Peter Jensen

The blackmailed mother book I

CHAPTER ONE

A light drizzle and a leaded sky with scudding clouds greeted Lonnie Carmel when she awoke in the half light of the early morning. She had left the bedroom window open slightly, and the cool air which blew through the crack rustled the flowers on the nightstand and rippled across the thin sheet which covered her. She stirred; frowning at first as she unconsciously tried to cover herself with more, then became fully awake and saw that the blanket was knotted at the foot of the bed.

Damnation, she thought, sitting up abruptly to grab the blanket. Another night of tossing and turning. She hated to sleep alone, and that was the problem. Her husband, Roger, was gone on another trip. Business, always business, him and his new job at Skopos, Incorporated. He never had time to be a husband to her any more, and she… well, she was little more than a pretty doll for him to use when he was around. She wasn't a wife, she was just someone – almost like a whore – for him to have sex with, always available.

Piqued, she stopped unfolding the blanket. Sleep was gone now, impossible in spite of the early hour of the morning. She stretched languidly on the bed, releasing the last of her stupor.

Lonnie Carmel was a wife any man would be proud to have. Her husband called her a "sex machine that can cook", and said it with a grin. Her long, raven-black hair cascaded down over her shoulders as she stretched, curled around her full breasts and made a contrast to her blush-red nipples and aureole. Her breasts were still firm and taut, even though she was the mother of a fifteen-year-old daughter, and she was increasingly glad that she had followed her doctor's regimen when Jennifer was born. The exercises she'd done faithfully had prevented the slightest trace of stretch marks from the birth, and she could walk around in a bikini and still look like she was Jennifer's older sister and not her mother.

The sheet had slid down to her girlish waist and her round, tapered thighs. She kicked the sheet aside with her long, slim legs and stood up, flouncing her hair and yawning. She was naked, as she always slept; naked and desirable. Her face went well with her body, a sort of pouty, sensual, flirtatious look about it with its small nose and full ripe mouth and large hazel eyes. There was nothing aloof about her; it was pure animal, pure female.

Lonnie giggled to herself as she crossed to the window and shut it. A little shiver of delight passed through her stomach as she recalled the number of men who stared at her, their eyes and the bulge in their loins hard and wanting. And of their propositions even though most of them knew that she was married – not that she had ever been unfaithful. Of course, a little coy flirting never hurt anybody, and it made her feel so good. She'd never let the game get out of hand, and she didn't intend to, but it was nice to know that a woman of her years could still attract, still arouse men on a basic, primitive level.

Not that her husband seemed to take all that notice. Damn, damn – how long had it been this time since she'd had Roger inside her? She leaned on the window sill and stated out at the wind-whipped yard and answered herself: too long. If it hadn't been for the bright visits and constant chatter of her best friend, Cylvia Oliss – who also happened to be the wife of Skopos' vice-president in charge of marketing – well, if it hadn't been for Cylvia to help take her mind off things, Laurie didn't know what she would have done, how she could have managed this long…

When Lonnie had called herself a whore, it had been with a slight tingle, a secret thrill the way forbidden thoughts can do. She enjoyed the sex which she gave her husband, wanted and needed it, and was at the moment naked and desirable – and desiring.

"Hurry up, Roger," she moaned aloud to herself. "Hurry up and get home." Roger was due in sometime today and she ached to see him again. It was always like this, when he was gone. Not so bad at first, but progressively more frustrating until by the day he leas expected back, she was nearly crazy with her anticipations and pent-up needs. I could have him make love to me from now until Christmas without stopping, she groaned inwardly.

She smiled ironically as she turned from the window and lay down on the bed again. Her mother had given her interesting advice when she'd first married, advice which was now a sore point between her and Roger. Her mother'd said: "You keep a man with good looks and a hot body. Anything else he can buy in a store." Sure – only you needed the opportunity to use that burning little trap between the legs.

The opportunity was going to come in a little while, she hoped. The very thought of Roger taking her, spreading her thighs and hammering his hardened penis long and deep inside her belly was exciting. She cupped her breasts as she sat on the bed, examining the nipples, slightly startled at the way they suddenly began to harden. She moved back so that she could lean against the head rest and look down at them and tweak the nipples between her thumbs and fingers until they were fully enlarged. It was overwhelming her, this manipulation of her sensitive breasts, just as it always had. Some women aren't aroused by their breasts being touched, others are teased only if their nipples are softly stroked. But Lonnie had always had nerve endings more exposed than most; sometimes even wearing a brassiere sent waves of delicious feelings soaring through her.

Now, as she stared down at the white globes jutting from her, she was doubly excited by the realization that soon, very soon, her husband would be placing his hands on them, caressing them, kissing them hotly… With a low mewl of passion, she let one hand slowly move from her breasts and down her smooth, flat plane of a stomach, down to the soft curling fleece of her pubic triangle, then out around her thighs and buttocks, then dipping once more to the lips of her pussy. Closing her eyes against the guilt in her mind she let her fingers open the swollen, moist lips, part the pubic hair, and slide in, finding the clitoris waiting and eager. She circled the quivering bud, spreading the rising juices in a slow caress, groaned softly between clenched teeth as her probing finger felt its way to her open, wet cunt-hole. Her thighs widened to her squirming touch, and she pinched the tender pink skin of her vaginal lips and mouth, luxuriating in the sharp pain as her hips jerked upwards.

Then she jammed her fingers into her hungry pussy, and she pressed herself tightly to the mattress as she masturbated, writhing and twisting, her thighs pumping in time to her plunging fingers. The cords of her neck stood out and the mattress squeaked as she lashed and bucked with the fever of her sexual urgings.

"Oh… God… oh God," she moaned. She felt like a panther, rubbing herself this way, and she knew that if just the thought of Roger returning did this to her, his real arrival would be absolute heaven. "Oh… God… I want… Roger!"

Suddenly she heard a car stop in front of the home, and a door slam. In another moment, the car slipped into gear and sped away. Who could that be? she asked herself, her hand frozen in midstroke, still in her cunt. Is it Roger? He's taken a taxi home?

As if in answer, the front door of the house opened loudly, and she heard the familiar sound of his footsteps. She quickly removed her toying fingers and whipped the sheet over her. A warm flush ripped through her… Roger, Roger, hurry to me, please… I need you so much right now. Then the bedroom door banged, and a muscular, tall man with cropped brown hair and a round, open face entered, his hands gripping the handles of two suitcases. "Hi, honey!" he said breathlessly: "Took the first flight I could." He dropped the bags just inside the door and came toward her. "Boy, it's good to be home again."

"Shh," she said. "You'll wake Jennifer." She laughed delightedly. "Shut the door and come here and give your wifey a big kiss. God! How I've missed you!"

He did as she asked, and then his arms were around her and her lush lips were against his as she claw to him. "Darling… darling," she whispered in his ear. "I love you, my darling."

Roger kissed his wife again, then pulled away from her. "I don't have much time. Have to be at the office, you know." He grinned at her and began to loosen his shirt and tie. "Just enough time for a quick shower and change."

"Business," she pouted. "Why don't you spend sometime with your wife any more? Are you tired of her?"

"Lonnie, you know better to that," Roger said. He stood up, freeing himself from the near-tentacle grasp of his fevered wife. He unbuckled his pants and removed his shirt. "That's why I took the early flight, just so I could see you."

Impulsively, she let the sheet fall away from her nude body and stretched out, letting his eyes feast on the thighs and breasts and legs he loved so well. She raised one leg and let it part so he could see the black pubic hair, slightly damp from her fingerings, and her teasingly puffed vaginal lips. "All of me, Roger?" she asked in a husky voice. Little butterfly sensations flitted in her tummy as she saw the effect her display was having on her husband. She licked her lips. She felt so wicked; but he was her husband after all!

Roger Carmel gaped with utter fascination at the breathtaking sight of his wife stretched out so wantonly on the bed. It was a replica of the vision he had beheld the previous two weeks as he'd lay in his motel bed and stared at the yellowed ceiling and wished his cock was in something warm and moist like her cunt and his arms were tight around her as he spewed his seed into her womb. It was an erotic spectacle and he swallowed tightly.

"… Lonnie…" he whispered hoarsely. He dropped his pants, and stepped out of them, leaving them to puddle with his shirt and shoes on the floor. He was now only in his underpants and socks, and his cock began to thicken with pulsing blood, hardening from the lascivious sight of his wife tantalizingly smiling at him. He glanced at the clock on the dresser. There wasn't time… he had to get to work.

With a frustrated moan, he tore his eyes from her and walked stiff-legged to the bathroom. "Tonight, honey. Tonight we'll make love. I'd, I'd like to now… but there's not enough time."

Lonnie wanted to cry with the overwhelming agony inside her. She'd done everything she could to interest him, and still his business was more important. She fought back tears of frustration as she heard the shower go on and her husband step into the tub and pull the curtain closed. Again she touched her throbbing vagina, gently managing the warm flesh. She rubbed harder and harder as the spray in the bathroom beat a tattoo against the tub, and she felt her cunt palpitate against the palm of her hand with heavy sexual excitement. Then the shower ended, and after a few moments, Roger reappeared, rubbing the drops of water away with a large bathtowel.

"Roger," Lonnie groaned, her voice provocative and husky. "Roger, don't get dressed… please, not yet."

Roger came over to the bed. "Honey, you've got to understand. I've only got an hour."

The sight of his soft cock, nestled against his balls incited still further passion from the starved young woman. She patted the bed beside her. "Sit down, Roger. Just for a minute. That's all. Spend a minute with me."

Her husband sat on the edge of the mattress as if he was giving himself running room to escape. He couldn't keep his eyes off Lonnie, in spite of his vow to be on time at the office. There was so much to do… the meeting scheduled for ten… But right before him was the sensuous, squirming details of her nakedness resplendently clear, from her erotic red nipples downward to the delicate triangle of soft, black pubic hair beneath her still flat, almost virginal white plane of her abdomen.

"Darling, don't I please you any more?" she said plaintively. Her hand was encircling his waist now and slowly slid over his hips and thighs and into his loins. He groaned with the sensations of her feather-light touch. The erection which had half begun when he'd first undressed and she'd displayed her body so salaciously had gone down in the shower. When he'd emerged from the bathroom, toweling himself dry, his cock was thoroughly limp and his thoughts were entirely on what he and his assistant, Martin Oliss, were going to say at the meeting.

But now he found that he couldn't move from the bed. His penis did all the moving – straight up, leaping into full, raging erection. His wife's hand was around it now, tenderly stroking it up and down as only she could, and then she took his heavy testicles and softly rolled them between her fingers.

She looked up at him, smiling cattishly. "You like what I'm doing, Roger darling?"

Roger didn't answer. He couldn't, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His heart hammered with the beating of his transformation from businessman to lover… there was no way of stopping it, he realized. His cock's large hardness couldn't be denied. Neither could his wife. He glanced at the clock with agonized eyes. He wasn't going to make that meeting at this rate.

Then, suddenly he didn't care. His wife's ministrations and sensuous provocations were too much. Nothing else mattered to him now but plunging his aching cock into her delightful flesh, and Roger reached for Lonnie, his hand slipping gently beneath her dark tresses and drawing her head to him. Their lips met momentarily and then broke apart… reaching out but not quite touching. He drew her closer, grasping her lower lips between his teeth and pulling the moist, soft flesh into his mouth… his teeth slipped off and his lips enfolded her as he sucked her lips into her mouth.

"Darling… darling," she murmured as he sucked.

Lonnie felt a tingling shock run icily into her. Her darting tongue wedged beyond his lips, back inside, over the roof, and across the front of his teeth, caressing… always caressing.

Roger leaned forward, his momentum carrying them both back onto the pillow and he crushed his mouth harder against hers, his arms pressing her to the pillow. He raised himself and rolled, half sitting, so that he was beside her. Lonnie lay back against the sheets obediently, her arms wide and her legs slightly spread…

"Yes, Roger," she whispered softly, her lashes shadowing her cheeks as she closed her eyes. "Please take me… take me…"

"Yes, yes…" he managed to say. He ran his hands over her throbbing breasts and down her belly, into the sob, fleshy folds of her cunt where moments before she had played with herself.

Lonnie moaned, her body alive to his caresses. Her creamy satin skin was a lamina of hot desire. God! she wanted him! Her body cried out to be loved tenderly and totally… as he was doing now. She wanted him to merge with her, crawl up inside her and possess her and quell the raging torrents that were building up in the very depths of her soul from his maddening strokings. Dear Lord, her husband – the only man she could give herself to without fear of guilt – was making her deliriously happy.

"Oh yessss," she whimpered. "Oh yes, Roger, touch me there. There… oh yes, therrrrre!" she moaned, helplessly caught up in the tingling pricks of lust that were dancing through her. She sensed the dewdrops of moisture rising between her open thighs as the exposed hair-lined lips of her pussy began to spasmodically contract wetly against one another. Roger ran the tip of his tongue around the rim of her ear and plunged it deep inside. Her whole being seemed aflame with a febrility of surging senses. She couldn't wait much longer or she would go mad!

"Ohhhhh!" she cried. "I want you inside me! Now darling! Now!"

Lonnie twisted her husband's hair, pulling him violently over her. "Please, darling! Please!"

The strange obscenity of her passion-filled pleas excited Roger to a frenzied, blinding furor. He sensed his cock and testicles aching with blood-filled lust, and then suddenly grow flame-hot as one of his wife's hands closed like a steel trap over the thick, glistening penis. It pulsed wickedly against the palm of her hand as the slid up and down the hard flesh, and insane with lust, he didn't need further urging. He grabbed her jutting breasts and rolled on top of her, her legs wide and cradling his hips. The flowering lips of her cunt widened, and she guided his hardened cock to the wetness between her legs, her groans of desperate agony seething in his ear. She rubbed his swollen penis along her open pink slit and parted the soft, resilient pubic hair unto it was nestled teasingly in the entrance to her vagina.

Her husband clamped his fingers into the full cheeks of her buttocks and rammed his body downward. His swelling cock disappeared into her cuntal tunnel with a wet sucking sound.

Lonnie groaned. Her body tightened into an arch of hardened passion at the initial entry split the walls of her vagina. Then she writhed under the rising heat of her delirious sensations, her belly squirming. She raised up under the pressure of his fingers, the glistening prick sliding out until its coronal ridge caught at the straining lips of her cunt, then surged in again. Up and down, faster and faster… and Lonnie's face contorted with passion and her nostrils flared open as her breath burned her lungs.

Roger felt the smooth raw flesh of his passion-aroused wife's pussy clasp him tightly, pulse against his pumping shaft until his balls felt ready to explode, and he lost all track of time as the excruciating pleasure rocked through him. He drove deeper and deeper into her vagina with each thrust of his buttocks. His wife twisted her head from side to side, flaying her hair against the white pillow, and rode his cock like a bitch in heat. She drove her hips up, screwing every inch of his cock and routing the huge head around in her seething belly, causing Roger to gasp and quiver. A fierce storm whirlwinded through him as his penis sucked deep in her pussy and battered her cervix. He felt the eruption of his boiling sperm starting deep in his groin, and knew he was about to come.

Lonnie sensed it, too. She could feel her husband's cock swelling and straining against the moist ribs of her fleshy vaginal walls. She begged: "Please… not yet. Not yet… wait for me, wait… please!" Her legs splayed wider and she bucked and writhed on the wildly squeaking mattress, her loins insatiable. "Now… harder…!"

Not even Lonnie, crazed with desire building for the last two weeks, or her husband, a rutting animal of pagan demands, would have been so wild and free if they'd known that less than four feet away, two small eyes were watching them with glittering, unbelieving intensity.

***

Jennifer Carmel opened her eyes with a start, blinking rapidly in the darkened bedroom. She had been awakened by the front door opening loudly, then the thunk of a couple of heavy things hitting the floor. At the time she didn't realize that what she had heard were the suitcases her daddy had carried into the bedroom. Jennifer strained her ears to catch any more sounds, but everything was silent, save for a muffled kind of talking coming from the direction of her parent's bedroom.

Daddy was home!

With a thrill, the young teenager jumped out of bed, landing lightly on the carpet in her bare feet. She was a lot like her mother, only in younger miniature. Her pert face had the same frame of coal-black hair hanging loosely, the same color in her lovely eyes, and the same up-thrust nose and full lips. Her father had given her a pale, almost iridescent quality to her skin and thinner arms and shoulders than her mother's, and a slightly higher cast to her cheekbones, which made her all the more sensual and provocative. Her breasts were smaller because they weren't quite as developed as he mother's, but they never would be as ripe or full; they were as if carved by a master ivory craftsman, small pointed cones which had peaks of black-berry-like nipples. Her buttocks were almost boyish, lithe and feline like some predatory cat's.

She was wearing her favorite nighty, a soft pink peignoir, Empire cut with a small red bow bunching the material under her breasts, acting as a sort of loose bra to jut them like display goods on a shelf. Not that she needed support for her breasts – they were firm and resilient like unripe peaches. The gown fell just below her thighs; it had once been a set with a pair of matching panties, but after Jennifer had discovered that wonderful playground between her legs, she made sure that the panties were conveniently lost.

Jennifer was a lot like her mother mentally and emotionally as well as physically.

She heard the shower go on then, and smiled to herself. Daddy was taking a shower; she couldn't go in the bedroom now. But she would in a little while, and run up and give him a big kiss. Maybe he'd be in his bathrobe and naked underneath and she'd accidentally brush against him and feel his thing against her leg. She liked doing that…

Not that she'd ever seen him naked. She hadn't seen any boy naked, except for the few little babies she'd changed while babysitting. All they had were little worms between their legs which wouldn't get hard no matter how much she diddled them. She'd heard that a man's thing… his penis! – was large and could get like stone. She'd been told that by her best girlfriend, Tamera Oliss.

Jennifer sat down on the edge of the bed and passed the time while her father was in tile shower by thinking briefly of Tamera. It was neat having her parents so close to Tam's parents; mothers bridge-club partners, their fathers working for the same company. Tam was a grade higher than she was, but that didn't stop the popular and vivacious girl from being friends – really good friends – with Jennifer. And Tamera was going steady with Vic Statler, the high-school's star half-back, a muscular, handsome boy which made all the girls swoon (including Jennifer), just as if he had stepped out of a movie magazine. How had Tamera ever latched onto such a boy?

