William Davis

The Polaroid club book II

CHAPTER ONE

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

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

When he didn't appear within a few minutes, she called out for him, and she heard him walk toward the room. When he opened the door, she said drunkenly; "Quick! Close it, Howie."

"Cindy…" he said, again captivated by the sight of his tender young wife spread out waiting for him. "Cindy, I want you…" He all but slammed the door, and then he came to the bed, on which she had stopped lying and had now risen into a kneeling position.

"I want you to fuck me…" she breathed, unbuckling his pants. "Fuck me, Howie, fuck me…"

"What?" He could hardly believe his ears! "Did you say what I thought you said?"

"Yes, Howie!" she slurred as her hand lowered his pants until they pooled down around his shoes. She moved to the waistband of his shorts, sliding under it. She felt the soft tendrils of his curly pubic hair and the touch of his skin sent ripples of sheer lust surging through her. Her hand went still lower, contacting the head of his prick and she ran a fingernail over it. Blood pounded through Howard's loins, causing his cock to leap into erection and palpitate excitedly under her careres.

"Howie…" she moaned, pulling his underpants down. She was abandoning herself to lust, to the newly awakened fires within her; and she finally realized that she could admit her enjoyment, her arousal from the pictures without shame. "Howie, don't you want to fuck me?"

"Yes! Christ, yes!" All thought of his boss and his plans for the night were lost now as Howard began to squirm his hips. She stroked his cock and testicles, her fingers burning. He could barely contain himself to take the time to remove his clothes, and then he leapt naked on the bed to embrace his wildly hot wife. He entwined his fingers in her hair and jerked her head up, grinding his mouth down on hers, and her tongue flashed into his mouth like a purveyor of molten fire. His hand went to her nightie, feeling her trembling body through the thin material.

"Make me naked," she whispered against his mouth. "Rip my gown off, Howie, and make me naked!"

His hands bunched the garment and savagely he ripped it downward from her neck, shredding it from her taut, hard-nippled breasts and from around her pink, blond-crested pussy. She helped him by twisting and undulating, her hand still vibrantly fused to his genitals. He moved his hands down over her bare stomach, through the soft golden fleece of her pubic hair, finally touching the pulsating shaft of her erect clitoris. Her loins ground in uncontrolled counterpoint to his massaging fingers and she whimpered in unrestrained pleasure, her long blond hair flailing from side to side.

Cindy continued to enfold her husband's granite-hard cock, feeling every ridge, every muscle of its hardened expanse. She suddenly wanted to know it better, to learn about every inch of it; she was completely lost in the torrent of passion the pictures, the alcohol, and perhaps most of all, her own mind had allowed her to experience.

"I'm going to kiss your penis tonight, Howie," she groaned. "I'm going to let you kiss me, too… down there. I want that now, Howie, I want that very much! I'm going to do that, but I've got to have you inside me first… to fuck me until I explode!"

"Yes!" he crooned. "Oh, God yes, baby, yes!" Tremors of lewd desire ran rampant through Howard's flesh. This was what he had been dreaming of! This was what he had been trying to have his wife do to him for three years, and what he had thought he'd never achieve! And now she actually wanted to suck him off! Had literally begged to be allowed to do it! And all because of those pictures! How could he ever thank Ralph for giving him the Polaroid?

In that maddening moment, his rhetorical question went unanswered, for Howard's mind had blanked off all thought of what he had agreed to do, the swapping of his wife for Norma, his boss' wife… yes, that thought and any other thought except the burning, surging, electrifying compulsion to fuck his wife. Yes, fuck her, just as she'd said; first her tender cunt and then later, her sensitive lips…

But Ralph Taylor had answered that question. The manager grinned with wild-eyed lust at his wife, and Norma returned the insidious look. Then they turned their attention back to the little square loudspeaker box mounted over the head of their bed; the master unit of a three-station intercom system, especially installed so that they could monitor either of the two guest bedrooms. It was on, and the moaning, panting sounds of Howard and Cindy Jamison filled the bedroom, whipping the Taylors into further sex fever.

"Man, listen to them, lover," Ralph gloated. "She's going to go down on him, going to suck his cock for the first time. Well maybe her plans are going to be changed a bit."

His wife, whom he was fucking dog-fashion so that they could both face the intercom, turned her head around again, her features contorted with passion and urgency. "Yes, yes, you bastard, make her eat you instead. Take her then… oohhhh… but not before I cum, Ralph… not before I cum!" And with that, Norma angled her cunt up backwards, impaling her wide-stretched buttocks on the erect, thrusting spear of her husband's great, swollen penis. "More, Ralph," she whimpered. "More cock!"

And from the speaker the Taylors heard Cindy chanting mindlessly, "You're wonderful, you're wonderful, you're wonderful…" and her rampaging husband's chorus of: "Baby… baby… I love to fuck you… love to fuck you…"

The two couples, one very aware of the other's mating and the other so lost in their actions as to be oblivious to any outside interference, raced with demoniacal force to their respective orgasms. Howard rocked above his lovely wife, speaking obscenely into her ear, and that in turn made her rotate her buttocks still more insanely. Cindy reacted with chills of excitement and rapture spiraling the full length of her spine as she felt the tempo of her husband's burgeoning cock burrow deeper and deeper into her throbbing cunt.

"Fuck me… Howie, fuck me…" she responded, not knowing that her words were being picked up by the microphone overhead. "I'm… almost there, darling!" She began to toss her head in frenzied, abandoned ecstasy, rapturous little moans escaping from his lips. She was so wild she was going out of her mind! This is what Norma had meant, about being free! How right she'd been! Oh! Oh! She'd never known anything this good existed!

Howard increased his pace and the length of his stroke, knowing that he couldn't last much longer, feeling the volcano of his sperm-filled balls ready to erupt. Cindy raised her widespread loins up to him in simultaneous rhythm to his downward thrusts, gurgling her encouragement, her every moan and word being transmitted to the adjoining bedroom and the greedy ears of her husband's boss and his wife. Howard pounded his pile-driving cock harder and harder into her eagerly sucking cunt, pressing his hands behind her knees and thrusting them back hard against her breasts until her head was framed between them, bringing the tableau of her soft, innocent pussy open yet wider to his lashing plunges.

"Ohhhhh, ohhhhhh, oooohhhhhh!" she chanted under him as she felt her orgasm reach its pinnacle and soar into the heavens. And then she convulsed beneath him, her mouth wide, and a cry of animal delight, of pure pagan rapture, tore from the core of her being. "AAAAAHHHHHH!" Never had she dreamed sex could be this wonderful!

"She's cum, she's cum!" wailed Ralph Taylor, and hammered deeper into his wife's warm, wet cavern. "Oh, Jesus, and… and I'm going to cum, too!" He felt his insatiable young wife spasm wildly beneath him, the mouth of her bearded young pussy sucking his cock feverishly, her breath spewing raggedly, and his hot, churning-sperm raced through his prick and spurted deep, deep into her voraciously contracting belly… it was a never-ending flow which caused her to cry out in indecipherable delight.

And as he overheard the banshee howls of his star salesman's climactic release, imagined the vast bursting of Howard's cum flooding his gorgeous young wife's rapidly undulating belly with surge after surge of hot semen, Ralph smiled cat-like and smug. "It's time now," he whispered to Norma. "It's time now that I change places with Howie."

As the torrent ended and Howard relaxed upon his supine wife, she in turn sighed and stretched out her legs, her heart still roaring and pounding like a mightily crashing surf. She felt Howard's penis grow limp inside her, and then he slowly slipped off of her and lay against her trembling, perspiring nakedness. He whispered in her ear, "Cindy… oh, God, darling, that was wonderful. It was beyond belief."

She kissed his cheek. "You've been right all this time, Howie. I should have let myself go a long time ago, and I sure fought it up to now… but tonight, after those pictures of Norma and Ralph, and all we had to drink, I… well, I found all the wonderful desires awakened which I'd kept repressed for so long."

Howard considered Cindy's still slurred words for a minute and then said, "I'm glad we came here."

"I am, too." She lovingly rubbed the palm of her hand up and down his stomach and side. "It's saved us, saved our marriage. Oh, Howie, I'm so sorry for what I've put you through for three years. I kept blaming you for being too demanding, and all the while it was my silly puritanical ways."

Howard was about to reply, when he suddenly felt a cold, strange hand on one buttock. He turned, unable to make out detail in the pitch-black bedroom, but the inky outline beside the bed needed no features. Howard instantly knew it was his boss, Ralph! His heart sunk in sudden shock. Ralph must have snuck in here on tiptoe – he was naked, standing there ready to take his place! A moan of abject pity broke from Howard's throat and he clenched his eyes shut in lewd remembrance of the horrible bargain he had made earlier in the evening.

"Howie? Is something the matter?" Cindy asked, her voice thick from the alcohol they had drunk.

What could he tell her? Terror seized his throat. If he blurted out the truth, that his boss was beside him, eagerly wanting to trade wives, the tremendous advances Cindy had taken tonight would be for nil. If she didn't leave him, she'd never make love with the same abandonment again. He knew it, knew how she would react to such faithless treachery. And Ralph would never forgive him either… besides, maybe Ralph was right. Maybe with all the drinks they had had she wouldn't know the difference.

"Howie?" Cindy's head was to one side, one arm covering her eyes in a sign of limp contentment. "Howie?"

"No – nothing's the matter, honey," he managed. He looked up with pleading eyes at Ralph, knowing that his boss couldn't see his expression. Ralph nudged him on the rear end again, indicating his impatience. His brain reeled, searching for answers, but instead and with instant revulsion he realized that in his helpless position his cock was beginning to stir with life again… the lewd thought of fucking Ralph's wife coming back, a betraying and prurient desire.

"I… I have to go to the bathroom, that's all," he said in a leaden voice. He knew there was no way out, that he would have to play along with Ralph, and gritting his teeth he rolled from his wife and stood up. He looked down at her, splayed with satiated abandonment upon the bed, blessed darkness hiding the full splendor of her tender, passionate body from him. A tear began to form in his eye and he numbly nodded to Ralph beside him. "I'll only be a minute," he mumbled.

"Hurry back, lover," his wife crooned. "You know what I want to do next…"

No! Howard stumbled to the door and the well of blackness which was the hall. No, she can't! She promised she'd suck my cock. Oh, if I'd only known, I'd never have gotten myself into this! He leaned against the hallway wall, choking back a sob of self-pity, anger, and frustration. It isn't fair!

Then the bedroom door was closed by Ralph, the well-oiled hinges making hardly a sound, plunging Howard into absolute silence. But only for a second, and then tender, soft hands found his chest, and a cool voice breathed in the murkiness: "Come on, Howie-baby. You've got a date with me!"

His boss' wife curled him to her heaving breasts, and Howard could instantly tell she was as naked as he was. He tried to stop himself from reacting, from wrapping his arms around her in response… but it was useless. After one frigid minute, his cock found a life of its own in reply to her rubbing stomach and thighs and lifted its head in the air…

"That's it, Howie-baby. Get big and hard for little Norma." Her words were hungry and passionsated. "We're going to have a fine time together, you and me…"

She led him into her bedroom, closed the door and by the dim light of a red-bulbed bedside lamp, crossed to the rumpled, still warm bed where she and her husband had just been fucking and listening on the intercom to the young couple wrapped in the throes of passion.

"Please…" Howard moaned. "My wife… I must…"

Norma chuckled. "Don't worry about her. I bet she's already flat on her back, being fucked silly in that hot little pussy of hers."

"No! Never!"

"Want to bet?"

"Cindy wouldn't allow another man near her!" he groaned in vain hope. "I know it! She's going to realize it's not me and scream! I know it!"

"No, she isn't. She's past that point, past all caring who it is now. After all that liquor and absinthe, and then the pictures…" Norma chuckled again. "No, Howie-baby, all she wants to do is have a man… any man. Of course," she added to placate the distraught young man, "of course, she thinks it's you in there… just like we planned."

"No! She'll know the difference right away!" he objected hotly.

"I'll prove it to you. Here, lie down on the bed." Gently she pushed him down so that he was lying on his back, staring upwards, his face evident of the mixture of horror, disbelief, and strange attraction for the beautiful, sensual woman hovering without any clothes on over him. "That's it, Howie-baby. Now listen…"

She reached up and turned the volume control on the speaker.

Howard held his breath, straining his ears. What was she talking about? Listen to what? Then he began to hear small sounds, barely audible, but they were unmistakable sounds. Soft, wet sucking noises that he had heard for the first time in his life while in the hotel room with that lascivious whore, Bonnie. He heard the noise again and he frowned at Norma. Norma only smiled back and teasingly lowered her raven-haired head down… down to where his cock was standing straight up. He jerked his loins at the electric contact of her lips upon his swollen penis. For a moment his thoughts of his wife and the strange sucking noises were lost in an explosion of idyllic feeling.

Then, from the intercom came the words: "Oh God, keep sucking, Howie… lick it! Lick it!" It whispered through the room, and Howard recoiled with its blatant meaning. His breath caught in his lungs and he struggled to his elbows, wide-eyed. He tried to speak, to shout in anger… but he couldn't. Instead he listened to the sounds of movement as though someone was struggling to pull someone else back to them… and then… the wet sucking sounds again but quieter this time. Ralph was sucking Cindy's cunt!

"That's right, Howie baby. That bedroom's wired for sound. Now you believe me?"

Norma plunged back to her task, finding no interference from the frozen, horrified young husband. She slaved over his cock, enjoying listening to the words herself. Howard moaned as if in some fever, thrashing his head back and forth and unconsciously thrusting his loins upwards to meet Norma's wildly milking mouth. Oh, God, how could Cindy be allowing that to happen to her, allow another man to suck her cunt? He wished he could see them. Was his wife straddling his boss with her legs open? Was she lying on her back spread-eagled with her legs open out wide? His tortured mind painted a thousand lewd scenes of Cindy with her legs splayed obscenely out over the sides of the bed while Ralph Taylor, that bastard, plundered her soft defenseless cunt with his hands and mouth…

Cindy had waited with tingling anticipation for Howard's return, and when the bed lowered with the weight of a man's body, she assumed it was her husband. Her head was swimming, a whirlpool of blurred thoughts and emotions, fired by the lust-provoking pictures, the aphrodisiac rum and absinthe, and her newfound sexual freedom.

"Oooooh, God," she suddenly groaned, for there was the feel of wet, moist lips gently nibbling one tender nipple. She quivered from the unexpected sensation and dropped her hand down the smooth skin of the man beside her, rubbed the palpitating belly for a moment, and then plunged to her goal.

Ralph fastened tighter on his salesman's wife's breast, beginning a gentle sucking pressure against it. His hands lightly coursed over the soft firmness of her belly and thighs, and then his tongue trailed down over her now quivering belly, his penis sliding from her hand as his body moved away. He ground his tongue for a moment into her navel, bringing soft mewls of pleasure from Howie's wife, and then he moved lower, maddening patterns of indecent sensation trailing after his gently nipping teeth. Cindy felt her thighs being pressed gently open and she made no resistance as he haunched down between them. She sucked her breath as his fingers spread the soft hair-covered lips of her vagina and the coolness of the mountain air touched her there. His tongue flicked forward, the tip tossing the tiny bud of her clitoris, and then he spread the opening of her cunt wide with his fingertips and dropped his tongue from her clitoris and thrust it deep into the pink, moist flesh of her pussy.

"OOOhhhhhh," she moaned, and he held his tongue still for a moment, teasingly. She rotated her buttocks, and he began to nibble again. She held her breath with her mouth wide open, her lips drawn back over her teeth; then, after an eternity, she began to breathe again. Ralph started to lick and suck in earnest now, twisting his tongue and mouth so that every little detail of her vaginal orifice was brought under his searing wet touch. She began to thrust mindlessly as the powerful pleasures coursing through her pussy took hold of her. Her husband's friend and boss slid his free hands under her white buttocks and pressed them tight to his face, locking her to him in a wet connection of tongue and vagina, her soft curly pubic hair graced tantalizingly against his cheeks.

She had feared this; thought it disgraceful and sinful in the cold sober light of logical day – but now, now that she had allowed herself to submit to it, to see if she could please her husband and herself by letting him kiss her down between the legs, a strange and masochistic wildness enveloped her. Nothing mattered but the lovely swirling sensations rippling over every inch of her naked flesh. She writhed and bucked beneath his lingual impalement, gasping and screaming all the lewd words that came to her tortured mind.

Ralph thrust his tongue deeper, triumphantly hearing her cries. By God, he'd struck the nail on the head this time! Howard's wife was one hot little piece of tail, he thought through the haze of passion he was experiencing as he brought this tender young beauty to orgasm. He had waited his chance and planned well; now, by damned, he was going to reap all the reward he could get!

"Oh… keep sucking, Howie! Lick it! Lick it!" she cried, her thighs pressed tighter into the sides of his head, jerking with the thrustings of his tongue. She was on the brink of climax, she knew… not quite there… but hanging on the verge. Her breasts heaved and danced on her chest wildly, her fingers twisting crazily in her husband's boss' hair. She arched her back, the cords of her neck standing out like steel cords, her face contorted and a low guttural scream rumbling deep in her throat, choked off at the last moment by a soulful gasp reminiscent of a dying animal.

"AAAAAHHHHH!" and then again: "AHHHHH!"

Cindy felt as if she were losing her insides as the cascading fluids of her orgasm gushed out around her supposed husband's still-thrashing mouth. She could feel it running down the crevice of her buttocks and to the sheet below. She gave one last gasp and collapsed, dropping her legs like heavy weights of lead to each side of Ralph's heaving body. She could not move. The world had ended and she had been consumed in the last great cataclysm. She lay absolutely immobile, useless as a rag doll.

"Rest for a moment, darling," Ralph panted in whispered tones from below. "And then… then I want you to do me."

"Yes, darling. Anything." Cindy knew that this should be the moment she dreaded, but now it seemed like such a small thing to do for her husband who had given her such wild, delicious feelings, had made her respond so. Now she actually wanted to kiss his penis, she wanted to with all her loving heart to repay the man beside her for the ultimate sign of love he had just bestowed on her…

All the while, Howard had been hearing his wife's obscene words, words he didn't know she knew, broken and slurred, mixed with the animal mewlings of passion from deep within her. Cindy groaned incessantly and he could hear the rustlings of her naked skin against the bed as she twisted and turned in response to his boss' hot licking tongue. He could picture his wife as in one of those Polaroid snapshots, her legs bent back nearly double, her whole young pussy presented lewdly up in defenseless sacrifice to his voraciously sucking mouth.

And it was exciting. He was excited, he had to admit it; excited from the wet sucking noises coming from the intercom, and excited from his boss' wife sucking his wildly throbbing prick. All the time he'd been listening to his wife being sucked by the manager, Norma had been sawing her mouth around his cock, and the sight of her ovaled lips caused him to tense and jerk until it seemed to him that he was sinking the full length of it all the way down her throat.

Her tongue, with a nerve-tingling lick on the outstroke, was making the head throb as though his heart was beating inside it, and he watched hypnotically, fascinated by the sounds of the lewd debauch of his wife and the sight of Norma's fleshy lips clinging as she sucked hungrily. Her breasts danced below her pumping torso, adding to the lust-inciting scene presented to him. He dropped his head to the pillow and pretended that it was his wife, Cindy, who was sucking him off. Cindy how he wanted to shove his cock in her mouth like he was doing to his boss' wife, how he wanted to shoot his own white hot semen down her throat and into that little belly of hers… Cindy…

And then he heard his wife clearly through the intercom as she emitted a sudden unearthly squeal that sounded as though his boss was killing her, although Howard knew he wasn't. She had reached her climax, and their bed groaned and creaked beneath her wild heavings. The wet sucking sounds coming from his wife's widespread cunt trailed off as she whimpered out her completion.

Howard's body was tense, and Norma's furious sucking couldn't kill the aching desire in his heart to be with Cindy now, to cradle her and comfort her as he always did after making love – and especially now, after hearing his wife being debauched as she'd never been debauched before. He wanted to run to her and bring out the same responses from his wife's lips that Ralph had, he wanted to show her – and himself – that he could do it too and just as well.

There was a rustle of bedspread and the soft sounds of naked bodies twisting around on it. Soft whispers that he couldn't make out drifted to his straining ears. Then there was the audible sound of heavy, course male breathing becoming more and more excited by the second. His boss was whispering things which by their tone were lewd and forbidden. Suddenly there was a gasping from Ralph as though he'd been knifed, and through the darkness came the unmistakable words: "Oohhhh, God! Your mouth is like warm butter!"

Howard groaned and clenched his eyes shut, wishing to blot out the horrible image forming in his mind of his wife's sweet, virginal lips slipping obscenely down over Ralph's glistening, thick cock. This was the ultimate humiliation, lying here with his own penis pressed tightly between another woman's, lips while his own beautiful, innocent wife sucked that very same woman's husband in the next room!

"Tighten your lips and suck harder," he heard the manager groan out in a muffled whisper, and Howard jerked his head up off the pillow. He could see nothing except Norma's ever increasing passion for sucking cock, but his imagination ran amok, the low, dim form of his wife hunched on all fours over Ralph's grinding loins with his prick buried deep in her mouth emerged clearly to mind. She was not fighting it and low soft mewls of pleasure filled Howard's pain-wracked ears from her cock-filled mouth…

Cindy was surprised that the thought of kissing her husband's penis no longer repelled her as her own loins were still moist and warm from the pleasures he had just conferred upon her. Anything which made her feel that good could not be the degrading act she had imagined it to be.

When Ralph, still under the guise of her husband, had asked her, "Are you ready, dear?" she had promptly answered, "Yes, Howie."

Cindy began as slowly as he had done with her, working her way down his chest, licking his small male nipples and hearing him gasp, slowly lowering her tongue as she wetly licked his flesh. One hand grasped his hardened cock, teasing the shaft with her fingers that brought louder moans from his lips.

The position became uncomfortable for her, so she crawled over him, pushing his legs apart and kneeling on all fours between his thighs, her feet hanging over the edge of the bed. Her face was at his loins now and she continued the gentle skinning back and forth of his ever hardening cock. Her lips were a bare inch away from the tip and she opened her mouth and breathed softly against it, then she flicked out her tongue, circling the head as he groaned and twisted beneath her. The tip of her tongue found the tiny opening at the head's end and darted into it; the sharp, pungent taste of his seminal fluid caused her mouth to salivate and her nostrils to flare slightly from the pungent male odor. Her hands dropped to the base of the huge erection and she cupped his soft testicles, grazing her nails over the skin and curly pubic hair. She played longer than she should have, not being able to just yet bring herself to take the naked head and shaft in her soft mouth.

But Ralph could stand no more teasing. With a gurgle deep in his throat he reached down with his hands and tangling them in her hair, thrust his loins up. Cindy resisted by clenching her lips and teeth together for a moment, last-minute doubts racing through her mind, but was too late. His thick, spongy head rammed inside, crushing through her moist, now yielding lips and between the whiteness of her teeth and into the wet saliva of her mouth. She could feel the stiff shaft rub the full length of her tongue and bury itself deeply. She closed her eyes to keep from choking.

"Ooohhhh, God! Your mouth is like warm butter!" she heard him cry as he began a slow, rhythmic undulation of his hips up into her face.

"Tighten your lips and suck harder," Ralph hissed from above, his voice coarse and thick from passion.

Cindy did his bidding, feeling at the same time the excitement growing again in her own body from the hardened, excitedly throbbing cock she wax sucking. She worked slavelike, swishing her tongue around and around the head, sliding it in and out of her ovaled lips…

Howard could stand no more. Yet, as the sounds of her sucking flowed from the speaker, and his own quivering penis was being expertly sucked by his boss' wife, he forgot that it was his wife in the next room with his boss, forgot that Ralph was bringing cries of newfound lust that he, her own husband, had never from his wife. It was just a woman, a hot passion-crazed woman in the throes of an act as old as time itself. He felt his cock throbbing and aching in the tender mouth of Norma Taylor, and he moaned in masochistic self-torture as he screwed his loins upwards and listened helplessly to his wife slavishly sucking at his own boss' lust-hardened penis. The wet sucking noises Cindy and Norma were both making with their ovaled lips and tongues and the grunts of pleasure coming from Ralph's mouth as Howard's wife labored over him were too much for his reeling confused brain to accept. Forgotten were the circumstances, the horror and guilt Howard felt. He was now a wild, uncontrolled animal, wanting nothing more than to ram his aching penis into the woman hovering over him. He wanted to punish his wife emphatically, just as she was punishing him by her mistaken submission to the man in the next room.

Howard locked his eyes on Norma's full, sensual lips locked tightly around his long white cock, and he moved up a bit so that she could suck in still more of his hardened length. She started using her tongue, surrounding him in a hot wet bath of saliva and tender inner flesh of her cheeks. Moaning, he pressed his hands on either side of her hollowing mouth and surged upwards. She nibbled and all her hunger burning deep in her vagina was now concentrated in one great gust of sensation in her mouth. Howard groaned incoherently and flexed his loins in and out of the open hole formed by her lips and watched wild-eyed as his full glistening cock disappeared into her voraciously clasping mouth. He could feel all of himself, every nerve he possessed pulsing and throbbing between her lips.

He wanted to cum… to make her swallow his sperm so that she would know later that he had dominated her as she would never be dominated again… just as his own wife was being subjected to the domination of his own boss!

In the other room Cindy continued to manipulate Ralph Taylor's prick as her whole mouth opened wide and hungrily encompassed the smooth, rubbery head, letting it sink full length in her throat. I love it… I love his penis in my mouth… it tastes so good… how stupid I've been before! The sweet young housewife went crazy with the frenzy of new emotions, thrilling to the effect it was having on the man she supposed was her husband. Her head bobbed up and down as Ralph fucked upwards beneath her. He slammed repeatedly in her mouth, over and over, and Cindy realized that she wasn't sucking his cock – he was actually fucking her in the face! And that knowledge only instigated more uncontrolled tremors through her. Yes! Yes! He was about to cum! He was about to shoot hot, sticky sperm in her mouth! Crazily she sucked her husband's boas, her tongue swirling voraciously as his blood-filled prick pumped into her slavering mouth. Her cunt began to quiver and pulsate and then…

Ralph's cock began to suddenly spasm and he yelled: "I'm cumming! Oh, suck harder! Milk my balllllsssss!" He grabbed Cindy's head and held it to him as his giant penis spewed hot jets of sperm deep in her throat. Cindy continued to suck, swallowing the gushing orgasm, her Adam's apple bobbing in rapid sequence to keep from choking. She swirled her tongue to lick him dry as she heard his groans of pleasure simmer to sighs of contentment, his hands no longer pressing against her head.

The lovely debauched wife sighed and let the now limp prick of Ralph Taylor fall from her lips. Lovingly, with the caresses saved for her husband, Cindy cuddled the base of his penis, licking where the tiny tufts of hair were matted with the cum which had escaped her tightly closed mouth. A dreamlike, almost comatose lethargy possessed her, and she sank into a blissful semi-sleep of satiation…

When Howard heard his manager, Ralph, suddenly scream, "I'm cumming! Oh, suck me harder! Milk my balls!" he was past any point where the knowledge that another man was fucking his wife in the mouth would have caused anger or hurt. It only spurred on his own intense pressure which was building in his testicles as they slapped hard up against Norma's chin. This hedonistic wife of the man who was with Cindy worked, in turn, with unbearable and excruciating passion, and Howard's cock seemed to inflate and lengthen beyond anything it had ever done before.

