|
Chapter 1
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.
Chapter 2
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.
Chapter 3
"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.
Chapter 4
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.
Chapter 5
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.
Chapter 6
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 disappear, and
she reached out and lifted the stack of photos. She held them up to her
eyes, drawing on the stick again, then began to shuffle through them.
She knew them well, these 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 ...
Chapter 7
Cindy sat dejectedly on the living room couch staring thoughtfully into
a martini glass. Her head whirled from the fifth one she had drunk
since arriving with her husband and the Taylors. The talk was lively
around her; the other three in a similar, lightheaded condition from
drinking, though not saddened.
She hadn't wanted to be part of the foursome tonight, feeling worse
than she had when Ralph and Norma had taken her and Howard to dinner at
The Gandydancer. She had pleaded with Howard when he'd called during
the afternoon that she wasn't feeling well, that her head ached from
the previous night, that ... well, none of her excuses had worked, she
thought ruefully. Here she was, once more with her head spinning from
too much to drink, surrounded by loud, boisterous, crude talk.
Worse, she wasn't even in her own home, where, if things got out of
hand or her own emotional breaking point was reached, she could have
fled to the sanctity of her bedroom. Or what was left of that sanctity,
she concluded harshly. Howard had changed so drastically, especially
since that night when she had allowed those nude Polaroid pictures to
be taken ... for since then, there had been three successive nights
when he had wanted to repeat that horrible performance, to once more
set up the tripod and camera and writhe in abandon on the rug, or, as
the case last night, on the bed. The very sheets seemed now permeated
with debauchery, with the sins of carnality, and the remembrance of how
he had tried again to push her head down on his penis and the coldness
with which he had treated her afterwards when she had refused to do it
brought tears brimming to her eyes. She wiped them carefully and took
another heavy gulp of the martini, wincing slightly as it burned its
way down her throat.
And tonight, this party was the crowning blow. Howard had actually
threatened her on the phone, caustically overriding her objections with
brutal words. "You're coming tonight, Cindy," he grated over the phone.
"You're coming and you're going to like it. Understand? It's high time
you learned which side of the bread the butter's on, and if my boss
wants us to go to his cabin tonight, then we're damned well going up
there."
"Howie ..." she'd wailed, trembling with his angered voice.
"Don't Howie me," he'd snapped back. "Get into a pair of slacks and a
nice blouse, comb your hair and be ready to leave as soon as I get home
at six. And have a smile on your face, too!" And with that, he'd hung
up so harshly that the sound had hurt her ears.
The distraught young wife, completely confused as to what would now
bring her previously idyllic marriage back together, overwhelmed by the
forceful way Howard's raucous boss had taken a more than guiding
influence, terrified at the prospect of a total breakdown of her life,
whimpered softly on the couch of the Taylor's mountain cabin. She
finished the last drop of the martini and reached forward for the
pitcher on the coffee table and poured herself another. The liquor
dulled the anguish which pained her, at least, and made this nightmare
of an evening a tolerable thing.
The trip to Ralph's cabin retreat had taken several hours, and had been
frequently punctuated by stops at taverns and cocktail lounges along
the way. Ralph had also brought along a thermos of daiquiris, which he
had passed around as he drove, and all the while he and Howard and
Norma had discussed everything under the sun in animated, ever louder
voices. The sun had already set and the air was a bit nippy when at
last they pulled up in front of the stone and redwood cabin, set at the
edge of a fine fishing lake in the Sierra foothills.
As befitting Ralph, the interior was masculine and a little on the
ostentatious side. The living room was huge with a high oak-beamed
ceiling and a large stone fireplace, which Ralph soon had filled with a
huge roaring fire. The cabin wasn't so isolated as to not have
electricity, but the men had trouble getting the hot water heater
going, partly because it was old and cranky and partly because both of
them were more than a little drunk by that time.
