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Subject: The Camera Club  (Hetero Sex, Voyeurism, Blackmail, D/s, Anal, Bestiality-dog/woman, Rape)
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This has:  Hetero Sex, Voyeurism, Blackmail, D/s, Anal,
Bestiality-dog/woman, Rape)

I reserve all rights to this story. It may not be transmitted to the
public by any means (such as posting to the Internet or to newsgroups) and
may not be changed in any way (such as altering the story or title) without
my expressed written permission.  Zombie Night (c) 1991

Send Any Comments To ZombieNight@Hotmail.com

                                 The Camera Club

The third anniversary party of the Jamisons was going well. Cindy
Jamison, smiling broadly and her ice-blue eyes sparkling, walked out of
the kitchen as the last of the dinner dishes were taken from the table
by her husband, Howard, and their two party guests, Ralph and Norma
Taylor. Cindy was happy; happy because the dinner had gone perfectly,
her special potato flambe having earned well deserved praise, and
because as she looked at her tall, handsome husband, she realized just
how much in love with him she was.

She kissed him fondly on the cheek as he passed her with the gravy
boat. "I love you, Howie," she murmured.

Howard grinned, and kissed her back. He looked down at Cindy, once more
feeling the stirrings of love and physical attraction which had first
excited him, and had never once stopped making him want her over the
past three years. Her full, ripe figure nearly burst the tight bodice
of her white dress, and the plunging neckline disclosed more than just
a casual view of her sun-bronzed breasts, breasts which he knew had
been first caressed by him--- Cindy having been not only a virgin but a
shy, hesitant maiden before their marriage.

She turned and went into the living room, and for a long moment Howard
watched the smooth enticing undulations of her buttocks, the twin
globes a rhythmic reminder of the warm wet passion she stored between
her well-curved thighs. There was just enough dinner wine in him to let
his thoughts roam to what was going to happen later, after the Taylors
left, and he and Cindy were alone, and in the privacy of their
bedroom...

His revery was interrupted by the entrance of Ralph Taylor. He walked
out of the kitchen wiping his wide, muscular hands on a dish towel, his
face a picture of pleasantness. "Howie, my boy, let's open the
champagne now!"

"Champagne?" Howard asked, baffled.

"You don't think that I could let you folks celebrate without a little
of the bubble-juice, do you?" He laughed jovially. "Heh, heh, Norma
brought two magnums with her, along with your present."

Cindy, lighting a cigarette as she sat on the couch, said, "Ah now,
Ralph, you didn't have to buy us a thing."

"Nonsense! No employee of mine is going to be let off his anniversary
without something to liven things up. Especially a star salesman like
Howie, here. I know how it is with old married couples, Cindy; after
all, I'm going on ten years in the ball-and-chain, and so I've got a
little deal for you both which will perk up everything, believe you
me!"

Cindy wasn't too sure what Ralph meant, talking about a gift to "perk
up" their anything but dead marriage, but she smiled anyway. After all,
Ralph was the manager of Auto Circus, Morriston's biggest and most
prosperous used car lot, and Howard worked under him. Ralph was a big,
impressive looking man, liking to dress well and flashy; right now he
wore a double breasted blazer cut Edwardian, gray striped pants, and
polished loafers. As usual there were three cigars poking out of the
handkerchief pocket, and a pearl and diamond tie-tac in his wide,
striped tie. Cindy liked him, not only because he was her husband's
boss, but because Ralph was so jovial and fun-loving, ever smiling and
with a joke to tell---even if some of them embarrassed her because they
were a bit too riske.

Ralph, she knew, often said things in a round-about manner, a carry-
over from his work when he would talk about a car in almost teasing
buildup to interest a prospective customer. So she wasn't concerned
that his comment wasn't clear to her and knew that by the end of the
evening all would be explained.

"Yes, Cindy," Ralph said expansively, "I can just picture you now with
the gift. I can't wait to see how things developed!" He started
laughing in his hearty, gravelly laugh, and was joined in by his wife,
who was still in the kitchen but who had evidently overheard his
conversation.

"Oh, Ralph," Norma said loudly, "you card!"

She and Howard then came out of the kitchen, her arm linked in his in a
gesture of friendship. "Are you sure you want to expose them to this?"
she asked Ralph, again the emphasis falling so that the Jamisons knew a
double meaning was hidden in her words. "Perhaps we haven't timed it
right!"

The Taylors erupted in more laughter, the Jamisons looking at them with
bewilderment. They were both jokers, Howard reflected, Norma just as
quick with the puns as her husband. He grinned anyway, caught up with
the humor of the situation, and gripped Norma's arm tighter. She was a
good- looking woman, thinner than Cindy but no less desirable, with her
multicolored hostess gown falling over pert, upthrust breasts and thin,
tightly molded buttocks and thighs. Her raven black hair, cut in a
boyish bob, cameoed her round, innocent face, but Howard knew from the
way she reacted to some of Ralph's spicy stories, she was well
experienced in the ways of love...

"Ralph, honey," Norma continued, releasing her arm and walking across
to where her husband was lighting a cigar, "Where's my bag?"

"By the front door, where you left it," came the reply. He released a
stream of smoke. "Want me to get it?"

"No, I will." She crossed to the front door of the Jamison home and
opened it. Reaching around the corner she retrieved a large straw
shopping bag from the porch. "We hid this on the way in," she
explained, shutting the door again. "We wanted it to be a surprise."
"It is that," agreed Howard, still mystified.

They all grouped around Norma and her bag as she opened it. Out came
the two magnums of champagne and a gayly wrapped present.

"Ooohh," cooed Cindy, "what's in the present?"

"You'll find out," Ralph promised, "but only after some champagne." He
chortled, obviously enjoying his role as gift-giver. Cindy picked up
the rectangular package and shook it; there was only a faint rattling
from inside it. The box was quite large, decorated by "Happy
Anniversary" paper and a big red ribbon, and a tingling of expectation
ran through her. She loved to receive presents, and Howard often
brought her home small, inexpensive, meaningless gifts, just so she'd
have something to open. She loved him for this; this, and for many
other reasons.

Howard went to the credenza in the dining room and got four cocktail
glasses, then went back to the kitchen for a bucket of ice. They sat
around for a little while after that while one bottle of champagne
cooled, Cindy lovingly staring at the large gift, trying to guess what
was in it as the Taylors made jokes about its contents. Most of the
bottle was consumed, adding a certain glow of merriment to the
festivities, when at last the time came for the box to be opened.

Cindy, of course, was chosen as the opener. Slowly, carefully, she slid
the bow off and then slit the paper... underneath was a plain cardboard
carton advertising dog food. She looked up questioningly.

"No, we just had to use the box for all the parts," Ralph said. "C'mon,
open the thing."

Trembling with anticipation, Cindy obeyed, and inside the carton were
other boxes, only these were clearly marked.

"Howie!" Cindy exclaimed, "look at this!"

Howard was pleasantly shocked. The main gift was a brand-new color
Polaroid camera, an expensive model with adjustable lens and shutter
speed. Then there was a strobe flash attachment, the kind which was
rechargeable, and then... well, he wasn't quite sure what the third
item was.

"A timer," explained Ralph, "it allows you to be in your own pictures."
He held it up and showed how it operated. "See, you set this thing for
up to fifteen seconds, then get in range and the camera takes your
picture. Then one minute later, you have your photo, automatically."

"My God, Ralph, you shouldn't have," Howard gulped. "This is so
expensive..."

"Ha ha, what's money if not to spend, I always say!"

"Well, gee, thanks Ralph... thanks a lot!"

"Don't mention it, my boy! Don't mention it!" Ralph picked up the
Polaroid and opened it up. "I've got one just like it, Howie. Had
nothing but fun with it. Hand me a roll of film there, and I'll show
you how it works."

The balance of the evening was spent in snapping pictures of each other
and Ralph showing his star salesman the intricacies of the adjustments
and flash. The rest of the champagne was consumed, and then everybody
switched to bourbon or scotch, and at one point Cindy, feeling the
double effects of the alcohol and the overwhelming generosity of her
husband's employer, had her picture taken while bussing Ralph lightly
on the cheek. One minute later everybody took turns looking at sweet
lips touching the now slightly alcoholic reddened cheeks of Ralph,
while he was grinning from ear to ear into the eye of the lens.

Howard saw it, and strangely, perversely, an odd feeling crept into his
body. He studied the shot, seeing for the first time his wife kissing
another man. He was not jealous, not in the least. It was all done in
innocence and in the spirit of the occasion, but still, it was a novel
experience, as she had never allowed herself even this slight intimacy
with anyone before. It somehow strangely excited him... and then he
passed the photo to Norma and the tingling went away.

Later, as Norma and Cindy were talking of womanly things in the living
room, he and Ralph ended up in the kitchen together, mixing drinks. He
was still overcome by the magnitude of the gift and said so. "Wait
until your anniversary, Ralph. I'll put on the party and---"

"Cut it out, Howie, my boy. Glad to do it. Just seeing you and that
wonderful wife of yours having fun is enough for me." He put his arm
around Howard's shoulder. "I really like you, my boy. You've done a
fine job at Auto Circus, a fine job. You deserve a nice present, you
really do."

Howard, embarrassed, murmured his thanks for the compliment. He could
feel his face flush.

"Now tell you what I'm going to do for you, Howie," his boss said, a
peculiar leer transforming his face to an almost satyr-like
countenance, "I'm going to give you a little hint."

"Yes?" Howard thought it might be about the job. Some inside
information which would help his career. He listened eagerly. "What is
it, Ralph?"

"Use the camera... in the bedroom!" Ralph said, and then started to
laugh. "Get some real nice candid shots of the ol' wifey!"

"What?" Howard backed away, both shocked and embarrassed by his boss's
suggestion. His off-color jokes were one thing, but never had he spoken
so bluntly! It must be the liquor in him, all that champagne and
bourbon... "I don't know what you mean, Ralph," he said. The idea of
Ralph's was unthinkable! "Perhaps we'd better go in the living room
and..."

"You mean to tell me you didn't think of the possibilities?" came the
reply, interrupting Howard. "C'mon, Howie, boy," his boss chided,
"that's the beauty of the camera. You don't have to take the film in to
be developed. Whatever you shoot a picture of is all your own affair."
He nudged Howard with his elbow, winking as he did so. "See what I mean
now?"

Howard knew his face was flame red. Sure, he realized what Ralph had in
mind; he wasn't naive! But to think of lowering his wife to such
things, like... like she was some nudie model in a man's magazine!
"Please, Ralph," he said, squirming uncomfortably, "the girls are
waiting."

"All right," Ralph said, suddenly sobering. He picked up his glass and
started for the living room, a small hint of indignation in his voice.
"But I'm telling you, there's nothing to be ashamed of, using the
Polaroid for... special shots of each other. Everybody who has one has
the same ideas. Really turns the gals on too!

Howard followed Ralph into the other room, strangely silent. He loved,
revered and yes, respected his wife. The lewd implications of Ralph's
suggestions burned his brain, and he was as ashamed for his wife's sake
as he was for himself. He liked sex, loved making it with his wife...
but gutter-talk and locker room snickerings about their private love
life were another matter...

Yet his emotions were ambivalent. The high-principled resolve not to
court his wife's indignation and hurt by even mentioning the incident
just now to her wouldn't blend with a remembrance of the picture of her
kissing his boss. The photograph grew from a hazy thought to a crystal-
clear portrait of her soft, tapered body bending to passionate
responsiveness. That strange tingling in his groin began again at the
thought, and a slight jerk of his penis told him that he was getting
excited.

Stop it, he told himself... this is absolutely crazy, thinking like
this... but still Ralph's seed-like suggestion whirled in Howard's
brain, gathering momentum, and when he looked at his wife sitting on
the couch, he couldn't help mentally stripping her of her clothes and
seeing her as if in a photo...

By the time the Taylors paid their respects and said goodbye, Howard
was filled with lustful dreams of Cindy nude and voluptuous on the bed,
standing on the bedroom rug, stretched out on the couch. Quickly he
downed another scotch to try and steady his nerves, and mentally
berating himself for such lascivious preoccupations.

Besides, he knew damned well that if he ever dared to suggest such
activities, Cindy would be righteously indignant. Surely not that! Not
on this night of their anniversary! Still the images came back to haunt
him. He groaned, feeling his cock suddenly begin to ache with
anticipatory excitement.

"That was nice, wasn't it, sweetheart?" Cindy said, cuddling up to him.
"And the camera. How can we ever repay them?" Her words were slightly
slurred, a condition which always happened to her after the third
drink. It didn't mean she was drunk, Howard knew, but that she was high
and feeling good.

"Sure, Cindy," he said, trembling. There was a pulsing hardness in his
loins now, and without really knowing that he was saying it, he said to
her, "Say, honey, are you tired yet?"

"No... not really."

"Well, let's fool around with the camera some more." He grinned at her,
realizing that the liquor had gotten to him, too. "You know, just a
couple of shots now that they're gone."

"All right," she said brightly. She went to the couch and sat down,
crossing her legs and placing her hands on her knees after smoothing
her skirt. "Maybe one we can send my folks."

"Right!" Howard quickly snapped a few innocent ones, but his mind was
on the ones he wanted to take...

"How about moving the skirt up a bit now?" he suggested casually.

"My... my skirt?" His wife looked uncertain. "I... I don't know, Howie.
Do you think it would look right?"

Howard waved his hand as if to shrug off the worry. "Ah, who's to see?
The picture would stay right here, honey. Just you and me." He smiled
reassuringly. "Go on, raise the skirt."

"All... right, if you want," his pretty young wife replied, and bunched
the material in the folds of her waist. She would never have consented
to do this, she realized, if it hadn't been for the liquor she'd
consumed. It seemed to loosen her strict moral code... perhaps
dangerously? No, there wasn't anything to worry about. If her husband
wanted a picture of her like this, then why not? It was no different
than one in her bathing suit, was it? "But promise me," she added,
"promise you won't take it out of the house."

"Never," he replied. He held his breath and snapped the shutter. Then
one minute later he sat down with her and showed her the portrait, and
he found himself breathing harshly as he admired the smooth, firm swell
of her naked thighs as she sat almost nude from the pelvis down... the
aching built steadily in his pants... he quickly got up, trying to
shield the now quite apparent bulge. "Let's take some more like that!
It was fun!"

"Howie---" came the plea, but he ignored it.

"Put your legs up on the couch. That's it. Now lean back and arch your
back so that your breasts are out..." He feverishly sighted the camera.
"There! That's it! Yes!" Click!

Howard impatiently waited for the film to develop, and then he gazed
with ever-increasing excitement at the photo. "Hot damn!" he said
chokingly under his breath, "Ralph was right!"

"Let me see, Howie," Cindy asked, and he handed her the color shot. She
gasped, never before seeing herself so provocatively posed, so... sexy!
Redness creeped up from her breasts and neck and enflamed her cheeks.
"Howie!" she gasped, but her eyes were still glued to her picture. She
was stretched out on the cushions just as before, her firm, ripe,
quivering breasts straining against the binders of bra and dress... her
lips glistening wetly where she had moistened them with her pink tongue
seconds earlier... and her sun-tanned legs and thighs were exposed in
all their dark silkiness...

"Another!" Howard commanded hoarsely. "This time lie down and lean
forward." He fingered the camera in anticipation. "I want to see your
breasts," he blurted in his excitement.

"Howie! What a thing to say!" Yet in spite of her indignation, she did
as he bid. For some unexplainable reason, this moral and most proper
young woman---a sensual female only in the darkened confines of her
marital bedroom and never with anybody save her husband was caught up
in the mounting fever. A small, irrational tingling started growing in
her loins and inner thighs, and she could tell her vagina down between
her thighs was beginning to moisten with the lubrications of building
sensuality.

No! she thought, this is a bad thing to be doing...! But she looked up
at the lusting face of her husband, dropped her eyes to the pulsing
bulge clearly evident in his pants, and her own desires grew still
more. He's liking this... she concluded. I'm not... I'm highly ashamed
at my display, but it's getting Howie excited, and I guess that's
what's making me feel so passionate... certainly it can't be these
erotic pictures of myself...

Stifling a soft moan of inner protest, Cindy lay down on the couch,
leaning forward so that the full expanse of her rounded breasts were in
view. Again, strangely, she became aware that she too was becoming
excited, that her turgid nipples were rising into tantalizing little
buds, pressing against the very edge of her bra's cups. Stop! This just
isn't right! she moaned to herself. Hurry, Howie, hurry up with the
picture!

"Wait a minute, honey," her aroused husband said. "Let's make it a
little better." He put down the camera on the coffee table and bent
over his trembling wife. He fingered her skirt, the electric contact as
he brushed against her skin making her gasp. "Let's see a little of
your panties..."

He had gone too far! Cindy, her eyes clearly showing the agonizing
choice she had to make now, her sense of decency by saying "no" to her
own husband, or her desire to please him by saying "yes." She pressed
her thighs together tightly, stopping him.

"Don't be such a prude!" he suddenly snapped. The alcohol, the growing
lust-fever of the snapshots, all had now combined to make him lose
control in bitter words.

Defiantly, now angered at her husband, Cindy cried, "What a thing to
say, Howie! I'm not a prude!" And to prove she wasn't, she spread her
legs, letting him take her skirt and roll it to her waist. There was a
sharp intake of breath as Howard gazed down with feasting eyes on the
tender, barely covered pubic triangle of his young wife. "This... this
is going to be the last one, though," she said miserably. "No... no
more of these awful pictures."

"Sure, sure, honey," Howard agreed, hardly cognizant of what she had
said. "We'll go to bed after this one." He angled the camera so that
most of the picture would be of her delicious breasts and panties,
making sure that the soft warm curls of pubic hair which managed to
peek out from under the legbands of her panties were clearly visible.
"To bed," he repeated hoarsely and snapped the picture.

"Wow!" he gulped when a moment later he held up the shot. Everything
was in perfect focus, a fine photo. Once more his wife was before him,
the flimsy white bikini panties she wore a teasing cover to her sweet,
tempting vaginal slit... and the rounded spheres of her breasts were
all but fully exposed, ready to break loose from the wispy bra which
covered her nipples. "Oh, wow!" he cried, and his mouth watered.

Cindy was sitting up now, smoothing her skirt down over her legs. She
was nearly in tears. She got to her feet and saw that her husband was
busily thumbing through the naughty collection he had just taken, and
unsteadily she walked to the bedroom.

She couldn't look at herself as she undressed, and slipped on her white
nightgown with the same averted eyes. She couldn't look at herself, not
now, not after what she had allowed Howie to do with her. Oh, God, But
I do love him... She slid under the sheets and turned off the bedside
light, plunging the room into darkness.

She lay there, waiting for her husband to come to her, upset by his
lusting behavior, still more distraught by her own. She had let him do
his will with her, and worse, she had become excited as he had. True,
it wasn't because of the pictures---of that she adamantly refused to
admit--- but only because seeing her husband wanting her so much made
her react.

What a terrible way for their third anniversary to end! Oh, if only the
Taylors could have foreseen what their gift would have meant, she was
sure that they'd never have given it! And where was Howie? Was he still
looking at those damning pictures?

"Howie!" she called out. "Please come to bed!"

"C-Coming, honey," came the wavering reply. "I---I was just having
another drink!" His strong, masculine form suddenly filled the doorway,
and then the lights went on again. Cindy shielded her eyes with her
arm. "Turn off the lights," she said.

"In a minute, honey. In a minute." He shed his clothes quickly, and
then he was on the bed beside her in a kneeling position, naked, his
erect and pulsating cock already standing out from his groin. "You're
beautiful, Cindy," he murmured, and slowly slid the sheet away from
her, exposing her again.

"Howie," the trembling young wife responded. "Howie, I love you so
much!"

"Mmmm!" he answered as he unbuttoned the nightie at the throat and let
it fall away from her body, a cascade of filmy white. He roamed his
hands over her, playing with her breasts, tweaking her nipples into
vibrating firmness. He had never stopped marveling in her beauty, her
wide-eyed, almost shy way she came to him, as though she was a virgin
every time, as though he was the only man who could arouse her to where
her passion overcame her "first time" reluctance. And he was the only
man!

Then he looked at her, smiling, and in his hands were those filthy
pictures! Cindy gasped, cringing down in the bed as she saw them. "Put
them away, Howie," she protested.

He grinned lewdly, his face a mask of desire. "Why? They're only of
you, my darling. Here, see this one?" He cast a shot of her on the
couch in front of her eyes... and once more she saw herself smiling
provocatively, her throbbing breasts rich and full, her skirt high and
her soft white panties in full view...

"Please! Howie," she moaned, and twisted her face away, but as she did
so, she glimpsed down her body, at her breasts which were now
unhampered by a bra, at the flat plane of her trembling belly, at the
soft, lovely spread legs and the soft pubic down which covered her pink
vaginal opening. For one terrifying moment she saw that inexplicably
her cunt was shining with the excited honeyed dew of her secretions...

She was excited! And strangely, by those damnable pictures!

The force of the realization was crippling; a blow like a tornado,
filling her mind with a lurid feeling of degradation and shame. Her
eyes filled with hot tears of self-abasement, and in agony, she grabbed
the pictures from her husband and threw her se l f in his arms. She
wouldn't admit her arousal, not to herself, and especially to her
husband. What would a man think of his sweet, loving wife, then?
Terrible things! She gripped the heaving, naked chest of Howard, afraid
he would cast her aside as some whore, some defiled harlot sick of mind
and body, if he knew what those few snapshots had done to her...

"Howie, love me," she pleaded desperately. "Love me slow!" she dropped
the photos to the bed, where Howard still saw them, and as he once more
spied the curls of golden fleece peeking out of the silken legband of
her panties, his cock leapt to a new, full-blooded high. He arched his
groin, moving his hardened shaft up and down along her upper belly, for
he was still on his knees and she was sitting up... he groaned, feeling
the heat of his long-building sexual fire become a raging inferno
inside his lust-bloated penis and sperm-filled balls...

He leaned back and in doing so his cock neared her breasts. For a
moment he shut his eyes, letting the remembrance of those tantalizing
lips in the pictures play in his passion-filled brain, and thinking of
their softness, their butterlike pliancy on his own lips, he began to
ache for them to kiss his pulsing cock. He groaned, sliding
uncontrollably up on the bed, angling so that his cock was to his
nubile wife's trembling chin.

His hand snaked along the covers to the pictures. His fingers felt
their edges and even though he couldn't view them, he knew now from
memory what each contained, and the thoughts drove to new urgency. As
he had so many times in the past when aroused to such a point, he
dismissed what he knew was her natural aversion to such an act, and
groaned to his wife;

"Kiss me, Cindy... kiss me there!" His hardened penis was almost to her
ruby lips; all she had to do was bend her face a scant few inches, and
her mouth would be closing over the sensitive, fully grown head...

A shudder passed through Cindy. "No... no... not that, Howie! You know
I... can't... not there!" She turned her face away, her features
contorted in a look of revulsion as if to kiss him, to suck his penis
was a foul, bitter thing to do. "Not down there," she whispered, and
she moved forward, her arms encircling his head and pulling him
downwards, full length along the bed. "I... I know you want me to, but
don't make me," she sobbed, "I want to make you happy, but not that
way. Please!"

As before, as always, the urgent and overwhelming desire to have his
wife's delicate, soft, warm mouth close around his prick died; the
image of her mewling and crooning as he spurted his white hot sperm
into her throat vanished with reluctant regard for Cindy's abject
repulsion of the act. This was the only flaw in an otherwise wonderful
relationship, and at no time in their three years of making love had he
been able to prove the eroticism of lips against vagina, mouth against
penis. He held her tight, feeling her warm body undulate uncontrollably
against his body, her soft belly and pelvis grinding against his penis
until her refusal was forgiven and his disappointment forgotten.

"Oh... baby!" Cindy moaned. "Darling, darling don't be mad. I need you
inside me so much!"

"Yes... yes," he heard himself say. He drew her closer to him, moving
one hand down to encase the soft, smooth curves of her buttocks. She
glued her mouth to his, darting her pink tongue in and out and along
his teeth, and then brazenly moved her hand down to grasp his cock. Her
cool contact made Howard quiver and he pressed his lips harder against
hers to show his appreciation. She strained the full length of her
body, grinding and pushing, and then she spread her legs and thighs
wide and poised his penis against the snug mouth of her hungry young
cunt, the thin, hair-lined lips of her innermost desires relaxing with
the overwhelming need of him to enter.

There, Howie... right there. Now!

He lunged, his hips thrusting heavily as he drove into her waiting
passage, feeling her fevered, pulsating vagina almost greedily clasp
his cock and absorb it. She wanted all of him tonight, and Howard was
amazed that in spite of the rejection of the picture taking, she seemed
almost wanton, almost completely lost in the world of sexual
abandonment... he couldn't understand her, but didn't try, not with her
pussy pushed forward until the head of his cock was pressed hard up
against her cervix, her motions of a muscle spasming tempo. She held
him tightly, not only with her clasping, smoothly sliding vagina, but
with her widespread legs, kicking them out to the side and locking her
slender ankles tight around his driving hips. He increased his own
strokings, fucking into his wife with almost maniacal fury. Oh, God! He
wasn't going to be able to last long tonight! Sometimes they would
slowly and softly make love for hours, but not now, not at this
rampaging, furious pitch! He was going to reach orgasm soon!

"Oooooohhh, Howie! You feel so good! So good!" his now voracious wife
whimpered, kissing his neck and shoulders. "Yes! Yes! That feels so
goooddddd!" Then she began to babble incoherently, and he knew that
Cindy was fast approaching her own climax, and that spurred him on to
new, more powerful strokes. Her knees drew up as she raised herself
even higher off the bed and her moistly splayed cunt bucked wildly back
up against his ramming penis.

"OOOOOOOhhhhhh... OOOHHHGodddd!" she cried out as if tortured. "I'm...
I'm there! I'm theeeeerrrrrrreeeee!" With a sudden, deep throated
groan, Cindy Jamison erupted underneath her husband, and in doing so it
released Howard's dammed-up explosion. His cum churned through his
swollen testicles and through his penile shaft, bursting through the
unseeing eye to flood his wife's hungrily milking pussy. Again and
again giant spurts of creamy seed flowed from him until at last he
collapsed, a sigh of contentment mingling with her own mewlings of
gratification.

As sanity returned to him, Howard edged his body off his wife and
rolled over. Cindy, nearly asleep, kissed him lightly on the cheek and
curled herself up in a warm ball.

"Good night, honey," she murmured drowsily. "Happy anniversary."

"Sleep tight, honey," he replied thickly, and then put the covers over
her. As sleep overtook him, Howard thought that his wife was damned
good in bed, in spite of her Victorian hang-up about oral or other
forms of sex. He looked at her tenderly, and for some reason, he seemed
to view her form, nestled as it was with but a sheet over her and the
gown beneath her, as a picture.

A simple snapshot... one he would love to add to the few shots he'd
taken this evening. But he knew it was one he'd never get. He sighed
and turned over, shutting off the light and plunging the room into
darkness again.

Ralph was sitting in the glassed-in cubicle which served as his office
when Howard arrived at the Auto Circus lot the next morning. He waved,
his round face beaming cheerfully, and motioned for Howard to join him.

"Morning, Howie," Ralph said enthusiastically as Howard entered the
office. He shook the younger man's hand. "How's the head today?"

"Not too bad," Howard confessed, his voice a little rueful. "I guess I
did over-indulge a little, though."

"Nonsense, my boy. Anniversary celebrations were made for over-
indulgence." Ralph indicated the client's chair before his molded
plastic desk, and then went around behind the modernistic furnishing
and seated himself in his swivel chair. He cleared his throat, meeting
Howard's eyes; his own were twinkling. "Did you and Cindy, ah, go right
to bed after we left, Howie?"

Howard felt heat inadvertently rise on his neck and cheeks as the
remembrance of the previous evening's activities with his wife sprang
full-blown into his mind once more. "Well, we... I mean, that is... not
exactly..."

Ralph chuckled softly. "Tried out the ole Polaroid, eh?" he said
sagely. "Norma and I thought you probably would."

Howard searched for words, but none of an appropriate nature came to
his mind. He finally managed lamely, "It's a very nice camera, Ralph.
We... we appreciate such an expensive gift..."

"Did you---take some pictures of Cindy, Howie?" asked Ralph with a sly
intonation.

Howard's face grew an even darker red. "P-pictures?" he stammered.

"Sure," said Ralph, winking. "Like I told you. In the bedroom."

"I... I..."

"Did you try out the timer?"

"The... the timer?"

"The fifteen-second timer, Howie," Ralph said patiently. Then he leaned
forward across the desk, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "How far
would she go, hey, boy? Just a little cheesecake, I'd guess. The girls
are usually pretty shy at first."

"I... I don't know what you mean, Ralph." Howard was fidgeting
nervously in his chair, his face flaming now.

"Oh come on, Howie," Ralph said, leaning back in his chair again.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Almost everybody who gets
his first Polaroid-with-timer has the same ideas and does the same
things. They're great little intimacy arousers. Get you hornier than
hell, especially if you use the timer so that you get shots of you and
the wife making it."

Howard stared at his employer with widening eyes. He had known Ralph
was open and frank to the point of coarseness at times, but never had
he expected to hear such personal comments coming from the man. Why, he
was practically suggesting that he, Howard, engage in lewd practices
like... well, like voyeurism, for God's sake! Self-voyeurism, at that!

Ralph opened the walnut humidor on his desk and selected an imported
cigar. He snipped off the end with a tiny pair of gold scissors,
lighted it with a gold lighter, and blew a cloud of blue-gray smoke at
the ceiling. "You're not going to tell me you're less of a red-blooded
man than I thought, are you, Howie? Especially after our little talk in
the kitchen last night."

Howard bristled a little at that, feeling some of the heat leave his
face. "What do you mean by that, Ralph?"

"Why do you suppose Norma and I gave you that Polaroid, my boy?"

"I don't know," came the reply. "Why did you?"

"Because I thought you'd appreciate the potential of such a gift,
Howie, that's why. I got my first Polaroid four years ago, from Norma's
sister, and I appreciated the potential right away. You seemed like the
same kind of fun-loving, new-frontiers type that I am; if you hadn't, I
wouldn't have allowed our friendship to bond as tightly as it has.
Hell, I figured: why should I be having all the kicks, just because
I've got a little more money in the bank than old Howie boy."

"You... you mean, you and Norma have...?"

"Taken pictures of one another? And together, fucking? Sure we have,
boy. Why, thousands of people do the same thing all over the country
these days. It's the in-thing with those in-the-know." He paused,
measuring the younger man candidly. "But, of course, you already knew
that, didn't you?"

"Uh, well, sure I did, Ralph. Sure I knew that."

Ralph allowed his smile to widen. "That's what I thought. I didn't
really believe for a minute that I'd underestimated my star salesman."
He chuckled softly, then leaned forward across his desk again. "Now
come on, boy, give a little. Did you get some good cheesecake shots or
not last night?"

Howard moistened his lips uncertainly. Ralph had put him in an awkward
position: what he and Cindy did in the privacy of their own home was
their business and no one else's---but then again, Ralph was a good
friend and his boss, as well; and he was in a position to do Howard a
great deal of future good. After all, hadn't Ralph been instrumental in
getting him his last promotion and pay raise from the company
president? Besides that, Ralph had more or less put this business of
picture-taking on a masculine-pride level; Howard was one who would
never admit to being a lesser man, much less to being naive in the ways
of the world.

It wouldn't do any harm, really, he thought, to tell Ralph about the
photos he had taken of Cindy the night before. It was all innocent
anyway; Cindy would never approve, naturally---but she would never have
to know.

Howard managed a smile, licking his lips again. "Well," he said, "as a
matter of fact, Ralph, I... I did get some pretty good shots, at that.
Some... some cheesecake, as you say."

"I thought so," Ralph beamed. "Pretty hot, eh?"

"Sure," Howard said, having committed himself. "Sure, they were pretty
hot ones, Ralph." Ralph laughed. "Nude shots?"

Howard felt himself flushing again. "Well... well, not exactly. But
they were pretty good anyway. Cheesecake you know."

Ralph opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a small manila
envelope, which he placed on the glass top in front of Howard. "Not
anywhere in the neighborhood of these, I'll bet," he said.

Howard frowned, looking at the envelope. "What's this?"

"Open it up and take a look, my boy."

Howard did that, extracting several glossy full-color photographs which
had obviously been taken with Polaroid cameras. They were blown-up
five-by-seven prints, and Howard sucked in his breath sharply as he saw
what they graphically depicted. "My God!" he managed to whisper.

The top photo was of a lithe, buxom brunette with an angelic face. She
was lying completely nude on her back on a rumpled bed, her slender
legs raised and wide-spread so that the whole of her naked loins were
displayed to the eye of the camera. Her hands were cupped teasingly
around her pubic triangle, framing the wide-splayed splendor of her
softly hair-fringed cunt. She was smiling coyly between her ruby-
nippled, alabaster breasts.

Howard blinked and looked at the second photo. Another sharp intake of
breath, and a small gasp. The same angelic brunette was in this one,
but with her also was a dark-haired, handsome male. The brunette was
straddling the man's loins, her widespread loins lowered down on the
man's hardened penis, so that fully half of its huge length was sunk
into her open vagina. She was holding its base between her thumb and
forefinger, her small pink tongue held tightly between her full red
lips and her eyes squeezed tightly shut in ecstasy. Her other hand was
squeezing her left breast, very hard, so that the jutting nipple seemed
to point directly at the camera.

Quickly, with beads of sweat lacing his forehead and a rising harness
in his loins, Howard thumbed through the other pictures. One showed a
different, gray-templed man kneeling between the opened thighs of a
petite blonde with pear-shaped breasts, his long tongue snaked out so
that it touched the swollen bud of her pink clitoris nestled between
fleece-like blonde pubic hair. Another depicted a voluptuous raven-
haired girl barely out of her teens with her coral-colored lips
voraciously encircling the erect, swollen prick of a muscular hirsute
man while he used the middle finger of one hand in the wet, glistening
area of her soft pink cunt, her leg being raised so that the full
extent of her womanhood was presented to the viewer's eyes while she
sucked the man's cock and toyed with his sperm-heavy balls. Still
another photo showed two couples, both in their mid-thirties, engaged
in an orgiastic group session which Howard could not believe upon first
sight, since it involved cunnilingus, fellatio, sodomy all at the same
time. The final snap was of two blonde girls and a huge German Shepherd
dog, the animal's long hot lolling tongue probing the pubic region of
one of the girls while his wet red penis sawed into the upthrust cunt
of the second.

Howard was sweating profusely, his breath coming in short gasps as his
own genitals tingling with arousal, when he put the group of
photographs back on Ralph's desk. "Good Christ, Ralph," he managed,
"where did you get those?"

"They're really something, aren't they?" Ralph asked, snickering
softly.

"I've never seen anything like that in my life!"

"And these're just one small example of what can be done with a good
old Polaroid camera, Howie," said Ralph. "I've got other ones at home--
- wilder ones, if you can believe it."

Howard wiped his forehead with the back of one hand. His throat felt
dry. "But where did you get them, Ralph? They... they don't look like
model-posed pornographic pictures..."

"They're not," Ralph told him. "All the people in these photos are just
like you and me, Howie average American citizens just out looking for a
few kicks. They all belong to an exchange-photographic organization---
The Camera Club. Norma and I are members ourselves."

"You... you are?" Howard could scarcely believe what his boss was
telling him; he had thought he knew most everything about Ralph Taylor,
his likes and dislikes, his interests and directions. He had never
suspected for a moment that Ralph would be involved in this... this...
well, this dirty picture club. Still, the photos were extremely
stimulating, more stimulating than anything he had ever seen before.
Just thinking about them made his prick tremble and begin to rise
again...

"The way it works," Ralph was explaining, "we subscribe to this monthly
newspaper the Club produces. Couples write in, describing themselves
and their photos, what they'd like in return, and so on. Then we
exchange pictures."

"You mean this Camera Club is a nationwide thing?"

"Sure. There are four chapters---one in New York, one in Florida, one
in Chicago, and one in San Francisco-Los Angeles. The New York Chapter
puts out the newspaper. Hell, you can buy a copy of it right here in
Morriston, under the counter of course. Costs a buck a copy." "Here in
Morriston?" Howard was incredulous.

Ralph laughed. "Uh-huh. Why, you'd be surprised at some of the locals
who are members of the Club; you really would be, Howie."

"You... you just exchange photos, that's all you do? I mean, you hear
so much these days about wife-swapping...

"That's not our bag," Ralph said with a slow smile. "We're strictly out
for our own kicks, together. Oh sure, some of the others undoubtedly go
in for that sort of thing---witness some of those pictures you just
saw- -but that's their business, not ours. I mean, what the hell?"

"Sure," Howard said.

"There's not a damned thing wrong with this picture exchange that I can
see," said Ralph. "We're being faithful to our wives, aren't we? Those
of us who are in the Club for personal gratification, I mean. All we're
doing is getting ourselves and our wives turned on watching some other
people doing it, and they're doing the same thing watching us. And it
does get you turned on, Howie boy, believe me."

I believe you, all right, Howard thought. I can remember how excited I
got last right, taking pictures of Cindy---and they weren't anything
more than some harmless cheesecake. I wonder if I dare...

He shook his head, as if to clear it. No, there was no use thinking
about trying to carry his thoughts past the pure day-dream stage. Cindy
would never allow him to take pictures of her stripped completely
naked, even though she had agreed to the cheesecake photos of the
previous night, and she would most definitely never allow anything as
lascivious as self- photos of the two of them making love. For God's
sake, even if she did agree to go that far, she would certainly not
agree to let anyone else, much less strangers, see the photos.

And he shouldn't expect her to, damn it; what was the matter with him?
Cindy was a sweet, moral girl, faithful and passionate and able to
satisfy his every need up until now---so why was he thinking about
asking her to do something which fairly shouted of perversity and lack
of respect for privacy and personal intimacy? Why should he be so
excited at the possibility of seeing more of these photos which Ralph
had just shown him? Why should the thought of watching other people
making love and performing perversion on a regular basis bring the
sweat out on his forehead, and bring a tightness to his chest and
loins? Well, he couldn't explain it; it was beyond his comprehension.
He knew only that the idea of seeing Cindy in a provocative position in
a photograph, as he had for the first time last night, turned him on
like he had never been turned on before. And the sight of these photos
of strangers today had had the same physical effect on him.

He realized Ralph was speaking to him. "... do you think, Howie boy?"

"I'm sorry, Ralph. what did you say?"

"I said," Ralph repeated, "what do you think of the idea of the
Polaroid Club?"

"Well, I... I suppose it's all right," Howard said hesitantly. "For
other people, I mean." He averted his eyes.

"But not for you, eh boy?"

"No, I... I don't think so, Ralph."

Ralph smiled knowledgeably. "Sure now? I can tell by your face that
you're interested, Howie."

"No... no, I'm not, really, Ralph... I'm not." Howard got quickly to
his feet, conscious of his sweat-sheened face and neck. "I... I think
I'd better get to work. There are some contracts that have to be drawn
up..."

Ralph also stood. "Okay, boy," he said. "But think it over, will you?
We'd be mighty glad to have you aboard; it's really a wild bag." He
chuckled. "And if you're worried about Cindy going along, I've got just
the remedy."

Howard had turned toward the door. Now, without conscious thought, he
found himself turning back to his superior. "What kind of remedy?" he
heard himself ask.

"Take these pictures with you when you go home for supper tonight,"
Ralph said, pushing the photos and the manila envelope across the desk
toward Howard. "And on your way, stop and buy a copy of that newspaper
I was telling you about---The Camera Club News. I'll tell you where you
can pick it up. Then you leave the paper and the photos where Cindy
will be sure to find them..."

"No, I couldn't do that," Howard said, shocked. "It's... not right!
Cindy would never forgive me..."

"I think you're underestimating not only your wife but women in
general, my boy. Why not give it a try? You're interested, I know you
are. You can't fool old Ralph. Take it from me, all you've got to do is
put the bug in the wife's ear, get her on the track. Once they see the
kicks involved, they're only too happy to go along. I know, boy; Norma
was the same as Cindy, shy and retiring, when I first heard about the
Polaroid Club. Now she's open and much warmer---and hell on wheels in
the rack, let me tell you!"

Howard felt uncomfortable in the face of all this candidness, the
unexpected admissions and ideas and concepts which he had been
subjected to this morning. He wanted to get out of there, get to work
so he could think more clearly. "I... I don't think so, Ralph, I don't
think so..." he managed, groping his way to the door, opening it,
walking swiftly toward his own small cubicle.

He did not realize until he had entered it and seated himself at his
desk that he held the photos Ralph had shown him in his right hand...

Howard left the Auto Circus at five that night, for his hour-and-a-
half supper break. The lot stayed open until midnight seven days a
week, and this was his week to close up five of the seven days.

He had not had a good day. He had bungled two sales, unable to keep his
mind on the demanding task of promoting a customer's confidence in
himself and the vehicle he was selling, and had fouled up a contract
for a regular volume buyer. He hadn't been able to get his mind off
Ralph's words of that morning and of the photos which seemed to be
burning a hole in his jacket pocket.

At four-thirty, he had known that there was no use in kidding himself
any longer; he was going to take Ralph's suggestion about leaving the
photographs and a copy of that newspaper where Cindy would be sure to
find them. He had gone in to see Ralph, taken a deep breath, and asked
where he could buy a copy of the Camera Club News.

Ralph had winked boldly at him, saying, "I thought you'd change your
mind, my boy. And you won't be sorry, either; no sir, you won't be
sorry at all. Now the place you want to go is Winkler's Used Books,
over on Shafer Avenue..."

Feeling a strange combination of guilt and mounting excitement at what
he was about to do, Howard drove over to Shafer Avenue and found
Winkler's Used Books, a small neighbor hood secondhand store set midway
in the block. Somewhat self-consciously, for he had never so much as
purchased a girlie magazine in the past---although he had managed to
sneak a look at some of them from time to time---Howard went inside and
asked the grizzled, bald-headed old man behind the counter for a copy
of "a modern swinger's newspaper," as Ralph had instructed him.

The old man didn't even glance at him twice. He reached under the
counter, produced a small, six-page, roughly printed news-sheet, and
demanded a dollar. Howard gave it to him and, clutching the paper
tightly under his arm, he hurried back to where he had parked his car.

He sat inside for a time, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, a
curious fluttering sensation in his lower belly. He glanced over the
paper, marveling at some of the ads there, growing excited by them; it
was as if he couldn't get enough air in his chest. Jesus, but I'd like
to send away for some of the photos mentioned in here. If they're half
as good as they claim, they ought to really be something...

With trembling fingers, he took the manila envelope of pictures from
his coat pocket and glanced through them again. His prick seemed to
jerk spasmodically in his pants as he once again saw the lewd,
tremendously stimulating acts being performed in the full-color
splendor of the Polaroid snaps. The ones that really turned him on the
most were those depicting oral love: soft feminine mouths closed
eagerly, hungrily over the lust-hardened cocks of their husbands;
masculine lips and tongues paying devoted homage to the warm, secret,
tender cuntal valleys of their wives. These he would put on top, so
that they would be the first ones Cindy would see when she opened the
envelope; maybe they would convince her of the beauty, of the
rightness, of oral love...

He started to fold the newspaper around the photos when a sudden frown
creased his forehead and he stopped. Some of the other photos, besides
those depicting oral by-play, were pretty raw for the uninitiated eyes
of his naive young wife; instead of being turned on, being interested
and excited by the newspaper and snaps as he intended, mightn't she
become repulsed and sickened by viewing such blatantly carnal acts as
sodomy and seance a trots and bestiality? Yes, yes, of course she
would! He couldn't include those pictures, not now, not at this early
date just the milder ones, the ones showing a man and his wife making
love in all the possible ways...

Quickly, Howard sorted out the photos, putting those he deemed too
blatant for Cindy's eyes into the glove compartment; the rest he
inserted inside the folded Camera Club News and put into the manila
envelope, sealing it. Then he started the car and, with hot blood
pounding in his temples, he drove directly home.

Cindy met him at the door, wearing a thin hostess gown and holding a
freshly made martini in her right hand; her hair was carefully combed,
as it always was when he came home. Even after three years of marriage,
she never failed to greet him with a drink and a kiss and an alluring
outfit, as if they were still honeymooners. This was one of the reasons
Howard loved his beautiful young wife so much, one of the reasons he
had always felt himself to be very lucky...

Cindy kissed him warmly, handing him his Martini. "You're late, Howie,"
she chided in a mock pout.

"I... had to stop off on an errand for Ralph," he told her.

"Well, dinner's in the oven. A casserole. Okay?"

"Fine, honey."

She kissed him again, and then her eyes fell on the manila envelope
which he carried in his right hand. "What have you got there?" she
asked. "Something for me?"

Howard was momentarily tongue-tied. Of all the stupid things! He had
come into the house carrying the envelope out in the open, instead of
under his coat where Cindy couldn't see it; what was the matter with
him? He just wasn't used to this kind of thing, he supposed, not used
to it at all...

He took a long swallow of his drink, and that seemed to oil his throat
muscles so that they worked again. He said, "Well, uh, they're
pictures, honey---pictures Ralph gave me. He says they, uh, are ones
some friends of his took with their Polaroid and he wanted us to, uh,
see what could be done with ours."

"Oh! Well, let's look at them, Howie. I'm kind of anxious to see them,
after that buildup."

"Uh, I'd rather not, if you don't mind, honey," Howard said lamely. He
was fouling things up, fouling them all up and he knew it and he kept
getting himself in deeper; Christ, why couldn't he be as blase as Ralph
was about these things? He laughed nervously. "They're not, uh, my kind
of pictures---or yours."

Cindy frowned slightly. "What do you mean, Howie?"

"Well, they're sort of... sort of like the ones I took of you last
night." Howard 's face flushed. "You know, daring and... and like
that."

"Have you seen them?"

"No, but Ralph explained them to me," he lied.

"Why in the world would Ralph give you photos like that, Howie? Dirty
ones, I mean?"

"Oh, they're not dirty," Howard said quickly. "Just... just daring,
that's all."

Cindy frowned again. She felt a small sense of foreboding, as if there
were something Howard was not telling her, as if there was some motive
behind his boss having given him these "daring" photographs. She
thought back to the previous evening, and to the snapshots Howard had
taken of her---with her skirt hiked up and her panties showing; thought
back to how excited he had been, how obviously aroused by the sight of
her posing so provocatively before the eye of the camera and in its
sixty- second lasting capture of it. A small involuntary tremor coursed
through her soft young body. She must never let Howard do that again,
take pictures of her like that; it was wrong and it was wicked, and it
had no place in a happy, fully consummated marriage such as theirs.

She said, "Well, if they're that kind of pictures, you take them right
back to Ralph. You tell him we don't want anything like that. I don't
understand him at all, giving them to you in the first place."

"He, uh, was just trying to be friendly, I guess," said Howard, wanting
to end the discussion as quickly as possible. "But I'll take them back,
don't worry."

"I won't honey," his young wife said. She put her arm around him,
softening. "Come on. Let's eat before the casserole gets cold."

They ate a leisurely dinner, and Howard managed to steer the
conversation to many things of little consequence, so that Cindy would
forget about the manila envelope. He had slipped it into their bedroom
as she was setting the table, putting it on the nightstand by their
bed. Now, if only she wouldn't remember it and make him take it with
him when he went back to Auto Circus tonight...

She didn't remember. Howard fixed them each another Martini after
dinner, gulped his down, and told her he had better get back to work---
to relax and enjoy her drink. Then he kissed her, and she whispered,
"Come home early and love me tonight, Howie darling." He said that he
would, kissed her again, said good-bye, and left quickly, feeling once
more that odd mixture of guilt and mounting excitement as he backed the
car out of their driveway.

Cindy, smiling happily and with a warm glow spreading through her from
the Martinis, sat back on the divan in the living room and sipped the
remaining liquid from her glass. She stretched languidly, thinking, I
feel so good tonight, so warm and loved and happy. I'm a lucky woman, a
very lucky woman, to have a wonderful husband like Howie, who has a
very good job and Is a good provider and is a very, very, very good
lover.

She giggled softly, and a warm, pleasant ache began between her tender
young thighs. She sighed then, squeezing her legs tightly together,
wishing Howie hadn't had to go back to work tonight. They could have
had another drink together, and then gone to bed, as they did
sometimes, and made love for hours and hours, slow and sweet and good.
That was the kind of mood she was in tonight, the mood to make love
very, very slowly for a long, long time...

Well, Howard would be home at midnight or so and they could make love
then. She would have to content herself with waiting, maybe watching a
little television and, yes why not, having another drink. She was
feeling a little audacious tonight, and even though she knew her
absolute limit without getting drunk was two Martinis in one evening,
she decided that, by golly, she was going to make herself a third!

She mixed the drink in the kitchen, humming softly and a little
intoxicatedly, and then decided that she would watch television in the
bedroom. She carried the drink in there, switched on the old portable
set on its coaster stand by the dresser (now that Howie had gotten a
raise at Auto Circus, maybe they could afford the color set they'd
wanted for so long), and lay down on the bed.

It was when she reached over to set down the Martini glass on the
nightstand that she noticed the manila envelope lying there.

She frowned mightily. Oh, damn! Now why hadn't Howie taken that back
with him to give to Ralph like she'd asked him? Why had he brought it
in here to the bedroom, for heaven's sake?

She propped herself up on one elbow and took another sip of her drink.
She kept looking at the envelope, lying there sealed, and she began to
wonder, disinterestedly at first and then with increasing attraction,
what the pictures inside were like. Howard had said they were similar
to the ones he had taken of her last night, daring and naughty
probably, like those were. Some friends of Ralph's, he had said. Did
other wives allow their husbands to take pictures of them, as she had
allowed Howard last night? Did they---would they dare even go farther
than she had, actually undressing to bra and panties or even to...
well, to the buff?

Cindy sipped again of her Martini. The liquor was beginning to affect
her now, in several different ways. Her ardor of a few minutes earlier,
instead of waning, seemed to have gained intensity, so that she felt a
moistening down between her legs, flowing out to dampen her inner
thighs; and she felt, toes a boldness that she had never experienced
before, an irrational desire to do something she shouldn't do---
something like opening that manila envelope and looking at the pictures
inside.

I wonder just how naughty those photos are, she thought. I'll bet
they're very naughty, and if they are, I should have Howie speak to
Ralph about giving them to us. But I can't do that until I know for
myself what they're like.

Impulsively, then, stifling another slightly tipsy giggle, Cindy
reached out and grasped the manila envelope. Her fingers fumbled at the
sealed flap, finally got it open; and then she was drawing out the
newspaper wrapped photos and holding them on her lap. She let them lie
there, on the warm silken mound of her lower abdomen, as she drained
the last of the Martini. Then she opened the newspaper, saw the photos,
and held them up to her slightly blurred eyes, squinting at them very
close.

Her first reaction was one of shocked horror. She blinked rapidly
several times, her eyes seemingly held transfixed by the full-color
carnality which she held in her hands. Her brain was spinning with the
combined forces of startlement and undiluted gin.

My... my God! she thought. This is... it's filthy! It's pornography,
that's what it is, plain and simple pornography!

She wanted to cast the offending photos from her, but a curious
perversity made her grip them more tightly between her fingers, made
her eyes remain fastened to their glossy detail. The top snapshot
showed a sweet-looking brunette straddling a dark-haired man; both of
them were nude, with their privates fully exposed to the camera, and
his... his penis was pushed halfway up into her open vagina!

Cindy swallowed hard, looking at the expression on the young woman's
face. It wax one of sheer, unadulterated ecstasy, lids drooped, mouth
parted and moist, with the tip of her wet pink tongue showing; she
seemed to be oblivious to the camera, caught up in the sexual frenzy of
the moment, of the feeling of the man's hardened shaft imbedded deep
within her cuntal passage. And she was manipulating her own breast,
squeezing it passionately in her ardor...

Staring at the angelic young girl's obvious enjoyment, Cindy felt a
quickening of her breath, a fluttering in her lower belly. The inside
of her mouth was dry, and she ran her pink tongue over her lips several
times, trying to dispel the arid, cottony taste.

Her now-trembling fingers pulled the first photo aside and the second
came into view. She gasped, and a little spiral of unwanted heat wended
its way upward through her warmly secreting loins, into her stomach and
chest, hardening the firm, ruby crests of her snowy breasts. A man,
distinguished and older, crouched between the widespread thighs of a
small, well-proportioned blonde, his long wet, seemingly hard, tongue
curled out to flick over the swollen naked pubic area and the erect
clitoris of the passion-tensed girl!

A wave of puritan revulsion took hold of Cindy, and again she wanted to
cast the offending photos from her. But again, she did not; again, she
stared at the photo, at the man, at his tongue touching the innermost
secret of the blonde girl. Oral sex! Perversion! cried the half-
intoxicated mind of the young wife. The very same terrible thing Howie
wanted to do to me so many times! Oh, God, and I'll bet that if I flip
over to another photo it win show the disgusting sight of some woman
with her mouth around a man's penis...

A cascade of shame flowed through her, causing her to flush a violent
crimson. She was no better than the... the lascivious people in the
photos! Thinking filthy thoughts, working herself into an impossible
froth... Suddenly, she wished again that her husband were home. She was
aroused now, aroused by the gin and the thought of lovemaking and yes,
aroused by the perversity of the Polaroid snapshots which she held in
her quaking hands.

"No! No!" she moaned aloud, but even as the words left her lips she was
pulling aside the top photo, revealing the one which lay beneath...

And there it was! Just as she had feared---a girl, a young-raven-
haired teen-age girl, with her lips firmly ovaled around the lust-
hardened penis of a thin muscular man! And she was enjoying it, yes
reveling in the taste of the man's huge penis! She was actually
groveling in the very thing Howard had for so long wanted her to do to
him.

A low cry of despair tore from Cindy's throat, and she was finally able
to push the photos away from her, to fan out in disarray on the bed
beside her. She lay there, trembling, opening and closing her legs in a
vain effort to dispel the tingling, flowing excitement which the lewd
pictures had built to a fanning inferno between her soft, pulsating
thighs.

Howie, she thought confusedly, Howie, I need you, I wish you were here
right now! Howie, I want you, I want you to love me, Howie...

Her hands went out on either side of her to clutch the spread, and her
fingers encountered the rough newsprint of the paper around which the
photos had been wrapped. Something to take her mind off her mounting
desire, her confusion and repulsion at the sight of the pictures which
that... that lecher Ralph Taylor had given to Howard... Yes, she would
read the paper, that was it; read the paper and calm herself that
way...