And then, as the lewd image of his wife accepting greedily the semen from Ralph's organ whirled madly in his brain, Howard's cock jerked and a liquid flow rushed like a waterfall up from his aching balls and out the tip of his jerking penis. Norma groaned as the first needle of fiery cum flooded the back of her mouth, filling her warm cavity and bloating her cheeks to the bursting point. Her throat worked gluttonously, swallowing and sputtering to keep up with the tide of cum as Howard emptied his balls relentlessly into the hungrily accepting depths of her gullet.

Howard's body quivered as he felt the lust of his masculinity drained from his rapidly deflated penis. He was momentarily exhausted and had to brace himself with his hands tangled in her hair to keep from falling off the side of the bed. He started to rise from her, but she would not let his cock go, continuing to suck gently, undulating her buttocks behind him and rubbing her legs together as he watched with disbelief the thin tiny trails of white cum running down the corners of her mouth. He had never felt anything like it and it seemed as though he had been completely drained of all the strength and desire he had ever possessed.

He was like that when, a few minutes later, the door opened and the naked, sweat-glistening form of his boss, Ralph, entered.

"Howie-boy," Ralph said, coming over to him, "Howie, that's some fine little piece of tail you've got in there."

Howard jerked his loins, acutely aware that Ralph's wife still was nibbling and licking his penis… and in front of her own husband! He grinned awkwardly, unable to say anything except a feeble: "Yes… I heard you both."

"That's quite a gadget, isn't it? Had the intercom put in just for that reason. Really turns you on, listening to other folks banging away."

Norma finally let loose of Howard's limp and slippery cock, and sitting up, she threw her arms around her husband's neck and murmured, "Good to see you, lover. Got any more for me?"

Ralph chuckled, and to Howard's amazement, the manager's penis began to rejuvenate, restoring itself to rigid hardness. "Always," he said. "There's always some left for you…"

"Good… then fuck me, lover…"

Howard scrambled from the bed as Ralph and Norma lowered their now tightly clenched bodies to the sheet. "Howie," Ralph said as he fingered his wife's cunt, "you can stay here if you want and watch… but I left a very lonely little wife in the next room," he chuckled obscenely. "I think she belongs to you."

The salesman staggered from the bedroom and back to his own, where he saw the blurred, black outline of his wife on the bed. He went to her and slipped in beside her, cradling her in his arms. Somehow, as he felt her breathing and contented cuddling to his chest, Howard couldn't resent what had happened. In the aftermath of the carnal exchange of mates, the guilt and anger he had feared he would experience didn't materialize, but only warm, deep, complete love for his wife. Perhaps Ralph was right, he thought dreamily… perhaps when he said that making love to another woman is only a healthy, natural sport and increased one's devotion for one's mate, he really knew of what he was speaking…

"Oh, Howie," murmured his wife, nestling closer, "oh, Howie, wasn't that wonderful?"

Quite truthfully, he replied, "Yes, Cindy my love, yes it was…" He choked. "You don't know how good it was."

"And I'm going to do that to you all the time from now on."

"Good, Cindy. I'd like that."

"Goodnight, Howie," she whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too, Cindy," he replied tenderly and kissed her full on the lips, not caring that they were still moist from the warm gushing sperm his boss had flooded into her mouth a few short moments before…

CHAPTER TWO

On the Friday afternoon following that wild, orgiastic weekend at the Taylor's mountain retreat, Cindy was reading a woman's magazine in the living room of their small cottage and thinking about Howard.

She wished he were home now, wished he had not gone to Los Angeles with Ralph for a three-day automobile dealer's convention. But Ralph had insisted Howard accompany him as representatives of Auto Circus, to meet certain important people and see how the administrative end of the automobile business was handled, and he had eagerly agreed; it was what he had hoped for, he'd told Cindy, the break that meant Ralph and the powers-that-be at Auto Circus were considering him for loftier positions than the head salesman's job he now held.

Cindy, of course, had been excited for her husband and had wanted him to go to Los Angeles for the convention. But still, she harbored faint misgivings about Ralph's influence on Howard; she didn't want the Taylors to implant any more ideas in his head, ideas that went beyond the Polaroid Club and her emancipation into oral love with the man she had married. She was grateful to Ralph and Norma for what they had been strongly responsible in promoting, for she felt a new and freer woman, a more fulfilled woman, now that she had been initiated into sexual games she had always previously thought were degrading and sinful. And, too, she was grateful for them having assisted her in pleasing Howard to the very best of her abilities, giving him all that he wanted from their relationship – and, she hoped, even more than he expected.

The young wife sighed, smiling secretly, as she remembered that night in the darkened bedroom when she had first allowed Howard to kiss her between her widely spread thighs, when she had first tasted his hard, bittersweet masculinity. A ripple of pleasure coursed through her body at the recollection of that moment – and of the recalled joys she bad experienced the remainder of their stay at the mountain cabin and the nights which had followed it in hers and Howard's marital bed.

Oh, things were so wonderful now! They were making love two and three times a night, every night, and finding new and exciting and wild pleasures each and every time. Why, only last night they had lain in the classic sixty-nine position for over an hour, their lips and tongues giving spiraling joy rides to the other as they made oral love. Howard's tongue had sent her whirling to incalculable orgasms during that time, while she had sucked and milked his prick of sticky, hot, delicious loads of sperm twice, never allowing that marvelous penis of his to escape her lips… even when it had deflated, she continued to nibble and suckle it until it once more grew to its monstrous proportions in the soft cushiony folds of her mouth…

And the pictures, too, had been an aphrodisiac for both of them. She had allowed Howard to set up the Polaroid and the timer on more than one occasion, and had posed in lewd positions before its all-seeing eye; had posed with Howard's penis inserted in her vagina astraddle him, alongside him, beneath him… but she had not allowed him to take photos of them enjoying oral love. No, that was a private thing, too private for the camera, and it was there she had gently refused Howard's insisting pleas; she just wasn't ready for that, yet, she had said (if she ever would be ready for it). At first, he had been a little put-out, but after she had showed him in every other way how much she loved him and wanted to please him, he had no longer been angry. They had looked at their pictures together, of them making love – and they had looked at the pictures of Ralph and Norma, which the Taylors had let them keep; then, when both were highly, erotically aroused, they had inverted their positions on the bed and licked and sucked one another to climax after wonderful climax…

Cindy shifted slightly on the couch as spirals of passion began to flow through her, and she could feel her nipples harden beneath the plain cotton housedress she wore. Lord, but she wished Howard would be home tonight! She had never known she possessed such strong sex drives until now; she couldn't seem to get enough of her husband and his mouth, tongue, and penis.

The beautiful young wife sighed again, resignedly, and turned another page of her magazine. Well, she would just have to wait until Howard got home to satisfy her desires. (No more masturbation for her! Not with what she and her husband had together!) Boy, she giggled inwardly, would she give him a homecoming reception when he got home on Sunday night…

The telephone rang.

Now who can that be? Cindy wondered, rising. She went into the hallway where the telephone was located, picked up the instrument, and said, "Hello?"

"Mrs. Jamison?" a thick voice asked. "Mrs. Cindy Jamison?"

The young wife frowned, for the voice seemed vaguely familiar to her. And yet, it was not the most pleasant she had ever heard, with its raspy quality. "Yes?" she finally answered hesitantly. "This is she."

"Steve Samuels here, from the post office. You remember me, Mrs. Jamison. I was the man who waited on you when you rented your post office box about ten days ago."

A little shiver of apprehension raced along Cindy's spine as the image of the wizened, gnome-like little postal clerk flashed into her mind. What did he want, calling her at home like this? Oh, God, had… had something happened with those pictures she'd sent…?

"Y-yes," she quavered. "I… I remember you, Mr. Samuels."

"Good, good." A pause, during which Cindy had the impression the man on the other end was smiling. "The reason I called, Mrs. Jamison, is that I have a large envelop here, addressed to you, from a certain couple in Chicago…"

The young blonde wife stifled a fearful gasp. "Chicago?"

"That's right, Mrs. Jamison," the grating voice told her. "This couple is on the department's watch list as possible purveyors of pornographic material through our mails, and consequently the envelope must be opened in front of one of the post office personnel before delivery can be completed."

Cindy closed her eyes, feeling terror creep through her breast. The exchange photos from the couple in Chicago to whom she had sent the snapshots of her and Howard! She knew that was what was in that envelope the ugly postal clerk had, knew it beyond any doubt at all. Dear God, what was she going to do!

"Mrs. Jamison? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I… I'm still here."

"Would you like to take care of this matter personally, Mrs. Jamison, or shall I…" – a meaningful pause – "contact your husband?"

"No!" blurted Cindy. "No, I'll… I'll take care of it." She swallowed deeply. "Should I come down to the post office now?"

"That won't be necessary," crooned Samuels smoothly. "Tell you what I'll do, Mrs. Jamison. I'll bring the envelope out to your house tonight, on my way home. That should be around eight or so, since I have quite a bit of work to take care of first. All right?"

"I… I guess so, yes."

"Fine," the wizened postal clerk husked. "And don't worry, Mrs. Jamison. This might not be anything of a serious nature at all. For your sake, I hope not." Abruptly, he rang off.

The upset young wife stood holding the dead receiver in her hand, her eyes staring glassily at nothing. What would happen when that dirty-eyed little clerk brought the envelope to her tonight? When he opened it and found photographs similar to those she had sent of her and Howie, Polaroid Club photographs? Would he arrest her? Did postal clerks have that power? She didn't know, and confusion reigned strong in her lithe body – confusion and a growing fear of discovery and exposure, of newspaper headlines linking her with a nationwide pornographic picture organization, of Howard losing his job and everything he had worked so hard to build…

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God! Why had she done it, why, why? She should have known better than to send those lewd snapshots of her and her husband through the mails. She should have, but she hadn't; and now, she was going to have to pay the devil his due…

She flung the receiver down in its cradle and ran into the kitchen. She needed a drink, badly! In the cupboard under the drainboard, she found a half full bottle of vodka and in the refrigerator some quinine water. She mixed herself a strong vodka-and-tonic, without ice, and drank it down in two swallows. The fiery warmth of the liquor raced through her bloodstream, causing her face to flush. Another, mostly vodka this time, and she returned to the living room, aware only when she sat down on the sofa that she had brought the vodka bottle with her.

The rest of the afternoon, and the early part of the evening, was a torment for young Cindy Jamison. She finished all of the vodka in the bottle, becoming very high but seemingly not high enough to take the edge off her fear and apprehension. She kept glancing nervously at the clock; time appeared to crawl. She chain-smoked the nonfilter cigarettes she had been smoking since high school. Finally, eight o'clock approached and Cindy began to pace the living room like a sleek, lithe panther, her head swimming from the vodka and the imagined possibilities of what was to come.

The doorbell rang at four minutes past eight.

The sudden sound startled the distraught young wife so much that she seemed to stagger forward, in danger of falling. Her heart hammered crazily in her chest. Have to compose myself, she thought blurrily, stubbing out her latest cigarette. She took a deep, shuddering breath and then went into the foyer and opened the door.

Steve Samuels stood on the porch outside, smiling his wicked, leering smile. He held a large manila envelope in his right hand. "Good evening, Mrs. Jamison," he breathed.

Cindy repressed a tremor of dread at the sight of the postal clerk. She had not liked him that day in the post office, feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable under his beady stare, and now that she had seen him again face to face her discomfiture grew by leaps and bounds. She was completely repelled by this gnome-like man, and afraid of him in the bargain. But there was nothing she could do now, under the circumstances, except admit him to her home.

She managed, "Won't… won't you come in, Mr. Samuels?"

"Thank you," he said, and stepped past her, his right arm brushing casually over the swelling bosom of her housedress, feeling to Cindy like a reptile's touch on her clothed flesh. She almost gasped with revulsion. Had the contact been accidental? Or had he…? She shook her head, trying to clear away some of the vodka swirl, and closed the door. No use thinking such thoughts, she told herself, no use at all…

She led the way into the living room, uncomfortably conscious of the clerk's eyes on the swaying motion of her voluptuous young buttocks. She turned abruptly once in the room and said, "Please sit down, Mr. Samuels."

Samuels nodded, grinning, and sat in the middle of the couch, his eyes moving restlessly over the nubile flesh of the young wife as she seated herself in the armchair some feet away. They feasted on the soft, warm satin of her exposed thighs where the housedress had pulled up. Goddamn! he thought. Oh, Jesus, but she's a hot looking little piece! Oh, this little Mrs. Cindy Jamison is going to be the best one yet… the best of all of them! I can't wait to put my cock in that sweet tender mouth of hers… in her clasping little asshole, too! I can't wait to fill her up with loads and loads of my hot sticky cum…

Cindy became aware of the direction of the civil servant's eyes and hurriedly tugged her dress down low on her knees, pressing her columnar legs tightly together. She said tremulously, trying to pretend as if she was totally sober and in complete command of the situation, "You said something about this envelope for me being from a couple in Chicago who were on the postal department's watch list. What exactly does that mean, Mr. Samuels?"

"It means," Samuels explained with a gap-toothed smile, "that we at the post office have a book which contains the names and addresses of known pornographers and subversives. This box number is on that list… as the senders of dirty, lewd photographs through our mails in the past."

"But… but such a book is illegal!" protested Cindy.

"Not as far as we're concerned," said the wizened clerk. "We have to look after the interests of the American public, and preventing the wanton use of our mails for filth is in those best interests. A new postal regulation has been passed recently, allowing us to open mail at will if we suspect it contains harmful or subversive material."

"How can there be a law like that?" Cindy found herself becoming righteously angry. "It's unconstitutional! It's… almost Communistic! This is a democracy, not some… some dictatorship!"

Samuels drew himself up indignantly, his eyes flashing. "That's right, Mrs. Jamison. This is a democracy. And it's our job, as public servants, to see that it remains a democracy! If we allow filth and disgusting Fifth Column propaganda to be freely distributed throughout this great land of ours, what will happen to the foundations upon which our government is built? They will collapse, that's what! Filthy Commies will take over, as they're trying to do right now all over the country. They've got a toehold in our colleges and universities already, trying to subvert our education system, but they won't succeed in the government agencies, mark my words! We'll stop them, dedicated men like myself, empowered by our great Congress with the authority to crush subversion and drug shipping and yes, pornography, for garbage such as that is rotting the minds of our clear-thinking youth. It's all a Communist plot, Mrs. Jamison, every last bit of it!"

His eyes glittered almost maniacally, and the young housewife drew back in fear and trepidation. What kind of man was this Steve Samuels? Spouting rightist-extreme policy and belief, and yet having a position of authority in the post office. And, most terrifying of all, he seemed to possess an evil expression that forewarned her of the presence in his brain of the self-same lewdness against which he spoke so vehemently. She trembled violently as a possibility entered her mind: what if this little, ugly man who sat across from her was… insane?

"So don't talk to me about illegality and Communism, Mrs. Jamison," Samuels continued. "This country is at last coming to its senses, and none too soon, let me tell you." He paused, swinging the manila envelope out in his hand, extending it to her. "Now then, let's see what this little parcel contains, shall we? Let's see if there is any sickness and evil inside that must be crushed."

Cindy took the envelope with trembling fingers, handling it as though it were a bomb which might explode in her hands. "If… if what you say is true," she managed to quaver, "if you can open the public's mail at will without their knowledge, then why did you call me and tell me this had to be opened in front of a postal employee?"

"A good question, Mrs. Jamison," chuckled the civil servant. "And the answer is simply that I find myself feeling benevolent at times, when I suspect that something demeaning is being sent to a person who might deserve a second chance. In other words, Mrs. Jamison, a person who is not a leftist Commie or a sick perverted soul; a person who has made one mistake, and should, because that person is basically good and honest, be given a second chance. I think you're the kind of person, Mrs. Jamison, and I want to help you. I wouldn't want to see you exposed as a Commie, or a sex degenerate."

The lovely wife shuddered, for there was an oily, frightening quality to Samuels' voice that contained the consideration of things unspeakable. And his eyes… his terrible eyes… they seemed to be stripping her of her clothes, boring through her naked flesh underneath…

"Now then, Mrs. Jamison," Samuels said. "Let's open that envelope, shall we? Right now. I want to see what's inside."

Cindy willed her quaking fingers still, and managed to tear the top off the manila envelope. She reached inside, withdrew the contents partially. As she did so, Samuels suddenly leaped up and took two long strides across to her and jerked the contents out of her hands, causing her to gasp and draw back in fear against the cushions of the chair.

Samuels limped back to the sofa and sat down with the material which had been in the envelope. His fingers rifled through it, and his smile grew wider, more venereous. "Aha!" he cried. "Just as I expected!" And it was: photos, six of them, bound together with a paper clip – and if the top one was any indication, they were some of the best he had ever seen in sharpness and detail. There was also a typewritten letter, and another typed sheet.

Samuels' fingers were palsied with excitement. He had known intuitively that these were what was in the envelope when it had come into the post office this afternoon, and he had had to resist an immediate impulse to open the envelope. Better, he finally decided, to bring it out here to this young bitch Mrs. Cindy Jamison, have her open it; it was the chance he had been waiting for! But he had to make sure her husband wouldn't be home, so he could have her all to herself, and thus he had called the automobile agency were he had learned Howard Jamison worked – Auto Circus – and asked to speak to him, thinking to find out surreptitiously what time Jamison quit work for the evening so as to plan his attack accordingly. His elation had been huge when he learned that Howard Jamison was out of town for three days, in Los Angeles for some kind of convention. He had immediately, then, called this haughty bitch and made his appointment for tonight; as he had hoped, she had become nervous and frightened by his call, and had been partaking of more than one glass of liquor. She was nice and high now – and he had something in his pocket which would make her even higher. Oh, everything was working beautifully! He was really going to fuck this beautiful young wife tonight! Fuck her like he had never fucked anyone before in his life! His cock throbbed with anticipation and excitement.

He tore the paper clip off the pictures, and looked through them. Lewd, disgusting… good, good, just what he had hoped for! He glanced through the letter, his mouth salivating slightly, and then looked up at the fear-immobilized young wife. "Mrs. Jamison, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, allowing yourself to be duped by these filth peddlers. You're very lucky I've decided to take pity on you and want to help you; very lucky. Listen to this: Dear friends," he quoted from the letter, "Many thanks for your photos, which we've just received. They weren't bad, although some of them were lacking in detail; the camera angle seems to be wrong. You might try using closeups more often. We've discussed them at length, my wife and I, and have decided you're probably new at this so if there's any help we can give you, don't hesitate to ask us. We've been exchanging photos with other couples for some time, and have quite a bit of experience. Enclosed are some of our best shots, to give you an idea of what we mean. Hope you like them, and will be sending us others in the future of yourselves. Welcome to the club. All best. Signed, Tom C."

Grinning obscenely, the postal clerk cast the letter from him. "Filthy, isn't it, Mrs. Jamison? Disgusting!"

Cindy could only nod her head numbly, staring out of rounded eyes at the man who sat on her sofa. The vodka was causing her temples to throb, and she tried to will her mind clear, so that she could think what to do, what to say. But it was useless; she had drunk too much, and the forceful, depraved nature of Steve Samuels appeared to have put her into an almost trance-like state.

Samuels picked up the second typed sheet from his lap, and read through it salaciously. It was a description of each of the return pictures, with side comments of a lascivious quality; the comments were numbered, and the venereous government employee saw that a corresponding number had been inked into the upper right hand corner of each photo.

He glanced up, licking his lips, his eyes fixing on the fear-whitened face of Cindy Jamison. "Come over here, Mrs. Jamison," he commanded harshly. "Come over here and sit next to me on the couch and look at these photos. That's part of your lesson Mrs. Jamison. You must look at them and listen while I read these lewd, filthy descriptions to you. Do you hear me, Mrs. Jamison?"

"No!" she heard herself cry out. "No, I… I won't! Oh, God, I can't!"

"The hell you can't!" Samuels' wizened face turned more ugly. "You'll Goddamned do what I tell you to do! That is, if you want me to go on being kind, Mrs. Jamison. If not, then I'll take these to my superiors, I'll report you, I'll make out like you've been sending these dirty things for months and months now. I'll ruin you, Mrs. Jamison, maybe even have you put in prison for violating our postal laws! I can do that, don't think I can't!"

Cindy stared in abject horror at this… this monster who sat across from her. Could he… could he actually do what he had threatened? Could he have her put in jail? Well, why not? He was in a position of authority, and if he lied and perjured himself, they would still take his word over hers – especially with that letter and these photographs. Oh, God, then she was completely at his mercy! Completely at the mercy of a man who was surely insane!

Quaveringly, the fearful and tormented young housewife stumbled to her feet and groped blindly to the couch, sitting next to Samuels fighting down the dread which rose in her throat at his nearness. His eyes feasted on her flesh, and he repressed a desire to grab her, throw her down, rape her right here and now; slowly, must go slowly, better that way, he told himself, oh, am I going to fuck you tonight, you snooty young bitch, I've thought of nothing else for the past week…

Cindy's hands would not remain still, and she didn't want him to know the extent of her fear. Something to occupy her fingers, yes that wax it. She reached out for the package of her cigarettes on the coffee table.

Samuels put out his hand, claw-like fingers touching the back of her soft wrist and causing her to pull back as if she had come in contact with a snake. The venereous postal clerk smiled. "Won't you have one of mine, Mrs. Jamison? They're very good, a special blend…"

As he spoke, he removed a slender brown, crudely formed cigarette from the inside pocket of his sports coat and handed it to her. She took it automatically, perhaps suspecting in her liquor – and fear – fogged mind that it was more than just a plain cigarette but beyond any rational consideration of the fact at that moment. She placed it between her lips, allowed him to light it for her with a battered Zippo.

She inhaled deeply, tasting harsh, acrid smoke and coughed instantly, even though her lungs were accustomed to unfiltered cigarettes. "Draw slowly on it, Mrs. Jamison," Samuels' voice intoned authoritatively. "Then hold the smoke in your lungs awhile before releasing it… yes, that's it. Now you've got it. Again, Mrs. Jamison. It will relax you," he intoned hypnotically. "Again, again… yes, and again…"

The smoke no longer burned her throat and lungs, and Cindy began to experience a subtle relaxing of her muscles, of the edge of fear and near-hysteria which the vodka she had consumed had only brought into sharper focus. From somewhere in her subconscious a single word fought its way into her drugged conscious: marijuana. And, in that moment, she knew what the brown cigarette was, knew fully and completely. And yet, instead of frightening her, she felt only gathering relaxation, as if it didn't matter that she was smoking pot. It was the liquor combined with the narcotic effects of the marijuana and the mind-numbing fear of the weaselly little civil servant which brought about this state of mind; young Cindy Jamison, as she finished the joint, was in a state of almost hypnotic submittal.

Samuels, realizing this, smiled salaciously. "Here," he commanded as Cindy put the roach butt out in the ashtray. "Here's another." She accepted it, almost gratefully, and he lit it for her; this one would really do the trick, he thought exultantly, she won't have an ounce of resistance left in her when she's smoked this joint down.

He watched with salivating lips as she inhaled the sweetish marijuana smoke and finished the second reefer. Then, his cock ever-hardening in his pants now as the moment of his conquest, his subjugation, of this proud, snooty young bitch drew near, he thrust the set of photographs into the young wife's hand. "Now look at these pictures while I read what it says about them to you, Mrs. Jamison. That's it. Look at the top one now, number one. Good, good…" On and on his voice droned mesmerically.

Perspiration blurred Cindy Jamison's vision as she focused on the first photo. Full color… sharp and clear detail… extreme closeup… Samuels' soporific voice, reading from the typed sheet of paper in his hand: "Here is one of our favorites, my wife and I in action. Note how she's lying on that waist-high table, with her legs raised up and ankles locked around my neck. You can see my cock half-buried in her cunt, the way she likes it. This is a good position, because it allows the camera to see all, even the pussy hairs, and at the same time gives the woman plenty of pleasure."

Cindy gasped at the look of sheer abandoned lust on the face of the young, full-breasted, brown-haired woman in the photo… at the intense, passion-sweating face of the tall, shaggy-haired man fucking into her with his immense penis. Then, at Samuels' direction, she flipped to the second picture. The wizened postal clerk read: "This one shows my wife and I sixty-nining. She's licking my balls, the way she likes to do, while I have my tongue shoved all the way up her cunt. If you look closely, you can see that I have my finger in her asshole…"

Another picture… another lewd, provocative pose… another detailed, salacious description read aloud by the sweating, salivating government employee, Steve Samuels. And as Cindy looked at the photos, heard the words ringing louder and louder in the room around her, she began to experience a rippling of excitement, of passion in her stomach and loins. She tried to will it away, tried to tell herself it was wrong, this wasn't the time, this wasn't the place… but the sight of the photos was too much for her. She had learned, with her husband Howard, the new stimulation of erotic photographs, had been conditioned now to them so that they brought about the same sexual upheaval inside her each time. She was powerless to prevent the flowering of her cuntal passage to secrete forth the juices of her passion; she had been excited earlier in the day, thinking about the previous night with her husband, wishing he were home so that they could make love, and some of that excitement had still remained in her body even with the apprehension at Samuels' call and subsequent arrival. The vodka and the marijuana had only served to heighten it, and the photos had brought it bubbling forth now.

The young wife squirmed restlessly on the couch as she stared at yet another photograph – this one of the handsome couple on a huge armchair, the girl with her legs spread wide over both arms and the man kneeling on the cushion between them, his cock pressed into the wide-splayed pinkness of his voluptuous wife's pussy. Cindy's nipples were hard now, under the housedress, and she began clenching and unclenching her thighs as Samuels' voice intoned hypnotically in her ear, repeating lascivious words over and over until they were the only ones she heard: cock… cunt… fucking… sucking…

Her dress had ridden far up on her thighs now with her convulsive movements on the couch, exposing the panty-covered mound of her slowly moistening womanhood. Further words caught in the depraved postal clerk's throat as he saw the tremendously enticing sight of the "V" between the beautiful young woman's thighs being exposed to his lusting eyes. His prick seemed to be throbbing madly in his pants, and he could feel drop lets of seminal fluid emanating from its unseeing eye. He had to fuck her – and soon now, before he blew his great buildup of semen into his underpants instead of into the alluring flesh of the passionate young wife next to him!

Samuels' hand trembled as he reached out with his claw-like fingers and settled his sweaty touch on one of her smooth, alabaster thighs, the digits clenching like talons as he squeezed the soft, resilient flesh.

The sensation of his reptilian-like touch penetrated the liquor and drug haze of Cindy Jamison's mind. Her eyes widened, pulled away from the picture and down to where the wizened clerk's hand now slid along her smooth inner thigh, climbing higher toward the target it sought… She emitted a low cry of terror, the spell of her desire momentarily broken, and threw the photo graphs down on the floor as she jumped convulsively to her feet. She stood there, trembling with anger and fear, the emotions which had been erased by the marijuana and the stimulating effect of the photos, but which had been brought back to the fore by the touch of this gnome-like man.

"Don't you touch me!" she screamed at him, her voice slurred and tremulous. "Don't you ever touch me again, you… you pervert!"