Cindy hadn't seen the bedrooms yet, but she had the feeling that they
would be warm and homey, with great big thick double beds and feather
pillows. She'd soon know, she said to herself. She and Howard were
going to spend the night here, courtesy of Ralph and Norma. And while
her husband hadn't said so, there had been intimations that the weekend
might be extended to two nights, the four of them returning late
Monday. She hoped not. God, she hoped not, for then Howard would never
be away from Ralph's almost evil influence. A small shudder passed
through her. What would happen with such concentrated exposure to his
manager's suggestions?
Her inner torment stopped abruptly as she was suddenly brought back to
the present by Norma's thin, smooth-skinned hand on her shoulder. She
looked at the woman, who was smiling in a concerned, worried way, and
Cindy smiled back as best she could.
"Something's the matter, isn't it, Cindy?" the other woman said in a
condescending way. "You've been sitting here all evening, your face
like a mask of tragedy."
"Oh ... oh, it's nothing, Norma. Really it isn't."
"Of course it is, Cindy. A woman can tell, just like I could tell the
other night when we talked in The Gandydancer. Do you want to confide
in me now, Cindy? Before you explode with whatever's bothering you?"
The hapless wife hesitated, opened her mouth to say something, then
caught herself and stopped. It was too embarrassing. Just how could she
go about confiding to this woman that her husband had influenced Howard
to the point where their whole life was nearly crumbling? Norma, the
wife that she was, would certainly go to the defense of her husband,
and rightly so, for what proof had Cindy? And Ralph, big-hearted and no
doubt thinking he was doing the right thing, would be crushed and hurt-
-perhaps to the point of damaging Howard's career. No, Cindy couldn't
tell Norma that.
But still, she was so low and miserable that she had to confide in
someone. The martinis had helped in loosening her soul, in making her
want to confess her innermost agony, and as she looked at Norma, her
eyes once more filled with salty tears and two droplets began to course
down her cheeks. Perhaps it would be a mistake, but if she chose her
words and skirted the problem with Ralph, she could tell Norma.
She looked around to make sure that she would not be overheard by her
husband or Ralph, saw them in a heated discussion on the merits of
spoon fishing over live bait, and then turned back to Norma.
"It's ... it's Howard," she whispered.
"I thought it might be," Norma said with pursed lips. "He's been acting
almost as strangely as you have, Cindy." She stood up, glancing at the
men as she did. "Let's step into the kitchen where we can be alone, all
right?"
Nodding, Cindy followed Norma into the kitchen. She leaned against the
old cast-iron wood cook stove, her hands clasped in front of her, not
sure where to begin. Finally she blurted, "I ... can't seem to make him
happy anymore, Norma."
If Cindy had been a little more sober, a little less upset with her own
problems, she might have noticed the sudden gleam in Ralph's wife's
eyes. The spark which was almost a gloat, for in Norma's mind an
entirely different set of thoughts were going on, thoughts which if
Cindy had known would have sent her screaming from the cabin.
You better believe he's not happy with you, Norma thought. And he won't
be ... ever ... until you learn what I had to learn. Your lessons are
already started, only you don't know it, my sweet little innocent ...
and tonight is going to be a real test ... when Ralph throws his
wonderfully huge and talented cock into your tight, clasping cunt ...
or even better, between those red lips of yours ...
Outwardly, the calculating wife of Howard's boss smiled with assurance
and said, "I'm sure that he loves you, though."
"I don't know," moaned Cindy. "Not anymore. He ... he's demanding ...
things of me which I ... I just can't do!"
"You mean ... sexually?"
Her face a livid color of scarlet, Cindy nodded. "I try to be a good
wife for him. I want to please him so very much. I cook him good meals
and clean the house every day and try to show him I love him in
everything I do, but lately it doesn't seem to be pleasing him like it
used to."
Norma took the nearly crying little wife by the shoulders and looked
her straight in the eye, knowing that this was when she could really
set the stage for Ralph ... as well as herself and that strong hunk of
man, Howard. Her pussy tingled at the thought of getting fucked by that
handsome, young salesman. She said, "Now I'm going to give you some
advice, Cindy. I'll be blunt and truthful, and I hope you'll
understand. If you do, then I'm sure that your marriage will be saved."