Jennifer had an idea how: sex. Tam was, well, "experienced", Jennifer was sure, and probably from Vic… but what a way to go! Just thinking about those strong arms around her made her go all goose-pimply. Not that Jennifer had ever asked Tamera about it; that would be bad taste; but after that episode in the girl's shower room last April…

Jennifer had walked into the deserted locker room after staying late to practice volleyball. She'd undressed and walked into the showers, and there was Tamera! The older girl was sitting on the floor, her back to the tile, the spray of the shower beating down between her legs. And her hand was down there, rubbing as fast as it could. Tamera was moaning and her eyes were clenched; thinking she was in pain, Jennifer had rushed over and asked what she could do. Tamera had told her, after she'd gotten the innocent girl to lie down beside her and spread her own legs wide…

The thought of Tamera's cool fingers on her little pubic lips made Jennifer blush, and she averted her eyes from the image in her mirror. They didn't talk about such things in her sex and health class, but she knew instinctively that adults would disapprove. Tamera and she had gotten together a few times after that, to play with each other's pussy – and once Tam had persuaded Jennifer to let her be kissed there, but Jennifer had gotten scared after a couple of minutes and made Tam stop.

But Jennifer hadn't stopped wanting to feel those strange, scintillating feelings that she'd been introduced to in the shower room. She never let the boys who dated her do it to her… never! She was going to be married a virgin like her mother did, and anything past necking and fondling her breasts was strictly off limits. There were times after a drive-in movie or party when she'd cried out her frustrations in her pillow, for a boy she'd really liked at the time would have gotten her hotter than the hinges of hell. But after a few weeks the boy would no longer be important to her, and she would grow fond of another boy, and she had known that to give into one wouldn't be good. She wasn't ready to settle down, to truly fall in love.

Of course, no boy had come along like Tam's football star, but when he did – if he did – Jennifer knew instinctively that she'd have an awful time keeping her resolutions.

So the use of her fingers had proven a salvation, a release from the gnawing frustrations which ripped through her sensitive skin now and then. Especially after a heavy date, for when she'd finished her cry, she'd relax, and let her fingers do the walking…

She realized that the shower was over, and went to the door. It was going to be nice, seeing her father again. She padded out of her room, which was at one end of the long, tri-level home, and passed through the kitchen and living room, and stepped down the wide, shallow steps to the hall leading to the guest room, patio, and master bedroom.

"Yes, Roger. Please take me… take me…"

Jennifer froze on the landing, hand gripping the wooden railing. That was her mother! She had never sounded that way before! Was she sick? Or was she…! A flash of an image came across the teenager's mind. Was her mother and her father doing things in there? Were they making love? A weird anticipatory tingling started growing in the pit of the girl's stomach. She'd never seen two people make love, though she'd often wondered about what it would look like, especially as she was masturbating. Then she would imagine herself under the heaving frame of the boy who'd fired her sexual desires that particular night. She'd never really thought about her parents doing it. They'd have to – she was here, wasn't she? The image of a hard, swollen penis screwing into her mother leaped up and she trembled with guilt. She told herself she should go back to her room and get dressed. She could see Daddy later, afterwards… and the thought of the act which she would have to patiently wait to end made her suck in her breath. Stop it! Stop it!

"Oh yesssss," her mother crooned again. "Oh yes, Roger, touch me there. There… oh yes, therrrrre!"

Jennifer found herself drawn down the hall, her pussy twitching with lewd thoughts. She couldn't do anything anyway, for the door to the bedroom was shut. She hunkered down by the door, every nerve and fibre of her tender young body on fire from the forbidden thrill of listening in on her parents. Her heart stopped and ache dared not to even gasp. Strange noises continued to flood her ears from the other side, their intensity increasing with every passing second. With a mind of its own, her right hand inched toward the handle. Did she dare to open it, just a crack?

"Ohhhhh! I want you inside me! Now! Now!"

Heavy rushed breathing and the staccato sounds of squeaking bedsprings punctuated by animal-like groans and moans blinded the teenager's normal sense of decency and decorum. Goaded to an uncontrollable pitch of curiosity and sexual arousal, she took a deep breath and slowly turned the handle down, not making a sound. She inched the door open, then open another fraction…

She paled and her eyes bulged wide, and a cold chill ran crazily up the full length of her spine.

The foot of the bed was pointed right at the door so that she could see the complete carnal scene. Her father and mother were making love violently! Jennifer could even see her father's thick, hard penis disappearing and reappearing into her mother's softly hair-ringed pussy with each piledriving thrust and withdrawal that he made. Her mother had her legs splayed wide on either side of his plunging body and periodically she would kick them high in the air then wrap them around her husband's driving buttocks, her ankles locking tightly behind his thighs, pulling him into her with all her strength.

Jennifer could feel the sweat flowing freely on her young body, trickling down beneath the folds of her pink nighty. She had a strange sense of not being a part of herself, the shock of actually viewing sexual intercourse that strong on her, and she couldn't understand it. Down between her clenched thighs her tight, still virgin cunt was tingling like it had never tingled before. She thought fleetingly of leaving… but she continued to watch with hypnotic fascination, now beyond it rationality.

She centered her gaze on the muscles straining out on her mother's inner thighs as Lonnie Carmel struggled like a drug-crazed nymphomaniac to get her husband deeper inside her hungrily sucking vagina. Jennifer's father was cupping her naked buttocks with a savage strength that cut red, bloodless lines into the full, uplifted moons. He squeezed her buttocks together, forcing the walls of her vagina tighter around the thickness of his rigid pelvis, and Jennifer studied the thin, moistly glistening lips of her mother's pussy as they strove to milk the giant shaft of its strength. The teenager could see the thinly parted pubic hairs grazing teasingly against the narrow ridge which ran the full length of the underside of her father's penis.

Jennifer heard the almost incoherent moanings as, her parents thrashed around on their bed. Goaded to a mind-warping frenzy of abandon, the little girl brought her hand down along her body and across her thighs, to rest against her own tender pubic mound, and then to rub it back and forth through the silken material of her shorty nightgown. She could feel wetness flowing on her thighs and down her inner legs, and she sat on the rug and chanced opening the door a little bit more so that she could see better from her sitting position. She gathered the hem of her nighty, bunching it up along her firm, young thighs, exposing the whiteness of them and the young, sparse growth of her pubic hair. Again she lowered her hand to her pussy mound and began to rub – faster and faster in a froth of passion and empathetic emotions.

Her mother's mewls of pleasure were becoming more desperate, and the glazed eyes of the daughter stayed glued on the lewd, obscene coupling taking place a few feet away. Jennifer's middle finger slid along her wet cunt lips and found her clitoris, teased it with her fingernail and felt waves of consuming lust rip through her. She dropped her finger still lower, insinuating it in her now thirstily throbbing vagina, pumping in rhythm to the fucking on the bed while her thumb toyed with her erect little clitoris.

The girl was caught up in the passion of the occasion. She wriggled on the rug and let her wet thighs open completely and propped one leg on the door jamb, and the shock of the autumnal cool air in the house wafted over her steaming cunt and gave her a new shudder of ecstasy. The wet, sucking sound of her masturbation was clearly discernible to her ears, and her little body heaved and bucked from her whipping fingerings. She secreted heavily, more heavily that she'd ever remembered.

Roger Carmel was grinding down faster now, and the groans and howls were furious. He smacked against his wife, driving her deep down into the groaning mattress with each mighty surge. The loud clap of belly against belly, testicles against buttocks, were like claps of thunder. His wife curled and uncurled her legs in wild desperation around his hips, and both of the adults were breathing wildly, with rivulets of perspiration streaming down their pumping and hollowing loins.

Jennifer wanted to scream to wail as she became delirious with her own maddening passions, straining to hold back the explosion which was threatening to inundate her like a tidal wave. She nearly went out of her mind as she heard her mother moan: "Please… not yet, not yet wait for me, wait for me… please!" And then after a few more moments: "Now… harder…!"

The young teenager's breath rasped in her throat. They were going to climax! Her parents were going to come any second now! And she was watching it! Frantically she moved her clitoris, her cunt, her buttocks and anus with the fingers of both hands, impaling herself as deep as her hands would go. She was going to come too!

"I'm going… I'm going to come, Roger!" Jennifer could almost imagine herself saying that instead of her mother. She ground harder and deeper, quivering under the pressure, gasping for imminent release.

Lonnie Carmel screamed, "AAhhhhh!"

And then her husband's low cry of climax came as he burst his seeds of love inside his wife. "Oooooooohhhhhhh, me tooooo!"

The daughter heard the sounds of their orgasms, and watched wide-eyed as her parents scrambled for completion. Her mother's buttocks began small, spasmodic jerkings up tight against her father's penis. At the same time, Roger Carmel groaned above his wife and his thick, fleshy cock throbbed out milky white semen, leaping bursts of his cum which inundated her vagina and cascaded hotly out from around the pink, wet lips of her cuntal opening.

Jennifer could see the stream of her father's ejaculations running down the widespread crevice of her mother's desperately jerking buttocks and pool thickly on the sheet below. Then, as if by remote control, her parent's cumming triggered her own. She strained and stretched her legs out in sudden convulsion and the earth seemed to open up beneath her. She lifted herself off the rug in a trembling arch and grasped the bone wall of her pussy and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.

Then suddenly she collapsed, sliding to the floor, and breathed raggedly. She could hear noises from the bedroom, but they were noises of contentment and not of passion. She peered in with dull, half-lidded eyes and saw that her mother and father were laying still.

She beard her father say: "Oh Christ, honey, took at the time. I'm going to be late."

"Wasn't it worth it?"

"Sure, but…"

A shock of panic went through the daughter. Her father was getting up! As much as she wanted to stay and see his sperm-emptied penis as he slipped it from her mother's vagina, she couldn't risk the chance of being detected. Exhausted, her body protesting, she dragged herself to her feet and wobbled slightly, her nighty sticking to the damp sides of her thighs and the wet matted hair of her cunt. She looked around and down and saw the wet spot on the carpet where she'd lain, and as her mind returned to sanity, she felt shamed and a little dirty for what she'd done. She clutched her gown around her protectively and groped her way back to her bedroom. But she didn't feel revolted, only satiated with pleasure.

Speaking of time, she told herself, once safe in the sanctity of her own room, I don't hare much of it myself! There was less than half an hour before school stated, and she had to catch the bus four blocks away.

In a frenzied hurry, she wriggled out of her nighty. The swift change from shameless little wanton to schoolgirl was not only necessitated by the time, but also because it saved her from dwelling on what she'd witnessed and done. A blanking of the mind – a salvation so that she wouldn't have to face the responsibilities for her actions. Naked, she went through her bureau and found a clean pair of panties, which she stepped into, her fingers tugging their elastic band until the smooth round cheeks of her buttocks and the soft mound of her cunt were snugged tight. She looked down to find a bra, and caught the sight of her tight panties and the split of full young vaginal lips, still swollen from her masturbation.

A moment of tiny shock crowed her mind, her body blending dangerously into the melting pot of sensuality she'd so recently partaken of. Then she quickly slipped into her blouse and miniskirt, and picked up her comb to untangle her hair. As she looked into her mirror and studied her dark waves, she saw that her mini skirt clung to her buttocks and was more than half way upper tanned thighs, with slight creases in front where her legs joined her hips. With sudden awareness she realized that she could almost see the lips of her vagina… and another forbidden thrill passed through her, followed by a blush as she recalled the last few minutes and one experience she'd never had before. Embarrassed, she collected her homework and books.

She quickly left her room, only to find that her parent; still weren't out of their bedroom. She didn't have time to wait, even though she would have liked to have said hello to her father – and then decided it was probably just as well. After catching them doing what they had been doing, she wasn't sure she could look them in the eye. She went to the front door and opened it.

"Mom! Daddy!" she called over her shoulder. "Gotta run or I'll be late! See you when I get home from school!"

Not waiting for an answer, she raced down the front walk of her home; letting the door slam behind her.

CHAPTER TWO

The offices of Skopos, Incorporated were on the fifth floor of the old Antler Building, along Second Avenue in downtown Rapier City. Roger Carmel parked his Ford stationwagon in the basement garage of the building across the street, and then walked down the street to the Antler Building, hurrying because he was late.

Not that he could really mind that he was late… the interlude of loving with his wife had made him feel better than he had in the last couple of weeks. No doubt about it: sex was the greatest tranquilizer in the world. He needed the eager arms and hot body of his lovely wife more than he could tell her; he needed her understanding and warmth and support, especially in these final few months before the coup was realized that was going to put Skopos on the tongue of every person in the country. He was sorry that he wasn't able to be around her much these last weeks, but it couldn't be helped. A little effort now, a little sacrifice, and the whole Carmel family would be able to retire with ease, and he could start making up the lost time.

Roger frowned as he thought of his beautiful young wife, Lonnie, pouting. He was doing all of this for her, couldn't she understand it? She wasn't very understanding about what was necessary, always demanding more of his time and attention than he could afford to give, as if the future didn't matter. It was always now, now… but that was like a woman, he consoled himself.

The morning fog pulled up its skirts and dissolved among the tops of the buildings. The street was full of ten o'clock businessmen hurrying and stenographers dawdling and women shopping. Roger paused long enough to buy a package of cigarettes at the counter in his building, and then he went to the elevator. The elevator operator eyed him sullenly, then carefully avoided his return gaze.

Roger pictured himself as the Provider of the family. The stalwart guard between Us and Everybody Else. As he rode up the elevator, he almost felt as if he was going into battle for Lonnie and Jennifer, that his suit was of armor, his attache case a sword, and Skopos, Incorporated the arena. In a way, his vision wasn't too wrong, if a bit romantic. Lonnie didn't work, and Jennifer was too young – it was up to him to be the link between the close-knit family unit and the cold, different, potentially brutal world beyond their doorstep. It was he who wore the two hats of Husband/Father and of Mr. Carmel. It was he who shouldered the responsibilities to see that both hats were worn skillfully.

Lonnie had but one role, that of mate and mother. Sometimes it's difficult for a person who's committed to only one position to see that another person who must straddle two or more positions is constantly having to compromise. Roger was being pulled by the requirements of his career just as hard as he was being called upon to be with Lonnie. She wanted him home all the time – Skopos wanted him to be on the job all the time. The men he was going to meet this morning were going to pout in their own way just as forcefully as Lonnie had done, with the same cry: "Spend more time with me!"

"What?" The elevator operator turned to Roger, startled.

"Nothing," Roger said, a little shaken. He realized that he'd suddenly burst out loud with his thoughts, a sure sign that the pressures, were getting to him. Just a little more, though, he thought… hold on for a little more; you can do it, Rog. You have to do it…

Skopos' downtown offices were actually for their sales force, though all of the upper executives were there as well. It was handier and a better area to live around than where the plant was. Roger, as chief engineer and vice-president in charge of development, was in the unenviable position of being liaison between the plant in Kirsten, Nevada, and the main office. He had moved from Kirsten when his promotion to vice-president had happened; Rapier City was much nicer and more varied than the smaller Nevada town; and he'd figured it really didn't matter at which end of the business he lived. He had to be at the other end half of the time, and his family would still be five hundred miles away. Here, they had a nicer home, a better neighborhood, and more things to do. For him to have turned down the promotion or shirked the duties and stayed in Rapier City all the time would be tantamount to quitting. Roger felt it was the best compromise under the circumstances.

Especially now, especially when his invention was at the brink of success. He went into the reception room, nodded to the PBX operator, and walked briskly to his office. His secretly, Agnes Goodfall, was all but wringing her hands.

"You're late," she said timorously.

"I know. Everybody in the board room?"

"Yes, Mr. Carmel. Including Mr. Quarran. He said…"

"I'm sure he did, Agnes," Roger said, cutting off her whine. He took a few papers from his desk and added: "See you later."

The president and chairman of the board of Skopos was sitting at the head of the board room conference table, leaning back with a cigar in his mouth like some despot. Not so benevolent a despot though; Jerome Quarran was a ruthless shrewd manipulator who'd taken over Skopos when the electronics engineer who'd started the company five years ago went broke. A scientist does not a businessman make. Quarran looked up with his thick, heavy, watery eyes as Carmel entered and took his usual chair on the left band side. He didn't say anything, merely brushed an invisible cigar ash off his plaid vest with that quick flick of annoyance superiors sometimes use on underlings.

The scientist who'd begun the company was across from Carmel. Wilfred Krocklin was in his mid-fifties, but looked older and emaciated. Unlike the arrogant and fleshy-jowled face of Quarran, Krocklin was gaunt and lined with doubt, with large, ever-frightened eyes like those of a tarsier monkey. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, his collar turned up, his tie askew. His sparse white hair was uncombed where he'd run his fingers through it for one reason or another.

Sitting at the end of the table was Martin Oliss, V-P for sales. He was sharply dressed in the latest style as usual, a natty robin's egg blue suit with a slight Edwardian cut to it, and his long, wavy blond hair was perfectly in place. He looked imperturbable and slightly amused, like a cat with canary feathers caught in its mouth. That was his way, constantly cool and a little condescending.

Roger was sometimes piqued by Oliss; that supercilious air rasped his nerves after a while, and the ever-present preening of the fashion-plate image made Roger wonder if Oliss wasn't a near egomaniac. If anything personified Martin Oliss in Roger's mind, it was the way the man was always smoothing his thin mustache as if it was a waxed objet d'art. It was to Roger little more than a milk stain on Oliss' upper lip, the blondness being hardly visible. Nevertheless, Oliss was invaluable, a long-term employee who grasped what Quarran wanted, and did it. He was to the others at Skopos the emitomy of dedication and hard work. So Carmel took what he considered Oliss' personality quirks in stride, saying nothing.

"Hello, Roger," Oliss said, fingering his mustache. "We were wondering if you'd missed the plane."