A fiery flush of anger turned Samuels' face the color of eggplant. He jumped to his feet, his own body shaking with anger and with desire, the front of his pants bulging obscenely with the girth of his immense penis.

"You Goddamn fucking little bitch!" he screeched. "You can't talk to me like that! You'll do what I say, and you'll like it, or I'll see to it you go to jail for ten years! I can do that, I told you! You bitch, you bitch, what right have you got to call me names? You little whore, you've been sending lewd, filthy pictures of yourself through the mail, and don't think I don't know it! I saw you fucking like a mink with your husband, legs spread out with his cock up your cunt, so who are you to act so high and mighty around me! I'm a public servant, a man watching out for the best interests of the people, and you're nothing but a lawbreaking little bitch exhibiting your hot little pussy to anyone who advertises they want to see it!"

Cindy recoiled as if struck. She stared at him, confusion returning to her mind to reign supreme. "You… you saw the… the pictures I sent?" she faltered.

"Goddamn right I did! I made copies of them, too!" screamed the half-crazed Samuels. "I have those copies in a safe place, Mrs. Jamison, and I promise you if you don't cooperate with me I'll take them and these here to the postal authorities! I'll fix you good if you don't play ball with me!"

Oh, God, oh, God! Cindy Jamison's tortured mind cried. For in that moment she knew that there was no recourse for her, that this ugly, toady little man had her completely at his mercy. And she knew what he wanted of her, what he meant by "cooperation" – and she would have to submit to his whim. If not, he would make good his threat to ruin her, ruin Howard, send her and possibly even her husband to jail just for using their privacy as they saw fit; she had no doubt at all that he would do as he threatened. She was backed into an impossible corner, and the knowledge was like choking bile in her throat in spite of the liquor and the drug to deaden the impact. She was trapped, trapped… there was no one in the whole world to whom she could turn for help!

Samuels was advancing toward her now, saliva running out of the corners of his cruel mouth, his face flushed and sweating, the front of his pants still bulging hugely. He extended his hand, and then he said, "I'm going to fuck you, Mrs. Jamison. I'm going to fuck you now, here, right in your own husband's bed. And you're going to let me do it; you're even going to join in. You don't have any other choice, Mrs. Jamison. If you don't let me fuck you, fuck you in any way I want you to, then I'll do what I said I would. Well, Mrs. Jamison? What's your answer?"

Cindy almost collapsed to the carpet under the staggering weight of his ultimatum. No place to turn, no place to run… trapped… at the mercy of this insane man… her mind chanted confusedly. I have to obey him, I have to save Howard… yes, and selfishly to save myself and our future…

"Please," she implored, her face going slack with her conviction and her eyes looking at nothing, lifeless. "Please, I'll do whatever you ask. But out here… not in the bedroom, not in my husband's bed. Please, you can't ask that of me…"

Samuels' laugh was ugly and obscene. "Can't I? Well, I am, Mrs. Jamison. I am. Now take me to the bedroom, or I'll pick you up and carry you. The bedroom, Mrs. Jamison, and be quick about it! My cock is about ready to explode with my cum, and I want to save every last drop for you!"

A cry of utter and complete helplessness tore from young Cindy Jamison's throat, and she spun on her heel and ran blindly down the short hallway at the other end of the living room. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she was sobbing uncontrollably as she flung open the bedroom door and threw herself on the bed. She lay there, moaning piteously for a moment, then she heard footsteps, heard the door close, and she swung around. Samuels stood there, and he had the fly of his trousers open, had his underpants drawn aside and the thick expanse of his penis was in the palm of his right hand, its huge, bulbous head seeming to point like a finger of doom at her.

"Take off your clothes!" he hissed. "Now, damn you, right now! Can't you see how my prick just aches for those soft little lips of yours to close around it?"

Cindy moaned again, a torture-wracked sound, but she obeyed with spasmodic fingers. She removed the housedress, pulling it over her head, then shrugged out of her bra and panties. She sat huddled like a defenseless child, naked and afraid, on the edge of the bed. Samuels' breath quickened to a harsh, nasal wheezing as he viewed for the first time in actuality the vibrant, bronze and white body of the beautiful young wife. Son of a bitch, this was going to be fine! Oh, he was going to ravage the shit out of that soft, tender flesh of hers… make her scream for him and his huge, quivering prick…

His palsied fingers tore at his clothing, ripping the garments from his thin body. At last he stood before her, naked, his huge venous cock oscillating like an arrow outward from his loins. He stroked it hungrily for a moment, then commanded in a wheezing voice, "Get up on all fours on the bed. I want you to suck my cock. Do you hear me, Mrs. Jamison? I want that soft, sweet mouth of yours licking all around my cock!"

"No-nooo!" wailed Cindy miserably. "No, please…!"

"Do what I tell you, Mrs. Jamison!" The wizened postal clerk flung himself onto the bed, spreading his legs wide, his great prick jutting upward and throbbing redly. "Now crawl like the bitch you are between my legs, Mrs. Jamison! Do it, and do it now! I'm not going to tell you again!"

I can't, I can't! the tortured young wife's mind protested. But she had no choice, no other alternative, and so her body obeyed his harsh instructions. She crawled between Samuels' open thighs like a whipped puppy submitting itself to further degradations at the hands of an inhuman master, and lowered her head almost to the tip of his upthrust cock.

Tears filled her eyes, and her tongue came out several times to moisten her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears, not daring to look, and then told herself she was doing this for Howard, for their marriage, for all that the future now promised. And then, with one last moaning, piteous cry, she reached out and grasped his swollen rod between the fingers of her right hand and began to stroke the palpitating flesh lightly, further arousing the already lust-bubbling Samuels until groans of joy rendered from his lips.

"Goddamn you, hurry up and suck it! Suck my cock, suck it, suck it!"

His hips thrust upward, but she pulled back her head, out of reach in a reflexive abhorrence of the act she was being forced to perform. Samuels reached down and entangled his hands tightly in her soft blond hair, trying desperately to guide her head down to meet his forward-leaping manhood. His own head was lifted off the bed, so that he could watch the helplessly contorted features of her beautiful face, poised there above his loins, and his brain reeled with the mental image of his thick, pulsating cock burrowing in and out of her ovaled lips; he was excited beyond all recall now, he had to have her suck him off now! He could feel the semen boiling in his testicles, and he knew it wouldn't be long before it would come spewing out of his shaft like a flow of hot lava.

"Hurry, hurry!" he grated. "Suck it, bitch, suck it!"

Suddenly, Cindy, realizing the complete hopelessness of her position, was seized with a tremendous need to perform the obscene task he demanded of her and get it over with as quickly as possible. She did not like the implications of the tingling, rippling passion which was once more seething in her genitals at the prospect of again taking a male member between her lips, even such a member as the one belonging to the blackmailing postal clerk. She was becoming aroused herself – the liquor and the marijuana were responsible, she prayed to herself – and she had to get this finished and over with before she became so excited that she began to enjoy her subjugation.

Her head plunged forward and down. Samuels felt the incredible, hot moist softness of her young lips close over the sensitive head of his cock, felt her firebrand tongue lick circles of liquid fire around and around it, flicking into the glans opening, drinking up the lubricating fluid seeping there. His hands in her hair tightened, and he thrust his loins upward, driving the length of his massive prick deep into the soft, warm folds of her mouth, feeling it slam hard against the back of her throat.

"Uuuuhhhhhhh!" mewled Cindy around the hardened, invading rod of flesh.

"Oooooooooooooooooaaaaahhhhhh!" Samuels cried in lust-crazed fervor.

Cindy twirled her tongue maddeningly faster around the blood-inflated head of his cock. Then she began to suck him rhythmically, with all the practiced expertise she had acquired over the past week. He watched her convoluted lipstick-rimmed lips working on his cock, watched the soft wet skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in again as she sawed her mouth the full length of his rigid penis. The sight of her sucking him increased his arousal higher and higher, and his loins tensed and jerked upward into her face, all the fleshy expanse disappearing with each hard forward thrust, so that only a small stretch of it showed white and glistening with saliva wetness between her lips.

Her tongue, with a nerve-shattering lick on the outstroke, was like a separate entity, a thing gone wild with the desire to end this terrible subjugation, make him cum in her mouth and thus write finish to the whole sordid business. She sucked hungrily, making the cockhead jerk and convulse as though it, too, were a thing alive and with a mind of its own. Her rich, firm breasts danced wildly below her pumping head, adding to the lust-inciting view the wizened civil servant was viewing.

"Suck it, suck it, baby, suck it!" he urged her on, dropping his head back on the bed heavily. And still the young housewife slaved on, her body glistening from the tiny droplets of perspiration forming from her labor. The pressure grew and grew in Samuels' balls, and he shoved his loins up hard against her face, hearing her protesting mumble, not heeding it all as he neared the pinnacle of his release…

And then, suddenly, he did not want to cum just yet… did not want to eject his maddening buildup of semen into her mouth. No, he had a better idea, something he had wanted to do to her from the very first time he had seen her, something he had thought of several times since then. Now he was going to have his chance!

He was going to fuck her in the asshole!

He was going to shoot his fiery hot seed deep, deep into the depths of her virginal young bowels!

His hands entangled in her hair now pushed upward instead of forced downward, drawing his saliva-soaked cock from the young wife's soft, still sucking mouth with a smooth wet sound. Her eyes blinked open uncomprehendingly, her face glistening with sweat, her lipstick wet and shining with her spittle and the beginning droplets of the wizened gnome's semen.

"W-what is it?" she gasped dimly.

"Turn around and lean forward! Hurry, Goddamnit, I'm ready to cum any second now!"

"What… what are you going to do?"

"You bitch!" He grabbed her roughly, twisted her around so that her softly rounded buttocks were trembling before his gaze, then raised up on his knees behind her. His eager fingers reached out, fitted themselves into the smooth crevice between the twin white globes and slowly drew them apart, reveling in the wet, lubricious feel of her feminine emissions. His throbbing cock was pressed to the satiny soft surface of one of the defensively quivering moons.

Cindy tried to cry out as she suddenly realized what the man wanted to do to her, but he removed one hand from her buttocks and shoved her head down hard against the rumpled bedspread. Ripples of horror flooded through her. Oh, God, oh, God, not that! No, I won't let him, I won't, I could never forgive myself…

She tried to twist away, but his thumbs were like steel talons, imprisoning her, spreading wide the tiny puckered ring of her unused rectal passage. "Going to fuck your asshole, going to fuck your asshole, Mrs. Jamison, oh, shit, oh, Goddamn it!" he drooled, raising his loins, bringing the hard, rubbery head of his immense cock upward so that it teased along her naked rectal opening, poised at the tiny wrinkled ring.

"No!" she screamed in agonized protest. "No, no, you can't!"

"Just watch me, you bitch! I'll teach you to send filth and Communistic garbage through our mails! I'll teach you!"

And then, with a brutal, sadistic lust, the venereous postal clerk suddenly rammed forward, his cock soaring into her tightly virginal passage with savage, unmerciful force, never stopping as it tore through the membranous canal like some terrible instrument of exquisite torture.

"AAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Cindy in helpless pain and subjugation, and then the cry changed to strangled gasps as Samuels again flexed his buttocks to drive his invading cock deeper into the softness of her anal channel. He clutched hard at her hips, flexing yet again as he thrust still deeper into her rectum, into the warm forbidden depths of her anal passage. The pressure pushed her forward, pushing her head down harder on the mattress. Oh, God, Howard's mattress! Samuels began heaving forward with long, sawing strokes now, the rubbery walls of Cindy's asshole expanding before his invading cock until, finally, with one last savage lunge he buried the last throbbing inch of his tremendously expanded penis into her warm, tight anus.

"Aaarrrrggghhhhhhhhhh!" the hopelessly impaled young wife wailed. "Oooohh, God, it hurts! It hurrrttttsssss! Oh, I can't take it, it hurts too much!"

You'll take it, and you'll scream for more! the postal clerk thought triumphantly. Before I'm through, you'll beg me to fill you up with my hot sticky seed, you damned aloof bitch! He flexed again, and again, and again…

And suddenly, in order to alleviate the terrible pressure in her rectum, to force him to cum there as she had tried vainly to force him to cum with his cock in her mouth, Cindy Jamison began to grind her buttocks back hard against his penetrating cock. Her anal passage was becoming accustomed to the great weapon imbedded there, and there were renewed tinglings of a horribly rising desire in her loins! It was impossible – how could she feel desire at a moment of degradation such as this? But it was true; her relaxing of her defensively clenched anal muscles in order to bring him to climax had unleashed a new torrent of unwanted passion in her body.

As much as the thought appalled her, she was beginning to enjoy this lewd, bestial sodomizing of her private secret passage!

She was sobbing in a commingled mixture of frustration and self-loathing and desire as she fucked in ever increasing rhythm back against the salacious invasion of Steve Samuels. She involuntarily rolled and flung her buttocks back against the forward-driving shaft, feeling it worming deep around in her belly, feeling his testicles slam resoundingly with each forward lunge down against her naked, well-lubricated vaginal lips.

She's gone wild, she's gone wild! Samuels thought exultantly. She's mine, all mine, I've conquered another of these haughty young bitches for my own private amusement!

The pressure in his loins was intense now, and he knew his orgasm was only seconds away now, only seconds… He heaved and bucked like a rutting animal, emitting snorting, drooling sounds of sheer lust as he fucked long and hard and deep into her, his fingers digging cruelly into the soft, tender flesh of her buttocks, drawing blood there.

And then…

He was there, oh, Jesus he was there!

The wizened clerk began to chant crazily, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" and his cock began to jerk out of control sunk deep in the warm softness of the young wife's bowels. Cindy felt the fire-hot semen erupt along his urethra tube from the swinging cauldrons of his testicles and fill her anus to overflowing, felt the searing liquid run down along the crevice of her churning buttocks, along the backs of her thighs, and pool on the bedspread beneath her flailing body.

It was over. At long last, it was over…

Or so she thought in that single, terrible moment of the climax of the rutting, wheezing man sodomizing her.

She collapsed forward finally, pulling his rapidly deflating cock from her anal passage with a painful wrench, and lay panting and sobbing, totally subjugated, totally enslaved, totally sick at soul. Samuels fell across her, cradling his head in the soft hollow of her back, his wet rubbery lips kissing the sweat from her smooth, satiny skin…

It was not long before the postal clerk's penis grew once more into erection, before he turned the limply yielding young wife over on her back and spread her legs wide and proceeded to fuck into her open cunt with long, hard, brutal strokes until he filled her aching cavity with more torrents of cum. He fucked her again, after that, first making her suck him to hardness once more while he probed her already widely stretched rectum with his middle finger. He performed other and still wilder atrocities on her flesh until Cindy, in her wildly churning mind, thought she would surely go insane with the knowledge of what he was doing to her, of her own enslavement to this evil, depraved man.

And yes, she thought she would go insane, too, from the fact that she had almost reached climax three times during this long, orgiastic night! For she was aroused by his ministrations, by his lewd teasing, by his ravaging penis, aroused and joining willingly in. At the beginning, she had tried to convince herself, as she had while he was sodomizing her, that she was only doing it to make him cum, to end this as quickly as possible. But then doubts began to linger, and she wasn't sure. Had she somehow become so completely subjugated that she was now a lover of the same sick acts as he? Oh, God, oh, God…

Finally, as the first rays of dawn drifted through the bedroom window, Cindy Jamison slept… slept with the terrible fear that she had lost something on this night, something good and innocent… and had gained something indefinable which would completely reshape her future life. Her dreams were nightmares, and she awoke groaning helplessly when the sun was up full later on and she was alone…

As he was about to leave, just past dawn, Steve Samuels had stood fully clothed over the naked, sleeping form of the naive young housewife he had just conquered and leered down at her. Look at her sleeping there, curled into a fetal position, he thought. She thinks it's over, that tonight is the end of me, that she's paid her price. He laughed triumphantly. But she hasn't, not by a long shot. There are plenty of things I can and will do to her – I and my faithful friend, Ringo. No, Mrs. Jamison, this isn't the end at all. It's just the beginning for you…

CHAPTER THREE

The darkened room with the drawn blinds looked strangely unfamiliar to Cindy when she awoke. It was her own bedroom, no question about that; there was her dresser, her white ruffle-lined vanity, the cane-backed chair next to the full-length mirror… She stretched her hand along the bedcovers, feeling the soft material with her fingertips. Yes, it was her bed in her own bedroom in her own house – but in another sense, it wasn't.

It wasn't because the love, the marital bond which had united this lovely young wife with her husband had been broken here, right here on this bed. It wasn't because no longer did these four walls enclose a sanctuary of wedded harmony, no longer was there the presence of emotional ties. Her bedroom had become just another bedroom; her bed just one of many.

She might just as well have been in a third class hotel.

Cindy moved and felt an excruciating pain just over her left eye. She sunk back, groaning aloud. Her head felt oddly thick and it was difficult to think. Every muscle in her body seemed to be tied in tiny knots. She lay still, then recalled the horrible dream she had had last night.

The obscene, sickening debauch of her mind and being by some lewdly grinning man the piteous wife could still picture the bullet-shaped, microcephalic head and the little, beady, blood-shot eyes gleaming lasciviously, and his croaking voice demanding… demanding that she… that she…

The impact suddenly hit her.

"My God, it had actually happened!"

In spite of the pain, Cindy sat up quickly. She stumbled from the bed and lurched heavily to the bathroom mirror, looking into it quickly.

"My God," she moaned, "it did happen. It wasn't a nightmare!" Heavy lines marred her fresh, young skin. Her eyes were sunk deeply into her head as though she had aged years since yesterday. She sagged against the washbasin for a long minute, literally torn apart now with her inner torment magnified tenfold, feeling as if millions of tiny, invisible, execrable creatures were slithering across her skin, dirtying it, defiling her body so that she would never be able to make herself clean again. She stood naked on the throw rug next to the shower stall and looked down at her breasts, at the fresh bruises which centered around the nipples. Then she looked down her smooth curve of stomach to her raised pubic mound, at the dried and alien sperm matting the soft triangle of hair, at the still-inflamed cunt lips which that man – that beast – had so abandonly manipulated into desire with his hot, hard penis and later with his thin, swirling tongue. She thought how the postal clerk had fucked her, sodomized her (as she thought of his probing cock buried in her anal channel, she automatically tightened her sphincter muscles, causing her to moan, for her whole backside and anus were sore beyond belief) – how he had forced her to participate in every lewd act imaginable. And worse, far worse, was the indelible, terrifying suspicion that she had enjoyed it! That the drug, the liquor, the intense sexual frenzy of the government employee had eventually made her respond with wild abandon, as though she was with her own husband, her loving Howard, and not that evil-incarnate and his blackmailing threats.

She thought about all of this as she stood and looked down at her nubile nakedness, and the filthy, unseen organisms seemed to scurry faster and faster along every conceivable inch of her velvety surface.

A low, barely audible moan escaped from Cindy's lips. Frantically she twisted the lucite handles on the shower unit built into the tile wall of the stall, bringing forth a thick stream of water. She adjusted the shower head until the spray became needlepoints of water, cool at first, then hotter and hotter until clouds of vapor began to billow upwards, making the bathroom seem like a hazy, humid sauna. Cindy stepped into the stall, gasping as the scalding water beat against her skin and turned it to a bright crimson hue. But she made no move to leave, to escape the burning cascade; instead she stood fast, her mouth open and her eyes shut, enduring the pain as if it were some divine punishment, some taste of hell, for her transgressions.

For five minutes Cindy withstood the torrent, blanking the pain from her mind, soaping her abdomen and her rectum and her vagina in a desperate attempt to rid herself of the crawling things. Only when the water heater emptied and the spray became cool again did she step from the stall. She stood once more on the circular throw rug, this time dripping wet. Wet – but not clean. Oh, God, would she ever be able to feel wholesome again?

Briskly, almost as if she were heaping further punishment upon herself, the agonized young wife dried herself with a large fluffy jacquard towel. Her body, tingling from the abuse of water and cloth, glowed a burnished red. She padded naked back to the bedroom and dressed quickly, choosing a light green blouse which buttoned at the throat, and a full, wide skirt which her husband had once described as "innocent-looking" and "totally lacking in sex appeal".

Still her head throbbed. Rubbing her forehead, she went to the kitchen to make some coffee and try to think. Think… and as she concentrated on her guilt, shame, and of the reasons causing her remorseful actions, her head ached still more. It was impossible, she realized. The situation was beyond her ability to handle. She couldn't cope with the postal clerk and his demands, couldn't fathom her own aroused nature, couldn't untangle the spiraling whirlpool of events which had been happening since the gift of the Polaroid. She became dizzy as her brain spun around, casting before her mind's eye quick glimpses of all that had taken place lately, much as a carrousel parades a kaleidoscope of ever changing animals as it turns before an uninvolved bystander.

She had to do something, that she knew. She couldn't let it be forgotten; neither her own mind nor her conscience would allow that. She had to talk to someone, to purge her sickened soul, to seek advice and comfort. Her husband? Yes, yes, he must be told, Cindy thought. Howard is strong, he would understand…

Her hand reached for the kitchen telephone extension, then paused. What could she say? He was in the middle of a convention, talking business and his mind totally filled with facts and figures and automobiles. So say she was able to locate him, to get him on the phone long distance. So then? She tried to compose her words in her mind, becoming almost ill as the bitter memories stirred within her. Each time she thought of things to say to him, she realized that what she truly wanted to tell still would not come.

Howard would never understand, she finally had to admit ruefully. She was incapable of properly explaining long-distance that her desire to help their marriage had resulted in her renting the post office box and sending for the Polaroid Club pictures. How her actions had betrayed her, how the postal clerk had forced her to do his bidding… and how her own body had betrayed her. No, it wasn't fair to her husband to suffer a moment because of her failings. She still loved him as before, perhaps more now, with the burned-in knowledge that she, alone, should suffer for her transgressions. As she lowered her hand, she was determined to protect Howard, no matter how it might hurt her.

She knew that never again could she curl up in his lap and playfully nip at his ear with girlish innocence without thoughts of the horrible previous night. This would be her penance alone to bear and the scar would last as long as she lived. Time might dim the memory but could never erase it.

That much was settled. Howard, her unsuspecting, trusting husband would never know her secret. But she was still faced with the torturous problem of what to do about her predicament. Who could she turn to? Who among her friends and acquaintances could she trust to understand? Understand and have the experience to be able to guide her through these troubled paths? Marsha? Pauline? Gladys? No… they were good at bridge and gossiping, but not at advice of this nature. There was no one.

Wait there was one woman, a woman who outwardly was more brazen than Cindy cared to think about… but who upon many occasions had shown friendship and sympathetic, earnest support. Norma! Norma Taylor, her husband's boss' wife. Yes, after that get-together weekend at the mountain cabin retreat, Cindy was positive that the lovely woman was interested in her, in spite of the fact that Ralph's different social sphere prevented them from being close friends. She would know what to do, Cindy knew. If anybody would know what to do, Norma Taylor would.

Quickly Cindy thumbed through the little phone number book beside the regular directory, locating the Taylor number and address Howard had penciled in when first he had been hired by Auto Circus. She feverishly dialed the number, impatiently waited as the phone on the other end rang… and rang… and rang. Wasn't Norma home? Oh, God, she had to be! Please, she had to…

"Hello?"

"Norma? This is Cindy Jamison."

"Cindy?" The voice was low and gentle, obviously full of warmth. "Good to hear from you. I was just thinking of calling you and inviting you over for lunch some time this week."

"You were?"

"Certainly. Our husbands being away and all…"

"Could… could you make that luncheon date for today?" Cindy asked hopefully. "It… it would be appreciated. I have… something to talk to you about."

"Of course. I have some leftover roast beef, and I'll make some sandwiches and we'll have a nice chat. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful!" Cindy said, breathing almost with relief. "What time?"

"Mmm, in about an hour. Say at eleven."

"I'll be there!" Cindy promised, and hung up.

The Taylor home was in another section of town. It wasn't in the finest area, but neither was it in a tract development as was the Jamison residence. It was in the lush, green hills bordering the western edge of Morriston, catching the morning and noon sun, but having a cooler late afternoon and evening than the majority of flat, fertile land around it. Cindy drove her car – a Volkswagen Variant 1600 – through Morriston and up the winding, narrow streets, pulling the sun visor down as the sparkling rays blinded her eyes.

The Taylor home was an older one, built around the middle twenties when the national economy was booming and no end was in sight. The chicken was in every pot, optimism that the world was without further war and the country was forever prosperous overshadowing the gathering dark clouds of the future. As a result, the original owner had gone all out to build a house sturdy enough to last long after he was gone – prophetic enough, for he committed suicide a few years later, on that Black Tuesday in October, 1929. The house weathered the Depression with a succession of owners, and then later the Second World War, Truman, the Korean conflict… and as designed, it looked as warm and comfortable as when new.

Oh, the kitchen had been remodeled twice, and the cellar redone and paneled into a game room, and the backyard gazebo removed and a swimming pool installed, but basically it was the same sturdy home it had always been. The Taylors had bought it shortly after they'd been married. It was then far out of their price range, but Ralph had gambled on his ability and as a result he was happily ensconced in an ever growing real estate investment. He had no desire to move. It had all the things he wanted of a house. It was in a fashionable, well-kept neighborhood; it was surrounded by well-grown trees and shrubs which provided privacy; the people on his block were of the kind without children and with connections; and it gave him and his wife an aura of being respectable, settled citizens of the community.

Cindy drove up the circular drive and parked in front of the wide verandah. The scarlet bougainvillea entwined around the latticework, and a yellow and black butterfly flitted among the green shrubs, finally landing on the head of a metal statue. The statue was of a small, brightly clad Negro jockey, forever offering a ring to tie one's horse's reins to. The butterfly took to the air as Cindy passed the statue and stepped to the front door.

Norma answered the door. She was dressed in a striped silk sheath with a white leather belt around her slender waist. She was barefoot and held a cooling drink in her hand. She said, smiling, "Come in, Cindy. So good of you to come."

"Thank you, Norma." Cindy stepped in the house.

"I was out on the back patio," Norma continued, walking down the hall. Cindy followed, clutching her purse nervously. They went from the hall through a sitting room filled with furniture of the Empire period, then through a pantry and out into the backyard. The screen door gently closed behind them, the pump brake on top of it hissing slightly.

The backyard was mottled with shafts of sunshine intermingling with areas of shade. The patio was covered with more lattice, hardy grape and honeysuckle vines growing around and through the slats. Norma sat down in a metal lawn chair and waved her hand to the one next to it, indicating for Cindy to sit down as well. The glass-topped table before them had a platter of sandwiches on it, a condiment dish piled with pickles and olives, and an earthenware pitcher filled with wine.

Cindy first looked at the food. She wasn't hungry, not at all, but she knew that she would have to eat so as to not offend Norma. Then she looked out on the broad expanse of lawn and thought how peaceful, how serene and healthy it was. Not at all like the sickness which pervaded her inner being at that moment, made her quiver and want to die. She was suddenly brought back to reality by a gentle touch of fingers on her shoulder.

Startled, she looked around at Norma, who was frowning slightly with concern. The wife of her husband's boss was saying, "… haven't heard a word I've been saying, have you?"

Miserably, Cindy shook her head. "I'm… sorry, Norma."

"You haven't been yourself since you arrived. Aren't you feeling well? The flu perhaps?"

"No… no," came the choked response. "I'm fine. Really."