"Yes?" There was a ray of hope in Cindy's voice. "You really think so,
Norma?"
"I wouldn't be telling you this if I didn't. I had to go through the
same thing with Ralph, and you can see that after ten years we are
still very happily together. The same can be true of you and Howard.
Now first of all, a man loves a woman sexually, not by the food she
cooks. He can go to a restaurant for that, and a maid can be brought in
to clean the house, and a laundry can do his clothes just fine. But his
wife can do something which no other woman can do--satisfy him
sexually. After all, he married her because he loved her, which makes
their relations much closer than he could get with say, some girl he
could meet in a bar. Right?"
"Oh, yes!"
"And let me tell you this: no man is going to leave his wife if he
knows he's got the best bed-partner right there at home. That's not to
say that sex for its own sake is wrong, mind you; it's just not as good
as with the one you love." Damned right, Norma thought, feeling another
man's cock deep in my warm pussy is a thrill, and l love it, but it
only makes me appreciate the heart and love I have for Ralph later,
when we're making love ... and the same goes for him!
Norma continued in earnest appeal. "So it's up to you to do everything
and I mean everything--that you can to make your husband happy in bed.
When I married Ralph, I was so inexperienced that I thought the only
way to make love was flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. No wonder
I never really enjoyed it! I was too uptight, too worried that I would
do something wrong, but Ralph was insistent and forced me to follow his
lead, to join in En all sorts of wild and wonderful games. At first I
hated it, but after I learned to let myself go, once I saw that what
people do in the privacy of their lives can't be wrong as long as it
gives pleasure to them both, I really started enjoying sex. Now," and
here Norma chuckled, "now I'm as insatiable as my husband!"
"You ... think that's what's the matter with Howie and me?"
"I know it, Cindy. A man likes variety and not the same old thing. It's
the spice of life after all, and keeps him interested in you ..."
Norma talked on, lecturing Cindy, and as she did so the sweet, innocent
housewife avidly drank in her words. It was true what she said. Norma
and Ralph were happy after all these years. Howard had been bitter when
she refused to do things to him--with him--of a sexual nature; things
like posing with him in the picture taking, things like kissing his
penis and letting him kiss her between the legs.
As the other woman talked, Cindy saw that it wasn't Howard or Ralph who
was at fault for her misery, but herself. Her selfish attitude, one
born of ignorance and timidity, and yes, even of prudery. She was a
prude, just as Howard had accused!
Well, things were going to change, and change fast. She made up her
mind to that. Tonight they were going to change, she vowed. Tonight she
would try to kiss Howard's penis, even if it killed her. When fifteen
minutes later she walked back out to the living room, she was firmly
convinced this was the way to Howard's heart, and she sat back down and
poured herself another martini.
I've got to have strength to go through with tats, she said to herself,
gritting her teeth. Some more liquor will help ... She downed the
strong drink and poured another. Just then there was the large shadow
of Howard's boss hovering over her, and she looked up, startled. He
grinned down at her expansively.
"Care to dance, my dear?" he asked.
"No ... no, thank you, Ralph."
"Oh, come on. Norma asked your husband to, and they're having fun.
See?" He indicated the couple who were dancing on the rug, and it was
only then that Cindy realized that the living room had changed in the
brief time she'd been in the kitchen. She had no idea that Ralph had
been busily at work, having seen his lovely wife take her into the
kitchen, that he had been waiting for the chance to start his work ...
Low, slow-rhythmed music filtered from the large radio-phonograph
combination in one corner, filling the room with almost a fog of
violins and muted woodwinds. The fire had been banked, and now only the
glowing embers lit the room, making deep, dancing shadows against the
walls and ceiling. And there, in the middle of the room were Norma and
Howard, dancing.