She lifted the paper, unfolded it before her eyes. The masthead struck
her with the force of a sharp blow: The Camera Club News. What was
this? Her eyes traveled down the front page, over the four columns
there. It wasn't an ordinary newspaper, it was... oh, God, it was some
kind of newspaper of the same kind of people who were in those photos
she had just looked at... advertisements for the exchange of lewd
pictures, placed by people from all over the country, sick people like
Ralph Taylor must be sick, oh, God...

Man and wife will exchange erotic poses with similarly motivated
couple. Nothing conventional. Oralism preferred. Box ---- Cleveland,
Ohio...

Couple with German Shepherd would like to swap snaps with dog owners
everywhere. These are the wildest ever! If you don't believe us, query
Box ----, Atlanta, Ga...

The tormented young wife crumpled the paper and flung it to the floor,
rolling over onto her stomach. Her lower belly was on fire now, in
spite of herself; it was almost as if... as if the sickness she was
seeing here tonight had aroused her passions to the desperation point.
Tears flowed from her eyes, and her body involuntarily squirmed on the
bed. She wiped away the wetness which was obscuring her vision---and
her gaze fell on one of the photos, the nearest one.

It showed a couple performing simultaneous oral love in the classic
sixty-nine position.

Her hand swept it up as if with a will of its own, and her eyes grew
glazed. Breath spewed raggedly from between her open, saliva moistened
lips. She stared at the picture, at the auburn-haired woman in the
process of running her wetly glistening tongue upward over the man's
sperm-swollen testicles to the ridged underside of his hardened penis;
as the man's lips pressed tightly to the gaping, pink-red softness of
the girl's wide opened pussy, his nose gently tickling the tiny
puckered ring of her anus.

Oh, God, I'm sorry, Cindy's mind cried, I'm sorry. But I don't care, I
can't stand it I can't!

And in one swift motion, the beautiful young wife rolled onto her back,
still holding the salacious, full-color photo close to her eyes, and
with her free hand drew open the hostess gown. Beneath it she wore only
a thin pair of flimsy panty briefs. As if a separate entity, ungoverned
by her will, the hand drew the panties down, slowly, slowly, as she
raised her quivering buttocks high off the bed.

Her liquor-fogged, passion-fogged brain blotted out all the evils she
had been led to believe came from masturbation. There was only her
urgency now, her need for release from the intense arousal of her body
by the lustful activities in the photos.

She massaged the smooth flat whiteness of her stomach with the palm of
her hand, around and around, raising up to pass over her breasts with
their swollen nipples, causing whirlpools of passion to seethe within
her. Then her hand with a will of its own moved lower and she arched
her back, raising her hips high off the bed, her fingers passing
through the downy- soft fleece of her golden pubic hair and
intensifying further the rising crescendo of sexual frenzy.

A groan of desire and total abandonment escaped her lips, and the young
helplessly impassioned wife moved her hand downward between her now-
widespread thighs, wet with the secretion of her passion. She gentled
her finger into the moist flesh, and the feeling generated by her own
fevered fingers was so very, very good. She manipulated the soft hair-
lined inner lips until she could feel them swelling with the rush of
blood, and her clitoris was rigid and tingling. Her index finger came
in contact with the trembling flesh, and she began to gasp with delight
as she felt release imminent. Her hips thrashed the bed and the air,
her eyes never once leaving the photo and the lewd oralism depicted
there---lips on penis, lips on vulva, lips on penis, lips on vulva...

Faster, faster, faster her finger rubbed across the sensitive clit,
blanking her mind of all thoughts, all sanity; nothing existed for her
in that moment except the delirious coming of her impending climax.

And then she was there!

Oh, God, she was cumming!

Her hips flailed frantically at the bed as wave after wave of intense,
bursting release seized her. It was pleasure so acute that it
approximated pure pain. Then, as her orgasm began to ebb, her buttocks
sank back to the spread and her hand stilled but did not leave her
cunt. She lay there, not moving, her eyes squeezed tightly shut now and
her chest rising and falling spasmodically.

And then sanity returned to her brain. With it came abject
mortification, a feeling of self-loathing that was almost as great as
the delight of her still ebbing orgasm. She moaned aloud in despair,
sitting up, brushing the photos from the bed and flinging them to the
floor around it as if they were vermin of the foulest type. Then she
threw herself face down on the bed, crying out her torment, sick with
the knowledge of the act of carnal self-abuse that she had just
performed on herself.

Those damnable photos! They were the cause of it all, the cause of her
rising excitement into the throes of lust, her loss of self-control.
Those filthy photos! Oh, damn Ralph Taylor for giving them to Howard,
damn him, damn him! Why did he have to interfere in hers and Howard's
heretofore placid existence; why did he have to give them that Polaroid
camera, anyway? What was the matter with him? Was he as sick as the
people who subscribed to that Camera Club News?

The questions spun and rotated in Cindy's tortured, liquor fogged mind.
She felt sick to her stomach, and... impure, as if her body were
harboring disease-ridden microbes. She needed the cleansing release of
sleep; she couldn't be this upset when Howard came home. He must never
know what she'd done tonight; no, he must never know.

After a long moment, she stood from the bed and gathered the photos and
the newspaper from the floor, holding them again as if they were
excrement laden. She put them back in the manila envelope, returned the
envelope to the nightstand. Then she took off her gown and lay back
down on the bed, slipping between the sheets, praying for the respite
of sleep to ease her tortured mind.

But restful sleep, for the confused young Cindy Jamison, was not
forthcoming on this night.

"Well, Howie, my boy," Ralph Taylor said jovially, "you about ready to
see how those pictures worked?"

Howard had been in his office for the better part of three hours now,
having come back from his dinner hour still disturbed over what he'd
done. All the way home and all during the time he was with his wife he
kept telling himself he wouldn't leave the corrupting manila envelope
of photos and paper... but he had! He didn't feel right about it, not
right at all... but the damage had been done. He was here, waiting for
some customer to walk on the lot and take his mind away from what he'd
done. He had resolved that when midnight came and he could go home, he
would straightaway take that packet and burn it if his wife hadn't
opened it yet. More than once he'd thought about calling her, telling
her under no circumstances should she open it... but every time his
hand went to the phone, he stopped. To tell her would be tantamount to
confessing that he knew what was in it; Cindy wasn't dumb and she'd
figure that she'd been set up.

Instead of a customer, in had walked Ralph. There hadn't been a
customer all the while he had been back at Auto Circus, nothing to
relieve the time-heavy wait. And of all the people he didn't want to
see at the moment was his boss, the very man who had turned his head
and suggested the whole stupid idea.

But, like the professional salesman that he was, Howard swallowed his
inner feelings and smiled heartily. "Oh, hello, Ralph. I didn't see
you. Aren't you supposed to be home now?"

"Hah, hah, home is where the heart is," came the answer, "and tonight I
felt that I should see how my friend is doing. And you are my friend,
you know, as well as my star salesman." He chuckled again. "Besides,
Norma's got a bridge club meeting going on at the house. My heart is
certainly not out for any of her friends."

"Oh." Howard shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Not much going on
tonight, I'm afraid."

"Can't expect much, not on a weekday night in between paydays. I
sometimes wonder whether it's worth staying open." He sighed, looking
out the window at the rows of gleaming cars and then beyond, at the all
but deserted main street. "Everybody's home in bed or at my house,
playing cards."

"Uh-huh." Howard tried to think of some work to do; anything so he
could look busy and have an excuse not to talk. There was nothing; he'd
finished the paper, and all he could do was sit.

"Like I said, boy, how do you think it will go?"

Howard felt his face color. "I... I don't know."

"What? After three years you can't figure on how your wife will react?"

"It isn't that, Ralph." Here we go again, back in the same embarrassed,
defensive position I was earlier. God, I must look stupid to him...
"It's just that Cindy's not all that experienced. I mean, there's a lot
of difference between three years and ten." Good... throw it back on
him...

Ralph laughed. "Got a point there. Norma was the same way, just like I
told you. Shy as the dickens. That's why I'm telling you how to work
it, my boy, because I found out the hard way." He leaned over, his
breath heavy of cigar and bourbon. "Tell you what. Why don't you close
up the lot and we'll go have a drink. We can talk man-to-man, and I'll
give you a few more pointers.

The last thing I need now is a few pointers from him, Howard thought,
but he knew it would be useless to argue. "All right," he said,
feigning joviality. "Take me just a minute."

"Good, good."

A few minutes later the two of them were in Ralph's car, a one-year old
Cadillac recently put on the lot and which he'd taken a liking to.
Until it was sold, that is, and then he'd pick another big, pretentious
car. Howard stared out the window. He thought that they would have
walked up to the corner and the little neighborhood tavern, but instead
Ralph had "suggested" (the suggestion a command in this instance) that
they go downtown to a cocktail lounge in Morriston's fancy and plush
hotel, The Constantinople. He felt acutely uncomfortable, as though
again he was getting into more than he bargained for, but there wasn't
any way he could see of getting out of it. But one drink or two
wouldn't make any difference, could it? Besides, he could use it, he
told himself; he had a bad case of the jitters at the thought of what
he'd done and the storm that might be waiting for him when he got home.

A very irate and indignant wife, that's what. He shut his eyes, trying
to blot out the thought.

Ralph found a parking place near the hotel. "Here we are, my boy."
There seemed to be a wicked gleam in his eye, thought his salesman, and
the way he's rubbing his hands together! The only time Howard had seen
his boss do that was after the closing of a deal, when a customer had
been badly overcharged or loaded with a lemon. Again, the nagging
doubts as to "stopping for a drink" entered Howard's thoughts, but he
went along, through the revolving door, into the deep-carpeted lobby.

The hotel's lounge was called The Arabian Knight, and was decorated in
a mock Byzantine opulence not at all like Constantinople or Arabia in
their most wicked days, but more like a Hollywood dream sequence of
what life should have been back then. A pert waitress passed among the
quite large crowd, dressed in a harem costume of spangled bra and
pantaloons. The pantaloons were see-through gossamer, a wide triangle
of gold coins woven together acting as the covering of her pubic area.
She had long hair, similar to Cindy's long black, and an exciting,
provocative wiggle which in spite of himself made Howard look.

Ralph's eyes were fastened on her, drawn to the rotating buttocks like
air to a broken vacuum. "Hot damn!" the manager exclaimed. "She gets
better looking every time I come in here!"

The waitress came over to the table where they were sitting. She smiled
perfunctorily at Howard, and grinned at Ralph; she was obviously
acquainted with him. Howard had the odd thought pass through him of how
well? Ralph said: "Double bourbons." "Ralph, I---" Howard started to
protest.

"Come on, my boy. The night's young, and the drinks are on me." He
winked at the waitress. "She looks damned tempting, doesn't she,
Howie?"

The girl stuck her tongue out in mock pique, then took her tray and
walked off, her rear end twitching provocatively. Ralph laughed, as
much at her as at Howard's embarrassment. Howard knew now he was right;
he was over his head again, and Ralph was an over-powering force, a
person he couldn't hope to cope with.

The drinks appeared quickly and again the waitress swished her thighs
and jiggled her full, barely contained breasts. This time Ralph leaned
over and patted her buttocks lightly. The scent of sex was suddenly
strong in the air, and trembling, Howard picked up his drink and downed
it before he realized how strong and how full it was. He exploded with
the burning heat in his throat and stomach, reaching for the water
back.

"Another!" crowed Ralph, laughing loudly at Howard's coughing. "And one
for me!" He gulped his drink as though it was lemonade.

Another round appeared beside Howard before he'd fully recovered from
the last. He vowed to keep it there on the table, but somehow he was
sipping it every time Ralph raised his glass to his lips, and that was
often. Got to watch it... can't get drunk... not with Ralph... not with
Cindy waiting at home for me...

"Here's a toast, Howie," Ralph said on the third double. "To the only
man I've known in the car business who I can trust. Yes sir, you're
interested in getting ahead, but by sticking with me, not stabbing me
in the back."

Howard was stunned. He realized that the bourbon was getting to Ralph--
-was getting to him, too, by the way the room was starting to lose its
clarity---but he never bargained on hearing such strong praise. It made
him feel important and proud. He vowed that he would never go against
Ralph, that his manager could always count on him. He raised his glass.
"That's right," he said, his tongue rolling around the words. "I'm for
you one hunn'er'pershent." He blinked. "Hundred percent," he repeated.

"Heh, heh," Ralph chortled at nothing in particular and clinked
glasses. "Here's to us, the swinger and the prude!"

Howard suddenly froze. "Wh... what? Me, a prude?"

"No offense, my boy," Ralph beamed. "I'm a live'r, and you? Well, let's
just say that you're a little too much of a stuffed shirt at times."

The waitress appeared with another double shot. It was over-full, the
bartender knowing good customers when he saw them and wanting them to
stay. What the hell is this bourbon? Howard thought, his head swimming,
high octane aviation fuel? Then he saw Ralph stroke the waitress's
thigh with loving fingers.

"Got to hand it to you," he admitted in a sudden pang of realization
that what Ralph was saying was all too true. "Got to be honest and
admit it. I am conservative." He had trouble with the word, instead
pronouncing it, "coservative."

"Don't let it worry you, Howie, my boy," Ralph said. "In time you'll
loosen up a bit." He leaned forward, almost hitting the glasses of
bourbon, and said conspiratorially to Howard, "Now, for instance,
tonight, if I were you, I would go home and have nothing to do with the
little woman."

"I... I don't follow."

"You're worried about how Cindy will react to those pictures, right?"
Ralph didn't wait for an answer but went on. "Well, do what I did.
Don't touch her. Don't fuck her for three days. Hell, make it four!" he
said expansively. "She'll want it then, and all the time those pictures
will be on her mind, and she won't be able to get them out of her
thoughts, seeing all those wild couples doing it and not her. Got me?"

"Yes, but---"

"Now that doesn't mean you have to go without a little ass. I'm not,
that's for sure. We're going to get some fun, that's what we're going
to do."

"No!" Howard cried, jerking backwards. He suddenly caught on to what
his boss had in mind. Another woman! To be unfaithful to Cindy! The
whole idea was ridiculous! Unthinkable! "No! I couldn't do that!"

"Damnit, sure you can! You're a man, aren't you?" Ralph's sudden snarl
turned into a tone of conciliation. "The trouble with you is that you
were raised as a Puritan, my boy, where sex is considered a sin unless
for making kids. It's not, and never has been. Sex is good, clean fun
and a hot experience whenever and wherever it can be had. And it can't
take away any of your love for your wife. I love Norma; love her very
much, but we're not exclusive possessions of one another. I---"

Ralph suddenly stopped his talk, and was looking over across the still
crowded cocktail lounge. "Ah," he said. "Here they come."

"Who?" Howard asked, afraid he knew already.

"Our fun for tonight," Ralph said with a wink. Howard's mind tumbled
crazily from Ralph's strong words of wisdom, his explicitly stated
faith in his salesman, and the strong drink. He stared over his
shoulder at the two women who were approaching the table. He wanted to
get up... to run home and bury his head in his wife's breasts and
forget what was happening... but it was as if he had grown roots to the
chair.

"Now don't let me down, my boy," Ralph whispered. "I'm counting on
you."

Counting oil you... counting on you... the words burned home. The women
were now at the table, and Ralph made room for one, a short, highly
developed brunette in a thin sheath. Howard suddenly found a tall,
lithe blond haired girl beside him, her luminous green eyes sparkling
and her tightly encased buttocks against his. "Hi," she said musically,
"I'm Bonnie."

"He... hello," Howard replied. "My name's Howard."

"Call him Howie," Ralph said. "And this here's Linda."

"Pleased to meet you, Howie," Linda said, smiling. "Where's my
'laughing widow,' Ralph?"

Ralph snapped his fingers and gave the waitress an order for two more
double bourbons and two "laughing widows." Howard asked what the hell a
laughing widow was and Bonnie giggled, explaining that it was three
dashes of bitters, one part gin, two parts vodka, and a pearl onion.
Howard grimaced, which caused more laughter.

They fell into easy conversation, far easier than Howard had thought
possible. Both girls were witty, intelligent people, both divorced, and
both had jobs as "models." Neither girl was anything except vague about
their work, preferring to talk about what the men did. This, in spite
of the fact it was obvious that Ralph was on intimate terms with Linda.
Howard had an awful suspicion just how intimate, too. The drinks came,
Howard sampled the "laughing widow" and promptly handed it back, and
then there was another round... and another...

"Gee," Linda said at one point, "I'm sure glad you could take care of
my friend Bonnie, tonight, Ralph. Like I said, since she's new in town,
we had to come together or not at all. Sure nice you had a dream-boat
of a friend like Howie-baby."

Howard reacted with pure horror. Even in his now liquor fogged mind he
was able to see clearly that this had all been a trap, a gigantic plot
by Ralph right from the very first to suck him down here, get him
drunk, and palm off this Bonnie so that he could make time with Linda.
Yet, as he looked at the flashing eyes and enticing young all-woman
next to him, he suddenly wasn't mad at his boss. What the hell;
everybody was having a good time, weren't they? No harm done...

There was another round, and then Linda said, "Well, let's get the show
on the road, fellows. We've got to get our beauty sleep."

At first Howard thought that was the signal to break up the evening and
say good-night to the girls. But he was wrong. Oh, so wrong. He found
himself linked arm-in-arm with Bonnie, walking out of The Arabian
Knight, across the lobby and into the elevator. He looked around
confusedly. "What?" he said when Bonnie said something to him.

"I said, the party's going to move to my room now, Howie-baby. Just a
private party, for us two!"

"But... but what about Ralph?"

She giggled. "They'll be right next door if Howie-baby needs help. I
heard that this was your first time, but..." and here she paused,
breathing hotly and wetly into his ear,"... but I don't think that
you're going to need any help at all. I can tell you want me."

Wild-eyed he looked at Ralph for help, but Ralph was pressing Linda
against the otherwise deserted elevator car, kissing her hotly... and
Linda was kissing back with the same ardor! Numb, he staggered from the
car and down the hall, his mind screaming for him to stop, but his will
to resist was eroded beyond comprehension. As Bonnie put her key in the
door lock, he cried out hoarsely, "Ralph! I---! I---!"

"Remember what I said downstairs, my boy," came the dark almost ominous
reply. "Remember about sticking with me and going places, and about the
fun which can be had. I paid for both of them, my boy... now don't let
me down. Show her---and me---that you're a real man!"

With that, Howard was propelled inside the room and the door shut by
Bonnie. He was alone... in a strange hotel room with... with a whore!
But as he sat on the bed, staring weakly up at this beautiful
prostitute, Howard had to admit that she was one hell of a woman,
bought for or not. She exuded pure animal sex, and he had to admit it
would be sort of tempting to take her in his arms and kiss her, love
her up a bit... oh, nothing more. He wouldn't fuck her or anything, but
Lord, it would be nice to kiss those cherry-red lips, caress her
breasts to hardness...

He felt his cock jerk into instant rigidity as if it were alive and
independent of him. He tried to will it limp again, to banish the lewd
thoughts swirling in his bourbon-filled head, but it remained
throbbingly swollen. Guiltily, he looked away.

Bonnie chuckled. "Howie-baby's got a hardon." She was smiling at his
bulging pants. "Howie-baby's got a great big hard-on because he knows
he's going to fuck me..."

Howard had never heard a woman talk in such lascivious language.
"Bonnie... cut it out, for Christ's sake!"

"You're going to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..." She came to him, and her
breath was like a white-hot firebrand on his cheek. She touched his
knee lightly, her fingers almost searing the cloth, and then she
reached higher, higher... and touched the throbbing protuberance down
between his legs!

"Ohhh God!" he managed to breathe, almost leaping off the bed in a
convulsing reaction. He could feel his testicles ache with a sudden
pressure of sperm, and will as he may, he couldn't pull away from her
caresses. Her tongue trailed over his cheek, searching for his mouth,
and her hand continued to rub his uncomfortably swollen penis.

"It's purely physical," she droned on, mesmerically, hypnotically. "You
want to get your big cock into my wet pussy, and I want it, too...

"I... I love my wife," he protested weakly.

"Sure you do, Howie-baby. All of them do. But that doesn't have
anything to do with us, with here and now, with fucking."

This is wrong! his tortured mind screamed. I'm a married man... what
would Cindy say? I can't go through with it...! He wrenched himself off
the bed, his heart hammering, and he was aware that his prick was still
granite-hard and seeping hot droplets of excited lubrication. He had to
compose himself! To somehow make an excuse and leave, Ralph or no
Ralph...

Bonnie's husky voice whispered, "Howie-baby..."

He turned, gathering the courage to reject her, but then the words
froze in his throat. His mouth hinged open and his eyes bulged.

She stood before him, stripped completely naked!

The lovely prostitute had unhooked the one article of clothing, her
dress, and it lay puddled at her feet. Neither panties or bra were
evident, and as he gazed transfixed at her white sculpted body, he
could see she didn't need any artificial supports. She smiled at him,
the tip of her wet, pink tongue showing. The hair-lined lips of her
cuntal valley were displayed for him like an Aztec sacrifice, the
golden down glistening lusciously in the pale glow of the hotel light.
Her high, perfectly rounded breasts, startlingly alabaster white
against the tan of her other parts, jutted out like ruby-crested
mountains, and her long, slender legs seemingly trembled with her
desires.

"Well, lover? You like what you see? Would you like to kiss me? Here?"
Her hands had moved to her golden triangle, and when she said "here,"
her fingers blazed a trail down through the soft, pink lips of her
vagina and spread them slowly, slowly apart, revealing the tiny
trembling bud of her erect clitoris. She began to stroke it back and
forth, round and round.

It was a lust maddening sight to Howard. The thought of kissing, of
licking her sweet young pussy set his prick into a wild dance.
"Bonnie... please," he moaned, his breath all but stopped.

"And I'll kiss your cock, Howie-baby. I want to kiss and suck your
cock... I love to suck cock, did you know that?" On and on she went,
and the one sure way of building Howard to a point where he couldn't
say no, couldn't leave this whore, had been used. He'd been denied oral
love by his wife... and he had wanted to feel the soft down of a
woman's pussy as it opened to his mouth with lusting desire... if only
his wife understood that, wanted his kisses, his tongue, his cock in
her mouth... oh, God! he could feel his swollen penis palpitate wildly.

He had to have her! He suddenly didn't care about his Cindy, about his
adulterousness with a whore, about anything! The only important thing
was the billowing heat in his genitals, and the desire to suck and be
sucked! Yes, he had to have her! Yes! Yes!

As if somehow spirit-free from his body he watched himself unfasten his
belt and remove his clothing, dumping them wherever they happened to
fall. He stood before her as she stood before him, his thick, bursting
shaft standing out at right angles.

"Oh, it's lovely," Bonnie crooned in ecstasy. "Just as I knew it would
be." She walked to the bed, the very motion a sensual experience and
lay down on the cover. "Come here, Howie-baby," the voluptuous young
whore purred, "let me suck you off!"

Howard came to her, and the next thing he knew he was writhing beside
her, feet-to-head, and Bonnie's fingers scratching lightly over his
cock, her expert lips kissing his legs, belly, and inner thighs,
building him to still higher a fever pitch.

"God! Hurry!" Howard groaned, not sure he could keep the boiling semen
inside his testicles another moment. "Hurry!"

As if in obeyance, Bonnie plunged her head forward and Howard felt the
incredible hot moistness of her lips close butter-like over the
sensitive head of his cock, felt her searing tongue licking tiny
circles of fire around it. Sighing, completely enraptured in the
exquisite manipulations, Howard moved toward her, and buried his face
in her cunt. There was a sudden jerk of contracted muscles in the
excited prostitute, and she pressed closer to his mouth. The very
abandonment, the complete capitulation to sensuality by this whore
overwhelmed him and blotted out all thoughts except the delicious
debauchery of which he was a willing partner.

Bonnie, the practiced professional that she was, tasted the piquancy of
his fevered secretions hungrily, twirling her tongue faster and faster.
Then she began to suck him rhythmically, with full expertise of a woman
in love with her work. Howard looked up once and watched her
convoluted, lipstick rimmed lips ripple up and down his hardened shaft,
watched the soft skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in as
she sawed the full entirety of his penis. Never had he envisioned such
an erotic sight! and he was aroused still more and his loins tensed and
jerked upwards into her face all the fleshy expanse disappearing with
each hard forward thrust so that only a small stretch of it showed
white and glistening with the saliva between her lips.

He returned to her soft, hair fringed cunt and drew her firm rounded
buttocks down over his mouth so that he was sunk nose-deep in the soft-
rimmed vagina. He held her tightly with both hands on her buttocks,
thrusting his own tongue up teasingly between the tender fleshy folds.
He heard her gasp and renew her nibblings with frenzied motion. Her
pussy contracted and opened around his mouth, and then he moved his
hands down and opened her still wider and began to curl and flick his
tongue at the smoothness of her pearl-white back-side. He sucked and
licked while she swayed above him, completely out of control, her built
flowering open wider and her secretions mingling with his saliva and
rivuleting down his cheeks.

He could feel her muscles cord as he worked slave-like, and then he
plunged to her clitoris, sucking and biting it tenderly, his tongue
reaming the sensuous little button while she churned and writhed in a
lewd dance of desire above him. Howard sensed she was straining to cum,
her mouth and cheeks sucking wildly at his penis as she bucked and
arched both her back and head in an uncontrollable quaking of body. Her
breasts danced as she sucked voraciously, her pumping mouth making the
pressure spiraling to a final, huge release of his building semen.

And then---

"UUUUMMMMMMMMM!" came the irrefutable cry of her climax and the warm,
pungent milk of her softly pulsating pussy spread hotly across his
face. She screamed out her orgasm, though her mouth was still sucking
hungrily at his deep-thrusted cock, and she snaked her heels against
his shoulders and rubbed her fervently heaving cunt in an uncontrolled,
tormented surge.

Then---

All at once he too felt the eruption of fire leap along his penis. He
gasped as though in agony, and then his cock began a wild, convulsive
jerking that flooded without advance warning the vivacious whore's
maddenly bobbing mouth with rush after rush of boiling sperm, bloating
her cheeks and forcing her to swallow wildly to keep from choking. Then
as quickly as it had started, there was one final spurt and he lay
back, half unconscious over the power of his release.

Still the girl sucked ravenously at his lust juices, milking every last
drop of the hot gushing male ambrosia until at last, his penis jerked
softly and slowly deflated in the warm, sperm-filled cavern of her
mouth. She slid her lips from his cock with one last swallow, and
cradled her face to his still throbbing groin.

"How was that, lover?" she murmured appreciatively.

He could only sigh in contentment for an answer. He knew that he should
feel guilty now, but the stirrings of remorse and shame were not
forthcoming. He only felt like a satisfied, virile male, one who had
satisfied a woman as well. He felt a certain power, a certain pride in
the fact that here, now, he had proven that his desire for oral sex had
been right, and not something darkly evil as his wife seemed to think.

His wife. The thought of Cindy echoed in his mind, and a small part of
his brain tried to make the self-depredation come; but he fought the
thoughts away and he simply lay there, taking in the musk of the young
prostitute's body perfume and the permeating odor of their consummated
lust.

He felt Bonnie stir then, and suddenly she was on all fours and beside
him, smiling down in his face. She said, "I'm going to teach you things
you never knew existed, Howie-baby." She leaned down and kissed him
tenderly, the taste of his semen still on her mouth. "Would you like
that?"

He ran his tongue across his lips. Already there were faint stirrings
in his limp penis, displacing any fears of not being able to get
another erection. "Yes... yes I'd like that!"

"Good." She stretched out and snuggled in the protection of his arms.
"It'll be wonderful, Howie-baby. I promise!"

Howard had the strong, erotic sensation that she was good at keeping
her word. He wasn't wrong...

Howard slipped his house key into the door lock and quietly stepped
into his living room. All the lights were out; good. He had taken his
shoes off on the porch and now he padded in his stocking feet across
the room and into the hall... no sound came from the bedroom; good. He
stopped, waiting in the still, black silence of his home, but there was
only the faint and regular pattern of heavy breathing, and Howard took
this to mean his wife was asleep.

He didn't know that she was feigning slumber, that actually she was
very much awake, lost in a troubled, agonizing hell of self-loathing.
She lay shivering under the covers, hoping that her husband wouldn't
want to make love to her tonight---which was the reason behind the act,
for that way Howard wouldn't wake her up---for she felt horribly
ashamed, and disgusted at her inability to control her own carnal
instincts.

No, Howard was unaware of his wife's true condition, but in his own way
he was glad that she was "asleep" and hadn't waited up for him, perhaps
to have sexual relations, or worse---to berate him for the lewd
pictures and paper he'd left behind. Not now, not after three hours of
wild, abandoned sexual games with that nymphomaniac whore, Bonnie. He
was satiated completely, in a state of absolute contentment, and in no
mood either to argue heatedly with a distraught wife nor try and
explain why he couldn't get another erection. Christ! After that
Bonnie, he'd be lucky to raise another hard-on in a week!

He went into the bathroom to undress, closing the door so that the
light wouldn't bother Cindy in the bedroom. Quickly he stripped his
clothes off, not as fast as he had done for Bonnie and this time
hanging them on hooks.

He stepped into the shower and let the needle spray wash off the
fragrant, tell-tale perfume of his indiscretions, the odors of mutual
lovemaking which would be readily identified by his wife. He thought
about Bonnie, the lovely, enticing whore, and although the light-headed
joy of his repast with her didn't fade, the act of cleansing himself
seemed to also add some sense of regret.

Howard stepped from the shower, mixed of emotion. No longer was he
"Howie the Innocent;" no, he was "Howie the Swinger" now, and he vowed
that he was going to continue to play the modern role---like Ralph.
Yet, there but a few feet from him was his loving, faithful wife, whom
he loved very deeply. He sighed. If only she was more open, more
abandoned like Bonnie had been. Well, there was only one thing to do
about it. Make her understand too that there was more to sex than just
climbing on and climbing off!

He toweled himself briskly, his mind made up. Yes, the acquiescent
Howard was in the past, and he was going to show her a more forceful,
more worldly husband from hereon in. At first she might not like it, he
had to admit, but she would soon see that he was right. And Howard knew
just how he was going to accomplish this "education" of his lovely,
innocent wife--- by following Ralph's advice!

He was going to go ahead with the pictures! He was going to use the
Polaroid again to take more shots! Wilder ones! Ones with him in them,
too, perhaps even showing his cock fucking her! His penis trembled anew
and he moaned lightly as he dreamed of all the combinations he was
going to do with his wife. But he knew in order to accomplish this
task, he would have to handle things diplomatically, to use all of the
tricks of his salesmen's trade.

Yes, that was it. To wait and bide his time... no more sudden
confrontations like last night when he'd lost his cool... he would
broach the subject just as if he was selling a car on the lot, only
this sale would be far more important!

He walked into the bedroom and slid under the sheets. He turned over
and placed his arm over his wife's back. Tenderly, with all the emotion
of his devotion for her, he vowed to turn her into a completely
sexually emancipated woman... like the people in the photos were...
like Ralph and his wife, Norma, and all the others of the Camera Club
were.

The Gandydancer was Morriston's most expensive and most well-known
restaurant-night club, catering to those among the population who could
afford two dollars per drink during the thrice-nightly shows and boned
squab at ten dollars per plate. It was plush and dark, with beautiful
young cocktail waitresses in sequined halter-and-panty outfits holding
forth in the lounge---and maroon-uniformed waiters hovering quietly and
obsequiously in the upstairs dining salon.

At nine o'clock the following evening, at a reserved table in the
restaurant balcony overlooking the dance floor and performer's dais,
Cindy and Howard Jamison sat across from Ralph and Norma Taylor,
sipping champagne from cut-crystal glasses. The remnants of four thick
Porterhouse steaks smothered in fresh mushrooms, baked potatoes with
sour cream sauce, and green beans with pearl onions covered the table
in front of them.

Ralph, in his usual jovial, expansive mood, raised his glass as he
peered down at the performer's dais, where the orchestra was assembling
and the prominent female vocalist who was featured at The Gandydancer
this week was preparing for her first show of the evening.
"Entertainment will be getting underway any minute now," he said. "We
have time for another glass of champagne before they start. You want to
do the honors, Howie?"

"Well, shouldn't we wait for one of the waiters?" Norma asked.

"Nonsense," said Ralph, smiling. "Pour the bubbly, Howie, my boy."

"Sure," Howard said, extracting the bottle of imported French champagne
from the silver ice bucket at his elbow. "Glasses, everybody."

He poured the four glasses full, and then Ralph raised his high. "To
you and Cindy, Howie," he toasted. "And a long life of happiness---in
and out of bed." He chuckled, and Norma laughed musically at his elbow
at the comment.

Howard grinned, turning to click glasses with his lovely blonde wife.
Cindy, as she had been all evening, was silent and seemingly distant;
she hadn't spoken five words since they'd arrived at The Gandydancer.
In fact, Howard reflected, she hadn't said much of anything all day;
she'd been quiet and uncommunicative at breakfast that morning, and the
only time she'd really spoken to him was when he'd called from Auto
Circus to tell her that Ralph and Norma were taking them out dining and
dancing that night at The Gandydancer, a gesture on Ralph's part that
was more or less a corollary to the gift of the Polaroid for the
Jamison's third wedding anniversary.

Cindy had not wanted to go. In fact, she'd been snappish and irritable
at the suggestion, saying that she didn't care to go anywhere with
Ralph Taylor. Howard had immediately surmised that her reaction was on
account of the pictures and the copy of The Camera Club News; she had
obviously opened the manila envelope the night before, just as he'd
planned, although she was surely not admitting the fact to him. It was
only natural, he thought, that she would blame Ralph for the content of
the photos---that was to be expected. So he'd carefully set about
calming her down, telling her that it was important to his job at Auto
Circus that they accept the Taylor's invitation, that the cultivation
of Ralph was a vital factor in his plans to advance to Assistant
Manager and yes, maybe even to Manager, Ralph's position, when he
retired or became a board member of the firm. Cindy had come around
finally at his soothing, logical words, just as he'd known she would,
and agreed to come tonight. He'd thought everything would be fine, but
thus far the evening hadn't worked out the way he'd hoped; she was
acting like a child, sitting there and picking at her food and barely
touching the expensive champagne and not joining in the conversation---
and studiously avoiding Ralph's eyes across the table. He would have to
have a talk with her, first chance he had to get her alone; tell her to
open up a little, for God's sake, this was an important affair.

Now, he smiled at his sweetly innocent wife and touched his champagne
glass to her's.

"Happy anniversary, honey---again," he said.

"Happy anniversary," she said automatically, taking a very small sip of
her champagne and putting the glass down again.

Ralph said, "Ahh, that's good stuff, all right. Best they've got here
and damned expensive, but what the hell? This is an occasion, eh,
Cindy?"

"Yes," she said non-committedly, still not looking at him.

Norma looked at her concernedly. Her black hair was carefully coiffured
tonight, and she looked radiant and sexy sitting next to her husband;
to Howard, it seemed as if she somehow radiated pure animal musk, a
female animal born for one reason and not complaining at the
singularity of her purpose one iota. "Aren't you feeling well tonight,
dear?" she asked solicitously. "I'm all right," answered Cindy
distantly.

"Sure she is," agreed Ralph. "A few more glasses of bubbly and she'll
be right in the spirit of things."

Anxious to get the subject of the conversation away from his wife,
Howard said, "We really do appreciate this evening out on the town,
Ralph. I mean, after your generosity towards us the other night..."

"The Polaroid, you mean? Why, heh heh, that was nothing at all, my
boy."

"We're just glad you could make good use of it, Howie," Norma said. "I
mean, taking photos of Cindy and all for your private photo album is
something no husband should miss out on when he has such a lovely
wife."

"That's right," enthused Ralph. "What better way to keep the ties that
bind tautly bound than to take intimate little snaps of the wife for
future enjoyment?" He laughed heartily.

Cindy, who had only been half-listening to the conversation going on
around her before, jerked her head around to stare across the table at
the Taylors. They were both smiling with elaborate innocence, and
yet... hadn't she detected an under-current of personal knowledge in
their words just now? Why, it was almost as if they knew about... about
the risque pictures she had allowed her husband to take of her on their
Anniversary!

But that couldn't be... she and Howard were the only two people who
knew about those pictures, and surely he wouldn't tell anybody, least
of all Ralph...

Or would he?

She looked at her husband, and Howard seemed to be as elaborately
innocent as the Taylors, smiling happily. He sensed Cindy's gaze on
him, and turned to beam at her, raising his glass slightly. She turned
away, feeling a growing sense of anger and shame take hold of her lithe
young body.

He must have told the Taylors about the photos, she thought wretchedly.
But why? What possible purpose could be served in relating such an
intimate, and personal fact? Howard seemed somehow different to her
since that Polaroid had been given to them, as if he were up to
something, as if new and strange thoughts were circulating in his head.
She had sensed that this morning, after they had awakened. She had been
quiet, filled with guilt, and certainly not open to conversation, that
was true; but she hadn't been unobservant. She had looked at Howard
over the breakfast table, and it seemed to her that he had changed
somehow, in some almost imperceptible way, almost overnight; there
seemed to be a firmer set to his jaw, as if with some hidden purpose,
and his eyes held a new, oddly flashing light that she had never seen
in them before.

Oh, God, she thought miserably, it isn't possible that Howard has...
has been influenced by Ralph, is it? It isn't possible---or is it?---
that Ralph with his dirty pictures and dirty newspaper has somehow
managed to completely corrupt her husband? A week ago she wouldn't have
thought so, but now,---with all she had seen and felt and experienced
in the past few days she wasn't so sure that such a thing hadn't
happened...

Sitting there, with her tormented thoughts she had the odd sinking
feeling that her perfect well-ordered little world was about to come
crashing down around her ears. Everything was too Jovial tonight, for
example, too gay and happy---as if it was the proverbial calm before
the storm. She hoped against hope that she was wrong, that it was
simply her guilt at her actions last night, her masturbation while
looking at those filthy photographs, that was making her feel so morbid
and depressed.

She hadn't had a good day at all, feeling low, morose, and Howard
calling to tell her about the party tonight here at The Gandydancer
hadn't helped matters any. She was going through an emotional upheaval,
and the last thing she wanted to do was go out dining and dancing. But
his arguments had seemed so reasonable and sincere that she had at last
acquiesced; now, with the Taylors making snide, pointed remarks, she
wished to God that she hadn't.

The distraught young wife reached out and picked up her champagne
glass, an almost reflexive movement for she needed something at the
moment to still the torment which raged inside her. She drank the
effervescent liquid in a single swallow, amid half-heard comments of
encouragement from the others present; the warmth of the wine settled
in her stomach, making her feel glowingly flushed for a moment. Then
she moistened her lips as Howard poured her another glassful, blinking
at the smiling faces of Ralph and Norma.

"Now Cindy's joining in, Ralph said to Howard. "Look at her sitting
there, pretty as a photograph."

"And an intimate one at that," agreed Norma, laughing.

Cindy groped for her refilled glass, drained that too. Then she stood
abruptly, looking at Norma, at the woman she had considered a good
friend. Norma was no better than Ralph. The young wife had no one to
turn to, no one who would understand, not even Howard it seemed, not
even her husband... She spun on her heel, hurrying off through the
tables toward the restroom, her yellow, full-skirted cocktail dress
rustling as she moved. Tears stung her flaming cheeks.

The other three at the table looked at one another, and Norma stood
immediately, straightening her expensive party gown in lime green.
"I'll go to her," she said to Howard, smiling, and hurried off after
the departing Cindy.

When she was gone, Ralph leaned across the table almost
conspiratorially. "She'll be all right, Howie boy," he said. "It just
takes a little time for a woman to get used to the idea of change. Once
she accepts it as inevitable, she'll be just like Norma."

"I hope so," said Howard, who had been having a moment of compassion
for his beautiful young wife. He felt a little uncertain now about what
he was doing, about the effect of his actions on the innocent Cindy; in
spite of every thing, he still loved her deeply. In the back of his
mind, too, was a small but persistent pang of guilt at his actions with
Ralph's high-priced whore, Bonnie, the previous evening, his first
excursion into marital infidelity.

Ralph, seeming to sense this hesitancy and indecision on his salesman's
part, reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket and removed a small
envelope. He leaned forward and pressed it into Howard's hand. "Here
are those additional pictures you asked me for today, Howie," he said.
"Some real good ones showing all kinds of oral love, just like you
wanted."

Howard looked down at the envelope, then picked up his champagne glass
and drank deeply. "T-thanks, Ralph," he managed.

"Not at all, my boy," Ralph said. "Anything I can do, you just let me
know. Remember, I'm looking out for your happiness, son. Yours and
Cindy's."

"I know, Ralph, and I appreciate it. It's just that... well, it's not
easy doing things this new way. Not at the first, I mean."

"Sure, I know, Howie. But it's all worth the momentary upheaval in your
life, you'll see."

Howard nodded gratefully, sipping from his champagne again. He was
becoming a little drunk now. He poured more, drank it down under the
approving eye of Ralph. Yes, now he felt a little better. Cindy would
come around, just as Ralph said she would; and when she did, they would
have happiness neither of them had ever thought existed before. He was
doing the right thing, all right, there could be no doubt of that.

Cindy---his beautiful, passionate, warm Cindy. He moistened his lips.
She was better than that whore, Bonnie, any day of the week. Or she
would be, once she learned the art of oral gratification. And she would
learn--- soon, soon. Tonight, maybe. Howard's prick gave an excited
little dance in his trousers as he thought of what would happen when he
got Cindy home later on.

Could he talk her into more picture-taking? Well, not in the mood she
was in now. But if he could get her a little high---downright drunk
would be even better---he could convince her that it would be all right
to take more photos. And she would surely be responsive, for even
though she hadn't been outwardly excited by the photos he had left for
her to see the previous night (that was apparent by her actions today),
she had to have had enough curiosity to open that envelope and see what
was inside. That meant she had to possess, deep within her, curiosity
as to other things as well; hers was an untapped resource, he reasoned,
just waiting for the drilling to begin. He giggled inwardly at that
image---the drilling---and knew that he was now more than a little bit
drunk. But what the hell? He was a new man, wasn't he? He had to
celebrate his new-found way of life, didn't he? Sure he did. And he had
to celebrate Cindy's soon-to-be- emancipation---perhaps as soon, he
told himself again, as tonight. She loved him and she wanted to please
him, had always told him that; yes, by God, maybe tonight would be the
night after all! In more ways than one...

A few moments passed while Howard continued to think of what would
transpire later in the evening, how he would talk his lovely young wife
into taking pictures with him of an erotic nature, how he would show
her these new acquisitions from Ralph, how he would suggest oralism
again and again until she submitted to his every whim. He was growing
excited thinking about it, and he didn't know that Cindy and Norma had
returned to the table until Norma said chidingly, "Aren't you going to
let Cindy have her chair back, Howie?"

"What?" he said, startled out of his reverie. "Oh. Oh, sure, I'm sorry,
honey," he apologized to Cindy, taking her arm and guiding her to her
chair.

"That's all right, Howie," she said, and she seemed to be composed now.

He sat down, smiling at her, his eyes bright. "More champagne, baby?"

"Yes," his young wife replied. "Yes, I think I will."

As Cindy accepted another glass of the effervescent liquid, she
reaffirmed in her mind what she had told herself in the Ladies' Room:
even though she felt wretched and miserable, there was no use letting
the others see her condition---especially Ralph and Norma. When Norma
had come in and asked if she was all right, if she wanted to talk about
what was bothering her, Cindy had answered that she was fine now---
drying her eyes with a tissue and forcing a smile and that there wasn't
anything to talk about, really. Norma had seemed to understand; they
had washed up, chatting about something Cindy couldn't recall now, and
then come out to the table again.

Determined to affect a calm exterior, not to show the turmoiled nature
of her inner self Cindy had decided to have a few more glasses of
champagne, just enough so that she became a little high---not so that
she got drunk. That way, it would be easier to pretend that everything
was all right, that nothing was troubling her; she might even, with a
slight tipsiness, be able to join in the conversation that went around
the table, might even be able to laugh at Ralph's sly innuendoes and
comments and Norma's ready agreements to them.

She drained her fresh glass of champagne and extended it to Howard to
be filled again, smiling, feeling already a little tight and missing
completely the intensity in his dark eyes, the way he began to slur his
own words, the smiling all-knowing endorsement of the Taylors as they
exchanged glances across the table...

The rest of the evening, to Cindy, seemed to be a blur. She had vague
remembrances of an endless succession of fresh bottles of champagne
being brought to their table; of the four of them moving down to the
lounge area; of dancing with Howard and pressing close to him, feeling
the hardening bulge of his penis in his pants as he whispered intimate
words in her ear; of Howard saying, in a pronounced slur, that it was
time "he and the little woman wen' home to bed, yessir, time to take
the bull by the horns an' bring her around you unnerstan' Ralph."

The next thing she was fully cognizant of, after that, was sitting
beside Howard in their car with the cold night air blowing in through
the opened windows. Her tongue felt thick and fuzzy and her head light,
airy; she licked her lips experimentally, and then leaned against her
husband's shoulder.

"Howie, where are we going?"

He, too, had been sobered considerably by the chill night breeze. He
was still nice and tight, though, just tight enough so that he was on
edge with anticipation. In spite of its bad beginning, the evening had
turned out very well; he had gotten Cindy drunk, as he had planned, and
she had loosened up considerably, even to the point of smiling and
tacitly forgiving Ralph for the set of photos of the night before, of
that he was almost certain. She was warm and cuddly now, sitting next
to him, in an obvious loving and permissive mood; it wouldn't take much
to convince her of the rightness, the propriety, of allowing him to
take more intimate pictures of her with their new Polaroid. He just had
to be very careful how he went about it...

"We're going home, honey," he whispered. "Home."

"Mmm, that's good," she murmured. "I... I think I drank too much
tonight, Howie."

"No you didn't, baby," he assured her.

"I... I'm sorry I was so... so bitchy the first part of the evening,"
she said softly. "It's just that I was... well, that I was upset
about... about a few things."

"It's okay, honey, I understand."

A few moments later they were pulling into the driveway of their small,
middle-class cottage in one of Morriston's older sections. Howard
parked the car in the garage, and they got out, arms about one another,
and went into the darkened interior. He switched on one of the low-watt
lamps on an end table as Cindy took off her coat and put her purse down
on one of the chairs.

"How about a nightcap, Cindy honey?" he suggested.

"Oh Howie, I don't know. I've drunk so much tonight..."

"Just a little one," he said quickly.

"Well... okay. But a little one, now?"

"Sure," Howard said eagerly. "Sure, baby."

He mixed two gin-and-tonics in the kitchen, spiking Cindy's liberally
with gin and enough fresh lemon juice to conceal the oily taste of the
liquor. He carried the glasses into the living room, handed his young
wife hers, and then sat down beside her on the divan.

She sipped tentatively, smiled at him, and then took a larger swallow.
"Mmm, good," she said. She felt safe and secure, now that they were
back in their own home, and a little contrite for the way she had
behaved tonight. But, as she had told Howard, she'd been upset and
everything had seemed to be drawing in on her at the same time,
crushing her under its weight. Now, with the liquor to take away the
sharp edge of her problems, she wasn't as sure as she had been that
things were going to go wrong in their perfect marriage. After all,
Howard still loved her--- there was no doubt of that in her mind at
all. What, then, could be terrible enough to override that abiding
love? Especially since she loved him as deeply as he did her?

Still, though, there was one nagging question permeating her mind. If
she had been fully sober, she would never have broached it aloud to
Howie---but the drinks had loosened her tongue enough so that, now, she
did; she had to find out the truth.

"Howie," she began, "Howie, did you... well, did you say anything to
Ralph about those... those pictures you took of me the other night?"

He frowned slightly, looking at her. "Why do you ask that?"

"The way he and Norma were talking tonight," she replied. "It was as if
they... they knew all about them."

Howard moistened his lips. "You're attaching too much significance to
those photos, honey," he said. "There's nothing wrong in them, you
know. Just some harmless intimacy between a husband and his wife,
that's all."

"Howie," she insisted, "did you tell Ralph about them?"

"All right, if you must know---yes, I told Ralph about them. I couldn't
help it; he kept asking me and I... well, I just blurted it out."

"Oh Howie, how could you!" Cindy looked as if she were about to cry.

"Hey now," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her
close. "There's nothing to get upset about, for God's sake. Here, drink
your drink."

Obediently, Cindy took a deep swallow from her glass, shuddering a
little as the strong liquor raced hotly into her stomach. He had told!
She had known he had, of course, but his admission brought a renewed
sense of anguish to her. He had no right telling about the photos; they
were a private thing between the two of them, something personal,
something exciting and...

Cindy sat rigid. Exciting? Had she just thought that the photos he had
taken of her were exciting? No... no, she couldn't have... and yet,
there was no doubt that she had thought that self-same thought. But
why? Did she really think they were exciting? Herself lewdly displayed
like... like those women in the other photos she had seen last night,
Ralph's photos---displayed in an obscene provocative pose before her
husband...

Exciting? No... no... and yet Howard had obviously been excited by them
at the time, just as she herself had been undeniably excited by the
lewd carnality displayed in those other snapshots. Oh God, oh God...

She drank again, emptying her glass, and when she put it down on the
coffee table she felt a terrible rise of guilt once more. And with it
came the need to unburden herself, to tell Howard that she had looked
at those pictures of Ralph's last night---but not that she had fingered
herself while looking at them, never that. Still, she had to tell him
that she had seen them, that she had been aroused by them...

"Oh Howie," she blurted out unable to hold it back longer. "I opened
that envelope you brought home last night, the one from Ralph. That's
why I was so upset tonight, because I opened it and I saw those
terrible pictures, and I... I was excited by them. I was, Howie, and
that's the reason I was so upset. Howie, I actually got turned on
looking at those dirty pictures!"

She flung herself against his chest, and Howard held her tightly to
him. He could scarcely conceal his elation. So she had seen them, just
as he had expected---and, as he had hoped, been aroused by them! Good,
good; now he had to proceed carefully, carefully, lest he cause more
shame and guilt inside her, break the thin shell of sexual freedom
which was beginning to construct itself around his lovely young wife's
old-fashioned and ingrained moral ethic...

"You mustn't feel bad, baby," he soothed, kissing her hair. "There's
nothing wrong in wanting to make love after looking at other people
doing it; it's a natural reaction. A perfectly natural reaction that
almost everyone has."

"But the... the people in those photos were doing such... such awful
things to one another..."

"There's nothing awful about giving pleasure to your husband or wife,"
said Howard wisely, tenderly. "It's the whole foundation of a marital
relationship, honey. If it pleases the one you love, then it can't be
wrong. You believe that, don't you?"

"I... I guess so."

"If, for example, I was pleased taking pictures of you with our
Polaroid, pictures of you in the nude, you'd want to do that for me,
wouldn't you? You'd want to take off your clothes and let me photograph
you, wouldn't you?"

"But... but you couldn't be pleased doing such a thing, Howie! You're
not that kind of man..."

"Honey, I like to look at you, at your naked body. It pleases me, it
excites me tremendously. I like to look at you in photographs, look at
you there in full-color; any man would, any real man..."

"Howie, what a terrible thing to say!"

"It's true, honey," Howard said, feeling pressure building in his loins
as he spoke, knowing he was going to win, that his strategy was
working. "I like to look at you in the nude, and I'd be a liar if I
said I didn't like to look at other women in the nude, too. Not to
touch or anything," he added quickly, "just to look at and get excited
by, that's all. And you're not any different than I am, not really;
you're just like other women in that respect, too. You got excited
looking at those photos of other couples making love and I did, too.
When I saw them, I got so excited I thought I was going to have an
orgasm right on the spot. But it wasn't them I was thinking of loving,
Cindy; it was you, you my darling. Looking at those photos of other
people doing it made me want you even more than I ever did before!"

Cindy could hardly believe her ears, hearing her husband's confession.
He had felt the same as she last night, as hundreds of other people did

every day if what he said was true. Why, then, did she feel so much
guilt about her own photos and the ones she'd looked at the previous
night? If he was right, then she shouldn't have any guilt at all with
her own husband. And yet... Oh, she didn't know what to think now; if
only she were sober, if only her brain wasn't spinning, spinning...

"I'll prove it to you, sweetheart," Howard was saying in his
mellifluous voice. "Ralph gave me some other pictures tonight. I didn't
want them, but I took them anyway; how could I say no to my own boss?
We'll look at them together, honey, you and I sitting here right now.
We'll look at them together, and what will happen is that we'll both
become very excited. You'll want me more than you would otherwise, and
I'll want you the same way."

"Howie, no! We can't!"

"Why can't we?"

"It's... it's wrong!"

"No, it isn't wrong, Cindy. I've told you that. Now trust me, baby,
just trust me."

"Howie..."

But he was already taking the envelope of pictures Ralph had given him
in The Gandydancer from his coat pocket, opening it, taking out the
richly colored, glossy photographs inside. "Here," he whispered,
holding them and pulling her head away from his shoulder, "here, honey,
look with me..."

Cindy didn't want to look. She was trembling and she didn't want to
look, she kept telling herself that---and yet her head turned and her
eyes focused on the picture, and a small cry burst from between her
moist, pink lips.

"Howie, oh God!"

"Look at it, Cindy darling. It's exciting, look at it, it's exciting,
look at it..." His voice droned on, mesmerically, and Cindy found
herself staring at the photo in his hand, staring at the young, fresh-
scrubbed-looking, collegiate boy and girl performing a sixty-nine---
her moistened lips locked tightly around his hardened, lust-swollen
penis; his lips pressed firmly, tongue extended, to her glistening pink
vulva; lips on penis; lips on vulva...

A low moan of commingled desire and perplexity burst from the young
wife's throat, and she felt the soft, warm area between her tightly
pressed thighs flower wide with the building secretions of her arousal.
Beneath the cocktail dress, her nipples hardened into turgid buds, the
way they had hardened the night before. She could not seem to take her
eyes from the photo, and her breath began to become labored.

"You like to look at pictures like these, don't you, darling?" Howard's
voice droned.

"Yes," she heard herself reply in a half whisper, unable to control the
mounting flood of passion which threatened to consume her in fiery
lust. "Yes, yes yes!"

Quickly, Howard shuffled the photos, bringing another into view. The
same couple, the same oral love, a somewhat different position. Cindy
could see all of the young man's masculinity, his sperm-heavy
testicles, the wide girth of his great penis half-buried in his
beautiful young companion's ovaled mouth. She gasped, drawing close to
her husband, her hand sliding down involuntarily to rub almost
spasmodically along his thigh.