"No, you're not. I can tell, Cindy." There was a long pause, then, a silence which was louder than shouted words. Cindy didn't know what to say, how to begin… if she dared. She had had the courage to call, and she knew that Norma was indeed the friend she had hoped she would be, but now, confronted with the awful confession, she wasn't sure she had the strength. Norma was obviously baffled and unsure of what to say, but finally, the woman leaned forward and placed her manicured fingers over Cindy's and said: "You told me on the phone that you had something you wanted to talk to me about. It's weighing heavily on you, Cindy. Tell me. Get it off your chest. It'll do you good."

"I… I," stammered Cindy, "I've been with another man."

"Really?" Norma sat back. "Another man, hmm?"

Was that a smile Cindy saw forming on Norma's lips? No, it couldn't be… but even if it was such an unexpected response, Cindy couldn't have stopped the torrent of words which now tumbled from her throat. The dam had been broken, and from her tortured soul came all of the gruesome details about her seduction. She left little out as she poured forth her agony to the other woman, and wept copious tears openly as she confessed.

"… The clerk was the one I rented the post box from… I sent away for some pictures… arrived, and he brought them over… the clerk threatened me with exposure, with jail even… Howie would lose his job… the clerk… the clerk…"

Cindy could only refer to Samuels as 'the clerk', unable to speak his name much as ancient Jews were not allowed to utter the name of their God the Nameless One. It was as if to name the man would bring him forth in the slanting light of the backyard sun. Nor could Cindy detail what perverted acts she had been forced to do for the government employee, glossing over the lewd acts quickly. Above all, she was completely silent on the subject of her own arousal, of her apparent enjoyment of the systematic rape of her sanctity.

But everything else she placed before Norma Taylor, like a horribly sculpted gargoyle complete of substance and shadow. The marijuana… the liquor… the pictures. Especially the pictures. Everything kept revolving, kept returning to the uses – the abuses – of the Polaroid camera.

When she was done, she sunk her head in a symbolic act of begging for mercy, of awaiting judgment. Her blouse and skirt were wet with her tears, and her voice was almost hoarse with her wracking sobs.

The first thing Norma did was to pour Cindy a glass of wine. "Here, drink this," she commanded, and even though the distraught young wife refused, she persevered and finally Cindy haltingly swallowed some of the ruby liquid. It did make her feel better, she had to admit, as she sat the glass down.

Then Norma looked Cindy in the eye and said, "One thing more. Did you enjoy it?"

"Norma!" Cindy was taken full aback, her eyes wide with horror.

"I must know in order to get a full, clear perspective of the situation, Cindy. Forgive me for being so blunt, but it's only between us girls." She leaned forward. "Now… did you? Even a little bit?"

Blushing a color as scarlet as the bougainvillea out front, Cindy Jamison first stared with frozen shock. Then, trembling and biting her lower lip, she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded affirmatively. There was no use trying to cover it up, no way in which she could bury the awful truth about herself – and it was harder to admit it to herself than to Norma.

"Yes," she moaned. "At… at first I loathed his… attentions. But… but in all honesty, I have to confess I… began to sort of like it." She twisted in her chair, then looked at Norma, wetness blurring her vision. "But only a little bit, Norma. Only a little bit, and when it was over and I'd collected my senses, I was sick about it!"

"Yes, yes, I understand," Norma said in a soothing voice. She then poured herself a little more wine and sighed. She thought of the best way of handling the matter, of trying to calm the near hysterical girl so that a greater crisis would be averted. She could almost picture the scandal it would cause if it was publicly known, and she had the inherent knowledge of a shrewd woman that such publicity could easily spread to herself and Ralph, for Cindy being in the frame of mind that she was in, would break apart and tell everything. Everything, including the business about the Polaroid Club and their own involvement. Howard wouldn't be the only one whose job would be in jeopardy…

"Listen to me, Cindy," she started to say, then sipped the wine as she thought carefully of her next words. "I'll be frank, for I'm sure that's what you want me to be. Why you came to me."

"Yes, yes, that's right, Norma."

"First of all, you were forced into what you did. You had no other choice, just as this… clerk said. You were forced, and no matter what you may think of what you did, you had no other way out. You did the right thing."

"But my…"

Norma held up her hand. "Your feelings, right? What's really bothering you is that you became excited, right?"

Cindy again nodded, mute, and twisted the little napkin in her lap.

"Well, pardon me for saying so, but I don't think any woman could have avoided becoming excited. Any full, loving, responsive woman, that is. Now neither one of us is frigid, Cindy; both of us make love to our husbands with every cell in our body, and we like to. That's the key in understanding what happened to you, Cindy – the fact that we naturally, physically like sex. How could you help not to get hot when his hands were caressing you, his… penis was hard inside you? Hell, I couldn't have, I know that."

"I know, but…"

"What it boils down to is this: you're a woman first, biologically. Half your body, and mine, is tied in with sex and procreation. Our feelings, emotions, and physiology are regulated by its rhythmic chemistry, and no matter how you try to, you can't deny that fact. You're a wife second, which is an artificial social discipline which is learned, not instinctive. You did what was natural, what your body was intended to do – and while most of our country would not approve nor condone it, you must chalk it up to an unpleasant happening. A mistake, at the most, but never as a sick, warped evil thing."

"But what am I going to do?" wailed Cindy.

"Do? Why, you're going to do nothing, Cindy. Nothing at all. I doubt that this clerk is ever going to call you again. He got what he wanted, a fresh conquest. I'm sure that's what excited him – the battering down of your defenses – and now that he has done that, he has no reason to bother you again. So I'd suggest that you dry your tears, have a sandwich, and start forgetting the whole matter. Go downtown and buy a dress or a new hat. I always do when I'm blue."

"Howard…"

"Howard shouldn't be told. Men don't understand about such things, Cindy, and might do something rash." She shook her head. "No, best to let things lie as they are. You still love your husband, I'm sure, and while it's been a mental shock, it hasn't hurt you physically. You can respond to your husband and his love just as well as before, and of course, that's what counts in situations such as these."

"You… you really think so?"

"Trust me, Cindy," Norma said. She went on for a little while longer, soothingly and with confidence, instilling some reassurance back in the shattered wife, pouring a little more wine, and finally getting Cindy to have a sandwich. By one thirty, Cindy Jamison was perked up as much as possible. The heavy weight of her sin was like lead between her shoulders, but at least she was able to carry the load now, and not collapse as she was in danger of doing before.

Yes, Cindy thought as she drove away from the Taylor home, yes, I was right in coming to see Norma. She certainly was a great help, being forthright and blunt, and at the same time showing me that she really was concerned. She was correct in what she had to say, and I will follow her advice. I'll maybe even go shopping, as she suggested… a new summer frock might help me for get a little bit.

Yet, for all her buoyancy, there was a nagging, ever-present dread in the back of her mind. Like a black wad of some malignant evil, it kept repeating over and over that perhaps she hadn't heard the last of the matter. That maybe tomorrow or the next day, or the next week, she would hear the phone ring or a knock on the door, and it would be Samuels, the ever leering postal clerk, come to collect again…

***

The dinner was long over, the dishes were washed, and now it was time for bed. Norma had on nothing but a thin transparent nightgown, knowing that the hint of her fine, lithe body underneath excited Ralph as she walked around. It had, too…

Ralph Taylor had come back from the convention bushed, his face and manners showing how dog-tired he was. But after a couple of drinks and the fine food she'd prepared and the semi-nude parading all evening – especially the latter – it was obvious to her that her husband was bubbling with life. His pants were tightly bulged, and as she bent over him to kiss his lips and interrupt the movie on TV, his hand came up underneath her gown, pushing the hem abruptly up her thighs before she could resist.

"Oh, you beast!" she jumped forward trying to escape the playful fingers coursing their way along the sensitive parts of her legs. "Stop, it, Ralph, please!" She giggled, knocking the cup of coffee she was serving him. "Ooohhhhh, God, Ralph!"

Ralph grinned and continued his rummaging between his wife's legs, laughing aloud at the same time. "Hell, it's been almost a week since I last laid you, my pet. Heh, heh, they had some fine pieces of ass at that convention, but nothing like you!"

"Ralph," she crooned softly, "be careful. We've got to plan out what we're going to do about the Jamisons, remember?"

Ralph grinned his broad grin again and placed his hand on her buttocks, massaging the soft, tender flesh. She looked at him coyly as he continued the teasing ministrations. Norma gritted her teeth as she felt the old feeling drifting slowly through the tips of her nerves. She was lucky to have Ralph as a husband and he took good care of her, in spite of his flamboyant crudeness and periodic streaks of cruelty in his sometimes overzealous sexual demands. Not that she minded the latter, she mused; she was almost as bad as he was. He didn't mind at all what she did as long as she didn't hide it from him and was there when he wanted her. But, by the same token, he did whatever he liked in the same way. In fact, it had made their marriage more exciting and brought them closer together. Yes, by common consent they had their little affairs but had never let them get beyond the physical stage. It was kind of like having your cake and eating it too, and she never wanted it any other way.

"Oooohhhh," she moaned again as her mind returned to reality. Ralph's hand was running the full length of her soft, white vaginal crevice, sending chills of sensation rippling across her skin. "Are you crazy, man? You want to be eaten alive?"

"Eaten, yes, baby, but not alive," the manager joked, twitching his finger again into the slightly squirming slit. "But don't get impatient. We'll come to that."

"Well, you just stop it then and tell me what you're planning. I told you everything about that postal clerk and that racket he was working on Cindy. You said it gave you ideas." She smiled with sparkling eyes at her husband. "I'm always interested in your ideas, lover. Especially about the ones for bridging the social gap between us and your star salesman."

"And his wife, don't forget her," chuckled Ralph lewdly.

"You bastard. You can't wait to get that mouth of hers around your fat cock another time, can you?"

"No more than you want to show your maternal instincts on Howard's prick again." He laughed. "But don't you worry, my little pet. I've got it all worked out. Been thinking about how to do it since that night at the cabin. Christ! I'd give a month's commission to get a set of photos with that luscious blonde doing all the tricks. And preferably with me on the receiving end. Well, your little story about that clerk answered my prayers, Norma. It's as good as being in the bag."

"Ralph," Norma smiled demurely, now almost panting from her pent-up excitement, "let's talk about it in the bedroom, shall we?"

"Why, you little whore!" Ralph grinned, but rose and followed his wife down the hallway. "You're about the most selfish thing alive. You always come first." He knew it was a game she was playing, this first-no-then-yes coyness, and they played it often. He was ready now but knew she liked to be coaxed a little before the action started. "But I have to tell you my plans first, remember?"

"Mmmm," she replied, letting the long gown fall and stepping out of it seductively. "I'm all ears."

"The hell you are," he leered at her. He went toward her, figuring the plan could wait. There were more pressing matters to take care of. He said, "Fuck it, Norma, you can wait to hear the Goddamn details. All I want to know is can you find out the name of this clerk?"

"Sure, baby," she cooed. "Anything you want." She made a mental note to start on finding out the identity of the postal clerk who had caused such distress to Cindy Jamison the first thing tomorrow. But as she reached her hand down and touched the swollen bulge in her husband's pants, she knew that there was going to be a long, delicious night ahead of her, and she wasn't going to be sidetracked from enjoying it to the fullest.

CHAPTER FOUR

Cindy Jamison wore her new summer dress to the company party the following Tuesday evening. It was a pretty thing, a frilly pale-blue sheath with no sleeves or belt, but a matching jacket for evening wear – which she now had on. The hemline was daringly high for her, just below the current "mini" style, allowing her to show off her slim, wonderfully tanned legs. At first she had been uncomfortable in the dress, for she didn't have a slip she could wear with it and her only underclothing was her bra and panties, but when she saw herself in the mirror at the clothing store, saw how childlike and innocent it made her look, she couldn't resist it.

Norma Taylor had been right, Cindy once more reminded herself. She said buying a dress would help, and it certainly had. All through the rest of the days before Howard had returned from the convention, the lovely young housewife had never really felt her usual vivacious nature. At best she had been moody, going through the motions of cleaning and shopping only half aware of what she was doing. At worst, she fell into terrible fits of depression, oftentimes crying until the salt dried on her cheeks. These low moments usually came toward bedtime, around the time that the hated postal clerk, Samuels, had first forced his sinister intentions upon her defenseless body, and they lasted long after she had retired, keeping her awake and moaning fitfully as sleep evaded her.

Then she would switch on the light and go to the closet and take the new dress out. She would hold it up on its hanger and admire it, press it to her breasts and swing around with it, and as she would do this, the comforting words of Norma Taylor would replay in her mind. You were forced… you did the right thing… no woman could have avoided becoming excited… do nothing… do nothing… the clerk will never come back…

The dress was a tangible, real symbol of what Cindy so desperately wanted to believe – needed to believe in order to save her sanity.

But nothing ever helped the cold stab of utter terror which would slice through Cindy when the doorbell rang, or the phone jingled, or somebody would hail her name… For in that instant before she heard or saw who it was, she had the instinctive dread that it was the postal clerk again…

Thank God Howard finally returned, she sighed. Thank God there's his warm, protective form next to mine at night… And with the loving thoughts swirling through her mind, she turned to her husband.

"I love you Howie!" she said, and reaching over, she placed her hand on his leg.

Howard grinned. He wasn't sure what had prompted that sudden exclamation; was only glad to hear it. The Lord knew that his wife had been acting strangely enough since he had come home. It was as if there was something wrong – but not wrong; as if Cindy was deeply disturbed about something – yet at the same time overjoyed. Hadn't she bought a new dress? A reckless little gesture, denting their budget but giving a tremendous amount of happiness to her, he thought. Hadn't she all but raped him the minute they'd gotten back from the airport, making so passionate a bedpartner it was almost as if she was trying to prove something to him – or herself? Yes…

But there was the other side, the side which worried him. Hadn't he glanced at her a number of times when she wasn't aware of him looking and seen a grim, almost painful cast to her features? Hadn't she blanched a more pale white – a white more like translucent china than pearl – when one of the neighbors had phoned? Hadn't she been going around with a preoccupied air, at times not even hearing him? Yes…

So Howard Jamison had been disturbed, but wasn't sure where or how to direct his uneasiness. This had been the first time he'd been away from his wife in their three years of marriage, and for want of a better reason, he merely assumed that his absence to go to the convention was the cause of her peculiar behavior. Certainly she had kept insisting that nothing was the matter when he'd asked her…

He returned to the task of driving. The Volkswagen was a little small after driving the big Buick he usually had, but the Buick was at Auto Circus, waiting to be delivered tomorrow to a customer. Moreover, as he had had to stay later and close up the lot – early, thank heavens; at nine instead of midnight because of the party – it was simpler from a time standpoint for Cindy to drive the little station wagon into town and pick him up rather than having him drive another of the lot cars home.

Traffic was light and a full moon was casting almost as much light upon the earth as the sun had earlier. Howard Jamison steered the little car through the late evening, humming along with a little French tune on the radio, feeling more content now that his lovely wife had said those three magical words: I love you. It still didn't displace all of his concern for her erratic behavior, but the successful convention, the warm and loving greetings he had had from Cindy upon returning, and the prospect of a party at Lathrop's combined to shove any worry and doubt to the back of his mind. The world was well and God was in His heavens…

The party had been planned on the flight up from Lox Angeles, after the convention. The general manager, Buddy Lathrop, had insisted that one be held at his home to celebrate a successful business deal which had been negotiated: the signing of a national auto lease company to allow Auto Circus to handle the liquidation of their cars in Northern California. It was a tremendous coup, for the lease company would provide a continual stream of a year-to eighteen-month-old cars in top condition and of the most popular makes and models. It was no wonder that Lathrop had been in an expansive mood.

All the salesmen, Ralph Taylor, assorted wives and girl friends would be at the Lathrop residence by now, and Howard knew it would be a swinging affair. Good ol' Buddy, the head man over the whole organization, threw liquor and laughter around in abundant profusion, belying his tall, stoop-shouldered parsimonious appearance. Perhaps if the general manager wore black, he might have passed for an undertaker, but with the wit and smile of a country bumpkin, the shrewd mind of a born salesman, and the wild clothing of a carnival barker, he had risen to be one of the richest, most successful car dealers in the state. Howard was pleased to work for him, just as he wax pleased to work for his immediate superior, Ralph. Both good men, he thought.

As befitting his position, Lathrop lived in an expensive area outside of Morriston. There was a section to the south, along Route 34, which wasn't exactly a suburb, but was a planned community for the few who could afford the high cost of the custom built homes and restrictive zoning laws. Lathrop had built a large replica of a southern plantation mansion, complete with widow's walk and white pillars along the broad, wide front. It looked like a set out of Gone with the Wind, right down to the weeping willows and red hibiscus and a carport fashioned to resemble a carriage house. The backyard, about the size of a football field, was more modern: swimming pool and cabana, two tennis courts, and a pond and stream where Mrs. Lathrop raised her prize goldfish.

Buddy Lathrop answered the door when the Jamisons arrived. He stood beaming, a tall glass of some red punch in his hand, his face slightly mottled from the liquor. "Come in! Come in!" he greeted, stepping aside. He was attired gloriously in hound's-tooth check trousers, green plaid sports coat, and an orange shirt. And as the yellow light from the hall fell across his cheek when he turned, Cindy saw a smear of lipstick. The shrieks and laughter from behind him were deafening.

This, she could tell, was going to be another typical salesmen's party. She smiled and murmured a ritualistic hello-and-how-are-you, while her more enthusiastic husband grinned broadly and pumped Buddy Lathrop's hand heartily. The pretty wife was feeling ambivalence toward the party, although she never mentioned it to her husband.

The three of them walked down the great main hall where the staircase swept upwards to the second and third floors and beyond, past the sitting room and the billiard room and the music room where one of the salesmen was pounding out "Chopsticks" on the Steinway baby grand. All the while Cindy was biting her lower lip, the opposites of wanting and yet not wanting to be here surging like cross-currents through her. She wanted to come here tonight because that way she wouldn't be home alone… still itching with the fear of being summoned again by that malicious postal clerk… listening for him and only hearing the miniature grandfather's clock in the hall ticking off the slow and endless seconds before Howard would arrive…

And so she had agreed with Howard's request to accompany him tonight, not even uttering one word about how the types of men and their mates she would find here disagreed with her. Usually she did so, for while she loved Howard and admired his boss, the suede-shoe operators at Auto Circus left her cold. They were loud, crude, and drank too much. They smoked the most foul-smelling cigars in the world, and insisted on either blowing the smoke in her face or waving the cigar under her nostrils as they made some asinine point about something they were ignorant about. Their wives and girl friends were little better, spending their whole day reading confession magazines and chewing gum, with even less to say than the men.

It never failed to give her a splitting headache, coming to one of these occasions. Christmas, New Year's, assorted birthdays and anniversaries – she would make sure she and Howard came late and left early.

Not tonight, though. Tonight Cindy was going to stay until the Lathrops threw them out. Until the last dog is hung, until the last drink is…

"Howdy!" came a booming voice, and Cindy nearly jumped a foot in the air. Gruff hands went around her waist and a wine-heavy breath seared her neck as Art Manacor kissed her. "Haw! Haw! I see you brought your wonderful little woman tonight, Howie!" he guffawed, his laugh reminding Cindy of a bowling ball bouncing down a flight of stairs. She tried to smile and act as though his kiss had been fun… but it hadn't been. His rubbery lips, his sudden grasp had been too vivid a simile to the postal clerk's hated touch…

"Yes," Howard grinned, "too big a deal even for her to pass up." He looked around, slapping the backs of some other men, acting as though he hadn't seen them for a coon's age, rather than just a matter of hours. "Say, what's that slop you're drinking, Art?" Howard asked, pointing to the glass the salesman was holding. "Looks like raspberry Kool-aid."

"Something called sangria," came the reply. Art blinked, studying the pieces of lemon and orange at the bottom of the glass. "A wine punch Binnie found a recipe for in a Spanish cook-book." Binnie was Mrs. Lathrop's nickname, and what she insisted everybody call her. Manacor drank a little. "Not bad, and that's all what's available." It had obviously gotten him high.

"Ah'll get you-all some," cried out Mrs. Manacor. She was a thin, breastless woman with black spit-curls and a vapid expression, except when drunk as she was now and then her eyes had a tendency to cross. She was from Louisiana and had a grating twang which made Cindy think the bowling ball had crashed through a plate glass window. "You-all wait raht heah."

Cindy waited impatiently, for she wanted some sangria; wanted a lot of it, in fact, to dull the building pressure in her head. The party was going to be terrible, that she could see – but not as terrible as the silent nightmare shadowing her happy home…

Mrs. Manacor – "Jest cahl me Salli-Ann" – delivered two brimming tumblers of the ruby liquid and Cindy drank deeply. The sangria was pleasant tasting, very refreshing, with a combination sweet-tart taste hard to identify. A fruit punch? No… the fruit taste was in the background, Cindy thought as she ran her tongue around her lips. A wine base, plus… what? She finished her glass in three more swallows, excused herself from Howard, who was explaining what was wrong with the Buick he had been driving, and the Manacors who were both listening intently, and walked over to the large cut-crystal punch bowl.

Binnie Lathrop was behind the bowl, busily ladling out the sangria. She was an impressive woman, statuesque, with a large figure gained from many years of creamed chicken luncheons at the country club. Her breasts were well buttressed in a corset, standing out like the Continental Shelf, and her whole bearing was one of imperious condescension as she looked over their tops. She was, however, a pleasant and friendly woman, and unlike most of the other females, knew something of the world. Cindy's husband had once said of her: "She must have been one hellion on wheels in her day…"

She was most pleased to see the pretty wife of Auto Circus' star salesman; her own husband being quite aware of Howard's fine record and coming ability and having mentioned the young man to her. Cindy felt warmly toward the woman, and after getting a refill, they started chatting amiably. Binnie Lathrop was happy to give Cindy the recipe for sangria: "It's a red wine base, a good and hearty wine like burgundy. Seven parts of it to two parts brandy and one part Cointreau, add a little vodka if you want – I did – then a bottle of some carbonated lemon drink, slices of orange and lemon and some cherries, stir like hell and serve. Voila!" The older woman chuckled and winked, though never losing her decorum. "Be careful with it. It's very potent!"

Cindy let some more of the fine punch swirl around her taste-buds. She nodded. "It's delicious Binnie."

"Well, I thought it might be fun to have something different than the usual bourbon and scotch and gin. I get so tired of them after a bit."

"Hello, Cindy," came a familiar, mellow voice, and the young girl turned, startled slightly. Ralph Taylor stood, smiling at the two women, though his attention was mainly focused on Cindy. "A very pretty dress you're wearing tonight. Is it new?"

Cindy was flattered that her husband's boss noticed her enough to pick out a new dress – most men wouldn't have bothered. "Why, thank you, Ralph. Yes, I bought it while the convention was on. Sort of a pick-me-up."

"After you've been married as long as I have," Binnie Lathrop interjected wryly, "you'll be buying the pick-me-ups when your husband's home, not away."

The three of them laughed at that. Binnie was quite devoted to her husband, and everybody knew that. They talked a little more, and then Ralph said to Cindy: "My wife is dancing with Higgins. How about you and I trying a little swing around the floor?"

"Well… I… I don't know." Cindy looked around for her husband. She saw him in an animated conversation with another salesman over in one corner, oblivious to everything else. Then she saw Ralph's raven-haired wife in the arms of the head of the body shop, Higgins trying not to step on either her's or his own feet. He was not much of a dancer. The music which was playing on the tape recorder built in to one bookshelf was a fast fox-trot, and Cindy was not in the mood for such a beat.

"No, I think not, Ralph. It's a little fast for me."

Just as she spoke, the number ended, and was followed almost immediately by Jackie Gleason's orchestra playing "Moonglow".

"This better, eh?" Ralph asked. Not waiting for an answer, he took the glass from Cindy's hand and placed it on the table and swept her in his arms. "But…" Cindy protested weakly.

"Go ahead," urged Binnie Lathrop. "Ralph is such a good dancer. Relax and enjoy the party…" Her last words were drowned out as Cindy found herself whisked to the middle of the polished wood floor. There was one mole moment of unreasoned resistance, and then she let the strong muscular arms of her husband's boss lead her gently to the beat of the music. The violins and muted horns wafted to her ears, soothing her…

The three glasses of sangria, taken as they had been on an empty stomach for Cindy had lost her appetite that evening, began to slowly seep through her blood. She began to smile and, as suggested by Mrs. Lathrop, relax and enjoy herself. The sharp edge of panic melted and she found herself humming, her eyes half closed, as the music changed from "Moonglow" to "The Theme from Picnic". She dropped her head and pressed against Ralph Taylor's rising chest.

Hot damn, the scheming manager thought, trying to control his trembling passions, things are better than I thought. After Norma told me about that post office clerk getting into Cindy's pants, I figured I wouldn't be able to score until I found out who the little bastard was and went to see him… talked to him about some certain facts… but the way things are going, maybe I can speed up the action… got to go at it just right, though… just right…

He held the slightly high young wife tighter, his total willpower being taxed to stop his penis from becoming hard and pressing against her undulating belly. The dress she had on, or he should say, the lack of a dress, certainly didn't help his control any. When she had walked in with her husband, Ralph had almost creamed in his pants on the spot, ogling the tight buttocks and ripe, jutting breasts, and smooth expanse of thigh and leg… never had so little covered so little. It made him quiver with the desire to really possess this proud little beauty, to bore his cock deep in her vagina as the postal clerk had done – damn that sneaky bastard's hide.

Ralph Taylor had immediately set to work trying to find a way of getting his desires answered that night, to seduce the wife of his star salesman at the party and not to wait until Norma was able to quietly find out who the clerk was. His prick and testicles ached with burning fire for the beautiful little wife, stoking his mind to come up with a plan of attack.

And he had. He waited until she had consumed enough of the sangria to become slightly wobbly, and then he started in. First this dance… then a short break for another glass of that wine punch. Ralph chuckled secretly to himself. Sangria didn't taste strong, it went down like soda-pop, and women who would normally never indulge heavily soon found themselves drunk out of their minds. Sangria was sneaky… just as he was.

The music stopped, and Ralph led the pretty wife back to the punch bowl and her glass. She drank thirstily, finishing it, and Mrs. Lathrop filled the glass again… They talked, the three of them, of general items: the local gossip, opinions on the fools in Washington, D.C., the Middle East and the Indochina war… Ralph sat out two more numbers and then, when another slow dance was played, he took Cindy in his arms again and way they went. Then there was more sangria…

After the third dance, Cindy was beginning to stumble a bit, and her tongue was getting tied around words of multisyllable. It was, the manager thought, about time to drop the bombshell. The tape was unwinding "Laura" and as he again danced with her, he leaned down and whispered in her shell-like ear: "Cindy, Norma told me about the postal clerk."

The reaction of the little housewife was sudden and cataclysmic. She stopped dead in her tracks, a quivering, shaking statue of agony, her mouth open and her eyes wide as saucers. "No!" she feebly choked. "No, she couldn't have!"

The sangria dulled the worst of the terrible pain which coursed through her brain. She had already realized that she had had too much to drink, but as happens when such a point is reached, she really didn't care. At this moment, she was desperately glad, for the dual shock of hearing that Norma had spread her confidential confession and of being reminded of that wretched man and his blackmail would have been too much for her tortured mind to absorb sober.