Dancing? Cindy couldn't believe her eyes. That wasn't dancing they were
doing. They were far too close together, embracing each other
passionately as though they were lovers and not just friends. And Norma
was with each beat grinding her hips into the pelvis of her husband!
Thrusting her breasts into his chest! Resting her sweetly smiling face
on his shoulder!
Ralph caught on to what Cindy was looking at. He chortled. "Oh, ho, ho,
don't get so upset, Cindy. That's just her way of dancing." He held out
his hand. "C'mon, let's do the same."
Cindy found it difficult to stand after drinking so heavily, and she
swayed noticeably. Ralph calmly enveloped her in his strong arms and
held her close, and she in turn found it easier to hold onto him with
her arms around his waist and lean against him for support. The music
flowed like soft wine around her ears and she shut her eyes, dreaming
that this was Howard she was with.
Ralph found that his cock was beginning to expand, to grow into a
swelling, rigid pole in his pants as he held the alcoholically relaxed
young wife. He slowly began to stroke her back, much as one would a cat
to make it purr and with the same effects. Cindy snuggled closer,
nuzzling his shirt.
Yes, yes, this is working perfectly. Both of them drunk, both beginning
to be whipped into a fever-pitch. Norma must have really talked to her,
all right; really explained that sex is something to be experienced to
the fullest, and not rejected.
And while Norma had been in the kitchen with Cindy, Ralph had taken the
opportunity to begin on Howard. He'd told him that not only was he,
Ralph, proud to have him as a friend, but that Norma really liked him
too. "I mean, really likes you, my boy. She's always talking about how
good-looking you are, how masculine you are, how virile you must be in
bed. Heh, heh. I've been kidding her that she'd probably like you to
make love to her ... and you know what, Howie-boy? I bet she would. I
bet she would."
Howard had flushed, murmuring his thanks for such compliments, but
Ralph had known it had gone deeper than that. He knew--it always did.
After all, Norma was one hell of a sexy dish, and when she wanted to
turn on the heat, it burned through all opposition. And as he looked
over at his seductive wife now, as he held the charming Mrs. Jamison
close to his ever expanding penis, he could tell that all of her
burners were on. She was after Howard, and Howard is what she'd get!
And when she got him ... Ralph would get that sweet, tender cunt of
Howard's pretty wife! He groaned and shoved his buttocks closer,
rubbing them against Cindy's thighs, easing one leg between her legs so
that he pressed against her pubic area.
How right he was! Ralph knew how to motivate people, whether it was to
sell a car or fuck his wife. As he talked to the stupifiedly drunk
young husband, Howard began to conjure up the image of himself fucking
Norma rather than Ralph--of replacing Ralph in that set of intimate
photos his boss had shown him yesterday, the ones showing Norma, buff
naked, and Ralph writhing on their bed, doing all the perversions and
positions imaginable. It had cost Howard the price of showing Ralph a
set he had taken of himself and Cindy the night before, but it had been
worth it! Goddamn, his boss's wife looked like a fine piece!
She is obviously one hell of a lay! By those pictures she is like
Bonnie: a cock-sucking, wild-fucking woman! But then a modicum of
sobriety returned to Howard. The tingling in his cock at the thought of
entering that wild pussy of Norma's wouldn't go away, though, not after
the seed had been planted by his boss. Oh Christ, calm down. This its
your manager's wife you're talking about. Ease of, and ease off on the
booze, too, before you foul things up.
But then Norma had headed straight for him after coming out of the
kitchen. He hadn't even noticed that Ralph had put on records and there
was music until she'd asked him to dance with her. Impulsively, rashly,
he'd agreed, and suddenly he was holding her closer than he'd ever
danced with Cindy! It was all but a rape on the floor with clothes on!
On and on her belly and hips ground into him, brushing teasingly
against the outline of his cock. Her muscles seemed to linger there,
massaging gently, slowly in time to the music, sending burning ripples
of passion flooding through him ...
"Having a good time, Howie?" she breathed into his ear.
"Y ... yes," he answered. His voice sounded strangely hoarse. "I'm
having a fine time."