Howard shuffled the pictures again again----again. The same couple in
each, the same pagan rites of fellatio and cunnilingus. But the
positions, if such a thing were possible, grew more bold, more
provocative---seemingly impossible positions: standing, with the girl
turned completely upside down, her legs locked around his neck;
sitting, with the man's head buried far up between the wide-spread,
alabaster thighs of the girl, his legs locked around her neck and she
supporting him with her hands and arms...

Cindy was breathing heavily with her intense arousal now, proof
positive to her panting husband that she was as acutely excited by
these photos of others enjoying sex as he was. "Darling!" she mewled.
"That's enough, that's enough! I want you, Howie, honey, I want you to
love me, please, please!"

But Howard was oblivious to her pleas, for his mind was centered on two
main objectives: to get his chaste, enchanting young wife to pose for
him for more Polaroid pictures; and to get her to perform the self-same
acts of oral love which were depicted in the photographs he held in his
hands.

He moistened his lips, thinking that his first step would be to get her
to undress and pose for him yes, that was it, she was highly inflamed
with desire now and she would be slave to his whim; he sensed this
beyond any doubt, knowing that, at last, she was going to be his on his
terms...

"Cindy," he whispered in her ear, his right arm circling her shoulder,
his fingers gently kneading her soft, resilient breast, "Cindy, I want
to take some pictures of you, darling, some pictures like I took the
other night. They excite me, honey, just like these photos excite you.
You want to please me don't you, honey, you want to please your
husband?"

"Yes... yes, I want to please you, Howie, but... but I'm so excited! I
want you to make love to me, Howie, please..."

"Afterward, baby," he breathed in her ear. "After we take the pictures,
afterward..."

"Yes... yes, afterward..."

Howard was trembling with his own arousal now, partially brought about
by the pictures he had just viewed with his wife and partially because
of what lay only moments ahead now. His cock was a thick, quivering
fence post in his pants as Cindy stroked his thigh, stroked it higher
and higher. He began to unbutton her dress, whispering the whole time,
"I'm going to make you naked, baby. We'll take some pictures and then
we'll make love, slow and easy and then hard and fast. Will you like
that, honey?"

"Yes! Oh yes!"

His fingers worked feverishly, pulling the dress down to her waist,
baring her rich, cream white breasts with their ruby-capped nipples and
pulsatingly dark areolaes. He squeezed them lightly, his prick jumping
now, and then he could stand it no more. He leapt to his feet, picked
up what was left of his drink, and pressed it into Cindy's waiting
hands. "Drink this, honey," he instructed. "I'll be right back..."

He ran into the bedroom, urgency controlling his every movement now,
and located the Polaroid camera and all its accessories. As an
afterthought, he also removed the copy of the Camera Club News from the
envelope on the nightstand. Then he carried everything back into the
living room, made sure Cindy was still on the couch, her bare breasts
reflecting the pale light from the lamp, checked the camera for film,
and then peered through the view finder. Again, his cock leaped as he
saw what the completed print of the picture he was about to take would
look like. He snapped the shutter with fingers that were almost
palsied.

Sixty seconds later, he was seated beside his young wife and pulling
the finished color print from the back of the Polaroid. His eyes
gleamed as he looked at it, at the sharp, defined perfection of the
color and detail---the rigidity of Cindy's nipples atop their globular
white mountain peaks.

"Look, honey," he droned. "Look at yourself almost naked, look, look."

And Cindy looked, staring at her half-nudity with moistened lips, her
pussy flowering yet wider with more arousal secretions. Her brain was a
seething mass of alcohol and sexual need; she was nothing more than a
slave now, and Howard her master...

With exigent hands, he located the copy of the Polaroid Club News and
gave it to his voluptuous wife. "Take your clothes off while I set up
the camera," he commanded huskily. "Then read some of the
advertisements in here. Read them aloud to me, Cindy. Do you hear me?"

"Yes... yes, darling, I hear you..."

Howard was trembling almost uncontrollably as he set up the tripod for
the Polaroid and prepared the fifteen-second timer, watching Cindy
strip the cocktail dress completely off and then, as if in a hypnotic
trance, slide her panties down so that she stood naked and lovely
before him, the soft, fleecy blond triangle of her pubic hair wet with
the seeping juices of her passion. "The paper," he breathed to her.
"Read the ads in the paper!"

Obediently, the desire-and liquor-drugged young wife picked up the
Camera Club News and began to read in a voice that was cracked with the
heat that consumed her body:

 "'Experienced couple with knowledge of the mystic Eastern arts desire
exotic photos with non-Western or unique poses. Box L563, Camera Club
News, Los Angeles.'"

She paused to moisten her swollen pink lips, then read another:

"'Want pix you've never dreamed existed? Want poses to stagger the
imagination? Send for our special set right away! Replies from couples
under thirty only. Hurry! Box N198, Camera Club News, New York.'"

Another pause, then:

"'The 145th Position---guaranteed! We're not kidding! You've never seen
anything like this before! Will exchange for good, erotic poses
involving three or more. Box---'"

"That's enough!" Howard shouted. "That's enough!" He had the camera
ready, and his eyes were blazing with excitement, the front of his
trousers bulging hugely with his fully erect cock, the material stained
with the beginning droplets of his seminal emission. "Sit down on the
floor, Indian fashion, facing the camera!" And as his nude, sculptured
young wife obeyed, "That's it! Now lean back a little, so that your
breasts are lifted up! Yes! Yes! Open your thighs a little more... oh
Jesus, beautiful!"

He activated the timer, then began to undress hurriedly, his eyes never
leaving his mesmerically-staring wife sitting there so provocatively on
the carpeting. At last he was nude, his swollen prick jutting out like
a quivering spear from his loins, the head slickly-red and pulsating.
The camera clicked off the picture, and as he waited his hand dropped
almost reflexively to the trembling girth of his cock, began to stroke
it lightly in anticipation.

On the floor, Cindy murmured, "Howie... Howie, don't do that! Howie,
that's... that's terrible! Come to me, baby..."

"Not yet!" he gurgled. "Not yet!" It was time to remove the finished
print from the Polaroid, and moments later he held it in his quaking
hands. Beautiful! Oh Christ, what an erotic shot! I can see her cunt,
spread open and glistening wet... and her clit too, throbbing there...
oh, Jesus, Jesus!

"Howie," moaned Cindy pleadingly, "Howie, I don't want to do this
anymore. Please, Howie I'm on fire and I want you..."

"Goddamnit, not yet!" he shouted. He was busy at the camera again,
setting the timer, his cock shaking as if with some inner vibratory
power and his balls aching with the buildup of a tremendous load of
sperm. "Get on your knees, Cindy, side-ways to the camera. That's it,
that's it! Move your arm up so I can see your breasts jutting down!
Good! Now raise your right knee up closer to your tits, honey! That's
it, baby, I can see your pussy now!"

"Howie..."

"Just hold it like that, just hold it!" He set the timer and then ran
over to her. He had to get in this picture, he had to! He knelt behind
her, oblivious to her cries of pleading, and held his cock less than an
inch from the full soft entrance to her warm, wet cuntal passage,
turning his face to the Polaroid, holding himself still in spite of the
oscillations which coursed through his entire being.

The camera clicked off the shot, and he jumped up and ran to it. The
picture was every bit as erotic to him as the previous one, more so
because he was in it now! He was kneeling there with his great prick
almost touching his kneeling young wife's cunt! Oh Christ, never had
anything been this exciting before!

Again the timer was set, and again he joined Cindy on the floor. She
was just kneeling there now, with her head hanging down, and she was
whimpering softly. He went to his own knees again behind her, his hands
on her waist. "This is going to be a good one, baby! I'm going to put
it inside you on this one now!" He guided his swollen cock to the warm,
butter-soft opening of her vagina, inserted the head inside. Cindy
moaned, trying to drive her buttocks back against his rod, to impale
herself and still the crescendoing passion inside her, but Howard
restrained her with his hands hard at her waist.

"No, no," he told her. "We have to wait for the camera, goddamnit! Now
raise your leg a little so the full sight of my cock in your cunt will
be exposed to the camera. Goddamn you, Cindy, do what I tell you... ah,
that's it! Oh Jesus, this is going to be something... now hold it, hold
it...!"

Click.

And then other pictures were taken, more provocative ones, and each
time Howard withdrew his cock and ran to the camera again. As the
pictures came out, showing Cindy's passion-contorted features and his
own, showing his cock pushed into her widespread cuntal passage, he
felt his penis leap as if with orgasm. God, oh God, what sights! He was
going to blow his wad any minute! But first... yes, it was time to have
her do what he had long wanted, and to do what he had long wanted to
her; it was time for oral love, for his lips on her pussy and her lips
on his prick. Yes, yes! Jesus, what a shot that will make, what a shot,
what a shot!

He set the timer, ran back to his trembling young wife. "Turn over," he
commanded. "Turn over, Cindy! Lay down on your back!"

There were tears on her cheeks as she obeyed. "Howie..."

He moved quickly up along her body, holding his quivering cock in his
hand again, guiding it toward her head. "Kiss me, Cindy! Kiss my cock,
Cindy! Hurry, baby, hurry! I want to kiss you, too! Kiss your cunt,
Cindy!"

She recoiled. Had she heard correctly? Yes, yes, she had... she
realized that even through the fog of passion and liquor. He wanted her
to perform the same perversions they had seen in those photos, do what
the other people had been doing... but she couldn't! Yes, it turned her
on to see the others but to take a man's penis between her lips... my
God, even Howie's, her husband's... was unthinkable! She couldn't, she
just couldn't!

"Howie, I can't! Please, please, don't ask me!"

"Hurry up, the camera's going to go off!" he shouted, trying to push
his moist-headed prick against her lips. But she twisted away, moaning.

"No, Howie, I can't, I can't!"

"Damnit! Don't you want to please me? You said you wanted to please
me!"

"Not this way, Howie, not this way!"

Click.

"Oh Jesus, you ruined the shot! You ruined it!"

"Howie... for my sake, please Howie..."

"Damn you, what's the matter with you?"

"I can't do that, Howie, I just can't do it! Please understand!
Whatever else you want, but not that! Don't ask me again, please!"

He jumped to his feet, staring down at her. His cock was jerking as if
with climax again, and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before
his testicles would erupt his building load of sperm. He had been so
close, so goddamned close... But there would be other nights, he would
see to that. He had to content himself with the fact that he had gotten
her to pose for the Polaroid for him, in the nude and... yes, with his
cock inside her, too! Tonight was a victory, in that sense, the first
victory! The second would come soon enough, he knew that. He just had
to be patient with her, patient...

"Howie," Cindy moaned, writhing on the floor in both passion and
discomfiture brought about by Howard's actions. "Please, love me and
make it all right... no more pictures, I beg of you! Love meee!"

"All right!" he shouted. But before he did, he ran to the camera one
more time and set the timer. Then he went back to his vibrating young
wife, knelt behind her, inserted his cock. She buffeted back against it
immediately and he didn't restrain her this time; might as well get a
good action shot...

He drove his swollen, soon-to-bursting cock deep inside her, feeling
the head slam off her cervix, hearing her moan loudly in pleasure-pain.
His balls slammed resoundingly off the moistened slit of her vagina
below as he drubbed into her, and he leaned his upper body low over her
back, teeth biting lightly into her shoulder, hands finding and
squeezing her swaying breasts.

Click.

The sound of the camera shattering seemed to act as a trigger for
Howard's boiling desires. He imagined in his mind what the finished
print would look like, the eroticism of it, and he could hardly wait
until he could pull the print from the camera back. But then the
swirling heat in his loins became overpowering, became the only thing
that mattered, and he heaved and bucked up into the soft, warm cunt of
his kneeling wife with insane vigor, striving to empty his testicles of
the great load of sperm seething there...

Cindy felt Howard's gigantic cock thundering into her cunt, filling it,
the head ramming hard off her cervix and she knew she was going to cum
any moment. She had never in her life been this excited, and the
knowledge that the excitement had come as a direct result of looking at
dirty pictures, of partaking in them herself with the man she loved,
was like a hot knife of confusion in her brain. She wanted Howard,
wanted to please him, and yet it was becoming increasingly apparent
that she didn't know how; her vagina alone, so moist now and so filled
with his masculinity, apparently wasn't enough any longer to satisfy
her man. It would take more and more, she thought dazedly as her orgasm
spiraled higher and higher, more and more to please him... more
pictures... more eroticism... and, oh God, even sucking him with her
mouth.

And then all thoughts save for the crescendoing passion vanished from
her mind as she buffeted like a rutting animal back against her
husband's invading cock, striving for the crest, almost there, almost
there, feeling him hard and deep within her, feeling his hands curving
down around her back kneading and manipulating her breasts, almost
there, and then... and then...

"Oh God, Howie Howie darling, I'm cumming! Howie, I'm
cumminnnnnnggggg!"

But Howard only barely heard her wild cry of release, for his cock in
that moment had begun to jerk out of control and torrent after torrent
of hot, boiling sperm burst along the full length to thunder into her
cunt, commingling with the juices of her own release to form a flood-
tide of passion that poured out around his spasming shaft and flowed in
thin rivulets down her straining thighs as she murmured mindless,
incoherent words of delight and he breathed fire-hot breath against her
neck.

And then his prick gave one last spurt of his seed and began to deflate
almost immediately inside her wet, clasping vagina and they both sank
forward on the carpet, spent and in a state of near-unconsciousness.

Oh Jesus, that was good! Howard thought satiatedly. One of the best
ever, even if it was so quick. And it's going to be better and better,
once Cindy starts to come around fully...

And Cindy, lying there with the full weight of her husband on top of
her, his warm sperm flowing hotly inside her cunt and belly, was
thinking different thoughts now in the lulling aftermath of her
tremendous orgasm. She was thinking about the pattern of her life, and
how it was changing, how she could no longer deny that after what had
happened here tonight. But changing for the better, or for the worse?
She didn't know yet; she just didn't know yet...

After a long time, Howard raised up and lifted his wife in his arms and
carried her into the bedroom. They crawled between the sheets on their
bed, and Howard went to sleep almost immediately; but he did not cuddle
next to her as he usually did, did not speak to her except to say
goodnight, and she had the ominous feeling that she had failed to
please him tonight, in spite of the fineness of both their orgasms---
failed to please this new Howie who had replaced the quiet, sexually-
conservative old one.

Cindy lay beneath the comforting warmth of the bedcovers for some time
after her husband left for work. She gazed at the square of diffused
light which lit the window shade, knowing she should get up and start
the housework, but not wanting to.

She just wanted to huddle there and think miserably of her troubles.
Again and again she played over the events of the previous evening: the
evening with the Taylors where it became all too apparent to Cindy that
they knew of the photos she had allowed Howard to take of her that
first night---knew and snidely made comments, mortifying her to the
quick!

She moaned involuntarily, momentarily reliving that horrible scene with
the Taylors. Were Ralph and Norma as hedonistic as they appeared to be?
Was their Polaroid being used for the same immoral purposes? It must be
so, for hadn't Ralph given Howard those awful pictures and the
newspaper---the ones which had so aroused her own cravings that she had
played with herself? The sweet, mentally tortured wife rolled her head
back and forth on the pillow. Yes, yes, the answers were all yes.

And worse was the way that Ralph, the manager of her husband's job, was
now seemingly becoming a manager of his private life as well. His
influence seemed to seep more and more into what she and Howard were
doing and enjoying, and this was intolerable. Before... before that
horrid camera had been given, her husband had been so kind and gentle
in his ways of love, had seemed to understand that she wasn't some
salacious glutton, but a sensitive, moral wife. But no longer! She
seemed to be unable to keep up with his growing needs, to expand into
the world of abandoned, licentious sex where nothing mattered except
debauched eroticism.

Only the liquor, that never-ending torrent of alcohol which she had
drunk last night, had loosened her to the point where she too was
aroused by lewd pictures---though, she now decided with a shudder,
nowhere near as strongly excited as her husband was by them. And the
drinking had also made her able to participate with Howard, to actually
be naked and be made love to before the camera!

The pictures... the pictures... everything seemed to center around
them. Howard had been more interested in them last night than he had
been in making love to his own wife! His constant running back and
forth to set the Polaroid, his snappish answers to her pleas for
understanding and patience at her ignorance, of his still more angry
response when she refused to take his penis in her mouth...

Oh, God! The whole mess was getting completely out of hand! What could
she do? How could she once more garner her husband's attention? She
dwelled on the subject, lying there in bed, brooding over the loss of
his interest in her, over the way he was turned on by the pictures,
over the way she was excited by them... She suddenly sat upright, her
hand across her mouth.

No! I'm not like that! I don't like seeing others in private displays
of sex acts... of seeing myself do them... no, it's my husband who's
like that now, thanks to Ralph Taylor... not me! No, not me! Yet the
more her conscious mind rejected the idea that she was incited by such
photos to almost overwhelming passion, the more her subconsciousness
admitted it. Deep, deep down, underneath all the excuses and rationales
she could muster, beat the emotional heart of a truly pagan woman of
lust.

All it would take to strip the layers away and bare her soul was the
right combination... a combination that her husband and Ralph and Norma
Taylor were busily working on, and one which fate would soon take a
hand in as well.

At the moment, though, Cindy Jamison was in the throes of agony over
her inability to please her husband. What could; she do? The
pictures... she had the feeling that in them lay the answer.

It was no good, she said to herself with a sigh, and got up. She padded
to the kitchen after throwing a robe around her, put on the coffee and
then idly ambled into the living room. There, strewn before her morose,
anguished eyes, were the evidences of last night's crime. The camera...
still where her husband had left it, the scattered pictures of them in
living color performing like two animals, the other pictures and the
newspaper on the coffee table. Guiltily she scooped up the photos,
averting her eyes from them lest they be offended in the light of the
sober morning after, and wrapping them in the paper.

The kettle whistled, and she went back to the kitchen with her bundle.
She poured herself a cup of hot coffee and sat on a stool beside the
counter and glanced unavoidably at the paper. Inside were the
pictures... and outside, staring back at her in black and white, were
the little ads she and Howard had read to each other last night.

She re-read them, sipping her coffee, and two distinct things happened.
One, a growing, almost gnawing tingling started again down between her
legs as she cast her thoughts momentarily from her own grief and into
the homes of the advertisers. The average Mr.-and-Mrs. Joneses who were
posing naked on their beds and rugs, happily cavorting before the film
of the camera and anxiously waiting to swap their experiences for
others...

Her subconscious was at work again, building the fire of prurient
desires faster than her consciousness could bank the flames. She
tightened her inner thigh muscles, wishing away the featherlike
proddings of her sensual nature... and, of course, was unable to.

The other thing which happened was the sudden emergence of an idea. The
images of the advertisers enjoying themselves in this fashion once more
reminded her of Howard. Was not her own husband like the ones in the
ads? Didn't he receive a special thrill from exhibiting his sexual
passion in front of a lens... and seeing the very same of others? Yes!

And in that instant, the perfect answer burst in her mind. The innocent
young wife, so less worldly than other supposedly bolder and more
swinging people, suddenly considered exchanging photos... of becoming
one of the multitude of members of the Camera Club!

The thought made her gasp! She couldn't! That would only be going yet
deeper into the pit she was now finding herself falling into. But...
the situation as it was certainly was unbearable. She had to find a
solution... even if it meant lowering herself. She viewed the blatant,
shocking step the way a mountain climber might look down into a chasm
while dangling at the end of his rope. To her, the exchange of lewd
photographs would be like the climber dropping to a ledge where he
could find room to breathe and a way back to the top; something he
couldn't do while holding onto the rope where he was.

Still, the whole concept boggled her imagination. Trembling, she downed
the coffee and then poured herself another cup. Could she? No... no!

But what other alternative was there? This way she would be pleasing
her husband, wouldn't she? Yes, and not only would the pictures
themselves make him respond, but she could learn from them as well. She
knew that she had much to learn about the techniques of sex-play, that
she was inexperienced in the arts of loving a man physically; Howard's
reactions were proof of that. She could study the positions---as one
would a textbook illustration, of course, she hastily told herself and
be a better wife for it. The third reason for "taking the plunge" was
actually not a conscious thought at all, but perhaps it was the
strongest motivation of all. It was the fact, which she would have
hotly denied, that she was excited by the pictures as much, even more,
than her husband. She wanted to see others making love, and only the
ingrained prudery instilled since birth by her narrow-minded parents
prevented her from seeing this and recognizing the emotion for what it
was.

The more she mulled over the solution, the more firmly convinced she
became that it was the best and only way out. Now excited over the
idea, she pored over the ads, looking for one which sounded as though
written by sensitive, understanding persons who were suitably a long
way away. No, no, not that one... nor this one... perhaps... wait,
here's one! She read it carefully:

"Good looking man, mid 30's, well endowed, and beautiful wife would
like to exchange intimate photos with similar couple. Varied poses, all
good and detailed. Discretion assured. Box C123, Chicago, Illinois.

Yes... about the same age and same background, married and everything,
Cindy thought. And they'll keep it a secret, and they're all the way in
Chicago...

What harm could be done in trying? What could go wrong? Who could get
hurt, and it just might be the one thing to wring Howard and myself
back together. I've got nothing to lose except a few cents worth of
postage!

Now fired with seal to carry out her plan, Cindy rapidly dressed in a
bright yellow silk blouse with a blue antique design across the front
and a pair of matching stretch pants. She hummed, smiling as she combed
her hair and applied the little makeup she used. Then she returned to
the kitchen and got the photographs of herself and Howard, took them to
where the wrapping paper and twine was kept, and in a few minutes had a
wrapped and addressed little package to send to Box C123.

She didn't put on a return address yet... she didn't know what it would
be. Although Cindy was pretty sure that the couple at Box C123 would be
trustworthy, she wasn't going to take any chances. That would be
disastrous! Instead, she got the idea from the box number to get one of
her own. There wasn't time to rent one from the paper... so she'd take
out a post office box, right at the main station in downtown Morriston.
That way there'd be no chance of anybody finding out where she lived.

The main post office was situated on Second and Market Streets, a large
graystone mausoleum of a building built back when authority was
measured in how thick the walls were and how high the ceilings. Inside
were the operating rooms of the post office, as well as rooms for the
few state and federal agencies of which Morriston could boast, such as
the Marine and Army recruiting offices. The ground floor, though, was
all for the post office, one entering a long, ill lit but wide marble
corridor through either side of the building. There were windows all
along the hall, some for stamps, others for money orders, still others
for a combination of things, and most of them closed. In the middle was
a large bank of post boxes in three sizes; the small ones running along
the top half, then a few rows of medium sized ones, and then a series
of large ones at the bottom. Beside the bank was a window which, by its
sign, handled parcel post and the post boxes.

Sitting on a worn wooden stool, his arms lazily draped on the marble
counter, was the window's clerk, Steve Samuels. He was bored, not
feeling well from drinking too much the previous night, and his bad
leg, two inches shorter and smaller than normal because of a birth
defect, ached. Besides which, he had read all of the comic books and
men's magazines that were scattered around the back of the post office,
and he had nothing to do until quitting time. He sighed and rubbed the
leather shoe, alleviating for the moment the heaviness of his extra
thick built-up heel and sole.

When Cindy Jamison hesitantly approached the window, he suddenly perked
up, leering over at her and smacking his thick, rubbery lips. Hey boy!
was that owe hell of a woman there... He smirked, noting the twin
wedding bands on her finger and knowing full well she'd been fucked and
fucked and fucked by her husband.

He couldn't keep his beady eyes off her, his brain fermenting with
lascivious thoughts. Her slacks were the tightest pair he had ever seen
on a woman, highlighting her rich thighs and pert young buttocks as she
walked towards him, and for a crazy instant the clerk thought he could
make out the narrow line of her cuntal split. Her breasts strained
against the thin blouse, moving rhythmically as she came, and again the
afflicted postal clerk couldn't help his erotic thoughts. Is she
wearing a bra? Is that all her flesh and was that faint ridge the seams
of her bra?... or tight, berry nipples, swaying without hindrance? He
licked dry lips. That lucky bastard of a husband, sliding into that
luscious body every time he wants it... Too bad I ain't fucking it on
the side.

Cindy Jamison saw the clerk, felt his burning gaze on her body, almost
blushing at the blatant way he all but undressed her. She had lost much
of her original courage and conviction by the time she had parked her
car nearby, and it was only with the desire to do something to save her
marriage, even as drastic as this, which kept her going into the post
office and to the window. The blatantly leering clerk was almost the
last straw, almost sending her running out of the building and back to
her home.

It was terrible the way he kept staring at her, as though she was some
sideshow freak. And him, so small, so ugly, so... so creepy! He wore
thick glasses with an odd green tint to the lens which magnified his
eyes until they looked frogish and bulging. His skin was the color of
oatmeal, yet there was a Mongolian cast to his features like the half-
caste Indians of the Amazon or the south-of-the-border mulattos of
Tampa's Ybor City. His sparse black hair was greased flat to his narrow
skull.

"Yes?" the postal clerk said to her, and his voice matched his looks.
It was thin, bitter, raspy... and Cindy could only think of the word,
dark, to describe its hint of malice.

"I..." she faltered, her throat parched and tight. "I... want to open a
post office box."

"What size do you want?" Samuels asked.

So simple a question, yet for the life of her Cindy couldn't think
clearly enough to answer. She was tongue-tied, gripped by panic and
indecision now that she was faced with actually going through with the
operation. The postal clerk leaned forward and repeated the question.
Finally she managed, "A small one. Yes, that's it, just a small one,
please."

"Fill out this card," the postal clerk instructed, bringing out a
three-by-five printed card. "Name, address, and---"

"Address?" Cindy asked, "but I don't want---"

"Have to have the address down, Ma'am. Postal regulations. We're not
allowed to rent boxes unless you have a permanent address. We even have
one of the mailmen confirm that you live there, too, so don't put down
a false one."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of that!"

The postal clerk chuckled. "I'm sure you wouldn't." He leaned forward
again. "Here, use my pen." He studied the twin globes of her
magnificent breasts as they moved while she wrote out the information
on the card. He could tell she was nervous, that there was something
the matter... and his tricky little brain started considering possible
reasons.

Cindy handed the card back. The clerk picked it up and squinted
carefully at what she had written, memorizing her home address. He
grinned intimately and asked, "I see you only want the box for
yourself. Don't you want your husband to know?"

The unsuspecting wife reeled with the impertinence of the question. It
was almost as if this little, gnarled gnome across the counter could
read her mind! Could see the obvious state of her confusion and
embarrassment and was capitalizing on it for his own sick, perverted
amusement! He continued to stare at her from behind his thick lensed
glasses, and for one horrid second, Cindy almost blurted out the truth:
that she wasn't going to let Howard know what she'd done because he
might think ill of her... or other things might happen between now and
when Box C123's pictures arrived which would make this whole
questionable idea unnecessary. Then she would simply forget she had
done this, never return to the post box, let the rent run out on it and
the memory fade...

She hoped the latter would be the case, that nobody would ever know
what depths she had been driven to... and now this smirking postal
clerk was prying where he had no business being!

"It's a... personal reason," she said, trying to sound curt but knowing
that there was a weakness, a dread in her voice.

The clerk nodded and took the card away for a moment, then returned
with another slip of paper. He handed the slip to Cindy. "You now have
Box 34004, near the end. That'll be three dollars and fifty cents for
three months."

Cindy dug into her purse for the money and paid. The clerk made out a

receipt. "The combination for the box is on the first slip I gave you;
the second one is for your records." The way he said it made Cindy
think that he could tell she wasn't going to keep the receipt, but was
going to throw it away at once.

"Thank you," she said in a low voice. She stuffed both papers into her
purse and then brought out the thin package of pictures. She used the
clerk's pen to write her new return address on the wrapping, then
handed the parcel to him. "I want to mail this."

Samuels didn't reply, but weighed the package, put on the stamps and a
first class sticker and threw it on the table behind him. "Forty-three
cents, please," he said, turning back to her.

She paid, waited for the change, and then with chin held high, she
walked away. As she neared the post office entrance, she couldn't help
experiencing a sudden, uplifting of the spirit. She'd done it! She'd
actually gone through with it, renting a box and mailing the pictures!
Elation and giddiness swept through her as she realized that she had
found the courage to follow through with her idea. Although still not
completely convinced as she had been at home about the wisdom of her
move, she was proud of her determination.

Steve Samuels, the postal clerk, chuckled to himself as he watched Mrs.
Cindy Jamison's trim buttocks pass from his heated view. He rubbed his
thin, rough skinned fingers together. Yes sir, he now had an idea what
was upsetting that sweet little housewife so much. Now to confirm his
suspicions! He got off his stool and limped over to where a large,
thick postal directory was kept. He took it down from the shelf,
thumbed through its pages until he found what he was looking for. With
a triumphant grin across his face, he slammed the book shut and dragged
himself back to where he'd put Cindy Jamison's envelope.

The postal book, the size of a major city's phone directory, does not
exist in the eyes of the federal authorities. It's existence is hotly
denied---but it does, covertly, in every post office in America, and
every day it's used by postal clerks like Steve Samuels. It lists the
names and addresses of whoever the government considers a pornographer
or a user of pornography, as well as of other "anti-state" dangers. It
was kept secret because it was highly illegal.

It served the weaselly postal clerk, Steve Samuel's evil purposes now.
For in it was listed the name and address of the Camera Club in
Chicago. He slapped the package Cindy had mailed against his thigh and
scrambled back on his stool. He fondled it, feeling the hard squares of
the pictures, and grinned. Then he slipped the package into his coat
pocket and wished it was time to go home.

He could have opened the package then and there---the post office has
the power, granted by the Congress of course, to open and search any
piece of mail it so desires. It can read the most secret letters an
American citizen wishes to write; do so, and without fear of legal
action against it. Even the police cannot infringe on the private lives
and possessions to this extent---they require a search warrant to enter
a house, and a damned good reason for doing so beforehand. But the post
office can, at will, invade this privacy, for whatever reason they
choose to fabricate.

But the clerk didn't open the package then. He was going to wait until
he got home that night, for he had his own, dark plans for the
contents...

He didn't bother with dinner that night, but hurried to his dingy,
weed-choked clapboard house set in the industrial section of town. He
set out food and water for his German Shepherd named Ringo, patting the
large animal's head at the thought of what might be in store for the
dog as well as for himself, then went inside the house, his thoughts
constantly on the package which was burning its way through his pocket.
And now he was ready to act. Carefully he slit the paper and withdrew
the pictures with palsied, talon-like fingers.

Yes, yes... he drooled as he thumbed through them. God yes, they were
every bit as obscene, as lust-provoking as he had thought they might
be. He snickered loudly to himself. In just a few days, that lovely
girl who now writhed in sexual abandon in the pictures he held would be
doing the same for him. Yes, yes, he could hardly wait... and he
mentally put himself in the place of her husband in the photos,
spearing the sweet, tender cunt of Mrs. Cindy Jamison with all his
perverted desires. Ohhhhh, his testicles already ached with the steam
of wanting to fuck her! To fuck Cindy Jamison... and more! Other,
exciting and lascivious things which weren't shown in the pictures!

Feverishly, he took the set of photos into the bathroom. He pulled the
black colored window shade down, then drew the curtains closed. Then he
opened a cupboard near the toilet and took out his photography
equipment, set a piece of plywood across the bathtub, turned off the
regular light and the small red one on instead, and set to work. He
soon had a duplicate set of the pictures.

He examined each one meticulously, poring over the details of the naked
young Cindy Jamison and her husband fucking until each pose was
imprinted on his brain. His bulging eyes followed the contours of her
smooth firm buttocks and the soft rounded spheres of her beautiful
breasts, their turgid nipples rising high with excitement. He trembled,
his thin, venous penis turning to a rock hard rigidity. He could hardly
wait to get his hands and mouth on that snooty little bitch who had
obviously dismissed him as so much dirt today. He had forced many a
woman to be fucked by him, but never anything like her... never
anything so pure, so innocent, so sheltered.

He groveled at one picture after another, staring at the sweet,
unsuspecting wife's nude reclining figure. One photo which held him
particularly was where she had drawn one knee up even with her hip, the
smooth white flesh of her inner thigh gleaming faintly in contrast to
her husband's darker body. The soft blond hairs of her vagina were
plainly visible around the outer lips, and he involuntarily drew in a
shuddering breath at the lovely sight. The thought of her helplessly
mewling under him in the same position goaded his organ into greater
throbbings. He silently opened the fly of his pants, easing the pain
slightly. He slowly massaged the heavy thick foreskin back and forth
over its jerking head, tiny droplets of white seminal fluid already
seeping from its tip.

The rod he held in his hand was his great equalizer for his shriveled,
ugly body and short stump of a leg. He'd soon be seeing if this Mrs.
Jamison would treat him like a dog when he rammed deep between her open
thighs and buried it far up inside her aristocratic little belly...

He stood there, staring at the second set of pictures, stroking himself
into a hardness which threatened to explode into streaming torrents of
hot spurts at any moment. For a second, he considered it, but then
thought of a better idea. He stopped his manipulations, not wanting to
risk losing the building load of sperm, and went into the living room
and the telephone.

He dialed the number of a nearby garage. The head mechanic answered,
and the now wildly excited postal clerk asked for Jack Reagan, another
of the mechanics. There was a pause, and then a young, firm voice came
on the line. "This is Reagan."

"Hello, Jack," the clerk replied. "This is Steve Samuels."

There was utter silence for a moment. Then: "What do you want?" Reagan
said in contemptuous tones.

"Now, you shouldn't talk like that, Jack," the clerk said, grinning.
"After all, I'm only trying to help you, you know."

"The hell you are, you son of a bitch."

The clerk suddenly flared up in anger, his face a hot red. "Don't call
me names, Jack. You hear me? Never!" He calmed down after the outburst,
knowing he controlled the situation. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be
fired by now, and that would be terrible, what with a six-month- old
baby and everything. Think about it, Jack."

"I am," came the trembling response.

"You wouldn't find another good job so easy, either, Jack. The postal
authorities would see to that... They don't like men like you; men sick
and dirty of mind who are helping destroy the moral fibre of our
country."

"Save the lecture. What do you want?"

"Your wife."

"No!" came the horrified gasp. "Not Sally, not again!"

"Yes. Sally, and again!"

"But... but you promised!"

"That was before, Jack."

"Before what?"

"Before the authorities raided a pornographer's house over on the south
side of town. Before they found a letter of yours..."

"God! no!" Reagan moaned.

"I went to bat for you again, Jack. All they had was the envelope
actually with your address on it. I told them that it must have been a
mistake, that I know you and that you're a good, clean, all-American
patriot, the pillar of the community. They aren't going to do anything
to you... yet! But if I should say something..." he left the threat of
what the postal authorities might do to Reagan unsaid, only snickering
triumphantly into the mouthpiece.

Reagan's voice was leaden. "So now you want to get paid."

"That's right. I want my little, ah... reward and I want it now. I'm
waiting at home. Call that sweet little wife of yours and get her over
here fast. I won't be waiting long."

Again there was a long, deathlike pause. Finally Reagan, his voice
indicating the surrender he felt, said, "Okay. I'll do it. I'll send
her over in a cab, but please be gentle with her this time. And... this
has to be the last time."

"Heh, heh," Samuels chuckled. "Of course, Jack. Of course it'll be the
last time. And I promise that soon you'll get back those pictures of
you and your wonderful wife you tried to send through the mails." He
chortled some more, then rang off.

Young, titian-haired, angelic-featured Sally Reagan sat apprehensively
squeezing a handkerchief between her small hands in the back seat of a
taxi cab as it sped across Morriston. Her slender, high- breasted body
was rigid with the foreknowledge of what was about to happen, and a
nauseous feeling eddied in the pit of her stomach.

Oh God, she prayed to herself, please don't let it be as bad as the
last time. Please, don't. I... I don't think I could stand it!

She twisted the handkerchief convulsively, and an almost inaudible moan
of despair burst past her soft, moistly red lips. In her mind's eye she
could picture the almost obscenely ugly Postal Clerk, Steve Samuels,
with his slobbering, rubbery lips and his claw-like hands and his...
his horribly huge penis! She moaned again, loud enough so that the cab
driver glanced up into the rear-view mirror, frowned, and asked her if
she was okay.

She quickly replied that she was and sank lower in the seat, twisting
the handkerchief into a twisted rope in her fingers. Why, oh, why, had
she consented to come tonight? When Jack had telephoned her from work,
and told her of Samuels' call to him and what the weasly blackmailer
wanted, she had almost become sick as all the disgusting perversions of
that last time flooded instantaneously back into her conscious mind.
She couldn't go through the same hell again; she couldn't! And yet she
had known that she had to, knew that now as well. If she didn't...
submit to Samuels' demands, then the depraved Postal Clerk would have
Jack fired, would ruin him completely through some evil stretching of
the truth. And Jack's was a specialized job, which would make it very
hard for him to get another. Too, there was the baby---little Jimmy---
to think about, and the fact that they'd just bought a small, modest
home and had to meet the payments on it promptly or risk losing their
equity...

No, she was doing the right thing. She could endure another night of
horror at the hands of the lust-insane civil servant, if it meant
saving her home and her husband's job---and if it meant that those...
those photos which Samuels possessed would never be exposed to
nationwide gutter distribution.

Those damnable photographs! Why had she ever allowed Jack to take them
of her, with the Polaroid his brother had let him borrow? She should
have known better, but she had done it in a moment of passion, wanting
to please the man she loved and that, too, was the reason she had
decided to send them off for exchange, with Jack's eager approval, to
members of the Camera Club whose newspaper Jack had somehow found. God,
if she'd but known Samuels was going to find out about them, get his
hands on them, blackmail the unsuspecting Reagans in such a perverted
manner... But she hadn't known, and now it was too late; she---and
Jack, too, although he didn't have to suffer the indignities she did---
was completely at the mercy of the warped Postal Clerk.

Sally, distraught and helpless, looked up then through the window at
the black night outside. Let this be the last time, she prayed. Please,
God, let this be the last time.

She rubbed at her damp eyes with the handkerchief, peering out through
the window. The surroundings were now familiar---an old, dingy, run-
down section of Morriston and a shudder coursed through the frightened,
tormented young wife's warm, vibrant body.

They were almost there.

Sitting in the front room of his ramshackle house, his wizened hands
busily working among the contents of the wooden coffee table before
him, Steve Samuels grinned in drooling anticipation of the arrival of
the tender young Sally Reagan. Oh, he was going to fuck her good
tonight! He was going to subject her to every trick in the book,
goddamned right he was!

He would do to her, he reflected, the same things he would do to that
uppity Mrs. Jamison... sort of a preliminary to the main event. And
Mrs. Cindy Jamison was a main event, no doubt about that. His cock
throbbed with aching desire as his fingers worked almost independent of
his mind, with practiced ease, for his was a task he had performed many
times before.

On the coffee table were a small cigarette-rolling machine, several
packages of wheat-straw papers, a scarred wooden cigarette box, and a
large cellophane bag filled with a dark brown, shredded leaf that
resembled tobacco but wasn't tobacco at all.

It was Acapulco Gold, the best marijuana money could buy.

The weaselly postal clerk chuckled lewdly as his dexterous fingers
fashioned yet another pot stick. He'd been damned lucky to get grass as
good as this, and he'd had to pay a premium for it, too; but it was
worth it, every penny. Good stuff like this really turned them on,
these young bitches like Mrs. Sally Reagan (and yes, like Mrs. Cindy
Jamison as well); it made them forget their inhibitions, their fear and
hatred of him, so that they were his complete slaves to subjugate and
to do with as he would. They never forgot a session with Steve Samuels,
the perverted government employee boasted to himself; and they were
never really the same afterwards...

His huge German Shepherd, Ringo, came bounding in from the kitchen,
where Samuels had put out a large bowl of raw meat. The great animal,
sleek and bright-eyed, its long red tongue lolling out of the side of
its mouth, sat on its haunches next to its master, tail wagging. The
Postal Clerk chuckled again, finished rolling one last cigarette, and
then leaned back on the sofa, reaching down to pat Ringo on the head.

"So you're eager, too, eh, my friend?" he chortled. "Well, don't worry.
You're going to get your share of young Mrs. Sally Reagan tonight- -
just like you've gotten your share of the others. And you're going to
get plenty of young Mrs. Cindy Jamison, too, of that I promise you.
She's going to feel your prick jammed all the way up to her hot little
titties, Ringo, don't you worry."

The lewd mental image of the beast's speckled red cock buried in the
tight, warm, clasping pussy of the haughty Cindy Jamison caused Samuels
own prick to leap into erection. Damn, he was horny tonight! He was
going to really fuck little miss Sally, all right---but first, there
would be games to play. Games he had perfected with a half-dozen other
unsuspecting housewives in Morriston, housewives who had foolishly
attempted to send lewd, pornographic items through the United States
mails. Games which left them slavering and begging for his mammoth cock
to rip their cunts wide and fill them with hot boiling cum...

The evil clerk began to rub his erect prick through his pants, slowly,
tantalizingly, his wizened face split into an animalistic grin of lust.
It had been a fine day, The Finest Day, when the government had passed
the new Postal regulation allowing the Department to open anyone's mail
without them being present, under the guise of checking for obscenity
or subversive activities or even upon the slightest suspicion of
anything illegal or immoral. And the most beautiful part about that
regulation was, he could do it himself, on his whim, without asking
permission of his superiors!

Oh, it was a grand day, the day of the passage of that regulation! He
had complete access to the entire mail input and output of the city of
Morriston; he could open letters, packages, registered envelopes at
will--- and he had. Intuition and the illegal directory of names had
led him to suspect certain ones, and at least half the time he had
found some kind of incriminating material. He had several mild photos
and some letters that were written by respectable wives in the
community that, on the surface, were seemingly innocent; but turned
over to the wives' husbands, they would be damning. And, of course, he
had found some juicy items as well, like the photos Jack Reagan and his
wife, Sally, had taken together. They were really something! But all he
needed to open negotiations with the erring wives was one small
indiscretion, just enough to use as a threat and as a fulcrum to lever
them into his house and his bed. His list of names was ever-growing,
too, and his insatiable cock, his perverted, insatiable brain, had at
long last began to reap their rewards. Some day, he might have as many
as twenty-five or thirty young, beautiful Morriston wives at his beck
and call, for as long as the Postal regulation allowing him to
indiscriminately open the public's private mail was in effect, he could
never be thwarted. He had power, power, POWER!

Faster and faster the wickedly-grinning clerk's hand rubbed back and
forth over his swollen prick as he gazed into the future, planning
impossible orgies with a dozen women and more, planning games and
perversions which boggled even his imagination. His glazed eyes sought
and found the old wall clock.

Hurry up, Mrs. Sally Reagan, he thought. Hurry, hurry, hurry!

The taxi cab stopped in front of the dingy, clapboard house---the place
which beautiful Sally Reagan, in her own mind, had dubbed The House of
Humiliation. She shuddered again, her trembling fingers digging inside
her purse.

The cab driver turned to look at her over the seat. "You sure this is
the place you want to go, lady? Looks like an opium den, or something."
He laughed.

"Y-yes, this is the place," Sally quavered, convulsing violently at the
driver's innocent comment about "an opium den;" if only he knew what
went on inside that house! She found a dollar bill, shoved it into the
driver's hand, and then got out of the cab.

She stood on the cracked sidewalk a moment as the taxi meshed gears and
pulled away from the curb, trying to compose herself. How should she
behave this time? Not like the last---whining, piteous, obviously fear-
wracked, obviously filled with hatred for her tormentor---for that only
made things worse, only made Samuels do more foul things to her
helpless body. No, this time she would be like ice, like a mannequin;
she wouldn't plead with him, curse him, scream at him. She would let
him use her as he would, and in that way get it over with as quickly as
possible so that she could go home to the safety of her own house,
where baby Jimmy slept in his crib under the watchful eye of the
babysitter, where Jack would come to comfort her in the night.

Straightening to her full height, the long-legged, slim-hipped, black-
haired young wife walked quickly up the tangled, jagged path to the
front door of the house and rang the bell.

It was opened almost immediately, and the evilly-leering countenance of
the Postal Clerk, Steve Samuels, materialized only inches from her own
face. In spite of herself, Sally gasped and took a faltering half-step
backward to see once again, up close, the ugly, twisted features of
this mentally deranged man.

"Well, well, it's about time, Mrs. Reagan," croaked Samuels, opening
the door wider. "My cock has been hard for half an hour, just thinking
about you and your fine young body, heh heh. Come in, come in."

Sally's eyes inadvertently dropped to the front of his pants, saw the
bulge there, the stain on the material, and she shuddered again. But
then she composed herself and stepped past him, careful not to touch
him, and walked proud and tall into the cluttered living room.

Samuels, licking his rubbery lips, followed her and said, "Sit down on
the sofa there, Mrs. Reagan. In front of the coffee table there." He
laughed obscenely. "As you can see, I've set out a few photos from my
album for you to look at. And you're in them. You and your husband,
Jack. I know you'll be interested in seeing them again, even if you
have seen them before."

Sally closed her eyes, blinked them open, and crossed to the couch,
sitting down as Samuels had directed her. She didn't look at the
pictures displayed on the corroded surface of the table.

The wizened clerk crossed to her and stood in front of the table,
looming over her, looking down at her silky black hair, at the full
swell of her rich, creamy breasts, at the taper of her soft downy
thighs. His cock leapt violently, and his balls ached with the buildup
of his semen.


"Take your dress off, Mrs. Reagan," he husked. "It's warm in here. Make
yourself comfortable."

Like a marionette, the evil clerk's voice its strings, Sally stood
woodenly and pulled the simple cotton shift she wore over her head and
tossed it aside. Then, quickly, she sat down again, clad only in a
thin, wispy bra and panty briefs. She wouldn't look at Samuels at all.

His breath quickened as he saw her half-naked before him, and his eyes
traveled like hungry beetles over her firm, resilient flesh. Her
breasts were high and proud, good breasts, but not as good and as
voluptuous as those of Mrs. Cindy Jamison, he reflected. Still, he
wanted to see them in all their splendor, nakedly presented to his
lusting eyes.

"Take your bra off, Mrs. Reagan," he commanded, his hand dropping down
to his bulging pants and stroking lightly.

Obediently, the tormented young woman reached behind her and unhooked
the fasteners of her gauzy bra. She let it fall away, leaning back a
little to pull her firm, pinkish-red-capped breasts up high as she knew
he wanted her to; there would be no need for him to tell her lewdly
what to do on this night.

"You have nice tits, Mrs. Reagan," wheezed Samuels, rubbing his swollen
cock. He had unzipped his fly now, and his fingers were traveling
eagerly over the surface of his shorts. "Very nice tits. I like them,
Mrs. Reagan. I like them very much."

Sally stifled the low groan which threatened to escape her throat, and
remained sitting there almost like a statue. Her heart was beating
wildly in her chest. Oh, God, what kind of filthy things its he going
to do to me tonight? No... no, I can't think about them, I can't think
ahead... have to make my mind a blank, a blank...

Samuels came around the coffee table, still massaging his huge prick
with his fingers, and sat down next to the beautiful, almost completely
naked young wife. His rubbery lips were parted wide, and thin rivulets
of saliva coursed out at their corners. His eyes were fever bright.
"Won't you have a cigarette, Mrs. Reagan," he said gratingly. "It will
relax you while you look through the pictures. These are good
cigarettes, Mrs. Reagan; you've had them before, remember?"

Pot! Her mind screamed. Oh, no, not more marijuana! She remembered the
last time, how he had forced her to smoke one of the little brown
cigarettes, and another, how she had become giddy and light-headed,
responding to his commands almost eagerly as the fear and disgust left
her body under the influence of the drug. But wait... maybe that was
the best thing now... yes, for if she allowed herself to become high
under the emotion-numbing drug the evening would go quickly and she
would not be fully cognizant of the certain perversions he would
perform upon her unwilling flesh. Yes, she had to get high, very
high... pretend it was Jack touching her body as Samuels would surely
touch it, pretend that her loving husband's penis was being thrust
inside her when the time came instead of the grotesque monster of this
gnome-like fiend... yes, that was what she would do, that was how she
would survive this night...

Almost eagerly, Sally Reagan's fingers sought the scarred humidor on
the table next to the pictures and next to an odd looking, black-cased,
slender thing she had never seen before. She opened the box, extracted
one of the crude brown cigarettes, and placed it between her soft,
moist lips. Beside her, Samuels snapped a lighter into flame with his
left hand, his right still stroking his blood-heavy penis, and lit the
cigarette.

The young wife drew smoke into her lungs, holding it there as he had
taught her that first time, releasing it finally. Then she repeated the
process, and a third and fourth time.

"That's fine, Mrs. Reagan, that's just fine," Samuels croaked. "Now the
pictures. Look at the pictures while you smoke. Look at them, now."

Already, after the first deep drag, the marijuana cigarette was
beginning to have an effect on the tense young woman, relaxing her
somewhat, making some of the fear and loathing and hate di ÿsappear,
and she reached out and lifted the stack of photos. She held them up to
her eyes, drawing on the stick again, then began to shuffle through
them.

She knew them well, these snapshots. Jack and she had taken them
together that night several months ago, with his brother's Polaroid.
God, she wished she had never seen them, wished they had never existed!
But she had seen them, and they did exist, and she looked at them, at
one after another of them...

Jack and she, lying on their bed, with her hand circling his huge,
erect penis while his middle finger was extended and half-buried in the
warm, glistening folds of her wide splayed pussy... Jack with his lips
pressed to one of her jutting breasts, while his extended finger
tickled her erect, quivering clitoris... Jack with his mouth buried in
her pubic hair, and her thumb rubbing across the swollen head of his
penis... Jack with his head full between her wide-splayed thighs, his
tongue pressed into the tingling flanges of her tenderly excited
femininity and her face twisted grotesquely with the joy of the warm,
wet contact... her, now, with her lips on his stomach while she stroked
his organ and his testicles... her with mouth poised above the red,
seminally-lubricated head of his member... her with her mouth closed
over the head now, sucking as her fingers tickled his scrotum (God, she
remembered the taste of his penis, the bittersweet flavor of his
masculinity; she had liked it, because it was her husband and she loved
him and wanted to please him, but now it seemed so revolting and
obscene)... her with the full length of his great member pressed tight
into her ovaled lips, her nose gently tickling his wiry pubic hair...
the two of them on the bed, she straddling Jack, her buttocks raised to
the camera, knees spread wide on either side of him, his penis inserted
into the shimmering, petal-opened expanse of her vagina as she rocked
back on it while kissing him full on the mouth... the same photo, only
with Jack's middle finger teasing along and partly inserted in the
tiny, rubbery opening of her anal passage...

"You like them, don't you, Mrs. Reagan?" Samuels intoned next to her,
his fingers inside his under pants and wrapped around his trembling
cock now. "You like them, and you're getting hot looking at them,
aren't you?"

"Y-yes," Sally heard herself answer. "Yes, yes."

"Then lean back and put your hand down between your legs," commanded
the Postal Clerk throatily. "Play with yourself like I'm doing, Mrs.
Reagan. Put your fingers in your cunt, Mrs. Reagan. Ah, that's it...
no, no, don't pull your panties down. Just pull them aside between your
legs, and put your finger in your slit... yes, yes, now you've got it!"

Under his droning directions, the young marijuana-drugged housewife had
begun to slide her middle finger slowly, slowly, up and down the
moistening expanse of her tender young vaginal slit, feeling the juices
of her femininity begin to flow in spite of the situation and because
of her relaxed state of being. It's Jack's finger, not my own, she told
herself over and over, it's Jack's finger, not my own...

Samuels, tremendously excited now by the sight of the sweet young woman
slowly masturbating before him, removed the swollen, blood-engorged
penis from his underpants, letting it jut high into the air as his
claw- like fingers stroked it up and down. Goddamn, but this was really
living! To have young married sluts like this at his mercy were the
finest moments of his life, the things he really lived for... Jesus,
Jesus, how he loved to torment the haughty goddamned young bitches for
his own pleasure!

"Another cigarette," he wheezed. "Here, I'll light it for you... no, no
don't take your fingers out of your cunt, Mrs. Reagan! Keep playing
with your clit while you smoke... good, good!"

The second marijuana joint relaxed the young woman even more, and she
felt all her emotions go gently ebbing away, so that she was relaxed to
a large degree and no longer apprehensive. And... yes, she was
beginning to feel, in spite of her hopeless situation, a gentle
tingling in her softly warm cunt. Jack's doing it, Jack's doing it,
Jack's getting me excited like he always does, Jack Jack Jack...

She finished the second joint, and her head was swimming now, her
finger moving with increasing rapidity in her cuntal valley, her eyes
glazed over and her breasts heaving. The Postal Clerk, watching her and
stroking his own burgeoning genitalia, snickered aloud as he saw the
mounting sexuality in the young wife brought about by the marijuana and
the pictures and her own manipulations. She was going to be fine
tonight, a regular goddamned hellcat; he'd teach her a thing or two,
son-of-a-bitch if he wouldn't!

"On the table, Mrs. Reagan," he droned. "The vibrator... yes, that. Now
take it in your hand... good, good, there's a little button on the
bottom... click it forward, now you've got it."

Vibrator? What... what did he want her to do with that? Sally thought
in her torpor. It was an ugly thing, black-cased, resembling an
elongated candle stick with a rounded head---almost phallic-looking,
like a slender, ugly penis. It was slippery in her hand, and when she
clicked the button forward as he had directed it began a gentle
tingling against her palm and she saw that the rounded head was
oscillating from side to side with a steady rhythm. Vibrator, vibrating
against her hand... what did he expect her to do with...?

"Now," Samuels whispered hotly, "put it down between your legs, Mrs.
Reagan!" She seemed to stiffen. "B-between my legs?"

"You heard me, you little bitch!" he flared. "Do what I tell you,
goddamnit, or I ruin that fine young husband of yours! Now put the
vibrator down between those hot little thighs of yours... that's it,
that's it... pull the band of your panties farther over so that you can
get the head of the vibrator up your cunt... now you've got it! Move it
up and down, up and down, up and down... ohhh, you're doing fine, Mrs.
Reagan, just fine!"

The young wife felt the tingling vascillation of the battery-powered
vibrator against the moist sensitive flesh of her vaginal region and
her entire body began to shudder tremulously. Oh, God, oh, God, it...
it feels good! It feels good, up and down, up and down, it's sick and
disgusting with him watching me doing it to myself but it feels sooo
good...