"N-Norma had no… no right!" she moaned, shuddering.

"Now take it easy, Cindy," the manager soothed, wrapping his arms around her. "Listen to me. Norma was very concerned about you, and naturally she turned to her husband for advice."

Obstinately, the pretty housewife fought back her tears and said bitterly: "She warned me against telling Howie!"

"Well, of course she did, Cindy. He would be the wronged husband, wouldn't he? I mean, it isn't as though I was hurt by your ah, indiscretions. But Howie could very well become belligerent, seeing as it's his pretty young wife who was in bed with another man and…"

"Stop it! Stop it!" wailed Cindy, putting her hands over her ears. "I can't stand it any longer!"

Ralph looked around, feared that her sudden outburst might have attracted attention. No; the others were well inebriated and laughing and shouting louder than her cry had been. Her husband, Howard, was out of the corner now and doing a wild rhumba to the slow music, a lampshade on his head. Others had crowded around and were clapping and hooting him on… there was a crash from another room and a shriek of giggling…

"Cindy!" he hissed. "Get hold of yourself! You have to face the situation, no matter how unpleasant. Don't you understand?"

"No… no…" the now hysterical young wife pleaded.

"I'm your friend, Cindy. Believe me, Norma did the right thing telling me. I can help you."

"Help me?" Cindy looked up suddenly. Could he? she thought wildly, groping at straws.

"If Howard should find out somehow. Or if that damnable clerk makes good his threat and turns you in. What then?"

"I… I don't know," she shuddered, the possibilities too horrible to contemplate. "I don't know what I'd do."

"Well, we have to talk these things out, Cindy." He looked around again. "We can't talk here, though. Too many people. Tell you what; let's go outside and discuss this. All right?"

"Outside?"

"In your car. It'll be nice and private there, and nobody will overhear us."

"But… but what about Howie?"

"He's fine. He's having a ball. Hasn't missed you yet, has he?" Ralph saw the shake of her head, indicating the negative answer, and he pressed on. "We have to stick together, us Taylors and Jamisons. Now you go on outside. I'll join you in a minute."

"Ralph…" she started to say, but Cindy knew that she was going to the car. She had to, for as Ralph Taylor had said, she was in no position to take care of the potentialities if they should occur. She would have never dared to go to her husband's boss, never even would have considered going to another male, friend or no. But now that Norma had done so – strictly with good intentions, of what Cindy was now assured – and the manager had evinced such strong personal interest in her plight, she was going to lay bare the sordid details again and see what Ralph Taylor could do to alleviate her miserable dilemma.

"Now, go on," Ralph prompted. "That's it. I'll be out in a minute. Soon as I go to the bathroom."

Nodding numbly, Cindy Jamison, a frail of swirling emotions and agonies, headed for the front door. Binnie Lathrop, coming out of the kitchen with another tureen of sangria, paused and asked her if anything was the matter. Cindy shook her head, saying that no, she just wanted a breath of fresh air.

The moment that the pretty young wife of his star salesman was out of sight, Ralph Taylor began the second part of his plan. He hurried over to the general manager, Buddy Lathrop, who was listening with a bored expression to a story about a nude mermaid, a New York executive on a deep-sea fishing trip, and a bag full of lead weights.

"Buddy," he said, sidling up to his boss. "Buddy, come over here for a minute, will you?" He indicated a quiet corner with a tilt of his head.

Lathrop nodded, wondering why his manager was so all-fired anxious. "Thank heavens you came along when you did. That's one of the oldest dirty jokes I know, and if Murcheson doesn't learn any new ones soon, I'm going to…"

"Buddy, listen," Taylor cut in. "You got a pint bottle of something around here?"

"Sure, I guess so. Old Tennessee bourbon, I believe, in my study. If Binnie ever found it, it would be my balls, I…"

"I want it. Now."

Lathrop shrugged and the two of them started across the living room to his study. "Mind telling me why? Binnie's sangria gotten to you?"

Taylor grinned, his grin a fiendish look of devilment. "The sangria is great, Buddy. No, this is to help me collect a bet I made with you a while back."

"A bet you made with me?" Lathrop still was confused, but went to his desk, a wide and ornate Victorian roll-top. He opened one of the drawers and fished around in the back. "I don't follow. Ah, here it is." He brought out a barely used pint of bourbon and handed it to the manager.

"Remember when you bet me a hundred dollars that I'd never make it into Cindy Jamison's pants?" Taylor said.

Lathrop laughed heartily. "Sure I did. Why, I'd pay you another hundred if you got me a crack at it, too."

"Well, tonight I'm going to collect that first hundred for sure."

Lathrop's eyes boggled. "No! I don't believe you. Nobody can get into that naive little bitch."

Taylor snickered. "If you're real nice and are serious about that second hundred, I might just arrange for you to grab a little of it, too."

"Tell me more," Lathrop said, suddenly very interested. He was almost as much of a swinger as his manager was, going after women whenever he could get a chance of avoiding his steely-eyed wife. Christ, just the idea of nailing that tender little pussy of Howie Jamison's wife made his cock tingle with lewd preparations. "What are you going to do, feed her Spanish fly?"

Taylor shook his head and lifted the bourbon bottle. "Nope. Just this… and the old Ralph Taylor touch, heh, heh. Now listen, Buddy. I'm going out to her car, see; she's already there, waiting for me."

"My God, I'd have never believed it," Lathrop said in new-found awe of his employee. "Waiting for you, no less."

"Right, and I can't keep her waiting for long, heh, heh. In about fifteen minutes, you sneak out very quietly. I think you might get a little view well worth your trouble, heh, heh."

"Yeah, but what about my…"

"Your turn? Have to play that by ear." Taylor turned to leave the book-lined, walnut paneled room. "But I damn well want to have that hundred bucks for winning the bet we made first, and at least I'll prove that much to you."

"Ralph…" Lathrop was licking his thin lips, a gleam in his eyes.

Taylor was by the door. "Yes?"

"You set it up so that I can fuck that Cindy Jamison, and I'll raise your salary." A rash statement, the general manager thought as soon as he said it – but on second consideration, he was ready to raise the ante still more. That young beauty with all her wide-eyed aura of virginity had been on his mind a long time. And now… if Taylor could, well by God no price was too high. "Hear me? I'll raise it, Ralph."

Taylor chuckled obscenely. "Worry about raising that cock of yours, then. Cindy Jamison is going to get screwed like she's never been screwed before!"

He walked briskly to the front door, eagerness already swelling his testicles, bloating them with the sperm he was going to pour into that tight, hardly touched cunt of his star salesman's young wife. This was going to be great he gloated to himself, a piece of the finest tail in Morriston, a bet that will put a hundred dollars in my pocket, and a raise besides.

Now all he had to do was to play his cards right…

CHAPTER FIVE

Cindy Jamison slumped against the door, shuddering as she sat in the passenger side of the Volkswagen Variant, her face buried in her hands. She cried plaintively, weeping her tortured emotions into her palms as one might wash an infected wound. The sangria she had consumed to dull her sensitivities had, if anything, only loosened the barriers holding them back, and now, fully surrendered to the alcohol, she allowed her pent-up emotions release.

She had purged her soul once, to Norma Taylor… but the intervening days when she had been forced to act the part of a carefree, loving housewife to Howard, her husband, had once more built the raging storm of her torment to cyclone proportions. It had forced her to this party, had been the leading cause of her not eating and then of drinking heavily – and was, with the help of the potent sangria, completely controlling her mind. She was nearly delirious, almost psychotically hysterical, and there wasn't even the sanity of sobriety to fall back upon.

Her only prayer, her only hope was Ralph Taylor; or so her benumbed mind thought. The one thing that had kept her from dashing out of the house and fleeing to where? Anywhere – so long as it was far, far away – was the comforting words that Ralph Taylor would help her. Perhaps if she hadn't partaken of the sangria so heavily, if she didn't have a head spinning so madly, she might have considered that it had been the sales manager's opening words: Norma told me about the postal clerk which had sent her into such a mental tailspin.

As it was, when her husband's boss opened the other side of the car and climbed in beside her, she looked upon him almost as a savior, an angel who could save her from the depredations of her actions.

"Thank God, Ralph," the pretty young housewife moaned. "I was afraid you weren't going to come." She started crying again.

"Everything will be all right, Cindy," the manager said, and he put his arm around her, as a father might his errant daughter. "Of course I was going to come. You don't think I'd let you be like this, do you? So upset and everything…"

She leaned against him, clutching to him for dear life. "It… it was terrible, Ralph," she blurted. "I… I sent for some pictures from the Polaroid Club… like the ones you gave to Howie… only wanted to surprise him…" and she went on to pour forth the total story of her humiliation by the postal clerk, breaking into sobs of agony frequently.

As she talked, Ralph was only half listening. He knew the story already, had Norma repeat it to him until he knew every detail. Instead, he looked around and saw that the back of the station wagon was empty, and that the rear seat had been folded down. Good, good. Plenty of room back there to fuck… can't do it here, not with these bucket seats and gear shift… Now to figure out a way of getting her back there…

He pulled out the pint of Old Tennessee, uncapped it and gave her the bottle. "Here, Cindy. Take a swallow. It'll help."

She took it gratefully and drank heavily. The liquor burned a path to her stomach, but she was too wrought up and too drunk to notice… she drank again, came up for air and continued telling her story…

"Then… he made me get up on my knees and he… he did it to me from behind… I've never done that even with my husband before… he… he even did it to me in my mouth… Oh, God, Ralph, it was just awful," she sobbed.

He interrupted her with an urging to take another swallow, which she did, and then he said: "Would you like to lie down, take a rest? Wouldn't that be better?"

"Yes…" The combination of the sangria, Old Tennessee, and her now purged soul had made her lethargic, dazed, and she had to fight to keep her eyes open. Her muscles seemed to be plastic and her bones like sawdust. "But I don't want to go back inside yet, Ralph, not until you talk to me about what you can do for me… I need your help…"

Her voice was slurred and thick, as though her mouth was full of pebbles – or she had taken too much liquor and was very, very drunk. The auto executive smiled and said, "You can crawl over the seat and stretch out in back if you like."

Cindy looked up from Ralph's chest. "That would be nice," she replied dreamily. "Help me…"

Ralph Taylor did, his cock hardening into a throbbing beast as he carefully helped his salesman's wife to semi-stand and squeeze between the two seats. Her motions were jerky and fumbling; she wouldn't have been able to stand, he thought, not now after all that booze. But she sprawled on the rubber matting of the back section, not minding or even being aware that her short dress had slipped up around her panties. Taylor sucked in his breath as he saw the thinly covered pubic mound become exposed… then he squeezed back there with her, and the two of them lay side by side in the cramped quarters, and he placed his hands around her and held her to him.

Taylor stroked the very inebriated young wife's golden hair lightly, gently, comfortingly. And in a smooth, rich tone of voice he intoned, "Don't think about it, Cindy. Don't think about that strange man and you and how you looked on your bed, about the passion you two were experiencing, don't think about it at all…"

In the tortured, stupefied confusion of her mind, Cindy Jamison couldn't help thinking about what she and Samuels had done – and why. She remained in her husband's boss' gently pressing embrace, stretched out in the back of the station wagon, a dreamy torpor making her lightheaded and giddy. His words flowed like honey, soothing and hypnotic… and although she didn't want to think about what she had done with the postal clerk, his soporific voice dredged still more from her subconscious mind. She sobbed into the thin material of Taylor's shirt, finding security in his masculine nearness and the gentle stroking of his hand on her bare arm. And horribly, perversely, the images in her drunken brain started to have a certain physical effect on her dazed mind as well. She could feel an odd twitching in her belly, and for some crazy reason she sensed that her nipples were hardening in her bra cups. She tried to will her body to cease its evil awakening and her mind to stop the vivid remembrances – but nothing she tried to do would work. And what was Ralph Taylor saying? The same as his wife Norma, had told her?

"… You're all woman, Cindy. Of course you couldn't help but enjoy his penis inside you. Of course you liked his tongue on your lips and between your legs. You couldn't help not liking it, Cindy. You're a real woman… a sexually alive woman…"

He continued to stroke her shoulder, letting his hand slide slowly down. Cindy had stopped crying now, though her face was still pressed to his shirt, and he sensed that his caress had quickened her breath. He teased the ridge of her spine, pressing his horizontal body closer to hers, and he whispered into her hair bolder and bolder words: "You and the clerk were making love, Cindy. No, you were fucking, Cindy. But you mustn't think badly of yourself for your actions. Everyone likes to fuck…"

Cindy was breathing faster now, and the manager could hear this drunken little wife of his salesman trembling with her reactions. Well, if there was ever a moment to give it everything, this was it!

Taylor brought his hand casually from her shoulder to the swelling mound of her breast. He began to rub the pliant globe tenderly through the thin dress and bra, and there was a sharp intake of breath from the beautiful wife and a sudden stiffening of her body and a convulsive kneading of his shirt. But she made no move to pull away! The sales manager grinned eagerly, knowing he had won, that she would be his, and he ran his thumb over her rock-hard nipples, his heart pounding in his chest and his cock leaping in the cage that was his shorts and pants.

A warning scream tried to penetrate the fogged, drugged lethargy which inundated Cindy Jamison's mind, tried to warn her that something was going to happen if she didn't pull away. And yet, unexplainably, his hand on her breast felt good… and his voice, so far away to her ears, made everything sound right. It was as if the sangria and the bourbon had been some liquid cement, gluing her to this position, making her unable to move at all… and the pinwheel thoughts in her mind made her not really want to move… not yet…

And then the manager's hand slid down from her breasts and went to her bare thigh, sliding up along the hot skin under her new dress. Higher and higher – until his fingers were touching the silk-encased mound of her vagina. He slipped up and down the now moist furrow from the outside, then pushed the secreting crotchband of her panties aside and slipped his middle finger into the wet, trembling passage of Cindy's suddenly hotly burning young cunt.

The distraught, nearly comatose from alcohol, wife squirmed up tighter against the sales manager with the contact of his finger against her naked flesh. Her whole being began to oscillate and she moaned in staccato cadence. The warning voice of before tolled again through the swamp which was her fevered mind: wrong… wrong… I love Howie, I must be faithful to him… not Ralph… not with Ralph… stop it… stop it…

But she couldn't stop it. She was incapable of pulling away, and she could only lie there in the back of the station wagon and let her husband's boss continue to work his hand down between her legs, to tease the hard bud of her clitoris and revel in her soft, elastic vaginal opening.

Christ, Taylor thought, she really turns on, just like I hoped she would, damn well knew she would after that night she unknowingly sucked my cock… She's all fired up for a good fuck, and when a woman like her gets that way, nothing else matters. He whispered in her ear: "Cindy, baby, help me… help me take your panties off…"

"No…" came the feeble answer. "Oh, God, no, Ralph!"

"Yes…" he hissed back, and he moved around so that he hovered over her limply splayed legs, removing his finger from her wet, trembling pussy. He bunched her dress around her waist and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and slid them down slowly over her full rounded young thighs and hips. Cindy tried to stop him, to yell out to leave her alone… but her body was controlled by other forces and, in spite of her hesitation, she found herself raising her hips obediently. And then her softly hair-lined cunt came into moonlit view, and Taylor gazed salaciously at it, his mouth watering at the beautiful sight.

The sales manager drove his head savagely downward, unable to control his lusting emotions, and his lips mashed onto her vaginal lips, his tongue parting the softly curling pubic hair and slipping teasingly down the pink-rimmed valley. Cindy shuddered and involuntarily her legs spread a little wider, allowing him further room. She whined sharply and convulsed into lurches as his long, hot tongue speared her quaking flesh. And as he flicked his mouth and tongue around the velvety soft interior of her vagina, he unbuckled his pants and pushed them with his shorts down, allowing them to tangle around his ankles. Now that he had the little bitch so hot and ready, he did not want to take the time to fully undress. He was afraid she might suddenly come to her senses and all would be lost.

Cindy's mind was in complete turmoil now, the blood fever of his touch and then his mouth filling her with animal wantonness – yet the other part, the portion so satiated with alcohol as to render it nothing more than a protest in vain, cried out that this was wrong… all wrong and must stop!

And suddenly, Taylor stopped.

He raised his head and grinned triumphantly down at her, his lips and chin wet with her sexual secretions.

"Ralph… Ralph… Ralph…" was all that the crazed young housewife was able to chant to the manager.

"I'm going to fuck you now, my sweet little friend. I'm going to put my long, hard cock inside your pussy and cum in it." And with those words, the lasciviously grinning sales manager moved across the unresisting body of his salesman's wife. He held his long lust-hardened cock at the open mouth of her moist palpitating cunt, and then he levered forward, sending his sensitive, hungry cock sliding hotly, deliciously far up into her quivering young belly.

Oh, God, he's inside me… he's inside me…! Cindy thought vaguely, her mind and soul shattered by the liquor and the wretchedness of her emotions, and her body one huge sensation of pagan desire. He can't be doing this… he can't, and I can't be letting him, but he is. Oh, he is… and, oh, God, it feels so good… I must stop him… but how can I when I can't stop myself?

Ralph Taylor's long, hard penis flashed up and down in her tight cuntal passage, his body heaving in demoniacal force as he drew his sperm-heavy cock nearly out of the clasping sheath of the mesmerized young Cindy's pussy, then plunging down again until his aching, bloated testicles slapped ruthlessly against her naked inner thighs. He was so intent on the release of his nearly bursting orgasm, that he never noticed the shadow which pressed against the rear window, or the disbelieving face which gaped in on them…

The general manager of Auto Circus had no trouble finding the Volkswagen. He knew, as Ralph Taylor had known, that the Buick young Howard Jamison usually drove had been sold, so that meant the second car, the one the Jamisons owned, would be out in the broad gravel parking area. He made a couple of excuses after his watch told him fifteen minutes had passed, and snuck out of the large French doors at the side of the house, and worked his way around to the front. The bright moon cast pale, glistening light on the landscape, making his chore easy. The trees and shrubs were as if painted with some ghostly radiance where the shine hit them, and the many lamps illuminating the interior of the house also shone through the windows, helping him as he snuck through the glade.

There… just ahead… the outline of the Volkswagen. Buddy Lathrop sucked in his breath sharply and felt a tingle of anticipation surge through his loins and stiffen his penis as he stealthily approached. If Taylor wasn't kidding…

But he must have been, the head man thought, frowning. There wasn't anybody in the car that he could see… it was totally empty. Then he heard the soft moan, a woman's throaty purr, and the murmuring of, "Ralph… Ralph… Ralph…"

His head nearly dizzy with the anticipatory thoughts of that lovely, naive young wife of one of his best salesman being thoroughly fucked by Taylor… of that luscious Cindy Jamison first succumbing to the sales manager and then to him – Christ! It was enough to send his semen shooting out right then and there!

He hurried to the window… peered in, cupping his hands around his face so that he could see clearly. He eyed the couple.

Great balls of fire! He was doing it! Old Ralph Taylor was fucking the hell out of sweet, innocent Cindy Jamison! Buddy Lathrop nearly staggered backwards as the full impact of the lewd, licentious coupling blasted his eyes. There was his sales manager pumping up and down on top of the lovely little wife of Jamison, sinking his cock to its hilt between her widespread legs, his huge hairy balls slapping noisily against her buttocks. And there was Jamison's wife undulating her body and buttocks in tiny hungry circles, her face turned sideways so that the general manager could see the effect the fuck being thrown into her was having on her body. Her features were contorted, as if in rapture, and her mouth hinged wide, her tongue licking ever dry lips.

The chief of Auto Circus found his breath coming in tight gasps and the burning sensations in his belly growing to maddening proportions with each moment he watched the young naive girl being ravished. His body perspired freely, in spite of the night air, and his forehead was bathed in tiny beads of sweat. His nerves seemed shattered and his mind danced at the salacious sight, and his penis sprung to full hardness, leaving a trail of wetness in his underpants as it climbed to erection.

Cindy Jamison looked almost inhuman to the general manager as he beadily focused on the wildly writhing couple. She was no longer human to him, but a quivering mass of sweating, lust-deranged flesh that was begging for this subjugation, was reveling in humiliation at being fucked by the near-beast over her. She ground her buttocks lasciviously down into the mat of the car and the perspiration on her body and on the sales manager's skin glittered in the pale moonlight like moving diamonds.

Lathrop couldn't stand it much longer. He slowly slid his hands down and stroked his burgeoning cock through his pants. Then, unable to resist the temptation, he unbuckled his pants and let them puddle around his feet. He lifted one leg, his eyes still feasting on the lewd adultery going on before him, and removed one shoe and one pantleg. Then the other… and then his underpants. He moaned, transfixed, his cock jutting forward from his loins and pressing against the rear license plate. The cold metal of the plate against the head of his cock made an odd tingling sensation. He rubbed his thick shaft up and down in time to the rhythmic drubbings of the manager, Taylor, and the salesman's wife, Cindy, as the one screwed into the other mercilessly.

Lathrop watched with lust-filled eyes the actions in the bed of the Volkswagen, ready to crawl up the side of the car to quench the fire raging through his penis and testicles. The sight of that virginal girl being buffeted by Taylor without mercy was too much! Something had to give!

Something did.

The sales manager, Taylor, cried out, "Oh, Jesus! I'm going to cum! I'm going… AAHHHHHHHHHHH!" His body froze in mid-stroke, then hurtled downward again in an insane fury as his climax struck and his white hot semen spewed out of his balls like lava from a volcano, inundating Cindy Jamison's vagina, filling her womb to the overflowing; Buddy Lathrop could see his employee's hot sticky cum flow out around his cock and form a puddle on the black matting beneath their sweating heaving bodies… Then Taylor collapsed forward over the quivering woman, cooing his delight in her ears.

Cindy saw the flash of light as the overhead lamp in the back of the Volkswagen went on and clenched her eyes shut tightly to block it out. Through the haze of alcohol and passion she was dully aware of someone standing at the now open tailgate, hunched slightly forward. But nothing mattered except the body of the man breathing hotly over her.

"Goddamn," she heard a voice harshly grate. "You were right, Ralph, you certainly were right! Her pussy really was climbing!"

"Didn't I tell you I'd nail her? Heh, heh, be patient, if you want a little of her."

"Man, is she tender! If you don't fuck her to death, I will!"

Ralph Taylor chuckled lewdly and Cindy felt his deflating penis slip from her ravaged vagina and his hands pull at her hips. She could sense the sucking withdrawal between her legs and the cool rush of air to her tortured loins, suddenly freed from the body of the sales manager. The pain that existed in her mind and in her loins was replaced by a different pain… that of unsatisfied desire. She squeezed her buttocks together, almost beside herself, for the end was so near and now so far away. She writhed on the mat, lost in the hedonistic world the liquor and her own betraying flesh had evolved, and one hand strayed to her damp, hair-lined slit. She dug into herself greedily, trying to reach the impossible depths the vanquished cock had a moment before.

In the distance she heard the rustle of clothing as the two men changed positions, and she trembled, half in fear and half from impatience. Then… male hands searching over her again, pulling her thighs apart, urgent fingers parting the lips of her throbbing cunt… and a deep voice, a voice she knew but couldn't at the moment identify, rumbling as a storm cloud rumbles thunder from above. "Come on, baby. Big Daddy's gonna show you what fucking is all about!"

She gasped at the force of the powerful fingers… and the sudden blunt stab of a fiery pole of flesh. The still unknown male dropped like a sack of concrete, smashing her tightly to the mat. His thick penis plunged into her hungry waiting cunt, pushing the moist unresisting folds of pussy flesh in rippling waves before its smooth, tunneling head.

Cindy cried aloud at the quick brutal impalement, surprised by its thickness. Her whole body twitched and writhed uncontrollably as she groaned out in helpless and abandoned welcome to the punishing instrument sinking ever deeper in her cunt. But the pain was only momentary, and then the greedy walls of her vagina clasped around the fleshy cudgel hungrily, slithering up wetly to devour its length to its hilt. She groaned in relief at the filling of her wide-stretched cuntal passage as the general manager, his identity still unknown to the helpless young girl, began a heavy thrusting motion in her hungrily grinding pussy. She hissed her sex-fire between her clenched teeth, the inferno raging in her loins spurred on by the liquor and the obscene position she realized faintly she was in. Through glazed, half-lidded eyes she saw the black form heaving above her. There was somebody else watching them from just outside the station wagon, which she knew instinctively was Ralph Taylor, though she couldn't make out the blurred image… and now it wasn't important. The flames of unfulfilled lust infernoed out of control, and there was nothing else in the world. No today, no tomorrow, no Howard; nothing save her deep hole of lust and flesh, of belly smacking belly, of cock heaving against cunt.

"I'm cumming – oh, you little bitch, I'm cumming! Fuck harder! Fuck harder!" came the maniacal voice above her. "Uuuuhhhhhhhhh!"

Cindy Jamison, ruled by the pagan instincts of her female biology, responded automatically, not caring who was driving so deeply in her, who was ready to burst his sperm next. Her hands darted behind the man's driving buttocks, pulling him to her, spreading her legs wider and pulling them upwards until the soles of her feet pressed hard up against the roof of the car. Her juices flowed wetly out around his still-pounding prick, trickling down the splayed crevice of her buttocks and mingled with the spent seed of the sales manager's orgasm.

"Give it to her," the Ralph-voice goaded excitedly from somewhere in the distance. "Shoot it in her!"

Spurred on by the words and Cindy's greedily twisting body below, the general manager, Lathrop, dug yet deeper into the girl, forcing her legs yet farther back, doubling her in half, fucking her like a pile-driving machine out of control. He groaned and Cindy felt the hot waves of his sperm shooting into her dilated cunt, mixing lasciviously with the pool Ralph Taylor had throbbed into her before. Her head whirled in depraved sensuality as the powerful spurts surged wildly in her, filling her to the bursting point with its sticky wetness. The burning walls of her vagina clasped and unclasped desperately like a starving mouth, and she was utterly caught up in the lewd web of ecstasy. She opened her mouth for a soundless scream…

And her own orgasm struck!

There, in the back of the Volkswagen, being fucked half to death by a man she could not identify, Cindy Jamison was totally reduced to a churning mass of sensual jelly in that instant. Great flashes of pinwheel light sparkled before her tightly shut eyes, and pleasure so acute that it bordered on pain consumed every fibre of her being. She heard but did not hear the wild sluicing sounds of Buddy Lathrop's ejaculating penis sawing in and out between her legs, – felt but did not feel the fleshy smackings of his sperm-loaded testicles against her flailing thighs – knew only that she was grunting out her climax and was nearly out of her mind with its impending magnificence.

She collapsed then, her firm young body drained of everything, her limbs loosely spread on the black floor mat as Lathrop's grip was released. She lay spread-eagled as she felt his heavy weight lift from her and again the night air flowed over her sweat-soaked skin. The Ralph-voice spoke in the distance as she faded to deep, peaceful unconsciousness.

"Help me get her panties on now, will you? We'll put her in the front seat and then go back to the party."

"Soon as I get my pants on. What about her husband?"

Taylor chuckled as he peered in at the comatose young wife of his star salesman. "He'll never know. Take my word for it. She won't ever spill what happened to her tonight. Now, come on. We'll tell old Howie-boy that his little darling had too much to drink and fell asleep. True enough; we just won't add about the part in between the too much to drink and the falling asleep. He'll take her home and that will be that."