"Mmmmm, good. I love dancing with you like this. Feeling you getting
hard because of me ..."
What? What was this? Howard couldn't believe his ears. Was this his
boss's wife talking like this? Talking like that beautiful whore,
Bonnie, had? What was the matter with her?
Norma's nimble, lithe body continued to caress him, and she ground her
soft tits against his chest. Her lips were parted and she kept running
her hot tongue back and forth along his neck and shoulder where her
head touched; her breath fervid and sweet in his ear, her eyes lidded
with her own sensual appetites.
Howard knew he should pull back from her before Cindy or her husband
saw them like this, but the salacious pleasure of her expert
ministrations rendered him incapable of doing that. All he could do was
hold her tighter and slowly turn with the beat of the music and feel
his penis grow and grow and grow, just like she said it was.
"I want you to make love to me, Howie," she purred. "Real love, a man's
love, deep, deep inside me."
"God, Norma--" he panted.
"I saw you and I wanted you to put your cock inside me."
"But, but your husband! My wife!"
She chuckled. "Don't worry, Howie. Things will work out, you'll see. I
just want to know whether you want me or not."
The alcohol, the desire to fuck this woman; all combined to break down
the layers of restraint. He choked, he fought with himself, but there
was no denying the ache, the almost inhuman torture which was making
his penis and testicles throb with wildness. "Norma, I--"
"I want you," she whispered. "Now tell me, Howie ..."
"Yes, yes I want you!"
"How, Howie-baby?"
"I ... I want to fuck you silly!" he whispered back.
She moaned incoherently and smooth velvety legs rubbed against his
pants, and her hips churned against his, and at that moment there
wasn't anything in the world for Howard Jamison except the now voiced
desire to commit adultery with this vixen, this siren wife of his boss.
Meanwhile, Ralph was continuing his own evil plans of seduction. He
kissed Cindy's earlobe slightly, making sure that it wasn't so much of
a kiss as to make her draw away, and then he breathed, "Those were some
fine pictures of you and Howie making love."
Cindy froze. "W-what?"
Ralph comforted her. "Now, now, don't get upset. I showed Howie some of
Norma and myself going at it, and they got him excited and--"
"Excited?" Cindy gasped. "You mean that you and Norma ... and then you
showed them to my husband?" She couldn't comprehend this! Howard and
Ralph exchanging pictures of their most intimate moments! It was
unthinkable! "And ... he showed you ours?"
"Of course! Everybody does that these days. Really, it's very modern
and thrilling, don't you think? I mean, don't you get excited looking
at pictures of people making love?"
"No ... I ..."
Ralph shrugged. "All right, you don't have to admit it to me. But be
truthful with yourself at least."
Truthful with myself. Yes, yes I do like to see such pictures. I hate
to admit it, hate to think what it makes me, but the thought of seeing
others, and even myself, in the photos, does make me hot!
"It does Norma, you know," Ralph continued blandly. "In fact, she's the
one who suggested that I show them to your husband. She thinks that sex
is wonderful, and of course anything goes! Heh. Heh."
Yes, Norma said that in the kitchen. The lovely young wife thought
again of Norma's wise words and realized that her horror and repulsion
were resultant from the same orthodox, Puritan sterility of her soul
that caused her to repudiate her husband's sexual needs. She winced,
shaking with her abject sorrow at her inability, and revowed her
commitment to be everything her husband wanted.
"In fact, I even brought along another set of pictures of me and
Norma," Ralph said. "Would you like to see them?"
This time Cindy didn't reject either her own desires or the desires of
her husband. "Yes," she whispered, downcast, her eyes on the floor.
"Yes, Ralph, I would like to see them."
"Good!" he grinned triumphantly.