She was excited now, in her drugged state, and her hips began to move
back and forth restlessly on the soft material of the sofa. Samuels
watched with bated breath as she moved the slender black vibrator up
and down between her widely spread thighs, holding the crotchband of
her panties away from the glistening wet folds of her tight, hair-
fringed young cunt.

"Shove it inside now!" he hissed excitedly. "Shove it all the way up
your cunt, Mrs. Reagan! Do it, do it now!"

Sally's mind seemed to rebel for a moment to reject that totally alien
concept of inserting a vibrating instrument, a mechanical creation,
into herself. But the marijuana, mixed with her predisposition to obey
and thus bring to a hopefully rapid conclusion this night of horror,
finally overcame the objection of her morality. She let the oscillating
head of the instrument move along each of the tender, softly pink lips
of her pussy, back and forth, and then, slowly, she inserted a little
more of the head of the vibrator inside, spreading her legs as wide as
she could and drawing the band of her panties wide across her open
pubic area. The machine tingled inside, tingled, and she felt passion
begin to flow through her as the electrical device teased the buttery
walls of her vagina.

"All the way in, all the way inside your cunt!" Samuels prodded
breathlessly, his hand wildly stroking his exposed cock.

And she obeyed, thrusting the tingling vibrator deep, deep inside her
until she could feel its oscillating head pressing maddeningly against
her cervix. The sensations brought low moans from her throat, caused
her to flair her head from side to side abandonly. Her high, rounded
breasts were sheened with sweat, bobbing excitedly on her chest.

The evil civil servant could scarcely stand the excitement of
witnessing the subjugated young wife thrusting the vibrator far up into
her own belly. He was becoming so hot now that he knew his balls would
soon burst. And yet, he had to hold out for just a little while
longer... his own pleasure was foremost, of course, but there was one
other thing to think about as well, his true and trusted friend to
think about. He couldn't cum until his friend had had his fill of this
black-haired little married bitch next to him.

He turned his head reluctantly from the salacious sight of the young
wife masturbating herself with the vibrator, and looked in the
direction of the kitchen, his eyes glinting wickedly and his slobbering
lips parted wide.

"Ringo!" he shouted. "Here, Ringo boy!"

At once, the huge, furry form of the Postal Clerk's German Shepherd
came bounding in from the kitchen, panting eagerly as if it had been
waiting anticipatorily for its master's call. Chuckling, Samuels patted
the animal on the head, still rubbing his erect penis. Then he said to
the young housewife, "Take the vibrator out of your cunt now, Mrs.
Reagan. Rub your breasts with it, make them nice and hard, make your
nipples tingle. Hurry now!"

Slowly, obediently, and almost hesitantly she withdrew the oscillating
device from her trembling vagina, moved it up to her quivering breasts.
It was wet with her lubrications and seemed to glisten maniacally in
the light from the naked overhead fixture. She pressed it to her
breasts, in her drugged state not noticing because of her tightly
closed eyes the presence of the great, panting German Shepherd.

"Keep the band of your panties pulled over, Mrs. Reagan!" ordered
Samuels. "And keep your legs spread wide. All right, good... now,
Ringo, now you can go!"

The massive dog went directly to the girl, its enormous jowls parted
and its long, furled tongue panting wetly, redly. Then its cold snout
pressed against one of Sally Reagan's thighs, and she froze, her eyes
opening and staring down at the beast which sniffed hungrily between
her thighs.

My God, my God! her mind protested. Not that dog again! Oh, dear Lord,
please not that dog again!

But even as she thought this, she knew what was about to happen, knew
she was about to be subjected once again to the most horrible of
perversions, to the sexual attack of a dog! She wanted to leave, to
leap to her feet and run, to get out of that House of Horror and yet
she remained immobile, knowing that she must submit, that there were
things of more importance than a single night of personal depravity at
stake. She pressed the vibrator tight to her swollen breasts, rubbing
it back and forth across her already throbbing, hungrily aching nipples
as she watched in mesmeric terror the German Shepherd lowering its huge
head down between her naked, defenseless thighs.

Tail wagging excitedly, Ringo sniffed at the trembling, moist-haired
slit exposed beneath the pulled-aside panties. Then its tongue snaked
out with a long exploratory lick on the fluted edges of the tender-
cunt, causing the young housewife to shudder violently and her hips to
begin to move reflexively. The dog ran its tongue wetly the full length
of the young wife's exposed slit, up and down her pink vaginal lips
from the wetly flowing entrance to her throbbing clit, then back again,
then up again, flicking relentlessly the juices of her flaming passion.
Mewls of shame and delight, the ambivalent mixture which coursed
through Sally Reagan's body, burst from her lips as the German Shepherd
continued to plunder her tender pussy with its long, glistening tongue.

"Wider!" shouted Samuels' lust-incited voice. "Pull your panties wider
so he can get his tongue up inside your pussy! Goddamn you, do what I
say, you little bitch! Spread those legs wide so Ringo can put his
tongue into your cunt!"

She did as he bid, pulling the panties over as far as she could without
ripping them, and the immense dog responded immediately by flicking its
long tongue into the wetly pink opening of her vagina, its cold snout
pressed tightly to her vulva as it eagerly licked at the juices of her
desire. She moaned aloud now, tossing her head and her body, her free
hand coming down in helpless surrender to convulsively grasp the great
furry head buried in her hungrily clasping young cunt.

Oh, Jesus, oh, goddamn son of a bitch! the wizened Postal Clerk
thought. What a sight! That little bitch with her legs spread and
Ringo's tongue flicking into her hot little cant, while she rubs the
vibrator over her tits! I can't take much more of this before I blow my
wad! Should I keep beating my cock while Ringo licks her pussy, and
then cum all over her goddamned sweet little face? That would be
good... no, no, wait! A better idea! I'll have Ringo fuck her from
behind and shoot his cum into her snobbish little cunt. And at the same
time, I'll shove my cock into her mouth and fuck her face and blow my
cum down her throat! Yes, yes, oh; God how exciting this is going to
be!

Sally Reagan was almost insensate with passion now as she felt the
fire-hot tongue of the dog licking wildly at her cunt. She was past
all- caring, for her mind was controlled completely by the forces of
lust and drug. Her pussy was on fire, her breasts were on fire, her
brain was on fire... she knew nothing else, cared about nothing else...
she was a helpless slave, a tool in the hands of the evil sorcerer who
sat next to her, stroking his burgeoning penis and shouting obscenities
and encouragements to the German Shepherd.

It was time, it was time! thought the lust-crazed clerk.

He leapt to his feet, his cock jutting blood-red out in front of him in

the palm of his hand, and screamed, "Back, Ringo! Back, boy! You're
going to get plenty in a minute, you're going to fuck this little bitch
like I know you've been wanting to! Be patient, Ringo! Back!"

With apparent reluctance, the huge beast drew back from between the
quivering thighs of the young wife, sitting on its haunches with eyes
that seemed almost as glazed as its master's. Then Samuels commanded
harshly, "Take your panties off, Mrs. Reagan. Make yourself naked, you
hot little bitch! Then get down on the floor, by the table there, down
on the floor on all fours like the little bitch you are! You're in
heat, and we have to see that you're serviced, don't we?" He cackled
with almost an insane lust.

The beautiful housewife, responding like an automaton, stood up and
stripped off her last remaining garment, revealing the dog-saliva
soaked expanse of her naked, softly hair-fringed cunt completely to the
eager eyes of the Postal Clerk, then, in total surrender, dropped down
on all fours on the floor.

"Move your knees apart and get your ass higher up in the air!" directed
Samuels. "Open that cunt up! Now you're in the right position, aren't
you, Mrs. Reagan? Answer me!"

"Ye-yes!"

"You want to be fucked, don't you?"

"Yes, yes!"

"You want dog cock inside you, don't you?"

"Yes, oooohhhhh yes!"

"You heard her, Ringo!" screamed Samuels. "Fuck her, boy! Climb on her
ass and fuck her like the bitch in heat she is!"

The dog seemed to need no further encouragement. It ran in one graceful
jump to the quivering buttocks of the girl, sniffed the moistened
expanse of her pubic exposure a single time, and then climbed up on her
from behind, its long, shining, wetly red penis coming into view from
its concealment in the furry sheath of the animal's loins. The tapered
head slid in and out of the wet covering as the German Shepherd fought
to bury its cock deep in the waiting, subjugated young wife's cunt. The
beast's forepaws sawed rhythmically at her waist, its long tongue
lolling out on the smooth, textured surface of her back.

"He's ready, Ringo's ready!" Samuels was beside himself with fiery lust
now, his hand beating his cock until it seemed to be a blur of motion,
standing over the girl and the dog like some evil and perverted film
director shouting arrangements for a new scene. "Reach back and take
his cock in your hand, Mrs. Reagan! Put it into your cunt! Put my dog's
prick in your pussy, Mrs. Reagan! Help him fuck you, put it in, put it
in!

Sally's hips rotated in mad anticipation and her mind told her it was
her husband, not a dog her husband, not a dog. She reached back to
grasp the slippery organ pressing against the back of her thigh, its
redness contrasting almost ludicrously with her soft pink cunt lips. It
slipped from her fingers, but she grasped it again, guiding the huge
penis into her soft, hair-fringed slit, spreading the opening wider and
wider until it seemed as if she would surely split apart. The animal
bucked wildly, driving his immense cudgel deep into the young wife's
squirming pussy, slammed home; its monstrous balls bounced against her
defenseless pubic mound as she lunged backward reflexively to meet the
panting dog's forward thrusts. Her face was contorted mindlessly now,
and she buffeted back against the invading prick, thinking it was her
husband's cock, Jack fucking her, as the monstrous animal drove its
crimson penis faster and faster, deeper and deeper, into her moist,
quivering vagina.

Got to Muck her face, now, right now, while Ringo is fucking her cunt
with his big dog cock! the depraved Postal Clerk thought. Got to shove
my prick into that soft, tender mouth of hers and fill it up with cum,
choke her with my cum!

Feverishly, Samuels lay supine on the threadbare rug, twisting his body
so that his loins were beneath the bobbing, jerking head of the young
woman. He held his cock up to her, like some obscene offering of
wonderment while Ringo, the German Shepherd, continued to thrust his
great red cock deep into her cunt.

"Suck me!" he screeched. "Suck my cock, Mrs. Reagan! Take it in your
mouth! Hurry, do it now!"

The young housewife obeyed, screwing her hips back hard on the
thundering penis of the great dog mounted upon her, filled with
uncontrollable lust and total subjugation. Her sweet, softly warm lips
opened over the naked loins of the wizened civil servant, her tongue
slipping forward between them so that it was poised less than an inch
over the throbbing penile head. One hand came up to grasp his huge,
swollen cock tightly, and then her head moved slowly downward, boring
teasingly at the dilated opening. Samuels sucked in his breath at the
electrifying contact, and he groaned aloud as the young wife opened her
mouth wide and enclosed the whole of his smooth, fleshy cock with her
hot, damp interior cheeks. Her mouth tightened, and her tongue began to
swirl around the crown like some fantastic dervish; he raised his loins
high, twisting his body so that he was lying almost parallel with her,
his face near her churning hips and his eyes glaring feverishly up at
the jerking German Shepherd's cock buried far up into the voraciously
clasping channel of the insensate woman.

Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn! his warped brain howled as he watched the
firm, resilient breasts of the young wife dance tightly beneath her
writhing body as the huge dog drove his flailing hot cudgel deep into
her cunt. Fuck her good, Ringo boy, Fuck her good! Fuck her Fuck her,
oh, Jesus, I'm going to cum any second now her mouth is like warm honey
around my cock and I'm Fucking her face like I like to do to all these
hot young bitches... oooooohhhhhhh!

Young Sally Reagan was now reduced to little more than a quivering mass
of flesh between the pounding onslaught of the dog's cock in her pussy,
the heaving girth of the sweating Postal Clerk's prick shoved deep
between her ovaled lips. Her torso whipped madly from side to side and
she rammed her buttocks with abandoned frenzy back against the animal,
her mouth working voraciously over and around the palpitating cock of
the toady man who bucked his loins into her face, licking and sucking
his prick as if it were Jack's, her husband's, as if she were trying to
please the man she loved...

And then, without advance warning, the panting, thrusting German
Shepherd began to spew hot fire-torrents of sticky white animal cum
from its flame-red cock, leaping like molten drops of lava into the
very core of her body. Thick sperm oozed from her cunt as it clasped
the jerking prick of the dog, began to trail down along the backs of
her thighs.

Samuels saw the animal sperm erupting around Ringo's prick, and the
sight triggered his own tremendous orgasm. He screamed high and loud,
his eyes rolling in their sockets, bucking and heaving his buttocks
upward to drive the full length of his huge penis into the mouth of
young Sally Reagan, filling it, threatening to strangle her. Then his
balls erupted their great buildup of semen, sent jets of white fire
shooting the full length of his spasming prick to flow deep against the
larynx of the wildly convulsed young wife, filling her mouth to
overflowing so that his cum poured out around his cock locked tightly
in her lips to flow down her chin as Ringo's cum was flowing down her
thighs. She swallowed spasmodically to keep from choking, her lips and
tongue nuzzling and licking the jerking cock of the wizened government
employee, swallowing as much of his semen as she could as his testicles
seemed to empty forth a never-ending stream of the bittersweet liquid.

Then, at last, it was over for the completely enslaved wife. She felt
the dog's huge prick slid from her quivering passage to retreat back
into its furry crevice, felt the cold snout nuzzle her as if in
compliment and then retreat. And, too she felt the now-deflated cock of
Steve Samuels slide from between her semen-glistening lips with a soft,
gentle plopping sound. She collapsed forward in that moment, falling
across Samuels' naked thighs, uncaring of that which pillowed her body,
thinking in her drug---hazed mind, It's over now, it's over, Jack has
cum, both Jacks have cum in my pussy and my mouth and it's over...

But it was not over, not by any stretch of the imagination. Young Sally
Reagan had only begun to participate in an evening of such lewd
carnality that it would leave her almost witless at its end. For Steve
Samuels, with remarkable regenerative powers, had his huge, swollen
cock half-hard again even as she lay exhausted over his legs and the
dog, Ringo, was sniffing once again at her still throbbing cuntal
region.

"Suck me again, Mrs. Reagan," commanded the civil servant. "Suck me to
full hardness. I want to fuck your cunt next, fuck your cunt like Ringo
just did. Come on, Mrs. Reagan, suck me some more with your soft, soft
little mouth."

And Sally obeyed, mouthing Samuels erect again, so that he could fuck
her---submitting to other, incredible injustices involving the
perverted clerk and his insatiable German Shepherd on and on into the
night, on and on and on...

And then, at last, Samuels allowed her to dress and called her a taxi.
When it arrived, he led her child-like form to the door, reveling in
the knowledge that he had made her this slavish zombie with his great
cock and his huge dog. "Go home to your husband, now, you little slut!"
he taunted. "You're nothing but a little whore, and you deserve that
pimp of a husband of yours. Serves you right, serves you both right,
for filling our mails with your lewd pornographic pictures!"

He cackled obscenely as she half-ran, half-stumbled down to the waiting
taxi. He watched her practically fall inside, watched the cab speed
away, and he thought: I did everything to her tonight that I wanted to
do---except fuck her in the asshole. But that's all right, because I'm
saving that exciting little game for someone else, for someone much
more exciting than this little Reagan bitch.

I'm saving it for a one Mrs. Cindy Jamison.

He cackled again as he shut the door and went back to the living room,
the German Shepherd Ringo at his side. Yes, this was only a
preliminary, all right. Mrs. Jamison was going to be the main event,
the new conquest. He could hardly wait until he saw the expression on
her face when he first confronted her with her picture, because that
was the one thing that really turned him on, excited him above all
else.

He went to bed then and slept the sleep of the guileless, dreaming all
the while of Cindy Jamison and what he would do to her, how he would
fuck her and subject her to his every whim, how he would subjugate her
as he had Mrs. Sally Reagan.

Oh, it wouldn't be long now, not very long at all.

And then Cindy Jamison, that stuck-up little whore-bitch, would be
begging him on hands and knees for his mercy...

Cindy sat dejectedly on the living room couch staring thoughtfully into
a martini glass. Her head whirled from the fifth one she had drunk
since arriving with her husband and the Taylors. The talk was lively
around her; the other three in a similar, lightheaded condition from
drinking, though not saddened.

She hadn't wanted to be part of the foursome tonight, feeling worse
than she had when Ralph and Norma had taken her and Howard to dinner at
The Gandydancer. She had pleaded with Howard when he'd called during
the afternoon that she wasn't feeling well, that her head ached from
the previous night, that... well, none of her excuses had worked, she
thought ruefully. Here she was, once more with her head spinning from
too much to drink, surrounded by loud, boisterous, crude talk.

Worse, she wasn't even in her own home, where, if things got out of
hand or her own emotional breaking point was reached, she could have
fled to the sanctity of her bedroom. Or what was left of that sanctity,
she concluded harshly. Howard had changed so drastically, especially
since that night when she had allowed those nude Polaroid pictures to
be taken... for since then, there had been three successive nights when
he had wanted to repeat that horrible performance, to once more set up
the tripod and camera and writhe in abandon on the rug, or, as the case
last night, on the bed. The very sheets seemed now permeated with
debauchery, with the sins of carnality, and the remembrance of how he
had tried again to push her head down on his penis and the coldness
with which he had treated her afterwards when she had refused to do it
brought tears brimming to her eyes. She wiped them carefully and took
another heavy gulp of the martini, wincing slightly as it burned its
way down her throat.

And tonight, this party was the crowning blow. Howard had actually
threatened her on the phone, caustically overriding her objections with
brutal words. "You're coming tonight, Cindy," he grated over the phone.
"You're coming and you're going to like it. Understand? It's high time
you learned which side of the bread the butter's on, and if my boss
wants us to go to his cabin tonight, then we're damned well going up
there."

"Howie..." she'd wailed, trembling with his angered voice.

"Don't Howie me," he'd snapped back. "Get into a pair of slacks and a
nice blouse, comb your hair and be ready to leave as soon as I get home
at six. And have a smile on your face, too!" And with that, he'd hung
up so harshly that the sound had hurt her ears.

The distraught young wife, completely confused as to what would now
bring her previously idyllic marriage back together, overwhelmed by the
forceful way Howard's raucous boss had taken a more than guiding
influence, terrified at the prospect of a total breakdown of her life,
whimpered softly on the couch of the Taylor's mountain cabin. She
finished the last drop of the martini and reached forward for the
pitcher on the coffee table and poured herself another. The liquor
dulled the anguish which pained her, at least, and made this nightmare
of an evening a tolerable thing.

The trip to Ralph's cabin retreat had taken several hours, and had been
frequently punctuated by stops at taverns and cocktail lounges along
the way. Ralph had also brought along a thermos of daiquiris, which he
had passed around as he drove, and all the while he and Howard and
Norma had discussed everything under the sun in animated, ever louder
voices. The sun had already set and the air was a bit nippy when at
last they pulled up in front of the stone and redwood cabin, set at the
edge of a fine fishing lake in the Sierra foothills.

As befitting Ralph, the interior was masculine and a little on the
ostentatious side. The living room was huge with a high oak-beamed
ceiling and a large stone fireplace, which Ralph soon had filled with a
huge roaring fire. The cabin wasn't so isolated as to not have
electricity, but the men had trouble getting the hot water heater
going, partly because it was old and cranky and partly because both of
them were more than a little drunk by that time.

Cindy hadn't seen the bedrooms yet, but she had the feeling that they
would be warm and homey, with great big thick double beds and feather
pillows. She'd soon know, she said to herself. She and Howard were
going to spend the night here, courtesy of Ralph and Norma. And while
her husband hadn't said so, there had been intimations that the weekend
might be extended to two nights, the four of them returning late
Monday. She hoped not. God, she hoped not, for then Howard would never
be away from Ralph's almost evil influence. A small shudder passed
through her. What would happen with such concentrated exposure to his
manager's suggestions?

Her inner torment stopped abruptly as she was suddenly brought back to
the present by Norma's thin, smooth-skinned hand on her shoulder. She
looked at the woman, who was smiling in a concerned, worried way, and
Cindy smiled back as best she could.

"Something's the matter, isn't it, Cindy?" the other woman said in a
condescending way. "You've been sitting here all evening, your face
like a mask of tragedy."

"Oh... oh, it's nothing, Norma. Really it isn't."

"Of course it is, Cindy. A woman can tell, just like I could tell the
other night when we talked in The Gandydancer. Do you want to confide
in me now, Cindy? Before you explode with whatever's bothering you?"

The hapless wife hesitated, opened her mouth to say something, then
caught herself and stopped. It was too embarrassing. Just how could she
go about confiding to this woman that her husband had influenced Howard
to the point where their whole life was nearly crumbling? Norma, the
wife that she was, would certainly go to the defense of her husband,
and rightly so, for what proof had Cindy? And Ralph, big-hearted and no
doubt thinking he was doing the right thing, would be crushed and hurt-
--perhaps to the point of damaging Howard's career. No, Cindy couldn't
tell Norma that.

But still, she was so low and miserable that she had to confide in
someone. The martinis had helped in loosening her soul, in making her
want to confess her innermost agony, and as she looked at Norma, her
eyes once more filled with salty tears and two droplets began to course
down her cheeks. Perhaps it would be a mistake, but if she chose her
words and skirted the problem with Ralph, she could tell Norma.

She looked around to make sure that she would not be overheard by her
husband or Ralph, saw them in a heated discussion on the merits of
spoon fishing over live bait, and then turned back to Norma.

"It's... it's Howard," she whispered.

"I thought it might be," Norma said with pursed lips. "He's been acting
almost as strangely as you have, Cindy." She stood up, glancing at the
men as she did. "Let's step into the kitchen where we can be alone, all
right?"

Nodding, Cindy followed Norma into the kitchen. She leaned against the
old cast-iron wood cook stove, her hands clasped in front of her, not
sure where to begin. Finally she blurted, "I... can't seem to make him
happy anymore, Norma."

If Cindy had been a little more sober, a little less upset with her own
problems, she might have noticed the sudden gleam in Ralph's wife's
eyes. The spark which was almost a gloat, for in Norma's mind an
entirely different set of thoughts were going on, thoughts which if
Cindy had known would have sent her screaming from the cabin.

You better believe he's not happy with you, Norma thought. And he won't
be... ever... until you learn what I had to learn. Your lessons are
already started, only you don't know it, my sweet little innocent...
and tonight is going to be a real test... when Ralph throws his
wonderfully huge and talented cock into your tight, clasping cunt... or
even better, between those red lips of yours...

Outwardly, the calculating wife of Howard's boss smiled with assurance
and said, "I'm sure that he loves you, though."

"I don't know," moaned Cindy. "Not anymore. He... he's demanding...
things of me which I... I just can't do!"

"You mean... sexually?"

Her face a livid color of scarlet, Cindy nodded. "I try to be a good
wife for him. I want to please him so very much. I cook him good meals
and clean the house every day and try to show him I love him in
everything I do, but lately it doesn't seem to be pleasing him like it
used to."

Norma took the nearly crying little wife by the shoulders and looked
her straight in the eye, knowing that this was when she could really
set the stage for Ralph... as well as herself and that strong hunk of
man, Howard. Her pussy tingled at the thought of getting fucked by that
handsome, young salesman. She said, "Now I'm going to give you some
advice, Cindy. I'll be blunt and truthful, and I hope you'll
understand. If you do, then I'm sure that your marriage will be saved."

"Yes?" There was a ray of hope in Cindy's voice. "You really think so,
Norma?"

"I wouldn't be telling you this if I didn't. I had to go through the
same thing with Ralph, and you can see that after ten years we are
still very happily together. The same can be true of you and Howard.
Now first of all, a man loves a woman sexually, not by the food she
cooks. He can go to a restaurant for that, and a maid can be brought in
to clean the house, and a laundry can do his clothes just fine. But his
wife can do something which no other woman can do---satisfy him
sexually. After all, he married her because he loved her, which makes
their relations much closer than he could get with say, some girl he
could meet in a bar. Right?"

"Oh, yes!"

"And let me tell you this: no man is going to leave his wife if he
knows he's got the best bed-partner right there at home. That's not to
say that sex for its own sake is wrong, mind you; it's just not as good
as with the one you love." Damned right, Norma thought, feeling another
man's cock deep in my warm pussy is a thrill, and l love it, but it
only makes me appreciate the heart and love I have for Ralph later,
when we're making love... and the same goes for him!

Norma continued in earnest appeal. "So it's up to you to do everything
and I mean everything---that you can to make your husband happy in bed.
When I married Ralph, I was so inexperienced that I thought the only
way to make love was flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. No wonder
I never really enjoyed it! I was too uptight, too worried that I would
do something wrong, but Ralph was insistent and forced me to follow his
lead, to join in En all sorts of wild and wonderful games. At first I
hated it, but after I learned to let myself go, once I saw that what
people do in the privacy of their lives can't be wrong as long as it
gives pleasure to them both, I really started enjoying sex. Now," and
here Norma chuckled, "now I'm as insatiable as my husband!"

"You... think that's what's the matter with Howie and me?"

"I know it, Cindy. A man likes variety and not the same old thing. It's
the spice of life after all, and keeps him interested in you..."

Norma talked on, lecturing Cindy, and as she did so the sweet, innocent
housewife avidly drank in her words. It was true what she said. Norma
and Ralph were happy after all these years. Howard had been bitter when
she refused to do things to him---with him---of a sexual nature; things
like posing with him in the picture taking, things like kissing his
penis and letting him kiss her between the legs.

As the other woman talked, Cindy saw that it wasn't Howard or Ralph who
was at fault for her misery, but herself. Her selfish attitude, one
born of ignorance and timidity, and yes, even of prudery. She was a
prude, just as Howard had accused!

Well, things were going to change, and change fast. She made up her
mind to that. Tonight they were going to change, she vowed. Tonight she
would try to kiss Howard's penis, even if it killed her. When fifteen
minutes later she walked back out to the living room, she was firmly
convinced this was the way to Howard's heart, and she sat back down and
poured herself another martini.

I've got to have strength to go through with tats, she said to herself,
gritting her teeth. Some more liquor will help... She downed the strong
drink and poured another. Just then there was the large shadow of
Howard's boss hovering over her, and she looked up, startled. He
grinned down at her expansively.

"Care to dance, my dear?" he asked.

"No... no, thank you, Ralph."

"Oh, come on. Norma asked your husband to, and they're having fun.
See?" He indicated the couple who were dancing on the rug, and it was
only then that Cindy realized that the living room had changed in the
brief time she'd been in the kitchen. She had no idea that Ralph had
been busily at work, having seen his lovely wife take her into the
kitchen, that he had been waiting for the chance to start his work...

Low, slow-rhythmed music filtered from the large radio-phonograph
combination in one corner, filling the room with almost a fog of
violins and muted woodwinds. The fire had been banked, and now only the
glowing embers lit the room, making deep, dancing shadows against the
walls and ceiling. And there, in the middle of the room were Norma and
Howard, dancing.

Dancing? Cindy couldn't believe her eyes. That wasn't dancing they were
doing. They were far too close together, embracing each other
passionately as though they were lovers and not just friends. And Norma
was with each beat grinding her hips into the pelvis of her husband!
Thrusting her breasts into his chest! Resting her sweetly smiling face
on his shoulder!

Ralph caught on to what Cindy was looking at. He chortled. "Oh, ho, ho,
don't get so upset, Cindy. That's just her way of dancing." He held out
his hand. "C'mon, let's do the same."

Cindy found it difficult to stand after drinking so heavily, and she
swayed noticeably. Ralph calmly enveloped her in his strong arms and
held her close, and she in turn found it easier to hold onto him with
her arms around his waist and lean against him for support. The music
flowed like soft wine around her ears and she shut her eyes, dreaming
that this was Howard she was with.

Ralph found that his cock was beginning to expand, to grow into a
swelling, rigid pole in his pants as he held the alcoholically relaxed
young wife. He slowly began to stroke her back, much as one would a cat
to make it purr and with the same effects. Cindy snuggled closer,
nuzzling his shirt.

Yes, yes, this is working perfectly. Both of them drunk, both beginning
to be whipped into a fever-pitch. Norma must have really talked to her,
all right; really explained that sex is something to be experienced to
the fullest, and not rejected.

And while Norma had been in the kitchen with Cindy, Ralph had taken the
opportunity to begin on Howard. He'd told him that not only was he,
Ralph, proud to have him as a friend, but that Norma really liked him
too. "I mean, really likes you, my boy. She's always talking about how
good- looking you are, how masculine you are, how virile you must be in
bed. Heh, heh. I've been kidding her that she'd probably like you to
make love to her... and you know what, Howie-boy? I bet she would. I
bet she would."

Howard had flushed, murmuring his thanks for such compliments, but
Ralph had known it had gone deeper than that. He knew---it always did.
After all, Norma was one hell of a sexy dish, and when she wanted to
turn on the heat, it burned through all opposition. And as he looked
over at his seductive wife now, as he held the charming Mrs. Jamison
close to his ever expanding penis, he could tell that all of her
burners were on. She was after Howard, and Howard is what she'd get!

And when she got him... Ralph would get that sweet, tender cunt of
Howard's pretty wife! He groaned and shoved his buttocks closer,
rubbing them against Cindy's thighs, easing one leg between her legs so
that he pressed against her pubic area.

How right he was! Ralph knew how to motivate people, whether it was to
sell a car or fuck his wife. As he talked to the stupifiedly drunk
young husband, Howard began to conjure up the image of himself fucking
Norma rather than Ralph---of replacing Ralph in that set of intimate
photos his boss had shown him yesterday, the ones showing Norma, buff
naked, and Ralph writhing on their bed, doing all the perversions and
positions imaginable. It had cost Howard the price of showing Ralph a
set he had taken of himself and Cindy the night before, but it had been
worth it! Goddamn, his boss's wife looked like a fine piece!

She is obviously one hell of a lay! By those pictures she is like
Bonnie: a cock-sucking, wild-fucking woman! But then a modicum of
sobriety returned to Howard. The tingling in his cock at the thought of
entering that wild pussy of Norma's wouldn't go away, though, not after
the seed had been planted by his boss. Oh Christ, calm down. This its
your manager's wife you're talking about. Ease of, and ease off on the
booze, too, before you foul things up.

But then Norma had headed straight for him after coming out of the
kitchen. He hadn't even noticed that Ralph had put on records and there
was music until she'd asked him to dance with her. Impulsively, rashly,
he'd agreed, and suddenly he was holding her closer than he'd ever
danced with Cindy! It was all but a rape on the floor with clothes on!
On and on her belly and hips ground into him, brushing teasingly
against the outline of his cock. Her muscles seemed to linger there,
massaging gently, slowly in time to the music, sending burning ripples
of passion flooding through him...

"Having a good time, Howie?" she breathed into his ear.

"Y... yes," he answered. His voice sounded strangely hoarse. "I'm
having a fine time."

"Mmmmm, good. I love dancing with you like this. Feeling you getting
hard because of me..."

What? What was this? Howard couldn't believe his ears. Was this his
boss's wife talking like this? Talking like that beautiful whore,
Bonnie, had? What was the matter with her?

Norma's nimble, lithe body continued to caress him, and she ground her
soft tits against his chest. Her lips were parted and she kept running
her hot tongue back and forth along his neck and shoulder where her
head touched; her breath fervid and sweet in his ear, her eyes lidded
with her own sensual appetites.

Howard knew he should pull back from her before Cindy or her husband
saw them like this, but the salacious pleasure of her expert
ministrations rendered him incapable of doing that. All he could do was
hold her tighter and slowly turn with the beat of the music and feel
his penis grow and grow and grow, just like she said it was.

"I want you to make love to me, Howie," she purred. "Real love, a man's
love, deep, deep inside me."

"God, Norma---" he panted.

"I saw you and I wanted you to put your cock inside me."

"But, but your husband! My wife!"

She chuckled. "Don't worry, Howie. Things will work out, you'll see. I
just want to know whether you want me or not."

The alcohol, the desire to fuck this woman; all combined to break down
the layers of restraint. He choked, he fought with himself, but there
was no denying the ache, the almost inhuman torture which was making
his penis and testicles throb with wildness. "Norma, I---"

"I want you," she whispered. "Now tell me, Howie..."

"Yes, yes I want you!"

"How, Howie-baby?"

"I... I want to fuck you silly!" he whispered back.

She moaned incoherently and smooth velvety legs rubbed against his
pants, and her hips churned against his, and at that moment there
wasn't anything in the world for Howard Jamison except the now voiced
desire to commit adultery with this vixen, this siren wife of his boss.

Meanwhile, Ralph was continuing his own evil plans of seduction. He
kissed Cindy's earlobe slightly, making sure that it wasn't so much of
a kiss as to make her draw away, and then he breathed, "Those were some
fine pictures of you and Howie making love."

Cindy froze. "W-what?"

Ralph comforted her. "Now, now, don't get upset. I showed Howie some of
Norma and myself going at it, and they got him excited and---"

"Excited?" Cindy gasped. "You mean that you and Norma... and then you
showed them to my husband?" She couldn't comprehend this! Howard and
Ralph exchanging pictures of their most intimate moments! It was
unthinkable! "And... he showed you ours?"

"Of course! Everybody does that these days. Really, it's very modern
and thrilling, don't you think? I mean, don't you get excited looking
at pictures of people making love?"

"No... I..."

Ralph shrugged. "All right, you don't have to admit it to me. But be
truthful with yourself at least."

Truthful with myself. Yes, yes I do like to see such pictures. I hate
to admit it, hate to think what it makes me, but the thought of seeing
others, and even myself, in the photos, does make me hot!

"It does Norma, you know," Ralph continued blandly. "In fact, she's the
one who suggested that I show them to your husband. She thinks that sex
is wonderful, and of course anything goes! Heh. Heh."

Yes, Norma said that in the kitchen. The lovely young wife thought
again of Norma's wise words and realized that her horror and repulsion
were resultant from the same orthodox, Puritan sterility of her soul
that caused her to repudiate her husband's sexual needs. She winced,
shaking with her abject sorrow at her inability, and revowed her
commitment to be everything her husband wanted.

"In fact, I even brought along another set of pictures of me and
Norma," Ralph said. "Would you like to see them?"

This time Cindy didn't reject either her own desires or the desires of
her husband. "Yes," she whispered, downcast, her eyes on the floor.
"Yes, Ralph, I would like to see them."

"Good!" he grinned triumphantly.

The record ended at this point, and the two dancing couples slowly
drifted apart. They all sat back down on the couch, and since the
martini pitcher was now empty, thanks mostly to the thirst of Cindy,
Ralph proposed switching to the other liquor they had brought: rum and
Coke. What he didn't bother to add was that the rum was 151 proof
purple Cuban rum, a rum of high potency, known for its aphrodisiac
qualities. He laced the Jamison's drinks liberally with the dark
liquor, even adding a slight touch of forbidden absinthe which he had
imported illegally from Spain. He served the drinks and then settled
back against the cushions. "Well," he said, raising his glass. "Here's
to us, everybody. Here's to us."

Everybody drank heartily at that, and then he said: "Howie, my boy,
your sweet wife has evinced interest in seeing a set of snapshots Norma
and I took the other day. Want to see them, too?"

Howard, the burning liquid steaming new paths of sensuality through his
entrails, was at first shocked at what to him was a complete reversal
of her previous position, looked questioningly at Cindy. She smiled
back, nodding in agreement. "Okay," he replied, "I---I'd love to see
them."

Already his lower body was on fire, his already semi-hardened cock
leaping at the thought of once more viewing his boss's wife, who had
promised her fair, exciting body to him but seconds before, in
lascivious, breathtaking poses with her husband. His breath caught in
his throat, and a clammy, trembling quality possessed his limbs. His
whole being trembled with tingling anticipation as Ralph took out the
envelope containing the photos, his eyes glued to the glossy evidence
of their matings as his manager slowly took one after another of the
pictures out and passed them around.

They were more enticing, more stimulating, more arousing than the ones
he'd seen at Auto Circus yesterday! He hadn't thought it possible, but
his cock shot to its fullest extremity, filling his underpants to the
bursting point, making him all but leap from the couch and attack his
wife with utter abandonment on the spot! And all the while, as he
passed one after the other of the lewd, carnal snaps to first Cindy and
then Howard, Ralph gave a running commentary.

"We made these like a progressive story, just for some added interest.
See? This first one just shows Norma with her underpants down. Her
dress is still on and everything. God! I had a hell of a time not
ripping off everything right then and there! Isn't that a nice rear end
she has, Howie? Tight, warm-makes you want to grab it with your hands!"

Howie did-but somehow he controlled himself.

Ralph continued. "Here, this one. Norma's got her sweater up over her
breasts. You can see her nipples are hard; a sure sign she wants to get
laid. She has fine breasts, doesn't she? And look at her, isn't she
enjoying sucking my cock? Brother, did I have a hard-on that night." He
smiled at Cindy, who sat staring at the photo, amazed at the size of
his cock as he stood beside his squatting wife, who had hold of the
base of his instrument, her eyes closed, and her tongue out and licking
the head of his mammoth, red penis. Cindy groaned inwardly, and
involuntarily the secretions of her vagina began to flow, making her
close her thighs tightly together It only seemed to spur on the hot
tendrils of quickening sex-passion which were beginning to surge
through her.

"Here I took Norma while she was lying on a table. Her legs are in the
air, and you can see her cunt lips stretching around it as I put my
cock into her. One of my better shots, if I do say so." He passed that
picture, and then told about the next: "And here is a full length view,
taken while she was spread out, her legs wide, and the camera aimed up
her legs, past her cunt, and to where she was sucking me off again.
Notice how her pussy is all wet with excitement, and how her fingers
are on her little clit and one in her cunt. She likes to beat off;
finds it relaxing. This one was taken on the table also. She's putting
my cock in her cunt with her hand. You can really see how nice and
sweet her asshole is. It's not in this set, I'm afraid, but in another
one, there's a great shot of me sticking my prick in her anus. Boy,
does she love that!

"This one is one of my personal favorites," Ralph went on to explain.
"I'm licking her cunt, spreading the lips of her cunt with my fingers
and really digging in. You can make out her hole clearly in this one,
the whole beautiful cavern where I stick my cock. I'm sorry that she
didn't have her legs wider, or you could make out her asshole in this
one, too."

Howard was overwhelmed, lost in the wild frenzy of seeing his boss's
wife in full color, more intimately displayed in naked, close-up detail
than he would have been able to see even as a casual lover. His hands
quivered as he viewed the shot of her widened cunt, his breath drawing
in sharply. He hardly noted his wife's own heavy, palpitating reaction
to seeing Ralph's great and magnificent rod sliding in and being sucked
in by Norma.

"... and this is the last one, folks. I came, shooting my cum all over
Norma. She held her mouth open, and I aimed for it but you know how
those things can go. I missed, and so the camera got her with my cum
all over her face. You can see the droplets of sperm on her hair and
eyelids, heh, heh. Some even got on her nose. Too bad; she loves the
taste, too."

The last picture was indeed the crowning shot. She was crouched by his
thigh, obviously anticipating the flow of his orgasm, and again, her
eyes were shut. But just as obvious as her desire was the way Ralph had
spewed forth his climax, covering her with a thick film of his cum.
Howard trembled, dreaming of cumming the same way over Norma; Cindy
moaned, a bundle of excitement and

trepidation at knowing the same was in store for her tonight. She had
to please her husband. She just had to!

The lovely young wife, totally oblivious to all that lay in store for
her at the hands of the Taylors, was first shocked incomprehensibly by
the appearance of the pictures. But she forced herself to look at them,
to drink in Ralph's lewd words, and willed her mind to forget its
training and become as the others: emancipated. She waited in
anticipation and nervous fear of her own emotions to see how she would
react, and she snuggled against her husband, determined to follow
through with her new- found commitment.

She became fascinated almost immediately, captivated by the salacious
scenes of her host's giant penis and her hostess's quivering, pink
rimmed vagina. Shivers of revulsive curiosity tingled through her and
goose pimples erupted on her sensitive skin and she felt strangely
cold. She took repeatedly large swallows of her cuba libre in between
handling the photographs, shuddering from the building sexual
stimulation that indulging in something forbidden gives.

Cindy's breath came in tight gasps and the burning sensation which
bubbled in her stomach grew in maddening intensity with each moment she
watched the salacious depictions of lovemaking. Her body began to
perspire and her forehead was covered with tiny beads of sweat.

Beside her, Howard was breathing heavily, squirming down on the couch.
He moved closer to his wife and dropped one hand to her leg, slipping
it up toward the fullness of her thigh. Cindy froze from the unexpected
contact, then placed her own hand on his, stopping further advance,
gradually forcing his hand away from her tightly clenched pussy... but
then another picture seemed to excite him to the point where he
overcame her hand and he dipped between her legs, his fingers rubbing
openly the vee of her smooth silky panties. Cindy hesitated, not
knowing what to do. If she moved to push him away, to once more gain
her composure and modesty in front of the Taylors, the struggle would
only attract attention, and anything she might say would be overheard.

Slowly she dropped her free hand to cover his; Howard continued to
tease her vaginal area, probing her moist slit through the thin,
unprotesting layers of cloth. She blushed and gasped as sudden waves of
indecent pleasure washed over her, overcoming her desire to resist.
Howard's hand became bolder as he sensed her tacit surrender. Cindy bit
her lip and glanced at Norma and then Ralph to see if they showed signs
of awareness, but they did not. Her husband's fingers moved in tiny
teasing circles and up and down, titillating addition to the depraved
pictures, and she didn't think she could stand another moment! Cindy
was ready to crawl the wall to quench the fire raging through her
involuntarily contracting vagina! Something had to give!

It did. Ralph collected the pictures, saying, "Well, that's all there
are, kiddies. I hope you enjoyed them. I know we did---both while
making them and seeing them again."

"Boy," Howard said, removing his hand from Cindy's pants, "those were
some hot shots. Did you see the way Ralph was pumping Norma in that one
on the table? Did you Cindy? Wow!"

"Y---yes," the wife replied. She looked guiltily at Norma as though she
had been spying on the other woman, but Ralph's wife looked back with
pride beaming on her face. Then Cindy glanced at her husband and at
Ralph, and by their expressions she realized that she was the only one
out of step, that everybody else openly and without shame had enjoyed
the pictures.

Swaying from the effects of the snapshots, Cindy got to her feet. She
could feel the moistness generated by Howard's fingers in her vaginal
area, and before things went any further, she wanted a chance to calm
down, to sort things out. So much had been happening tonight, so many
new things to absorb---it was too much!

"I... I want to go to the bathroom," she said, smiling shyly. "Please
excuse me."

She started off for the toilet, and after she'd left the room, Ralph
turned to Howard and said: "Norma here says you want to fuck her."

Howard, his eyes like saucers, fell back against the cushions, his
heart hammering in his throat. "Well, I... that is..." he stammered.

"Good for you, Howie my boy. She'll give you a fine ride."

"You mean---?"

"Like I said in The Arabian Knight, Howie, sex is good, clean fun, and
if you fuck my wife it won't take away any of my love for her." He
smiled warmly at the still aghast salesman. "Besides, that wife of
yours looks awful attractive to me!"

"You mean you want to do it to Cindy, too?" Howard choked.

"What's the matter, Howie boy? Double standard? You covet my wife, but
I can't covet yours?" His voice was quiet yet slashing. "You and Norma
will have a good time together; she's one hell of a lay, let me tell
you. But I have the same drives, the same interest in a good pussy
other than her, and so has she for other cock. We're honest enough to
admit it and enjoy it."

"But I---"

"But nothing. You're the same way. You were one happy bastard with
Bonnie as I recall. That didn't make you give up your wife did it? No,
it didn't," Ralph said emphatically. "And neither will your fucking
Norma make any difference to your marriage."

"Cindy will never agree," Howard gasped. It was the last of his
defenses, and he knew it. Ralph spoke the truth; he did want to fuck
his boss's wife, and he had had one fine time with that beautiful young
prostitute, Bonnie. How could he argue that Ralph shouldn't have Cindy
if he, Howard took Norma? Oh, God, it was enough to make his head spin!
He had to stop this!

But the filthy pictures and the erotic dancing and the overabundance of
alcohol had fuddled and aroused him to a place where he couldn't say
no. The carnal sights of Norma mewling silently under the strong, rock-
like penis of her husband tormented him, her cooing pleas while she
molded her tight body to his while dancing---Christ he wanted her! But
there was still the torment of giving his own wife to another man in
repayment, as if Cindy would ever accept such a suggestion! "No," he
repeated, "I'm not going to force her, and I know she'll never go
along. Never."

"Don't worry about that, my boy. I'll take my chances along those
lines. You just go to bed with Cindy tonight, make love to her, be the
good husband that you are. I'll come in later and take your place.
She'll never know!"

Horrified, Howard was only able to cry, "No!"

Norma leaned over, smiling with sultriness. "Yes, Howie-baby. Yes,
you'll do it. You want me tonight, want me very much. You'll leave your
wife and come to me, and then we'll fuck. And I'll suck you, too." She
kissed him on the cheek tenderly. "Consider that it'll be good for your
wife, too. A way to emancipate her, to make her into a completely free
woman of the flesh. Well, this way will do it, believe me. I went
through it."

His brain screaming, Howard buried his face in his hands. Could he?
Could he really go through with it? He had to... for his career, for
his release he wanted with Norma... and as she had said, for Cindy's
own welfare. "All right," he whispered. "But maybe she'll catch on,
maybe she'll turn on the light and see it's you..."

"Heh, heh. Don't worry, my boy, with all those drinks in her, she'll
never even know she's been had."

"Howie!" came a drunken voice from out of the living room. "Will you
come here, honey?"

Howard stared down the hall, recognizing that his wife wanted him in
the bedroom.

"There, you see? She's primed and ready, Howie. Go get her!" Ralph
chortled heartily as Howard staggered off in the direction of the call.
"Don't forget," he called after his salesman, "I'll be in later on, but
don't wait for me! Get her all hot and bothered yourself!"

Cindy had gone to the bathroom, but the tremendous, biting sensations
which gripped her hungrily tingling body weren't relieved. If anything,
in the privacy of the bathroom she was able to go over in her mind the
set of photos, and their remembrance only inflamed her trembling loins
all the more. She was being consumed by the alcohol and lust, slowly,
slowly---and she wanted her husband, wanted his throbbing penis buried
to its hilt in her teasingly convulsing pussy. Her cunt spasmed as
though it was already in the throes of orgasm, and as she walked
unsteadily out of the bathroom and started back to the living room, she
knew that she couldn't go in there, go in and just sit down and act
normal. No, she had to have Howard NOW!

She quickly crossed to the bedroom where Howard had placed their
overnight bag, and shedding her clothes, she was soon wearing a long,
filmy nightie, her blond hair cascading down her back. She stripped the
covers back and lay down on the bed without even a sheet to cover her
and waited for her husband.

When he didn't appear within a few minutes, she called out for him, and
she heard him walk toward the room. When he opened the door, she said
drunkenly; "Quick! Close it, Howie."

"Cindy..." he said, again captivated by the sight of his tender young
wife spread out waiting for him. "Cindy, I want you..." He all but
slammed the door, and then he came to the bed, on which she had stopped
lying and had now risen into a kneeling position.

"I want you to fuck me..." she breathed, unbuckling his pants. "Fuck
me, Howie, fuck me..."

"What?" He could hardly believe his ears! "Did you say what I thought
you said?"

"Yes, Howie!" she slurred as her hand lowered his pants until they
pooled down around his shoes. She moved to the waistband of his shorts,
sliding under it. She felt the soft tendrils of his curly pubic hair
and the touch of his skin sent ripples of sheer lust surging through
her. Her hand went still lower, contacting the head of his prick and
she ran a fingernail over it. Blood pounded through Howard's loins,
causing his cock to leap into erection and palpitate excitedly under
her careres.

"Howie..." she moaned, pulling his underpants down. She was abandoning
herself to lust, to the newly awakened fires within her; and she
finally realized that she could admit her enjoyment, her arousal from
the pictures without shame. "Howie, don't you want to fuck me?"

"Yes! Christ, yes!" All thought of his boss and his plans for the night
were lost now as Howard began to squirm his hips. She stroked his cock
and testicles, her fingers burning. He could barely contain himself to
take the time to remove his clothes, and then he leapt naked on the bed
to embrace his wildly hot wife. He entwined his fingers in her hair and
jerked her head up, grinding his mouth down on hers, and her tongue
flashed into his mouth like a purveyor of molten fire. His hand went to
her nightie, feeling her trembling body through the thin material.

"Make me naked," she whispered against his mouth. "Rip my gown off,
Howie, and make me naked!"

His hands bunched the garment and savagely he ripped it downward from
her neck, shredding it from her taut, hard-nippled breasts and from
around her pink, blond-crested pussy. She helped him by twisting and
undulating, her hand still vibrantly fused to his genitals. He moved

his hands down over her bare stomach, through the soft golden fleece of
her pubic hair, finally touching the pulsating shaft of her erect
clitoris. Her loins ground in uncontrolled counterpoint to his
massaging fingers and she whimpered in unrestrained pleasure, her long
blond hair flailing from side to side.

Cindy continued to enfold her husband's granite-hard cock, feeling
every ridge, every muscle of its hardened expanse. She suddenly wanted
to know it better, to learn about every inch of it; she was completely
lost in the torrent of passion the pictures, the alcohol, and perhaps
most of all, her own mind had allowed her to experience.

"I'm going to kiss your penis tonight, Howie," she groaned. "I'm going
to let you kiss me, too... down there. I want that now, Howie, I want
that very

much! I'm going to do that, but I've got to have you inside me first...
to fuck me until I explode!"

"Yes!" he crooned, "oh, God yes, baby, yes!" Tremors of lewd desire ran
rampant through Howard's flesh. This was what he had been dreaming of!
This was what he had been trying to have his wife do to him for three
years, and what he had thought he'd never achieve! And now she actually
wanted to suck him off! Had literally begged to be allowed to do it!
And all because of those pictures! How could he ever thank Ralph for
giving him the Polaroid?

In that maddening moment, his rhetorical question went unanswered, for
Howard's mind had blanked off all thought of what he had agreed to do,
the swapping of his wife for Norma, his boss's wife... yes, that
thought and any other thought except the burning, surging, electrifying
compulsion to fuck his wife. Yes, fuck her, just as she'd said; first
her tender cunt and then later, her sensitive lips...

But Ralph Taylor had answered that question. The manager grinned with
wild-eyed lust at his wife, and Norma returned the insidious look. Then
they turned their attention back to the little square loudspeaker box
mounted over the head of their bed; the master unit of a three-station
intercom system, especially installed so that they could monitor either
of the two guest bedrooms. It was on, and the moaning, panting sounds
of Howard and Cindy Jamison filled the bedroom, whipping the Taylors
into further sex fever.

"Man, listen to them, lover," Ralph gloated. "She's going to go down on
him, going to suck his cock for the first time. Well maybe her plans
are going to be changed a bit."

His wife, whom he was fucking dog-fashion so that they could both face
the intercom, turned her head around again, her features contorted with
passion and urgency. "Yes, yes, you bastard, make her eat you instead.
Take her then... oohhhh... but not before I cum, Ralph... not before I
cum!" And with that, Norma angled her cunt up backwards, impaling her
wide-stretched buttocks on the erect, thrusting spear of her husband's
great, swollen penis. "More, Ralph," she whimpered. "More cock!"

And from the speaker the Taylors heard Cindy chanting mindlessly,
"You're wonderful, you're wonderful, you're wonderful... and her
rampaging husband's chorus of: "Baby... baby... I love to fuck you...
love to fuck you..."

The two couples, one very aware of the other's mating and the other so
lost in their actions as to be oblivious to any outside interference,
raced with demoniacal force to their respective orgasms. Howard rocked
above his lovely wife, speaking obscenely into her ear, and that in
turn made her rotate her buttocks still more insanely. Cindy reacted
with chills of excitement and rapture spiraling the full length of her
spine as she felt the tempo of her husband's burgeoning cock burrow
deeper and deeper into her throbbing cunt.

"Fuck me... Howie, fuck me..." she responded, not knowing that her
words were being picked up by the microphone overhead. "I'm... almost
there, darling!" She began to toss her head in frenzied, abandoned
ecstasy, rapturous little moans escaping from his lips. She was so wild

she was going out of her mind! This is what Norma had meant, about
being free! How right she'd been! Oh! Oh! She'd never known anything
this good existed!

Howard increased his pace and the length of his stroke, knowing that he
couldn't last much longer, feeling the volcano of his sperm-filled
balls ready to erupt. Cindy raised her widespread loins up to him in
simultaneous rhythm to his downward thrusts, gurgling her
encouragement, her every moan and word being transmitted to the
adjoining bedroom and the greedy ears of her husband's boss and his
wife. Howard pounded his pile- driving cock harder and harder into her
eagerly sucking cunt, pressing his hands behind her knees and thrusting
them back hard against her breasts until her head was framed between
them, bringing the tableau of her soft, innocent pussy open yet wider
to his lashing plunges.

"Ohhhhh, ohhhhhh, oooohhhhhh!" she chanted under him as she felt her
orgasm reach its pinnacle and soar into the heavens. And then she
convulsed beneath him, her mouth wide, and a cry of animal delight, of
pure pagan rapture, tore from the core of her being. "AAAAAHHHHHH!"
Never had she dreamed sex could be this wonderful!

"She's cum, she's cum!" wailed Ralph Taylor, and hammered deeper into
his wife's warm, wet cavern. "Oh, Jesus, and... and I'm going to cum,
too!" He felt his insatiable young wife spasm wildly beneath him, the
mouth of her bearded young pussy sucking his cock feverishly, her
breath spewing raggedly, and his hot, churning-sperm raced through his
prick and spurted deep, deep into her voraciously contracting belly...
it was a never-ending flow which caused her to cry out in
indecipherable delight.

And as he overheard the banshee howls of his star salesman's climactic
release, imagined the vast bursting of Howard's cum flooding his
gorgeous young wife's rapidly undulating belly with surge after surge
of hot semen, Ralph smiled cat-like and smug. "It's time now," he
whispered to Norma. "It's time now that I change places with Howie."

As the torrent ended and Howard relaxed upon his supine wife, she in
turn sighed and stretched out her legs, her heart still roaring and
pounding like a mightily crashing surf. She felt Howard's penis grow
limp inside her, and then he slowly slipped off of her and lay against
her trembling, perspiring nakedness. He whispered in her ear, "Cindy...
oh, God, darling, that was wonderful. It was beyond belief."