"You son of a bitch, Ralph," Lathrop said approvingly, reaching for a leg of the piteous little housewife. "You really earned that raise tonight."

"And the hundred dollars, too, don't forget."

"Don't worry, after fucking that sweet little cunt? I can't forget!"

CHAPTER SIX

On the Thursday following the party, at eleven-thirty a.m., Ralph Taylor left Auto Circus and drove into downtown Morriston. He parked his year-old Cadillac in front of the large graystone building which housed the post office on Second and Market Streets, and stepped out into the brilliant sunshine. He was smiling openly, with smug self-satisfaction and anticipation, as he made his way along the crowded sidewalks, filled with morning shoppers, to enter the mausoleum-like structure.

He walked leisurely along the marble interior corridor, his eyes seeking out and locating the window above which a horizontal sign jutted out at right angles, reading: Parcel Post – Post Boxes. He stopped by one of the canted writing desks set against the opposite wall when he noticed the fat woman with a large parcel under her arm step up to the window and begin an earnest conversation with the smallish figure who sat behind the counter.

Ralph waited patiently, casually puffing on one of his expensive cigars, until the woman had finished transacting her business and left the window deserted. Then the automobile executive sauntered slowly over to the cubicle and leaned his thick elbows on the countertop. He smiled lazily as the gnome-like clerk looked up at him and said in a gravely voice, "Help you?"

"You can," said Ralph, blowing smoke over the clerk's right shoulder with studied disregard, "if your name is Steve Samuels."

The government employee frowned, close-set eyes narrowing. "That's my name, all right. What's it to you, mister?"

Ralph laughed softly, smoothly. "Oh, nothing much. I'd like to take you to lunch, that's all, Samuels."

"Lunch?" The clerk's eyes were almost hidden now beneath their puffy lids, and his rubbery lips were set warily.

"That's right."

"What for?"

"To discuss a certain matter."

"What matter?"

Again, Ralph Taylor blew a stream of smoke. "Concerning a certain young housewife named Cindy Jamison," he said easily.

Fear leapt suddenly in Steve Samuels' eyes, and his claw-like hands clamped hard onto the edge of the counter until the knuckles were white. Sweat popped out in beaded pustules on his forehead and sallow cheeks, and spittle flecked his thick lips. "I… I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do, Samuels," said Taylor.

"No… no. You'd better leave now, or…" Samuels let the sentence trail off as more sweat appeared on his face.

"Or what?" Ralph said with a soft chuckle. "You'll call the police, or the building guards? Who're you kidding, Samuels? You don't dare call anybody, and you know it." He lowered his voice even more than he already had. "I doubt if you'd want your superiors to know what kind of little racket you've been running from behind your postal position."

"R-racket?"

"Don't try to bluff it out," Taylor told him, some of the patience leaving his voice to be replaced by hard, authoritative tones. "I know who and what you are, Samuels, and I know what you've been doing with the mails and with some of Morriston's more nubile young wives. I've got you cold, Samuels."

The fear was a living entity on the wizened civil servant's face now, and he looked wildly about him, as if seeking an avenue of escape. His tongue came out like an ugly pink snake to moisten his lips again and again. "What… what do you want?" he managed to quaver.

"I told you," Ralph Taylor said, once again letting his voice go casual. "I want to take you to lunch."

"Who are you, mister? You're not…"

"From the authorities, state or federal? No, I'm just a private citizen, Samuels, with what you might call a personal stake in this matter."

Samuels' eyes flickered nervously to the clock overhead. It was almost noon. "I… I get off at twelve, for an hour."

"That's fine. We'll go down the street, to Marian's Steak House."

The postal clerk's eyes flicked over Taylor's shoulder, and he hissed, "Customer. I… I have to wait on him now."

"Sure," said Ralph carelessly. "I'll be waiting out front for you at noon, Samuels. And you'd better be there, if you know what's good for you."

The frightened man nodded spasmodically, still sweating, and Ralph Taylor turned away with the smile playing over his mouth once again. He walked slowly down the gloomy marble corridor and passed through the exit door into the bright noonday sunlight.

Steve Samuels went through the motions of waiting on the customer who had come up, his hands and mouth working mechanically, to do and say the proper things. But his brain was whirling furiously. Fear lived in him like an animal in a dark cave. Who was that casually grinning man who had come out of nowhere to threaten his very existence? How could he have known about Cindy Jamison? How could he have known about the others as well, about the use he was making of his position and the government regulation allowing him to open public mail at will?

And most important, what did he want? What did he intend to do with his knowledge?

Blackmail? the clerk thought suddenly, as the customer turned to leave the window. Samuels stared unseeingly at the retreating back. Was that it? Did the big, grinning man intend to blackmail him? Oh, Christ, if that was it, he was completely trapped; he had no bargaining power. He was a poor man, his job at the post office paying only a mere pittance, enough to keep him alive and clothed and with a roof over his head. He couldn't pay any blackmail sum, no matter how small…

Oh, Jesus, Jesus! What was he going to do? But wait… maybe it wasn't blackmail for money; maybe the stranger was after something else, something he, Samuels, could supply and supply easily. Maybe… But there was no use speculating on it now; he would know soon enough, when he went with the stranger to lunch. Again, his eyes flicked up to the clock, saw that it was three minutes 'til noon. There were no customers in sight, and so Samuels hurriedly closed his window. He began to shrug into his hat and coat and his hands were trembling as he did so…

Outside, finishing the last of his cigar with relish, Ralph Taylor waited nonchalantly for the appearance of the postal clerk, watching the lithe young girls in their short skirts and dresses passing by on the street. He felt good, damned good; he felt as if he was on top of the world right now.

He had that ugly son of a bitch right where he wanted him, by the short hairs, by the balls. Samuels would do anything he asked him to do; the bastard had no choice but to do it or risk exposure and a probable jail sentence. Ralph had recently sold Morriston's postmaster an almost new Cadillac, and consequently was on pretty good terms with the man; all it would take would be a few well-chosen words, and it would be all over for the clerk. The postmaster would be inclined to believe a man of Ralph Taylor's stature and respectability over a simple rank-and-file postal clerk, that was for sure…

As he waited, Ralph let his mind wander back to the night of the party and Cindy Jamison's soft young legs spread out wide under him. He could almost feel the soft, sensitive, wetly warm walls of her sweet young cunt squeezing and clasping his heaving cock as he fucked deep and hard into her, could almost feel her hardened cervix slamming against his bloated prickhead, could almost feel the unleashed torrent of cum which had finally escaped his balls to fill that tender little pussy of hers to overflowing…

Goddamn! She was some fine little piece of ass, all right, and the random samplings he had had of her – that fuck two nights ago, the sucking of his cock unbeknownst to her that it was him at their mountain cabin – had only made him want more of her, want her completely and totally his, want her as his plaything to do with as he bid. That was the way that ugly son of a bitch Samuels had had her, according to the story Norma had said she related; that was the way he, Ralph Taylor, wanted the wife of his best friend and star salesman.

And that was the way, with the help of Steve Samuels, he was going to have her…

Samuels came down the post office steps at five past twelve and stood next to Ralph, his eyes mirroring the fear and hate which were inside him. Taylor smiled, but said nothing; he started off down the street, walking leisurely, and the wizened civil servant came tagging along at his heels like a dog following its master. Elation was strong inside the automobile executive as they made their way through the thickening lunch-hour crowds.

Marian's Steak House was jammed with businessmen and secretaries, blue-collar workers and shoppers. The waiter at the door greeted Taylor and Samuels as they entered, gravely informing them there would be a short wait and nodding to the group of people standing about waiting their turn at tables. Ralph slipped him a folded bill, whispering that they were in a hurry, an important business conference, and the waiter miraculously found them an empty spot upstairs on the mezzanine moments later.

When they were seated, and Ralph had ordered two rare sirloin steaks with mixed salad and garlic French bread, the postal clerk leaned across the table and said in a voice barely audible above the buzz of lunchtime conversation from the tables around them, "All right, whatever-your-name-is. You've got me to lunch, and I'm willing to listen to what you have to say. I'll listen. Now what's on your mind, mister?"

Ralph Taylor smiled complacently. "Cindy Jamison," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out for yourself, Samuels."

The postal clerk licked his rubbery lips wetly. "I'm no good at figuring."

"No?"

"No." Then Samuels cast a furtive glance about him, and leaned further across the table, his face only inches from Taylor's. His breath was fetid, and Ralph wrinkled his nose distastefully. "You want a piece of the little bitch for yourself, that's it, isn't it?"

Taylor laughed. "For somebody who's no good at figuring, you do a damned good job of it."

"I thought so." Samuels seemed relieved, as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He relaxed visibly.

Ralph Taylor said, "I know the kind of thing you're working, all of it right down the line, and it's a good deal, Samuels. I don't want to fuck it up for you – as long as it's worth my while to keep silent."

"How did you find out?"

"That's not important, Samuels."

"Listen, what's your name? I like to know who I'm talking to."

"That's not important, either. What is important is Cindy Jamison."

The venereous government employee toyed with his napkin. "She's a snooty little bitch," he said softly. "She deserves what she gets. They all do, every last Goddamn one of them."

"Sure."

"Fouling our mails, sending filth by public conveyance. The dirty bitches."

"Never mind the bullshit, Samuels," Taylor said sharply. "You're nothing but a fucking little weasel, a lecher that hasn't got the guts to admit it even to himself. But I don't care about that, any of that. The only thing I care about is Cindy Jamison, and you can help me get her right where I want her."

"How?"

"By setting up a little session with her."

"What kind of session?"

"I've got a Polaroid camera, a good one with a timer and a tripod," Ralph said easily.

Samuels' beady eyes glittered evilly. "What kind of photos are you planning to take?"

"What kind do you suppose? Good ones, hot ones. The kind that you would call 'filthy' and 'degrading'."

The postal clerk's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and his chest rose and fell jerkily with labored breathing. "Just… just with you and Cindy Jamison?"

Ralph Taylor laughed sharply, a sound that caused one of the nearby customers to glance curiously at him. Then he smiled, smoothing his napkin on his lap, as the waiter brought their steaks. He began to dig into his immediately, eating hungrily and with obvious relish.

Samuels didn't touch his food. His eyes were almost fever-bright as he stared across the table at the automobile executive. "You didn't answer my question," he accused.

"You'd like to be there when I nail Cindy Jamison, wouldn't you, Samuels?" Taylor said around a mouthful of blood-rare sirloin.

"I… I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. It's written all across that ugly face of yours. Well, I'm a generous man by nature. I wouldn't want to deprive you of any of your warped kicks, Samuels. Providing you do as you're told, and set things up just as I tell you."

The venereous civil servant had spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth now as in his mind he pictured Cindy Jamison, being subjugated before him again as he had enslaved her that night ten days ago and not only him this time, but this big, brawny man across from him. Both of them meting out punishment to the brazen, haughty bitch well-deserved punishment for what she had tried to do. Oh, it would be fitting and just! He had not gotten in touch with her in the past ten days because he had wanted her to sweat, to know fear and trepidation every time the telephone or doorbell rang, to expect him back at any time but not to know when or where or what would happen when the time came. He had planned to torment her in this manner for another week or so, then call her up and submit her to a session which would make the last one seem tame in comparison a session involving him and his faithful German Shepherd, Ringo.

But now this – this was even better! It would not only be him, Steve Samuels, and Ringo fixing that little bitch's wagon – but this big, evil-grinning man across from him. The wizened clerk no longer feared the big man, for now that the stranger had shown his true colors, shown his playing hand and the cards he held and the wager he wanted to make, it was no threat to Samuels' welfare at all. The big man wanted the same things as he, and as long as the clerk didn't ruffle the man's feathers, as long as he was careful to work closely with him, they could be a team – two men after the same thing, looking for the same pleasures in life. Oh, Christ, this was too good to be true! He couldn't have asked for a better deal if he had arranged it himself!

He said, "Don't worry, mister. I'm on your side in this, all the way. You just tell me what you want done, and I'll do it. The only thing I ask is that I can be there when you give it to Cindy Jamison – and that I get the opportunity to give her some myself!"

Taylor laughed softly. "You'll get that chance, Samuels, as long as you follow orders."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Call Cindy Jamison on the phone late Friday afternoon. Her husband won't be home; I… have ways of seeing to that."

"What should I tell her?"

"Tell her that you want to see her again, that she's to meet you that night. Tell her that she'd better show up, or else you'll tell the postal authorities about those pictures you have, and that you'll tell her husband, too."

"She'll come, all right," giggled Samuels. "Where should I tell her to go? My place?"

"That's right. Nine o'clock."

"And you'll be there then, too?"

"I'll be there long before that," Ralph Taylor said, finishing the last of his steak and leaning back contentedly, sipping from the coffee he had ordered with his lunch. "With my Polaroid," he added meaningfully.

"Okay!" the venereous government employee said eagerly. "Is there anything else you want me to do?"

The automobile executive frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled again, slowly and anticipatorily. "You might have another girl there, too, on Friday night. One of the other Morriston housewives you've been blackmailing into your bed."

The evil light in Steve Samuels' eyes grew yet brighter, and more spittle gathered around his thick mouth. Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, Friday night was going to be an evening beyond his wildest dreams! One of the mad, ribald orgies he had often thought of having! His cock was throbbing hard, close to orgasm, in his pants as he thought of the potentialities inherent with two men and two beautiful girls and one huge, hungry dog…

"A pretty one, you want a real pretty one, don't you?" he husked to Ralph Taylor.

"That's right. A young and pretty one, one with a little experience. One who'll keep her mouth shut."

"I know just who I'll get!" Samuels wheezed. "Sally Reagan! I've had her before, a couple of times! Oh, Jesus, she's…"

"Keep your Goddamn voice down, for Christ's sake!" hissed the automobile executive, looking around him, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to the two of them.

Samuels dropped his voice. "She's a good one, the best next to Cindy Jamison. You'll like her! She's got black hair and a nice set of tits, and when she gets turned on she can really fuck, the little bitch! She deserves to be a part of this, she really does! Sending filthy pictures through our mails…"

"All right, all right, never mind any more of your Goddamned self-righteous speeches." Ralph Taylor looked smug once again. "Have you got it all straight now, Samuels?"

"I've got it!" the evil postal clerk assured him. "You don't have to worry none at all!"

"I'd better not have to." Taylor stood, found a couple of bills in his pocket, and tossed them on the table. "I've got to be going now, Samuels. Friday night. And if you value your ass, don't foul it up." With that, he walked off through the crowded tables and disappeared down the stairs to the main floor of the steak house.

Steve Samuels stared after him for a long moment, his eyes half-glazed with lust and excitement, then turned his head back again. Hot damn! Oh, Christ, he couldn't wait until Friday night! Cindy Jamison was really going to get hers – and so was Sally Reagan – both the little whores were really going to get theirs! He and the stranger and Ringo would see to that…

Even though the food was now cold, Steve Samuels finished every last bit on his plate with a ravenous hunger, as if it were the flesh of the two young and beautiful housewives he was consuming with his wet and ugly mouth.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Cindy Jamison performed her prosaic household chores like a mechanized robot on Friday, just as she had on each of the other two days since that drunken, hazy party on Tuesday night. Her mind seemed to be in a perpetual state of half-torpor, as if she were filled with some kind of deadening drug to ease the pain of the knowledge she carried within her.

She finished the cleaning and sweeping and laundry shortly past four, and made herself a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Then she sat with it in the living room of their cottage, drinking but not really tasting the strong black liquid. It was going to be a long day, an even longer night; at least on the past two days she had had Howard home to talk to her, to comfort her, for he realized she was still in a highly agitated state. He had asked her repeatedly to tell him what was wrong, to confide in him, and she almost had on more than one occasion – but then her guilt and shame, her strong desire to protect him from the terrible consequences of her actions with the Polaroid photographs and from the knowledge of her infidelities, became too strong and she was unable to speak.

But tonight, Howard would not be home at all. He had called her from work shortly past noon, to tell her that Ralph had invited him to go to Monterey for some kind of dealers' meeting later that day as Auto Circus' representative. The meeting would last well into the night, so he would be spending the evening in Monterey, to return to Morriston early the next day, Saturday. She hadn't wanted him to go, did not wish to be alone for a single night, but what could she tell him to stop him, short of confessing all that was troubling her? Nothing, nothing at all. And so he was going, probably had already left by this time.

Cindy took another sip of her coffee and set the cup down. A small tremor passed through her rigid young body. Dear God, what a nightmare she had been living these past few weeks! Everything had been going so beautifully – and then the evil postal clerk, Steve Samuels, had come into her life and forced her to defile her marital bed and to perform countless perversions with his wizened, deformed body. He had left her after that single, orgiastic night and had not contacted her since… but she knew it was only a matter of time, just as she had known it all along, in spite of what Norma Taylor had told her. He would be back, demanding more from her, more disgusting and lewd acts which made her want to vomit just thinking about them. But that wasn't all; there had been the party… her agitated mental state… all the sangria she had drunk… the foggy moments with Ralph… going out to the Volkswagen Variant… drinking that bourbon… the kaleidoscopic, filmlike flashes after that, moments of lucidity to be followed by moments of complete blankness… Ralph spreading her legs, putting his penis inside her, she powerless to stop him, him heaving and bucking into her, cumming with his burning hot semen; another, shadowy figure replacing him that to this day she couldn't identify, another penis, more heaving and bucking, more torrents of hot sticky cum pouring into her tender, ravaged vagina… what she suspected had been her own crashing, spiraling orgasm, though her mind had since refused to admit such an actuality…

A low, involuntary moan escaped the soft, pink lips of the mentally tortured young woman and she put her head in her hands. All the thoughts she had suppressed the past three days came rushing into her conscious mind, bringing with them the terrible humiliation and guilt of her actions. What had happened to her innocent, well-ordered little world? Why had things suddenly seemed to turn completely against her, slowly but inexorably destroying her? What had she done to deserve all of this?

She didn't know, had no idea. She felt as if she was on a merry-go-round, forever spinning, which she could never get off of. She had never been so alone, so helpless, in her life – there was no one to whom she could turn, nowhere she could go…

Norma? Norma, who had listened and advised her before? No, no, of course not… it had been Norma's husband, Ralph, whom she had allowed in her drunken stupor to claim her body. How could she tell that woman, whose husband she now hated with a full and overwhelming passion, what had happened? No, there was no one, no one at all.

What am I going to do? she asked herself silently. I'm so afraid… afraid of that terrible postal clerk, afraid of Ralph Taylor, afraid of what has happened to my own body for I think I enjoy any sexual act – no matter what kind, and even with another man – completely and totally now. I'm a different woman, a woman I don't understand anymore, and I'm so frightened…

The sudden ringing of the telephone completely shattered her reverie and brought her off the couch in a convulsive jump, her heart hammering crazily in her chest. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she identified the abrupt sound, and willed her trembling body still as the bell sounded again. She walked stiffly to where the phone was located and, biting her lip, lifted the receiver.

"H-Hello?" she said in a strangely quavering voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Jamison," a familiar, terrifying wheeze answered her, and the young wife felt a bolt of sheer terror shoot through her body like an electrical charge. She almost dropped the phone, and her heart threatened to burst through her chest cavity. Her tongue was thick with fear, and she couldn't make words come.

"Are you there, Mrs. Jamison?" Steve Samuels asked in his oily, insinuating tone. "Do you hear me?"

"Y-y-yes," she finally managed in a strangled whisper.

There was a soft, evil laugh from the other end of the wire. "You know who this is, don't you? Of course you do. Have you been thinking about me, Mrs. Jamison? Have you been thinking about what happened between us the other night? About how I put my hot thick cock far up into your asshole and fucked you and fucked you and…"

"Stopppp iiitttttt!" Cindy Jamison screamed in a voice fraught with the pinnacle of sheer mortal terror. "Oh, shut up, please shut up, oh, God don't talk to me like that!"

More high-pitched laughter, and then the venereous government employee said softly, "I want you again, Mrs. Jamison. I want you again – tonight!"

"Noooo!" wailed Cindy.

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Jamison. Tonight, at my place, at nine o'clock."

"No! Oh, dear God, no, I can't! I can't!"

"You can, and you will," Samuels told her, his voice turning harsh and ugly, as ugly as he was. "You'd better be there, or you know what'll happen to you and that husband of yours. Nine o'clock, Mrs. Jamison. Or else!" And with those sharp, threatening words, Steve Samuels slammed the receiver down in her ear.

Cindy flung her own handpiece down and fled into the living room, throwing herself prone on the couch to sob out her fear and torment and helplessness. She couldn't go through another ordeal like the one the depraved clerk had put her through ten days ago – and yet she had to. There was no alternative, short of defying him and thus relegating her and Howard to possible prison sentences. That, and…

Murder.

The single word echoed and re-echoed in Cindy Jamison's mind, and she sat up abruptly with the force of it. But, just as quickly as it had come, it vanished. She was not a murderess, could never take the life of another human being – even if that human being was the animalistic Steve Samuels. The torment, the horror, would be magnified tenfold instead of banished by such an act. No, she could not kill Samuels, much as she would like to see him dead, and she could not defy him, either.

She would go to him tonight, then, as he had instructed. Go to him in body, but not in spirit or soul.

And somehow she would endure the degradation and lasciviousness which was sure to then ensue – for Howard, for the man she loved…

***

Ralph Taylor arrived at the weed-choked, slumlike house of the postal employee Steve Samuels at eight-thirty that night, carrying a huge case which contained his Polaroid camera, timer, and tripod.

The venereous civil servant let him in with an expression of excited anticipation, and led him down the hallway into the living room. Samuels had made an effort to tidy it up somewhat, but the room still had an air of musky staleness, a look of cluttered squalor. He offered the automobile executive a drink, which Taylor promptly refused. Then Ralph said, "Did you make all the arrangements?"

"All of them, yes," Samuels answered quickly. "That bitch Cindy Jamison will be here at nine. The other one, Sally Reagan, will be along a little later, around nine-thirty. Oh, Christ, she was really upset about coming here tonight, that one was. She cried and begged and pleaded with me not to make her, but I said…"

"I don't give a shit what you said, you little weasel," said Ralph Taylor shortly, obvious distaste for the postal clerk on his normally jovial countenance. "Just as long as she's coming here tonight. And just as long as Cindy Jamison is coming; she's the one I'm really interested in."

"Don't worry, don't worry, they'll be here. Just like I promised they would be."

Taylor nodded, set his case down, and began to take the photographic equipment out of it. He looked up at Samuels as he was doing so. "Have you got a screen or something I can set this stuff up behind?" he demanded.

"Yeah, I think so," retorted the clerk. "But what for?"

"Never mind what for, Goddamn you! This is my show, and we'll run things my way or not at all! Understand?"

"Sure, sure, don't get uptight."

"Just do as you're told, Samuels, and everything will be fine."

The wizened clerk nodded, licking his lips, and left the room to locate the screen Ralph Taylor had asked him for.

***

The taxicab let Cindy Jamison off in front of the run-down home of Steve Samuels at exactly nine o'clock.

She was weaving just slightly as she walked up the path to the front door, her hands tightly clenched around her handbag. She had commenced to drink straight vodka immediately after the call from the postal worker, trying to work herself into a stupor so that, as on the first occasion, she would be too drunk to be totally aware of the horror of her situation. She had succeeded in getting intoxicated only to a point, beyond which she couldn't seem to go, no matter how much she drank. Now, she felt light-headed and nauseous as she rang the bell, trying desperately to blank her mind against what was soon to happen to her.

The door opened almost immediately, and the malformed features of the government employee peered leeringly out at her. She shuddered involuntarily with revulsion, averting her eyes from that terrible, sweating face. Her stomach churned sickeningly.

"Well, well, right on time I see, Mrs. Jamison. Good, good," said the clerk in his husking voice. He reached out his talon-like fingers to take her arm, and Cindy imagined that it was the touch of something incredibly alien on her coat-covered flesh; but she didn't have the strength or the inclination to resist his hand. She allowed him to lead her down the hallway and into the living room.

The room itself was little more than a blur in the mind of the tortured young wife. She was aware of a musty smell, of a jumble of old and ragged furnishings, of a large screen which had been set up on one side of the room – but details escaped her brain completely. It might have been some medieval torture chamber, complete with iron maiden and thumbscrews and the rack, for all she knew.

Samuels said, "Sit down on the couch, Mrs. Jamison. Here, let me take your coat. Make yourself comfortable." He snickered evilly. "It's going to be a long wonderful night."

Cindy shuddered again at the implications of this depraved postal clerk's words. She hurriedly shed her coat and moved robot-like to the sagging sofa and sat down stiffly, her eyes staring glassily ahead. I have to do this, she thought numbly. I have to do it for Howard, for our future, for Howard, for our future…

Samuels hung her coat up in a hallway closet and came back to the living room, sitting down next to but not touching the soul-sick young wife. "Have a cigarette, won't you, Mrs. Jamison?" he invited unctuously. He reached out to the coffee table in front of the couch, to where a wooden cigarette box lay, lifted it and opened it, presenting the contents to the eyes of Cindy Jamison.

She knew instantly this time what the brown, crudely made cigarettes were, but instead of being further repulsed, she was almost grateful that he wanted her to have more pot, more marijuana, just as she had had the last time. Commingled with the liquor, the pot would once again put her in that half-netherworld of semirationality and the pain, the degradation, would not be as acute as it could be. Almost eagerly, she reached out and plucked one of the rough brown sticks from the box and placed it between her soft, warm, moist lips. The wizened government employee lit it for her immediately, telling her as he had before to hold the smoke in her lungs as long as she could before releasing it. She obeyed, drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly… drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly…

The first roach butt was no more than ash in her fingers, and then Samuels was handing her another, lighting it, and she was repeating the process yet again… drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly… and her head began to swim and she could feel herself weaving slightly on the couch, though she was powerless to cease the movement of her body. The agony was lessening in her mind, she could feel it; it was being replaced now by that same gloating, suspended feeling of the previous encounter. She was ready to take whatever he would mete out, now, as ready as she would ever be…

She opened her mouth, forcing thick words out with careful enunciation, "Do you want me to take my clothes off now? I'm ready to take my clothes off, if you want me to."

"Ah, that's the attitude, Mrs. Jamison!" snickered Samuels. "That's the way to talk, you little bitch. But not yet, not just yet…"

"Why…?"

"Because we're expecting another visitor shortly."

The drugged young wife tried to grasp the significance of that statement, but it seemed to elude her. She frowned, trying to speak again, to ask him what he meant – and in that instant, the doorbell rang.

"There we are, she's here," Samuels enthused, jumping up. "And right on time. Don't go away, Mrs. Jamison. I'll be right back."

Cindy sat dazed for what seemed like interminable minutes, then Samuels reappeared leading a tall, black-haired young woman whose face was streaked wet with tears. The young woman's eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open in shock as she saw Cindy sitting on the couch. "What…?" she began.

"Sally Reagan, meet Cindy Jamison," cackled the government employee, pushing the dark-haired girl forward.

Cindy managed to struggle up off the couch, to stand just a few feet from the new arrival; the eyes of the two women locked on one another. And in that moment, complete – if momentary – lucidity returned to the mind of young Cindy Jamison.