The record ended at this point, and the two dancing couples slowly
drifted apart. They all sat back down on the couch, and since the
martini pitcher was now empty, thanks mostly to the thirst of Cindy,
Ralph proposed switching to the other liquor they had brought: rum and
Coke. What he didn't bother to add was that the rum was 151 proof
purple Cuban rum, a rum of high potency, known for its aphrodisiac
qualities. He laced the Jamison's drinks liberally with the dark
liquor, even adding a slight touch of forbidden absinthe which he had
imported illegally from Spain. He served the drinks and then settled
back against the cushions. "Well," he said, raising his glass. "Here's
to us, everybody. Here's to us."
Everybody drank heartily at that, and then he said: "Howie, my boy,
your sweet wife has evinced interest in seeing a set of snapshots Norma
and I took the other day. Want to see them, too?"
Howard, the burning liquid steaming new paths of sensuality through his
entrails, was at first shocked at what to him was a complete reversal
of her previous position, looked questioningly at Cindy. She smiled
back, nodding in agreement. "Okay," he replied, "I--I'd love to see
them."
Already his lower body was on fire, his already semi-hardened cock
leaping at the thought of once more viewing his boss's wife, who had
promised her fair, exciting body to him but seconds before, in
lascivious, breathtaking poses with her husband. His breath caught in
his throat, and a clammy, trembling quality possessed his limbs. His
whole being trembled with tingling anticipation as Ralph took out the
envelope containing the photos, his eyes glued to the glossy evidence
of their matings as his manager slowly took one after another of the
pictures out and passed them around.
They were more enticing, more stimulating, more arousing than the ones
he'd seen at Auto Circus yesterday! He hadn't thought it possible, but
his cock shot to its fullest extremity, filling his underpants to the
bursting point, making him all but leap from the couch and attack his
wife with utter abandonment on the spot! And all the while, as he
passed one after the other of the lewd, carnal snaps to first Cindy and
then Howard, Ralph gave a running commentary.
"We made these like a progressive story, just for some added interest.
See? This first one just shows Norma with her underpants down. Her
dress is still on and everything. God! I had a hell of a time not
ripping off everything right then and there! Isn't that a nice rear end
she has, Howie? Tight, warm-makes you want to grab it with your hands!"
Howie did-but somehow he controlled himself.
Ralph continued. "Here, this one. Norma's got her sweater up over her
breasts. You can see her nipples are hard; a sure sign she wants to get
laid. She has fine breasts, doesn't she? And look at her, isn't she
enjoying sucking my cock? Brother, did I have a hard-on that night." He
smiled at Cindy, who sat staring at the photo, amazed at the size of
his cock as he stood beside his squatting wife, who had hold of the
base of his instrument, her eyes closed, and her tongue out and licking
the head of his mammoth, red penis. Cindy groaned inwardly, and
involuntarily the secretions of her vagina began to flow, making her
close her thighs tightly together It only seemed to spur on the hot
tendrils of quickening sex-passion which were beginning to surge
through her.
"Here I took Norma while she was lying on a table. Her legs are in the
air, and you can see her cunt lips stretching around it as I put my
cock into her. One of my better shots, if I do say so." He passed that
picture, and then told about the next: "And here is a full length view,
taken while she was spread out, her legs wide, and the camera aimed up
her legs, past her cunt, and to where she was sucking me off again.
Notice how her pussy is all wet with excitement, and how her fingers
are on her little clit and one in her cunt. She likes to beat off;
finds it relaxing. This one was taken on the table also. She's putting
my cock in her cunt with her hand. You can really see how nice and
sweet her asshole is. It's not in this set, I'm afraid, but in another
one, there's a great shot of me sticking my prick in her anus. Boy,
does she love that!
"This one is one of my personal favorites," Ralph went on to explain.
"I'm licking her cunt, spreading the lips of her cunt with my fingers
and really digging in. You can make out her hole clearly in this one,
the whole beautiful cavern where I stick my cock. I'm sorry that she
didn't have her legs wider, or you could make out her asshole in this
one, too."