She kissed his cheek. "You've been right all this time, Howie. I should
have let myself go a long time ago, and I sure fought it up to now...
but tonight, after those pictures of Norma and Ralph, and all we had to
drink, I... well, I found all the wonderful desires awakened which I'd
kept repressed for so long."

Howard considered Cindy's still slurred words for a minute and then
said, "I'm glad we came here."

"I am, too." She lovingly rubbed the palm of her hand up and down his
stomach and side. "It's saved us, saved our marriage. Oh, Howie, I'm so
sorry for what I've put you through for three years. I kept blaming you
for being too demanding, and all the while it was my silly puritanical
ways."

Howard was about to reply, when he suddenly felt a cold, strange hand
on one buttock. He turned, unable to make out detail in the pitch-black
bedroom, but the inky outline beside the bed needed no features. Howard
instantly knew it was his boss, Ralph! His heart sunk in sudden shock.
Ralph must have snuck in here on tiptoe---he was naked, standing there
ready to take his place! A moan of abject pity broke from Howard's
throat and he clenched his eyes shut in lewd remembrance of the
horrible bargain he had made earlier in the evening.

"Howie? Is something the matter?" Cindy asked, her voice thick from the
alcohol they had drunk.

What could he tell her? Terror seized his throat. If he blurted out the
truth, that his boss was beside him, eagerly wanting to trade wives,
the tremendous advances Cindy had taken tonight would be for nil. If
she didn't leave him, she'd never make love with the same abandonment
again. He knew it, knew how she would react to such faithless
treachery. And Ralph would never forgive him either... besides, maybe
Ralph was right. Maybe with all the drinks they had had she wouldn't
know the difference.

"Howie?" Cindy's head was to one side, one arm covering her eyes in a
sign of limp contentment. "Howie?"

"No---nothing's the matter, honey," he managed. He looked up with
pleading eyes at Ralph, knowing that his boss couldn't see his
expression. Ralph nudged him on the rear end again, indicating his
impatience. His brain reeled, searching for answers, but instead and
with instant revulsion he realized that in his helpless position his
cock was beginning to stir with life again... the lewd thought of
fucking Ralph's wife coming back, a betraying and prurient desire.

"I... I have to go to the bathroom, that's all," he said in a leaden
voice. He knew there was no way out, that he would have to play along
with Ralph, and gritting his teeth he rolled from his wife and stood
up. He looked down at her, splayed with satiated abandonment upon the
bed, blessed darkness hiding the full splendor of her tender,
passionate body from him. A tear began to form in his eye and he numbly
nodded to Ralph beside him. "I'll only be a minute," he mumbled.

"Hurry back, lover," his wife crooned. "You know what I want to do
next..."

No! Howard stumbled to the door and the well of blackness which was the
hall. No, she can't! She promised she'd suck my cock. Oh, if I'd only
known, I'd never have gotten myself into this! He leaned against the
hallway wall, choking back a sob of self-pity, anger, and frustration.
It isn't fair!

Then the bedroom door was closed by Ralph, the well-oiled hinges making
hardly a sound, plunging Howard into absolute silence. But only for a
second, and then tender, soft hands found his chest, and a cool voice
breathed in the murkiness: "Come on, Howie-baby. You've got a date with
me!"

His boss's wife curled him to her heaving breasts, and Howard could
instantly tell she was as naked as he was. He tried to stop himself
from reacting, from wrapping his arms around her in response... but it
was useless. After one frigid minute, his cock found a life of its own
in reply to her rubbing stomach and thighs and lifted its head in the
air...

"That's it, Howie-baby. Get big and hard for little Norma." Her words
were hungry and passionsated. "We're going to have a fine time
together, you and me..."

She led him into her bedroom, closed the door and by the dim light of a
red-bulbed bedside lamp, crossed to the rumpled, still warm bed where
she and her husband had just been fucking and listening on the intercom
to the young couple wrapped in the throes of passion.

"Please..." Howard moaned. "My wife... I must..."

Norma chuckled. "Don't worry about her. I bet she's already flat on her
back, being fucked silly in that hot little pussy of hers."

"No! Never!"

"Want to bet?"

"Cindy wouldn't allow another man near her!" he groaned in vain hope.
"I know it! She's going to realize it's not me and scream! I know it!"

"No, she isn't. She's past that point, past all caring who it is now.
After all that liquor and absinthe, and then the pictures..." Norma
chuckled again. "No, Howie-baby, all she wants to do is have a man...
any man. Of course," she added to placate the distraught young man, "of
course, she thinks it's you in there... just like we planned."

"No! she'll know the difference right away!" he objected hotly.

"I'll prove it to you. Here, lie down on the bed." Gently she pushed
him down so that he was lying on his back, staring upwards, his face
evident of the mixture of horror, disbelief, and strange attraction for
the beautiful, sensual woman hovering without any clothes on over him.
"That's it, Howie-baby. Now listen..."

She reached up and turned the volume control on the speaker.

Howard held his breath, straining his ears. What was she talking about?
Listen to what? Then he began to hear small sounds, barely audible, but
they were unmistakable sounds. Soft, wet sucking noises that he had
heard for the first time in his life while in the hotel room with that
lascivious whore, Bonnie. He heard the noise again and he frowned at
Norma. Norma only smiled back and teasingly lowered her raven-haired
head down... down to where his cock was standing straight up. He jerked
his loins at the electric contact of her lips upon his swollen penis.
For a moment his thoughts of his wife and the strange sucking noises
were lost in an explosion of idyllic feeling.

Then, from the intercom came the words: "Oh God, keep sucking, Howie...
lick it! lick it!" It whispered through the room, and Howard recoiled
with its blatant meaning. His breath caught in his lungs and he
struggled to his elbows, wide-eyed. He tried to speak, to shout in
anger... but he couldn't. Instead he listened to the sounds of movement
as though someone was struggling to pull someone else back to them...
and then... the wet sucking sounds again but quieter this time. Ralph
was sucking Cindy's cunt!

"That's right, Howie baby. That bedroom's wired for sound. Now you
believe me?"

Norma plunged back to her task, finding no interference from the
frozen, horrified young husband. She slaved over his cock, enjoying
listening to the words herself. Howard moaned as if in some fever,
thrashing his head back and forth and unconsciously thrusting his loins
upwards to meet Norma's wildly milking mouth. Oh, God. how could Cindy
be allowing that to happen to her, allow another man to suck her cunt?
He wished he could see them. Was his wife straddling his boss with her
legs open? Was she lying on her back spread-eagled with her legs open
out wide? His tortured mind painted a thousand lewd scenes of Cindy
with her legs splayed obscenely out over the sides of the bed while
Ralph Taylor, that bastard, plundered her soft defenseless cunt with
his hands and mouth...

Cindy had waited with tingling anticipation for Howard's return, and
when the bed lowered with the weight of a man's body, she assumed it
was her husband. Her head was swimming, a whirlpool of blurred thoughts
and emotions, fired by the lust-provoking pictures, the aphrodisiac rum
and absinthe, and her newfound sexual freedom.

"Oooooh, God," she suddenly groaned, for there was the feel of wet,
moist lips gently nibbling one tender nipple. She quivered from the
unexpected sensation and dropped her hand down the smooth skin of the
man beside her, rubbed the palpitating belly for a moment, and then
plunged to her goal.

Ralph fastened tighter on his salesman's wife's breast, beginning a
gentle sucking pressure against it. His hands lightly coursed over the
soft firmness of her belly and thighs, and then his tongue trailed down
over her now quivering belly, his penis sliding from her hand as his
body moved away. He ground his tongue for a moment into her navel,
bringing soft mewls of pleasure from Howie's wife, and then he moved
lower, maddening patterns of indecent sensation trailing after his
gently nipping teeth. Cindy felt her thighs being pressed gently open
and she made no resistance as he haunched down between them. She sucked
her breath as his fingers spread the soft hair-covered lips of her
vagina and the coolness of the mountain air touched her there. His
tongue flicked forward, the tip tossing the tiny bud of her clitoris,
and then he spread the opening of her cunt wide with his fingertips and
dropped his tongue from her clitoris and thrust it deep into the pink,
moist flesh of her pussy.

"OOOhhhhhh," she moaned, and he held his tongue still for a moment,
teasingly. She rotated her buttocks, and he began to nibble again. She
held her breath with her mouth wide open, her lips drawn back over her
teeth; then, after an eternity, she began to breathe again. Ralph
started to lick and suck in earnest now, twisting his tongue and mouth
so that every little detail of her vaginal orifice was brought under
his searing wet touch. She began to thrust mindlessly as the powerful
pleasures coursing through her pussy took hold of her. Her husband's
friend and boss slid his free hands under her white buttocks and
pressed them tight to his face, locking her to him in a wet connection
of tongue and vagina, her soft curly pubic hair graced tantalizingly
against his cheeks.

She had feared this; thought it disgraceful and sinful in the cold
sober light of logical day---but now, now that she had allowed herself
to submit to it, to see if she could please her husband and herself by
letting him kiss her down between the legs, a strange and masochistic
wildness enveloped her. Nothing mattered but the lovely swirling
sensations rippling over every inch of her naked flesh. She writhed and
bucked beneath his lingual impalement, gasping and screaming all the
lewd words that came to her tortured mind.

Ralph thrust his tongue deeper, triumphantly hearing her cries. By God,
he'd struck the nail on the head this time! Howard's wife was one hot
little piece of tail, he thought through the haze of passion he was
experiencing as he brought this tender young beauty to orgasm. He had
waited his chance and planned well; now, by damned, he was going to
reap all the reward he could get!

"Oh... keep sucking, Howie! Lick it! Lick it!" she cried, her thighs
pressed tighter into the sides of his head, jerking with the thrustings
of his tongue. She was on the brink of climax, she knew... not quite
there... but hanging on the verge. Her breasts heaved and danced on her
chest wildly, her fingers twisting crazily in her husband's boss's
hair. She arched her back, the cords of her neck standing out like
steel cords, her face contorted and a low guttural scream rumbling deep
in her throat, choked off at the last moment by a soulful gasp
reminiscent of a dying animal.

"AAAAAHHHHH!" and then again: "AHHHHH!"

Cindy felt as if she were losing her insides as the cascading fluids of
her orgasm gushed out around her supposed husband's still-thrashing
mouth. She could feel it running down the crevice of her buttocks and
to the sheet below. She gave one last gasp and collapsed, dropping her
legs like heavy weights of lead to each side of Ralph's heaving body.
She could not move. The world had ended and she had been consumed in
the last great cataclysm. She lay absolutely immobile, useless as a rag
doll.

"Rest for a moment, darling," Ralph panted in whispered tones from
below. "And then... then I want you to do me."

"Yes, darling. Anything." Cindy knew that this should be the moment she
dreaded, but now it seemed like such a small thing to do for her
husband who had given her such wild, delicious feelings, had made her
respond so. Now she actually wanted to kiss his penis, she wanted to
with all her loving heart to repay the man beside her for the ultimate
sign of love he had just bestowed on her...

All the while, Howard had been hearing his wife's obscene words, words
he didn't know she knew, broken and slurred, mixed with the animal
mewlings of passion from deep within her. Cindy groaned incessantly and
he could hear the rustlings of her naked skin against the bed as she
twisted and turned in response to his boss's hot licking tongue. He
could picture his wife as in one of those Polaroid snapshots, her legs
bent back nearly double, her whole young pussy presented lewdly up in
defenseless sacrifice to his voraciously sucking mouth.

And it was exciting. He was excited, he had to admit it; excited from
the wet sucking noises coming from the intercom, and excited from his
boss's wife sucking his wildly throbbing prick. All the time he'd been
listening to his wife being sucked by the manager, Norma had been
sawing her mouth around his cock, and the sight of her ovaled lips
caused him to tense and jerk until it seemed to him that he was sinking
the full length of it all the way down her throat.

Her tongue, with a nerve-tingling lick on the outstroke, was making the
head throb as though his heart was beating inside it, and he watched
hypnotically, fascinated by the sounds of the lewd debauch of his wife
and the sight of Norma's fleshy lips clinging as she sucked hungrily.
Her breasts danced below her pumping torso, adding to the lust-inciting
scene presented to him. He dropped his head to the pillow and pretended
that it was his wife, Cindy, who was sucking him off. Cindy how he
wanted to shove his cock in her mouth like he was doing to his boss's
wife, how he wanted to shoot his own white hot semen down her throat
and into that little belly of hers... Cindy...

And then he heard his wife clearly through the intercom as she emitted
a sudden unearthly squeal that sounded as though his boss was killing
her, although Howard knew he wasn't. She had reached her climax, and
their bed groaned and creaked beneath her wild heavings. The wet
sucking sounds coming from his wife's widespread cunt trailed off as
she whimpered out her completion.

Howard's body was tense, and Norma's furious sucking couldn't kill the
aching desire in his heart to be with Cindy now, to cradle her and
comfort her as he always did after making love---and especially now,
after hearing his wife being debauched as she'd never been debauched
before. He wanted to run to her and bring out the same responses from
his wife's lips that Ralph had, he wanted to show her---and himself---
that he could do it too and just as well.

There was a rustle of bedspread and the soft sounds of naked bodies
twisting around on it. Soft whispers that he couldn't make out drifted
to his straining ears. Then there was the audible sound of heavy,
course male breathing becoming more and more excited by the second. His
boss was whispering things which by their tone were lewd and forbidden.
Suddenly there was a gasping from Ralph as though he'd been knifed, and
through the darkness came the unmistakable words:

"Oohhhh, God! Your mouth is like warm butter!"

Howard groaned and clenched his eyes shut, wishing to blot out the
horrible image forming in his mind of his wife's sweet, virginal lips
slipping obscenely down over Ralph's glistening, thick cock. This was
the ultimate humiliation, lying here with his own penis pressed tightly
between another woman's, lips while his own beautiful, innocent wife
sucked that very same woman's husband in the next room!

"Tighten your lips and suck harder," he heard the manager groan out in
a muffled whisper, and Howard jerked his head up off the pillow. He
could see nothing except Norma's ever increasing passion for sucking
cock, but his imagination ran amok, the low, dim form of his wife
hunched on all fours over Ralph's grinding loins with his prick buried
deep in her mouth emerged clearly to mind. She was not fighting it and
low soft mewls of pleasure filled Howard's pain-wracked ears from her
cock-filled mouth...

Cindy was surprised that the thought of kissing her husband's penis no
longer repelled her as her own loins were still moist and warm from the
pleasures he had just conferred upon her. Anything which made her feel
that good could not be the degrading act she had imagined it to be.

When Ralph, still under the guise of her husband, had asked her, "Are
you ready, dear?" she had promptly answered, "Yes, Howie."

Cindy began as slowly as he had done with her, working her way down his
chest, licking his small male nipples and hearing him gasp, slowly
lowering her tongue as she wetly licked his flesh. One hand grasped his
hardened cock, teasing the shaft with her fingers that brought louder
moans from his lips.

The position became uncomfortable for her, so she crawled over him,
pushing his legs apart and kneeling on all fours between his thighs,
her feet hanging over the edge of the bed. Her face was at his loins
now and she continued the gentle skinning back and forth of his ever
hardening cock. Her lips were a bare inch away from the tip and she
opened her mouth and breathed softly against it, then she flicked out
her tongue, circling the head as he groaned and twisted beneath her.
The tip of her tongue found the tiny opening at the head's end and
darted into it; the sharp, pungent taste of his seminal fluid caused
her mouth to salivate and her nostrils to flare slightly from the
pungent male odor. Her hands dropped to the base of the huge erection
and she cupped his soft testicles, grazing her nails over the skin and
curly pubic hair. She played longer than she should have, not being
able to just yet bring herself to take the naked head and shaft in her
soft mouth.

But Ralph could stand no more teasing. With a gurgle deep in his throat
he reached down with his hands and tangling them in her hair, thrust
his loins up. Cindy resisted by clenching her lips and teeth together
for a moment, last-minute doubts racing through her mind, but was too
late. His thick, spongy head rammed inside, crushing through her moist,
now yielding lips and between the whiteness of her teeth and into the
wet saliva of her mouth. She could feel the stiff shaft rub the full
length of her tongue and bury itself deeply. She closed her eyes to
keep from choking.

"Ooohhhh, God! Your mouth is like warm butter!" she heard him cry as he
began a slow, rhythmic undulation of his hips up into her face.

"Tighten your lips and suck harder," Ralph hissed from above, his voice
coarse and thick from passion.

Cindy did his bidding, feeling at the same time the excitement growing
again in her own body from the hardened, excitedly throbbing cock she
wax sucking. She worked slavelike, swishing her tongue around and
around the head, sliding it in and out of her ovaled lips...

Howard could stand no more. Yet, as the sounds of her sucking flowed
from the speaker, and his own quivering penis was being expertly sucked
by his boss's wife, he forgot that it was his wife in the next room
with his boss, forgot that Ralph was bringing cries of newfound lust
that he, her own husband, had never from his wife. It was just a woman,
a hot passion- crazed woman in the throes of an act as old as time
itself. He felt his cock throbbing and aching in the tender mouth of
Norma Taylor, and he moaned in masochistic self-torture as he screwed
his loins upwards and listened helplessly to his wife slavishly sucking
at his own boss's lust- hardened penis. The wet sucking noises Cindy
and Norma were both making with their ovaled lips and tongues and the
grunts of pleasure coming from Ralph's mouth as Howard's wife labored
over him were too much for his reeling confused brain to accept.
Forgotten were the circumstances, the horror and guilt Howard felt. He
was now a wild, uncontrolled animal, wanting nothing more than to ram
his aching penis into the woman hovering over him. He wanted to punish
his wife emphatically, just as she was punishing him by her mistaken
submission to the man in the next room.

Howard locked his eyes on Norma's full, sensual lips locked tightly
around his long white cock, and he moved up a bit so that she could
suck in still more of his hardened length. She started using her
tongue, surrounding him in a hot wet bath of saliva and tender inner
flesh of her cheeks. Moaning, he pressed his hands on either side of
her hollowing mouth and surged upwards. She nibbled and all her hunger
burning deep in her vagina was now concentrated in one great gust of
sensation in her mouth. Howard groaned incoherently and flexed his
loins in and out of the open hole formed by her lips and watched wild-
eyed as his full glistening cock disappeared into her voraciously
clasping mouth. He could feel all of himself, every nerve he possessed
pulsing and throbbing between her lips.

He wanted to cum... to make her swallow his sperm so that she would
know later that he had dominated her as she would never be dominated
again... just as his own wife was being subjected to the domination of
his own boss!

In the other room Cindy continued to manipulate Ralph Taylor's prick as
her whole mouth opened wide and hungrily encompassed the smooth,
rubbery head, letting it sink full length in her throat. I love it... I
love his penis in my mouth... it tastes so good... how stupid I've been
before! The sweet young housewife went crazy with the frenzy of new
emotions, thrilling to the effect it was having on the man she supposed
was her husband. Her head bobbed up and down as Ralph fucked upwards
beneath her. He slammed repeatedly in her mouth, over and over, and
Cindy realized that she wasn't sucking his cock---he was actually
fucking her in the face! And that knowledge only instigated more
uncontrolled tremors through her. Yes! Yes! He was about to cum! He was
about to shoot hot, sticky sperm in her mouth! Crazily she sucked her
husband's boas, her tongue swirling voraciously as his blood-filled
prick pumped into her slavering mouth. Her cunt began to quiver and
pulsate and then...

Ralph's cock began to suddenly spasm and he yelled: "I'm cumming! Oh,
suck harder! Milk my balllllsssss!" He grabbed Cindy's head and held it
to him as his giant penis spewed hot jets of sperm deep in her throat.
Cindy continued to suck, swallowing the gushing orgasm, her Adam's
apple bobbing in rapid sequence to keep from choking. She swirled her
tongue to lick him dry as she heard his groans of pleasure simmer to
sighs of contentment, his hands no longer pressing against her head.

The lovely debauched wife sighed and let the now limp prick of Ralph
Taylor fall from her lips. Lovingly, with the caresses saved for her
husband, Cindy cuddled the base of his penis, licking where the tiny
tufts of hair were matted with the cum which had escaped her tightly
closed mouth. A dreamlike, almost comatose lethargy possessed her, and
she sank into a blissful semi-sleep of satiation...

When Howard heard his manager, Ralph, suddenly scream, "I'm cumming!
Oh, suck me harder! Milk my balls!" he was past any point where the
knowledge that another man was fucking his wife in the mouth would have
caused anger or hurt. It only spurred on his own intense pressure which
was building in his testicles as they slapped hard up against Norma's
chin. This hedonistic wife of the man who was with Cindy worked, in
turn, with unbearable and excruciating passion, and Howard's cock
seemed to inflate and lengthen beyond anything it had ever done before.

And then, as the lewd image of his wife accepting greedily the semen
from Ralph's organ whirled madly in his brain, Howard's cock jerked and
a liquid flow rushed like a waterfall up from his aching balls and out
the tip of his jerking penis. Norma groaned as the first needle of
fiery cum flooded the back of her mouth, filling her warm cavity and
bloating her cheeks to the bursting point. Her throat worked
gluttonously, swallowing and sputtering to keep up with the tide of cum
as Howard emptied his balls relentlessly into the hungrily accepting
depths of her gullet.

Howard's body quivered as he felt the lust of his masculinity drained
from his rapidly deflated penis. He was momentarily exhausted and had
to brace himself with his hands tangled in her hair to keep from
falling off the side of the bed. He started to rise from her, but she
would not let his cock go, continuing to suck gently, undulating her
buttocks behind him and rubbing her legs together as he watched with
disbelief the thin tiny trails of white cum running down the corners of
her mouth. He had never felt anything like it and it seemed as though
he had been completely drained of all the strength and desire he had
ever possessed.

He was like that when, a few minutes later, the door opened and the
naked, sweat-glistening form of his boss, Ralph, entered.

"Howie-boy," Ralph said, coming over to him, "Howie, that's some fine
little piece of tail you've got in there."

Howard jerked his loins, acutely aware that Ralph's wife still was
nibbling and licking his penis... and in front of her own husband! He
grinned awkwardly, unable to say anything except a feeble: "Yes... I
heard you both."

"That's quite a gadget, isn't it? Had the intercom put in just for that
reason. Really turns you on, listening to other folks banging away."

Norma finally let loose of Howard's limp and slippery cock, and sitting
up, she threw her arms around her husband's neck and murmured, "Good to
see you, lover. Got any more for me?"

Ralph chuckled, and to Howard's amazement, the manager's penis began to
rejuvenate, restoring itself to rigid hardness. "Always," he said.
"There's always some left for you..."

"Good... then fuck me, lover..."

Howard scrambled from the bed as Ralph and Norma lowered their now
tightly clenched bodies to the sheet. "Howie," Ralph said as he
fingered his wife's cunt, "you can stay here if you want and watch...
but I left a very lonely little wife in the next room," he chuckled
obscenely. "I think she belongs to you."

The salesman staggered from the bedroom and back to his own, where he
saw the blurred, black outline of his wife on the bed. He went to her
and slipped in beside her, cradling her in his arms. Somehow, as he
felt her breathing and contented cuddling to his chest, Howard couldn't
resent what had happened. In the aftermath of the carnal exchange of
mates, the guilt and anger he had feared he would experience didn't
materialize, but only warm, deep, complete love for his wife. Perhaps
Ralph was right, he thought dreamily... perhaps when he said that
making love to another woman is only a healthy, natural sport and
increased one's devotion for one's mate, he really knew of what he was
speaking...

"Oh, Howie," murmured his wife, nestling closer, "oh, Howie, wasn't
that wonderful?"

Quite truthfully, he replied, "Yes, Cindy my love, yes it was..." He
choked. "You don't know how good it was."

"And I'm going to do that to you all the time from now on."

"Good, Cindy. I'd like that."

"Goodnight, Howie," she whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too, Cindy," he replied tenderly and kissed her full on the
lips, not caring that they were still moist from the warm gushing sperm
his boss had flooded into her mouth a few short moments before...

On the Friday afternoon following that wild, orgiastic weekend at the
Taylor's mountain retreat, Cindy was reading a woman's magazine in the
living room of their small cottage and thinking about Howard.

She wished he were home now, wished he had not gone to Los Angeles with
Ralph for a three-day automobile dealer's convention. But Ralph had
insisted Howard accompany him as representatives of Auto Circus, to
meet certain important people and see how the administrative end of the
automobile business was handled, and he had eagerly agreed; it was what
he had hoped for, he'd told Cindy, the break that meant Ralph and the
powers- that-be at Auto Circus were considering him for loftier
positions than the head salesman's job he now held.

Cindy, of course, had been excited for her husband and had wanted him
to go to Los Angeles for the convention. But still, she harbored faint
misgivings about Ralph's influence on Howard; she didn't want the
Taylors to implant any more ideas in his head, ideas that went beyond
the Camera Club and her emancipation into oral love with the man she
had married. She was grateful to Ralph and Norma for what they had been
strongly responsible in promoting, for she felt a new and freer woman,
a more fulfilled woman, now that she had been initiated into sexual
games she had always previously thought were degrading and sinful. And,
too, she was grateful for them having assisted her in pleasing Howard
to the very best of her abilities, giving him all that he wanted from
their relationship--- and, she hoped, even more than he expected.

The young wife sighed, smiling secretly, as she remembered that night
in the darkened bedroom when she had first allowed Howard to kiss her
between her widely spread thighs, when she had first tasted his hard,
bittersweet masculinity. A ripple of pleasure coursed through her body
at the recollection of that moment---and of the recalled joys she bad
experienced the remainder of their stay at the mountain cabin and the
nights which had followed it in hers and Howard's marital bed.

Oh, things were so wonderful now! They were making love two and three
times a night, every night, and finding new and exciting and wild
pleasures each and every time. Why, only last night they had lain in
the classic sixty-nine position for over an hour, their lips and
tongues giving spiraling joy rides to the other as they made oral love.
Howard's tongue had sent her whirling to incalculable orgasms during
that time, while she had sucked and milked his prick of sticky, hot,
delicious loads of sperm twice, never allowing that marvelous penis of
his to escape her lips... even when it had deflated, she continued to
nibble and suckle it until it once more grew to its monstrous
proportions in the soft cushiony folds of her mouth...

And the pictures, too, had been an aphrodisiac for both of them. She
had allowed Howard to set up the Polaroid and the timer on more than
one occasion, and had posed in lewd positions before its all-seeing
eye; had posed with Howard's penis inserted in her vagina astraddle
him, alongside him, beneath him... but she had not allowed him to take
photos of them enjoying oral love. No, that was a private thing, too
private for the camera, and it was there she had gently refused
Howard's insisting pleas; she just wasn't ready for that, yet, she had
said (if she ever would be ready for it). At first, he had been a
little put-out, but after she had showed him in every other way how
much she loved him and wanted to please him, he had no longer been
angry. They had looked at their pictures together, of them making love-
--and they had looked at the pictures of Ralph and Norma, which the
Taylors had let them keep; then, when both were highly, erotically
aroused, they had inverted their positions on the bed and licked and
sucked one another to climax after wonderful climax...

Cindy shifted slightly on the couch as spirals of passion began to flow
through her, and she could feel her nipples harden beneath the plain
cotton housedress she wore. Lord, but she wished Howard would be home
tonight! She had never known she possessed such strong sex drives until
now; she couldn't seem to get enough of her husband and his mouth,
tongue, and penis.

The beautiful young wife sighed again, resignedly, and turned another
page of her magazine. Well, she would just have to wait until Howard
got home to satisfy her desires (no more masturbation for her! not with
what she and her husband had together!). Boy, she giggled inwardly,
would she give him a homecoming reception when he got home on Sunday
night...

The telephone rang.

Now who can that be? Cindy wondered, rising. She went into the hallway
where the telephone was located, picked up the instrument, and said,
"Hello?"

"Mrs. Jamison?" a thick voice asked. "Mrs. Cindy Jamison?"

The young wife frowned, for the voice seemed vaguely familiar to her.
And yet, it was not the most pleasant she had ever heard, with its
raspy quality. "Yes?" she finally answered hesitantly. "This is she."

"Steve Samuels here, from the post office. You remember me, Mrs.
Jamison. I was the man who waited on you when you rented your post
office box about ten days ago."

A little shiver of apprehension raced along Cindy's spine as the image
of the wizened, gnome-like little postal clerk flashed into her mind.
What did he want, calling her at home like this? Oh, God, had... had
something happened with those pictures she'd sent...?

"Y-yes," she quavered. "I... I remember you, Mr. Samuels."

"Good, good." A pause, during which Cindy had the impression the man on
the other end was smiling. "The reason I called, Mrs. Jamison, "is that
I have a large envelop here, addressed to you, from a certain couple in
Chicago..."

The young blonde wife stifled a fearful gasp. "Chicago?"

"That's right, Mrs. Jamison," the grating voice told her. "This couple
is on the department's watch list as possible purveyors of pornographic
material through our mails, and consequently the envelope must be
opened in front of one of the post office personnel before delivery can
be completed."

Cindy closed her eyes, feeling terror creep through her breast. The
exchange photos from the couple in Chicago to whom she had sent the
snapshots of her and Howard! She knew that was what was in that
envelope the ugly postal clerk had, knew it beyond any doubt at all.
Dear God, what was she going to do!

"Mrs. Jamison? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I... I'm still here."

"Would you like to take care of this matter personally, Mrs. Jamison,
or shall I"---a meaningful pause---"contact your husband?"

"No!" blurted Cindy. "No, I'll... I'll take care of it." She swallowed
deeply. "Should I come down to the post office now?"

"That won't be necessary," crooned Samuels smoothly. "Tell you what
I'll do, Mrs. Jamison. I'll bring the envelope out to your house
tonight, on my way home. That should be around eight or so, since I
have quite a bit of work to take care of first. All right?"

"I... I guess so, yes."

"Fine," the wizened postal clerk husked. "And don't worry, Mrs.
Jamison. This might not be anything of a serious nature at all. For
your sake, I hope not." Abruptly, he rang off.

The upset young wife stood holding the dead receiver in her hand, her
eyes staring glassily at nothing. What would happen when that dirty-
eyed little clerk brought the envelope to her tonight? When he opened
it and found photographs similar to those she had sent of her and
Howie, Polaroid Club photographs? Would he arrest her? Did postal
clerks have that power? She didn't know, and confusion reigned strong
in her lithe body--- confusion and a growing fear of discovery and
exposure, of newspaper headlines linking her with a nationwide
pornographic picture organization, of Howard losing his job and
everything he had worked so hard to build...

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God! Why had she done it, why, why? She should
have known better than to send those lewd snapshots of her and her
husband through the mails. She should have, but she hadn't; and now,
she was going to have to pay the devil his due...

She flung the receiver down in its cradle and ran into the kitchen. She
needed a drink, badly! In the cupboard under the drainboard, she found
a half full bottle of vodka and in the refrigerator some quinine water.
She mixed herself a strong vodka-and-tonic, without ice, and drank it
down in two swallows. The fiery warmth of the liquor raced through her
bloodstream, causing her face to flush. Another, mostly vodka this
time, and she returned to the living room, aware only when she sat down
on the sofa that she had brought the vodka bottle with her.

The rest of the afternoon, and the early part of the evening, was a
torment for young Cindy Jamison. She finished all of the vodka in the
bottle, becoming very high but seemingly not high enough to take the
edge off her fear and apprehension. She kept glancing nervously at the
clock; time appeared to crawl. She chain-smoked the nonfilter
cigarettes she had been smoking since high school. Finally, eight
o'clock approached and Cindy began to pace the living room like a
sleek, lithe panther, her head swimming from the vodka and the imagined
possibilities of what was to come.

The doorbell rang at four minutes past eight.

The sudden sound startled the distraught young wife so much that she
seemed to stagger forward, in danger of falling. Her heart hammered
crazily in her chest. Have to compose myself, she thought blurrily,
stubbing out her latest cigarette. She took a deep, shuddering breath
and then went into the foyer and opened the door.

Steve Samuels stood on the porch outside, smiling his wicked, leering
smile. He held a large manila envelope in his right hand. "Good
evening, Mrs. Jamison," he breathed.

Cindy repressed a tremor of dread at the sight of the postal clerk. She
had not liked him that day in the post office, feeling vulnerable and
uncomfortable under his beady stare, and now that she had seen him
again face to face her discomfiture grew by leaps and bounds. She was
completely repelled by this gnome-like man, and afraid of him in the
bargain. But there was nothing she could do now, under the
circumstances, except admit him to her home.

She managed, "Won't... won't you come in, Mr. Samuels?"

"Thank you," he said, and stepped past her, his right arm brushing
casually over the swelling bosom of her housedress, feeling to Cindy
like a reptile's touch on her clothed flesh. She almost gasped with
revulsion. Had the contact been accidental? Or had he...? She shook her
head, trying to clear away some of the vodka swirl, and closed the
door. No use thinking such thoughts, she told herself, no use at all...

She led the way into the living room, uncomfortably conscious of the
clerk's eyes on the swaying motion of her voluptuous young buttocks.
She turned abruptly once in the room and said, "Please sit down, Mr.
Samuels."

Samuels nodded, grinning, and sat in the middle of the couch, his eyes
moving restlessly over the nubile flesh of the young wife as she seated
herself in the armchair some feet away. They feasted on the soft, warm
satin of her exposed thighs where the housedress had pulled up.
Goddamn! he thought. Oh, Jesus, but she's a hot looking little piece!
Oh, this little Mrs. Cindy Jamison is going to be the best one yet...
the best of all of them! I can't wait to put my cock in that sweet
tender mouth of hers... in her clasping little asshole, too! I can't
wait to fill her up with loads and loads of my hot sticky cum...

Cindy became aware of the direction of the civil servant's eyes and
hurriedly tugged her dress down low on her knees, pressing her columnar
legs tightly together. She said tremulously, trying to pretend as if
she was totally sober and in complete command of the situation, "You
said something about this envelope for me being from a couple in
Chicago who were on the postal department's watch list. What exactly
does that mean, Mr. Samuels?"

"It means," Samuels explained with a gap-toothed smile, "that we at the
post office have a book which contains the names and addresses of known
pornographers and subversives. This box number is on that list... as
the senders of dirty, lewd photographs through our mails in the past."

"But... but such a book is illegal!" protested Cindy.

"Not as far as we're concerned," said the wizened clerk. "We have to
look after the interests of the American public, and preventing the
wanton use of our mails for filth is in those best interests. A new
postal regulation has been passed recently, allowing us to open mail at
will if we suspect it contains harmful or subversive material."

"How can there be a law like that?" Cindy found herself becoming
righteously angry. "It's unconstitutional! It's... almost Communistic!
This is a democracy, not some... some dictatorship!"

Samuels drew himself up indignantly, his eyes flashing. "That's right,
Mrs. Jamison. This is a democracy. And it's our job, as public
servants, to see that it remains a democracy! If we allow filth and
disgusting Fifth Column propaganda to be freely distributed throughout
this great land of ours, what will happen to the foundations upon which
our government is built? They will collapse, that's what! Filthy
Commies will take over, as they're trying to do right now all over the
country. They've got a toehold in our colleges and universities
already, trying to subvert our education system, but they won't succeed
in the government agencies, mark my words! We'll stop them, dedicated
men like myself, empowered by our great Congress with the authority to
crush subversion and drug shipping and yes, pornography, for garbage
such as that is rotting the minds of our clear-thinking youth. It's all
a Communist plot, Mrs. Jamison, every last bit of it!"

His eyes glittered almost maniacally, and the young housewife drew back
in fear and trepidation. What kind of man was this Steve Samuels?
Spouting rightist-extreme policy and belief, and yet having a position
of authority in the post office. And, most terrifying of all, he seemed
to possess an evil expression that forewarned her of the presence in
his brain of the self-same lewdness against which he spoke so
vehemently. She trembled violently as a possibility entered her mind:
what if this little, ugly man who sat across from her was... insane?

"So don't talk to me about illegality and Communism, Mrs. Jamison,"
Samuels continued. "This country is at last coming to its senses, and
none too soon, let me tell you." He paused, swinging the manila
envelope out in his hand, extending it to her. "Now then, let's see
what this little parcel contains, shall we? Let's see if there is any
sickness and evil inside that must be crushed."

Cindy took the envelope with trembling fingers, handling it as though
it were a bomb which might explode in her hands. "If... if what you say
is true," she managed to quaver, "if you can open the public's mail at
will without their knowledge, then why did you call me and tell me this
had to be opened in front of a postal employee?"

"A good question, Mrs. Jamison," chuckled the civil servant. "And the
answer is simply that I find myself feeling benevolent at times, when I
suspect that something demeaning is being sent to a person who might
deserve a second chance. In other words, Mrs. Jamison, a person who is
not a leftist Commie or a sick perverted soul; a person who has made
one mistake, and should, because that person is basically good and
honest, be given a second chance. I think you're the kind of person,
Mrs. Jamison, and I want to help you. I wouldn't want to see you
exposed as a Commie, or a sex degenerate."

The lovely wife shuddered, for there was an oily, frightening quality
to Samuels's voice that contained the consideration of things
unspeakable. And his eyes... his terrible eyes... they seemed to be
stripping her of her clothes, boring through her naked flesh
underneath...

"Now then, Mrs. Jamison," Samuels said. "Let's open that envelope,
shall we? Right now. I want to see what's inside."

Cindy willed her quaking fingers still, and managed to tear the top off
the manila envelope. She reached inside, withdrew the contents
partially. As she did so, Samuels suddenly leaped up and took two long
strides across to her and jerked the contents out of her hands, causing
her to gasp and draw back in fear against the cushions of the chair.

Samuels limped back to the sofa and sat down with the material which
had been in the envelope. His fingers rifled through it, and his smile
grew wider, more venereous. "Aha!" he cried. "Just as I expected!" And
it was: photos, six of them, bound together with a paper clip---and if
the top one was any indication, they were some of the best he had ever
seen in sharpness and detail. There was also a typewritten letter, and
another typed sheet.

Samuels's fingers were palsied with excitement. He had known
intuitively that these were what was in the envelope when it had come
into the post office this afternoon, and he had had to resist an
immediate impulse to open the envelope. Better, he finally decided, to
bring it out here to this young bitch Mrs. Cindy Jamison, have her open
it; it was the chance he had been waiting for! But he had to make sure
her husband wouldn't be home, so he could have her all to herself, and
thus he had called the automobile agency were he had learned Howard
Jamison worked--- Auto Circus---and asked to speak to him, thinking to
find out surreptitiously what time Jamison quit work for the evening so
as to plan his attack accordingly. His elation had been huge when he
learned that Howard Jamison was out of town for three days, in Los
Angeles for some kind of convention. He had immediately, then, called
this haughty bitch and made his appointment for tonight; as he had
hoped, she had become nervous and frightened by his call, and had been
partaking of more than one glass of liquor. She was nice and high now--
-and he had something in his pocket which would make her even higher.
Oh, everything was working beautifully! He was really going to fuck
this beautiful young wife tonight! Fuck her like he had never fucked
anyone before in his life! His cock throbbed with anticipation and
excitement.

He tore the paper clip off the pictures, and looked through them. Lewd,
disgusting... good, good, just what he had hoped for! He glanced
through the letter, his mouth salivating slightly, and then looked up
at the fear-immobilized young wife. "Mrs. Jamison, you ought to be
ashamed of yourself, allowing yourself to be duped by these filth
peddlers. You're very lucky I've decided to take pity on you and want
to help you; very lucky. Listen to this: 'Dear friends,'" he quoted
from the letter, "'Many thanks for your photos, which we've just
received. They weren't bad, although some of them were lacking in
detail; the camera angle seems to be wrong. You might try using
closeups more often. We've discussed them at length, my wife and I, and
have decided you're probably new at this so if there's any help we can
give you, don't hesitate to ask us. We've been exchanging photos with
other couples for some time, and have quite a bit of experience.
Enclosed are some of our best shots, to give you an idea of what we
mean. Hope you like them, and will be sending us others in the future
of yourselves. Welcome to the Club. All best. Signed, Tom C.'"

Grinning obscenely, the postal clerk cast the letter from him. "Filthy,
isn't it, Mrs. Jamison? Disgusting!"

Cindy could only nod her head numbly, staring out of rounded eyes at
the man who sat on her sofa. The vodka was causing her temples to
throb, and she tried to will her mind clear, so that she could think
what to do, what to say. But it was useless; she had drunk too much,
and the forceful, depraved nature of Steve Samuels appeared to have put
her into an almost trance-like state.

Samuels picked up the second typed sheet from his lap, and read through
it salaciously. It was a description of each of the return pictures,
with side comments of a lascivious quality; the comments were numbered,
and the venereous government employee saw that a corresponding number
had been inked into the upper right hand corner of each photo.

He glanced up, licking his lips, his eyes fixing on the fear-whitened
face of Cindy Jamison. "Come over here, Mrs. Jamison," he commanded
harshly. "Come over here and sit next to me on the couch and look at
these photos. That's part of your lesson Mrs. Jamison. You must look at
them and listen while I read these lewd, filthy descriptions to you. Do
you hear me, Mrs. Jamison?"

"No!" she heard herself cry out. "No, I... I won't! Oh, God, I can't!"

"The hell you can't!" Samuels's wizened face turned more ugly. "You'll
goddamned do what I tell you to do! That is, if you want me to go on
being kind, Mrs. Jamison. If not, then I'll take these to my superiors,
I'll report you, I'll make out like you've been sending these dirty
things for months and months now. I'll ruin you, Mrs. Jamison, maybe
even have you put in prison for violating our postal laws! I can do
that, don't think I can't!"

Cindy stared in abject horror at this... this monster who sat across
from her. Could he... could he actually do what he had threatened?
Could he have her put in jail? Well, why not? He was in a position of
authority, and if he lied and perjured himself, they would still take
his word over hers---especially with that letter and these photographs.
Oh, God, then she was completely at his mercy! Completely at the mercy
of a man who was surely insane!

Quaveringly, the fearful and tormented young housewife stumbled to her
feet and groped blindly to the couch, sitting next to Samuels fighting
down the dread which rose in her throat at his nearness. His eyes
feasted on her flesh, and he repressed a desire to grab her, throw her
down, rape her right here and now; slowly, must go slowly, better that
way, he told himself, oh, am I going to fuck you tonight, you snooty
young bitch, I've thought of nothing else for the past week...

Cindy's hands would not remain still, and she didn't want him to know
the extent of her fear. Something to occupy her fingers, yes that wax
it. She reached out for the package of her cigarettes on the coffee
table.

Samuels put out his hand, claw-like fingers touching the back of her
soft wrist and causing her to pull back as if she had come in contact
with a snake. The venereous postal clerk smiled. "Won't you have one of
mine, Mrs. Jamison? They're very good, a special blend..."

As he spoke, he removed a slender brown, crudely formed cigarette from
the inside pocket of his sports coat and handed it to her. She took it
automatically, perhaps suspecting in her liquor---and fear---fogged
mind that it was more than just a plain cigarette but beyond any
rational consideration of the fact at that moment. She placed it
between her lips, allowed him to light it for her with a battered
Zippo.

She inhaled deeply, tasting harsh, acrid smoke and coughed instantly,
even though her lungs were accustomed to unfiltered cigarettes. "Draw
slowly on it, Mrs. Jamison," Samuels's voice intoned authoritatively.
"Then hold the smoke in your lungs awhile before releasing it... yes,
that's it. Now you've got it. Again, Mrs. Jamison. It will relax you,"
he intoned hypnotically. "Again, again... yes, and again..."

The smoke no longer burned her throat and lungs, and Cindy began to
experience a subtle relaxing of her muscles, of the edge of fear and
near- hysteria which the vodka she had consumed had only brought into
sharper focus. From somewhere in her subconscious a single word fought
its way into her drugged conscious: Marijuana. And, in that moment, she
knew what the brown cigarette was, knew fully and completely. And yet,
instead of frightening her, she felt only gathering relaxation, as if
it didn't matter that she was smoking pot. It was the liquor combined
with the narcotic effects of the marijuana and the mind-numbing fear of
the weaselly little civil servant which brought about this state of
mind; young Cindy Jamison, as she finished the joint, was in a state of
almost hypnotic submittal.

Samuels, realizing this, smiled salaciously. "Here," he commanded as
Cindy put the roach butt out in the ashtray. "Here's another." She
accepted it, almost gratefully, and he lit it for her; this one would
really do the trick, he thought exultantly, she won't have an ounce of
resistance left in her when she's smoked this joint down.

He watched with salivating lips as she inhaled the sweetish marijuana
smoke and finished the second reefer. Then, his cock ever-hardening in
his pants now as the moment of his conquest, his subjugation, of this
proud, snooty young bitch drew near, he thrust the set of photographs
into the young wife's hand. "Now look at these pictures while I read
what it says about them to you, Mrs. Jamison. That's it. Look at the
top one now, number one. Good, good..." On and on his voice droned
mesmerically.

Perspiration blurred Cindy Jamison's vision as she focused on the first
photo. Full color... sharp and clear detail... extreme closeup...
Samuels's soporific voice, reading from the typed sheet of paper in his
hand: "'Here is one of our favorites, my wife and I in action. Note how
she's lying on that waist-high table, with her legs raised up and
ankles locked around my neck. You can see my cock half-buried in her
cunt, the way she likes it. This is a good position, because it allows
the camera to see all, even the pussy hairs, and at the same time gives
the woman plenty of pleasure.'"

Cindy gasped at the look of sheer abandoned lust on the face of the
young, full-breasted, brown-haired woman in the photo... at the
intense, passion-sweating face of the tall, shaggy-haired man fucking
into her with his immense penis. Then, at Samuels's direction, she
flipped to the second picture. The wizened postal clerk read: "'This
one shows my wife and I sixty-nining. She's licking my balls, the way
she likes to do, while I have my tongue shoved all the way up her cunt.
If you look closely, you can see that I have my finger in her
asshole...'"

Another picture... another lewd, provocative pose... another detailed,
salacious description read aloud by the sweating, salivating government
employee, Steve Samuels. And as Cindy looked at the photos, heard the
words ringing louder and louder in the room around her, she began to
experience a rippling of excitement, of passion in her stomach and
loins. She tried to will it away, tried to tell herself it was wrong,
this wasn't the time, this wasn't the place... but the sight of the
photos was too much for her. She had learned, with her husband Howard,
the new stimulation of erotic photographs, had been conditioned now to
them so that they brought about the same sexual upheaval inside her
each time. She was powerless to prevent the flowering of her cuntal
passage to secrete forth the juices of her passion; she had been
excited earlier in the day, thinking about the previous night with her
husband, wishing he were home so that they could make love, and some of
that excitement had still remained in her body even with the
apprehension at Samuels's call and subsequent arrival. The vodka and
the marijuana had only served to heighten it, and the photos had
brought it bubbling forth now.

The young wife squirmed restlessly on the couch as she stared at yet
another photograph---this one of the handsome couple on a huge
armchair, the girl with her legs spread wide over both arms and the man
kneeling on the cushion between them, his cock pressed into the wide-
splayed pinkness of his voluptuous wife's pussy. Cindy's nipples were
hard now, under the housedress, and she began clenching and unclenching
her thighs as Samuels's voice intoned hypnotically in her ear,
repeating lascivious words over and over until they were the only ones
she heard: cock... cunt... fucking... sucking...

Her dress had ridden far up on her thighs now with her convulsive
movements on the couch, exposing the panty-covered mound of her slowly
moistening womanhood. Further words caught in the depraved postal
clerk's throat as he saw the tremendously enticing sight of the "V"
between the beautiful young woman's thighs being exposed to his lusting
eyes. His prick seemed to be throbbing madly in his pants, and he could
feel drop lets of seminal fluid emanating from its unseeing eye. He had
to fuck her---and soon now, before he blew his great buildup of semen
into his underpants instead of into the alluring flesh of the
passionate young wife next to him!

Samuels's hand trembled as he reached out with his claw-like fingers
and settled his sweaty touch on one of her smooth, alabaster thighs,
the digits clenching like talons as he squeezed the soft, resilient
flesh.

The sensation of his reptilian-like touch penetrated the liquor and
drug haze of Cindy Jamison's mind. Her eyes widened, pulled away from
the picture and down to where the wizened clerk's hand now slid along
her smooth inner thigh, climbing higher toward the target it sought...
She emitted a low cry of terror, the spell of her desire momentarily
broken, and threw the photo graphs down on the floor as she jumped
convulsively to her feet. She stood there, trembling with anger and
fear, the emotions which had been erased by the marijuana and the
stimulating effect of the photos, but which had been brought back to
the fore by the touch of this gnome-like man.

"Don't you touch me!" she screamed at him, her voice slurred and
tremulous. "Don't you ever touch me again, you... you pervert!"

A fiery flush of anger turned Samuels's face the color of eggplant. He
jumped to his feet, his own body shaking with anger and with desire,
the front of his pants bulging obscenely with the girth of his immense
penis.

"You goddamn fucking little bitch!" he screeched. "You can't talk to me
like that! You'll do what I say, and you'll like it, or I'll see to it
you go to jail for ten years! I can do that, I told you! You bitch, you
bitch, what right have you got to call me names? You little whore,
you've been sending lewd, filthy pictures of yourself through the mail,
and don't think I don't know it! I saw you fucking like a mink with
your husband, legs spread out with his cock up your cunt, so who are
you to act so high and mighty around me! I'm a public servant, a man
watching out for the best interests of the people, and you're nothing
but a lawbreaking little bitch exhibiting your hot little pussy to
anyone who advertises they want to see it!"

Cindy recoiled as if struck. She stared at him, confusion returning to
her mind to reign supreme. "You... you saw the... the pictures I sent?"
she faltered.

"Goddamn right I did! I made copies of them, too!" screamed the half-
crazed Samuels. "I have those copies in a safe place, Mrs. Jamison, and
I promise you if you don't cooperate with me I'll take them and these
here to the postal authorities! I'll fix you good if you don't play
ball with me!"

Oh, God, oh, God! Cindy Jamison's tortured mind cried. For in that
moment she knew that there was no recourse for her, that this ugly,
toady little man had her completely at his mercy. And she knew what he
wanted of her, what he meant by "cooperation"---and she would have to
submit to his whim. If not, he would make good his threat to ruin her,
ruin Howard, send her and possibly even her husband to jail just for
using their privacy as they saw fit; she had no doubt at all that he
would do as he threatened. She was backed into an impossible corner,
and the knowledge was like choking bile in her throat in spite of the
liquor and the drug to deaden the impact. She was trapped, trapped...
there was no one in the whole world to whom she could turn for help!

Samuels was advancing toward her now, saliva running out of the corners
of his cruel mouth, his face flushed and sweating, the front of his
pants still bulging hugely. He extended his hand, and then he said,
"I'm going to fuck you, Mrs. Jamison. I'm going to fuck you now, here,
right in your own husband's bed. And you're going to let me do it;
you're even going to join in. You don't have any other choice, Mrs.
Jamison. If you don't let me fuck you, fuck you in any way I want you
to, then I'll do what I said I would. Well, Mrs. Jamison? What's your
answer?"

Cindy almost collapsed to the carpet under the staggering weight of his
ultimatum. No place to turn, no place to run... trapped... at the mercy
of this insane man... her mind chanted confusedly. I have to obey him,
I have to save Howard... yes, and selfishly to save myself and our
future...

"Please," she implored, her face going slack with her conviction and
her eyes looking at nothing, lifeless. "Please, I'll do whatever you
ask. But out here... not in the bedroom, not in my husband's bed.
Please, you can't ask that of me..."

Samuels's laugh was ugly and obscene. "Can't I? Well, I am, Mrs.
Jamison. I am. Now take me to the bedroom, or I'll pick you up and
carry you. The bedroom, Mrs. Jamison, and be quick about it! My cock is
about ready to explode with my cum, and I want to save every last drop
for you!"

A cry of utter and complete helplessness tore from young Cindy
Jamison's throat, and she spun on her heel and ran blindly down the
short hallway at the other end of the living room. Tears streamed from
her eyes, and she was sobbing uncontrollably as she flung open the
bedroom door and threw herself on the bed. She lay there, moaning
piteously for a moment, then she heard footsteps, heard the door close,
and she swung around. Samuels stood there, and he had the fly of his
trousers open, had his underpants drawn aside and the thick expanse of
his penis was in the palm of his right hand, its huge, bulbous head
seeming to point like a finger of doom at her.

"Take off your clothes!" he hissed. "Now, damn you, right now! Can't
you see how my prick just aches for those soft little lips of yours to
close around it?"

Cindy moaned again, a torture-wracked sound, but she obeyed with
spasmodic fingers. She removed the housedress, pulling it over her
head, then shrugged out of her bra and panties. She sat huddled like a
defenseless child, naked and afraid, on the edge of the bed. Samuels's
breath quickened to a harsh, nasal wheezing as he viewed for the first
time in actuality the vibrant, bronze and white body of the beautiful
young wife. Son of a bitch, this was going to be fine! Oh, he was going
to ravage the shit out of that soft, tender flesh of hers... make her
scream for him and his huge, quivering prick...

His palsied fingers tore at his clothing, ripping the garments from his
thin body. At last he stood before her, naked, his huge venous cock
oscillating like an arrow outward from his loins. He stroked it
hungrily for a moment, then commanded in a wheezing voice, "Get up on
all fours on the bed. I want you to suck my cock. Do you hear me, Mrs.
Jamison? I want that soft, sweet mouth of yours licking all around my
cock!"

"No-nooo!" wailed Cindy miserably. "No, please...!"

"Do what I tell you, Mrs. Jamison!" The wizened postal clerk flung
himself onto the bed, spreading his legs wide, his great prick jutting
upward and throbbing redly. "Now crawl like the bitch you are between
my legs, Mrs. Jamison! Do it, and do it now! I'm not going to tell you
again!"

I can't, I can't! the tortured young wife's mind protested. But she had
no choice, no other alternative, and so her body obeyed his harsh
instructions. She crawled between Samuels's open thighs like a whipped
puppy submitting itself to further degradations at the hands of an
inhuman master, and lowered her head almost to the tip of his upthrust
cock.

Tears filled her eyes, and her tongue came out several times to moisten
her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears, not daring to
look, and then told herself she was doing this for Howard, for their
marriage, for all that the future now promised. And then, with one last
moaning, piteous cry, she reached out and grasped his swollen rod
between the fingers of her right hand and began to stroke the
palpitating flesh lightly, further arousing the already lust-bubbling
Samuels until groans of joy rendered from his lips.