She knew, just as Sally Reagan knew, that they were both the same, trapped in the terrible web of Steve Samuels' depravity. Cindy's whirling brain instinctively became aware that the dark-haired girl had committed much the same type of transgression as she had, perhaps sending private photographs through the mail which Samuels had intercepted. And her brain became aware, too, that this evening would be worse, much worse, than the other – that what the venereous clerk had planned for tonight was the apex of perversion: an orgy, an impossible flesh circus of which she and Sally Reagan were to be the main performers. She began to tremble with renewed fear and trepidation, seeing that the dark-haired girl had realized the same inevitability as she just had and had begun to tremble as well.

And still the two young wives stared at each other, as if each was seeking solace in the eyes of the other, tied together more closely than the best of friends by their mutual subjugation. A mute empathy, a tight bond, was sewn between Cindy Jamison and Sally Reagan and that bond somehow made things a little less terrifying than they might have been. Now, perhaps, both enslaved housewives would be able to keep their sanity during this longest of all nights…

The next few minutes were a kaleidoscope of fragmented time for the young mate of Howard Jamison. She was told to sit down on the couch, told to have another marijuana cigarette, and she obeyed. Sally Reagan, rid of her coat, sat beside her on the dirty material of the sofa and took pot herself – one joint, two, three. The room was filled with the sweetish, almost cloying odor of the weed.

"Are we ready now?" Samuels called out finally, as if asking permission of someone else to begin, looking in the direction of the screen. Then, nodding, as if he had received his answer though neither Cindy nor Sally heard a spoken word, the evil civil servant moved to the couch, staring down at the two beautiful women who sat with glazed, perspiring faces before him.

Oh, Jesus he thought, this is really going to be something! That big bastard really knows what he's doing, all right. I couldn't have mapped out the progression of events for tonight any better myself! Goddamn, my balls are aching with my cum and the big guy is waiting behind the screen and Ringo is waiting in the kitchen… this is going to be the finest night I've ever spent, I know it! You bitches, you're REALLY GOING TO GET YOURS TONIGHT!

"Both of you!" he commanded in a panting, wheezing voice. "Take off your clothes! Strip down to your bra and panties. Hurry up, you fucking little sluts!"

Like twin marionettes, the drugged and subjugated young women stood in unison and stripped off their outer garments, leaving their underclothes on as Samuels had instructed. They stood there, side by side, staring straight ahead as the small man viewed their vibrant flesh with hungry, almost inhuman eyes.

"Now then, Mrs. Reagan," he snapped. "Roll your panties down, slowly, nice and slowly. Let's see that fine, sweet young cunt of yours. You, Mrs. Jamison. Watch her, look at her cunt. Goddamn you, do what I tell you!"

Through hazed eyes, young Cindy Jamison watched the automatonical movements of Sally Reagan as the other woman obeyed Samuels' orders, slowly rolling her panties down, down, until the curling dark triangle of her pubic hair came into view. Still lower she rolled the thin garment, down almost to her knees, and then the postal clerk commanded her to stop.

"Open your thighs!" gasped Samuels. "Open 'em wide enough to get your hand between them! That's it! Now play with your cunt, Mrs. Reagan! Put your finger on your clit, put it inside you! Get it all nice and hot while we watch, Mrs. Reagan!"

In horrified fascination, Cindy watched the black-haired girl move her thighs open, exposing the softly hair-fringed lips of her pussy with its dainty clitoris nestled in the smooth pink folds. Cindy swallowed hard as Sally lowered her hand there, middle finger extended, her face sheened with sweat and torture-racked, and began to slowly masturbate. Her legs bent slightly to allow her massaging fingers more room to slide between her opened thighs, and then she rubbed faster and faster her cuntal valley.

"Mrs. Jamison!" grunted Samuels. "Pull Mrs. Reagan's panties all the way down. No, don't stop playing with yourself, Mrs. Reagan! Do what I told you, Goddamn you, you bitch Jamison!"

Mesmerically, her brain a spinning carrousel, Cindy squatted before the sweating body of the other girl and drew her panties all the way down over slender, perfectly formed legs, letting the garment puddle at Sally Reagan's feet. Then she straightened again, tension rising in her stomach, her eyes glued to the sawing fingers of the blackhaired girl.

"Put one leg up on the couch, Mrs. Reagan! Let's see all of that cunt of yours! Let's see you shove your finger all the way up your sweet little pussy!"

Sally propped one foot up as directed, and the full expanse of her softly glistening cuntal slit was exposed to Cindy's and Samuels' eyes. The black-haired wife's heaving fingers slithered wetly in and out of the wide-splayed vaginal opening, and she began to secrete heavily in spite of her hopeless subjugation.

From behind Cindy, in the direction of the screen, there came a sudden popping sound and a flash of light. But neither of the young housewives were aware of it, completely lost in the miasma of drug and enslavement.

Cindy, watching the masturbating girl, felt an odd tingling begin in her own loins, as if she was becoming excited at the lewd and lascivious sight. But no, no, that couldn't be! And yet, in back of the whirling in her brain, she knew it was true, knew that the words of Norma Taylor had been accurate. She was a passionate woman, and sexuality had its effect on her – even such salaciousness as this. She couldn't fight it, even if she wanted to. She had to submit to the feelings, submit to Samuels, submit to everything or there was no hope…

Deep wetness began to stain her panties as she watched Sally Reagan, heard low mewls of unwanted pleasure begin to purl through the black-haired girl's lips. Samuels saw that immediately, and his prick leaped exultantly in his trousers, jerking to its full erectness as he watched the carnal scene taking place right before him.

"All right!" he snapped. "Now it's your turn, Mrs. Jamison. Roll your panties down, all the way off, and put your leg up on the sofa like Mrs. Reagan. Face her, and play with your cunt like she's playing with hers! Oh, Jesus, hurry up, hurry up, you bitch!"

And Cindy obeyed, beyond all caring now, abandoning herself in her drugged and liquored state to the inevitability of her situation. She rolled her panties down, down and off, raised her leg up on the couch, lowered her hand to her moistened vaginal valley. And then her fingers began moving, began sliding through the wet, warm folds of her pussy, and the ripples of pleasure grew and she was powerless to stop them. Faster and faster her fingers flashed in the sweet softness of her cunt, watching with lidded eyes the black-haired girl doing the same thing directly in front of her. In unison the two young housewives ravaged their genitals, black and blond pubic triangles glistening with the nectar of their passion, faster and faster and faster…

Behind the screen on the other side of the room, Ralph Taylor stood naked, his thick, blood-engorged penis quivering with excitement as he watched the two masturbating young women. The Polaroid camera, with which he had just taken one good shot of the Reagan girl, trembled expectantly in his hands. Goddamn, this was working out even better than he had expected! Cindy Jamison, playing with herself like that, before his feasting eyes – Christ, what an enticing sight! He couldn't wait to get his bulging prick inside that fine, tender cunt of his star salesman's wife again! But first, there were the photos…

Taylor stepped out, holding the Polaroid up, focusing through the viewfinder on the lascivious sight before him. Both women had their eyes squeezed tightly shut… no problem about seeing him or the flash. Yet. He wanted to wait until just the right moment for his own appearance, and he thought he knew when that would be. He had planned it all out very carefully beforehand with Samuels…

He held the Polaroid steady, found the angle and shot he wanted, and clicked the shutter. The flash went off, and he had the picture. He nodded to the venereous postal clerk, who grinned back at him lewdly, and then he stepped behind the screen again. He looked at his watch, began counting off sixty seconds.

"All right, stop playing with yourselves now!" ordered Samuels, and the two young housewives ceased their wild masturbationings. They waited, dreading the command which was to come, whatever it may be, rigid as stone statues.

The depraved government employee laughed high and shrill, and then he demanded, "Play with one another now, you bitches! Step forward and unhook one another's bra straps. Let's have a look at both your sets of tits! Then rub each other's body, play with your tits and your cunts!"

Oooohhhhhh! wailed Cindy's mind at this impossible indignity, but she did as bid. There was no other choice, she knew that and Sally Reagan knew that; this was lesbianism, perversion, but it was not half as bad as touching and being touched by that evil Steve Samuels. At least she and Sally Reagan were drawn close together by mutual need, by mutual pain, and it would not be as terrible as what was surely to come later…

Cindy's arms went around the black-haired girl, even as she felt Sally's arms go around her. Palsied fingers fumbled at bra straps, pulling them loose, drawing them over each other's smooth, soft shoulders, baring their twin sets of high, proud breasts, nipples hardened in spite of their subjugation. Then they were touching one another, Cindy sliding her slick palms up and down the fevered flesh of the other girl, feeling in turn the hot tingling movements of Sally's fingers on her own skin.

Young Cindy Jamison felt her breath quicken as Sally rubbed and caressed her swollen breasts, passing over the nipples with tantalizing slowness, and her mind cried out futilely with the unwanted pleasure of the contact. She could feel Sally's hot breath on her face, knew that her own was thudding against the black-haired girl's. Sally Reagan was as excited as she! Oh, God, oh, God…

Then their hands were sliding down the fevered flesh of one another's smooth, hot torso, over the flat planes of their stomachs, along their quivering flanks, down to the moist fleece between their slightly open legs. Cindy felt the other girl's finger seek out and find her clitoris, felt delicious excitement as it was tweaked again and again, and her extended middle finger located the other young wife's clit and returned the favor. They stood there like that, panting hard, playing with one another, their breasts touching now, the nipples pressed almost against one another as if trying to fuse the two young housewives together in their bondage…

Neither of the girls saw or were aware of first one sharp burst of light, and then, sixty seconds later, another. Ralph Taylor had two more pictures for his collection…

"That's enough, that's enough!" shouted Steve Samuels. His rubbery lips were drooling uncontrollably now as he watched the two mutually subjugated women playing with one another before him. He had stripped off his clothes in his excitement, and now stood before them completely naked, his small, thin body trembling with his desire, his long, thick, enraged prick standing like a rigid sentinel in his right hand. He stroked it lightly, eyes gleaming, causing the glans eye to emit beginning droplets of his semen.

"Mrs. Jamison, get down on the couch. Lean back, and spread your legs wide! Do it now!"

Mutely, Cindy obeyed, sitting and leaning back, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her pussy secreting a tiny excited flow now at the manipulations of the other girl. Sally Reagan stood above her, her own cunt wet from the blond wife's strokings, the black triangle slickly moist with her juices.

"Get down between her legs, Mrs. Reagan!" husked the venereous postal clerk, still stroking his thick, hardened cock. "Get down there and grovel in Mrs. Jamison's cunt! Lick it! Lap up her cunt like you were a dog, Mrs. Reagan! Like you were Ringo!"

"Nooo!" The strangled sound tore from Sally's marijuana-drugged body, a piteous protest against what was being asked of her.

Samuels stepped forward and slapped her, hard, across the face. "You fucking bitch! Do what I tell you, or I'll fix your wagon! I'll fix it good, and you know I can do it! Now get down there and eat Mrs. Jamison's cunt!"

A tortured sob burst from Sally's young body, but she lowered herself onto her knees between Cindy's wide-splayed thighs. Her hands came up, fingers fanning out on the blond wife's trembling inner thighs. Her head moved forward, and her hot breath blew like searing flame into the opened wet expanse of Cindy Jamison's cuntal passage.

Cindy had been shocked into frozen immobility by the lewd instructions of Steve Samuels, unable to move or think in that moment as the knowledge of what he wanted the two girls to do raced like a sick cancer through her body. Then she felt the touch on her inner thighs of Sally Reagan, felt the hot breath blowing against her open vagina, and she wanted to leap up, wanted to run, run, get far away from this place of sin. But she was unable to move, unable to prevent what happened next, could only lie there with tears squeezing past her clamped eyelids to cascade down her pretty, ashen face.

With a low mewl of total submission, Sally Reagan began to kiss Cindy's thighs, began to plant hot moist kisses on the smooth warm flesh. Then her tongue was snaking out, and Cindy heard a muffled sob just before she felt the electric contact of the black-haired girl's fiery wet probe against her trembling clitoris, felt it lick molten swaths from the quivering button down through the soft wetness of her fleece-lined cuntal lips to the widespread opening of her vaginal orifice.

She cried out in disgust and… something else, passion, the same tremendous excitement she had known from the touch of her husband Howard's lips and tongue on her cunt. She raised her buttocks up off the couch involuntarily, closing her thighs around the tortured Sally Reagan's slavering head. The action only forced the black-haired housewife's tongue to slide deep and hotly into her gently throbbing cuntal passage, firing more intensely the flowing juices of her desire. Her hands came down, as if with a will of their own as with them she spread her own thighs wider apart once again, giving the other young woman more access to her cunt, and entangled her hands spasmodically in the rich, titian strands of hair.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, ohhhh!" chanted Cindy mindlessly, completely lost in the delirious feelings which the other woman's lips and tongue were unleashing through her belly and loins…

His cock throbbing with maddening desire at the salacious sight he was witnessing through the chinks in the screen, Ralph Taylor stepped out once again with his Polaroid. He took a quick shot of the Reagan girl ravaging Cindy's widespread pussy, his breath coming faster and faster. He was aware that Samuels was edging closer to the two girls on the couch, his hand beating his turgid prick faster and faster as he stared with unabashed lust naked on his face at the black-haired girl performing cunnilingus on the other, blond-haired young wife. When the picture was ready, after sixty seconds, Taylor moved around so that he could get Samuels in the next shot and quickly snapped the shutter; that ought to be a really wild one, he thought ardently as he stepped back behind the screen once again…

The venereous postal clerk beat his swollen penis with practiced fervor as he watched the two naked young girls before him. Oh, shit, I'm going to blow my wad any second now… but I can't, not yet… too much is still to happen, I can't lose a drop of my cum yet… have to save it all for these two bitches, all of it for them… Christ, look at young Mrs. Reagan licking Mrs. Jamison's cunt, she's really going after it now… both of them are liking it, the sluts, the whores… but now it's Mrs. Cindy Jamison's turn to get a taste of some pussy herself!

"Stop!" he rapped out. "That's enough, Mrs. Reagan! That's enough! Now it's Mrs. Jamison's turn to lick your cunt!"

Even in her aroused, drugged state, Cindy's mind recoiled in horror at Samuels' salacious words. No, she couldn't, she wouldn't! And yet, she had to, there was no other alternative… and she had known from the moment Sally Reagan had been instructed to perform this act of orality on her flesh, that she would be forced to reciprocate… known it and rejected it momentarily in spite of its inevitability.

She felt Sally's lips and tongue and head leave her wide-splayed cunt, and her eyes fluttered open, looking directly into the tortured, secretion-sheened face of the other woman. Ripples of disgust, of terror coursed through her as she heard Samuels shouting for the black-haired girl to sit on the couch, to splay her legs wide and reveal all of her cuntal expanse to Cindy's attentions. Then Sally was obeying, sitting next to her, legs opening, and Cindy could see every inch of the dampened, softly fleece-lined pinkness of the other young wife's pussy.

She wanted to gag, but she found herself responding to Samuels lewd words and commands, found herself dropping to the floor, into a kneeling position, and then moving over so that she was poised between Sally Reagan's thighs, her face only inches from the throbbing wet flesh of her passion. I can't do this, I can't, oh, God… Cindy thought in mortification, and then, as if in some perverse defiance to her thoughts, her head plunged forward and buried itself in the soft moistness of the black-haired wife's vaginal furrow.

The odor of Sally's passion assailed Cindy's nostrils, and she swallowed hard and began to kiss the soft, wet flesh of her inner thighs, as Sally had done to her. Her brain was reeling, reeling, and desire once more leapt like hot fire in her own loins, as if her body was no longer under her own will.

She heard Sally moaning deep in her throat, felt the black-haired girl's thighs clenching and unclenching about her head. Then her lips were pressed to the other young wife's vulva, her tongue was darting into the fiery flesh of Sally's cuntal orifice. She moved it swiftly, sucking and licking the engorged cavern, driven on to faster and madder lickings as Sally Reagan's hips began to gyrate with the lust-inciting activity of lips and tongue. Cindy's wet red probe found the other girl's clitoris, nuzzled it, ran tantalizing circles round and round the swollen button, moved downward again to slide deep into the passion-drenched passage as Sally grasped the blond young wife's hair in both hands, as Cindy had grasped hers…

Oh, Christ, will you look at Cindy go! thought Ralph Taylor. I never thought I'd live to set a sight like this… Jesus, what would Howie think if he could see his pretty little blonde wife now? Got to get a shot of this, a good closeup… Norma will blow her mind when she sees it…

Once more, he stepped out from behind the screen and moved quickly across the threadbare rug, shouldering the panting form of Steve Samuels out of the way. He focused his Polaroid, leaning in close, setting the lens and peering through the viewfinder. Son of a bitch, what a shot! He could see Cindy's tongue flicking all the way up the Reagan girl's cunt! He snapped the shutter, stepped back. But he didn't retreat behind the screen this time. He just stood there, his great cock jutting out like some huge cobra, its head engorged and waiting, its single eye oozing seminal fluid like anticipatory venom. Samuels, still beating his own immense and turgid cock, looked imploringly at the manager, his eyes saying, "For God's sake, I can't take much more of this! When are we going to stop all this playing around and give it to these two little bitches!"

Ralph ignored the impatient postal clerk, counting off sixty seconds. Then he peeled the photograph off the negative, looked at it. Perfect! Clear and sharp, every detail discernible! He couldn't have asked for a better snap!

He ran behind the screen, put the photo with the others, then brought the tripod out and set it up in the middle of the rug. The two young housewives were completely lost in the lewd act of cunnilingus on the couch, Sally Reagan having jackknifed her legs upward so that Cindy's wildly, crazily bobbing head would move over even more of her flowering, secreting pussy. And Cindy was licking and suckling the moist pink flesh like a madwoman, beyond all caring except for the musky taste of the other girl's genitals in her mouth and the rising floodtide of desire in her own loins and belly.

Taylor set the Polaroid on the tripod, adjusted it, rigged the timer so that it was ready to use. Now's the time, he thought. Samuels is going to cum all over himself and the two women any second now if we don't get started, and I don't want that to happen… he's got to join in on this, him and the Goddamn big dog of his, and I don't want to have to wait around for him to get another hardon… Jesus, my own balls are ready to burst… now's the time, all right…

He moved forward hurriedly to stand over the two naked young wives on the couch. Then, in his booming voice, he commanded, "That's enough, Cindy! Stop it, Cindy, that's enough for right now!"

Cindy Jamison froze with her face buried wetly in the throbbing flesh of the black-haired girl's pussy. That voice… it hadn't been Samuels' voice… and yet it was familiar, coming through her delirium of liquor and marijuana and passion, slicing into the very core of her brain… familiar voice, familiar; it was…

Oh, God, oh, God!

She jerked her head out from between Sally Reagan's wide-splayed thighs, twisted it upward, her eyes blinking open. A look of intense horror, mixed with dismay and disbelief, flashed across her passion-sheened features. She ran her tongue over her secretion-coated lips involuntarily as the shock of recognition all but cleared the swirling fog in her brain.

"Oh, God, R-R-Ralph!" she cried in a strangled whisper.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ralph Taylor stood leering down at the hunched, naked, horror-stricken form of his star salesman's lovely young wife. His huge, thickly veined prick jutted towards her in its erection like an accusing finger. Behind him, still beating his own throbbing penis with one hand, his face a flushed, sweating red, stood the thinly built postal clerk, his leer almost as salacious as the Auto Circus manager's.

Cindy finally realized the exact dimensions of her position, and scrambled away from the black-haired girl's opened thighs, leaning back against the far end of the couch and putting her fisted hand up to her mouth. She bit her knuckles until they bled, her filmed eyes bulging wide.

Ralph laughed softly, easily, off-handedly, as if he were in his office at Auto Circus instead of in the midst of all this carnal abuse. "I guess you're surprised to see me here, aren't you, Cindy?" he asked her, his eyes gleaming. "Damn right you are. Well, I arranged this whole affair, as a matter of fact. I've been planning it ever since Norma told me about you and Samuels here, planning it so I could get you right where you are now and where you will be before long. What do you think of that, Cindy? How does the idea appeal to you?"

"W-Why?" Cindy managed to moan around the clenched fist. "Oh, G-God, why…?"

"Why do you think, baby? To get that hot little body of yours just the way I want it. You've been swinging it in front of me and every other man around ever since Howie married you, teasing us, telling us in effect that we can look but we can't touch. Well, I took it as long as I could and then I knew I had to have you, and on my terms. These are my terms, Cindy, right here and now. The other two times – up at my cabin, and the other night in the car – were just appetizers, previews of the real thing. Now you're going to fulfill all the promises of that body of yours, everything I've dreamed about and wanted; I'm going to fuck you and I'm going to do it good and proper. This is going to be a night neither one of us is ever going to forget, Cindy baby…"

The words droned on and on, but it was as if a switch had suddenly been pulled somewhere in the tortured young housewife's swirling brain, completely blotting out the rest of Ralph Taylor's words. The complete and utter shock of turning up from the moist, hot womanhood of Sally Reagan, her face sheened with the black-haired girl's excited cuntal secretions, and seeing the nude form of her husband's hated boss had pushed Cindy dangerously close to the fine line between sanity and insanity. Hearing his lewd words, his revelation that he had planned this entire evening, that he was mixed up with, was as bad, as evil as Steve Samuels, had almost sent her over the edge; if it had not been for the liquor and the marijuana and even the passion which still ebbed through her body, she would surely have gone insane in that moment as she crouched there by the couch, staring up at the two naked men with their huge erect penises. This was the final degradation for Cindy Jamison, the ultimate humiliation in a long string of recent inequities. Nothing which happened after this, nothing which she could learn – no other revelation could affect her in the slightest way…

And yet, words spun and tugged at her brain cells, trying to form rational sentences, but she was unable to grasp them through the haze which filled her conscious mind. Something Ralph had said…? What was it… what… And then she knew.

"The other two times – up at my cabin, and the other night in the car…"

Up at Ralph Taylor's cabin!

But nothing had happened between her and Ralph there, nothing at all, she had only been with Howie…

"W-What did you mean?" she cried suddenly. "What did you mean?"

Taylor stopped talking, his hands on his hips. "About what, baby?"

"About… about your cabin. You… you said you and I, up at your cabin… what did you mean!"

His laugh was low and ugly. "That's right, you don't know about that, do you? Well, let me tell you then, Cindy. You see, Howie and I planned that whole business… showing you the pictures, getting you excited… Norma talked to you on my orders, putting you in the right frame of mind for your first try at sucking cock… the room was dark after you and Howie had finished fucking that first time and so we just traded places… remember when he got up and went to the bathroom, and then came back? That wasn't him, Cindy, that was me… he went down and Norma sucked him off… it was my cock you sucked that night, baby… my cock was the first one to slide in and out of that sweet, soft little mouth of yours, my cum the first to pour down that graceful virgin throat of yours, mine, Cindy, Ralph Taylor's cock and Ralph Taylor's cum, not Howie's, not your husband's…"

Each of his words were like lashing cuts of a whip to Cindy Jamison. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She flung her hands up to her ears, pressing them hard there and rocking back and forth, back and forth. Miraculously, she did not take that final, fatal plunge across the line into madness, though she came within a hair's breadth of it. Tears welled out of her eyes, rolled down over her ashen cheeks, down over her high, quivering, ruby-capped breasts as she rocked there on the floor under the salacious gazes of the two unfeeling, uncaring men who stood over her.

There had been one more revelation, after all, and it had been the big one. Howie, her beloved Howie, the man she trusted and believed in above all others, had betrayed her, had plotted with Ralph Taylor to swap her for Norma. He had been unfaithful to her, having sex with Ralph's wife and at the same time abandoning her to the manager. He had taken her great gift, her acquiescence to oral love which she had made for him and only him, and flung it back in her face; he had allowed her unknown in her alcoholic state to lavish her attentions on the lust-incited penis of Ralph Taylor instead of on his own.

And what of Norma, the woman who had professed to be a friend and confidante? She, too, had been in on the plot from the beginning. She hadn't told Ralph about Samuels merely as a way of seeking further solace for Cindy; no, she had done it so that Ralph could somehow locate the evil postal clerk and join forces with him for more and greater depravity. Her words to Cindy about the young blonde wife's sexual enjoyment of the perversions at the hands of Steve Samuels, her words about forgetting what had happened and not telling Howie or anyone else, had not been in Cindy's best interests at all – but in Ralph's and hers.

Dear God above, her whole world had collapsed completely and irrevocably about her! The people she loved and trusted had sold her out… there was no one left to whom she could turn, no one who cared, no one who was unselfish. She was alone, completely alone, her helpless body a pawn, a toy, a thing to be used at will…

And suddenly, then, the tears stopped and the horror and fear and shock left her face to be replaced by a wooden expression showing nothing. Cindy Jamison stopped thinking altogether, and the liquor and the marijuana once more claimed full possession of her mind; it was as if her brain, realizing the danger it was in, the danger of snapping like a small twig under the tremendous pressure of all that Cindy had discovered and been subjected to on this day, had simply shut itself off so as to prevent the blowing of the circuits – the way computers are programmed to do. She was a lump of clay now, to be handled and molded at will.

And yet, the stirrings of passion still flowed through her loins…

"Listen, how much longer are we going to fuck around here?" Samuels' husking voice suddenly filled the room. "Young Mrs. Jamison looks like she's gonna pass out or something. Let's get on with it, for Christ's sake."

Ralph Taylor looked at the suddenly blank-eyed wife of Howard Jamison, then shifted his gaze to where Sally Reagan was still sprawled on the sofa, legs splayed, eyes squeezed tightly shut, fingernails digging blood from her thighs as she waited in her own private hell. "All right," he said finally. "Get that damned dog of yours in here. The camera's all ready to go."

Quickly, eagerly, Steve Samuels whistled high and shrill. A moment later, the huge furry form of the postal clerk's great dog, Ringo, bounded into the room, tail wagging. The animal went directly to the couch, sniffing the wide-splayed womanhood of Sally Reagan familiarly. The young black-haired wife gasped, seeming to snap out of her semi-catatonic state, and she turned her hands, palms outward, to the dog, as if to ward off some vicious attack. "No!" she moaned. "Oh, God, no, no, not again! I can't stand that dog again, please, ohhh please…!"

"Shut up, Mrs. Reagan," commanded Samuels. "You'll do what we tell you, or else. Now get down on the rug on your knees like the little bitch you are. Get down on all fours. Hurry it up!"

The black-haired girl obeyed, body trembling. Ralph Taylor instructed, "The same goes for you, Cindy. On all fours, facing Sally. Leave a little room between you."

Mesmerically, the hopeless blonde wife obeyed her husband's lascivious boss. She knelt facing Sally Reagan, both women beyond any help, beyond caring, not looking at one another now. Watching them, Ralph began to tremble with growing excitement. It coursed through his thick body, making his erect penis throb palpitatingly with anticipation. He looked sideways at Samuels. "Take some pictures while I start things off. You know how to work a Polaroid, don't you?"

"Sure, but why can't I get down there, too?" whined Samuels. "The camera has a timer…"

"Never mind the timer yet. Just take some pictures, a half dozen of them. And they'd better be good."

