a long chain of inexplicable events, one must also admit that the charm dangling from the end of the chain is double-faced. Your pretty countenance on one side and my head on the other."
"Which head?"
"The one that twitches when you wiggle your tits that way."
"Tits do not wiggle. They roll and pulsate and jiggle. Asses wiggle," Thora informed him.
"You may stand to me, woman, and demonstrate."
She came up into his arms, her body a subtle rhythm of moving rounds and soft hollows. "Oh, Del, Del, I love you so!"
A month before, he would have quipped or sent her to the bar for another drink. Now he found the waist snap of her skirt and it made a happy sound as it popped open, followed by the slow buzz of an opened zipper. He peeled the skirt down, taking with it the wisp of nylon so closely fitted to her flared hips and pertly trembling buttocks. She rubbed to him, bringing his cock to thicker solidity. He put his lips to her temple and his strong hands to her bottom. His fingers pulled the cheeks apart, then pressed them together. As if wired for just that intimacy, Thora's thighs parted and she scissored one of his, one hand going to the front of his trousers with nervous haste.
He made some space so she could work his trousers down and free his up-crawling prick. He toe-heeled out of his shoes and did a lewd dance against her bare belly while he stepped free of the cloth cuffs around his ankles. Her throat hummed tunelessly and his breath hissed through hot, flaring nostrils. They rubbed ecstactically together, then clutched close, they waltzed toward the bedroom.
At the bed, Thora reached to throw back the covers. Del held her. "Beds are bourgeoisie," he murmured.
"The floor then! My knees are getting used to it!"
Slowly then, she slid down his body, bending his prick at the root, letting it rebound against her face and bounce up as she went on down. She pivoted, turning her bold, perfectly moulded ass to him. He stared down, superimposing the long, thick shape of his cock over the twin mounds by letting his passion unfocus his eyes. Adoring the vista, he removed his jacket and his shirt, then he stepped between her back thrust feet and fondled his huge penis into final hardness.
"G ... get something first," Thora said without turning her head.
He leaned to the night stand and opened the drawer. His fingers found the lidless jar of vaseline and he brought a big candy-kiss daub to the head of his cock. He went to his knees at her bottom, still smearing the warming lubricant the length and girth of his organ. It felt cool but quickly warmed and he made sure the under-rolls of his heavy foreskin were amply coated. As a soft caress, he petted her anus with a greasy finger, causing her to hump and waggle impatiently. He pressed and the broad, rubbery area around her asshole contracted then relaxed.
"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" Thora pleaded.
"The plane for the east coast leaves at nine in the morning."
"I'll waddle then!"
"It is a seven-hour flight."
"I'll sit sideways on the edge of the seat!"
"Resourceful wench," he muttered.
"Hurry!"
But he couldn't hurry, and they both knew it. He kinked his hips back and placed the head of his penis to her anus. Instantly she hollowed her back and reared her ass up, exhaling in her will to relax. He pressed, deforming the pulsing glans into a partial fitting to the willing infundibulum. His hips tensed, holding the pressure while he reached under and brought her belly slowly up. She screwed her hips back; he twisted forward and slowly the flesh seemed to give away, turning deeply in as it opened. Del controlled the urge to jab, and Thora moaned in pain and ecstasy as her asshole abruptly surrendered and the head of his cock oozed in.
"A moment, a moment!" Thora panted, and Del froze, his cock shank gripped by the ring of distended pink flesh. Her stomach heaved on his palm, her spine fluttered with restrained eagerness, then he felt her anus soften and relax. He jiggled another inch into the tightness and her gush of breath told him she was ready. Her shoulders shifted and he felt her fingers back under her crotch, teasing the under round of his cock with gentle nails, moving his balls, exploring the unreasonable monster slipping slowly up her rectum. He watched his penis move in, turning her asshole inward, forming a channel between the cheeks of her tight ass. His balls thumped and his cock shrieked with exquisite pain as the foreskin was dragged back and back, to suddenly slide into the enlarging flesh ring, aided by the friction-soothing vaseline. Then he could no longer see his cock because the out-pout of her nates and the deep hair of his groin shrouded the full inness. He dropped her belly then and gripped her hips with both strongly guiding hands. He waited for her, and after a second or two, she initiated a subtle undulation, and he picked it up, dragging back, pressing in, each stroke lengthening until his prick was slipping a full six inches back before it went smoothly into the cushion of her bottom. He felt her come before the building sparks in the head of his cock welded into a steady fire. She groaned and panted and mumbled soft obscenities and he stroked her gently until she began to push back again. He did not want to come just yet and to lessen his excitement, he tore his eyes away from the insidious entry and retreat of his prick and folded over her back, loving her writhing body up to his with commanding strength.
"Oh, Del," she whispered.
"Again?"
"N ... nearly! Oh, how wonderful, how good, how wounding!"
"Want my fingers?"
"Yes, yes, but I d-don't really need them!"
He passed one hand down and under and back and they made another soft, bird-wing sound as he vigorously frigged her quaking cunt. She began to whimper and it excited him to move his other hand up under her blouse to displace her straining brassiere so he could roll and ruffle her pulsating tits. Hands filled with passionate delights, his massive cock wrapped in fire hot flesh, Del let his brain turn to soggy nothing. He felt the tensions building, sending shock waves to his glans and he searched deeper, longer, more thickly.
He held. His orgasm fought for release; he tightened and held, knowing he had lost but anticipating the final explosion. "Yaa-ough!" he gasped, and he felt the first charge of jism leave his glans like a rocket-propelled BB shot. Thora barked hoarsely, then wailed like a witch. Come-hysteria engulfed Del and he laughed like a child as his semen pumped and pumped and a massive soothing came to his huge prick. He lay heavily on her, feeling how her bowel milked and sucked at his penis. Then several ecstasies relaxed and he began to feel himself and her.
"I love you very much," he husked.
"You have broken my poor bottom," she accused him.
"Then write a nasty note to Gerald Fairlane," he said. "He alone is responsible for the cure to our marital problems!"