"Goddamn you, hurry up and suck it! Suck my cock, suck it, suck it!"

His hips thrust upward, but she pulled back her head, out of reach in a
reflexive abhorrence of the act she was being forced to perform.
Samuels reached down and entangled his hands tightly in her soft blond
hair, trying desperately to guide her head down to meet his forward-
leaping manhood. His own head was lifted off the bed, so that he could
watch the helplessly contorted features of her beautiful face, poised
there above his loins, and his brain reeled with the mental image of
his thick, pulsating cock burrowing in and out of her ovaled lips; he
was excited beyond all recall now, he had to have her suck him off now!
He could feel the semen boiling in his testicles, and he knew it
wouldn't be long before it would come spewing out of his shaft like a
flow of hot lava.

"Hurry, hurry!" he grated. "Suck it, bitch, suck it!"

Suddenly, Cindy, realizing the complete hopelessness of her position,
was seized with a tremendous need to perform the obscene task he
demanded of her and get it over with as quickly as possible. She did
not like the implications of the tingling, rippling passion which was
once more seething in her genitals at the prospect of again taking a
male member between her lips, even such a member as the one belonging
to the blackmailing postal clerk. She was becoming aroused herself---
the liquor and the marijuana were responsible, she prayed to herself---
and she had to get this finished and over with before she became so
excited that she began to enjoy her subjugation.

Her head plunged forward and down. Samuels felt the incredible, hot
moist softness of her young lips close over the sensitive head of his
cock, felt her firebrand tongue lick circles of liquid fire around and
around it, flicking into the glans opening, drinking up the lubricating
fluid seeping there. His hands in her hair tightened, and he thrust his
loins upward, driving the length of his massive prick deep into the
soft, warm folds of her mouth, feeling it slam hard against the back of
her throat.

"Uuuuhhhhhhh!" mewled Cindy around the hardened, invading rod of flesh.

"Oooooooooooooooooaaaaahhhhhh!" Samuels cried in lust-crazed fervor.

Cindy twirled her tongue maddeningly faster around the blood-inflated
head of his cock. Then she began to suck him rhythmically, with all the
practiced expertise she had acquired over the past week. He watched her
convoluted lipstick-rimmed lips working on his cock, watched the soft
wet skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in again as she
sawed her mouth the full length of his rigid penis. The sight of her
sucking him increased his arousal higher and higher, and his loins
tensed and jerked upward into her face, all the fleshy expanse
disappearing with each hard forward thrust, so that only a small
stretch of it showed white and glistening with saliva wetness between
her lips.

Her tongue, with a nerve-shattering lick on the outstroke, was like a
separate entity, a thing gone wild with the desire to end this terrible
subjugation, make him cum in her mouth and thus write finish to the
whole sordid business. She sucked hungrily, making the cockhead jerk
and convulse as though it, too, were a thing alive and with a mind of
its own. Her rich, firm breasts danced wildly below her pumping head,
adding to the lust-inciting view the wizened civil servant was viewing.

"Suck it, suck it, baby, suck it!" he urged her on, dropping his head
back on the bed heavily. And still the young housewife slaved on, her
body glistening from the tiny droplets of perspiration forming from her
labor. The pressure grew and grew in Samuels's balls, and he shoved his
loins up hard against her face, hearing her protesting mumble, not
heeding it all as he neared the pinnacle of his release...

And then, suddenly, he did not want to cum just yet... did not want to
eject his maddening buildup of semen into her mouth. No, he had a
better idea, something he had wanted to do to her from the very first
time he had seen her, something he had thought of several times since
then. Now he was going to have his chance!

He was going to fuck her in the asshole!

He was going to shoot his fiery hot seed deep, deep into the depths of
her virginal young bowels!

His hands entangled in her hair now pushed upward instead of forced
downward, drawing his saliva-soaked cock from the young wife's soft,
still sucking mouth with a smooth wet sound. Her eyes blinked open
uncomprehendingly, her face glistening with sweat, her lipstick wet and
shining with her spittle and the beginning droplets of the wizened
gnome's semen.

"W-what is it?" she gasped dimly.

"Turn around and lean forward! Hurry, goddamnit, I'm ready to cum any
second now!"

"What... what are you going to do?"

"You bitch!" He grabbed her roughly, twisted her around so that her
softly rounded buttocks were trembling before his gaze, then raised up
on his knees behind her. His eager fingers reached out, fitted
themselves into the smooth crevice between the twin white globes and
slowly drew them apart, reveling in the wet, lubricious feel of her
feminine emissions. His throbbing cock was pressed to the satiny soft
surface of one of the defensively quivering moons.

Cindy tried to cry out as she suddenly realized what the man wanted to
do to her, but he removed one hand from her buttocks and shoved her
head down hard against the rumpled bedspread. Ripples of horror flooded
through her. Oh, God, oh, God, not that! No, I won't let him, I won't,
I could never forgive myself...

She tried to twist away, but his thumbs were like steel talons,
imprisoning her, spreading wide the tiny puckered ring of her unused
rectal passage. "Going to fuck your asshole, going to fuck your
asshole, Mrs. Jamison, oh, shit, oh, goddamn it!" he drooled, raising
his loins, bringing the hard, rubbery head of his immense cock upward
so that it teased along her naked rectal opening, poised at the tiny
wrinkled ring.

"No!" she screamed in agonized protest. "No, no, you can't!"

"Just watch me, you bitch! I'll teach you to send filth and Communistic
garbage through our mails! I'll teach you!"

And then, with a brutal, sadistic lust, the venereous postal clerk
suddenly rammed forward, his cock soaring into her tightly virginal
passage with savage, unmerciful force, never stopping as it tore
through the membranous canal like some terrible instrument of exquisite
torture.

"AAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Cindy in helpless pain and subjugation,
and then the cry changed to strangled gasps as Samuels again flexed his
buttocks to drive his invading cock deeper into the softness of her
anal channel. He clutched hard at her hips, flexing yet again as he
thrust still deeper into her rectum, into the warm forbidden depths of
her anal passage. The pressure pushed her forward, pushing her head
down harder on the mattress. Oh, God, Howard's mattress! Samuels began
heaving forward with long, sawing strokes now, the rubbery walls of
Cindy's asshole expanding before his invading cock until, finally, with
one last savage lunge he buried the last throbbing inch of his
tremendously expanded penis into her warm, tight anus.

"Aaarrrrggghhhhhhhhhh!" the hopelessly impaled young wife wailed.
"Oooohh, God, it hurts! It hurrrttttsssss! Oh, I can't take it, it
hurts too much!"

You'll take it, and you'll scream for more! the postal clerk thought
triumphantly. Before I'm through, you'll beg me to fill you up with my
hot sticky seed, you damned aloof bitch! He flexed again, and again,
and again...

And suddenly, in order to alleviate the terrible pressure in her
rectum, to force him to cum there as she had tried vainly to force him
to cum with his cock in her mouth, Cindy Jamison began to grind her
buttocks back hard against his penetrating cock. Her anal passage was
becoming accustomed to the great weapon imbedded there, and there were
renewed tinglings of a horribly rising desire in her loins! It was
impossible--- how could she feel desire at a moment of degradation such
as this? But it was true; her relaxing of her defensively clenched anal
muscles in order to bring him to climax had unleashed a new torrent of
unwanted passion in her body.

As much as the thought appalled her, she was beginning to enjoy this
lewd, bestial sodomizing of her private secret passage!

She was sobbing in a commingled mixture of frustration and self-
loathing and desire as she fucked in ever increasing rhythm back
against the salacious invasion of Steve Samuels. She involuntarily
rolled and flung her buttocks back against the forward-driving shaft,
feeling it worming deep around in her belly, feeling his testicles slam
resoundingly with each forward lunge down against her naked, well-
lubricated vaginal lips.

She 's gone wild, she 's gone wild! Samuels thought exultantly. She's
mine, all mine, I've conquered another of these haughty young bitches
for my own private amusement!

The pressure in his loins was intense now, and he knew his orgasm was
only seconds away now, only seconds... He heaved and bucked like a
rutting animal, emitting snorting, drooling sounds of sheer lust as he
fucked long and hard and deep into her, his fingers digging cruelly
into the soft, tender flesh of her buttocks, drawing blood there.

And then---

He was there, oh, Jesus he was there!

The wizened clerk began to chant crazily, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming,
I'm cumming!" and his cock began to jerk out of control sunk deep in
the warm softness of the young wife's bowels. Cindy felt the fire-hot
semen erupt along his urethra tube from the swinging cauldrons of his
testicles and fill her anus to overflowing, felt the searing liquid run
down along the crevice of her churning buttocks, along the backs of her
thighs, and pool on the bedspread beneath her flailing body.

It was over. At long last, it was over...

Or so she thought in that single, terrible moment of the climax of the
rutting, wheezing man sodomizing her.

She collapsed forward finally, pulling his rapidly deflating cock from
her anal passage with a painful wrench, and lay panting and sobbing,
totally subjugated, totally enslaved, totally sick at soul. Samuels
fell across her, cradling his head in the soft hollow of her back, his
wet rubbery lips kissing the sweat from her smooth, satiny skin...

It was not long before the postal clerk's penis grew once more into
erection, before he turned the limply yielding young wife over on her
back and spread her legs wide and proceeded to fuck into her open cunt
with long, hard, brutal strokes until he filled her aching cavity with
more torrents of cum. He fucked her again, after that, first making her
suck him to hardness once more while he probed her already widely
stretched rectum with his middle finger. He performed other and still
wilder atrocities on her flesh until Cindy, in her wildly churning
mind, thought she would surely go insane with the knowledge of what he
was doing to her, of her own enslavement to this evil, depraved man.

And yes, she thought she would go insane, too, from the fact that she
had almost reached climax three times during this long, orgiastic
night! For she was aroused by his ministrations, by his lewd teasing,
by his ravaging penis, aroused and joining willingly in. At the
beginning, she had tried to convince herself, as she had while he was
sodomizing her, that she was only doing it to make him cum, to end this
as quickly as possible. But then doubts began to linger, and she wasn't
sure. Had she somehow become so completely subjugated that she was now
a lover of the same sick acts as he? Oh, God, oh, God...

Finally, as the first rays of dawn drifted through the bedroom window,
Cindy Jamison slept... slept with the terrible fear that she had lost
something on this night, something good and innocent... and had gained
something indefinable which would completely reshape her future life.
Her dreams were nightmares, and she awoke groaning helplessly when the
sun was up full later on and she was alone...

As he was about to leave, just past dawn, Steve Samuels had stood fully
clothed over the naked, sleeping form of the naive young housewife he
had just conquered and leered down at her. Look at her sleeping there,
curled into a fetal position, he thought. She thinks it's over, that
tonight is the end of me, that she's paid her price. He laughed
triumphantly. But she hasn't, not by a long shot. There are plenty of
things I can and will do to her---I and my faithful friend, Ringo. No,
Mrs. Jamison, this isn't the end at all. It's just the beginning for

you...

The darkened room with the drawn blinds looked strangely unfamiliar to
Cindy when she awoke. It was her own bedroom, no question about that;
there was her dresser, her white ruffle-lined vanity, the cane-backed
chair next to the full-length mirror... She stretched her hand along
the bedcovers, feeling the soft material with her fingertips. Yes, it
was her bed in her own bedroom in her own house---but in another sense,
it wasn't.

It wasn't because the love, the marital bond which had united this
lovely young wife with her husband had been broken here, right here on
this bed. It wasn't because no longer did these four walls enclose a
sanctuary of wedded harmony, no longer was there the presence of
emotional ties. Her bedroom had become just another bedroom; her bed
just one of many.

She might just as well have been in a third class hotel.

Cindy moved and felt an excruciating pain just over her left eye. She
sunk back, groaning aloud. Her head felt oddly thick and it was
difficult to think. Every muscle in her body seemed to be tied in tiny
knots. She lay still, then recalled the horrible dream she had had last
night.

The obscene, sickening debauch of her mind and being by some lewdly
grinning man the piteous wife could still picture the bullet-shaped,
microcephalic head and the little, beady, blood-shot eyes gleaming
lasciviously, and his croaking voice demanding... demanding that she...
that she...

The impact suddenly hit her.

"My God, it had actually happened!"

In spite of the pain, Cindy sat up quickly. She stumbled from the bed
and lurched heavily to the bathroom mirror, looking into it quickly.

"My God," she moaned, "it did happen. It wasn't a nightmare!" Heavy
lines marred her fresh, young skin. Her eyes were sunk deeply into her
head as though she had aged years since yesterday. She sagged against
the washbasin for a long minute, literally torn apart now with her
inner torment magnified tenfold, feeling as if millions of tiny,
invisible, execrable creatures were slithering across her skin,
dirtying it, defiling her body so that she would never be able to make
herself clean again. She stood naked on the throw rug next to the
shower stall and looked down at her breasts, at the fresh bruises which
centered around the nipples. Then she looked down her smooth curve of
stomach to her raised pubic mound, at the dried and alien sperm matting
the soft triangle of hair, at the still- inflamed cunt lips which that
man---that beast---had so abandonly manipulated into desire with his
hot, hard penis and later with his thin, swirling tongue. She thought
how the postal clerk had fucked her, sodomized her (as she thought of
his probing cock buried in her anal channel, she automatically
tightened her sphincter muscles, causing her to moan, for her whole
backside and anus were sore beyond belief)---how he had forced her to
participate in every lewd act imaginable. And worse, far worse, was the
indelible, terrifying suspicion that she had enjoyed it! That the drug,
the liquor, the intense sexual frenzy of the government employee had
eventually made her respond with wild abandon, as though she was with
her own husband, her loving Howard, and not that evil-incarnate and his
blackmailing threats.

She thought about all of this as she stood and looked down at her
nubile nakedness, and the filthy, unseen organisms seemed to scurry
faster and faster along every conceivable inch of her velvety surface.

A low, barely audible moan escaped from Cindy's lips. Frantically she
twisted the lucite handles on the shower unit built into the tile wall
of the stall, bringing forth a thick stream of water. She adjusted the
shower head until the spray became needlepoints of water, cool at
first, then hotter and hotter until clouds of vapor began to billow
upwards, making the bathroom seem like a hazy, humid sauna. Cindy
stepped into the stall, gasping as the scalding water beat against her
skin and turned it to a bright crimson hue. But she made no move to
leave, to escape the burning cascade; instead she stood fast, her mouth
open and her eyes shut, enduring the pain as if it were some divine
punishment, some taste of hell, for her transgressions.

For five minutes Cindy withstood the torrent, blanking the pain from
her mind, soaping her abdomen and her rectum and her vagina in a
desperate attempt to rid herself of the crawling things. Only when the
water heater emptied and the spray became cool again did she step from
the stall. She stood once more on the circular throw rug, this time
dripping wet. Wet--- but not clean. Oh, God, would she ever be able to
feel wholesome again?

Briskly, almost as if she were heaping further punishment upon herself,
the agonized young wife dried herself with a large fluffy jacquard
towel. Her body, tingling from the abuse of water and cloth, glowed a
burnished red. She padded naked back to the bedroom and dressed
quickly, choosing a light green blouse which buttoned at the throat,
and a full, wide skirt which her husband had once described as
"innocent- looking" and "totally lacking in sex appeal."

Still her head throbbed. Rubbing her forehead, she went to the kitchen
to make some coffee and try to think. Think... and as she concentrated
on her guilt, shame, and of the reasons causing her remorseful actions,
her head ached still more. It was impossible, she realized. The
situation was beyond her ability to handle. She couldn't cope with the
postal clerk and his demands, couldn't fathom her own aroused nature,
couldn't untangle the spiraling whirlpool of events which had been
happening since the gift of the Polaroid. She became dizzy as her brain
spun around, casting before her mind's eye quick glimpses of all that
had taken place lately, much as a carrousel parades a kaleidoscope of
ever changing animals as it turns before an uninvolved bystander.

She had to do something, that she knew. She couldn't let it be
forgotten; neither her own mind nor her conscience would allow that.
She had to talk to someone, to purge her sickened soul, to seek advice
and comfort. Her husband? Yes, yes, he must be told, Cindy thought.
Howard is strong, he would understand...

Her hand reached for the kitchen telephone extension, then paused. What
could she say? He was in the middle of a convention, talking business
and his mind totally filled with facts and figures and automobiles. So
say she was able to locate him, to get him on the phone long distance.
So then? She tried to compose her words in her mind, becoming almost
ill as the bitter memories stirred within her. Each time she thought of
things to say to him, she realized that what she truly wanted to tell
still would not come.

Howard would never understand, she finally had to admit ruefully. She
was incapable of properly explaining long-distance that her desire to
help their marriage had resulted in her renting the post office box and
sending for the Polaroid Club pictures. How her actions had betrayed
her, how the postal clerk had forced her to do his bidding... and how
her own body had betrayed her. No, it wasn't fair to her husband to
suffer a moment because of her failings. She still loved him as before,
perhaps more now, with the burned-in knowledge that she, alone, should
suffer for her transgressions. As she lowered her hand, she was
determined to protect Howard, no matter how it might hurt her.

She knew that never again could she curl up in his lap and playfully
nip at his ear with girlish innocence without thoughts of the horrible
previous night. This would be her penance alone to bear and the scar
would last as long as she lived. Time might dim the memory but could
never erase it.

That much was settled. Howard, her unsuspecting, trusting husband would
never know her secret. But she was still faced with the torturous
problem of what to do about her predicament. Who could she turn to? Who
among her friends and acquaintances could she trust to understand?
Understand and have the experience to be able to guide her through
these troubled paths? Marsha? Pauline? Gladys? No... they were good at
bridge and gossiping, but not at advice of this nature. There was no
one.

Wait there was one woman, a woman who outwardly was more brazen than
Cindy cared to think about... but who upon many occasions had shown
friendship and sympathetic, earnest support. Norma! Norma Taylor, her
husband's boss's wife. Yes, after that get-together weekend at the
mountain cabin retreat, Cindy was positive that the lovely woman was
interested in her, in spite of the fact that Ralph's different social
sphere prevented them from being close friends. She would know what to
do, Cindy knew. If anybody would know what to do, Norma Taylor would.

Quickly Cindy thumbed through the little phone number book beside the
regular directory, locating the Taylor number and address Howard had
penciled in when first he had been hired by Auto Circus. She feverishly
dialed the number, impatiently waited as the phone on the other end
rang... and rang... and rang. Wasn't Norma home? Oh, God, she had to
be! Please, she had to---

"Hello?"

"Norma? This is Cindy Jamison."

"Cindy?" The voice was low and gentle, obviously full of warmth. "Good
to hear from you. I was just thinking of calling you and inviting you
over for lunch some time this week."

"You were?"

"Certainly. Our husbands being away and all..."

"Could... could you make that luncheon date for today?" Cindy asked
hopefully. "It... it would be appreciated. I have... something to talk
to you about."

"Of course. I have some leftover roast beef, and I'll make some
sandwiches and we'll have a nice chat. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful!" Cindy said, breathing almost with relief. "What time?"

"Mmm, in about an hour. Say at eleven."

 "I'll be there!" Cindy promised, and hung up.

The Taylor home was in another section of town. It wasn't in the finest
area, but neither was it in a tract development as was the Jamison
residence. It was in the lush, green hills bordering the western edge
of Morriston, catching the morning and noon sun, but having a cooler
late afternoon and evening than the majority of flat, fertile land
around it. Cindy drove her car---a Volkswagen Variant 1600--- ÿthrough
Morriston and up the winding, narrow streets, pulling the sun visor
down as the sparkling rays blinded her eyes.

The Taylor home was an older one, built around the middle twenties when
the national economy was booming and no end was in sight. The chicken
was in every pot, optimism that the world was without further war and
the country was forever prosperous overshadowing the gathering dark
clouds of the future. As a result, the original owner had gone all out
to build a house sturdy enough to last long after he was gone---
prophetic enough, for he committed suicide a few years later, on that
Black Tuesday in October, 1929. The house weathered the Depression with
a succession of owners, and then later the Second World War, Truman,
the Korean conflict... and as designed, it looked as warm and
comfortable as when new.

Oh, the kitchen had been remodeled twice, and the cellar redone and
paneled into a game room, and the backyard gazebo removed and a
swimming pool installed, but basically it was the same sturdy home it
had always been. The Taylors had bought it shortly after they'd been
married. It was then far out of their price range, but Ralph had
gambled on his ability and as a result he was happily ensconced in an
ever growing real estate investment. He had no desire to move. It had
all the things he wanted of a house. It was in a fashionable, well-kept
neighborhood; it was surrounded by well-grown trees and shrubs which
provided privacy; the people on his block were of the kind without
children and with connections; and it gave him and his wife an aura of
being respectable, settled citizens of the community.

Cindy drove up the circular drive and parked in front of the wide
verandah. The scarlet bougainvillea entwined around the latticework,
and a yellow and black butterfly flitted among the green shrubs,
finally landing on the head of a metal statue. The statue was of a
small, brightly clad Negro jockey, forever offering a ring to tie one's
horse's reins to. The butterfly took to the air as Cindy passed the
statue and stepped to the front door.

Norma answered the door. She was dressed in a striped silk sheath with
a white leather belt around her slender waist. She was barefoot and
held a cooling drink in her hand. She said, smiling, "Come in, Cindy.
So good of you to come."

"Thank you, Norma." Cindy stepped in the house.

"I was out on the back patio," Norma continued, walking down the hall.
Cindy followed, clutching her purse nervously. They went from the hall
through a sitting room filled with furniture of the Empire period, then
through a pantry and out into the backyard. The screen door gently
closed behind them, the pump brake on top of it hissing slightly.

The backyard was mottled with shafts of sunshine intermingling with
areas of shade. The patio was covered with more lattice, hardy grape
and honeysuckle vines growing around and through the slats. Norma sat
down in a metal lawn chair and waved her hand to the one next to it,
indicating for Cindy to sit down as well. The glass-topped table before
them had a platter of sandwiches on it, a condiment dish piled with
pickles and olives, and an earthenware pitcher filled with wine.

Cindy first looked at the food. She wasn't hungry, not at all, but she
knew that she would have to eat so as to not offend Norma. Then she
looked out on the broad expanse of lawn and thought how peaceful, how
serene and healthy it was. Not at all like the sickness which pervaded
her inner being at that moment, made her quiver and want to die. She
was suddenly brought back to reality by a gentle touch of fingers on
her shoulder.

Startled, she looked around at Norma, who was frowning slightly with
concern. The wife of her husband's boss was saying, "... haven't heard
a word I've been saying, have you?"

Miserably, Cindy shook her head. "I'm... sorry, Norma."

"You haven't been yourself since you arrived. Aren't you feeling well?
The flu perhaps?"

"No... no," came the choked response. "I'm fine. Really."

"No, you're not. I can tell, Cindy." There was a long pause, then, a
silence which was louder than shouted words. Cindy didn't know what to
say, how to begin... if she dared. She had had the courage to call, and
she knew that Norma was indeed the friend she had hoped she would be,
but now, confronted with the awful confession, she wasn't sure she had
the strength. Norma was obviously baffled and unsure of what to say,
but finally, the woman leaned forward and placed her manicured fingers
over Cindy's and said,

"You told me on the phone that you had something you wanted to talk to
me about. It's weighing heavily on you, Cindy. Tell me. Get it off your
chest. It'll do you good."

"I... I," stammered Cindy, "I've been with another man."

"Really?" Norma sat back. "Another man, hmm?"

Was that a smile Cindy saw forming on Norma's lips? No, it couldn't
be... but even if it was such an unexpected response, Cindy couldn't
have stopped the torrent of words which now tumbled from her throat.
The dam had been broken, and from her tortured soul came all of the
gruesome details about her seduction. She left little out as she poured
forth her agony to the other woman, and wept copious tears openly as
she confessed.

"... The clerk was the one I rented the post box from... I sent away
for some pictures... arrived, and he brought them over... the clerk
threatened me with exposure, with jail even... Howie would lose his
job... the clerk... the clerk..."

Cindy could only refer to Samuels as 'the clerk,' unable to speak his
name much as ancient Jews were not allowed to utter the name of their
god the Nameless One. It was as if to name the man would bring him
forth in the slanting light of the backyard sun. Nor could Cindy detail
what perverted acts she had been forced to do for the government
employee, glossing over the lewd acts quickly. Above all, she was
completely silent on the subject of her own arousal, of her apparent
enjoyment of the systematic rape of her sanctity.

But everything else she placed before Norma Taylor, like a horribly
sculpted gargoyle complete of substance and shadow. The marijuana...
the liquor... the pictures. Especially the pictures. Everything kept
revolving, kept returning to the uses---the abuses---of the Polaroid
camera.

When she was done, she sunk her head in a symbolic act of begging for
mercy, of awaiting judgment. Her blouse and skirt were wet with her
tears, and her voice was almost hoarse with her wracking sobs.

The first thing Norma did was to pour Cindy a glass of wine. "Here,
drink this," she commanded, and even though the distraught young wife
refused, she persevered and finally Cindy haltingly swallowed some of
the ruby liquid. It did make her feel better, she had to admit, as she
sat the glass down.

Then Norma looked Cindy in the eye and said, "One thing more. Did you
enjoy it?"

"Norma!" Cindy was taken full aback, her eyes wide with horror.

"I must know in order to get a full, clear perspective of the
situation, Cindy. Forgive me for being so blunt, but it's only between
us girls." She leaned forward. "Now... did you? Even a little bit?"

Blushing a color as scarlet as the bougainvillea out front, Cindy
Jamison first stared with frozen shock. Then, trembling and biting her
lower lip, she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded affirmatively. There
was no use trying to cover it up, no way in which she could bury the
awful truth about herself- and it was harder to admit it to herself
than to Norma.

"Yes," she moaned. "At... at first I loathed his... attentions. But...
but in all honesty, I have to confess I... began to sort of like it."
She twisted in her chair, then looked at Norma, wetness blurring her
vision. "But only a little bit, Norma. Only a little bit, and when it
was over and I'd collected my senses, I was sick about it!"

"Yes, yes, I understand," Norma said in a soothing voice. She then
poured herself a little more wine and sighed. She thought of the best
way of handling the matter, of trying to calm the near hysterical girl
so that a greater crisis would be averted. She could almost picture the
scandal it would cause if it was publicly known, and she had the
inherent knowledge of a shrewd woman that such publicity could easily
spread to herself and Ralph, for Cindy being in the frame of mind that
she was in, would break apart and tell everything. Everything,
including the business about the Polaroid Club and their own
involvement. Howard wouldn't be the only one whose job would be in
jeopardy...

"Listen to me, Cindy," she started to say, then sipped the wine as she
thought carefully of her next words. "I'll be frank, for I'm sure
that's what you want me to be. Why you came to me."

"Yes, yes, that's right, Norma."

"First of all, you were forced into what you did. You had no other
choice, just as this... clerk said. You were forced, and no matter what
you may think of what you did, you had no other way out. You did the
right thing."

"But my---"

Norma held up her hand. "Your feelings, right? What's really bothering
you is that you became excited, right?"

Cindy again nodded, mute, and twisted the little napkin in her lap.

"Well, pardon me for saying so, but I don't think any woman could have
avoided becoming excited. Any full, loving, responsive woman, that is.
Now neither one of us is frigid, Cindy; both of us make love to our
husbands with every cell in our body, and we like to. That's the key in
understanding what happened to you, Cindy---the fact that we naturally,
physically like sex. How could you help not to get hot when his hands
were caressing you, his... penis was hard inside you? Hell, I couldn't
have, I know that."

"I know, but---"

"What it boils down to is this: you're a woman first, biologically.
Half your body, and mine, is tied in with sex and procreation. Our
feelings, emotions, and physiology are regulated by its rhythmic
chemistry, and no matter how you try to, you can't deny that fact.
You're a wife second, which is an artificial social discipline which is
learned, not instinctive. You did what was natural, what your body was
intended to do---and while most of our country would not approve nor
condone it, you must chalk it up to an unpleasant happening. A mistake,
at the most, but never as a sick, warped evil thing."

"But what am I going to do?" wailed Cindy.

"Do? Why, you're going to do nothing, Cindy. Nothing at all. I doubt
that this clerk is ever going to call you again. He got what he wanted,
a fresh conquest. I'm sure that's what excited him---the battering down
of your defenses---and now that he has done that, he has no reason to
bother you again. So I'd suggest that you dry your tears, have a
sandwich, and start forgetting the whole matter. Go downtown and buy a
dress or a new hat. I always do when I'm blue."

"Howard---"

"Howard shouldn't be told. Men don't understand about such things,
Cindy, and might do something rash." She shook her head. "No, best to
let things lie as they are. You still love your husband, I'm sure, and
while it's been a mental shock, it hasn't hurt you physically. You can
respond to your husband and his love just as well as before, and of
course, that's what counts in situations such as these."

"You... you really think so?"

"Trust me, Cindy," Norma said. She went on for a little while longer,
soothingly and with confidence, instilling some reassurance back in the
shattered wife, pouring a little more wine, and finally getting Cindy
to have a sandwich. By one thirty, Cindy Jamison was perked up as much
as possible. The heavy weight of her sin was like lead between her
shoulders, but at least she was able to carry the load now, and not
collapse as she was in danger of doing before.

Yes, Cindy thought as she drove away from the Taylor home, yes, I was
right in coming to see Norma. She certainly was a great help, being
forthright and blunt, and at the same time showing me that she really
was concerned. She was correct in what she had to say, and I will
follow her advice. I'll maybe even go shopping, as she suggested... a
new summer frock might help me for get a little bit.

Yet, for all her buoyancy, there was a nagging, ever-present dread in
the back of her mind. Like a black wad of some malignant evil, it kept
repeating over and over that perhaps she hadn't heard the last of the
matter. That maybe tomorrow or the next day, or the next week, she
would hear the phone ring or a knock on the door, and it would be
Samuels, the ever leering postal clerk, come to collect again...

The dinner was long over, the dishes were washed, and now it was time
for bed. Norma had on nothing but a thin transparent nightgown, knowing
that the hint of her fine, lithe body underneath excited Ralph as she
walked around. It had, too...

Ralph Taylor had come back from the convention bushed, his face and
manners showing how dog-tired he was. But after a couple of drinks and
the fine food she'd prepared and the semi-nude parading all evening---
especially the latter---it was obvious to her that her husband was
bubbling with life. His pants were tightly bulged, and as she bent over
him to kiss his lips and interrupt the movie on TV, his hand came up
underneath her gown, pushing the hem abruptly up her thighs before she
could resist.

"Oh, you beast!" she jumped forward trying to escape the playful
fingers coursing their way along the sensitive parts of her legs.
"Stop, it, Ralph, please!" She giggled, knocking the cup of coffee she
was serving him. "Ooohhhhh, God, Ralph!"

Ralph grinned and continued his rummaging between his wife's legs,
laughing aloud at the same time. "Hell, it's been almost a week since I
last laid you, my pet. Heh, heh, they had some fine pieces of ass at
that convention, but nothing like you!"

"Ralph," she crooned softly, "be careful. We've got to plan out what
we're going to do about the Jamisons, remember?"

Ralph grinned his broad grin again and placed his hand on her buttocks,
massaging the soft, tender flesh. She looked at him coyly as he
continued the teasing ministrations. Norma gritted her teeth as she
felt the old feeling drifting slowly through the tips of her nerves.
She was lucky to have Ralph as a husband and he took good care of her,
in spite of his flamboyant crudeness and periodic streaks of cruelty in
his sometimes overzealous sexual demands. Not that she minded the
latter, she mused; she was almost as bad as he was. He didn't mind at
all what she did as long as she didn't hide it from him and was there
when he wanted her. But, by the same token, he did whatever he liked in
the same way. In fact, it had made their marriage more exciting and
brought them closer together. Yes, by common consent they had their
little affairs but had never let them get beyond the physical stage. It
was kind of like having your cake and eating it too, and she never
wanted it any other way.

"Oooohhhh," she moaned again as her mind returned to reality. Ralph's
hand was running the full length of her soft, white vaginal crevice,
sending chills of sensation rippling across her skin. "Are you crazy,
man? You want to be eaten alive?"

"Eaten, yes, baby, but not alive," the manager joked, twitching his
finger again into the slightly squirming slit. "But don't get
impatient. We'll come to that."

"Well, you just stop it then and tell me what you're planning. I told
you everything about that postal clerk and that racket he was working
on Cindy. You said it gave you ideas." She smiled with sparkling eyes
at her husband. "I'm always interested in your ideas, lover. Especially
about the ones for bridging the social gap between us and your star
salesman."

"And his wife, don't forget her," chuckled Ralph lewdly.

"You bastard. You can't wait to get that mouth of hers around your fat
cock another time, can you?"

"No more than you want to show your maternal instincts on Howard's
prick again." He laughed. "But don't you worry, my little pet. I've got
it all worked out. Been thinking about how to do it since that night at
the cabin. Christ! I'd give a month's commission to get a set of photos
with that luscious blonde doing all the tricks. And preferably with me
on the receiving end. Well, your little story about that clerk answered
my prayers, Norma. It's as good as being in the bag."

"Ralph," Norma smiled demurely, now almost panting from her pent-up
excitement, "let's talk about it in the bedroom, shall we?"

"Why, you little whore!" Ralph grinned, but rose and followed his wife
down the hallway. "You're about the most selfish thing alive. You
always come first." He knew it was a game she was playing, this first-
no- then-yes coyness, and they played it often. He was ready now but
knew she liked to be coaxed a little before the action started. "But I
have to tell you my plans first, remember?"

"Mmmm," she replied, letting the long gown fall and stepping out of it
seductively. "I'm all ears."

"The hell you are," he leered at her. He went toward her, figuring the
plan could wait. There were more pressing matters to take care of. He
said, "Fuck it, Norma, you can wait to hear the goddamn details. All I
want to know is can you find out the name of this clerk?"

"Sure, baby," she cooed. "Anything you want." She made a mental note to
start on finding out the identity of the postal clerk who had caused
such distress to Cindy Jamison the first thing tomorrow. But as she
reached her hand down and touched the swollen bulge in her husband's
pants, she knew that there was going to be a long, delicious night
ahead of her, and she wasn't going to be sidetracked from enjoying it
to the fullest.

Cindy Jamison wore her new summer dress to the company party the
following Tuesday evening. It was a pretty thing, a frilly pale-blue
sheath with no sleeves or belt, but a matching jacket for evening wear-
-- which she now had on. The hemline was daringly high for her, just
below the current "mini" style, allowing her to show off her slim,
wonderfully tanned legs. At first she had been uncomfortable in the
dress, for she didn't have a slip she could wear with it and her only
underclothing was her bra and panties, but when she saw herself in the
mirror at the clothing store, saw how childlike and innocent it made
her look, she couldn't resist it.

Norma Taylor had been right, Cindy once more reminded herself. She said
buying a dress would help, and it certainly had. All through the rest
of the days before Howard had returned from the convention, the lovely
young housewife had never really felt her usual vivacious nature. At
best she had been moody, going through the motions of cleaning and
shopping only half aware of what she was doing. At worst, she fell into
terrible fits of depression, oftentimes crying until the salt dried on
her cheeks. These low moments usually came toward bedtime, around the
time that the hated postal clerk, Samuels, had first forced his
sinister intentions upon her defenseless body, and they lasted long
after she had retired, keeping her awake and moaning fitfully as sleep
evaded her.

Then she would switch on the light and go to the closet and take the
new dress out. She would hold it up on its hanger and admire it, press
it to her breasts and swing around with it, and as she would do this,
the comforting words of Norma Taylor would replay in her mind. You were
forced... you did the right thing... no woman could have avoided
becoming excited... do nothing... do nothing... the clerk will never
come back...

The dress was a tangible, real symbol of what Cindy so desperately
wanted to believe---needed to believe in order to save her sanity.

But nothing ever helped the cold stab of utter terror which would slice
through Cindy when the doorbell rang, or the phone jingled, or somebody
would hail her name... For in that instant before she heard or saw who
it was, she had the instinctive dread that it was the postal clerk
again...

Thank God Howard finally returned, she sighed. Thank God there's his
warm, protective form next to mine at night... And with the loving
thoughts swirling through her mind, she turned to her husband.

"I love you Howie!" she said, and reaching over, she placed her hand on
his leg.

Howard grinned. He wasn't sure what had prompted that sudden
exclamation; was only glad to hear it. The Lord knew that his wife had
been acting strangely enough since he had come home. It was as if there
was something wrong---but not wrong; as if Cindy was deeply disturbed
about something---yet at the same time overjoyed. Hadn't she bought a
new dress? A reckless little gesture, denting their budget but giving a
tremendous amount of happiness to her, he thought. Hadn't she all but
raped him the minute they'd gotten back from the airport, making so
passionate a bedpartner it was almost as if she was trying to prove
something to him--- or herself? Yes...

But there was the other side, the side which worried him. Hadn't he
glanced at her a number of times when she wasn't aware of him looking
and seen a grim, almost painful cast to her features? Hadn't she
blanched a more pale white---a white more like translucent china than
pearl---when one of the neighbors had phoned? Hadn't she been going
around with a preoccupied air, at times not even hearing him? Yes...

So Howard Jamison had been disturbed, but wasn't sure where or how to
direct his uneasiness. This had been the first time he'd been away from
his wife in their three years of marriage, and for want of a better
reason, he merely assumed that his absence to go to the convention was
the cause of her peculiar behavior. Certainly she had kept insisting
that nothing was the matter when he'd asked her...

He returned to the task of driving. The Volkswagen was a little small
after driving the big Buick he usually had, but the Buick was at Auto
Circus, waiting to be delivered tomorrow to a customer. Moreover, as he
had had to stay later and close up the lot---early, thank heavens; at
nine instead of midnight because of the party---it was simpler from a
time standpoint for Cindy to drive the little station wagon into town
and pick him up rather than having him drive another of the lot cars
home.

Traffic was light and a full moon was casting almost as much light upon
the earth as the sun had earlier. Howard Jamison steered the little car
through the late evening, humming along with a little French tune on
the radio, feeling more content now that his lovely wife had said those
three magical words: l love you. It still didn't displace all of his
concern for her erratic behavior, but the successful convention, the
warm and loving greetings he had had from Cindy upon returning, and the
prospect of a party at Lathrop's combined to shove any worry and doubt
to the back of his mind. The world was well and God was in His
heavens...

The party had been planned on the flight up from Lox Angeles, after the
convention. The general manager, Buddy Lathrop, had insisted that one
be held at his home to celebrate a successful business deal which had
been negotiated: the signing of a national auto lease company to allow
Auto Circus to handle the liquidation of their cars in Northern
California. It was a tremendous coup, for the lease company would
provide a continual stream of a year-to eighteen-month-old cars in top
condition and of the most popular makes and models. It was no wonder
that Lathrop had been in an expansive mood.

All the salesmen, Ralph Taylor, assorted wives and girl friends would
be at the Lathrop residence by now, and Howard knew it would be a
swinging affair. Good Ol' Buddy, the head man over the whole
organization, threw liquor and laughter around in abundant profusion,
belying his tall, stoop- shouldered parsimonious appearance. Perhaps if
the general manager wore black, he might have passed for an undertaker,
but with the wit and smile of a country bumpkin, the shrewd mind of a
born salesman, and the wild clothing of a carnival barker, he had risen
to be one of the richest, most successful car dealers in the state.
Howard was pleased to work for him, just as he wax pleased to work for
his immediate superior, Ralph. Both good men, he thought.

As befitting his position, Lathrop lived in an expensive area outside
of Morriston. There was a section to the south, along Route 34, which
wasn't exactly a suburb, but was a planned community for the few who
could afford the high cost of the custom built homes and restrictive
zoning laws. Lathrop had built a large replica of a southern plantation
mansion, complete with widow's walk and white pillars along the broad,
wide front. It looked like a set out of Gone With the Wind, right down
to the weeping willows and red hibiscus and a carport fashioned to
resemble a carriage house. The backyard, about the size of a football
field, was more modern: swimming pool and cabana, two tennis courts,
and a pond and stream where Mrs. Lathrop raised her prize goldfish.

Buddy Lathrop answered the door when the Jamisons arrived. He stood
beaming, a tall glass of some red punch in his hand, his face slightly
mottled from the liquor. "Come in! Come in!" he greeted, stepping
aside. He was attired gloriously in hound's-tooth check trousers, green
plaid sports coat, and an orange shirt. And as the yellow light from
the hall fell across his cheek when he turned, Cindy saw a smear of
lipstick. The shrieks and laughter from behind him were deafening.

This, she could tell, was going to be another typical salesmen's party.
She smiled and murmured a ritualistic hello-and-how-are-you, while her
more enthusiastic husband grinned broadly and pumped Buddy Lathrop's
hand heartily. The pretty wife was feeling ambivalence toward the
party, although she never mentioned it to her husband.

The three of them walked down the great main hall where the staircase
swept upwards to the second and third floors and beyond, past the
sitting room and the billiard room and the music room where one of the
salesmen was pounding out "Chopsticks" on the Steinway baby grand. All
the while Cindy was biting her lower lip, the opposites of wanting and
yet not wanting to be here surging like cross-currents through her. She
wanted to come here tonight because that way she wouldn't be home
alone... still itching with the fear of being summoned again by that
malicious postal clerk... listening for him and only hearing the
miniature grandfather's clock in the hall ticking off the slow and
endless seconds before Howard would arrive...

And so she had agreed with Howard's request to accompany him tonight,
not even uttering one word about how the types of men and their mates
she would find here disagreed with her. Usually she did so, for while
she loved Howard and admired his boss, the suede-shoe operators at Auto
Circus left her cold. They were loud, crude, and drank too much. They
smoked the most foul-smelling cigars in the world, and insisted on
either blowing the smoke in her face or waving the cigar under her
nostrils as they made some asinine point about something they were
ignorant about. Their wives and girl friends were little better,
spending their whole day reading confession magazines and chewing gum,
with even less to say than the men.

It never failed to give her a splitting headache, coming to one of
these occasions. Christmas, New Year's, assorted birthdays and
anniversaries---she would make sure she and Howard came late and left
early.

Not tonight, though. Tonight Cindy was going to stay until the Lathrops
threw them out. Until the last dog is hung, until the last drink is---

"Howdy!" came a booming voice, and Cindy nearly jumped a foot in the
air. Gruff hands went around her waist and a wine-heavy breath seared
her neck as Art Manacor kissed her. "Haw! Haw! I see you brought your
wonderful little woman tonight, Howie!" he guffawed, his laugh
reminding Cindy of a bowling ball bouncing down a flight of stairs. She
tried to smile and act as though his kiss had been fun... but it hadn't
been. His rubbery lips, his sudden grasp had been too vivid a simile to
the postal clerk's hated touch...

"Yes," Howard grinned, "too big a deal even for her to pass up." He
looked around, slapping the backs of some other men, acting as though
he hadn't seen them for a coon's age, rather than just a matter of
hours. "Say, what's that slop you're drinking, Art?" Howard asked,
pointing to the glass the salesman was holding. "Looks like raspberry
Kool-aid."

"Something called sangria," came the reply. Art blinked, studying the
pieces of lemon and orange at the bottom of the glass. "A wine punch
Binnie found a recipe for in a Spanish cook-book." Binnie was Mrs.
Lathrop's nickname, and what she insisted everybody call her. Manacor
drank a little. "Not bad, and that's all what's available." It had
obviously gotten him high.

"Ah'll get you-all some," cried out Mrs. Manacor. She was a thin,
breastless woman with black spit-curls and a vapid expression, except
when drunk as she was now and then her eyes had a tendency to cross.
She was from Louisiana and had a grating twang which made Cindy think
the bowling ball had crashed through a plate glass window. "You-all
wait raht heah."

Cindy waited impatiently, for she wanted some sangria; wanted a lot of
it, in fact, to dull the building pressure in her head. The party was
going to be terrible, that she could see---but not as terrible as the
silent nightmare shadowing her happy home...

Mrs. Manacor---"Jest cahl me Salli-Ann"---delivered two brimming
tumblers of the ruby liquid and Cindy drank deeply. The sangria was
pleasant tasting, very refreshing, with a combination sweet-tart taste
hard to identify. A fruit punch? No... the fruit taste was in the
background, Cindy thought as she ran her tongue around her lips. A wine
base, plus... what? She finished her glass in three more swallows,
excused herself from Howard, who was explaining what was wrong with the
Buick he had been driving, and the Manacors who were both listening
intently, and walked over to the large cut-crystal punch bowl.

Binnie Lathrop was behind the bowl, busily ladling out the sangria. She
was an impressive woman, statuesque, with a large figure gained from
many years of creamed chicken luncheons at the country club. Her
breasts were well buttressed in a corset, standing out like the
Continental Shelf, and her whole bearing was one of imperious
condescension as she looked over their tops. She was, however, a
pleasant and friendly woman, and unlike most of the other females, knew
something of the world. Cindy's husband had once said of her: "She must
have been one hellion on wheels in her day..."

She was most pleased to see the pretty wife of Auto circus's star
salesman; her own husband being quite aware of Howard's fine record and
coming ability and having mentioned the young man to her. Cindy felt
warmly toward the woman, and after getting a refill, they started
chatting amiably. Binnie Lathrop was happy to give Cindy the recipe for
sangria:

"It's a red wine base, a good and hearty wine like Burgundy. Seven
parts of it to two parts brandy and one part Cointreau, add a little
Vodka if you want---I did---then a bottle of some carbonated ÿ lemon
drink, slices of orange and lemon and some cherries, stir like hell and
serve. Voila!" The older woman chuckled and winked, though never losing
her decorum. "Be careful with it. It's very potent!"

Cindy let some more of the fine punch swirl around her taste-buds. She
nodded. "It's delicious Binnie."

"Well, I thought it might be fun to have something different than the
usual bourbon and scotch and gin. I get so tired of them after a bit."

"Hello, Cindy," came a familiar, mellow voice, and the young girl
turned, startled slightly. Ralph Taylor stood, smiling at the two
women, though his attention was mainly focused on Cindy. "A very pretty
dress you're wearing tonight. Is it new?"

Cindy was flattered that her husband's boss noticed her enough to pick
out a new dress---most men wouldn't have bothered. "Why, thank you,
Ralph. Yes, I bought it while the convention was on. Sort of a pick-me-
up."

"After you've been married as long as I have," Binnie Lathrop
interjected wryly, "you'll be buying the pick-me-ups when your
husband's home, not away."

The three of them laughed at that. Binnie was quite devoted to her
husband, and everybody knew that. They talked a little more, and then
Ralph said to Cindy:

"My wife is dancing with Higgins. How about you and I trying a little
swing around the floor?"

"Well... I... I don't know." Cindy looked around for her husband. She
saw him in an animated conversation with another salesman over in one
corner, oblivious to everything else. Then she saw Ralph's raven-haired
wife in the arms of the head of the body shop, Higgins trying not to
step on either her's or his own feet. He was not much of a dancer. The
music which was playing on the tape recorder built in to one bookshelf
was a fast fox-trot, and Cindy was not in the mood for such a beat.

"No, I think not, Ralph. It's a little fast for me."

Just as she spoke, the number ended, and was followed almost
immediately by Jackie Gleason's orchestra playing "Moonglow."

"This better, eh?" Ralph asked. Not waiting for an answer, he took the
glass from Cindy's hand and placed it on the table and swept her in his
arms. "But---" Cindy protested weakly.

"Go ahead," urged Binnie Lathrop. "Ralph is such a good dancer. Relax
and enjoy the party..." Her last words were drowned out as Cindy found
herself whisked to the middle of the polished wood floor. There was one
mole moment of unreasoned resistance, and then she let the strong
muscular arms of her husband's boss lead her gently to the beat of the
music. The violins and muted horns wafted to her ears, soothing her...

The three glasses of sangria, taken as they had been on an empty
stomach for Cindy had lost her appetite that evening, began to slowly
seep through her blood. She began to smile and, as suggested by Mrs.
Lathrop, relax and enjoy herself. The sharp edge of panic melted and
she found herself humming, her eyes half closed, as the music changed
from "Moonglow" to "The Theme from Picnic." She dropped her head and
pressed against Ralph Taylor's rising chest.

Hot damn, the scheming manager thought, trying to control his trembling
passions, things are better than I thought. After Norma told me about
that post office clerk getting into Cindy's pants, I figured I wouldn't
be able to score until I found out who the little bastard was and went
to see him... talked to him about some certain facts... but the way
things are going, maybe l can speed up the action... got to go at it
just right, though... just right...

He held the slightly high young wife tighter, his total willpower being
taxed to stop his penis from becoming hard and pressing against her
undulating belly. The dress she had on, or he should say, the lack of a
dress, certainly didn't help his control any. When she had walked in
with her husband, Ralph had almost creamed in his pants on the spot,
ogling the tight buttocks and ripe, jutting breasts, and smooth expanse
of thigh and leg... never had so little covered so little. It made him
quiver with the desire to really possess this proud little beauty, to
bore his cock deep in her vagina as the postal clerk had done---damn
that sneaky bastard's hide.

Ralph Taylor had immediately set to work trying to find a way of
getting his desires answered that night, to seduce the wife of his star
salesman at the party and not to wait until Norma was able to quietly
find out who the clerk was. His prick and testicles ached with burning
fire for the beautiful little wife, stoking his mind to come up with a
plan of attack.

And he had. He waited until she had consumed enough of the sangria to
become slightly wobbly, and then he started in. First this dance...
then a short break for another glass of that wine punch. Ralph chuckled
secretly to himself. Sangria didn't taste strong, it went down like
soda- pop, and women who would normally never indulge heavily soon
found themselves drunk out of their minds. Sangria was sneaky... just
as he was.

The music stopped, and Ralph led the pretty wife back to the punch bowl
and her glass. She drank thirstily, finishing it, and Mrs. Lathrop
filled the glass again... They talked, the three of them, of general
items: the local gossip, opinions on the fools in Washington, D.C., the
Middle East and the Indochina war... Ralph sat out two more numbers and
then, when another slow dance was played, he took Cindy in his arms
again and way they went. Then there was more sangria...

After the third dance, Cindy was beginning to stumble a bit, and her
tongue was getting tied around words of multisyllable. It was, the
manager thought, about time to drop the bombshell. The tape was
unwinding "Laura" and as he again danced with her, he leaned down and
whispered in her shell-like ear: "Cindy, Norma told me about the postal
clerk."

The reaction of the little housewife was sudden and cataclysmic. She
stopped dead in her tracks, a quivering, shaking statue of agony, her
mouth open and her eyes wide as saucers. "No!" she feebly choked. "No,
she couldn't have!"

The sangria dulled the worst of the terrible pain which coursed through
her brain. She had already realized that she had had too much to drink,
but as happens when such a point is reached, she really didn't care. At
this moment, she was desperately glad, for the dual shock of hearing
that Norma had spread her confidential confession and of being reminded
of that wretched man and his blackmail would have been too much for her
tortured mind to absorb sober.

"N-Norma had no... no right!" she moaned, shuddering.

"Now take it easy, Cindy," the manager soothed, wrapping his arms
around her. "Listen to me. Norma was very concerned about you, and
naturally she turned to her husband for advice."

Obstinately, the pretty housewife fought back her tears and said
bitterly: "She warned me against telling Howie!"

"Well, of course she did, Cindy. He would be the wronged husband,
wouldn't he? I mean, it isn't as though I was hurt by your ah,
indiscretions. But Howie could very well become belligerent, seeing as
it's his pretty young wife who was in bed with another man and---"

"Stop it! Stop it!" wailed Cindy, putting her hands over her ears. "I
can't stand it any longer!"

Ralph looked around, feared that her sudden outburst might have
attracted attention. No; the others were well inebriated and laughing
and shouting louder than her cry had been. Her husband, Howard, was out
of the corner now and doing a wild rhumba to the slow music, a
lampshade on his head. Others had crowded around and were clapping and
hooting him on... there was a crash from another room and a shriek of
giggling...

"Cindy!" he hissed. "Get hold of yourself! You have to face the
situation, no matter how unpleasant. Don't you understand?"

"No... no..." the now hysterical young wife pleaded.

"I'm your friend, Cindy. Believe me, Norma did the right thing telling
me. I can help you."

"Help me?" Cindy looked up suddenly. Could he? she thought wildly,
groping at straws.

"If Howard should find out somehow. Or if that damnable clerk makes
good his threat and turns you in. What then?"

"I... I don't know," she shuddered, the possibilities too horrible to
contemplate. "I don't know what I'd do."

"Well, we have to talk these things out, Cindy." He looked around
again. "We can't talk here, though. Too many people. Tell you what;
let's go outside and discuss this. All right?"

"Outside?"

"In your car. It'll be nice and private there, and nobody will overhear
us."

"But... but what about Howie?"

"He's fine. He's having a ball. Hasn't missed you yet, has he?" Ralph
saw the shake of her head, indicating the negative answer, and he
pressed on. "We have to stick together, us Taylors and Jamisons. Now
you go on outside. I'll join you in a minute."

"Ralph---" she started to say, but Cindy knew that she was going to the
car. She had to, for as Ralph Taylor had said, she was in no position
to take care of the potentialities if they should occur. She would have
never dared to go to her husband's boss, never even would have
considered going to another male, friend or no. But now that Norma had
done so--- strictly with good intentions, of what Cindy was now
assured---and the manager had evinced such strong personal interest in
her plight, she was going to lay bare the sordid details again and see
what Ralph Taylor could do to alleviate her miserable dilemma.

"Now, go on," Ralph prompted. "That's it. I'll be out in a minute. Soon
as I go to the bathroom."

Nodding numbly, Cindy Jamison, a frail of swirling emotions and
agonies, headed for the front door. Binnie Lathrop, coming out of the
kitchen with another tureen of sangria, paused and asked her if
anything was the matter. Cindy shook her head, saying that no, she just
wanted a breath of fresh air.

The moment that the pretty young wife of his star salesman was out of
sight, Ralph Taylor began the second part of his plan. He hurried over
to the general manager, Buddy Lathrop, who was listening with a bored
expression to a story about a nude mermaid, a New York executive on a
deep-sea fishing trip, and a bag full of lead weights.

"Buddy," he said, sidling up to his boss. "Buddy, come over here for a
minute, will you?" He indicated a quiet corner with a tilt of his head.

Lathrop nodded, wondering why his manager was so all-fired anxious.
"Thank heavens you came along when you did. That's one of the oldest
dirty jokes I know, and if Murcheson doesn't learn any new ones soon,
I'm going to---"

"Buddy, listen," Taylor cut in. "You got a pint bottle of something
around here?"

"Sure, I guess so. Old Tennessee bourbon, I believe, in my study. If
Binnie ever found it, it would be my balls, I---"

"I want it. Now."

Lathrop shrugged and the two of them started across the living room to
his study. "Mind telling me why? Binnie's sangria gotten to you?"

Taylor grinned, his grin a fiendish look of devilment. "The sangria is
great, Buddy. No, this is to help me collect a bet I made with you a
while back."

"A bet you made with me?" Lathrop still was confused, but went to his
desk, a wide and ornate Victorian roll-top. He opened one of the
drawers and fished around in the back. "I don't follow. Ah, here it
is." He brought out a barely used pint of bourbon and handed it to the
manager.

"Remember when you bet me a hundred dollars that I'd never make it into
Cindy Jamison's pants?" Taylor said.

Lathrop laughed heartily. "Sure I did. Why, I'd pay you another hundred
if you got me a crack at it, too."

"Well, tonight I'm going to collect that first hundred for sure."

Lathrop's eyes boggled. "No! I don't believe you. Nobody can get into
that naive little bitch."

Taylor snickered. "If you're real nice and are serious about that
second hundred, I might just arrange for you to grab a little of it,
too."

"Tell me more," Lathrop said, suddenly very interested. He was almost
as much of a swinger as his manager was, going after women whenever he
could get a chance of avoiding his steely-eyed wife. Christ, just the
idea of nailing that tender little pussy of Howie Jamison's wife made
his cock tingle with lewd preparations. "What are you going to do, feed
her Spanish fly?"

Taylor shook his head and lifted the bourbon bottle. "Nope. Just
this... and the old Ralph Taylor touch, heh, heh. Now listen, Buddy.
I'm going out to her car, see; she's already there, waiting for me."

"My God, I'd have never believed it," Lathrop said in new-found awe of
his employee. "Waiting for you, no less."

"Right, and I can't keep her waiting for long, heh, heh. In about
fifteen minutes, you sneak out very quietly. I think you might get a
little view well worth your trouble, heh, heh."

"Yeah, but what about my---"

"Your turn? Have to play that by ear." Taylor turned to leave the book-
lined, walnut paneled room. "But I damn well want to have that hundred
bucks for winning the bet we made first, and at least I'll prove that
much to you."

"Ralph---" Lathrop was licking his thin lips, a gleam in his eyes.

Taylor was by the door. "Yes?"

"You set it up so that I can fuck that Cindy Jamison, and I'll raise
your salary." A rash statement, the general manager thought as soon as
he said it---but on second consideration, he was ready to raise the
ante still more. That young beauty with all her wide-eyed aura of
virginity had been on his mind a long time. And now... if Taylor could,
well by God no price was too high. "Hear me? I'll raise it, Ralph."

Taylor chuckled obscenely. "Worry about raising that cock of yours,
then. Cindy Jamison is going to get screwed like she's never been
screwed before!"

He walked briskly to the front door, eagerness already swelling his
testicles, bloating them with the sperm he was going to pour into that
tight, hardly touched cunt of his star salesman's young wife. This was
going to be great he gloated to himself, a piece of the finest tail in
Morriston, a bet that will put a hundred dollars in my pocket, and a
raise besides.

Now all he had to do was to play his cards right...

Cindy Jamison slumped against the door, shuddering as she sat in the
passenger side of the Volkswagen Variant, her face buried in her hands.
She cried plaintively, weeping her tortured emotions into her palms as
one might wash an infected wound. The sangria she had consumed to dull
her sensitivities had, if anything, only loosened the barriers holding
them back, and now, fully surrendered to the alcohol, she allowed her
pent-up emotions release.

She had purged her soul once, to Norma Taylor... but the intervening
days when she had been forced to act the part of a carefree, loving
housewife to Howard, her husband, had once more built the raging storm
of her torment to cyclone proportions. It had forced her to this party,
had been the leading cause of her not eating and then of drinking
heavily---and was, with the help of the potent sangria, completely
controlling her mind. She was nearly delirious, almost psychotically
hysterical, and there wasn't even the sanity of sobriety to fall back
upon.

Her only prayer, her only hope was Ralph Taylor; or so her benumbed
mind thought. The one thing that had kept her from dashing out of the
house and fleeing to where? Anywhere---so long as it was far, far away-
-- was the comforting words that Ralph Taylor would help her. Perhaps
if she hadn't partaken of the sangria so heavily, if she didn't have a
head spinning so madly, she might have considered that it had been the
sales manager's opening words: Norma told me about the postal clerk
which had sent her into such a mental tailspin.

As it was, when her husband's boss opened the other side of the car and
climbed in beside her, she looked upon him almost as a savior, an angel
who could save her from the depredations of her actions.

"Thank God, Ralph," the pretty young housewife moaned. "I was afraid
you weren't going to come." She started crying again.

"Everything will be all right, Cindy," the manager said, and he put his
arm around her, as a father might his errant daughter. "Of course I was
going to come. You don't think I'd let you be like this, do you? So
upset and everything..."

She leaned against him, clutching to him for dear life. "It... it was
terrible, Ralph," she blurted. "I... I sent for some pictures from the
Polaroid Club... like the ones you gave to Howie... only wanted to
surprise him..." and she went on to pour forth the total story of her
humiliation by the postal clerk, breaking into sobs of agony
frequently.

As she talked, Ralph was only half listening. He knew the story
already, had Norma repeat it to him until he knew every detail.
Instead, he looked around and saw that the back of the station wagon
was empty, and that the rear seat had been folded down. Good, good.
Plenty of room back there to fuck... can't do it here, not with these
bucket seats and gear shift... Now to figure out a way of getting her
back there...

He pulled out the pint of Old Tennessee, uncapped it and gave her the
bottle. "Here, Cindy. Take a swallow. It'll help."

She took it gratefully and drank heavily. The liquor burned a path to
her stomach, but she was too wrought up and too drunk to notice... she
drank again, came up for air and continued telling her story...

"Then... he made me get up on my knees and he... he did it to me from
behind... I've never done that even with my husband before... he... he
even did it to me in my mouth... Oh, God, Ralph, it was just awful,"
she sobbed.

He interrupted her with an urging to take another swallow, which she
did, and then he said: "Would you like to lie down, take a rest?
Wouldn't that be better?"

"Yes..." The combination of the sangria, Old Tennessee, and her now
purged soul had made her lethargic, dazed, and she had to fight to keep
her eyes open. Her muscles seemed to be plastic and her bones like
sawdust. "But I don't want to go back inside yet, Ralph, not until you
talk to me about what you can do for me... I need your help..."

Her voice was slurred and thick, as though her mouth was full of
pebbles---or she had taken too much liquor and was very, very drunk.
The auto executive smiled and said, "You can crawl over the seat and
stretch out in back if you like."

Cindy looked up from Ralph's chest. "That would be nice," she replied
dreamily. "Help me..."

Ralph Taylor did, his cock hardening into a throbbing beast as he
carefully helped his salesman's wife to semi-stand and squeeze between
the two seats. Her motions were jerky and fumbling; she wouldn't have
been able to stand, he thought, not now after all that booze. But she
sprawled on the rubber matting of the back section, not minding or even
being aware that her short dress had slipped up around her panties.
Taylor sucked in his breath as he saw the thinly covered pubic mound
become exposed... then he squeezed back there with her, and the two of
them lay side by side in the cramped quarters, and he placed his hands
around her and held her to him.

Taylor stroked the very inebriated young wife's golden hair lightly,
gently, comfortingly. And in a smooth, rich tone of voice he intoned,
"Don't think about it, Cindy. Don't think about that strange man and
you and how you looked on your bed, about the passion you two were
experiencing, don't think about it at all..."

In the tortured, stupefied confusion of her mind, Cindy Jamison
couldn't help thinking about what she and Samuels had done---and why.
She remained in her husband's boss's gently pressing embrace, stretched
out in the back of the station wagon, a dreamy torpor making her
lightheaded and giddy. His words flowed like honey, soothing and
hypnotic... and although she didn't want to think about what she had
done with the postal clerk, his soporific voice dredged still more from
her subconscious mind. She sobbed into the thin material of Taylor's
shirt, finding security in his masculine nearness and the gentle
stroking of his hand on her bare arm. And horribly, perversely, the
images in her drunken brain started to have a certain physical effect
on her dazed mind as well. She could feel an odd twitching in her
belly, and for some crazy reason she sensed that her nipples were
hardening in her bra cups. She tried to will her body to cease its evil
awakening and her mind to stop the vivid remembrances---but nothing she
tried to do would work. And what was Ralph Taylor saying? The same as
his wife Norma, had told her?

"... You're all woman, Cindy. Of course you couldn't help but enjoy his
penis inside you. Of course you liked his tongue on your lips and
between your legs. You couldn't help not liking it, Cindy. You're a
real woman... a sexually alive woman..."

He continued to stroke her shoulder, letting his hand slide slowly
down. Cindy had stopped crying now, though her face was still pressed
to his shirt, and he sensed that his caress had quickened her breath.
He teased the ridge of her spine, pressing his horizontal body closer
to hers, and he whispered into her hair bolder and bolder words:

"You and the clerk were making love, Cindy. No, you were fucking,
Cindy. But you mustn't think badly of yourself for your actions.
Everyone likes to fuck..."

Cindy was breathing faster now, and the manager could hear this drunken
little wife of his salesman trembling with her reactions. Well, if
there was ever a moment to give it everything, this was it!

Taylor brought his hand casually from her shoulder to the swelling
mound of her breast. He began to rub the pliant globe tenderly through
the thin dress and bra, and there was a sharp intake of breath from the
beautiful wife and a sudden stiffening of her body and a convulsive
kneading of his shirt. But she made no move to pull away! The sales
manager grinned eagerly, knowing he had won, that she would be his, and
he ran his thumb over her rock-hard nipples, his heart pounding in his
chest and his cock leaping in the cage that was his shorts and pants.

A warning scream tried to penetrate the fogged, drugged lethargy which
inundated Cindy Jamison's mind, tried to warn her that something was
going to happen if she didn't pull away. And yet, unexplainably, his
hand on her breast felt good... and his voice, so far away to her ears,
made everything sound right. It was as if the sangria and the bourbon
had been some liquid cement, gluing her to this position, making her
unable to move at all... and the pinwheel thoughts in her mind made her
not really want to move... not yet...

And then the manager's hand slid down from her breasts and went to her
bare thigh, sliding up along the hot skin under her new dress. Higher
and higher---until his fingers were touching the silk-encased mound of
her vagina. He slipped up and down the now moist furrow from the
outside, then pushed the secreting crotchband of her panties aside and
slipped his middle finger into the wet, trembling passage of Cindy's
suddenly hotly burning young cunt.

The distraught, nearly comatose from alcohol, wife squirmed up tighter
against the sales manager with the contact of his finger against her
naked flesh. Her whole being began to oscillate and she moaned in
staccato cadence. The warning voice of before tolled again through the
swamp which was her fevered mind: Wrong... wrong... I love Howie, I
must be faithful to him... not Ralph... not with Ralph... stop it...
stop it...

But she couldn't stop it. She was incapable of pulling away, and she
could only lie there in the back of the station wagon and let her
husband's boss continue to work his hand down between her legs, to
tease the hard bud of her clitoris and revel in her soft, elastic
vaginal opening.

Christ, Taylor thought, she really turns on, just like I hoped she
would, damn well knew she would after that night she unknowingly sucked
my cock... She's all fired up for a good fuck, and when a woman like
her gets that way, nothing else matters. He whispered in her ear:
"Cindy, baby, help me... help me take your panties off..."

"No..." came the feeble answer. "Oh, God, no, Ralph!"

"Yes..." he hissed back, and he moved around so that he hovered over
her limply splayed legs, removing his finger from her wet, trembling
pussy. He bunched her dress around her waist and hooked his fingers
into the waistband of her panties and slid them down slowly over her
full rounded young thighs and hips. Cindy tried to stop him, to yell
out to leave her alone... but her body was controlled by other forces
and, in spite of her hesitation, she found herself raising her hips
obediently. And then her softly hair-lined cunt came into moonlit view,
and Taylor gazed salaciously at it, his mouth watering at the beautiful
sight.

The sales manager drove his head savagely downward, unable to control
his lusting emotions, and his lips mashed onto her vaginal lips, his
tongue parting the softly curling pubic hair and slipping teasingly
down the pink-rimmed valley. Cindy shuddered and involuntarily her legs
spread a little wider, allowing him further room. She whined sharply
and convulsed into lurches as his long, hot tongue speared her quaking
flesh. And as he flicked his mouth and tongue around the velvety soft
interior of her vagina, he unbuckled his pants and pushed them with his
shorts down, allowing them to tangle around his ankles. Now that he had
the little bitch so hot and ready, he did not want to take the time to
fully undress. He was afraid she might suddenly come to her senses and
all would be lost.

Cindy's mind was in complete turmoil now, the blood fever of his touch
and then his mouth filling her with animal wantonness---yet the other
part, the portion so satiated with alcohol as to render it nothing more
than a protest in vain, cried out that this was wrong... all wrong and
must stop!

And suddenly, Taylor stopped.

He raised his head and grinned triumphantly down at her, his lips and
chin wet with her sexual secretions.

"Ralph... Ralph... Ralph..." was all that the crazed young housewife
was able to chant to the manager.

"I'm going to fuck you now, my sweet little friend. I'm going to put my
long, hard cock inside your pussy and cum in it." And with those words,
the lasciviously grinning sales manager moved across the unresisting
body of his salesman's wife. He held his long lust-hardened cock at the
open mouth of her moist palpitating cunt, and then he levered forward,
sending his sensitive, hungry cock sliding hotly, deliciously far up
into her quivering young belly.

Oh, God, he's inside me... he's inside me...! Cindy thought vaguely,
her mind and soul shattered by the liquor and the wretchedness of her
emotions, and her body one huge sensation of pagan desire. He can't be
doing this... he can't, and I can't be letting him, but he is. Oh, he
is... and, oh, God, it feels so good... I must stop him... but how can
I when I can't stop myself?

Ralph Taylor's long, hard penis flashed up and down in her tight cuntal
passage, his body heaving in demoniacal force as he drew his sperm-
heavy cock nearly out of the clasping sheath of the mesmerized young
Cindy's pussy, then plunging down again until his aching, bloated
testicles slapped ruthlessly against her naked inner thighs. He was so
intent on the release of his nearly bursting orgasm, that he never
noticed the shadow which pressed against the rear window, or the
disbelieving face which gaped in on them...

The general manager of Auto Circus had no trouble finding the
Volkswagen. He knew, as Ralph Taylor had known, that the Buick young
Howard Jamison usually drove had been sold, so that meant the second
car, the one the Jamisons owned, would be out in the broad gravel
parking area. He made a couple of excuses after his watch told him
fifteen minutes had passed, and snuck out of the large French doors at
the side of the house, and worked his way around to the front. The
bright moon cast pale, glistening light on the landscape, making his
chore easy. The trees and shrubs were as if painted with some ghostly
radiance where the shine hit them, and the many lamps illuminating the
interior of the house also shone through the windows, helping him as he
snuck through the glade.

There... just ahead... the outline of the Volkswagen. Buddy Lathrop
sucked in his breath sharply and felt a tingle of anticipation surge
through his loins and stiffen his penis as he stealthily approached. If
Taylor wasn't kidding...

But he must have been, the head man thought, frowning. There wasn't
anybody in the car that he could see... it was totally empty. Then he
heard the soft moan, a woman's throaty purr, and the murmuring of,
"RaIph... Ralph... Ralph..."

His head nearly dizzy with the anticipatory thoughts of that lovely,
naive young wife of one of his best salesman being thoroughly fucked by
Taylor... of that luscious Cindy Jamison first succumbing to the sales
manager and then to him---Christ! It was enough to send his semen
shooting out right then and there!

He hurried to the window... peered in, cupping his hands around his
face so that he could see clearly. He eyed the couple.

Great balls of fire! He was doing it! Old Ralph Taylor was fucking the
hell out of sweet, innocent Cindy Jamison! Buddy Lathrop nearly
staggered backwards as the full impact of the lewd, licentious coupling
blasted his eyes. There was his sales manager pumping up and down on
top of the lovely little wife of Jamison, sinking his cock to its hilt
between her widespread legs, his huge hairy balls slapping noisily
against her buttocks. And there was Jamison's wife undulating her body
and buttocks in tiny hungry circles, her face turned sideways so that
the general manager could see the effect the fuck being thrown into her
was having on her body. Her features were contorted, as if in rapture,
and her mouth hinged wide, her tongue licking ever dry lips.

The chief of Auto Circus found his breath coming in tight gasps and the
burning sensations in his belly growing to maddening proportions with
each moment he watched the young naive girl being ravished. His body
perspired freely, in spite of the night air, and his forehead was
bathed in tiny beads of sweat. His nerves seemed shattered and his mind
danced at the salacious sight, and his penis sprung to full hardness,
leaving a trail of wetness in his underpants as it climbed to erection.

Cindy Jamison looked almost inhuman to the general manager as he
beadily focused on the wildly writhing couple. She was no longer human
to him, but a quivering mass of sweating, lust-deranged flesh that was
begging for this subjugation, was reveling in humiliation at being
fucked by the near-beast over her. She ground her buttocks lasciviously
down into the mat of the car and the perspiration on her body and on
the sales manager's skin glittered in the pale moonlight like moving
diamonds.

Lathrop couldn't stand it much longer. He slowly slid his hands down
and stroked his burgeoning cock through his pants. Then, unable to
resist the temptation, he unbuckled his pants and let them puddle
around his feet. He lifted one leg, his eyes still feasting on the lewd
adultery going on before him, and removed one shoe and one pantleg.
Then the other... and then his underpants. He moaned, transfixed, his
cock jutting forward from his loins and pressing against the rear
license plate. The cold metal of the plate against the head of his cock
made an odd tingling sensation. He rubbed his thick shaft up and down
in time to the rhythmic drubbings of the manager, Taylor, and the
salesman's wife, Cindy, as the one screwed into the other mercilessly.

Lathrop watched with lust-filled eyes the actions in the bed of the
Volkswagen, ready to crawl up the side of the car to quench the fire
raging through his penis and testicles. The sight of that virginal girl
being buffeted by Taylor without mercy was too much! Something had to
give!

Something did.

The sales manager, Taylor, cried out, "Oh, Jesus! I'm going to cum! I'm
going... AAHHHHHHHHHHH!" His body froze in mid-stroke, then hurtled
downward again in an insane fury as his climax struck and his white hot
semen spewed out of his balls like lava from a volcano, inundating
Cindy Jamison's vagina, filling her womb to the overflowing; Buddy
Lathrop could see his employee's hot sticky cum flow out around his
cock and form a puddle on the black matting beneath their sweating
heaving bodies... Then Taylor collapsed forward over the quivering
woman, cooing his delight in her ears.

Cindy saw the flash of light as the overhead lamp in the back of the
Volkswagen went on and clenched her eyes shut tightly to block it out.
Through the haze of alcohol and passion she was dully aware of someone
standing at the now open tailgate, hunched slightly forward. But
nothing mattered except the body of the man breathing hotly over her.

"Goddamn," she heard a voice harshly grate. "You were right, Ralph, you
certainly were right! Her pussy really was climbing!"

"Didn't I tell you I'd nail her? Heh, heh, be patient, if you want a
little of her."

"Man, is she tender! If you don't fuck her to death, I will!"

Ralph Taylor chuckled lewdly and Cindy felt his deflating penis slip
from her ravaged vagina and his hands pull at her hips. She could sense
the sucking withdrawal between her legs and the cool rush of air to her
tortured loins, suddenly freed from the body of the sales manager. The
pain that existed in her mind and in her loins was replaced by a
different pain... that of unsatisfied desire. She squeezed her buttocks
together, almost beside herself, for the end was so near and now so far
away. She writhed on the mat, lost in the hedonistic world the liquor
and her own betraying flesh had evolved, and one hand strayed to her
damp, hair-lined slit. She dug into herself greedily, trying to reach
the impossible depths the vanquished cock had a moment before.

In the distance she heard the rustle of clothing as the two men changed
positions, and she trembled, half in fear and half from impatience.
Then... male hands searching over her again, pulling her thighs apart,
urgent fingers parting the lips of her throbbing cunt... and a deep
voice, a voice she knew but couldn't at the moment identify, rumbling
as a storm cloud rumbles thunder from above. "Come on, baby. Big
Daddy's gonna show you what fucking is all about!"

She gasped at the force of the powerful fingers... and the sudden blunt
stab of a fiery pole of flesh. The still unknown male dropped like a
sack of concrete, smashing her tightly to the mat. His thick penis
plunged into her hungry waiting cunt, pushing the moist unresisting
folds of pussy flesh in rippling waves before its smooth, tunneling
head.

Cindy cried aloud at the quick brutal impalement, surprised by its
thickness. Her whole body twitched and writhed uncontrollably as she
groaned out in helpless and abandoned welcome to the punishing
instrument sinking ever deeper in her cunt. But the pain was only
momentary, and then the greedy walls of her vagina clasped around the
fleshy cudgel hungrily, slithering up wetly to devour its length to its
hilt. She groaned in relief at the filling of her wide-stretched cuntal
passage as the general manager, his identity still unknown to the
helpless young girl, began a heavy thrusting motion in her hungrily
grinding pussy. She hissed her sex-fire between her clenched teeth, the
inferno raging in her loins spurred on by the liquor and the obscene
position she realized faintly she was in. Through glazed, half-lidded
eyes she saw the black form heaving above her. There was somebody else
watching them from just outside the station wagon, which she knew
instinctively was Ralph Taylor, though she couldn't make out the
blurred image... and now it wasn't important. The flames of unfulfilled
lust infernoed out of control, and there was nothing else in the world.
No today, no tomorrow, no Howard; nothing save her deep hole of lust
and flesh, of belly smacking belly, of cock heaving against cunt.

"I'm cumming---oh, you little bitch, I'm cumming! Fuck harder! Fuck
harder!" came the maniacal voice above her. "Uuuuhhhhhhhhh!"

Cindy Jamison, ruled by the pagan instincts of her female biology,
responded automatically, not caring who was driving so deeply in her,
who was ready to burst his sperm next. Her hands darted behind the
man's driving buttocks, pulling him to her, spreading her legs wider
and pulling them upwards until the soles of her feet pressed hard up
against the roof of the car. Her juices flowed wetly out around his
still-pounding prick, trickling down the splayed crevice of her
buttocks and mingled with the spent seed of the sales manager's orgasm.

"Give it to her," the Ralph-voice goaded excitedly from somewhere in
the distance. "Shoot it in her!"

Spurred on by the words and Cindy's greedily twisting body below, the
general manager, Lathrop, dug yet deeper into the girl, forcing her
legs yet farther back, doubling her in half, fucking her like a pile-
driving machine out of control. He groaned and Cindy felt the hot waves
of his sperm shooting into her dilated cunt, mixing lasciviously with
the pool Ralph Taylor had throbbed into her before. Her head whirled in
depraved sensuality as the powerful spurts surged wildly in her,
filling her to the bursting point with its sticky wetness. The burning
walls of her vagina clasped and unclasped desperately like a starving
mouth, and she was utterly caught up in the lewd web of ecstasy. She
opened her mouth for a soundless scream---

And her own orgasm struck!

There, in the back of the Volkswagen, being fucked half to death by a
man she could not identify, Cindy Jamison was totally reduced to a
churning mass of sensual jelly in that instant. Great flashes of
pinwheel light sparkled before her tightly shut eyes, and pleasure so
acute that it bordered on pain consumed every fibre of her being. She
heard but did not hear the wild sluicing sounds of Buddy Lathrop's
ejaculating penis sawing in and out between her legs,---felt but did
not feel the fleshy smackings of his sperm-loaded testicles against her
flailing thighs---knew only that she was grunting out her climax and
was nearly out of her mind with its impending magnificence.

She collapsed then, her firm young body drained of everything, her
limbs loosely spread on the black floor mat as Lathrop's grip was
released. She lay spread-eagled as she felt his heavy weight lift from
her and again the night air flowed over her sweat-soaked skin. The
Ralph- voice spoke in the distance as she faded to deep, peaceful
unconsciousness.

"Help me get her panties on now, will you? We'll put her in the front
seat and then go back to the party."

"Soon as I get my pants on. What about her husband?"

Taylor chuckled as he peered in at the comatose young wife of his star
salesman. "He'll never know. Take my word for it. She won't ever spill
what happened to her tonight. Now, come on. We'll tell old Howie- boy
that his little darling had too much to drink and fell asleep. True
enough; we just won't add about the part in between the too much to
drink and the falling asleep. He'll take her home and that will be
that."

"You son of a bitch, Ralph," Lathrop said approvingly, reaching for a
leg of the piteous little housewife. "You really earned that raise
tonight."

"And the hundred dollars, too, don't forget."

"Don't worry, after fucking that sweet little cunt? I can't forget!"

On the Thursday following the party, at eleven-thirty a.m., Ralph
Taylor left Auto Circus and drove into downtown Morriston. He parked
his year-old Cadillac in front of the large graystone building which
housed the Post Office on Second and Market Streets, and stepped out
into the brilliant sunshine. He was smiling openly, with smug self-
satisfaction and anticipation, as he made his way along the crowded
sidewalks, filled with morning shoppers, to enter the mausoleum-like
structure.

He walked leisurely along the marble interior corridor, his eyes
seeking out and locating the window above which a horizontal sign
jutted out at right angles, reading: Parcel Post---Post Boxes. He
stopped by one of the canted writing desks set against the opposite
wall when he noticed the fat woman with a large parcel under her arm
step up to the window and begin an earnest conversation with the
smallish figure who sat behind the counter.

Ralph waited patiently, casually puffing on one of his expensive
cigars, until the woman had finished transacting her business and left
the window deserted. Then the automobile executive sauntered slowly
over to the cubicle and leaned his thick elbows on the countertop. He
smiled lazily as the gnome-like clerk looked up at him and said in a
gravely voice, "Help you?"

"You can," said Ralph, blowing smoke over the clerk's right shoulder
with studied disregard, "if your name is Steve Samuels."

The government employee frowned, close-set eyes narrowing. "That's my
name, all right. What's it to you, mister?"

Ralph laughed softly, smoothly. "Oh, nothing much. I'd like to take you
to lunch, that's all, Samuels."

"Lunch?" The clerk's eyes were almost hidden now beneath their puffy
lids, and his rubbery lips were set warily.

"That's right."

"What for?"

"To discuss a certain matter."

"What matter?"

Again, Ralph Taylor blew a stream of smoke. "Concerning a certain young
housewife named Cindy Jamison," he said easily.

Fear leapt suddenly in Steve Samuels's eyes, and his claw-like hands
clamped hard onto the edge of the counter until the knuckles were
white. Sweat popped out in beaded pustules on his forehead and sallow
cheeks, and spittle flecked his thick lips. "I... I don't know what
you're talking about."

"I think you do, Samuels," said Taylor.

"No... no. You'd better leave now, or---" Samuels let the sentence
trail off as more sweat appeared on his face.

"Or what?" Ralph said with a soft chuckle. "You'll call the police, or
the building guards? Who're you kidding, Samuels? You don't dare call
anybody, and you know it." He lowered his voice even more than he
already had. "I doubt if you'd want your superiors to know what kind of
little racket you've been running from behind your postal position."

"R-racket?"

"Don't try to bluff it out," Taylor told him, some of the patience
leaving his voice to be replaced by hard, authoritative tones. "I know
who and what you are, Samuels, and I know what you've been doing with
the mails and with some of Morriston's more nubile young wives. I've
got you cold, Samuels."

The fear was a living entity on the wizened civil servant's face now,
and he looked wildly about him, as if seeking an avenue of escape. His
tongue came out like an ugly pink snake to moisten his lips again and
again. "What... what do you want?" he managed to quaver.

"I told you," Ralph Taylor said, once again letting his voice go
casual. "I want to take you to lunch."

"Who are you, mister? You're not---"

"From the authorities, state or federal? No, I'm just a private
citizen, Samuels, with what you might call a personal stake in this
matter."

Samuels's eyes flickered nervously to the clock overhead. It was almost
noon. "I... I get off at twelve, for an hour."

"That's fine. We'll go down the street, to Marian's Steak House."

The postal clerk's eyes flicked over Taylor's shoulder, and he hissed,
"Customer. I... I have to wait on him now."

"Sure," said Ralph carelessly. "I'll be waiting out front for you at
noon, Samuels. And you'd better be there, if you know what's good for
you."

The frightened man nodded spasmodically, still sweating, and Ralph
Taylor turned away with the smile playing over his mouth once again. He
walked slowly down the gloomy marble corridor and passed through the
exit door into the bright noonday sunlight.

Steve Samuels went through the motions of waiting on the customer who
had come up, his hands and mouth working mechanically, to do and say
the proper things. But his brain was whirling furiously. Fear lived in
him like an animal in a dark cave. Who was that casually grinning man
who had come out of nowhere to threaten his very existence? How could
he have known about Cindy Jamison? How could he have known about the
others as well, about the use he was making of his position and the
government regulation allowing him to open public mail at will?

And most important, what did he want? What did he intend to do with his
knowledge?

Blackmail? the clerk thought suddenly, as the customer turned to leave
the window. Samuels stared unseeingly at the retreating back. Was that
it? Did the big, grinning man intend to blackmail him? Oh, Christ, if
that was it, he was completely trapped; he had no bargaining power. He
was a poor man, his job at the Post Office paying only a mere pittance,
enough to keep him alive and clothed and with a roof over his head. He
couldn't pay any blackmail sum, no matter how small...

Oh, Jesus, Jesus! What was he going to do? But wait... maybe it wasn't
blackmail for money; maybe the stranger was after something else,
something he, Samuels, could supply and supply easily. Maybe... But
there was no use speculating on it now; he would know soon enough, when
he went with the stranger to lunch. Again, his eyes flicked up to the
clock, saw that it was three minutes 'til noon. There were no customers
in sight, and so Samuels hurriedly closed his window. He began to shrug
into his hat and coat and his hands were trembling as he did so...

Outside, finishing the last of his cigar with relish, Ralph Taylor
waited nonchalantly for the appearance of the postal clerk, watching
the lithe young girls in their short skirts and dresses passing by on
the street. He felt good, damned good; he felt as if he was on top of
the world right now.

He had that ugly son of a bitch right where he wanted him, by the short
hairs, by the balls. Samuels would do anything he asked him to do; the
bastard had no choice but to do it or risk exposure and a probable jail
sentence. Ralph had recently sold Morriston's postmaster an almost new
Cadillac, and consequently was on pretty good terms with the man; all
it would take would be a few well-chosen words, and it would be all
over for the clerk. The postmaster would be inclined to believe a man
of Ralph Taylor's stature and respectability over a simple rank-and-
file postal clerk, that was for sure...

As he waited, Ralph let his mind wander back to the night of the party
and Cindy Jamison's soft young legs spread out wide under him. He could
almost feel the soft, sensitive, wetly warm walls of her sweet young
cunt squeezing and clasping his heaving cock as he fucked deep and hard
into her, could almost feel her hardened cervix slamming against his
bloated prickhead, could almost feel the unleashed torrent of cum which
had finally escaped his balls to fill that tender little pussy of hers
to overflowing...

Goddamn! She was some fine little piece of ass, all right, and the
random samplings he had had of her---that fuck two nights ago, the
sucking of his cock unbeknownst to her that it was him at their
mountain cabin--- had only made him want more of her, want her
completely and totally his, want her as his plaything to do with as he
bid. That was the way that ugly son of a bitch Samuels had had her,
according to the story Norma had said she related; that was the way he,
Ralph Taylor, wanted the wife of his best friend and star salesman.

And that was the way, with the help of Steve Samuels, he was going to
have her...

Samuels came down the Post Office steps at five past twelve and stood
next to Ralph, his eyes mirroring the fear and hate which were inside
him. Taylor smiled, but said nothing; he started off down the street,
walking leisurely, and the wizened civil servant came tagging along at
his heels like a dog following its master. Elation was strong inside
the automobile executive as they made their way through the thickening
lunch-hour crowds.

Marian's Steak House was jammed with businessmen and secretaries, blue-
collar workers and shoppers. The waiter at the door greeted Taylor and
Samuels as they entered, gravely informing them there would be a short
wait and nodding to the group of people standing about waiting their
turn at tables. Ralph slipped him a folded bill, whispering that they
were in a hurry, an important business conference, and the waiter
miraculously found them an empty spot upstairs on the mezzanine moments
later.

When they were seated, and Ralph had ordered two rare sirloin steaks
with mixed salad and garlic French bread, the postal clerk leaned
across the table and said in a voice barely audible above the buzz of
lunchtime conversation from the tables around them, "All right,
whatever-your-name- is. You've got me to lunch, and I'm willing to
listen to what you have to say. I'll listen. Now what's on your mind,
mister?"

Ralph Taylor smiled complacently. "Cindy Jamison," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out for yourself, Samuels."

The postal clerk licked his rubbery lips wetly. "I'm no good at
figuring."

"No?"

"No." Then Samuels cast a furtive glance about him, and leaned further
across the table, his face only inches from Taylor's. His breath was
fetid, and Ralph wrinkled his nose distastefully. "You want a piece of
the little bitch for yourself, that's it, isn't it?"

Taylor laughed. "For somebody who's no good at figuring, you do a
damned good job of it."

"I thought so." Samuels seemed relieved, as if a burden had been lifted
from his shoulders. He relaxed visibly.

Ralph Taylor said, "I know the kind of thing you're working, all of it
right down the line, and it's a good deal, Samuels. I don't want to
fuck it up for you---as long as it's worth my while to keep silent."

"How did you find out?"

"That's not important, Samuels."

"Listen, what's your name? I like to know who I'm talking to."

"That's not important, either. What is important is Cindy Jamison."

The venereous government employee toyed with his napkin. "She's a
snooty little bitch," he said softly. "She deserves what she gets. They
all do, every last goddamn one of them."

"Sure."

"Fouling our mails, sending filth by public conveyance. The dirty
bitches."

"Never mind the bullshit, Samuels," Taylor said sharply. "You're
nothing but a fucking little weasel, a lecher that hasn't got the guts
to admit it even to himself. But I don't care about that, any of that.
The only thing I care about is Cindy Jamison, and you can help me get
her right where I want her."

"How?"

"By setting up a little session with her."

"What kind of session?"

"I've got a Polaroid camera, a good one with a timer and a tripod,"
Ralph said easily.

Samuels's beady eyes glittered evilly. "What kind of photos are you
planning to take?"

"What kind do you suppose? Good ones, hot ones. The kind that you would
call 'filthy' and 'degrading.'"

The postal clerk's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and his chest
rose and fell jerkily with labored breathing. "Just... just with you
and Cindy Jamison?"

Ralph Taylor laughed sharply, a sound that caused one of the nearby
customers to glance curiously at him. Then he smiled, smoothing his
napkin on his lap, as the waiter brought their steaks. He began to dig
into his immediately, eating hungrily and with obvious relish.

Samuels didn't touch his food. His eyes were almost fever-bright as he
stared across the table at the automobile executive. "You didn't answer
my question," he accused.

"You'd like to be there when I nail Cindy Jamison, wouldn't you,
Samuels?" Taylor said around a mouthful of blood-rare sirloin.

"I... I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. It's written all across that ugly face of yours.
Well, I'm a generous man by nature. I wouldn't want to deprive you of
any of your warped kicks, Samuels. Providing you do as you're told, and
set things up just as I tell you."

The venereous civil servant had spittle gathering at the corners of his
mouth now as in his mind he pictured Cindy Jamison, being subjugated
before him again as he had enslaved her that night ten days ago and not
only him this time, but this big, brawny man across from him. Both of
them meting out punishment to the brazen, haughty bitch well-deserved
punishment for what she had tried to do. Oh, it would be fitting and
just! He had not gotten in touch with her in the past ten days because
he had wanted her to sweat, to know fear and trepidation every time the
telephone or doorbell rang, to expect him back at any time but not to
know when or where or what would happen when the time came. He had
planned to torment her in this manner for another week or so, then call
her up and submit her to a session which would make the last one seem
tame in comparison a session involving him and his faithful German
Shepherd, Ringo.

But now this---this was even better! It would not only be him, Steve
Samuels, and Ringo fixing that little bitch's wagon---but this big,
evil- grinning man across from him. The wizened clerk no longer feared
the big man, for now that the stranger had shown his true colors, shown
his playing hand and the cards he held and the wager he wanted to make,
it was no threat to Samuels's welfare at all. The big man wanted the
same things as he, and as long as the clerk didn't ruffle the man's
feathers, as long as he was careful to work closely with him, they
could be a team---two men after the same thing, looking for the same
pleasures in life. Oh, Christ, this was too good to be true! He
couldn't have asked for a better deal if he had arranged it himself!

He said, "Don't worry, mister. I'm on your side in this, all the way.
You just tell me what you want done, and I'll do it. The only thing I
ask is that I can be there when you give it to Cindy Jamison---and that
I get the opportunity to give her some myself!"

Taylor laughed softly. "You'll get that chance, Samuels, as long as you
follow orders."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Call Cindy Jamison on the phone late Friday afternoon. Her husband
won't be home; I... have ways of seeing to that."

"What should I tell her?"

"Tell her that you want to see her again, that she's to meet you that
night. Tell her that she'd better show up, or else you'll tell the
postal authorities about those pictures you have, and that you'll tell
her husband, too."

"She'll come, all right," giggled Samuels. "Where should I tell her to
go? My place?"

"That's right. Nine o'clock."

"And you'll be there then, too?"

"I'll be there long before that," Ralph Taylor said, finishing the last
of his steak and leaning back contentedly, sipping from the coffee he
had ordered with his lunch. "With my Polaroid," he added meaningfully.

"Okay!" the venereous government employee said eagerly. "Is there
anything else you want me to do?"

The automobile executive frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled
again, slowly and anticipatorily. "You might have another girl there,
too, on Friday night. One of the other Morriston housewives you've been
blackmailing into your bed."

The evil light in Steve Samuels's eyes grew yet brighter, and more
spittle gathered around his thick mouth. Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, Friday
night was going to be an evening beyond his wildest dreams! One of the
mad, ribald orgies he had often thought of having! His cock was
throbbing hard, close to orgasm, in his pants as he thought of the
potentialities inherent with two men and two beautiful girls and one
huge, hungry dog...

"A pretty one, you want a real pretty one, don't you?" he husked to
Ralph Taylor.

"That's right. A young and pretty one, one with a little experience.
One who'll keep her mouth shut."

"I know just who I'll get!" Samuels wheezed. "Sally Reagan! I've had
her before, a couple of times! Oh, Jesus, she's---"

"Keep your goddamn voice down, for Christ's sake!" hissed the
automobile executive, looking around him, but no one seemed to be
paying any attention to the two of them.

Samuels dropped his voice. "She's a good one, the best next to Cindy
Jamison. You'll like her! She's got black hair and a nice set of tits,
and when she gets turned on she can really fuck, the little bitch! She
deserves to be a part of this, she really does! Sending filthy pictures
through our mails---"

"All right, all right, never mind any more of your goddamned self-
righteous speeches." Ralph Taylor looked smug once again. "Have you got
it all straight now, Samuels?"

"I've got it!" the evil postal clerk assured him. "You don't have to
worry none at all!"

"I'd better not have to." Taylor stood, found a couple of bills in his
pocket, and tossed them on the table. "I've got to be going now,
Samuels. Friday night. And if you value your ass, don't foul it up."
With that, he walked off through the crowded tables and disappeared
down the stairs to the main floor of the steak house.

Steve Samuels stared after him for a long moment, his eyes half- glazed
with lust and excitement, then turned his head back again. Hot damn!
Oh, Christ, he couldn't wait until Friday night! Cindy Jamison was
really going to get hers---and so was Sally Reagan---both the little
whores were really going to get theirs! He and the stranger and Ringo
would see to that...

Even though the food was now cold, Steve Samuels finished every last
bit on his plate with a ravenous hunger, as if it were the flesh of the
two young and beautiful housewives he was consuming with his wet and
ugly mouth.

Cindy Jamison performed her prosaic household chores like a mechanized
robot on Friday, just as she had on each of the other two days since
that drunken, hazy party on Tuesday night. Her mind seemed to be in a
perpetual state of half-torpor, as if she were filled with some kind of
deadening drug to ease the pain of the knowledge she carried within
her.

She finished the cleaning and sweeping and laundry shortly past four,
and made herself a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Then she sat with it
in the living room of their cottage, drinking but not really tasting
the strong black liquid. It was going to be a long day, an even longer
night; at least on the past two days she had had Howard home to talk to
her, to comfort her, for he realized she was still in a highly agitated
state. He had asked her repeatedly to tell him what was wrong, to
confide in him, and she almost had on more than one occasion---but then
her guilt and shame, her strong desire to protect him from the terrible
consequences of her actions with the Polaroid photographs and from the
knowledge of her infidelities, became too strong and she was unable to
speak.

But tonight, Howard would not be home at all. He had called her from
work shortly past noon, to tell her that Ralph had invited him to go to
Monterey for some kind of dealers' meeting later that day as Auto
Circus's representative. The meeting would last well into the night, so
he would be spending the evening in Monterey, to return to Morriston
early the next day, Saturday. She hadn't wanted him to go, did not wish
to be alone for a single night, but what could she tell him to stop
him, short of confessing all that was troubling her? Nothing, nothing
at all. And so he was going, probably had already left by this time.

Cindy took another sip of her coffee and set the cup down. A small
tremor passed through her rigid young body. Dear God, what a nightmare
she had been living these past few weeks! Everything had been going so
beautifully---and then the evil postal clerk, Steve Samuels, had come
into her life and forced her to defile her marital bed and to perform
countless perversions with his wizened, deformed body. He had left her
after that single, orgiastic night and had not contacted her since...
but she knew it was only a matter of time, just as she had known it all
along, in spite of what Norma Taylor had told her. He would be back,
demanding more from her, more disgusting and lewd acts which made her
want to vomit just thinking about them. But that wasn't all; there had
been the party... her agitated mental state... all the sangria she had
drunk... the foggy moments with Ralph... going out to the Volkswagen
Variant... drinking that bourbon... the kaleidoscopic, filmlike flashes
after that, moments of lucidity to be followed by moments of complete
blankness... Ralph spreading her legs, putting his penis inside her,
she powerless to stop him, him heaving and bucking into her, cumming
with his burning hot semen; another, shadowy figure replacing him that
to this day she couldn't identify, another penis, more heaving and
bucking, more torrents of hot sticky cum pouring into her tender,
ravaged vagina... what she suspected had been her own crashing,
spiraling orgasm, though her mind had since refused to admit such an
actuality...

A low, involuntary moan escaped the soft, pink lips of the mentally
tortured young woman and she put her head in her hands. All the
thoughts she had suppressed the past three days came rushing into her
conscious mind, bringing with them the terrible humiliation and guilt
of her actions. What had happened to her innocent, well-ordered little
world? Why had things suddenly seemed to turn completely against her,
slowly but inexorably destroying her? What had she done to deserve all
of this?

She didn't know, had no idea. She felt as if she was on a merry-go-
round, forever spinning, which she could never get off of. She had
never been so alone, so helpless, in her life---there was no one to
whom she could turn, nowhere she could go...

Norma? Norma, who had listened and advised her before? No, no, of
course not... it had been Norma's husband, Ralph, whom she had allowed
in her drunken stupor to claim her body. How could she tell that woman,
whose husband she now hated with a full and overwhelming passion, what
had happened? No, there was no one, no one at all.

What am I going to do? she asked herself silently. I'm so afraid...
afraid of that terrible postal clerk, afraid of Ralph Taylor, afraid of
what has happened to my own body for I think I enjoy any sexual act---
no matter what kind, and even with another man---completely and totally
now. I'm a different woman, a woman I don't understand anymore, and I'm
so frightened...

The sudden ringing of the telephone completely shattered her reverie
and brought her off the couch in a convulsive jump, her heart hammering
crazily in her chest. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she
identified the abrupt sound, and willed her trembling body still as the
bell sounded again. She walked stiffly to where the phone was located
and, biting her lip, lifted the receiver.

"H-Hello?" she said in a strangely quavering voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Jamison," a familiar, terrifying wheeze answered her, and
the young wife felt a bolt of sheer terror shoot through her body like
an electrical charge. She almost dropped the phone, and her heart
threatened to burst through her chest cavity. Her tongue was thick with
fear, and she couldn't make words come.

"Are you there, Mrs. Jamison?" Steve Samuels asked in his oily,
insinuating tone. "Do you hear me?"

"Y-y-yes," she finally managed in a strangled whisper.

There was a soft, evil laugh from the other end of the wire. "You know
who this is, don't you? Of course you do. Have you been thinking about
me, Mrs. Jamison? Have you been thinking about what happened between us
the other night? About how I put my hot thick cock far up into your
asshole and fucked you and fucked you and---"

"Stopppp iiitttttt!" Cindy Jamison screamed in a voice fraught with the
pinnacle of sheer mortal terror. "Oh, shut up, please shut up, oh, God
don't talk to me like that!"

More high-pitched laughter, and then the venereous government employee
said softly, "I want you again, Mrs. Jamison. I want you again---
tonight!"

"Noooo!" wailed Cindy.

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Jamison. Tonight, at my place, at nine o'clock."

"No! Oh, dear God, no, I can't! I can't!"

"You can, and you will," Samuels told her, his voice turning harsh and
ugly, as ugly as he was. "You'd better be there, or you know what'll
happen to you and that husband of yours. Nine o'clock, Mrs. Jamison. Or
else!" And with those sharp, threatening words, Steve Samuels slammed
the receiver down in her ear.

Cindy flung her own handpiece down and fled into the living room,
throwing herself prone on the couch to sob out her fear and torment and
helplessness. She couldn't go through another ordeal like the one the
depraved clerk had put her through ten days ago---and yet she had to.
There was no alternative, short of defying him and thus relegating her
and Howard to possible prison sentences. That, and---

Murder.

The single word echoed and re-echoed in Cindy Jamison's mind, and she
sat up abruptly with the force of it. But, just as quickly as it had
come, it vanished. She was not a murderess, could never take the life
of another human being---even if that human being was the animalistic
Steve Samuels. The torment, the horror, would be magnified tenfold
instead of banished by such an act. No, she could not kill Samuels,
much as she would like to see him dead, and she could not defy him,
either.

She would go to him tonight, then, as he had instructed. Go to him in
body, but not in spirit or soul.

And somehow she would endure the degradation and lasciviousness which
was sure to then ensue ---for Howard, for the man she loved...

Ralph Taylor arrived at the weed-choked, slumlike house of the postal
employee Steve Samuels at eight-thirty that night, carrying a huge case
which contained his Polaroid camera, timer, and tripod.

The venereous civil servant let him in with an expression of excited
anticipation, and led him down the hallway into the living room.
Samuels had made an effort to tidy it up somewhat, but the room still
had an air of musky staleness, a look of cluttered squalor. He offered
the automobile executive a drink, which Taylor promptly refused. Then
Ralph said, "Did you make all the arrangements?"

"All of them, yes," Samuels answered quickly. "That bitch Cindy Jamison
will be here at nine. The other one, Sally Reagan, will be along a
little later, around nine-thirty. Oh, Christ, she was really upset
about coming here tonight, that one was. She cried and begged and
pleaded with me not to make her, but I said---"

"I don't give a shit what you said, you little weasel," said Ralph
Taylor shortly, obvious distaste for the postal clerk on his normally
jovial countenance. "Just as long as she's coming here tonight. And
just as long as Cindy Jamison is coming; she's the one I'm really
interested in;'

"Don't worry, don't worry, they'll be here. Just like I promised they
would be."

Taylor nodded, set his case down, and-began to take the-photographic
equipment out of it. He looked up at Samuels as he was doing so. "Have
you got a screen or something I can set this stuff up behind?" he
demanded.

"Yeah, I think so," retorted the clerk. "But what for?"

"Never mind what for, goddamn you! This is my show, and we'll run
things my way or not at all! Understand?"

"Sure, sure, don't get uptight."

"Just do as you're told, Samuels, and everything will be fine."

The wizened clerk nodded, licking his lips, and left the room to locate
the screen Ralph Taylor had asked him for.

The taxicab let Cindy Jamison off in front of the run-down home of
Steve Samuels at exactly nine o'clock.

She was weaving just slightly as she walked up the path to the front
door, her hands tightly clenched around her handbag. She had commenced
to drink straight vodka immediately after the call from the postal
worker, trying to work herself into a stupor so that, as on the first
occasion, she would be too drunk to be totally aware of the horror of
her situation. She had succeeded in getting intoxicated only to a
point, beyond which she couldn't seem to go, no matter how much she
drank. Now, she felt light- headed and nauseous as she rang the bell,
trying desperately to blank her mind against what was soon to happen to
her.

The door opened almost immediately, and the malformed features of the
government employee peered leeringly out at her. She shuddered
involuntarily with revulsion, averting her eyes from that terrible,
sweating face. Her stomach churned sickeningly.

"Well, well, right on time I see, Mrs. Jamison. Good, good," said the
clerk in his husking voice. He reached out his talon-like fingers to
take her arm, and Cindy imagined that it was the touch of something
incredibly alien on her coat-covered flesh; but she didn't have the
strength or the inclination to resist his hand. She allowed him to lead
her down the hallway and into the living room.

The room itself was little more than a blur in the mind of the tortured
young wife. She was aware of a musty smell, of a jumble of old and
ragged furnishings, of a large screen which had been set up on one side
of the room---but details escaped her brain completely. It might have
been some medieval torture chamber, complete with iron maiden and
thumbscrews and the rack, for all she knew.

Samuels said, "Sit down on the couch, Mrs. Jamison. Here, let me take
your coat. Make yourself comfortable." He snickered evilly. "It's going
to be a long wonderful night."

Cindy shuddered again at the implications of this depraved postal
clerk's words. She hurriedly shed her coat and moved robot-like to the
sagging sofa and sat down stiffly, her eyes staring glassily ahead. I
have to do this, she thought numbly. I have to do it for Howard, for
our future, for Howard, for our future...

Samuels hung her coat up in a hallway closet and came back to the
living room, sitting down next to but not touching the soul-sick young
wife. "Have a cigarette, won't you, Mrs. Jamison?" he invited
unctuously. He reached out to the coffee table in front of the couch,
to where a wooden cigarette box lay, lifted it and opened it,
presenting the contents to the eyes of Cindy Jamison.

She knew instantly this time what the brown, crudely made cigarettes
were, but instead of being further repulsed, she was almost grateful
that he wanted her to have more pot, more marijuana, just as she had
had the last time. Commingled with the liquor, the pot would once again
put her in that half-netherworld of semirationality and the pain, the
degradation, would not be as acute as it could be. Almost eagerly, she
reached out and plucked one of the rough brown sticks from the box and
placed it between her soft, warm, moist lips. The wizened government
employee lit it for her immediately, telling her as he had before to
hold the smoke in her lungs as long as she could before releasing it.
She obeyed, drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly... drawing
deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly...

The first roach butt was no more than ash in her fingers, and then
Samuels was handing her another, lighting it, and she was repeating the
process yet again... drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly... and
her head began to swim and she could feel herself weaving slightly on
the couch, though she was powerless to cease the movement of her body.
The agony was lessening in her mind, she could feel it; it was being
replaced now by that same gloating, suspended feeling of the previous
encounter. She was ready to take whatever he would mete out, now, as
ready as she would ever be...

She opened her mouth, forcing thick words Jut with careful enunciation,
"Do you want me to take my clothes off now? I'm ready to take my
clothes off, if you want me to."

"Ah, that's the attitude, Mrs. Jamison!" snickered Samuels. "That's the
way to talk, you little bitch. But not yet, not just yet..."

"Why...?"

"Because we're expecting another visitor shortly."

The drugged young wife tried to grasp the significance of that
statement, but it seemed to elude her. She frowned, trying to speak
again, to ask him what he meant---and in that instant, the doorbell
rang.

"There we are, she's here," Samuels enthused, jumping up. "And right on
time. Don't go away, Mrs. Jamison. I'll be right back."

Cindy sat dazed for what seemed like interminable minutes, then Samuels
reappeared leading a tall, black-haired young woman whose face was
streaked wet with tears. The young woman's eyes went wide, and her
mouth dropped open in shock as she saw Cindy sitting on the couch.
"What...?" she began.

"Sally Reagan, meet Cindy Jamison," cackled the government employee,
pushing the dark-haired girl forward.

Cindy managed to struggle up off the couch, to stand just a few feet
from the new arrival; the eyes of the two women locked on one another.
And in that moment, complete---if momentary---lucidity returned to the
mind of young Cindy Jamison.

She knew, just as Sally Reagan knew, that they were both the same,
trapped in the terrible web of Steve Samuels's depravity. Cindy's
whirling brain instinctively became aware that the dark-haired girl had
committed much the same type of transgression as she had, perhaps
sending private photographs through the mail which Samuels had
intercepted. And her brain became aware, too, that this evening would
be worse, much worse, than the other---that what the venereous clerk
had planned for tonight was the apex of perversion: an orgy, an
impossible flesh circus of which she and Sally Reagan were to be the
main performers. She began to tremble with renewed fear and
trepidation, seeing that the dark-haired girl had realized the same
inevitability as she just had and had begun to tremble as well.

And still the two young wives stared at each other, as if each was
seeking solace in the eyes of the other, tied together more closely
than the best of friends by their mutual subjugation. A mute empathy, a
tight bond, was sewn between Cindy Jamison and Sally Reagan and that
bond somehow made things a little less terrifying than they might have
been. Now, perhaps, both enslaved housewives would be able to keep
their sanity during this longest of all nights...

The next few minutes were a kaleidoscope of fragmented time for the
young mate of Howard Jamison. She was told to sit down on the couch,
told to have another marijuana cigarette, and she obeyed. Sally Reagan,
rid of her coat, sat beside her on the dirty material of the sofa and
took pot herself---one joint, two, three. The room was filled with the
sweetish, almost cloying odor of the weed.

"Are we ready now?" Samuels called out finally, as if asking permission
of someone else to begin, looking in the direction of the screen. Then,
nodding, as if he had received his answer though neither Cindy nor
Sally heard a spoken word, the evil civil servant moved to the couch,
staring down at the two beautiful women who sat with glazed, perspiring
faces before him.

Oh, Jesus he thought, this is really going to be something! That big
bastard really knows what he's doing, all right. I couldn't have mapped
out the progression of events for tonight any better myself! Goddamn,
my balls are aching with my cum and the big guy is waiting behind the
screen and Ringo is waiting in the kitchen... this is going to be the
finest night I've ever spent, I know it! You bitches, you're REALLY
GOING TO GET YOURS TONIGHT!

"Both of you!" he commanded in a panting, wheezing voice. "Take off
your clothes! Strip down to your bra and panties. Hurry up, you fucking
little sluts!"

Like twin marionettes, the drugged and subjugated young women stood in
unison and stripped off their outer garments, leaving their
underclothes on as Samuels had instructed. They stood there, side by
side, staring straight ahead as the small man viewed their vibrant
flesh with hungry, almost inhuman eyes.

"Now then, Mrs. Reagan," he snapped. "Roll your panties down, slowly,
nice and slowly. Let's see that fine, sweet young cunt of yours. You,
Mrs. Jamison. Watch her, look at her cunt. Goddamn you, do what I tell
you!"

Through hazed eyes, young Cindy Jamison watched the automatonical
movements of Sally Reagan as the other woman obeyed Samuels's orders,
slowly rolling her panties down, down, until the curling dark triangle
of her pubic hair came into view. Still lower she rolled the thin
garment, down almost to her knees, and then the postal clerk commanded
her to stop.

"Open your thighs!" gasped Samuels. "Open 'em wide enough to get your
hand between them! That's it! Now play with your cunt, Mrs. Reagan! Put
your finger on your clit, put it inside you! Get it all nice and hot
while we watch, Mrs. Reagan!"

In horrified fascination, Cindy watched the black-haired girl move her
thighs open, exposing the softly hair-fringed lips of her pussy with
its dainty clitoris nestled in the smooth pink folds. Cindy swallowed
hard as Sally lowered her hand there, middle finger extended, her face
sheened with sweat and torture-racked, and began to slowly masturbate.
Her legs bent slightly to allow her massaging fingers more room to
slide between her opened thighs, and then she rubbed faster and faster
her cuntal valley.

"Mrs. Jamison!" grunted Samuels. "Pull Mrs. Reagan's panties all the
way down. No, don't stop playing with yourself, Mrs. Reagan! Do what I
told you, goddamn you, you bitch Jamison!"

Mesmerically, her brain a spinning carrousel, Cindy squatted before the
sweating body of the other girl and drew her panties all the way down
over slender, perfectly formed legs, letting the garment puddle at
Sally Reagan's feet. Then she straightened again, tension rising in her
stomach, her eyes glued to the sawing fingers of the blackhaired girl.

"Put one leg up on the couch, Mrs. Reagan! Let's see all of that cunt
of yours! Let's see you shove your finger all the way up your sweet
little pussy!"

Sally propped one foot up as directed, and the full expanse of her
softly glistening cuntal slit was exposed to Cindy's and Samuels's
eyes. The black-haired wife's heaving fingers slithered wetly in and
out of the wide-splayed vaginal opening, and she began to secrete
heavily in spite of her hopeless subjugation.

>From behind Cindy, in the direction of the screen, there came a sudden
popping sound and a flash of light. But neither of the young housewives
were aware of it, completely lost in the miasma of drug and
enslavement.

Cindy, watching the masturbating girl, felt an odd tingling begin in
her own loins, as if she was becoming excited at the lewd and
lascivious sight. But no, no, that couldn't be! And yet, in back of the
whirling in her brain, she knew it was true, knew that the words of
Norma Taylor had been accurate. She was a passionate woman, and
sexuality had its effect on her---even such salaciousness as this. She
couldn't fight it, even if she wanted to. She had to submit to the
feelings, submit to Samuels, submit to everything or there was no
hope...

Deep wetness began to stain her panties as she watched Sally Reagan,
heard low mewls of unwanted pleasure begin to purl through the black-
haired girl's lips. Samuels saw that immediately, and his prick leaped
exultantly in his trousers, jerking to its full erectness as he watched
the carnal scene taking place right before him.

"All right!" he snapped. "Now it's your turn, Mrs. Jamison. Roll your
panties down, all the way off, and put your leg up on the sofa like
Mrs. Reagan. Face her, and play with your cunt like she's playing with
hers! Oh, Jesus, hurry up, hurry up, you bitch!"

And Cindy obeyed, beyond all caring now, abandoning herself in her
drugged and liquored state to the inevitability of her situation. She
rolled her panties down, down and off, raised her leg up on the couch,
lowered her hand to her moistened vaginal valley. And then her fingers
began moving, began sliding through the wet, warm folds of her pussy,
and the ripples of pleasure grew and she was powerless to stop them.
Faster and faster her fingers flashed in the sweet softness of her
cunt, watching with lidded eyes the black-haired girl doing the same
thing directly in front of her. In unison the two young housewives
ravaged their genitals, black and blond pubic triangles glistening with
the nectar of their passion, faster and faster and faster...

Behind the screen on the other side of the room, Ralph Taylor stood
naked, his thick, blood-engorged penis quivering with excitement as he
watched the two masturbating young women. The Polaroid camera, with
which he had just taken one good shot of the Reagan girl, trembled
expectantly in his hands. Goddamn, this was working out even better
than he had expected! Cindy Jamison, playing with herself like that,
before his feasting eyes---Christ, what an enticing sight! He couldn't
wait to get his bulging prick inside that fine, tender cunt of his star
salesman's wife again! But first, there were the photos...

Taylor stepped out, holding the Polaroid up, focusing through the
viewfinder on the lascivious sight before him. Both women had their
eyes squeezed tightly shut... no problem about seeing him or the flash.
Yet. He wanted to wait until just the right moment for his own
appearance, and he thought he knew when that would be. He had planned
it all out very carefully beforehand with Samuels...

He held the Polaroid steady, found the angle and shot he wanted, and
clicked the shutter. The flash went off, and he had the picture. He
nodded to the venereous postal clerk, who grinned back at him lewdly,
and then he stepped behind the screen again. He looked at his watch,
began counting off sixty seconds.

"All right, stop playing with yourselves now!" ordered Samuels, and the
two young housewives ceased their wild masturbationings. They waited,
dreading the command which was to come, whatever it may be, rigid as
stone statues.

The depraved government employee laughed high and shrill, and then he
demanded, "Play with one another now, you bitches! Step forward and
unhook one another's bra straps. Let's have a look at both your sets of
tits! Then rub each other's body, play with your tits and your cunts!"

Oooohhhhhh! wailed Cindy's mind at this impossible indignity, but she
did as bid. There was no other choice, she knew that and Sally Reagan
knew that; this was lesbianism, perversion, but it was not half as bad
as touching and being touched by that evil Steve Samuels. At least she
and Sally Reagan were drawn close together by mutual need, by mutual
pain, and it would not be as terrible as what was surely to come
later...

Cindy's arms went around the black-haired girl, even as she felt
Sally's arms go around her. Palsied fingers fumbled at bra straps,
pulling them loose, drawing them over each other's smooth, soft
shoulders, baring their twin sets of high, proud breasts, nipples
hardened in spite of their subjugation. Then they were touching one
another, Cindy sliding her slick palms up and down the fevered flesh of
the other girl, feeling in turn the hot tingling movements of Sally's
fingers on her own skin.

Young Cindy Jamison felt her breath quicken as Sally rubbed and
caressed her swollen breasts, passing over the nipples with tantalizing
slowness, and her mind cried out futilely with the unwanted pleasure of
the contact. She could feel Sally's hot breath on her face, knew that
her own was thudding against the black-haired girl's. Sally Reagan was
as excited as she! Oh, God, oh, God...

Then their hands were sliding down the fevered flesh of one another's
smooth, hot torso, over the flat planes of their stomachs, along their
quivering flanks, down to the moist fleece between their slightly open
legs. Cindy felt the other girl's finger seek out and find her
clitoris, felt delicious excitement as it was tweaked again and again,
and her extended middle finger located the other young wife's clit and
returned the favor. They stood there like that, panting hard, playing
with one another, their breasts touching now, the nipples pressed
almost against one another as if trying to fuse the two young
housewives together in their bondage...

Neither of the girls saw or were aware of first one sharp burst of
light, and then, sixty seconds later, another. Ralph Taylor had two
more pictures for his collection...

"That's enough, that's enough!" shouted Steve Samuels. His rubbery lips
were drooling uncontrollably now as he watched the two mutually
subjugated women playing with one another before him. He had stripped
off his clothes in his excitement, and now stood before them completely
naked, his small, thin body trembling with his desire, his long, thick,
enraged prick standing like a rigid sentinel in his right hand. He
stroked it lightly, eyes gleaming, causing the glans eye to emit
beginning droplets of his semen.

"Mrs. Jamison, get down on the couch. Lean back, and spread your legs
wide! Do it now!"

Mutely, Cindy obeyed, sitting and leaning back, her eyes squeezed
tightly shut, her pussy secreting a tiny excited flow now at the
manipulations of the other girl. Sally Reagan stood above her, her own
cunt wet from the blond wife's strokings, the black triangle slickly
moist with her juices.

"Get down between her legs, Mrs. Reagan!" husked the venereous postal
clerk, still stroking his thick, hardened cock. "Get down there and
grovel in Mrs. Jamison's cunt! Lick it! Lap up her cunt like you were a
dog, Mrs. Reagan! Like you were Ringo!"

"Nooo!" The strangled sound tore from Sally's marijuana-drugged body, a
piteous protest against what was being asked of her.

Samuels stepped forward and slapped her, hard, across the face. "You
fucking bitch! Do what I tell you, or I'll fix your wagon! I'll fix it
good, and you know I can do it! Now get down there and eat Mrs.
Jamison's cunt!"

A tortured sob burst from Sally's young body, but she lowered herself
onto her knees between Cindy's wide-splayed thighs. Her hands came up,
fingers fanning out on the blond wife's trembling inner thighs. Her
head moved forward, and her hot breath blew like searing flame into the
opened wet expanse of Cindy Jamison's cuntal passage.

Cindy had been shocked into frozen immobility by the lewd instructions
of Steve Samuels, unable to move or think in that moment as the
knowledge of what he wanted the two girls to do raced like a sick
cancer through her body. Then she felt the touch on her inner thighs of
Sally Reagan, felt the hot breath blowing against her open vagina, and
she wanted to leap up, wanted to run, run, get far away from this place
of sin. But she was unable to move, unable to prevent what happened
next, could only lie there with tears squeezing past her clamped
eyelids to cascade down her pretty, ashen face.

With a low mewl of total submission, Sally Reagan began to kiss Cindy's
thighs, began to plant hot moist kisses on the smooth warm flesh. Then
her tongue was snaking out, and Cindy heard a muffled sob just before
she felt the electric contact of the black-haired girl's fiery wet
probe against her trembling clitoris, felt it lick molten swaths from
the quivering button down through the soft wetness of her fleece-lined
cuntal lips to the widespread opening of her vaginal orifice.

She cried out in disgust and... something else, passion, the same
tremendous excitement she had known from the touch of her husband
Howard's lips and tongue on her cunt. She raised her buttocks up off
the couch involuntarily, closing her thighs around the tortured Sally
Reagan's slavering head. The action only forced the black-haired
housewife's tongue to slide deep and hotly into her gently throbbing
cuntal passage, firing more intensely the flowing juices of her desire.
Her hands came down, as if with a will of their own as with them she
spread her own thighs wider apart once again, giving the other young
woman more access to her cunt, and entangled her hands spasmodically in
the rich, titian strands of hair.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, ohhhh!" chanted Cindy mindlessly, completely lost in
the delirious feelings which the other woman's lips and tongue were
unleashing through her belly and loins...

His cock throbbing with maddening desire at the salacious sight he was
witnessing through the chinks in the screen, Ralph Taylor stepped out
once again with his Polaroid. He took a quick shot of the Reagan girl
ravaging Cindy's widespread pussy, his breath coming faster and faster.
He was aware that Samuels was edging closer to the two girls on the
couch, his hand beating his turgid prick faster and faster as he stared
with unabashed lust naked on his face at the black-haired girl
performing cunnilingus on the other, blond-haired young wife. When the
picture was ready, after sixty seconds, Taylor moved around so that he
could get Samuels in the next shot and quickly snapped the shutter;
that ought to be a really wild one, he thought ardently as he stepped
back behind the screen once again...

The venereous postal clerk beat his swollen penis with practiced fervor
as he watched the two naked young girls before him. Oh, shit, I'm going
to blow my wad any second now... but I can't, not yet... too much is
still to happen, I can't lose a drop of my cum yet... have to save it
all for these two bitches, all of it for them... Christ, look at young
Mrs. Reagan licking Mrs. Jamison's cunt, she's really going after it
now... both of them are liking it, the sluts, the whores... but now
it's Mrs. Cindy Jamison's turn to get a taste of some pussy herself!

"Stop!" he rapped out. "That's enough, Mrs. Reagan! That's enough! Now
it's Mrs. Jamison's turn to lick your cunt!"

Even in her aroused, drugged state, Cindy's mind recoiled in horror at
Samuels's salacious words. No, she couldn't, she wouldn't! And yet, she
had to, there was no other alternative... and she had known from the
moment Sally Reagan had been instructed to perform this act of orality
on her flesh, that she would be forced to reciprocate... known it and
rejected it momentarily in spite of its inevitability.

She felt Sally's lips and tongue and head leave her wide-splayed cunt,
and her eyes fluttered open, looking directly into the tortured,
secretion-sheened face of the other woman. Ripples of disgust, of
terror coursed through her as she heard Samuels shouting for the black-
haired girl to sit on the couch, to splay her legs wide and reveal all
of her cuntal expanse to Cindy's attentions. Then Sally was obeying,
sitting next to her, legs opening, and Cindy could see every inch of
the dampened, softly fleece-lined pinkness of the other young wife's
pussy.

She wanted to gag, but she found herself responding to Samuels lewd
words and commands, found herself dropping to the floor, into a
kneeling position, and then moving over so that she was poised between
Sally Reagan's thighs, her face only inches from the throbbing wet
flesh of her passion. I can't do this, I can't, oh, God... Cindy
thought in mortification, and then, as if in some perverse defiance to
her thoughts, her head plunged forward and buried itself in the soft
moistness of the black-haired wife's vaginal furrow.

The odor of Sally's passion assailed Cindy's nostrils, and she
swallowed hard and began to kiss the soft, wet flesh of her inner
thighs, as Sally had done to her. Her brain was reeling, reeling, and
desire once more leapt like hot fire in her own loins, as if her body
was no longer under her own will.

She heard Sally moaning deep in her throat, felt the black-haired
girl's thighs clenching and unclenching about her head. Then her lips
were pressed to the other young wife's vulva, her tongue was darting
into the fiery flesh of Sally's cuntal orifice. She moved it swiftly,
sucking and licking the engorged cavern, driven on to faster and madder
lickings as Sally Reagan's hips began to gyrate with the lust-inciting
activity of lips and tongue. Cindy's wet red probe found the other
girl's clitoris, nuzzled it, ran tantalizing circles round and round
the swollen button, moved downward again to slide deep into the
passion-drenched passage as Sally grasped the blond young wife's hair
in both hands, as Cindy had grasped hers...

Oh, Christ, will you look at Cindy go! thought Ralph Taylor. l never
thought I'd live to set a sight like this... Jesus, what would Howie
think if he could see his pretty little blonde wife now? Got to get a
shot of this, a good closeup... Norma will blow her mind when she sees
it...

Once more, he stepped out from behind the screen and moved quickly
across the threadbare rug, shouldering the panting form of Steve
Samuels out of the way. He focused his Polaroid, leaning in close,
setting the lens and peering through the viewfinder. Son of a bitch,
what a shot! He could see Cindy's tongue flicking all the way up the
Reagan girl's cunt! He snapped the shutter, stepped back. But he didn't
retreat behind the screen this time. He just stood there, his great
cock jutting out like some huge cobra, its head engorged and waiting,
its single eye oozing seminal fluid like anticipatory venom. Samuels,
still beating his own immense and turgid cock, looked imploringly at
the manager, his eyes saying, "For God's sake, I can't take much more
of this! When are we going to stop all this playing around and give it
to these two little bitches!"

Ralph ignored the impatient postal clerk, counting off sixty seconds.
Then he peeled the photograph off the negative, looked at it. Perfect!
Clear and sharp, every detail discernible! He couldn't have asked for a
better snap!

He ran behind the screen, put the photo with the others, then brought
the tripod out and set it up in the middle of the rug. The two young
housewives were completely lost in the lewd act of cunnilingus on the
couch, Sally Reagan having jackknifed her legs upward so that Cindy's
wildly, crazily bobbing head would move over even more of her
flowering, secreting pussy. And Cindy was licking and suckling the
moist pink flesh like a madwoman, beyond all caring except for the
musky taste of the other girl's genitals in her mouth and the rising
floodtide of desire in her own loins and belly.

Taylor set the Polaroid on the tripod, adjusted it, rigged the timer so
that it was ready to use. Now's the time, he thought. Samuels is going
to cum all over himself and the two women any second now if we don't
get started, and I don't want that to happen... he's got to join in on
this, him and the goddamn big dog of his, and I don't want to have to
wait around for him to get another hardon... Jesus, my own balls are

ready to burst... now's the time, all right...

He moved forward hurriedly to stand over the two naked young wives on
the couch. Then, in his booming voice, he commanded, "That's enough,
Cindy! Stop it, Cindy, that's enough for right now!"

Cindy Jamison froze with her face buried wetly in the throbbing flesh
of the black-haired girl's pussy. That voice... it hadn't been
Samuels's voice... and yet it was familiar, coming through her delirium
of liquor and marijuana and passion, slicing into the very core of her
brain... familiar voice, familiar; it was...

Oh, God, oh, God!

She jerked her head out from between Sally Reagan's wide-splayed
thighs, twisted it upward, her eyes blinking open. A look of intense
horror, mixed with dismay and disbelief, flashed across her passion-
sheened features. She ran her tongue over her secretion-coated lips
involuntarily as the shock of recognition all but cleared the swirling
fog in her brain.

"Oh, God, R-R-Ralph!" she cried in a strangled whisper.

Ralph Taylor stood leering down at the hunched, naked, horror-stricken
form of his star salesman's lovely young wife. His huge, thickly veined
prick jutted towards her in its erection like an accusing finger.
Behind him, still beating his own throbbing penis with one hand, his
face a flushed, sweating red, stood the thinly built postal clerk, his
leer almost as salacious as the Auto Circus manager's.

Cindy finally realized the exact dimensions of her position, and
scrambled away from the black-haired girl's opened thighs, leaning back
against the far end of the couch and putting her fisted hand up to her
mouth. She bit her knuckles until they bled, her filmed eyes bulging
wide.

Ralph laughed softly, easily, off-handedly, as if he were in his office
at Auto Circus instead of in the midst of all this carnal abuse. "I
guess you're surprised to see me here, aren't you, Cindy?" he asked
her, his eyes gleaming. "Damn right you are. Well, I arranged this
whole affair, as a matter of fact. I've been planning it ever since
Norma told me about you and Samuels here, planning it so I could get
you right where you are now and where you will be before long. What do
you think of that, Cindy? How does the idea appeal to you?"

"W-Why?" Cindy managed to moan around the clenched fist. "Oh, G-God,
why...?

"Why do you think, baby? To get that hot little body of yours just the
way I want it. You've been swinging it in front of me and every other
man around ever since Howie married you, teasing us, telling us in
effect that we can look but we can't touch. Well, I took it as long as
I could and then I knew I had to have you, and on my terms. These are
my terms, Cindy, right here and now. The other two times---up at my
cabin, and the other night in the car---were just appetizers, previews
of the real thing. Now you're going to fulfill all the promises of that
body of yours, everything I've dreamed about and wanted; I'm going to
fuck you and I'm going to do it good and proper. This is going to be a
night neither one of us is ever going to forget, Cindy baby..."

The words droned on and on, but it was as if a switch had suddenly been
pulled somewhere in the tortured young housewife's swirling brain,
completely blotting out the rest of Ralph Taylor's words. The complete
and utter shock of turning up from the moist, hot womanhood of Sally
Reagan, her face sheened with the black-haired girl's excited cuntal
secretions, and seeing the nude form of her husband's hated boss had
pushed Cindy dangerously close to the fine line between sanity and
insanity. Hearing his lewd words, his revelation that he had planned
this entire evening, that he was mixed up with, was as bad, as evil as
Steve Samuels, had almost sent her over the edge; if it had not been
for the liquor and the marijuana and even the passion which still ebbed
through her body, she would surely have gone insane in that moment as
she crouched there by the couch, staring up at the two naked men with
their huge erect penises. This was the final degradation for Cindy
Jamison, the ultimate humiliation in a long string of recent
inequities. Nothing which happened after this, nothing which she could
learn---no other revelation could affect her in the slightest way...

And yet, words spun and tugged at her brain cells, trying to form
rational sentences, but she was unable to grasp them through the haze
which filled her conscious mind. Something Ralph had said...? What was
it... what... And then she knew.

"The other two times---up at my cabin, and the other night in the
car..."

Up at Ralph Taylor's cabin!

But nothing had happened between her and Ralph there, nothing at all,
she had only been with Howie...

"W-What did you mean?" she cried suddenly. "What did you mean?"

Taylor stopped talking, his hands on his hips. "About what, baby?"

"About... about your cabin. You... you said you and I, up at your
cabin... what did you mean!"

His laugh was low and ugly. "That's right, you don't know about that,
do you? Well, let me tell you then, Cindy. You see, Howie and I planned
that whole business... showing you the pictures, getting you excited...
Norma talked to you on my orders, putting you in the right frame of
mind for your first try at sucking cock... the room was dark after you
and Howie had finished fucking that first time and so we just traded
places... remember when he got up and went to the bathroom, and then
came back? That wasn't him, Cindy, that was me... he went down and
Norma sucked him off... it was my cock you sucked that night, baby...
my cock was the first one to slide in and out of that sweet, soft
little mouth of yours, my cum the first to pour down that graceful
virgin throat of yours, mine, Cindy, Ralph Taylor's cock and Ralph
Taylor's cum, not Howie's, not your husband's..."

Each of his words were like lashing cuts of a whip to Cindy Jamison.
She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She flung her
hands up to her ears, pressing them hard there and rocking back and
forth, back and forth. Miraculously, she did not take that final, fatal
plunge across the line into madness, though she came within a hair's
breadth of it. Tears welled out of her eyes, rolled down over her ashen
cheeks, down over her high, quivering, ruby-capped breasts as she
rocked there on the floor under the salacious gazes of the two
unfeeling, uncaring men who stood over her.

There had been one more revelation, after all, and it had been the big
one. Howie, her beloved Howie, the man she trusted and believed in
above all others, had betrayed her, had plotted with Ralph Taylor to
swap her for Norma. He had been unfaithful to her, having sex with
Ralph's wife and at the same time abandoning her to the manager. He had
taken her great gift, her acquiescence to oral love which she had made
for him and only him, and flung it back in her face; he had allowed her
unknown in her alcoholic state to lavish her attentions on the lust-
incited penis of Ralph Taylor instead of on his own.

And what of Norma, the woman who had professed to be a friend and
confidante? She, too, had been in on the plot from the beginning. She
hadn't told Ralph about Samuels merely as a way of seeking further
solace for Cindy; no, she had done it so that Ralph could somehow
locate the evil postal clerk and join forces with him for more and
greater depravity. Her words to Cindy about the young blonde wife's
sexual enjoyment of the perversions at the hands of Steve Samuels, her
words about forgetting what had happened and not telling Howie or
anyone else, had not been in Cindy's best interests at all---but in
Ralph's and hers.

Dear God above, her whole world had collapsed completely and
irrevocably about her! The people she loved and trusted had sold her
out... there was no one left to whom she could turn, no one who cared,
no one who was unselfish. She was alone, completely alone, her helpless
body a pawn, a toy, a thing to be used at will...

And suddenly, then, the tears stopped and the horror and fear and shock
left her face to be replaced by a wooden expression showing nothing.
Cindy Jamison stopped thinking altogether, and the liquor and the
marijuana once more claimed full possession of her mind; it was as if
her brain, realizing the danger it was in, the danger of snapping like
a small twig under the tremendous pressure of all that Cindy had
discovered and been subjected to on this day, had simply shut itself
off so as to prevent the blowing of the circuits---the way computers
are programmed to do. She was a lump of clay now, to be handled and
molded at will.

And yet, the stirrings of passion still flowed through her loins...

"Listen, how much longer are we going to fuck around here?" Samuels's
husking voice suddenly filled the room. "Young Mrs. Jamison looks like
she's gonna pass out or something. Let's get on with it, for Christ's
sake."

Ralph Taylor looked at the suddenly blank-eyed wife of Howard Jamison,
then shifted his gaze to where Sally Reagan was still sprawled on the
sofa, legs splayed, eyes squeezed tightly shut, fingernails digging
blood from her thighs as she waited in her own private hell. "All
right," he said finally. "Get that damned dog of yours in here. The
camera's all ready to go."

Quickly, eagerly, Steve Samuels whistled high and shrill. A moment
later, the huge furry form of the postal clerk's great dog, Ringo,
bounded into the room, tail wagging. The animal went directly to the
couch, sniffing the wide-splayed womanhood of Sally Reagan familiarly.
The young black-haired wife gasped, seeming to snap out of her semi-
catatonic state, and she turned her hands, palms outward, to the dog,
as if to ward off some vicious attack. "No!" she moaned. "Oh, God, no,
no, not again! I can't stand that dog again, please, ohhh please...!"

"Shut up, Mrs. Reagan," commanded Samuels. "You'll do what we tell you,
or else. Now get down on the rug on your knees like the little bitch
you are. Get down on all fours. Hurry it up!"

The black-haired girl obeyed, body trembling. Ralph Taylor instructed,
"The same goes for you, Cindy. On all fours, facing Sally. Leave a
little room between you."

Mesmerically, the hopeless blonde wife obeyed her husband's lascivious
boss. She knelt facing Sally Reagan, both women beyond any help, beyond
caring, not looking at one another now. Watching them, Ralph began to
tremble with growing excitement. It coursed through his thick body,
making his erect penis throb palpitatingly with anticipation. He looked
sideways at Samuels. "Take some pictures while I start things off. You
know how to work a Polaroid, don't you?"

"Sure, but why can't I get down there, too?" whined Samuels. "The
camera has a timer..."

"Never mind the timer yet. Just take some pictures, a half dozen of
them. And they'd better be good."

With that, he stepped forward and went to his knees before the crouched
figure of Cindy Jamison. He held his hardened cock in his right hand,
lifting it up close to her face, moving his knees forward so that the
tip of the immense cudgel almost touched the moist red lips of the
subjugated young wife. "Open your eyes, Cindy," he commanded. "Look at
my cock, look at it, look at what you're going to take in your mouth
for the second time!"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw through her fogged retinas the
great girth of Ralph Taylor's weapon, saw every ridge and pore of it as
he moved it back and forth in front of her head like a swaying cobra's
hood. Her tongue came out involuntarily to moisten her lips as she
stared at the unseeing eye dripping fluid in the huge hardened head.

"Put your hand on my cock now, Cindy," he told her in a panting voice,
his legs widespread before her face, and she obeyed mechanically,
wrapping her hand around his masculinity. A shiver passed through her
at the touch, unwanted but there nonetheless, and Cindy began to work
her hand roughly up and down, watching the foreskin pucker over the
engorged head, then wrap itself over the shaft. With increasing rhythm,
she stroked Ralph Taylor's cock, staring at it, warmth beginning to
seep through her loins again.

The automobile executive could take no more of the excruciating
pleasure of her moving fingers. "Put it in your mouth now, baby! Put my
cock in your mouth. Suck me, Cindy, oh, Jesus, suck my cock!"

With a groan of sheer animal lust, Taylor moved forward, flexing his
hips, pressing his hard rubbery masculinity against her soft, moist
lips, feeling the heavy bloated head resting against them. Cindy tasted
the familiar bittersweet flavor, and her mouth parted automatically to
accept the offering of lust, guiding it inside her warm wet cavern with
her still-stroking hand.

She began to suck him then, suck him as she had that first night at the
mountain cabin, when she had thought he was her husband, Howard. It
didn't matter now---her subjugation, her enslavement---nothing mattered
now, nothing at all. Slowly, agonizingly, she ran her tongue wetly
around and around the smooth slippery head, easing the tip of her hot
probe into the open slit of the glans. Her head pumped abandonedly to
and fro, slavishly licking every inch of the thick shaft, sucking
harder and harder, her tongue twirling faster and faster, and Taylor's
buttocks began to flex forward, adding his own movement to her bobbing
head so that mouth and cock were fucking together, working together,
like a well-tuned machine. Cindy could feel the seminally flowing shaft
batter back against her larynx, but she was unable to halt the intense
ramming pressure there, her lips ovaling maddeningly as she attempted
to suck the hot white load of sperm from her husband's boss's testicles
like an electric milking machine...

Focusing through the Polaroid, Steve Samuels snapped off another
picture. Goddamn look at the way she's blowing him! he thought wild
with passion and wanting desperately to join in this debauching of the
young wives himself. She's giving it everything she's got! Oh, Christ,
what a night this is going to be! But Mrs. Reagan, the bitch, isn't
doing anything, just kneeling there like a sleeping pup... well, I know
something she can do, something that'll make a great shot...

"Mrs. Reagan!" he called out, and her head jerked up, swiveling toward
him. Her face was only inches from Ralph Taylor's heaving buttocks as
he drove his cock deep and hard into the soft fleshy folds of Cindy
Jamison's mouth. "Mrs. Reagan, lean forward and kiss his ass! You heard
me, do it! Kiss his ass, Mrs. Reagan! Lick his asshole with your
tongue!"

There was no protest, for Sally Reagan was as empty of feeling now as
was Cindy Jamison; even this further inequity, this further depravity,
failed to faze her. She craned her head forward, her moist lips parted,
and began to plant hot fevered kisses on the jerking, hirsute flesh of
Ralph Taylor's buttocks. Then her tongue was extending, moving over the
fleshy surface, into the pronounced crevice between the heavy globes,
down lower, lower, until it found what it sought: the tiny puckered
ring of his anal opening. Round and round she licked the nether
entrance, flicking over the rubbery flesh, darting inside wetly,
licking up and down, up and down, with moist hot fervor...

Ralph felt the impossibly exciting contact of tongue and lips at his
rectum, and sensations of acute desire caused him to heave and buck
harder and harder into the ovaling lips, the now perspiring face, of
his star salesman's wife. Her hot, wet tongue seemed wrapped around the
thick underside of his cock, from the coronal ridges, sticky and
protruding from its foreskin almost to the wire-haired base. It was
like fucking into the softest velvet, like having your prick immersed
in warm, soft, flowing honey...

Click! Click! Click! Steve Samuels took pictures feverishly, taking the
Polaroid from the tripod now so that he could get better angles. Sweat
poured off him like rainwater. Half-a-dozen, the big bastard named
Ralph had said. All right, and maybe a couple more, too! Ones with him,
using the timer... ones with Ringo...

Ringo! He had all but forgotten his huge German Shepherd in the
excitement of the lust-provoking sight of Mrs. Jamison wildly sucking
Ralph's prick while Mrs. Reagan slavered between his dancing, heaving
buttocks. Ringo had to have his turn, Ringo had to join in... Ringo had
to sample little Mrs. Cindy Jamison! Yes, that was it! The dog had
never had her before, had never shoved its hot animal cock far up into
that young bitch's twitching pussy... but now Ringo was going to have
that opportunity!

Still clutching the Polaroid, Samuels rushed forward to where the well-
trained German Shepherd sat on its haunches by the couch, long red
tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth, watching the carnal
activities with eyes that, on a human, would have been feverishly
excited. The venereous government employee grasped the dog's collar,
pulled it around to where the smooth rounded cheeks of Mrs. Cindy
Jamison's buttocks beat rhythmically at the air as she sucked
voraciously, mindlessly, the cock of her hung husband's boss.

"Get her, Ringo! Get her, boy!" he excitedly spat the lewd command.
"Lick her cunt! Fuck her, fuck, fuck, fuck! Go, Ringo, fuck her with
your big dog cock!"

Panting, the great animal moved forward, between the blond-haired young
wife's widespread legs. It lowered its head to the helpless Cindy's
soft, hair-covered crotch and began to sniff it. Its tail wagged and
trembled as though it had found a bitch in heat. Cindy moaned in sudden
terror and understanding as the cold nose made contact with her tiny,
puckered anus, as the long tongue snaked out and licked wetly up and
down the crevice around it, the tip burrowing slightly into the outer
fleshy anal ring.

Her eyes jerked open again, and she tried to pull Ralph Taylor's penis
from her mouth, tried to twist around so that she could confirm her
fears, but the manager's hands were wrapped in her soft blond hair,
holding her rigid where she was. She tried to squirm her buttocks away
from the hot breath, the hot animal contact, but it was useless; a
greedy lapping moved up and down the narrow pink slit between her
thighs, tongue running wetly the full length of it, from the tight-
closed little pucker, up over the fluted, pink edges of her cunt and
over the tiny sensation bud buried in her pubic mound, spreading
through the soft, hair-covered lips like a knife through soft butter.

Noo! her mind cried with brief rationality. No it's that dog, I can
feel its cold nose, its huge head, its hot tongue... oh, God, oh, God,
no, no, not that, not that animal inside me, noooo!

But it was true, it was going to happen, and there was nothing she
could do to prevent this bestiality from being vented upon her flesh.
This was the final physical indignation, heaped upon the final mental
indignation; she was about to be stripped of everything sacred and
sacrosanct, everything innocent and clean, in this single night of
overwhelming debauchery.

Ringo's tongue flicked relentlessly between the young wife's widespread
legs, stopping sporadically to curl its way deep into her. She jerked
spasmodically as she squirmed under the German Shepherd lapping and
sniffing at her loins, her mouth working defensively, feverishly,
around Ralph Taylor's bloated prick, giving him a sucking like he had
never had before even by his so very-experienced wife, Norma. He heaved
and thrust his thundering member into the sweet, soft face of Cindy
Jamison, his eyes glassily watching the huge beast rummage its head
between the sweet wife's legs. Look at that bastard go! He's going to
give her a ride she'll never forget as long as she lives! Oh, Christ, I
hope Samuels gets some shots of this... Norma will never believe it
otherwise! He moaned and thrust still harder forward, fucking deep into
the face of the subjugated young housewife, as the black-haired Sally
Reagan flicked her tongue into the warm rubbery sphincter muscles of
his clenching asshole, breathing hotly against his quivering buttocks.

The venereous postal clerk clicked off another Polaroid photo, getting
the wide-angle shot of the two women and Ralph and Ringo moving
abandonedly on the threadbare carpet. One more, he thought, one more of
Ringo fucking Mrs. Jamison with his long hard cock and then I'll set
the timer and join in... I can't take much more of this watching... my
balls are damned near set to erupt!

"Ringo, up!" he shouted. "Up, Ringo! Fuck her, boy, fuck that sweet
little cunt of hers!"

The dog lifted its head from the defenseless young wife's wide- splayed
crotch, then, and obediently mounted the widespread mounds of Cindy
Jamison's buttocks, paws on her back. Its glistening, scarlet penis
slipped from its huge sheath, dripping; the tapered point slipped and
danced in the hot, wet crevice as the animal trembled and jerked,
trying to bury the tapered point and thick shaft in her body.

Sobbing now, her belly afire with washes of passion from the lappings
of the great beast, and in spite of her tortured thoughts, Cindy
Jamison whipped her buttocks back against the sawing motions of the
German Shepherd, trying to escape the desperate lunges of the animal.
But instead, she succeeded only in finally capturing the lengthening
shaft, in sheathing the long, scarlet organ in her voraciously grasping
cuntal slit. It missed the first time, sliding up to find her
momentarily relaxed anus, and then found its target with a tremendous
forward jerk, burying the huge cudgel deep up in the squirming young
wife's pink, clasping hole. The beast slithered forward with a wet rush
until its cock was sunk to the hilt, its hairy balls swinging below her
wet pubic hair.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" wailed Cindy in pain around Taylor's spasmodically
quivering cock pressed far down her soft, warm throat.

Defensively, the pain of the huge member invading her pussy almost too
much to bear, Cindy began to move rhythmically backwards to meet the
thrust of the panting dog. As the forelegs trapped her waist, Cindy
began to undulate her body in total abandonment, unable to elude the
brutal thrusting pressure of the bucking Ringo and thus retaliating in
the only way possible. Her large, taut breasts danced tightly beneath
her writhing torso, moving in time to the skewering cock of the dog as
it slid deep into her from behind, a relentless hot poker of glistening
flesh burying itself deeper and deeper in her belly---and her mouth
sucked and nibbled and enveloped the heavy, bloated penis of Ralph
Taylor as he thrust long and hard into her sweating face.

The trembling postal clerk, Steve Samuels, snapped off his one final
shot with the Polaroid, a lewd full-color shot of the panting,
undulating orgy which was being performed right before his lusting
eyes. He tore out the negative, waiting, counting, his cock an aching
mass of throbbing flesh as he longed to join the wildly performing
group on the rug, longed to shove his immense cudgel deep, deep into
the quivering, upturned, clasping asshole of young Sally Reagan as she
licked and kissed the writhing buttocks of Ralph Taylor.

Finally, the picture was ready and he tore it off the negative.
Perfect! His spasming fingers fitted the Polaroid onto the tripod, set
the timer, clicked it on. Now! Now it was his turn to get some of the
delicious fucking and sucking that was going on right in his own living
room!

He rushed forward, his cock held in his right hand like a battering
spear about to be thrust all the way through the body of an advancing
enemy. He dropped to his knees behind the swirling, naked form of Sally
Reagan, teasing the hard rubbery head of his prick along the warm,
grasping anal opening. Then he inserted the head quickly inside,
hearing her gasp at the sudden painful invasion. He held himself there
for a moment, then hissed to the young black-haired girl, "Reach one of
your hands around and play with Ralph's balls while you're licking his
asshole. Hurry up, the timer's going off any second now!"

Sally obeyed immediately, her right hand sliding up and around to cup
the swinging, bloated sac of the automobile executive's testicles,
squeezing them gently and causing him to moan in total lustful
abandonment as he pile-drove his great cock into the butter-soft mouth
of his star salesman's wife. And then there was a sharp click from the
Polaroid on its tripod, and the flash went off, capturing the four
mouth-and-genital- linked people and the wildly, pantingly bucking
German Shepherd.

"Great shot, great shot!" moaned Samuels, aching to heave forward to
bury his long hard cock deep up into the bowels of the squirming,
mewling Sally Reagan. But he had to get that picture, had to, it was
the best one of them all and he would want a copy of that one, Jesus
yes! He withdrew the head of his cock, went to the camera, pulled the
negative out, counting. When the picture was ready, he took one look at
it, gloated elatedly, and then rushed back to his former position
behind the still pumping buttocks of the young black-haired girl. He
fitted his great cock into her rectal opening again, poising the head
there, and then he heaved forward with a sharp exultant cry to
completely impale her tightly resisting anal passage on his hard
jabbing prick.

"Uuuuuhhhhhhhh!" she cried out in pain, her hand convulsively squeezing
Taylor's bloated testicles, her tongue convulsively sliding deep into
his anus. The electric contact caused Ralph to hammer even harder and
deeper into Cindy Jamison's convoluting lips, his hands threatening to
pull strands of her soft blond hair out by the roots in his paroxysms
of passion. Even the great dog, Ringo, seemed to be driven on to new
heights by the addition of his master, the evil Steve Samuels, to the
orgiastic group, and was fucking long and hard with its slippery, hot
cock into the moist flanges of young Cindy's clasping cunt.

All thoughts of photographs were gone from the minds of the two men now
as they sought to relieve themselves of their great build-up of sperm.
Their excitement had reached the pinnacle now, from what they had seen
and arranged and slowly become a part of, and now their only
considerations were the spewing of their fiery seed deep into the
respective bodies of these two nakedly voluptuous young housewives.

Cindy Jamison's forehead was covered with thick beads of perspiration
as she buffeted back and forth between the two invading penises
imbedded in her either end, in her mouth and her anus. There was no
escape from either one, for when she heaved forward to alleviate the
pressure of the hammering dog's cock sunk far up into her belly, she
only succeeded in thrusting Ralph Taylor's huge pulsating penis further
down her throat---and when she drew back from the masculine cock
filling her mouth, to keep from choking, she only skewered herself
harder back on the pistoning rod of the huge furry dog.

She had no control of her mind now, no control of her body. And in her
belly, hot rivers of excitement were flowing, spiraling through her
flesh, causing her to tingle all over as if every one of her nerve ends
had suddenly been exposed. l like it, oh, God help me, I like this, I'm
excited by it, I'm excited and I want to cum... These were her only
thoughts, frightening thoughts, as the fires leapt higher and higher in
her body, as the hammering pricks of dog and man in two of her bodily
orifices sent her soaring toward an unwanted and yet desperately
sought- after orgasm. Her suckling lips tried to shout words,
unintelligible words of encouragement to bring about the simultaneous
ejaculations of all three of them, and of Sally Reagan and Steve
Samuels whom she could see behind Ralph Taylor's rhythmically swaying
torso. She wanted to be filled with sperm, animal sperm and human
sperm, and in her drugged and hopeless madness that was all that
mattered. She was little more than a quivering mass of sweating, lust-
deranged female flesh that begged for subjugation so that the
subjugation would come to an end, grinding her buttocks back in lewd
revelry against the panting beast whose cock was sunk so deep in her
warm, clasping channel, trying with her very soul to draw the hot
torrents of cum out of Ralph Taylor's long hard cock filling her madly
sucking mouth.

Steve Samuels could see the incredible gyrations which had now
enveloped Cindy Jamison's body, and he thought: Son of a bitch, she
actually is enjoying it! She likes Ringo fucking her cunt while Ralph
fucks her mouth! She's going to cum, oh, Jesus, I can tell it, she's
going to cum...!

The salacious realization drove the venereous civil servant to greater
hammerings of his great cock deep into the tight, clasping channel of
Sally Reagan's rectal passage. She rolled and flung her buttocks back
against his forward-driving shaft, feeling it deep up in her belly, and
her tongue sunk itself full into the tight rubberiness of Ralph
Taylor's anus as Samuels's prick was sunk full into hers. Taylor cried
out at the delicious torment of his rectum, at the tickling
manipulations of the black-haired girl's fingers on his testicles, and
his heaving loins threatened to strangle Cindy Jamison with the
expanded girth of palpitating cock sliding almost down to her larynx.
And the great German Shepherd Ringo, at the other end of the chain,
lolled its long wet hotly panting tongue onto the smooth skin of
Cindy's back as it strove to pump its fiery animal seed deep into the
blonde young wife's waiting, clasping womb.

And the tableau held like that for the next two minutes, the two men
and the two women and the grunting, monstrous dog. The room was filled
with panting and wheezing sounds, with the moans of the women as their
bodily orifices were hammered asunder by the three rampaging cocks,
with the harsh, wet slapping sounds of flesh thudding against flesh.
Sweat glistened in the overhead lights off the naked, undulating
bodies, and the smell of sex was strong and musky in the air.

Steve Samuels was the first of them to reach orgasm. He fucked deep and
long and hard into the warmly resilient, tightly clenched anus of Sally
Reagan, feeling the rubbery expanse wrapped around every inch of his
hardened flesh---and then his fingers dug painfully into her hips, the
nails drawing blood there, as he was no longer able to control himself,
as he felt his balls erupt their great load. "I'm cumming, ohhhhhhh,
aaaaahhhhhhhhhh!" he screamed in a high-pitched wail, and then his
prick began to jerk out of control and the first hot boiling squirts of
semen began to pour out of it to fill the black-haired girl's rectal
channel as his ejaculating balls slammed resoundingly off the wet
cuntal valley below. The sudden bursting of his fiery cum into her
bowels caused Sally Reagan to flash her tongue sensuously in and out,
in and out, of Ralph Taylor's ever working rectal mouth as if it, too,
were about to cum, as if she were actually fucking him there with the
long wet probe.

Taylor couldn't hold back after that. He emitted a loud, grunting sigh
of release, jamming his hips forward with the full power of his thick
body, burying his cock deep into the subjugated and lovely young wife's
soft, warm mouth. Her throat tightened and untightened as gusher after
gusher of his burning fluid swirled from his wildly jerking rod,
swallowing desperately to keep from strangling on the frothing sperm,
her cheeks bloating and hollowing as the cavern of her mouth filled and
emptied, filled and emptied.

"Keep sucking, keep succcckkkiinngggg!" he screamed. "MILK my balls,
oooohhhhhhhhhhh!"

Her Adam's apple continued to bob in rapid sequence as she fought to
suck him empty, swirling her tongue round and round the throbbing glans
to wipe him dry, only to be inundated by new flashes of the white hot
liquid. Cindy twisted her head madly from side to side, her long blond
hair churning, and her own orgasm was near to happening then as she
milked the sperm from her husband's boss's cock, at the same time
screwing her buttocks greedily back against the heaving German Shepherd
like a she- demon gone insane. The giant animal's tongue hanging onto
her sweat-slick back dripped saliva as Ringo fucked into the waving
buttocks from behind. Then, without warning, the huge beast jerked
forward and its cock began spitting its sperm in hard spurts deep into
her clasping vagina. Cindy's rounded buttocks contracted
uncontrollably, and a scream muffled out around Taylor's insanely
jerking cock in her mouth. Still the German Shepherd flowed his fiery
load deep into her soft, clasping cunt, and thick white liquid began to
ooze from her tight channel squeezing the prick of the dog; thin trails
of the sticky seed ran down the ivory columns of her thighs, and her
backside glistened, displaying obscenely soaked pubic hair and pink
flesh as she heaved forward against Ralph's loins, swallowing his
bursting cum the same way her feminine organs were swallowing the giant
dog's seed.

And then, as if the mutual cummings of the German Shepherd and the
automobile executive were the final trigger of her own coming orgasm,
Cindy felt the beginnings of wild, rapturous, kaleidoscopic release
take hold of her own body. She gurgled mindlessly and squealed around
Ralph's spasming prick, still swallowing his seemingly never ending
flow of sticky hot sperm, trying not to lose a single drop of the
bittersweet seed. She reached a pinnacle of pleasure almost as great as
any she had ever experienced with Howard, with the man she loved, as
her cum flowed and flowed and ebbed through her trembling, oscillating
body...

Finally, the rapidly deflating cock of the dog, Ringo, slipped from her
mauled cuntal passage with a wet sucking noise that echoed lewdly
through the panting silence of the room. Then the great beast, tail
wagging thankfully and satiatedly, dropped its head to her widespread
crotch in one last act of obscene depravity and licked at the white
sticky liquid oozing from her still quivering cunt. Cindy fell backward
then, comatose on the floor, Ralph Taylor's already limp prick pulling
wetly from her mouth. Taylor, too, collapsed in the aftermath of his
tremendous ejaculation, muttering softly, "Oh, Jesus, that was the best
ever, oh, Jesus!" And Sally Reagan and Steve Samuels, too, were now
lying prone on the carpet as the heaving naked flesh of the four people
gradually began to still and relax.

But that was not to be the end of the evening, not by any stretch of
the imagination. Later, Cindy Jamison could not remember much of what
had happened---she did not want to remember, for what she did recollect
was too terrible and she immediately blanked it from her mind
defensively. More pictures were taken, with groups of three and four
and five, with the dog Ringo as the focal point. More cocks were thrust
into the palpitating flesh of Cindy and Sally, jerking, ejaculating
cocks... and there was pleasure for the young blonde wife too, more
pleasure, exciting orgasms that almost but not quite approximated that
one with Ringo, the German Shepherd, cumming inside her cunt while
Ralph Taylor spewed his fiery seed deep into her hungrily clasping
throat. On and on it went, far into the night, almost until dawn, until
all the participants in this lewd play were too exhausted to continue,
until Ralph Taylor finally told Steve Samuels that they would have to
call it a night, though he was sure that they would be seeing one
another again...

Cindy Jamison, sick at soul, with human and animal seed commingling in
her body that had been pumped in through all three of her bodily
orifices, satiated with hateful, unwanted sexual gratification, never
knew how she got home. She did not feel Ralph Taylor dress her and
carry her out to where his car was parked at the rear of the postal
clerk's house, and then drive her to her cottage. Nor did she feel
Ralph carry her into the house and put her to bed, and then kiss her
matted pubic mound once, smilingly, before he left her.

She only knew that when she awoke, with the first gray light of dawn
filtering through the bedroom curtains, she was alone and in her own
bed.

Cindy was lying in the darkened bedroom, staring at the ceiling and
trying to blank her mind against the recurring images of what had
happened in the home of Steve Samuels, when the telephone rang at four
o'clock the next afternoon.

She lay there, stiffly listening to the incessant ringing sound, not
wanting to answer it, not wanting to talk to anyone. But then, with the
ingrained instinct of all humans to answer the doorbell or the
telephone when it rings finally overcoming her apathy, she swung out of
bed and listlessly shrugged into her robe. She moved slowly into the
living room, her body aching from bruises in a half-dozen places, her
vagina and anal passage still sore and rubbed raw from the merciless
drubbing of the lust- hardened penises of Steve Samuels and Ralph
Taylor and that impossible German Shepherd.

The soul-sick young wife lifted the receiver, cutting the bell off in
mid-ring, and said lifelessly, "Hello?"

"Cindy? Honey, is that you?"

Howard. I don't want to talk to him, she thought. l don't want to ever
see or talk to him again, I hate him, I hate him for what he's done to
me, what he's made me become. But instead of slamming the receiver
down, she pressed it tightly to her ear, as if her physical being was
acting in direct disobedience to the demands of her brain. She said,
"Yes, Howie, it's me."

"You sound funny," Howard's voice came over the wire. "Are you all
right?"

"I'm fine, just fine," she replied. "Where are you, Howie?"

"Still in Monterey." His tone lost its momentary concern, and became
edged with excitement and eagerness. "Honey, are you sitting down? I've
got some news that's going to shock the pants right off of you." He
laughed with boyish verve.

I've got some news that will do the same for you, Howie, Cindy thought.
But I'll never tell it to you. I hate you, and yet l still love you,
too... I love you too much to tell you about your boss Ralph Taylor,
and about Steve Samuels, and about that dog...

She said only, "What is it, Howie? What news do you have?"

"Well, hang onto the telephone," said Howard enthusiastically, his
words jumbling together in his excitement. "I met a man here in
Monterey, at this meeting I attended. His name is Charley Dawes, and he
owns a large auto dealership up in San Francisco. Well, we got to
talking and then got to be pretty good friends, and I outlined some
ideas I've got for a promotional deal. He liked them, honey; he thought
they were really great! He's offered me a job, Cindy, and not just any
job either! He wants me to manage his main lot, in South San Francisco,
for almost double what I'm making at Auto Circus! What do you think of
that!"

Cindy was momentarily taken aback. A new job? In San Francisco? But
that meant...

Howard was talking again, bubbling happily. "Of course, this means
we'll have to move up there, leave all our friends down here. And we'll
have to go immediately, too, because Charley wants me to start as soon
as possible. I hate to have to give such short notice to Ralph and
Buddy Lathrop---they've been damned decent to me---but if I want the
job I don't have any choice. And it's just too good an opportunity to
pass up. What do you think, honey? You don't mind moving up to San
Francisco, do you?"

Cindy wanted to laugh, to scream hysterically at him that my God, no,
she didn't mind! It was an out, an escape from Ralph and Norma Taylor,
from her mailing indiscretions with the Postal Department, from the
evil, depraved Steve Samuels and his monstrous dog! She was going to
have another chance, a chance to start over, to blot these terrible
past few weeks from her mind... and yes, a chance to pick up the
shattered pieces of her marriage to Howard. She still loved him---there
was such a fine line between love and hate---loved him desperately, in
spite of what he had done to her. She would never tell him what had
happened, that she had learned he was unfaithful to her and that he had
willfully given her flesh and her gift of oral love to his boss, Ralph
Taylor. They would begin anew in San Francisco, loving only each other,
away from the evil influence of the Taylors; all was not lost for her,
after all!

Cindy felt stirrings of life inside her body once again, where there
had been only deadness since she had awakened that morning. She was not
happy---no, it would take a long time before that emotion would be a
part of her again---but she was alive and she had hope. She had hope...

"I don't mind it at all, Howie. I think it's a wonderful idea, a
marvelous idea. I want to move to San Francisco, I want to very much. I
agree that it's a wonderful opportunity for us."

"Fine isn't the word for it!" enthused Howard. "Imagine, baby, your old
man a Lot Manager! And that's only the beginning. Why, in a couple of
years I could get to be General Manager, and then, if things work out,
I might have enough pull and prestige to be able to branch out and open
up my own agency...

"Howie," Cindy interrupted softly, "Howie, when will you be home? I
want to see you, Howie. I want to talk to you face to face."

"I'll be leaving here about seven; have to meet Charley for drinks at
five to talk contracts and iron out the details. But I wanted to call
you before I went, to see if it was all right."

"Then you'll be home around nine?"

"Should be, uh-huh."

"Hurry, won't you?"

"You bet I will," Howard said. "I love you."

"Yes, Howie," said Cindy, and gently broke the connection.

She walked with her head up now, back into the bedroom, and sat down on
the edge of the bed. A new life... a return to some semblance of the
kind of existence they had had before that awful anniversary gift of
the Taylors, the Polaroid camera... a new life, and everything was
going to be all right for her and Howard in San Francisco...

And then Cindy Jamison's eyes moved inadvertently to the other side of
the darkened bedroom, and fell upon the black-cased Polaroid camera
which lay on Howard's dresser. She stared at it for a long moment, and
as she did, a tingling sensation began in her loins and in her mind
there flashed the images of photographs, full-color snapshots of her
nude and making love to Howard, to Ralph Taylor, to Steve Samuels, to
the dog, Ringo... sharp in detail, these photos in her mind, clear and
vivid and exciting, setting her afire, building her desires...

Suddenly, Cindy Jamison was afraid again. A new life? Yes, that much
was true... but what kind of new life? Was it to be as she had pictured
talking to Howie on the telephone, a return to their blissful existence
of before? Or was it to be something else, an entirely different kind
of new life, one which was founded on emancipation and the fulfillment
of sexual desire no matter how depraved and the total abandonment of
self to the pleasures of the flesh? A life of photographs, and exchange
clubs, of wife swapping and worse? Which one would it be?

The first one, the young housewife thought fervently. The first one,
just Howie and I together, no dirty pictures and no evil swapping,
nothing except each other rebuilding our love and our trust.

                             The End

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