With that, he stepped forward and went to his knees before the crouched figure of Cindy Jamison. He held his hardened cock in his right hand, lifting it up close to her face, moving his knees forward so that the tip of the immense cudgel almost touched the moist red lips of the subjugated young wife. "Open your eyes, Cindy," he commanded. "Look at my cock, look at it, look at what you're going to take in your mouth for the second time!"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw through her fogged retinas the great girth of Ralph Taylor's weapon, saw every ridge and pore of it as he moved it back and forth in front of her head like a swaying cobra's hood. Her tongue came out involuntarily to moisten her lips as she stared at the unseeing eye dripping fluid in the huge hardened head.

"Put your hand on my cock now, Cindy," he told her in a panting voice, his legs widespread before her face, and she obeyed mechanically, wrapping her hand around his masculinity. A shiver passed through her at the touch, unwanted but there nonetheless, and Cindy began to work her hand roughly up and down, watching the foreskin pucker over the engorged head, then wrap itself over the shaft. With increasing rhythm, she stroked Ralph Taylor's cock, staring at it, warmth beginning to seep through her loins again.

The automobile executive could take no more of the excruciating pleasure of her moving fingers. "Put it in your mouth now, baby! Put my cock in your mouth. Suck me, Cindy, oh, Jesus, suck my cock!"

With a groan of sheer animal lust, Taylor moved forward, flexing his hips, pressing his hard rubbery masculinity against her soft, moist lips, feeling the heavy bloated head resting against them. Cindy tasted the familiar bittersweet flavor, and her mouth parted automatically to accept the offering of lust, guiding it inside her warm wet cavern with her still-stroking hand.

She began to suck him then, suck him as she had that first night at the mountain cabin, when she had thought he was her husband, Howard. It didn't matter now – her subjugation, her enslavement – nothing mattered now, nothing at all. Slowly, agonizingly, she ran her tongue wetly around and around the smooth slippery head, easing the tip of her hot probe into the open slit of the glans. Her head pumped abandonedly to and fro, slavishly licking every inch of the thick shaft, sucking harder and harder, her tongue twirling faster and faster, and Taylor's buttocks began to flex forward, adding his own movement to her bobbing head so that mouth and cock were fucking together, working together, like a well-tuned machine. Cindy could feel the seminally flowing shaft batter back against her larynx, but she was unable to halt the intense ramming pressure there, her lips ovaling maddeningly as she attempted to suck the hot white load of sperm from her husband's boss' testicles like an electric milking machine…

Focusing through the Polaroid, Steve Samuels snapped off another picture. Goddamn look at the way she's blowing him! he thought wild with passion and wanting desperately to join in this debauching of the young wives himself. She's giving it everything she's got! Oh, Christ, what a night this is going to be! But Mrs. Reagan, the bitch, isn't doing anything, just kneeling there like a sleeping pup… well, I know something she can do, something that'll make a great shot…

"Mrs. Reagan!" he called out, and her head jerked up, swiveling toward him. Her face was only inches from Ralph Taylor's heaving buttocks as he drove his cock deep and hard into the soft fleshy folds of Cindy Jamison's mouth. "Mrs. Reagan, lean forward and kiss his ass! You heard me, do it! Kiss his ass, Mrs. Reagan! Lick his asshole with your tongue!"

There was no protest, for Sally Reagan was as empty of feeling now as was Cindy Jamison; even this further inequity, this further depravity, failed to faze her. She craned her head forward, her moist lips parted, and began to plant hot fevered kisses on the jerking, hirsute flesh of Ralph Taylor's buttocks. Then her tongue was extending, moving over the fleshy surface, into the pronounced crevice between the heavy globes, down lower, lower, until it found what it sought: the tiny puckered ring of his anal opening. Round and round she licked the nether entrance, flicking over the rubbery flesh, darting inside wetly, licking up and down, up and down, with moist hot fervor…

Ralph felt the impossibly exciting contact of tongue and lips at his rectum, and sensations of acute desire caused him to heave and buck harder and harder into the ovaling lips, the now perspiring face, of his star salesman's wife. Her hot, wet tongue seemed wrapped around the thick underside of his cock, from the coronal ridges, sticky and protruding from its foreskin almost to the wire-haired base. It was like fucking into the softest velvet, like having your prick immersed in warm, soft, flowing honey…

Click! Click! Click! Steve Samuels took pictures feverishly, taking the Polaroid from the tripod now so that he could get better angles. Sweat poured off him like rainwater. Half-a-dozen, the big bastard named Ralph had said. All right, and maybe a couple more, too! Ones with him, using the timer… ones with Ringo…

Ringo! He had all but forgotten his huge German Shepherd in the excitement of the lust-provoking sight of Mrs. Jamison wildly sucking Ralph's prick while Mrs. Reagan slavered between his dancing, heaving buttocks. Ringo had to have his turn, Ringo had to join in… Ringo had to sample little Mrs. Cindy Jamison! Yes, that was it! The dog had never had her before, had never shoved its hot animal cock far up into that young bitch's twitching pussy… but now Ringo was going to have that opportunity!

Still clutching the Polaroid, Samuels rushed forward to where the well-trained German Shepherd sat on its haunches by the couch, long red tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth, watching the carnal activities with eyes that, on a human, would have been feverishly excited. The venereous government employee grasped the dog's collar, pulled it around to where the smooth rounded cheeks of Mrs. Cindy Jamison's buttocks beat rhythmically at the air as she sucked voraciously, mindlessly, the cock of her hung husband's boss.

"Get her, Ringo! Get her, boy!" he excitedly spat the lewd command. "Lick her cunt! Fuck her, fuck, fuck, fuck! Go, Ringo, fuck her with your big dog cock!"

Panting, the great animal moved forward, between the blond-haired young wife's widespread legs. It lowered its head to the helpless Cindy's soft, hair-covered crotch and began to sniff it. Its tail wagged and trembled as though it had found a bitch in heat. Cindy moaned in sudden terror and understanding as the cold nose made contact with her tiny, puckered anus, as the long tongue snaked out and licked wetly up and down the crevice around it, the tip burrowing slightly into the outer fleshy anal ring.

Her eyes jerked open again, and she tried to pull Ralph Taylor's penis from her mouth, tried to twist around so that she could confirm her fears, but the manager's hands were wrapped in her soft blond hair, holding her rigid where she was. She tried to squirm her buttocks away from the hot breath, the hot animal contact, but it was useless; a greedy lapping moved up and down the narrow pink slit between her thighs, tongue running wetly the full length of it, from the tight-closed little pucker, up over the fluted, pink edges of her cunt and over the tiny sensation bud buried in her pubic mound, spreading through the soft, hair-covered lips like a knife through soft butter.

Noo! her mind cried with brief rationality. No it's that dog, I can feel its cold nose, its huge head, its hot tongue… oh, God, oh, God, no, no, not that, not that animal inside me, noooo!

But it was true, it was going to happen, and there was nothing she could do to prevent this bestiality from being vented upon her flesh. This was the final physical indignation, heaped upon the final mental indignation; she was about to be stripped of everything sacred and sacrosanct, everything innocent and clean, in this single night of overwhelming debauchery.

Ringo's tongue flicked relentlessly between the young wife's widespread legs, stopping sporadically to curl its way deep into her. She jerked spasmodically as she squirmed under the German Shepherd lapping and sniffing at her loins, her mouth working defensively, feverishly, around Ralph Taylor's bloated prick, giving him a sucking like he had never had before even by his so very experienced wife, Norma. He heaved and thrust his thundering member into the sweet, soft face of Cindy Jamison, his eyes glassily watching the huge beast rummage its head between the sweet wife's legs. Look at that bastard go! He's going to give her a ride she'll never forget as long as she lives! Oh, Christ, I hope Samuels gets some shots of this… Norma will never believe it otherwise! He moaned and thrust still harder forward, fucking deep into the face of the subjugated young housewife, as the black-haired Sally Reagan flicked her tongue into the warm rubbery sphincter muscles of his clenching asshole, breathing hotly against his quivering buttocks.

The venereous postal clerk clicked off another Polaroid photo, getting the wide-angle shot of the two women and Ralph and Ringo moving abandonedly on the threadbare carpet. One more, he thought, one more of Ringo fucking Mrs. Jamison with his long hard cock and then I'll set the timer and join in… I can't take much more of this watching… my balls are damned near set to erupt!

"Ringo, up!" he shouted. "Up, Ringo! Fuck her, boy, fuck that sweet little cunt of hers!"

The dog lifted its head from the defenseless young wife's wide-splayed crotch, then, and obediently mounted the widespread mounds of Cindy Jamison's buttocks, paws on her back. Its glistening, scarlet penis slipped from its huge sheath, dripping; the tapered point slipped and danced in the hot, wet crevice as the animal trembled and jerked, trying to bury the tapered point and thick shaft in her body.

Sobbing now, her belly afire with washes of passion from the lappings of the great beast, and in spite of her tortured thoughts, Cindy Jamison whipped her buttocks back against the sawing motions of the German Shepherd, trying to escape the desperate lunges of the animal. But instead, she succeeded only in finally capturing the lengthening shaft, in sheathing the long, scarlet organ in her voraciously grasping cuntal slit. It missed the first time, sliding up to find her momentarily relaxed anus, and then found its target with a tremendous forward jerk, burying the huge cudgel deep up in the squirming young wife's pink, clasping hole. The beast slithered forward with a wet rush until its cock was sunk to the hilt, its hairy balls swinging below her wet pubic hair.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" wailed Cindy in pain around Taylor's spasmodically quivering cock pressed far down her soft, warm throat.

Defensively, the pain of the huge member invading her pussy almost too much to bear, Cindy began to move rhythmically backwards to meet the thrust of the panting dog. As the forelegs trapped her waist, Cindy began to undulate her body in total abandonment, unable to elude the brutal thrusting pressure of the bucking Ringo and thus retaliating in the only way possible. Her large, taut breasts danced tightly beneath her writhing torso, moving in time to the skewering cock of the dog as it slid deep into her from behind, a relentless hot poker of glistening flesh burying itself deeper and deeper in her belly – and her mouth sucked and nibbled and enveloped the heavy, bloated penis of Ralph Taylor as he thrust long and hard into her sweating face.

The trembling postal clerk, Steve Samuels, snapped off his one final shot with the Polaroid, a lewd full-color shot of the panting, undulating orgy which was being performed right before his lusting eyes. He tore out the negative, waiting, counting, his cock an aching mass of throbbing flesh as he longed to join the wildly performing group on the rug, longed to shove his immense cudgel deep, deep into the quivering, upturned, clasping asshole of young Sally Reagan as she licked and kissed the writhing buttocks of Ralph Taylor.

Finally, the picture was ready and he tore it off the negative. Perfect! His spasming fingers fitted the Polaroid onto the tripod, set the timer, clicked it on. Now! Now it was his turn to get some of the delicious fucking and sucking that was going on right in his own living room!

He rushed forward, his cock held in his right hand like a battering spear about to be thrust all the way through the body of an advancing enemy. He dropped to his knees behind the swirling, naked form of Sally Reagan, teasing the hard rubbery head of his prick along the warm, grasping anal opening. Then he inserted the head quickly inside, hearing her gasp at the sudden painful invasion. He held himself there for a moment, then hissed to the young black-haired girl, "Reach one of your hands around and play with Ralph's balls while you're licking his asshole. Hurry up, the timer's going off any second now!"

Sally obeyed immediately, her right hand sliding up and around to cup the swinging, bloated sac of the automobile executive's testicles, squeezing them gently and causing him to moan in total lustful abandonment as he pile-drove his great cock into the butter-soft mouth of his star salesman's wife. And then there was a sharp click from the Polaroid on its tripod, and the flash went off, capturing the four mouth-and-genital-linked people and the wildly, pantingly bucking German Shepherd.

"Great shot, great shot!" moaned Samuels, aching to heave forward to bury his long hard cock deep up into the bowels of the squirming, mewling Sally Reagan. But he had to get that picture, had to, it was the best one of them all and he would want a copy of that one, Jesus yes! He withdrew the head of his cock, went to the camera, pulled the negative out, counting. When the picture was ready, he took one look at it, gloated elatedly, and then rushed back to his former position behind the still pumping buttocks of the young black-haired girl. He fitted his great cock into her rectal opening again, poising the head there, and then he heaved forward with a sharp exultant cry to completely impale her tightly resisting anal passage on his hard jabbing prick.

"Uuuuuhhhhhhhh!" she cried out in pain, her hand convulsively squeezing Taylor's bloated testicles, her tongue convulsively sliding deep into his anus. The electric contact caused Ralph to hammer even harder and deeper into Cindy Jamison's convoluting lips, his hands threatening to pull strands of her soft blond hair out by the roots in his paroxysms of passion. Even the great dog, Ringo, seemed to be driven on to new heights by the addition of his master, the evil Steve Samuels, to the orgiastic group, and was fucking long and hard with its slippery, hot cock into the moist flanges of young Cindy's clasping cunt.

All thoughts of photographs were gone from the minds of the two men now as they sought to relieve themselves of their great build-up of sperm. Their excitement had reached the pinnacle now, from what they had seen and arranged and slowly become a part of, and now their only considerations were the spewing of their fiery seed deep into the respective bodies of these two nakedly voluptuous young housewives.

Cindy Jamison's forehead was covered with thick beads of perspiration as she buffeted back and forth between the two invading penises imbedded in her either end, in her mouth and her anus. There was no escape from either one, for when she heaved forward to alleviate the pressure of the hammering dog's cock sunk far up into her belly, she only succeeded in thrusting Ralph Taylor's huge pulsating penis further down her throat – and when she drew back from the masculine cock filling her mouth, to keep from choking, she only skewered herself harder back on the pistoning rod of the huge furry dog.

She had no control of her mind now, no control of her body. And in her belly, hot rivers of excitement were flowing, spiraling through her flesh, causing her to tingle all over as if every one of her nerve ends had suddenly been exposed. I like it, oh, God help me, I like this, I'm excited by it, I'm excited and I want to cum… These were her only thoughts, frightening thoughts, as the fires leapt higher and higher in her body, as the hammering pricks of dog and man in two of her bodily orifices sent her soaring toward an unwanted and yet desperately sought-after orgasm. Her suckling lips tried to shout words, unintelligible words of encouragement to bring about the simultaneous ejaculations of all three of them, and of Sally Reagan and Steve Samuels whom she could see behind Ralph Taylor's rhythmically swaying torso. She wanted to be filled with sperm, animal sperm and human sperm, and in her drugged and hopeless madness that was all that mattered. She was little more than a quivering mass of sweating, lust-deranged female flesh that begged for subjugation so that the subjugation would come to an end, grinding her buttocks back in lewd revelry against the panting beast whose cock was sunk so deep in her warm, clasping channel, trying with her very soul to draw the hot torrents of cum out of Ralph Taylor's long hard cock filling her madly sucking mouth.

Steve Samuels could see the incredible gyrations which had now enveloped Cindy Jamison's body, and he thought: son of a bitch, she actually is enjoying it! She likes Ringo fucking her cunt while Ralph fucks her mouth! She's going to cum, oh, Jesus, I can tell it, she's going to cum…!

The salacious realization drove the venereous civil servant to greater hammerings of his great cock deep into the tight, clasping channel of Sally Reagan's rectal passage. She rolled and flung her buttocks back against his forward-driving shaft, feeling it deep up in her belly, and her tongue sunk itself full into the tight rubberiness of Ralph Taylor's anus as Samuels' prick was sunk full into hers. Taylor cried out at the delicious torment of his rectum, at the tickling manipulations of the black-haired girl's fingers on his testicles, and his heaving loins threatened to strangle Cindy Jamison with the expanded girth of palpitating cock sliding almost down to her larynx. And the great German Shepherd Ringo, at the other end of the chain, lolled its long wet hotly panting tongue onto the smooth skin of Cindy's back as it strove to pump its fiery animal seed deep into the blonde young wife's waiting, clasping womb.

And the tableau held like that for the next two minutes, the two men and the two women and the grunting, monstrous dog. The room was filled with panting and wheezing sounds, with the moans of the women as their bodily orifices were hammered asunder by the three rampaging cocks, with the harsh, wet slapping sounds of flesh thudding against flesh. Sweat glistened in the overhead lights off the naked, undulating bodies, and the smell of sex was strong and musky in the air.

Steve Samuels was the first of them to reach orgasm. He fucked deep and long and hard into the warmly resilient, tightly clenched anus of Sally Reagan, feeling the rubbery expanse wrapped around every inch of his hardened flesh – and then his fingers dug painfully into her hips, the nails drawing blood there, as he was no longer able to control himself, as he felt his balls erupt their great load. "I'm cumming, ohhhhhhh, aaaaahhhhhhhhhh!" he screamed in a high-pitched wail, and then his prick began to jerk out of control and the first hot boiling squirts of semen began to pour out of it to fill the black-haired girl's rectal channel as his ejaculating balls slammed resoundingly off the wet cuntal valley below. The sudden bursting of his fiery cum into her bowels caused Sally Reagan to flash her tongue sensuously in and out, in and out, of Ralph Taylor's ever working rectal mouth as if it, too, were about to cum, as if she were actually fucking him there with the long wet probe.

Taylor couldn't hold back after that. He emitted a loud, grunting sigh of release, jamming his hips forward with the full power of his thick body, burying his cock deep into the subjugated and lovely young wife's soft, warm mouth. Her throat tightened and untightened as gusher after gusher of his burning fluid swirled from his wildly jerking rod, swallowing desperately to keep from strangling on the frothing sperm, her cheeks bloating and hollowing as the cavern of her mouth filled and emptied, filled and emptied.

"Keep sucking, keep succcckkkiinngggg!" he screamed. "MILK my balls, oooohhhhhhhhhhh!"

Her Adam's apple continued to bob in rapid sequence as she fought to suck him empty, swirling her tongue round and round the throbbing glans to wipe him dry, only to be inundated by new flashes of the white hot liquid. Cindy twisted her head madly from side to side, her long blond hair churning, and her own orgasm was near to happening then as she milked the sperm from her husband's boss' cock, at the same time screwing her buttocks greedily back against the heaving German Shepherd like a she-demon gone insane. The giant animal's tongue hanging onto her sweat-slick back dripped saliva as Ringo fucked into the waving buttocks from behind. Then, without warning, the huge beast jerked forward and its cock began spitting its sperm in hard spurts deep into her clasping vagina. Cindy's rounded buttocks contracted uncontrollably, and a scream muffled out around Taylor's insanely jerking cock in her mouth. Still the German Shepherd flowed his fiery load deep into her soft, clasping cunt, and thick white liquid began to ooze from her tight channel squeezing the prick of the dog; thin trails of the sticky seed ran down the ivory columns of her thighs, and her backside glistened, displaying obscenely soaked pubic hair and pink flesh as she heaved forward against Ralph's loins, swallowing his bursting cum the same way her feminine organs were swallowing the giant dog's seed.

And then, as if the mutual cummings of the German Shepherd and the automobile executive were the final trigger of her own coming orgasm, Cindy felt the beginnings of wild, rapturous, kaleidoscopic release take hold of her own body. She gurgled mindlessly and squealed around Ralph's spasming prick, still swallowing his seemingly never ending flow of sticky hot sperm, trying not to lose a single drop of the bittersweet seed. She reached a pinnacle of pleasure almost as great as any she had ever experienced with Howard, with the man she loved, as her cum flowed and flowed and ebbed through her trembling, oscillating body…

Finally, the rapidly deflating cock of the dog, Ringo, slipped from her mauled cuntal passage with a wet sucking noise that echoed lewdly through the panting silence of the room. Then the great beast, tail wagging thankfully and satiatedly, dropped its head to her widespread crotch in one last act of obscene depravity and licked at the white sticky liquid oozing from her still quivering cunt. Cindy fell backward then, comatose on the floor, Ralph Taylor's already limp prick pulling wetly from her mouth. Taylor, too, collapsed in the aftermath of his tremendous ejaculation, muttering softly, "Oh, Jesus, that was the best ever, oh, Jesus!" And Sally Reagan and Steve Samuels, too, were now lying prone on the carpet as the heaving naked flesh of the four people gradually began to still and relax.

But that was not to be the end of the evening, not by any stretch of the imagination. Later, Cindy Jamison could not remember much of what had happened – she did not want to remember, for what she did recollect was too terrible and she immediately blanked it from her mind defensively. More pictures were taken, with groups of three and four and five, with the dog Ringo as the focal point. More cocks were thrust into the palpitating flesh of Cindy and Sally, jerking, ejaculating cocks… and there was pleasure for the young blonde wife too, more pleasure, exciting orgasms that almost but not quite approximated that one with Ringo, the German Shepherd, cumming inside her cunt while Ralph Taylor spewed his fiery seed deep into her hungrily clasping throat. On and on it went, far into the night, almost until dawn, until all the participants in this lewd play were too exhausted to continue, until Ralph Taylor finally told Steve Samuels that they would have to call it a night, though he was sure that they would be seeing one another again…

Cindy Jamison, sick at soul, with human and animal seed commingling in her body that had been pumped in through all three of her bodily orifices, satiated with hateful, unwanted sexual gratification, never knew how she got home. She did not feel Ralph Taylor dress her and carry her out to where his car was parked at the rear of the postal clerk's house, and then drive her to her cottage. Nor did she feel Ralph carry her into the house and put her to bed, and then kiss her matted pubic mound once, smilingly, before he left her.

She only knew that when she awoke, with the first gray light of dawn filtering through the bedroom curtains, she was alone and in her own bed.

CHAPTER NINE

Cindy was lying in the darkened bedroom, staring at the ceiling and trying to blank her mind against the recurring images of what had happened in the home of Steve Samuels, when the telephone rang at four o'clock the next afternoon.

She lay there, stiffly listening to the incessant ringing sound, not wanting to answer it, not wanting to talk to anyone. But then, with the ingrained instinct of all humans to answer the doorbell or the telephone when it rings finally overcoming her apathy, she swung out of bed and listlessly shrugged into her robe. She moved slowly into the living room, her body aching from bruises in a half-dozen places, her vagina and anal passage still sore and rubbed raw from the merciless drubbing of the lust-hardened penises of Steve Samuels and Ralph Taylor and that impossible German Shepherd.

The soul-sick young wife lifted the receiver, cutting the bell off in mid-ring, and said lifelessly, "Hello?"

"Cindy? Honey, is that you?"

Howard. I don't want to talk to him, she thought. I don't want to ever see or talk to him again, I hate him, I hate him for what he's done to me, what he's made me become. But instead of slamming the receiver down, she pressed it tightly to her ear, as if her physical being was acting in direct disobedience to the demands of her brain. She said, "Yes, Howie, it's me."

"You sound funny," Howard's voice came over the wire. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, just fine," she replied. "Where are you, Howie?"

"Still in Monterey." His tone lost its momentary concern, and became edged with excitement and eagerness. "Honey, are you sitting down? I've got some news that's going to shock the pants right off of you." He laughed with boyish verve.

I've got some news that will do the same for you, Howie, Cindy thought. But I'll never tell it to you. I hate you, and yet I still love you, too… I love you too much to tell you about your boss Ralph Taylor, and about Steve Samuels, and about that dog…

She said only, "What is it, Howie? What news do you have?"

"Well, hang onto the telephone," said Howard enthusiastically, his words jumbling together in his excitement. "I met a man here in Monterey, at this meeting I attended. His name is Charley Dawes, and he owns a large auto dealership up in San Francisco. Well, we got to talking and then got to be pretty good friends, and I outlined some ideas I've got for a promotional deal. He liked them, honey; he thought they were really great! He's offered me a job, Cindy, and not just any job either! He wants me to manage his main lot, in South San Francisco, for almost double what I'm making at Auto Circus! What do you think of that!"

Cindy was momentarily taken aback. A new job? In San Francisco? But that meant…

Howard was talking again, bubbling happily. "Of course, this means we'll have to move up there, leave all our friends down here. And we'll have to go immediately, too, because Charley wants me to start as soon as possible. I hate to have to give such short notice to Ralph and Buddy Lathrop – they've been damned decent to me – but if I want the job I don't have any choice. And it's just too good an opportunity to pass up. What do you think, honey? You don't mind moving up to San Francisco, do you?"

Cindy wanted to laugh, to scream hysterically at him that my God, no, she didn't mind! It was an out, an escape from Ralph and Norma Taylor, from her mailing indiscretions with the postal department, from the evil, depraved Steve Samuels and his monstrous dog! She was going to have another chance, a chance to start over, to blot these terrible past few weeks from her mind… and yes, a chance to pick up the shattered pieces of her marriage to Howard. She still loved him – there was such a fine line between love and hate – loved him desperately, in spite of what he had done to her. She would never tell him what had happened, that she had learned he was unfaithful to her and that he had willfully given her flesh and her gift of oral love to his boss, Ralph Taylor. They would begin anew in San Francisco, loving only each other, away from the evil influence of the Taylors; all was not lost for her, after all!

Cindy felt stirrings of life inside her body once again, where there had been only deadness since she had awakened that morning. She was not happy – no, it would take a long time before that emotion would be a part of her again – but she was alive and she had hope. She had hope…

"I don't mind it at all, Howie. I think it's a wonderful idea, a marvelous idea. I want to move to San Francisco, I want to very much. I agree that it's a wonderful opportunity for us."

"Fine isn't the word for it!" enthused Howard. "Imagine, baby, your old man a Lot Manager! And that's only the beginning. Why, in a couple of years I could get to be General Manager, and then, if things work out, I might have enough pull and prestige to be able to branch out and open up my own agency…"

"Howie," Cindy interrupted softly, "Howie, when will you be home? I want to see you, Howie. I want to talk to you face to face."

"I'll be leaving here about seven; have to meet Charley for drinks at five to talk contracts and iron out the details. But I wanted to call you before I went, to see if it was all right."

"Then you'll be home around nine?"

"Should be, uh-huh."

"Hurry, won't you?"

"You bet I will," Howard said. "I love you."

"Yes, Howie," said Cindy, and gently broke the connection.

She walked with her head up now, back into the bedroom, and sat down on the edge of the bed. A new life… a return to some semblance of the kind of existence they had had before that awful anniversary gift of the Taylors, the Polaroid camera… a new life, and everything was going to be all right for her and Howard in San Francisco…

And then Cindy Jamison's eyes moved inadvertently to the other side of the darkened bedroom, and fell upon the black-cased Polaroid camera which lay on Howard's dresser. She stared at it for a long moment, and as she did, a tingling sensation began in her loins and in her mind there flashed the images of photographs, full-color snapshots of her nude and making love to Howard, to Ralph Taylor, to Steve Samuels, to the dog, Ringo… sharp in detail, these photos in her mind, clear and vivid and exciting, setting her afire, building her desires…

Suddenly, Cindy Jamison was afraid again. A new life? Yes, that much was true… but what kind of new life? Was it to be as she had pictured talking to Howie on the telephone, a return to their blissful existence of before? Or was it to be something else, an entirely different kind of new life, one which was founded on emancipation and the fulfillment of sexual desire no matter how depraved and the total abandonment of self to the pleasures of the flesh? A life of photographs, and exchange clubs, of wife swapping and worse? Which one would it be?

The first one, the young housewife thought fervently. The first one, just Howie and I together, no dirty pictures and no evil swapping, nothing except each other rebuilding our love and our trust in one another. Yes, that's the one it will be, I know it.

And yet, in spite of her resolve, Cindy Jamison could not seem to take her eyes off the Polaroid camera laying ominously on the dresser across the room… as though… as though, it too, in time to come, might have something to say about the matter…

Content

William Davis
The Polaroid club book II

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE