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Subject: RP: Polaroid Club (Best stories from my archive) [1/2]
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The Polaroid 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 Polaroid 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 Polaroid 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 Polaroid 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 Polaroid 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 Polaroid 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 Polaroid 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 Polaroid
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 Polaroid 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 Polaroid 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 Polaroid 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 Polaroid
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, Polaroid 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, Polaroid 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 Polaroid 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 is a private, insidious invasion of each
citizen's rights, a direct refutation of the first amendment to the
Constitution, and a callous disregard by the government for the right of legal
hearing.  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.

The terror, the horror of such a book is the fact that the government
authorities who carefully compile this ever-expanding list decide themselves
on what is pornography and dangerous and immoral for the public to read.  It
has no bearing as to court decisions, on the law's definition of what's good
or bad, but on some narrow-minded, blue-nosed bureaucrat bent on stamping out
his own prejudiced views of prurience.  This is why it is kept a secret, for
it is highly illegal.

Yet it's there, sitting on some shelf.

And it's used.  Used as a powerful stranglehold over the freedom of the
individual to live in his own "pursuit of happiness."

It is a prime example how the incompetent, sometimes dishonest and oftentimes
ignorant public servants, in Washington D.C. have covertly expanded their
power so that we, the PEOPLE, now serve THEM.

It served the weaselly postal clerk, Steve Samuel's evil purposes now.  For in
it was listed the name and address of the Polaroid 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 Polaroid 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
˙sappear, 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, Muck her good!  Fuck her Muck her, oh, Jesus, I'm going to cum any
second now her mouth is like warm honey around my cock and I'm Mucking 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.

[continues]
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