Howard was overwhelmed, lost in the wild frenzy of seeing his boss's
wife in full color, more intimately displayed in naked, close-up detail
than he would have been able to see even as a casual lover. His hands
quivered as he viewed the shot of her widened cunt, his breath drawing
in sharply. He hardly noted his wife's own heavy, palpitating reaction
to seeing Ralph's great and magnificent rod sliding in and being sucked
in by Norma.
"... and this is the last one, folks. I came, shooting my cum all over
Norma. She held her mouth open, and I aimed for it but you know how
those things can go. I missed, and so the camera got her with my cum
all over her face. You can see the droplets of sperm on her hair and
eyelids, heh, heh. Some even got on her nose. Too bad; she loves the
taste, too."
The last picture was indeed the crowning shot. She was crouched by his
thigh, obviously anticipating the flow of his orgasm, and again, her
eyes were shut. But just as obvious as her desire was the way Ralph had
spewed forth his climax, covering her with a thick film of his cum.
Howard trembled, dreaming of cumming the same way over Norma; Cindy
moaned, a bundle of excitement and trepidation at knowing the same was
in store for her tonight. She had to please her husband. She just had
to!
The lovely young wife, totally oblivious to all that lay in store for
her at the hands of the Taylors, was first shocked incomprehensibly by
the appearance of the pictures. But she forced herself to look at them,
to drink in Ralph's lewd words, and willed her mind to forget its
training and become as the others: emancipated. She waited in
anticipation and nervous fear of her own emotions to see how she would
react, and she snuggled against her husband, determined to follow
through with her new-found commitment.
She became fascinated almost immediately, captivated by the salacious
scenes of her host's giant penis and her hostess's quivering, pink
rimmed vagina. Shivers of revulsive curiosity tingled through her and
goose pimples erupted on her sensitive skin and she felt strangely
cold. She took repeatedly large swallows of her cuba libre in between
handling the photographs, shuddering from the building sexual
stimulation that indulging in something forbidden gives.
Cindy's breath came in tight gasps and the burning sensation which
bubbled in her stomach grew in maddening intensity with each moment she
watched the salacious depictions of lovemaking. Her body began to
perspire and her forehead was covered with tiny beads of sweat.
Beside her, Howard was breathing heavily, squirming down on the couch.
He moved closer to his wife and dropped one hand to her leg, slipping
it up toward the fullness of her thigh. Cindy froze from the unexpected
contact, then placed her own hand on his, stopping further advance,
gradually forcing his hand away from her tightly clenched pussy ... but
then another picture seemed to excite him to the point where he
overcame her hand and he dipped between her legs, his fingers rubbing
openly the vee of her smooth silky panties. Cindy hesitated, not
knowing what to do. If she moved to push him away, to once more gain
her composure and modesty in front of the Taylors, the struggle would
only attract attention, and anything she might say would be overheard.
Slowly she dropped her free hand to cover his; Howard continued to
tease her vaginal area, probing her moist slit through the thin,
unprotesting layers of cloth. She blushed and gasped as sudden waves of
indecent pleasure washed over her, overcoming her desire to resist.
Howard's hand became bolder as he sensed her tacit surrender. Cindy bit
her lip and glanced at Norma and then Ralph to see if they showed signs
of awareness, but they did not. Her husband's fingers moved in tiny
teasing circles and up and down, titillating addition to the depraved
pictures, and she didn't think she could stand another moment! Cindy
was ready to crawl the wall to quench the fire raging through her
involuntarily contracting vagina! Something had to give!
It did. Ralph collected the pictures, saying, "Well, that's all there
are, kiddies. I hope you enjoyed them. I know we did--both while making
them and seeing them again."
"Boy," Howard said, removing his hand from Cindy's pants, "those were
some hot shots. Did you see the way Ralph was pumping Norma in that one
on the table? Did you Cindy? Wow!"
"Y--yes," the wife replied. She looked guiltily at Norma as though she
had been spying on the other woman, but Ralph's wife looked back with
pride beaming on her face. Then Cindy glanced at her husband and at
Ralph, and by their expressions she realized that she was the only one
out of step, that everybody else openly and without shame had enjoyed
the pictures.
Swaying from the effects of the snapshots, Cindy got to her feet. She
could feel the moistness generated by Howard's fingers in her vaginal
area, and before things went any further, she wanted a chance to calm
down, to sort things out. So much had been happening tonight, so many
new things to absorb--it was too much!
"I ... I want to go to the bathroom," she said, smiling shyly. "Please
excuse me."
She started off for the toilet, and after she'd left the room, Ralph
turned to Howard and said: "Norma here says you want to fuck her."
Howard, his eyes like saucers, fell back against the cushions, his
heart hammering in his throat. "Well, I ... that is ..." he stammered.
"Good for you, Howie my boy. She'll give you a fine ride."
"You mean--?"
"Like I said in The Arabian Knight, Howie, sex is good, clean fun, and
if you fuck my wife it won't take away any of my love for her." He
smiled warmly at the still aghast salesman. "Besides, that wife of
yours looks awful attractive to me!"
"You mean you want to do it to Cindy, too?" Howard choked.
"What's the matter, Howie boy? Double standard? You covet my wife, but
I can't covet yours?" His voice was quiet yet slashing. "You and Norma
will have a good time together; she's one hell of a lay, let me tell
you. But I have the same drives, the same interest in a good pussy
other than her, and so has she for other cock. We're honest enough to
admit it and enjoy it."
"But I--"
"But nothing. You're the same way. You were one happy bastard with
Bonnie as I recall. That didn't make you give up your wife did it? No,
it didn't," Ralph said emphatically. "And neither will your fucking
Norma make any difference to your marriage."
"Cindy will never agree," Howard gasped. It was the last of his
defenses, and he knew it. Ralph spoke the truth; he did want to fuck
his boss's wife, and he had had one fine time with that beautiful young
prostitute, Bonnie. How could he argue that Ralph shouldn't have Cindy
if he, Howard took Norma? Oh, God, it was enough to make his head spin!
He had to stop this!
But the filthy pictures and the erotic dancing and the overabundance of
alcohol had fuddled and aroused him to a place where he couldn't say
no. The carnal sights of Norma mewling silently under the strong, rock-
like penis of her husband tormented him, her cooing pleas while she
molded her tight body to his while dancing--Christ he wanted her! But
there was still the torment of giving his own wife to another man in
repayment, as if Cindy would ever accept such a suggestion! "No," he
repeated, "I'm not going to force her, and I know she'll never go
along. Never."
"Don't worry about that, my boy. I'll take my chances along those
lines. You just go to bed with Cindy tonight, make love to her, be the
good husband that you are. I'll come in later and take your place.
She'll never know!"
Horrified, Howard was only able to cry, "No!"
Norma leaned over, smiling with sultriness. "Yes, Howie-baby. Yes,
you'll do it. You want me tonight, want me very much. You'll leave your
wife and come to me, and then we'll fuck. And I'll suck you, too." She
kissed him on the cheek tenderly. "Consider that it'll be good for your
wife, too. A way to emancipate her, to make her into a completely free
woman of the flesh. Well, this way will do it, believe me. I went
through it."
His brain screaming, Howard buried his face in his hands. Could he?
Could he really go through with it? He had to ... for his career, for
his release he wanted with Norma ... and as she had said, for Cindy's
own welfare. "All right," he whispered. "But maybe she'll catch on,
maybe she'll turn on the light and see it's you ..."
"Heh, heh. Don't worry, my boy, with all those drinks in her, she'll
never even know she's been had."
"Howie!" came a drunken voice from out of the living room. "Will you
come here, honey?"
Howard stared down the hall, recognizing that his wife wanted him in
the bedroom.
"There, you see? She's primed and ready, Howie. Go get her!" Ralph
chortled heartily as Howard staggered off in the direction of the call.
"Don't forget," he called after his salesman, "I'll be in later on, but
don't wait for me! Get her all hot and bothered yourself!"
To Be Continued
In
Book Two
|