"No," Roger replied. "No, I took an earlier one." He smiled as if sharing a common complaint with the others. "Have to see my wife sometimes or risk a divorce, you know."

Oliss was bemused; he had one luscious babe for a wife, as Carmel knew. Lonnie had told him that Cylvia had the same problem as she had when Martin went out of town.

Quarran made a noise in his throat like coal rattling down a chute. He was married to a dreadnaught of a wife, and while Roger had no way of knowing, he suspected that Quarran stayed away from the home and hearth as much as possible. There were office rumors about a little sweetheart stashed in a high-rise apartment on the other side of town…

"How's the Min-miniskopos doing, R-roger?" Krocklin stuttered. He was referring to the invention which had made Carmel the vice-president. "W-we're most anxious about it-t."

Oliss came forward and put his hands on the chair beside his boss. "Yes, Roger. Is it about ready?"

Carmel opened his attache case and brought out a sheaf of papers. He spread them on the table. "I can announce that by this time next month, we'll have a working prototype."

"Excellent," Krocklin said, beaming.

"You said it would be done by now," Quarran grumbled. He chewed on his cigar and glared at Carmel. He was never pleased.

Carmel replied: "I also told you that with the aluminum companies on strike, I couldn't guarantee it. All we're waiting for is the extruded panels, which have to be made up special. If the president puts a Taft-Hartley injunction against the strikers and there's the 90-day cooling of period, we'll get the paneling and…" he paused to shrug slightly, "and then it's only a matter of putting one together. While I was down at Kirsten we tested one that was in sections, and it works fine, but you know how the government is – they have to see shiny new boxes, not a mess of wires."

"Damnit," Quarran snorted, "we don't have the time! We have to have your miniskopos ready in time for the Fall Appropriations convention in Washington. You know that, Roger."

"That's…" Oliss consulted his mental calendar for a moment. "That's fifteen days from now."

"I don't know what you're going to have to do to get that blasted invention in presentable shape, Roger, but you're going to have to come up with something!" Quarran twisted into something of a smile, and looked levelly at Carmel over his glasses. "We can't afford to wait another year."

Carmel groaned and sat back in his chair. He was afraid of this. Skopos, Incorporated was in the video tape recording business, had been almost from the time of the market's inception. Krocklin had named the company after the old Greek word which eventually became the English word, scope; apt enough title, but Krocklin hadn't been able to meet the changing demands of the market as wisely.

When video tape first started, there were any number of companies, each with different systems. Unlike audio tape recorders or record players, there weren't any standard speeds or tape widths, and as a result, Ampex was out with an inch wide tape running at faster speeds than the Sony machines with quarter-inch tape. Panasonic and Concord came in with half-inch tapes at still another inches-per-second speed, and others loaded the market with their attempts. Nothing was interchangeable, and if a customer bought one brand, he sometimes found that six months later not even the same company was producing the same gear.

It was a guessing game as to who would come out on top, the developments in the industry outstripping any possibility for inter-company cooperation and standardization. Krocklin found that although his machines and cameras were of excellent quality, the average consumer was leery and often bought from the Big Boys out of fear of obsolescence – and the still high cost of manufacture had effectively stopped mass home consumption which would make the whole venture profitable.

Quarran had come in and under his guidance, sales improved a hundred percent. Then its chief engineer came up with a revolutionary development. A year ago Roger Carmel had approached Quarran with nothing more than an idea down on paper. Out of the discussions and negotiations, Carmel became vice-president with a hefty increase in salary, plus a percentage of the profits. In return he gave Skopos exclusive marketing and production rights.

Where current models were weighing sixty to eighty pounds, his miniskopos weighed less than twenty – and it was a tenth of the size as well. Instead of bulky and expensive reels of tape, it used cartridges, 8-track music cartridges like the automobile stereo players. A person would slip in a cartridge, costing less than five dollars per hour of recording time, and depending on whether the unit was plugged into a camera or a television set, it would record or play. It could do both at once, if a person wanted to monitor what was being recorded. The whole unit was eight inches high, a foot wide, and a little over fifteen inches deep. It could fit on top of a television set. Or so it would, when the aluminum casing arrived.

And if that wasn't enough, it could also be used for color as well as black-and-white.

That was a year ago. Since then, the concept had been transformed into test units. There were bugs, of course; tape had to be specially made and the cartridge feeder mechanism designed from scratch. The components weren't available, and companies building field-effects and integrated circuits had to be talked with and their samples tested. It had been one long headache and fight – and the man who ran the whole she-bang was Carmel, for he alone understood what it was all about.

Oliss, a born huckster, skillfully let the news of the pending miniskopos "leak" out. It had set the industry on its ear; everybody was talking about it, everybody wanted to buy it. The home entertainment market would have at last a dirt-cheap way of showing video tape, of transcribing favorite television shows, of making "home movies". The schools and the government would have the perfect teaching aid, which could be bought en masse without wrecking budgets.

The Carmel miniskopos was worth a fortune.

But the time hadn't arrived when Carmel could rest on his laurels. That final effort to get them over the top and the units into the hands of buyers had to be made. Quarran was right; the miniskopos had to be ready to be shown to the government in two weeks, for with contracts in hand, the high cost of production and tooling could be weathered. Later would come the home markets, which were never over-night, but took advertising, negotiations, and the slow grinding of public acceptance. Later it would be Martin Oliss' turn to work his tail off from the marketing end.

"I hate doing it," Carmel said after listening to Quarran reiterate the obvious. "I hate doing it, but I suppose we could fashion one out of sheet metal. It won't look as well as the stamped paneling, and probably won't work as well, either. It sure as hell won't be as light."

"I can talk around that. Once those bureaucrats get their mitts onto a working prototype, they'll be too blinded to nit-pick." Quarran tapped his cigar ash into the large ceramic bowl beside him. "They'll specify aluminum and weight requirements, and by that time we'll be able to supply them."

"Y-yes, that s-sounds alright to me," Krocklin agreed.

Carmel sighed. "Then sheet metal it is. I'll call the plant and…"

"You go to the plant," Quarran said forcefully.

"But I just got backs!"

"It can't be helped. There's not enough time to make more than one, and that one has got to be right. I don't want you to merely hope that the men down there will know what the devil you want; I don't want you to assume they can read your plans – I want you to be sure that every detail is perfect."

Carmel looked at Quarran witheringly. "I suppose you want me to leave today?"

"I'm sorry."

Under the circumstances Carmel realized that he would have to go. Not that he couldn't argue with Quarran, or even flatly refuse; it was the inherent realization that he was needed in Kirsten to supervise the fabrication. He glumly considered the inevitable scene with Lonnie. There were times when he wished he was still a bachelor.

Martin Oliss had other thoughts on his mind. Just as gloomy, perhaps, because he didn't know what he was going to do, but a great deal more dark, because of their subject. In less than two weeks he'd be handed the job of selling the finished product – not that it needed any selling. He'd just take orders, the way the miniscope was exciting the public. In less than two weeks, any chance that he had to steal the miniscope for his own use would be gone. In less than two weeks…

Oliss fingered his mustache, sighing inwardly. What had ever gotten him into this two-faced industrial spying anyway? Greed, pure and simple. The greed for other women, enhanced by his own wife's insatiable lust for strange cock, had introduced him to the swinging element in Rapier City. He had been a devout member of the wife-swapping club for some time; it was their use of Club Royale and its private shows and still more private "rooms" for viewing and fucking which had allowed him to become acquainted with Sam Zeigler, Club Royale's owner and operator.

That Goddamned gangster Zeigler. Oliss conjured up a swear word for the cynical member of the state crime syndicate Mafia connected, though not controlled – who catered to the greedy vices of otherwise respectable members of the community. Greed, always greed. Greed had gotten Cylvia Oliss into the dog show there, a more than willing participant on the round stage when the club had rented the whole second floor for one mass orgy last Spring.

Greed had made Martin Oliss go after and lay Zeigler's ex-chorus girl playmate; the only one who had balls enough to try, Zeigler had said afterwards.

And greed had made Oliss an enthusiastic partner when Zeigler had outlined his plan to take the secret of the miniscope and let one of the syndicate fronts – the outwardly legitimate Vantage Electronics Corporation – have it. The promise of a cut which would put Oliss on easy street overnight had put dollar signs in his eyes, and his wife had thought the scheme perfect.

The trouble had been that the miniscope was in Kirsten, and Oliss was stuck in Rapier City. He'd approached Carmel with under-played, implied suggestions that there were greater riches to be made if Carmel "sold out" on the sly, but it had failed dismally.

"I bet you've been approached secretly by other companies, eh, Roger?" had been met with open, naive shock. Carmel couldn't believe that the competition could stoop so low.

"You know, you could have tripled, quadrupled, your profit if you'd considered others before or Quarran," had been met with a frown and a patriotic spiel about company loyalty.

"I'd sure like to see your drawings, Roger," had been met with a shrug and a vague answer that the blueprints were in short sections, constantly being revised, and that they wouldn't make sense to anybody except Carmel himself.

Oliss had finally come to the conclusion that Carmel was an innocent in the affairs of business manipulations, and that when it came to ethics and morals, he was as flexible as a glass rod.

Oliss was frustrated, and now the eleventh hour was here. He was going to have to do something fast, something desperate and a gamble, but then won't all business a gamble? The meek shall inherit the earth – not to Martin Oliss! The meek inherited dirt after the good stuff was grabbed by the ruthless.

Well, then damnit, start thinking of a way to grab! Oliss' brain churned with nefarious plots. He thought about blackmailing Carmel with a girl, but he realized nothing short of doping the man would get him under the covers with another woman. But what about Mrs. Carmel? Oliss suddenly grinned. Sure… there might be the answer. It might work… he recalled what Cylvia had told him a couple of times as she'd laughed over the weepings of Roger's sexually starved wife. "She's too much like me, Martin," she'd said. "She's as ripe for plucking as I was ten years ago."

And then with only the unadulterated viciousness of a human beast of prey, Oliss expanded his original idea to mull over the Carmel daughter. She was about due to get hers, or at least that's what Tamera had told her father two weeks ago. She'd really got him hot describing in minute detail how she had finger-fucked the little teenager in the high school shower room, bringing Jennifer to a climax which made her scream. And when he'd been hard, his penis jutting out of his bathrobe like a muzzle of a rifle, Tamera had let him screw her on the floor of the livingroom, which was a different way than they usually did. Cylvia had thought it was hysterical when she'd walked in from the kitchen. Thrashing around on the carpet with the TV on beside them, the sound of gunfire and horses coming from the old cowboy movie.

Jennifer would have to be dealt with, Oliss figured, or the plan for Lonnie Carmel wouldn't work. Jennifer had to be out of the home, preferably for the night or the weekend. He'd have to talk it over with his wife later on. Maybe Tamera could lend a hand, her and her boyfriend. Who knows? Maybe she'd like it!

He groaned inwardly at the exciting image of the two beautiful and provocative women in Carmel's life bowing to Oliss' debauched whims, crying for more… more… He placed his hand beneath the table and attempted to push his burgeoning cock down, without too much success. It was too provocative a dream! Lonnie and Jennifer Carmel, a mother-daughter combination in the swap group – at the Club Royale, on the stage, fucking and sucking and sucking and fucking… He groaned inwardly and shifted his thoughts to the immediate. He had to if he dared to stand up when the meeting adjourned.

"Excuse me," he said in his silky voice when there was a lull in the conversation, "excuse me, but I'd like to accompany Roger on this trip."

"Why?" Quarran asked warily, always watching the expenses.

"Well, for one thing because if I've got to promote the miniskopos in a couple of weeks, I'd better bone up on what the unit will do. Not just any one, or what we hope the production models will do – but the actual one we demonstrate. Also, I'm going to have to take pictures of it, metal cabinet and all. And I've been thinking that some copy and shots about the plant would be very impressive, especially in a little throw-away pamphlet. Give the company an image, an identity. After all, we're selling the name of Skopos as much as this particular product, aren't we?"

"Damned fine thinking, Martin," Quarran said. "You're about due for a trip to Kirsten anyway. You haven't been there since we expanded the east wing." He nodded. "All right, you go, too."

"Great to have you along, Martin," Carmel said, almost smiling as if relieved. He was; this way it would be easier to tell Lonnie this way. The two wives could console one another.

The meeting droned on, covering affairs which, as vice-president, Carmel was supposed to be aware of, but which he had no direct interest in. He mulled over his own problems; those of the inventions and those of his household while he chain-smoked a series of cigarettes and tried to look attentive. As usual, the meeting broke up in time for lunch, and he went with the three others to the dimly-lit cocktail lounge and steak house around the corner of Second. A couple of martinis helped – but when he got back to the office, his depression was deepened when his secretary told him, "I was very lucky, Mr. Carmel. I was able to book you on a flight leaving at three-forty-five."

"This afternoon?" he cried.

"It was either that or tomorrow night. Everything else is taken. I'm sorry."

"God almighty," he groaned going in his office. "Agnes, get my wife on the phone, will you, please?"

***

Lonnie was mopping the kitchen floor when the phone rang. She was in a very good humor, had been all day after her tremendous frustrations had been taken care of by her loving husband. She hummed softly to herself, following a song on the radio. She let her mind wander as to the pagan orgy awaiting Roger when he came home that evening. She was going to tear his legs off, she was…

Her thoughts were broken with the ringing, and she turned the radio down before answering. When she heard Agnes' voice on the line, asking her to hold on for Mr. Carmel, a dread settled with cold hands across the saddle of her back.

"Hello, honey," Roger said. "I, uh… that is…"

"Let me guess," she said darkly. "Another trip?"

"It can't be helped. It'll only be two weeks, and believe me, I tried to get out of it, but…"

"I'm sure you did," she interrupted sarcastically. "I bet you fought tooth and nail."

"I did! Please don't be this way. Oh – and Martin's having to accompany me, too. Maybe you and Cylvia can get together while we're gone."

A frustrated hiss slipped from between her teeth and tried to hide her annoyance he'd heard through the phone. "When are you leaving?"

"I'll be home in an hour, honey. Pack some clothes for me, will you?"

"When?" she repeated more firmly.

"Ah… this afternoon. Three-thirty, to be exact."

"Three…!" Her face blossomed with anger. "Do you know what's in the oven, Mr. Carmel? Do you know what I have slaved to the bone preparing for you, you bastard, just as a special treat for tonight and which Jennifer and I detest? Do you?"

"Now, honey…"

"Don't honey me," she stormed and slammed down the receiver. Another trip! Tears of humiliation and pride welled up in her eyes as she thought of his leaving her again.

Damn… damn… damn… she wasn't enough of a woman to hold a man, she was unable to satisfy her husband enough in bed to hold him at home for one day. Was there any reason why Roger stayed married to her other than to screw her now and then when he was around? What did he do the other six months? Have other women?

Oh no! The crazy idea that he was unfaithful to her crept insidiously into her brain, once unleashed by her torment of anger and frustration. If she could only go with Roger on his trips… but no, she had to stay home with their daughter, Jennifer. All she could do was wait and sit until he got back from wherever he went, never knowing what he was up to.

She walked to the closet and half-heartedly swung one of the suitcases she hadn't put away from that morning onto the bed. She began to put fresh clothes out, quickly filling the three-suiter and then put additional clothing in the smaller over-night case. Then, locking the lids, she wandered into the kitchen, her day ruined, and pondered about what the hell she was going to do for the next couple of weeks.

Do what Roger suggested she guessed. See a lot of Martin's wife. It certainly was a God-send having such a close, warm, understanding friend like Cylvia. She was almost more of a husband to Lonnie than Roger was.

***

"Oh God, Martin, I want to suck you," Cylvia Oliss moaned. She was writhing on their satin-covered double bed, her own fingers slipping wetly inside her cunt. Her back was arched, and her legs splayed wide, as nude, she masturbated before the lusting leer of her husband, one hand fondling her breasts and the other in her vagina.

Cylvia had short blond hair the color of wheat; it hugged her face in soft curls. She had high, classical features, with blue, cat-like eyes above a wide, bow-shaped mouth and aquiline nose. Her wasp waist was in contortions at the moment, and her full, thrusting breasts danced with delightful impudence on her tanned chest. She was tanned all over, not even with the normal tiger strips around her breasts and hips. Her straw-toned hair was natural, as anybody could see if they glimpsed her furry growth of pubic hair – and many men had not only glimpsed but tongued and fucked their way through the hair.

Now the hair was matted slick with her aroused cuntal secretions. "Oohhh, Martin," she panted. "You're going to be gone for so long."

"Just a couple of days if my plan goes well. No more than three."

"Too damned long for me, lover, and you know that no man can fill me they way you can. Oh… oh… oh, let me suck your beautiful prick before you leave. Oooohhhhh, please!"

Hot damn! Oliss thought as he selected a suit out of the closet. Cylvia is a real talent. She can turn a man on and fuck him every which-way! He'd called her from the office when he'd learned from his secretary about the sudden departure, acting the contrite husband just in case anybody heard. Now he had to be quick about it; couldn't miss the plane and his chances to land the miniskopos. He'd hurried home, only to find no bags packed but his loving mate stretched out with abandoned anticipation.

His pants, already sticky from the little drops of seminal emission caused by the thinking of his plot while in the board room, now bulged once more. He stifled a groan. "No… no, I've got to tell you about what you've got to do."

"Tell me afterwards." She reached up and undid two of his shirt buttons, then returned her left hand to the nipples of her breasts.

"No, now."

"I refuse to listen unless you take your clothes off and sit down beside me." She oscillated on the coverlet, moaning further as her hands sought the warm cavern of her hungry cunt. "C'mon, strip, lover-man. Strip for your wife."

"All… all right," he said, his voice quivering. He had to change anyway; might as well now as never. Have to keep control of myself, though. Too much to set up. He dropped his trousers and threw his shirt and tie over his jacket on the chair. When he pulled his underpants down, however, his cock leapt out to full erection, trembling with lust.

Cylvia stared at it, moistening her lips with her tongue as if she was already tasting its pungent male sperm. "Come on," she whispered throatily, "come on and sit down."

He did, but warned her, "First things first."

Cylvia snaked out her left hand again and closed it around his turgid expanse. She robbed it up and down, her tongue still flicking along her lips, her eyes hot on the huge, granite shaft and bulbulous head and the wrinkled sac of his testicles. "Please, Martin," she crooned, "I'm hot now and I want to suck you. Let your hot-boxed little wife suck you now and then you can tell me all about your plan."

"No," Oliss said firmly. He moved to the foot of the bed, watching her undulate her hips and slide her fingers in and out of her trembling, pink-rimmed vaginal hole. "Now you know Lonnie Carmel well enough so she trusts you. Well, get her drunk tonight or something, and into bed with somebody."

"Who?" Cylvia asked petulantly. She stretched out her leg and began to stroke his thigh with her toes, waggling her big toe upwards so she could reach the fleshy pole of his cock. "Who'll be the man?" She watched gleefully as her strokings made her husband shudder. He never could stay away for long…

"I don't care. Pick any one out of the swap group." He stopped, and then a wicked leer parted his lips. "No… no, get Sam Zeigler to be the straight man for Lonnie. Call him up after I leave and set it up, maybe at his club. After all," he said with a snicker, "he's got a vested interest in seeing that this ploy works."

"And he likes innocent, unwilling cunt," Cylvia said, "tons of it. He's almost as insatiable as you are, my love, when it comes to fucking."

As she spoke, she moved her buttocks down the bed so that she could once more seize his palpitating penis. She stroked it with her fingers as before, and before he was able to fend her off, she rose and pressed her lithe, tiger body against his, forcing him back in a prone position across the with of the bed.

"Damn it, Cylvia, I'm trying to tell you what you've got to do before my plane leaves. I…" Oliss paused as his wife trailed her soft, moist lips along the side of his neck, into the hollow of his throat, down along his bronze chest. She nuzzled the rigid tips of his male nipples, rolling her tongue back and forth across one and then the other. Finally she let her mouth roam down across the girth of his large, well-muscled stomach. Oliss groaned at her expert ministrations, and involuntarily thrust his hips up toward her. She scratched his cock lightly with her fingernails and over his testicles, reaching under his trembling body to probe briefly the puckered ring of his anus…

"The plan," Oliss continued weakly. "We… have to talk… about what… to do with… Jennifer."

Cylvia smiled wryly as she looked up for a moment with half-lidded eyes. "Don't worry about a thing, lover. I'll speak to Tamera when she gets home from school. I think she mentioned that Vic was taking her to one of those pot parties. And you know what happens at them."

Oliss knew; the teen age pot parties were almost as wild and debauched as the adult wife-swapping get-togethers. He still couldn't comprehend at what those kids did. Why at their tender age, he barely had learned that his cock was to piss out of, much besides how to stick it in a girl. Of course, when he had learned…

Cylvia was on all fours now, her mouth hovering over his erect penis. Then her warm lips closed over it, malting it throb with sensitivity. He lifted his head, unable to break away from the suckings, and he was all the more excited as he watched his wife bury his penis between her ovally pursed lips.

"Go-wa, go-wa on-a," she murmured around his cock as she plunged her head up and down in an oral simulation of a warm clasping cunt. At the same time she twirled her tongue around the moist stickiness of its blood-engorged head.

"Uuuuhhh," he panted. "You bitch, you Goddamned bitch… you… know I can't… go on." He gritted his teeth, willing himself to remain on the subject. "C-call me at the El Mecca Motel when… when you've… got her and… and her daughter screwing. I… I've got to plan my end of things from that time on… on… uhhhhh." Damn it, she'd won again, Oliss thought fuzzily, capitulating to the prurient sensations of her mouth and fingers. She always won, always got her way sexually, and she knew all the tricks in the book and some not written yet. "Ahhhhh," he panted. "If I miss my plane…"

Oliss lay back and shut his eyes and pretended that it was the pretty Lonnie Carmel sucking his penis. That it was Lonnie's – or better yet, that it was Jennifer's lipstick-lined mouth puckering as she sawed up and down. Well, if he had his way it would be one of these days. He'd shoot his load of cum deep into the throats of Roger Carmel's wife and daughter, first one and then the other of the females… and they'd love it…

"Suck me, Cylvia," Oliss urged. "Suck, suck, suck my cock!"

The blonde wife slaved above his loins, her body glistening from postules of lust sweat. The pressure grew and grew in her husband's testicles, and he arched his buttocks and strove hard against her face, feeling his curly pubic hair graze her chin and cheeks but not hearing the slightest whimper of protest. His final release of semen boiled inside him, building like a crazy whirling dervish toward its moment of ejaculation. His scrotum tightened…

And then…

Oliss felt the eruption as the first stream of white-hot fire leapt along the passage of his jerking cock. He gasped, his lips pulling back across his teeth. His penis pulsed and flooded without warning Cylvia's maddingly sucking mouth. The burning seed bloated her cheeks until she was forced to concentrate on swallowing rather them milking, and all the while she mewled and crooned and tickled his pounding balls with the tips of her fingers. With one last earth-shattering groan, Oliss emptied the last of his cum, and his penis started to deflate.

Cylvia kept on sucking, and then his cock slipped from between her lips, clean of every drop of his orgasm. Her belly felt warm and filled and she smiled like a contented feline after feeding itself to capacity. She lay with her head on his thigh, nibbling gently on the limp, useless penis in front of her. She had the suspicion as her own unfulfillment started gnawing at her insides, that if they made the plane, it was going to be by the skin of their teeth. She hoped that the plane might be delayed somehow. There was still a long and delicious interlude ahead of them, and the rising moisture in her thighs told her it was about to begin. She smiled silently to herself in anticipation.

CHAPTER THREE

Lonnie Carmel stared morosely into her coffee cup. The silence of the house was oppressive to her ears, its emptiness a sacrilege to her eyes. It was always thus during the week, in that magical hour or so between the end of the housework chores and the entrance of her daughter, home from school. But with the knowledge that she was without her husband for another fortnight, Lonnie sensed that the house was like a tomb; still as death and just as vacant.

She sighed, wondering whether it was worth saving the special steak fromage she'd prepared for Roger, or if she should throw it away as carelessly as it seemed to her that her errant husband was discarding their marriage. A tear welled in one eye; she blinked rapidly and it rolled down her cheek and poised uncertainly by her trembling jaw.

Her thoughts were stilled when the front door burst open and Jennifer came in. She was a little breathless and her face was a soft crimson. "Hi, Mom," she cried out happily. "I ran from the bus stop because of the rain. Whoo-ee! Anything to eat?"

"I'll fix dinner soon," Lonnie said woodenly.

"You look sad, Mom," the daughter said, frowning slightly. "What's the matter?"

"N-nothing," Lonnie said haltingly. "Nothing at all."

Jennifer, concerned, put her books on the dinette table and sat down beside her mother. "Yes there is, I can tell it."

"It's… it's just that your father had to go on another trip."

"Today?" Jennifer was shocked: her father had just gotten home this morning! "You mean he's left again, today?"

"Yes," came the whisper.

Mother and daughter sat in glum-filled sadness. The pall of quiet engulfed them; a sound-proof cloak effectively sealing their separate thoughts even from being shared between them. After awhile, the daughter said: "I think it's a crime. Daddy's never home."

"It seems that way at times," her mother agreed. "But we have to remember that he's doing it for us."

"You say that, Mom, but you don't believe it."

Lonnie winced inwardly at the telling remark. It was hard to be coldly analytical in a situation as emotion-fraught as this. She had to remember, though, that it wasn't good to display her marital troubles in front of Jennifer. It only hurt the family needlessly, and certainly didn't help solve the problem. She tried to smile, it came out forced and shallow. "Well…" she said, "well, we can't just sit around and cry in our soup, can we?"

Jennifer remained sullen. Mothers were one thing, and she loved hers very much. But Jennifer had always been "Daddy's little girl", and she felt drawn to him strongly. When she worked hard in school, it was to make Dad proud of her; when she had a problem, it was to Dad that she went; when she thought about the man she would marry someday, the image came out to look like Dad. It was the natural, common Oedipus complex in female garb – nothing serious or especially unhealthy – but a source of frustration and anger when Dad was away.

Roger Carmel never dreamed how much his family really loved him. They would do anything for him, and might not have recognized how well he'd succeeded as a mate and parent. The Olisses did. They were counting on it, in fact.

"Tell you what, Jennifer," Lonnie said, a little more sprightly, now that she had something to do to keep her mind occupied, "I'll whip up a batch of pancakes. Norwegian ones; you always like them."

"Sure. Fine." Jennifer remained unmoved.

"Then we'll go to the movies, if you like."

"I don't feel like going out. Thanks anyway."

Lonnie glanced over at her offspring, wondering how to snap her teenage daughter out of the blue funk she was in. She chastised herself again for being as maudlin as she'd been when Jennifer had first come home. Her moroseness has transmitted itself, and she felt, as a mother, the burden of responsibility.

Her considerations were interrupted by the ringing of the door chimes. Now who could that be?

"I'll get it," Jennifer said, and rose. She wasn't overly quick about it, though she wasn't dragging her feet; merely disinterested and sluggish with sadness. She was surprised when she answered the door to find the Oliss women standing on the porch. "Why… Tamera! And Mrs. Oliss!"

"Mind if we visit, Jennifer?" Mrs. Oliss said sweetly. "Tam and I are without our man, just like you two. We thought we'd at least make it a lonesome foursome."

"Of course," Jennifer said, standing back so they could enter. "Come on in. Mom was fixing dinner."

"Oh, well if she's busy…"

"Not at all, Cylvia," Lonnie said, coming out of the kitchen and wiping her hands on a towel. "I hadn't really started yet. Coffee?"

"Sounds wonderful. Unless I can plead for a drink instead."

"Of course. Scotch and ginger? I'll join you."

"Got a Coke, Mrs. Carmel?" Tam said, the picture of adolescent respectability. If only Lonnie and Jennifer could have seen inside the girl's mind, read her evil and depraved thoughts, they wouldn't have been so glad to see her or her mother. But all they saw were the facades, and as a result, Lonnie and Jennifer were pleased and relieved to have them here. It was easier to share the depression with four people than with two, especially when the others were in the same boat.

Jennifer and Tamera went into the teenager's room, and within seconds the house reverberated with the sounds of rock music, the latest "top ten" singles.

Tamera, like her mother, was naturally blonde, but she'd let her hair grow long and combed it in that tangled, careless look as if she'd been in a convertible all day, driving with the top down. She had a little stubby nose, freckles across its bridge, and her greenish eyes were more cat-like and devilish than her mother's. Her pert breasts were twin small, firm cylinders, tapering from their swollen moorings to cherry-nippled crests. They bobbed invitingly as she jumped onto Jennifer's bed, and she purposely sat in such a way that her short skirt hiked past her thighs and Jennifer couldn't help but see the shadowed white band of molded panties between her legs.

A secret tingle went through Tamera's nerves, making her breasts electric and her pubescent vagina secrete little droplets of fluid. Her mother had told her what she wanted done, told her and Vic when he had driven Tam home from school and dropped in for a drink. Get Jennifer Carmel! Get her naked and hungry for her first taste of cock! She shivered with forbidden delight and one area of her mind dwelled on what was in store for her younger friend if everything went right tonight. The other portion of her brain was doing the talking, worming Jennifer around to accepting the initial stage of her seduction…

"I can't stay for long, Jennie," Tamera said, outwardly sad-faced. "Vic's invited me to a party."

"Oh?" Jennifer tried to conceal her obvious disappointment. If it wasn't her father, it was her friend who was deserting her. "Gee, I'd sort of hoped you could stay. I mean, your mom and mine will be talking for hours. I'll have nothing to do." She averted her eyes from the uncovered loins of Tamera's lithe body and changed a record. "What kind of party is it?"

"A real fab one. Most of the foxy guys from the football team," Tamera said conspiratorially. "If word leaked out about the drinking and… things, they'd be dismissed from the squad!" She almost made a slip; the time wasn't right to tell the innocent virgin girl what the other "things" would consist of. "It's going to be outa sight!"

"Wow!" Jennifer breathed with envious excitement.

"Vic's going to pick me up here at nine." She lowered her head, now looking contrite. "I'm sorry about it, Jennie. I know how you were counting on us keeping each other company tonight."

"Yeah, well I can understand."

"If there was some way you could come along…"

"Forget it. I'd just be in the way." She picked a cuticle. "You go and have a real nice time."

There was a long moment of silence – or as much silence as could be had when the record player was screaming out "yah, yah, yah, yah, yahhhhhh!" Then a small smile began an Tamera's lips. She said: "Wait a minute! Maybe we can get you along!"

"How?"

"That is… if you really want to go."

"Sure I do. You don't think I want to stay around Dullsville tonight, do you?"

"It might get a little… rough."

Tamera's warning only whetted the natural curiosity and the refusal in Jennifer to admit she wasn't "grown-up" enough; she jutted her jaw forward and said defiantly, "Don't worry about me none. I won't faint or something."

"Well, promise me you'll not panic, no matter what you see." She saw nervousness and indecision in Jennifer's eyes, so she hastily added, "Not that you have to do any of it." She didn't say what the "it" was – better not scare the poor virgin off entirely. Anyway, Tamera knew Jennifer well enough to know that the younger teen-ager's imagination would fill in some of the gaps, and would only entice her more than if she was told everything. "Just don't start making a scene. Act as if you're part of it like everyone else, and not a wet blanket." She smiled again wickedly. "That is, if you don't care for some of the action. What the hell, you might; I sure do."

"Sure I promise, Tam," Jennifer said hurriedly, her throat parched with excitement. "What do you take me for, a kid? I won't embarrass you any. You'll see. But how'll you fix it so I can go?"

"Well, we'll have to get you a date."

"But I'm not going with anybody. Besides, you said the guys are from the football team, and they're all going with girls now."

"Stan Lubin isn't. He broke off with Marsha Dixon last weekend, up at the mountains. Didn't you know?"

"Jeez! 'The Slam'?" Jennifer spoke in awe of the team's star fullback. His size and offensive determination had earned him the monicker of Stan 'The Slam' Lubin. He was Vic's buddy, and next to Vic, was the school's biggest athletic hero. "You think you could get me a date with Stan?"

"I can't promise, but I'll call Vic and see if he'll talk to Stan. If we do swing it, that's even more reason for you to be a sport. He doesn't cotton to sissies."

"For Stan," Jennifer said, stars twirling in her eyes, "I'd do most anything."

"We'll see," Tamera said under her breath. Then to Jennifer she said: "Let's go ask your mother if it's all right first, and then I'll call Vic."

Lonnie Carmel was ambivalent to the request. On one hand she saw the excitement in her daughter, and wanted to make her happy. But Jennifer was so young for such things. And besides, that would leave her home all alone, which was the last thing on earth the wanted to be faced with tonight. She shook her head. "I… I don't know, Jennifer."

"Aw, Mom! Please!"

"I'm sure Jennifer will be quite safe," Mrs. Oliss offered. "If I had any doubts, I'd never allow Tamera to go. But Vic's a good boy, and from the little I've met of Stan Lubin, he's been very polite and well mannered." She had a very hard time keeping a straight face, saying that garbage. Cylvia Oliss had first hand knowledge that Stan Lubin had gained his nick-name from his way of fucking girls as much as from ho football techniques. The third worst person to entrust a young naive virgin with was Stan Lubin in her estimation; Vic and her husband being the first and second, and not necessarily in that order.

"I'll keep an eye on her, Mrs. Carmel," Tamera sad. Damned right I will. I love watching 'The Slam' in action.

"Yes, but…"

"Tell you what," Mrs. Oliss said, as if suddenly struck with a thought. "Let the girls go out, and we'll go out, too. I think we deserve a dinner and a couple of drinks, after the way Martin and Roger deserted us."

"Sure, Mom, that sounds swell. You haven't been out for ages."

Lonnie had drunk three scotch and gingers, and her mind wasn't quite as sharp as it was normally… The liquor had relaxed her, made her feel as if life was worth living a little. Maybe going out for a dinner instead of slaving over the stove wasn't a bad idea; Lord knew she had earned a break.

"If I know Martin, he's lounging in the cocktail bar right now, lapping up martinis and ogling the girls," Cylvia continued. "Acting like he wasn't married, and he's just like all other men when they're away from home. Huh!" she sniffed, as if outraged at masculine games. "We ought to have the same privileges. We ought to have a night out once in a while to act as if we were the girls' ages again, without responsibilities."

"A dinner and a drink would sound nice," Lonnie said, already half convinced that she should go out and it would be entirely innocent. That nothing would happen. That Roger would approve if he knew what she was considering. That made her think of Roger, and the insidiously implanted suggestion of Cylvia's made her imagine Roger sitting beside Martin at the cocktail bar. Well, she would go, and damn the consequences – of which she was, sure there would be none. She and Cylvia were both adult and mature – and two unescorted women this day and age were not considered bad as they had been in her mother's time.

"I'm convinced," she said giddily. "Jennifer, if you promise to be good, and if Vic's friend wants to take you to the pity, then I'll let you. And you, Mrs. Oliss, will have the pleasure of escorting Mrs. Carmel to a steak dinner and drinks a little later on."

"Excellent!" from Cylvia.

"You're swell, Mother!" from Jennifer.

"I'll call Vic," from Tamera.

The phone call was pure fraud. A bald-faced con to convince the Carmel mother and daughter that this was all spontaneous. In fact, it had been carefully laid out before-hand; even 'The Slam' and his girl, Marsha, with whom he hadn't broken up with at all, were in on it. They hadn't been told why the alteration in Jennifer's virginal status was desired; Vic and Tamera had merely told them they had thought it up as the evening's entertainment highlight, a new twist to the usual alcohol and marijuana and sex kicks. They thought the forced seduction of Little Miss Carmel was one grand joke.

The result was that Tamera went through the motions of asking and arguing and hearing the I-don't-knows and I'll-have-to-check-and-call-you-back. The wait of fifteen minutes had been added as a special, exquisite form of psychological torture to insure that Jennifer was fully ensnared, wanting the date more and more with each passing second.

Cylvia got up, and as a long-time and trusted friend of the Carmel family, made herself and Lonnie another drink. She liberally laced Lonnie's with scotch, and added some vodka for good measure. What she had in store for Mrs. Carmel was going to take all the help she could get, and having her friend drunk would "grease the runway", to use a phrase of her father's.

Then the phone rang, and Tamera answered it. She attentively listened to Vic tell her what he was planning to do with his cock to her that night, and then she put the receiver down and turned to Jennifer. With a solumn tone she said what she had known all along: "Stan says he'll take you."

***

Stan leaned over the back seat of the car and said to Vic: "Any juice kicking around?"

Tamera giggled and turned her head. She smiled at Stan. "Can't wait for the party, huh?"

"Hell, that's a half hour's drive away yet," Stan complained. "Gotta have something to prime my engine before then."

Vic laughed. "Sure. I could use a pull myself. Reach in the glove compartment, Tam, and get the bottle."

Tamera did; she unstoppered a refilled Coke bottle and took a stiff swallow. She sputtered, and her throat worked, and then she handed the bottle to Vic. "Wow! That stuff's good!"

"Yeah," Vic said. He took his eyes off the road long enough to drink. The large convertible weaved erratically for a moment, throwing Jennifer off balance, and against Stan. The rugged football player put one arm around her so that she couldn't regain her position, and when Tamera took the bottle from Vic and handed it to Stan, he offered it first to the young teenager. "Here," he said with a grin, "ladies first. Just don't hog it."

Jennifer hesitated.

"What's the matter?" Stan frowned. "You drink, don't you?"

"Sure, I do," Jennifer said stoutly. She was bluffing and hoped that it wasn't too obvious. She wondered if she wasn't talking herself into a bad future position, for anything over a glass of wine gave her the woozies, but Tamera had kept repeating that this was her big chance to get in with the "in" crowd around school, and she couldn't afford to be childish or stubborn…

The fifteen-year-old virgin tilted the Coke bottle and a warm, sweet liquid filled her mouth. She could taste the tinge of bourbon or whisky – she didn't know which, just that it wasn't vodka or gin or stuff like that – and a syrupy flavor like raspberry or strawberry soda. It wasn't bad, not bad at all, and she took another drink before handing it to Stan. She drank again…

Stan Lubin and Vic Statler had come to collect the girls promptly at nine in Vic's Pontiac Bonneville, and after introductions and a few minutes of conversation, they and the girls had left. Stan almost made Jennifer giddy from the start. He was too much! He was going to be eighteen in the Spring, and looked at least a year older. He had long brown hair, combed back and around his collar, was six-foot-two, slim waisted, his shoulders and arms bulging with muscles. His face was pleasant, average, as ordinary as the clothes he wore: levi's, sweater, and loafers.

Stan pulled the girl close to him, hugging her, and for an instant, he scared Jennifer. Things were certainly happening fast! They were driving from one end of Rapier City, where Jennifer lived, right through the town to the hills on the other side. It was up in the desolate hills, at the end of an old, dead-end road that the party was going to be held. And they'd barely gone two miles before the bottle of liquor had been brought out and Stan and she were in the back seat cuddling!

Stan let his hand dangle gently over her shoulder, his fingers brushing softly against the tip of her breast. He smirked to himself as he thought of the way she had guzzled the booze – leave it to an inexperienced girl to get drunk before anybody else, not having the faintest idea what the liquor can do or when to slow down. He was growing more confident by the moment that the lewd and obscene things in store for this tender virgin were going to happen – tonight! – just as planned. Man, once she reached the stage of helpless submission he was going to turn Jennifer every way but inside out, and maybe he'd find a way for that, too. She'd know what fucking was all about when he finished with her! When he and all the others finished with her!

With a suddeness which bespoke his nickname, Stan crushed his lips on Jennifer's unsuspecting mouth, grinding wetly, and the girl moaned and struggled for one moment, panicked, feeling his hand on her breast, tenderly cupping the soft, resident mound.

"Hey, baby," Stan crooned, "I really like you, you know?" He felt his "date" jump slightly as she heard his lying words. He held her tighter, pressing his hands once more against the palpitating hardness of her nubile breast. She'd never before been this drawn to a boy, never believed that a kiss or a caress could be so exciting. She wanted Stan to like her, wanted him to take her as his girlfriend. Boy! Wouldn't that be a coup! She shivered, and the alcohol seemed to effuse through her system. She pressed her thighs tightly together to control a peculiar tickle which was worming its way through the sensual valley between her legs.

Stan Lubin pressed his attack, massaging her breast. He could feel the tiny, bud-like nipples harden under the thinness of her brassiere. Jennifer knew that she was going to have to stop him soon before things got out of control. She squirmed, trying to move his fingers away without him noticing and her short skirt hiked up over her hips. Her thighs were naked and she could almost see the white crotchband of her panties down between her legs.

She blushed furiously and tried to pull her skirt down. Stan stopped her. "Let it be, Jennie baby," he murmured. "You've got nice legs so don't hide them. You ain't got nothing between yours that I don't know all about!"

That brought a shriek of laughter from Tamera and a furious blushing from Jennifer. The young girl felt hot, but not wanting to let Stan think she was square, she didn't move her skirt. She leaned against Stan and nuzzled his chest affectionately.

Yeah, Stan thought, this one may be a virgin, but she'll be one hell of a hot box when I really turn her one, just like Vic promised. His cock swelled in his pants as he looked down between her thighs. He felt himself getting blazing hot, the tension grinding his loins, his testicles aching to be released…

He'd have to take it slow, he knew. Slow and easy and not scare the girl. First time's the big one, he realized, having melted many a cherry in his day. The heavy car sped through the night, toward the rendezvous with Jennifer's destiny, and all that the foursome inside acted like was as if this was just another night out, another date, an evening to laugh and joke and sip from the Coke bottle…

The party was in full swing when they arrived. They had to park the Pontiac down the hill, the last of a line of other cars which had gotten there before them. The house was actually more of a summer cabin; it was a small retreat belonging to the parents of one of the boys attending, a small place facing the undeveloped Guadalupe Canyon and the flatlands beyond. By turning around and staring at the black hills behind, the glimmer of distant Rapier City could be seen at their crest, their fusion of lights shining above like an Aurora Borealis. The bottle of liquor was empty and discarded when they stopped; Tamera was mellow and giggly, but Jennifer was half stumbling from the unaccustomed potion, and she allowed Stan to help her over the rough gravel road to the house.

Music spilled out as they opened the door, hot blow of smoky air and laughter hitting the cool air and damp drizzle of the Autumnal night. Jennifer laughed for no particular reason, just that she was empathetic to the swinging crowd. She allowed Stan to kiss her at the entrance, and then again, harder and longer. His hot moist lips seemed to be her world at that point, her alcohol fuzzed by not totally aware of too many other things at the same time, and she almost fell over from the spark of electricity which invaded her stomach.

"All right!" yelled one of the boys from inside. "Break it up, you two!"

Blushing again, Jennifer and Stan, followed by Vic and Tamera, entered the golden glow of the livingroom. She knew the others from school, and they all acted pleased and as if she truly belonged to the select group of high school students. There was George Slade and his steady girl, Gloria Talbot; Sanders, one of the ends, and Beverly Harland; Greg Mothra and Anita Funabass, one of the cheerleaders; Ken King and his girl, Fay Raye; and the last couple, Gene Rogers and Dale Butram.

The quartet wended their way through the crowded room, talking and joking with the others. Somebody pressed a drink into Jennifer's hands and almost unconsciously she found herself sipping it as she talked. The cool liquid felt good, dispelling some of the heavy, dense air of the room, but adding to the warmth inside her. And it helped her seem more at ease, for she was still very nervous and afraid, intent on making a good impression on Stan and Vic, and yes, on everybody else. She knew that Tamera had gone out on a limb for her, and she didn't want anything to hurt either her girlfriend's popularity, much less her own entrance into the social whirl that up to now she'd only heard about.

Eventually they found some space on one of the long, low, overstuffed couches. The room was rustic in decor, with hanging "kerosene" lanterns and a large brick fireplace and exposed beam ceilings. The walls were of knotty pine and Currier amp; Ives prints, and the furniture was the heavy masculine version of Early American. She rubbed the craved maple arm of the couch to wipe some of the sweat from her palm. The boys left them for a moment, and disappeared.

Tamera leaned over and whispered, "You're doing fine, Jennie. I'm really proud of you. Just keep it up."

Jennifer's heart was like a trip hammer inside her chest. "I am?" She sipped her drink, her throat suddenly parched. "Oh, I hope so."

"Vic and Stan will be right back; relax and enjoy the evening." Tamera was interrupted by Ken King, who jovially spiked their drinks from a bottle of brandy. It changed the taste – not unpleasantly so – and the effects. Jennifer found the glow was still there, but a strange giddiness began to pervade her. She should have had more for dinner than she had had, but she'd lost her appetite with all the excitement of going out with Stan Lubin, and had barely been able to choke down a half can of spaghetti and meat-balls. Now, she had to squint her eyes to see any distance, and to focus on Ken as he made conversation. It struck her then: Ken King was talking to her! Why, up till now, he'd not even nodded to her in the halls! She glanced around at the others when Ken moved on; seeing with reasonable clarity the groups of threes and fours scattered around the sofas, chairs, and on the floor. Rogers and the Butram girl were at the fireplace now, putting together a fire. He was laying the logs across the andirons while Butram stood beside him and handed the kindling and paper as he needed it.

"Want another stick of wood, Gene?" she asked.

"Naw, just gimme the matches now." He lit the fire, and soon it was sending a cheery blaze into the room. They doused the lights, and everybody became shadows and figurines in the flickering radiance.

Jennifer became aware then that Vic and Stan had returned, and she settled back, warm and snug and heavy with sedation from the powerful drinks. Stan curled his arm around her and made her lean back against the cushions with him. "More like a bed, isn't it?" he said.

"Yes… yes, I guess it is," Jennifer said, a slight stutter in her voice.

"Here," Stan said, and pressed a cigarette into her hand. She looked at it; it was like no other cigarette she'd ever seen! It was hand-rolled in a brownish paper. He grinned at her. "Light-up," he urged.

Jennifer had the sinking suspicion what the brownish cigarette was made of. Marijuana! She quivered with indecision, for she was afraid of what the drug might do to her – she'd heard too many stories and lectures from adults – but she was just as afraid of screwing up this good fortune she'd been having. She looked over at Tamera for guidance, for help. Tamera was already lighting up her cigarette, her eyes shut, oblivious to her girlfriend's plight.

"What's the matter," Stan growled, "aren't you hep?"

"I-I never smoked one before," Jennifer blurted, and then felt like biting her tongue. How uncool could she be? She wished she hadn't drunk so much out of the Coke bottle and then the glass in her other hand; she wasn't thinking clearly and was awfully warm, and there was a weight preying down on her forehead and eyes.

"A little grass never hurt anybody," Tamera said, exhaling. "Don't worry so much, Jennie."

"Ah, I knew we shouldn't have brought a kid here," Vic taunted with a sneer. Jennifer blanched with the direct punch of his contempt. Rebellion and resentment made her place the cigarette between her lips with defiance. A child, was she!

"Go on," Stan urged. "Let me light it for you. Once you're a little high, you'll feel things you never felt before." He drew out his lighter and trembling slightly, Jennifer allowed him to light it for her. She drew in heavily, and then coughed.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Vic said disgustedly. "What a waste of good grass."

"Let her alone," Tamera said. "She'll learn. Try again, Jennie. Hold the smoke in your lungs."

The second puff was easier, and the naive young girl held the sour-sweet smoke down until she thought she'd burst. She exhaled, looked around with a smile of triumph, only to see she was behind the others, who were all busily inhaling their joints. She continued to follow suit, and by the end of the marijuana cigarette, she began to float.

Jennifer had never felt better in all her born days. She was happy and carefree, without a worry in the world. She felt a comradeship with everyone in the room, and she laughed and talked and laughed some more. Everything seemed so funny all of a sudden.

Stan gave her another smoke, and then reminded her that her drink was going stale. "How's it going, baby?" he asked.

"Like I'm on the moon!" Jennifer said breathlessly.

"Christ, there's so much smoke in here that I could get stoned without a cigarette," Tamera said. She cuddled in the protective arms of Vic. "Kiss me," she demanded of her boyfriend. "Kiss me hard…"

There was a long pause and then Jennifer heard the unmistakable rustling of clothes as Tamera and Vic settled back against the couch in a passionate embrace. There were the soft, wet sounds of their kissings and moanings, and the teen aged girl tried hard to avert her eyes from the petting so close at hand. But as she turned away, she found that instead of being horrified by the sensual display so openly being performed beside her, she was becoming aroused, and her breasts ached slightly with excitement. Jennifer was too close in her friendship with Tamera Oliss not to be drawn by the building, writhing apassionata, and the knew instinctively that she was approaching her own danger point from which there was no return if passed.

She looked around the cabin, and her eyes bulged as she saw the others in wild tableaus of sex. She'd been to spin-the-bottle and post-office type parties before – but nothing quite as blatant as this! Why… why in the firelight she couldn't be sure, but wasn't Slade moving underneath Gloria's blouse, molding his hand to her breasts? And… and Anita! She had her legs splayed wide and Greg Mothra was rubbing her clothed genitals, causing her to moan lasciviously in his ear. My God!

How far would they go? All the way? Jennifer felt a sudden chill hit the pit of her belly. No… no that was impossible, not with everybody here. Maybe alone the couples might, but even that was one of those things she found embarrassing to think about. The picture of any of them – of Jennifer herself – being naked and displayed unabashed in front of everybody was shattering.

It was entirely out of the question, and she lulled her mind to security again with a long drink from the glass in her one hand, and a long drag on the marijuana cigarette in her other. She leaned against Stan, the delicious warmth of the liquor and drugs seeping through her veins. She'd never felt as deeply involved before in her life. But as she curled up with Stan and his hand once more closed over her breast, the touch of her panties and the cushions pressuring up between her thighs exciting her more and more each moment. Material bunched against her thighs and grazed the sensitive, virginal pink lips of her vagina. Tiny throbs of secret pleasure pulsed in the bud of her clitoris and she tried to hold them back.

But it was to no avail. The heat of the room, the lulling, sensual effects of the liquor and marijuana, the lecherous scenes of lust before her naive and innocent eyes were all too much to be swept away. Necking while watching a distracting motion picture, or outside her house with the threat of being caught by her parents was one matter. This pagan and completely uninhibited fulfillment of lusts was another, and it was working its debauching influence on the virgin teenager.

She couldn't resist the ever-building fire which swelled in her breasts, her loins, her vagina. No matter how hard she squeezed her thighs together, the flames of her flowering young pussy seethed and lashed with constant pressure. She moaned and squirmed, terrified that she wouldn't be able to control herself much longer.

Just as Stan knew she wouldn't.

Just as Tamera and Vic knew she wouldn't.

Just as everybody in the cabin knew she wouldn't – and they all waited impatiently for the trap to spring shut with a finality which would rip Jennifer Carmel from all her final moral moorings. They waited, beasts of carnivorous appetite, secretly gloating over what they were dead certain would soon be the hapless virgin's uncontrolled plunge into their own carnal world of hedonistic delight…

CHAPTER FOUR

"I could use another drink, Lonnie," Cylvia Oliss said. She glanced at the young wife, smiling cat-like to herself. I don't need one – and by the way she's having trouble keeping steady, she doesn't need another, either – but she's going to!

"No… no I better not," Lonnie said. Her head was spinning from the unaccustomed heavy dosage of alcohol which had been fed to her. Fed by her own hand and the alternate turns at mixing by her best friend. On an empty stomach, the liquor went straight to work, and she realized belatedly that she was on the verge of being drunk, not just euphorically high. She couldn't even remember whether the empty glass on the coffee table was the symbol of her fifth or sixth drink; worse, she really didn't care. She just knew that she had to slow down…

"What about going out for dinner now?" she asked.

Cylvia Oliss stood up, smoothing her short dress. She shrugged as the picked up her glass – and Lonnie's as well. "I'm not hungry yet, I'm afraid. I ready feel like having another short one – I'll make a weak one for your." She walked into the kitchen and again poured both vodka and scotch into Lonnie's glass, then a good dollop of ginger ale; the sparkling mix only made the liquor be absorbed faster. She looked at the scotch bottle and smirked. It had been a fresh bottle when the evening had started. Here it was nearly ten o'clock and there was less than an inch left in the bottom. She was feeling good, not tipsy or anything even close to drunk because she'd made sure that Lonnie Carmel had gotten the bulk of the bottle.

"I certainly hate it when Martin's away," she sighed, sitting down beside Lonnie. She was so close that her thigh rubbed against her friend's leg… the move was not accidental.

"I know what you mean," Lonnie moaned.

"Without… without Roger I feel positively barren."

"No sex?" the Oliss woman said lewdly, slyly grinning.

"No…!" The sudden question, with its salacious overtones, surprised Lonnie. How bold! What did her friend think she did, anyway? Fool around while her husband was away? "Why, why Cylvia!" she gasped, "I'm faithful to Roger!"

Cylvia chuckled. "I didn't mean it like that, though God knows you could have all the men you wanted." She appraised the young housewife with calculating eyes, openly admiring her lush figure. "Your breasts are much larger than mine, and your hips… well, I don't mind telling you I'm envious of you."

"Thank… you," Lonnie said, shaken by the overt praise, and a little unsure how to accept it. It must be the liquor talking in Cylvia, she thought. We've both had quite a lot. She blinked as she found herself frankly studying her friend, not as a friend or even as a person, but as a woman – a sexual object which could attract and please. She wondered what Cylvia would look like in the nude, what it would be like to be a man and kiss her, caress her breasts (which were as sensual a pair as she'd seen, and certainly a match in their own right for her fuller ones) until the nipples stood out hard, to make love to her…

In shock, she smiled embarrassingly as Cylvia caught her gaze, and drank nervously from her full drink. Cylvia leaned over her to get a cigarette from the cannister on the table, and her breast swung heavily against Lonnie's arm. The heady musk of her perfume filled her nostrils, and with deliberate provocation Cylvia straightened and searched for a match in her purse with a sensuous motion of the hips and legs. Her skirt rose a little higher…

"No, I think that you could find lots of males, and nicely endowed ones, too; with lots of money, good looks and long hard cocks."

"Cylvia-!" came a horrified choke at her sudden use of the lewd word.

"Don't be shy. It's just hen-talk between us girls." Cylvia winked at Lonnie. "Haven't you ever wanted to say a few dirty words? Let your hair don and use them the way a man does?"

Lonnie hesitated, embarrassed but at the same time fuddled by the vodka and scotch enough so that it all seemed sort of innocently daring. A private game between the two of them which couldn't hurt.

"Say a dirty word," Cylvia wheedled. "Say something like cock."

"C-cock," Lonnie found herself repeating. She blushed madly.

"Something else. Go on."

"Screw…" Lonnie shivered at the use of the vulgarisms. It was exciting and perverted, and tinged with excitement. She felt a small surge of pleasure in her abdomen, and a little lower in her vagina. She giggled slightly, and averted her eyes. "Screw," she said louder.

"Screw," Cylvia said disparagingly. "What kind of dirty word is that? Screw! What does Roger do when he wants to empty his cock and balls into your cunt, Lonnie? Tell me the real word for what he does to you."

"He… fucks me," she stammered.

"Where?" The question came out with a gasp, as if the words were exciting the Oliss wife… which they were, but her reaction only helped feed the rising thrill in Lonnie Carmel's loins. Cylvia licked her lips, her pink tongue circling them and leaving them glistening. "Where does Roger fuck you?"

"In… in…" she wasn't sure if she could say it! But then she felt like such an innocent, such a prude in front of her friend. Cylvia was enjoying it, and in honesty, she had to admit she was as well… and she trusted her friend, trusted her as only one true confident can trust another. It wasn't as if she was on stage, addressing an audience. She could be free with Cylvia… and more important, with Martin and Roger gone and only the two of them together now, she wanted to be free with her. She was drawn closer to her friend by the circumstances, and the bond tightened another notch as she said haltingly: "Roger… fucks me… in the… cunt! In my cunt!"

"Sure he does," Cylvia said. "Just like Martin fucks me in my cunt." She leaned back in her seat and stretched out her legs and to Lonnie's amazement, began to rub her thighs and belly with the palms of her hands. She stroked all around her genital area, moaning slightly as if in heat. "Ohhhhh, Lonnie, sometimes when Martin's not around, I nearly go out of my mind wanting a cock in me. My cunt gets so hot, that I think it'll burn a hole in my panties." She grinned lewdly at the lovely wife. "Sometimes," she whispered as if it was a guilty secret, "I even walk around without my panties. Without anything, just so the cool air will calm the fire in my pussy down."

"You… do?" Lonnie gulped her drink, the brazen confessions forging new and evil images on her brain. Cylvia… pantyless, going about the house naked between her legs… but why not?

Who's to know; who's to see? It… even sounded like fun! Lonnie's heart began to pound faster, and she blamed the alcohol for her broken barriers of propriety, and for the way Cylvia was confiding the most inner secrets about her private life and marital relations…

"And… I-do other things!" Cylvia said. She inched still closer, as if afraid the walls had ears. She put one arm around Lonnie's shoulder. "I have to… or I'd go mad."

Lonnie asked before she realized what she was saying, "What kind of things?"

Cylvia tried to blush – a harder task than she had had to do so far. "I'll… show you." She picked up her purse, a wide, straw basket with leather straps. "Martin once bought these books in Europe," she said, bringing out a set of pamphlets. They were about the size of a Reader's Digest, only about twelve pages in thickness. There were different colored paper covers on them, but all were entitled: Climax Illustrated, with different volume numbers on them. "We would sit in bed and look at the pictures and get hotter than hell. We'd be naked, you see, and I'd look at his cock get excited and grow straight up in the air. Then we'd make love; screw, to use your word. He'd fuck my toenails off, in my language."

Lonnie took one of the booklets, and said as she opened the cover, "But I don't understand." She was confused, dizzy from the liquor, upset by not having her husband here, tortured by the increasing tingles of prurience which was emanating stronger and stronger from her loins and breasts, and mentally distraught from the deepening lewdness of the conversation. She didn't understand anything – and when she opened the booklet and caught the first picture, she really didn't understand!

"Why! Why… this is obscene!" Her eyes bulged slightly at the salacious color picture. It was of two women, sitting on the couch, both beautiful young Scandinavians; they were in a state of undress, one having only a garter belt and stockings on, and the other in her panties and high boots. The one in the boots was kissing the hardened ruby-tipped nipple on the other's left breast. Lonnie and Cylvia sat in silence for a moment, as Lonnie took a deep swallow of her drink feeling some composure returning to her stomach.

"Turn the page, Lonnie. It gets better!"

"No…" But her mind couldn't control her fingers. The page turned, and she reeled under the pornographic display of both girls stretched out on the couch now, the panties around one ankle of the girl; they were facing one another, but in such a way that their mouths were kissing each other's vaginas, their fingers spreading their soft strands of pubic hair. The pink vagina slits were visible, and on the opposing page were close-ups of each tonguing the soft flesh and rich thighs of the other.

Lonnie was unable to tear herself away from the pictures. She'd heard of lesbianism, occasionally even wondered what it felt like to have the softer, more tender touch of a woman on her skin – but she'd never seen it before, had it so detailed before her eyes!

She turned to her friend, and found that Cylvia was now slouched in her seat, her legs wide apart. Her skirt was even higher than before! "They make me excited," Cylvia panted, her eyes glued to the pictures. "So damned hot! There's others, with men and dogs, and even one with a negro with a cock the size of a telephone pole… but there's something about this set, with the girls, that tears me apart when I look at them."

"You can't mean it!" Lonnie gaped.

"I do," Cylvia said, nodding. "I'm being honest, and as my friend, you can be honest with me. Don't they excite you? Don't they make you want to spread your legs for the first thing that comes in sight?"

"But – but these are perverted! They're doing un-unnatural acts!"

"They're merely enjoying themselves, Lonnie. Without men around, what else is there? Besides fingering yourself, I mean. That's what I do when I'm alone and look at the pictures. I take all my clothes off and lie on the bed and look at the girls making love and I play with my own cunt until I cum."

"Cylvia," Lonnie moaned. She was so awfully mixed up. She knew she shouldn't have had that last drink, for her vision was becoming distorted with her mental reflection of what she'd done that morning – what she'd done to herself on previous days when the build-up of passion had been too great. She'd lain on her bed, naked, and done the exact same things to her pussy which Cylvia was admitting having done to herself! She felt she should stop this perverted talking before it got any worse… but the drinks and Cylvia's salacious confessions and the pictures before her were a melage too strong to counter-act. She felt wicked churnings in her body, the prickles of arousal stirring in her blood and marrow.

"Ohhh, God, Lonnie, I'm excited," Cylvia mewled. "I… I don't think I can stand it!"

Mrs. Lonnie Carmel's heretofore naive view of her best friend and trusted confident took another shattering blow. For Cylvia raised her dress yet higher, so that now it was bunched around her waist – and that she wasn't wearing any panties! Cylvia Oliss was naked from the waist down, and was brazenly spreading her logs still wider, exposing her moist, blonde-haired cunt to Lonnie's wild-eyed vision.

Lonnie was speechless. Never had she been a part of such abandonment of modesty. She'd seen other girls in the nude, of course; had taken showers and been at slumber parties and changed into bathing suits with no thought that their – and her – private parts were in display. But there had been good taste then, and not a flaunting of genitals with overtones of sex so apparent. Here, now, her best friend was shameless and openly admitting her unfulfilled needs, her most decadent of practices. Lonnie was always ashamed of having to use her own hands to relieve the hunger of her sex drive – and never had the thought occurred to her to use any stimulus, such as pictures or stories, either alone or with Roger! And whenever she did conjure up images during the billowing heat waves of her arousal, it was always of Roger…

"God, all I can think of is my cunt being kissed," Cylvia groaned. She parted her thighs and rotated her bare thighs on the couch, her one hand moving up and down, encircling the lovely curls and swollen red valley of her vaginal lips, while her other hand was still around Lonnie's shoulder, preventing her friend from leaving the couch. "Just like those girls are doing to each other… see, Lonnie? Their kisses, their tongues, their finger-fucking each other. Ooohhhhh…"

Lonnie tried to avert her eyes from the licentious sight of Cylvia undulating her loins and agitating her throbbing cunt, but her gaze only returned to the lusty pictures and the twin females of perversion. She swallowed hard, her throat dry, her stomach a thousand butterflies. She looked back at her friend and was drawn once more to Cylvia's soft pubic triangle, for there was a strange attraction for the woman's hair and flesh which made Lonnie cringe and want to pull away and yet lean closer at the same time.

"Ahhhh," Cylvia moaned uncontrollably. "Ahhh, it feed so good…"

The Oliss woman revolved her fingers in the lust-moistened furrow of her pussy now, her legs bent slightly to allow her hand full access as she hungrily managed her cuntal slit. The flesh grew redder with excitement, and she breathed harder and harder, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. She leaned her head against Lonnie's rigid shoulder and clenched her teeth. "Uuhhhh," she sighed through her mouth.

"Stop it," Lonnie pleaded. "Please… please stop it."

"Why? I'm only doing what I enjoy. We're friends, Lonnie. We understand one another, and we both know we masturbate."

Her moist, glistening vagina was splayed wide for Lonnie's view, and the shocked young wife could smell its perfumed female secretions. As much as she wanted Cylvia to stop, she was too close in spirit and desires to the Oliss woman to be anything but a sympathetic and empathetic comrade. Tears of frustration and indecision clouded her lids – and there was her own deep wetness building between her inner thighs. With a terrified jolt, Lonnie realized that her own hips were unconsciously starting to grind with helpless excitement, and that her breasts and vagina were actually hurting in response to Cylvia's immoral teasing of her own loins.

Cylvia Oliss wasn't quite as thoroughly out of rational control as she was making her hapless woman companion believed. She loved what she was doing – had always reveled in displaying her full, curvaceous body in lewd and debauched ways in front of others – but in spite of the ebullient sensations running rampant through her, one sane portion of her brain kept a close watch on the reactions of her friend, and with the sureness born of experience and cunning, she dropped her hand from Lonnie's shoulder and cupped one of the large, round globes of Roger Carmel's wife. Lonnie shuddered at the alien feel and bit her lower lip hard, and for a moment tried to pull away. But the aching wretchedness inside her spread like wild-fire at the soft touch, draining her of the will to resist. She dropped the booklet on the table with a groan; it stayed open to the evil photo of the two Scandinavian girls frozen in their passionate soixante-neuf position. Cylvia waited until Lonnie had capitulated to the fingers, then she moved her arm and edged up inside Lonnie's thin sweater until once more the hardening flesh and budding nipple of the woman's breast was teased. And all the while she continued to fondle her clitoris and vagina with abandonment.

Cylvia Oliss mewled again as she slid the bra up over the quivering mounds of Lonnie Carmel's breasts, and could hardly restrain herself from ripping off the sweater then and there so she could drink in the loveliness of her friend's full twin mounds. She knew instinctively that they'd be beautiful – almost as magnificent to touch and kiss and view as a man's erected penis. She loved men, was a hedonist when it came to their bodies and genitals, but there were times when the creamy skin and velvety sweetness of another woman was a pleasant variation. Especially of a woman like Lonnie Carmel, who had to be awakened to the full, until now hidden depths of her sexuality. It made it all the more exciting this way.

Lonnie shuddered and almost wept with the tensions which tore through her soul. Cylvia's hand was massaging her breasts – first one, and then the other – into concrete hardness, and she could feel her breath coming in short, labored gasps as she twisted against the cushions and attempted to regain her control and put out the fire that was engulfing her loins unmercifully. Her eyes glazed as she looked at the passion-inciting pictures spread in front of her and then at the lascivious manipulations of her friend's cunt beside her. She heard the lewd and lust-enticing entreaties which Cylvia was now murmuring in her ear – words which she hadn't heard since high school and that were now suddenly exciting as they'd not been then. The trembling, scared housewife pressed her thighs together, pushing her fists into the base of her stomach in one last determined effort to overcome the passions seething inside the cauldren of her body. In her sex and alcohol drugged mind, she knew that she would soon not have any strength to fight off the lust that was tugging at the very core of her quivering being. And she was deathly terrified of the consequences…

Yes; what would be the consequences? What would she do if she was driven to the point where she had to have release? And why was her friend, her very best friend doing this to her? Why was she being driven out of her mind by the twin devils of Cylvia's unrestrained actions and her inner inabilities to control the heathen arousals?

And then Cylvia let her fingers slowly worm their way down the rippling flesh of Lonnie's stomach and over her skirt to her bare legs. The women stroked the upper leg, and tickled the soft flesh of her inner thighs and Lonnie felt her muscles responding with tiny, excited spasms. She desperately tried to wrench herself from the binding forces of her nature, and then as more tantalizing sensations crawled through her belly and swelled her breasts, she found it almost impossible just to sit still.

"No…" she breathed heavily. "You mustn't, Cylvia… you mustn't." But Cylvia was all but insensate form the delirium of her whipping masturbations and the goading of the lovely woman beside her. She wouldn't have stopped for anything, especially for the ever-weakening pleas of the wife she planned to degradate in every way imaginable. This was only the first course… the main meal was yet to be eaten; the thought alone made Cylvia tighten her fingers around Lonnie's unconsciously parting legs.

"Please, Cylvia…" Lonnie was now desperately fighting herself as much as the other woman. "It isn't right. We're two women. It isn't natural."

"Pleasure is the only thing natural," Cylvia replied thickly. "Everything else are artificial restraints. Or don't you like what I'm doing? Tell me you are sick, repulsed, can't bear to see me ever again. Go on, if you're able. Tell me."

Lonnie couldn't say a word, her voice caught in her throat.

"I thought so. You like it as much as I do, and your cunt's so hot right now that you can't stand it." She grazed the soft material of Lonnie's nylon panties and ran a finger along the secretion band, feeling the soft down and rounded protuberance of the woman's vaginal lips. She slid her finger up and down the silken cloth, much in the same manner as she was fingering her own salacious, carniverous pussy. "You like me rubbing your wet cunt. I can tell it. I can feel the stains in your panties from your hot juices, and the way your sweet pussy lips are twitching. Just the same way they twitch when you fingerfuck yourself when Roger's not around."

Lonnie's face grew crimson red. It's true, she thought in utter mortification. Too damned true. Miserably she trembled with the ecstasy from Cylvia's rubbings realizing what this admission meant. All her body would be putty in her friend's perverse hands, to be manipulated by the lewd whims of the woman. She shivered violently and tears ran down unhampered, falling on her wrinkled sweater, but the sensations pervaded deeper and deeper, and now she was writhing on the cushions, her body becoming more abandoned and out of control, and slowly she turned her face toward the head of Cylvia, who was still leaning on her near shoulder. She opened her mouth so that she could breathe better, and tasted the satin skin of her friend's cheek, and sweet desire rippled through her. The sane revulsion of being made love to by another woman became the emotional turmoil of unrequited lust, and nothing else. A thrilling desire to be released from the burning embers of sexual stimulation, to be brought to the crest of completion and know surcease from to torture wracking her genitals and inner womb flooded her tormented body.

Cylvia Oliss smiled triumphantly to herself and kissed Lonnie's small, curvaceous ear tenderly. She sensed that from now on she could do anything she wanted to, and she vowed that for the rest of the time until they went to Club Royale she'd make Lonnie Carmel so hot that she'd offer no resistance to Sam Zeigler when he tried to fuck her. The plan of her husband's was working out perfectly, but her own yearning passion made her aware that she herself wanted to seduce this woman. She was actually enjoying herself.

"You have a wonderful body, Lonnie," she whispered enticingly. "Take your clothes off and we'll both be naked."

Lonnie's mind spiraled with panic. She wasn't being asked – Cylvia was ordering her to remove her clothing! She bit her loiter lip with the anguish that the knew she couldn't resist the command, that her body was going to betray her thoroughly. Slowly she sat up and, crossing her arms, raised her sweater to her neck, baring her swollen breasts to the beady gaze of the woman. Then she slipped the woolly garment off her head and bent forward, unclasping her useless brassiere. Her breath sucked in audibly as the moist hand that had been masturbating Cylvia now caressed her naked breasts, leaving a trail of lubricous juices across her quivering skin. She squirmed as the hand stroked one nipple, making it nearly burst with hardness. A moistness in her vagina from the other hand of her friend softened the already swollen lips of her throbbing cunt.

Cylvia pressed her hand deeper against Lonnie's cunt and then stretched the tender skin of her breast until the hard, red nipple was near her mouth. Opening her lips into an oval, she sucked the ribbed bud of flesh deep into her salivating mouth. Her satin lips sucked frantically, like a calf sucking on its mother's tit, and Lonnie's whole breast throbbed in her hand. She nipped with her teeth and felt sweet flesh pulse, and then she curled her tongue around the inflamed nipple.

Lonnie was helpless to do anything except squirm and moan in ecstatic delight. She let the sensations roll unimpeded through her writhing belly, her breasts shuddering with an uncontrolled passion which had taken over her mind and soul. Fumbling with the zipper and button of her skirt, she opened the material and frantically slid the skirt from her arched thighs, forcing Cylvia to remove the hand which was burrowed in her tender cunt. But the lips and fingers on her breasts were almost too much to bear unto themselves – it was as if the woman inherently knew that Lonnie's breasts were fantastically sensitive to stimulation, and had homed in on them with unerring accuracy, assured that the young wife of Roger Carmel would capitulate once they were conquered.

Lonnie kept her legs up and her feet free of the carpet as she puddled her skirt on the floor, for her hands were already busy at the band of her panties, peeling them down over her round curvaceous hips as fast as she could. But before the skimpy briefs were off, Cylvia's hand was on the mount of her vaginal split, eagerly spreading the inflamed and rounded lips apart. Lonnie sighed from the intense stabs of desire which cascaded from the tingling pink flesh of her inner thighs as Cylvia's fingers rubbed up and down the wide valley and grazed the throbbing clitoris and teased the moist, dilated hole to her womb. She gasped and began to whimper as the woman started to worm first one and then two slender fingers into her vagina, sliding with slippery sucking sounds while Lonnie fell back limply on the cushions, to lie prostrate and spread-legged with total abandonment, soft gurglings coming from her throat. Her aroused hips writhed in circles and arced upwards for more of the magically fucking hand. Then there was a sudden halt, the fingers pulled from her openly excited cunt, and Lonnie opened her eyes wide, wild for more.

Cylvia was stripping her dress off, and Lonnie saw that her girlfriend had not only been without panties, but bra as well! She had come over, passing through public with only a thin dress and shoes on! The sheer decadence and daring of such a garb added to the thrilling abandonment of the situation! She moaned as her eyes once more feasted on the moist, matted blonde-haired cunt, and saliva formed in her mouth as she gazed enraptured at the beautiful banned breasts. She made no protest as the woman came to her and slid on top of her, pushing down on the cushions and spreading her thighs wide. She looked down at the triumphant face of her best friend as Cylvia smiled and her eyes sparkled at the lusty sight of the spayed pussy and large breasts. She quivered with trepidation and expectation.

"Darling, I'm going to make you cum like you've never cum before," Cylvia whispered seductively, her head leaning over and her nostrils breathing heavy, hot air on Lonnie. "Kiss me…"

Lonnie stiffened as the warm lips of Mrs. Martin Oliss closed over hers, and a darting tongue probed along her slightly parted mouth. There was a feeling that to kiss her would make what was happening all the more obscene, as if there was actual love and affection between them rather than just a more basic urge to relieve the tensions unbearable in her loins. But Cylvia had her hand cradling her head now, and after a moment of hesitation, she surrendered to the insistent tongue, and opened her lips to let it slide in her mouth. Their mouths fused hotly; Lonnie found herself responding with all the passion she saved for her husband, sucking and savoring the saliva from her girlfriend's mouth, and only conscious of the sensations the French kisses were causing to her already trembling being.

"Oh, yes… yes," she murmured as they broke apart. "I want you, Cylvia… make me cum…" The wild abandon of her own lewd demands made her head reel, and her blood raced through her. Nothing else mattered except the carnal fact of here and now, and the delightful hot fire burning in her cunt and breasts and mouth.

Then the couch shifted, and Lonnie realized that Cylvia had moved. She groaned as the woman's soft hands feathered her skin, and her whole torso quivered as Cylvia sucked and kissed her breasts with her hot lips. Then the couch sagged again, and the long, slender, beautiful body of Mrs. Martin Oliss was stretched out full beside Lonnie, forcing her to move against the back cushions and bend slightly. And worse – Cylvia had moved in such a position as to have her face near her trembling pussy – and in turn have her own throbbing cunt offered at face level to the tortured eyes of Lonnie Carmel! It… it was just like the picture! No, no…!

But even as the sordid thoughts raced through the agonized Mrs. Carmel, Cylvia was once more planting long, fevered kisses on her burning flesh down around her belly and upper thighs. Her passionate vagina was tingling with roaring heat, swelling and expanding the inner walls and outer lips. Lonnie's mind whirled as her friend caressed her lower body with hands and mouth, but she pulled together enough strength to resist the invasion of her loins by closing her thighs. She'd never allowed her cunt to be kissed, even when Roger had suggested the perversion a few times! The whole idea of mouths to genitals had sickened her before, but now, so much had she allowed, that there was little left in her crazed mind to halt this final assault.

"Open your legs, Lonnie," the woman said softly, urgently. Without further hesitation, then she did as was bid, moaning slightly as Cylvia touched the sensitive pink flesh with her finger again. She turned her head to one side and her eyes were almost level with the offered triangle of soft golden pubic curls and taut ruby cunt lips of the woman who was manipulating her cunt, and as she gazed at the feminine splendor, Cylvia raised her upper leg, bending it so that the full majesty of her vaginal slit was paraded for Lonnie.

Lonnie had never considered that a woman's private parts were especially esthetic… but as hot breath was blown on hers, the lascivious sight before her face took on the qualities of beauty. She tentatively brushed her fingers over the stomach of the woman beside her, and saw that it made Cylvia tremble and moan with desire, and little droplets of lubricating fluid moistened the coral edges of her pussy. The skin felt so good to touch… Lonnie let her hands play up and down her friend's body, circling her thighs and buttocks, though not having the nerve to dip into the palpitating crest of hair and flesh between the widened legs. She just couldn't!

And then she cried out with sudden shock. Cylvia had kissed her pubic hair, just above her vaginal slit! Cylvia snaked out her tongue again and heard a muffled sob just before contacting the black-haired wife's firey clitoris, and then she licked molten swaths all the way along the fleece-lined cuntal lips, right down to the opening of her friend's vagina. Lonnie let all thoughts of right or wrong, depravity or passion pass in one sudden sweep of ecstasy and she drew her thighs upwards, giving Cylvia fuller access to her cunt, and she in turn found that she was clutching her friend's tanned buttocks with almost spastic strength, and her face was tangled in the golden wisps of pubic hair. Ripples of loathing and shame coursed through Lonnie, but all were overridden by the inundation of sensuality and passion. I can't do it! I can't… And then she was, her lips and tongue burrowing in the cleft of Cylvia Oliss' soft cunt. Her head oscillated slavishly as she abandoned herself to her position. She could smell the beautiful bouquet of genital female aroma coming from Cylvia's heated loins, and her own pussy ached with the twin devils of her friend's mouthings and the excitement of her lewd actions.

"Ohhhhh," cried Cylvia in a muffled voice. "That's it, that's it! Faster! Faster!"

Lonnie sucked hungrily, teasing the woman's little clitoris as Cylvia was doing to her own, and she was salivating as never before as she tongued and kissed and sucked the pink, trembling flesh. And all the while Cylvia was busy with the fleshy confines of her wet, side-turned pussy. Her insides were about to explode and she thrust harder and harder, every inch of her on fire. She felt herself cumming…

The walls of her vagina grasped at Cylvia's tongue and her clitoris quivered for the driving lips and teeth. The muscles in her abdomen writhed against the torture of her untamed fury and she checked and gasped as she strove to bring her friend to the same completion she was nearing. Finally with an animal-like howl, her body shuddered and she jerked against the face of Cylvia Oliss as wild orgasmic juices poured forth from her hotly pulsating vaginal mouth.

Cylvia felt Lonnie explode, and then her own orgasm hit, taking hold of her body and sending it surging again the bobbing face of her girlfriend, pushing it crazily for longer, hotter mouthings as she crooned out her release.

"Ohhhhhhh!" she groaned, and she was joined in her cry by Lonnie's: "Ahhhhhhh!" for Lonnie spawned and screamed with pleasure, beads of perspiration dotting her forehead. And then the two women fell limp, their climaxes, like giant crushing machines, leaving them both stupified with satiation. They lay like that, their faces cradled between each other's open thighs, for a long while until strength returned.

Lonnie lay still, and as sanity seeped through the blinding passion of her brain, she experienced a rising tide of guilt. It had felt so good, she couldn't deny that… and yet it was bad. What if Roger or Jennifer ever found out what she'd allowed – no, had actually participated in? She'd die. A low whimper of regret passed through her as she opened her eyes. She stared at the beautiful body before her, at the rounded hips and the blonde triangle of pubic hair, still matted with saliva and Cylvia's lubrications. She ran her tongue nervously over her lips, tasting again the female piquance of her friend's vagina, and had the sinking feeling that this wasn't going to end here. That as much as she loathed herself for doing this, she would fall prey to her staggering emotions time and time again, whenever her female companion wanted. For something had been released inside her, a trigger had been pulled, and she had to confess to herself, if not to Cylvia, that she had passed over that line between control and hedonism, and would never be safe from doing it again.

She'd try – oh God, would she try; for her family, for her marriage, for herself. But once the frailties of the flesh have been exposed, it's a barring knowledge, and one which cannot be covered again and forgotten. Lonnie Carmel could never trust her body again, could never take pride in her aloof stand above the vagarities of human response. And then a more terrible assertion came to her – did she really want to?

Yes… yes, she did. She must not repeat this! She must find the power to combat her infirmeries… she must, somehow.

"I thought you'd like that, once you let your hair down, Lonnie," Cylvia said, purring as she stirred from her prone position. "We'll have to do this more often, I can see that."

The very lewdness of the remark smashed that last remnants of the wife's pride. Tearfully, she whimpered, "Please, Cylvia. No more. Not now. Jennifer might come home." Anything – any excuse to delay a second debacle, a repeat which she could so easily find herself doing, for her body was not satiated but only temporarily stilled – and a repeat of the same lewd act would certify her worst inner fears.

Cylvia, standing, fluffed her hair and smiled down upon the tormented lusciousness of her friend's naked form. "No, your daughter won't be coming home for quite awhile," she said. "She'll be at that party for many hours, I'm sure." She knew full well that Jennifer was right at that moment being seduced with the same practiced ease with which she had just seduced her friend. "Don't worry about her, Lonnie." She had the urge to laugh then, for Lonnie looked so shamed and yet so very hot.

"Listen, Lonnie," the evil woman said in a condescending tone, "I know you're feeling awfully bad about what we did just now, but believe me, it's only because it's new to you."

"I… I don't wish to discuss it." Lonnie turned her head away.

Cylvia was too clever to let the reaction of self-incrimination steal the pleasure and satisfaction from Lonnie's guilty mind. The body she had just conquered would be a slave to sexual license from now on – but she had to make sure that Lonnie openly went along with her body, for only then could full enjoyment be realized – and her hopes for another member to their swap club be added. Her husband may have his motives – but Cylvia had her own as well. She didn't deceive herself into thinking the could do it all at once, of course – there had to be reinforcements, and soon; Zeigler would see to that – but the seeds for the change in mind and soul had to be started now, while the body still emanated its signals of satiation and smug satisfaction.

Mrs. Oliss looked down on the hapless, despondent wife. "No, I must say this, as one friend to another. What we did – what millions of normal assenting adults do every day, is nothing but good, clean fun which adds novelty and a lovely experience to your life. You did enjoy it, didn't you?"

There was a long silence, and then the tearful admittance from Lonnie: "Y-yes, I did."

"You see? You haven't dulled your love for Roger; all you did was have a fulfilling sexual experience, and we became all the closer for it. What could be more natural than that?" Cylvia Oliss sat down, her naked hips touching the still warm and palpitating stomach of the distraught young wife. She stroked Lonnie's side tenderly. "What we did was an embellishment, nothing more. I bet that when Roger comes home, you'll be more passionate and ardent a lover than before, because you'll be proving to him that sex is better with him than any other way. And of course it is; it always is."

Lonnie moaned and tried to clear her head, to think straight about what had happened and her friend's interpretation of it. But the liquor and the shock of her body's betrayal had dulled her brain to the point of utter confusion. She battled with her life-time of moral concepts – it was wrong, so wrong… or was it? How could anything that had been so pleasurable be wrong? Was it just her puritanical prejudices damning her, and not the reaction to inhuman demands? She couldn't make up her mind… so much had happened in so short a time… she was miserably confused.

Cylvia chuckled, knowing the seed had been planted, and decided not to press the issue further for fear of overdoing it. She said: "Come on, it's time for that dinner. I'm starved now!"

"Oh, Cylvia, I couldn't!" Lonnie wailed.

"Of course you can. It'll give you a chance to calm down and think rationally and a breath of fresh air besides. It's about time you got some food in that belly of yours, anyway. Whoo-eh! The liquor hit us both pretty hard."

There was truth in that, Lonnie admitted to herself ruefully. She staggered to her bare feet, and stood nude beside the woman who'd just made love to her. She blushed at her nakedness. "I'll leave a note for Jennifer, just in case she comes home early."

"A fine idea," Cylvia said. "Now go in and put the sexiest dress you've got on. Something really scandalous. And then we'll go out and have some fun."

Lonnie nodded numbly and started for her bedroom.

"And for God's sakes take that look off your face," Cylvia called after her. "You act as if there's a neon sign in your forehead telling the world you and I were on the couch together." She laughed. "Hell, it's just another intimate secret between us, Lonnie, just like all the others. Trust me."

When Lonnie was in the bedroom and rustling clothes in her closet, the Oliss wife crossed quickly to the phone and dialed the number of the Club Royale quietly. As she waited for an answer and the chance to tip Zeigler that they would soon be on the way to his club, she smiled grimly. Trust me, Lonnie, trust me to make you break down into the hottest little piece of ass in town. After all, what are friends for, if not to trust?

CHAPTER FIVE

Stan Lubin massaged the young teen-age virgin's breast and knew he was getting Jennifer Carmel excited. Hell, everything was getting her excited: the squeezing; of his hand, the potent and aphrodisiac qualities of the marijuana and liquor, and the lust-enciting scene as the less inhibited, more experienced couples writhed and moaned in the early stages of making love. He could tell his "date" was responding just as Vic and Tamera had promised by the way her nipple puckered through the taut fabric of her brassiere. He took the tiny bud, and rolled the innocent nubbin, until she gasped and let her head roll back, uplifting the tender mounds.

The football full-back innately knew that her breasts were begging to be removed from their thin nylon restraints and kissed. His large cock swelled in his tight pants and the tension was grinding in his loins, and his balls ached with maddening intensity. Yeah, he could barely contain his impetuousness – this sweet, tight little virgin was going to be a delicious fuck, just like he'd been told.

A warning sounded in Jennifer's drugged mind, but it was too far away, too dimmed by the marijuana and heady surroundings to be effective; she tried to move Stan's fingers from her breasts but only succeeded in bringing her hand to rest on his – and then let it fall back to her side. She closed her glassy eyes and pled, "Don't, Stan," she groaned. "Let me sit up. I don't want you to touch me like this."

Stan only tightened his fingers, and with his other hand fumbled with her bra snaps. Jennifer labored for breath and squirmed harder, only pushing the now wet and swollen lips of her vagina down against the couch cushions and making herself more aroused than ever.

"Oh God, Stan, don't… you're hurting me… you're tearing my clothes… stop!" She knew that she should demand to go home; that in spite of her fears that she'd louse up her chance of being part of the "in" crowd at school and lose Tamera as a friend, she should call a halt to this. But her nerves were shattered and her brain whirled with the liquor and marijuana, and already Stan had snaked her bra off and was freely fondling her breasts.

"No… no, Stan," she gasped. "I've never done this before!"

"Always a first time for everything, kid," he grinned lewdly at her. "Relax and enjoy it, like the others. You're a big girl now, aren't you?"

The others! Her eyes flew around the room in wide disbelief. The fire had died, leaving only glowing embers by which the boys and girls were outlined, writhing glowing lines and moaning luminous shadows against a backdrop of furniture and rugs. Clothing was strewn helter-skelter, and more than one couple were unabashedly naked; a quartet were doing unmentionable things to one another in a far corner, their mewls and cries of sexual ecstasy mingling with the others, and only the lack of proper light saved their debauched actions from searing the naive innocent mind of the virgin girl. But, surely this couldn't be happening to Tamera! Not her!

Jennifer turned her head and saw the flushed, passion-fevered face of her dearest girlfriend. Vic was openly digging his hand between her thighs, reaching up that almost indecently short skirt of her's and fondling her tender pussy. The shock staggered Jennifer, and with a sharp intake of breath she leaned back, only to find that there was a prurient tingle in her belly and deep within the untouched cavern of her vagina a seeping moisture was increasing.

Stan slowly insinuated his hand up her own skirt, copying the actions of her compatriot sitting next to him. He kneaded the soft, resilient flesh of her inner thighs, while with his other hand he casually unbuttoned her frilly blouse which she had so zealously ironed especially for tonight.

"Stan, I beg you…" she whimpered. "I'm not that kind of girl."

"All gals are that kind of girl – if they're not in diapers," the high school hero sneered. "And, baby, that body of yours has been going to waste too long. It's going to change as of tonight." He whistled as he saw the full rounded breasts overflowing from her open blouse. He'd never seen a more perfect pair! He roughly wrenched off the garment, leaving Jennifer naked from the want up, and shivering, even though the cabin was overly warm.

Jennifer's breath came in short spasms and she blushed furiously in shame. She turned her eyes away and tried to cower on the cushion, hunching over protectively. Stan grabbed her hair and forced her upright, her breasts twin mounds of quivering delight thrusting out for all the cabin to see.

"Uh-uh, baby. You got to see that what you're doing is just what all of us do whenever we get a chance. I mean, just take a gander at your girlfriend." He laughed harshly at her confused and cringing embarrassment. He made her stare at Tamera, and Jennifer's flesh crawled with the impact of so close a scene of carnal abuse. Tamera had her legs wide, and her panties were on the floor at her feet, and her skirt was there too! Jennifer gasped with horror as she viewed her naked girlfriend, and felt as if she could reach out and touch her.

Tamera was gurgling ecstatically, her head rolling from side to side, and Vic's hand was flying in the blonde, curly pubic hair which was so openly displayed. Her legs were quivering as if palsied, splayed to allow the half-back full access to her. This was different than even the lusty sight of her mother and father screwing! This was her friend! Jennifer continued to stare at the naked, squirming spectacle while the muscular boy toyed unsparingly with her wet, heaving cunt.

Everybody was in the makings of an orgy! The football team and their girls were rutting like so many wild, untamed animals! She wouldn't have believed it without seeing it, and Jennifer was to the point of not believing even her eyes! The warming flood between her tight thighs was staining her panties and she felt the moistness seeping between the clenched crevice of her buttocks. As Stan's hand wormed more insistently up to her crotch, the pleasures she felt were rationalized by the overwhelming shock of what was going on all around her – as interpreted by her lust, drug, and liquor-hazed mind. It was wicked, but so wickedly nice. She closed her eyes, panting like a steam engine, resigning herself to the lurid sensations coursing through her overheated young body.

Then, she almost screamed. Stan was already to the door of her virginity, having insinuated his way there while her mind drifted with the lascivious sight of her best friend's total capitulation to her boyfriend. She could feel Stan's fingers teasing against the softness of her damp panties, snaking under the elastic of the leg band and worming around the moist lips of her vagina. She squirmed to free herself, and then his middle finger was inside, working up and down with a maddening tactile sense. Jennifer was almost out of her mind and was ready to crawl all around the cabin in order to salve the unquenchable fires building in her helplessly contracting cunt. Yet, the sight of her best friend, Tamera Oliss, being buffeted down into the couch beside her, was just too much to bear!

"No! Don't touch me there! Let me alone!"

Stan's only reply was to rip off her panties with one swift yank, growling, "Goddamned little prick teaser!"

"I'm not teasing," she choked. "Tam! Tam, take me home!"

Stan thought that was funny. "Are you joking? Look at Tam and Vic and tell me if they want to take a little cry-baby like you anywhere!"

The virgin teenager gaped with agony as she saw what was happening almost in front of her. Vic, having brought Tamera to a whining pitch of raw nerves, was now upside down and straddling her hearing chest, his face inches from the young girl's cunt. Tamera's mouth was wide and her eyes were waxy nothings of lust and drugs. Then, Vic pressed the flat plane of her stomach and massaged the outer flanges of her vaginal lips, pulling outward, exposing the moist pink slit of Tamera's quivering pussy. The large bud of her erect clitoris was clearly in view just above the shadowed mouth of her cunt.

Stan, afraid he might be losing his opportunity, lit another marijuana cigarette quickly with his free hand, while the other hand still worked slowly but surely in the defenseless girl's vagina, and stuck the "joint" between the lips of her trembling mouth, and he ordered her to suck in the smoke deeply. Like an automaton, Jennifer let the sweet acrid smoke curl in her lungs, and like it was a panacea, it filtered out all the horror she felt, replacing it with a kind of delightful wickedness.

She watched with overt fascination as Vic let his tongue flick over the offered vaginal orifice of her girlfriend, and her body jerked as Tamera responded with tiny spasms of excitement. Her hips began a slow undulation as Tamera mewled and rolled from side to side in order to allow the boy more area between her legs for his kisses. Jennifer drew on the "grass" deeper, and her whole being blossomed with new, unfathomable sensations. She was caught in a mindless, uncontrollable desire to participate – she had to belong…! Oh God, yes, she had to belong to it all…!

"Now, baby, let's have a peek at your hot little cunt," Stan Lubin said heavily. "It should be nice and juicy by now."

The lewd demand excited the virgin girl even more, and she moaned in her drugged stupor as without protest, she now surrendered her loins to his desire. Stan pushed up her buttocks and removed first her panties, and then found the buttons for her skirt. He let them down her legs slowly, saying: "You won't be needing these any more," and young Jennifer's body was like so much rubber in his strong grip.

The boy was mesmerized by the lust-inciting view of her undefiled vagina. Now, naked as the others were, she sprawled deliriously back on the cushions, breathing wildly and unable to tear her gaze from the obscene display of her best girlfriend's widespread thighs with the boy's head down between them. Jennifer's nubile form was an entrancing combination of raven blackness and ivory swells of breasts and thighs, with a thin moist slit running through the triangle of her soft young pubic hair. Stan had fucked a lot of girls, but he'd never dreamed of such a prize! Never had he come close to deflowering anything as pure, innocent, or helpless. Her mewlings of shame only goaded his cock to rock hardness, and he could feel his shaft pound with blood and tiny droplets seeped from his bloated cockhead.

His fingers crawled into the valley of her maidenhood, wet with her emissions. He rubbed her clitoris, listening to the panicky gasps that rose from deep in her lungs. "Stan… not so hard… no, no, I've never done this… don't hurt me…" Jennifer found herself sliding down off the crowded couch onto the floor with her crazed motions, Stan beside her, never letting up with his hand. She writhed on the floor, nearly as abandoned as the others, and her nerves were shredded under his obscene torture of her young female genitals.

Enjoying himself, Stan crouched down and spread the lips of her vagina and slipped his middle finger into the tight, innocent hole. He pushed deeper, caressing her untouched vaginal walls, and her cunt lips sucked tightly around his middle finger. He began a deliberate in and out movement in a slow teasing fucking motion, wanting her wetter so that the pain of his impending entrance would be lessened. And that impalement of her virginal pussy would be soon… soon, or by God, he'd cream in his drawers!

Vic now had room in which to fuck Jennifer's girlfriend. Jennifer looked up and was horrified to see the large boy standing over the hungrily writhing Tamera and removing his pants. For the second time in her life, she saw a fully erected, mature penis! Jennifer gaped at the thick stump as he paused next to her girlfriend's still wide-spread thighs. How could Tam take it all? Jennifer thought crazily. She knew that Tam wasn't a virgin, but this open craving of lust was beyond her imagination! She found her eyes locked on Vic's huge cock as he arched over the other girl then Tamera reached out and grasped the quivering cock and guided it between her legs to her open vagina. Jennifer's throat was constricted as she watched him lever downwards, his cock slipping smoothly into the tiny bearded mouth, a moaning sigh coming from both of their throats. Then began the same pumping with his young virile cock as Stan was doing to her own cunt with his middle finger. Tamera locked her ankles around Vic's legs, and the tempo began to build until her buttocks were drumming wildly into the couch and she ground her own body up to meet his.

Jennifer's pussy, of its own volition, sucked back on his fingers, her hips fucking up at them with the same rhythm as her girlfriend was using while being fucked by her boyfriend. The cords of her neck strained with the unleashed torrent of her sexual fire, and she rolled against Stan, forcing him to remove his finger. She twitched and undulated, unable to stop her beating, not knowing what she was doing or where she was, oblivious to all the others in the same room. She couldn't believe what was happening to her – what she had become!

Stan couldn't wait a moment longer. His testicles and cock pulsed with aching desire to screw this innocent little cock-teaser. He unzipped his pants, flung them and his shirt from him and then crouched over her, his eyes gleaming with perversion and lust. Jennifer looked down between her palpitating breasts and saw his penis jutting out from his loins, throbbing as if an entity unto itself. It touched her, leaving a smear of its male secretions on her bare thigh, and she quivered uncontrollably. This was the first time any male had been so daringly intimate, and she had to stifle the sudden urge to reach down and take it in her hands. She stared at it, highlighted as it was by the red rays from the dying fire, and it looked hot and hard. She mewled, her eyes wide with fright as the full impact of what was going to happen to her hit her mind. He was going to shove his hardened penis into her body! All of it!

Her cunt was open and wet and aching for it, but she wanted to cry out the impossibility of accepting such a huge penis the very first time. Maybe later, after another lover or so had widened her cunt, she could take it… maybe never, but not now! It was so much bigger than her tiny unstretched vagina!

"Don't do it to me, Stan," she cried out in terror. "I'll do anything else you want… but not this!" Tears washed her eyes.

"Anything?" the boy snickered. "As many times as I want?" He thought of her as his private little cocksucker, trained from her very first taste of prick, unlike the others who were set in their habits and not always able to satisfy him completely. And then he laughed. That would come later… but there was the fucking before that.

"Baby, what I want is for you to do anything as many times as I want you to… including letting me fuck you! You'll spread your cunt for me any time I ask! Now take my prick and put it in your sweet pussy. Now!"

Jennifer felt the huge cock lying the full length of her defensively clenching vaginal slit as he hovered over her, its head jerking between the tight, hair-lined lips, insinuating itself with a mad tease which made her all the more passionate and desperate. Her fingers hesitantly trembled as she touched his swollen shaft, the contact an electric shock which rippled through her body… down to the gently throbbing hole between her open thighs. She pulled his rigid cock into her until the head fitted her like a cork in a flask, her tiny little cunt lips stretched like a tight oval ring around it. Her hips tensed and little by little more of his cock forced its way into her screaming flesh, probing deeper and deeper…

"Goddamn, you're tight," Stan groaned as he levered above her. Her soft tender vagina felt as though it were bursting at the seams, the pain unbearable. "Stan, you're hurting me… you're splitting me open down there! No more… no more, please!"

Her words were choked off as his blunt-headed penis hit her resisting hymen. A searing agony raced up from her loins, making her cry out. "Noooooo!"

"Yes," he hissed. "In fact, tell me you want it."

"Oh God, no! I don't want it!"

He pushed down on her and involuntarily her legs widened from the sudden rush of pain. She gritted her teeth, tears of agony staining her cheeks, ruining the light coat of makeup she'd so carefully applied only hours earlier. "All right, all right! Yes!" she whimpered helplessly, "I want you to do it to me!"

"Say it the right way," he snarled impatiently. "Tell me you want me to fuck your hot little cunt and break your cherry!"

"Fuck… me," she whispered but then he levered again, and she screamed out, "Oh God, fuck me! Fuck my hot little cunt and break my cherry!"

"Louder!"

"Fuck my hot little cunt!" She didn't care if everybody in the cabin heard her, not any more, not with the crazy potpourri of potion, desire, and pain which ran rampant through her. She didn't care about anything or anybody – except for Stan Lubin and his blood-engorged penis.

"Okay, baby," he grunted, "I will fuck you!" The boy ground against her hymen slowly, deliberately, wanting her to know that she was being fucked royally and that she belonged all to him.

Jennifer gritted her teeth from the agony and groaned through them as his penis strained at the thin, vainly resisting membrane. Her fists clenched and unclenched, and she kicked out her legs to try and ease her torture, to no avail. Grabbing her young, firm buttocks with his hands, Stan held her tight and jerked his hips wildly, ramming his cock deeper into her protesting young belly until there was a sudden pop inside, and he slid unimpeded all the way up to her now quivering cervix.

Jennifer forced air into her lungs and gasped at the shock of her lost virginity, and then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain lessened and she felt passion once more swirling unhindered through her body. Her blood was boiling and the cock buried so deep up inside her felt good… so hard and goood… she began to rotate her hips and the tiny muscles in her now voluntarily opening cunt worked hungrily at the throbbing shaft. Ah God, she wanted to get fucked!

"Ooooooh, yes! Yes!" she panted mindlessly.

Stan reached down around her squirming buttocks with a finger and slowly teased into the smooth rubbery walls of her tight, puckered anus. Her feet kicked high out in the air again and her toes curled with the pleasure-pain. Through the thin wall separating her cunt from her rectum she felt both his cock and finger sliding in and out with maddening friction. A whirlwind of new sensations tore through the young girl, and for the first time for Roger Carmel's teenage daughter, there was nothing else in the whole wide world except the delicious double-fucking of her cunt and anus. Her cries tumbled from her lips as she locked her ankles high up around his back and skewered her hot, moist pussy up the full length of his immense, pumping shaft. Sweat poured from her.

"Oh, darling…! What are you doing to me…? I never thought it could be so wonderful… oh… darling!"

Her fingers raked the pounding cheeks of his buttocks, trying to pull him still deeper. She rolled in heat and the hard young cock continued its powerful surging motions. Her cunt hole became accustomed to his invasion and the defensive pressure of her anal walls around his finger relaxed and a tide of hot juices drowned his penis in a sea of her excited lubrications. She let him fuck her with long hard strokes, wanting him to cum inside her, wanting to let the hot sperm in his balls mingle with her own secretions, and that was all that poured through the young girl's drug and passion-fogged mind.

"Fuck me… fuck me… fuck me…" she chanted deliriously. "Cum… cum, Stan, and make me cum…"

Stan nearly came right then and there as he listened to her wild, incoherent babblings. He loved to hear a girl beg for his cock, and he loved the way this Carmel girl's hot little pussy clasped around his cock like a warm, fleshy glove. He'd nailed her cherry, and she was pretty and obviously talented, and one hell of a fine piece of ass. He'd really scored tonight!

"I figured you'd like it once you got your first taste of cock," he gloated over her. "Whose little bitch are you?"

"Yours, Stan," she gasped back, willing to agree to anything just so he wouldn't stop the magnificent fucking of her newly-awakened vagina. "Oh God, I'm all yours, Stan." She was shocked to hear what she was saying, but the only thing that mattered for her desire-maddened mind and body now was to cum, to reach that magical apex rising deep in her young quivering belly.

"Fuck me, Stan… You can fuck me any time you like!"

He continued his assault on her tiny squirming rectum and cunt, his balls nearly bursting apart with their impending release. He tried to keep his mind on the rest of what he had to do… what Vic had told him to do… what he wanted to do to this high-class little bitch anyway, Vic or no Vic. He managed to groan out: "Good, I want you tomorrow night too. At my house. My parents will be out… and a few of the guys are going to be over. We'll have a little gang-bang, just you and us."

Jennifer's gut wrenched, and she thought she'd be sick. "No… no, I couldn't!" She cried and twisted her body. "No!"

Stan stopped his jerkings. Jennifer, lost in her cloud of euphoric sex, still continued her inner throbbings, and then she realized that he wasn't moving! His cock was lying motionless in her cunt. "Fuck me!" she wailed. "Please, fuck me, fuck me, Stan! Don't stop now!"

"What about tomorrow night, bitch? You going to say no to anything I ask? Anything?" His voice lashed her satin cheek, leaving mental gashes as deep as whip marks.

"Ooooohhhh…" Her eyes clenched tightly shut with humiliation and shame, her conscience stricken mind a ferment of emotional conflicts. She couldn't stand it any longer, though; fuck was the only word of any deep importance at that moment. Fuck and cum… "Yes, Stan, yes. I'll fuck you in front of everybody. I'll… even let the others fuck me while you watch… if that's what you want. But please, fuck me now. I've got to have your cum in me. I've got to cummmm…!"

"That's my little hot bitch!" Stan gloated in victory. He grabbed her hips again, worming his finger even deeper into her tight little anus and surged forward so hard as to knock the breath from her lungs. Jennifer went back into the all-enveloping sensation of his driving young cock, fucking in and out of her cunt with demoniacal force. They hadn't called Stan "The Slam" for nothing… Jennifer's body dripped with sweat and the consuming sexual frenzy which once more shackled her demands to his was driving her out of her mind. All she wanted was his cock inside her now. All she wanted was to fuck… fuck… fuck.

Stan groaned as the pressure built in his sperm-bloated testicles. He couldn't hold out any longer, not with this hot cunt and crazy virgin humping his penis almost as hard as he was pile-driving into her. He spread the soft yielding crevice of her buttocks wider with his hands and drove his finger harder into her rectum, feeling the underside of his cock pulsating on the other side of the thin fleshy wall of internal membrane. "Oh, that's it baby," he gasped. "I'm almost there… oh, fuck back, fuck back harder…"

"Cum… cum, darling, cum…" Jennifer panted, her own orgasm nearly ready to render her insensate. "Cum… cum… cum…"

And then Jennifer sensed the muscles of his abdomen tighten against her belly and she braced herself. Her first male cum! The first time a boy had spurted his white hot seed in her womb! She knew in an illogical flash of peripheral thought that it wouldn't be her last… Stan's penis swelled and jerked and she could tell that the whole tube running beneath the underside of his cock was bulging with his orgasm. He moaned and hissed and thick burning liquid splashed deep inside her vaginal tunnel, making her cunt walls pulsate in tempo with his rhythmic spurts of semen. She shivered and blindly reacted.

"Oh, God, Stan… what are you doing to me… what are you doing… oh God, my belly… my cunt… I'm cuuuuuummmiinnnnggggg tooooooo…!"

Her cries tumbled from her mouth as their bodies became one. Her ankles locked high on his back and her hips twisted upwards, clenching hungrily at both finger and cock as she crazily pulled his ejaculating cock deeper into her womb. Jennifer screamed incoherently as her own orgasmic juices whirlpooled together with his white hot cum and overflowed her vagina, running down over his hands cupping her buttocks, and her whole lower body and her breasts heaved and rolled in lewd convulsions of animal climax.

Then Jennifer Carmel, involved in her first sexual escapade in the debauched, orgiastic and shameless fashion of group participation, felt completely void of all normal emotions. No words could describe the creeping satiation which started in her cunt and spread out like a warm blanket, paralyzing and deadening her nerves and marrow in both directions until she couldn't feel her toes or the nipples on her breasts. Her legs unwound and dropped lifeless from the young boy's waist, as he fell forward, pinning her heavily to the rug as he slipped his finger from her still tightly clinging rectum with a slight hissing sound. His cock deflated rapidly, now trickling out the last of his virile sperm into her flooded vagina.

Jennifer sighed dreamily. It was over. She was now a woman in a very literal, important sense. She'd discovered the joys of a man and woman together, lost in their nether world of sensuality, and she could never return to her naive virginal ways. And, as she'd fearfully suspected only that morning, she really didn't miss the physical proof of her innocence, her hymen. She'd traded it for a much better, more fully satisfying part of life.

Yet, as they lay there, and the fog of licentiousness and drugs lifted slightly, she heard the writhings and moanings of the other high school students in the dim shadows around her, and she could make out her best friend, Tamera, now kneeling over the naked loins of her boyfriend, Vic, her position changed to where she was letting him fuck her upwards, his penis stroking her lathered cunt which was splayed wide above him. She was burying her face against his, her beautiful, young body a curving bundle of jerking nerves. And Jennifer allowed some of her more sane reactions to drift over her torpid brain, infiltrate with the torture of shame and confusion. The revelation of what she'd allowed a boy she hardly even knew to do to her – she'd not only forsaken her vow of premarital chastity, but had not even allowed her womanly gift to be accepted by a person who would appreciate the emotions with which it was offered – hit her with intense mortification. Yet she had the horrible premonition that even in the light of day, that tomorrow, she wouldn't really be sorry… and that she'd let Stan have her again and again. Her mindless words she'd poured out when he'd been fucking her half senseless a few short minutes ago were the truth and she'd liked everything he'd done to her. She blushed back her tears and tried to compose herself as Stan raised up and grinned at her.

"Well, baby, that's one little virgin hole gone. There's still a couple more, eh, Jennie baby?"

She didn't understand what he meant and her face showed it. He grinned wider. "There's your little ass-hole yet to break in… and that cute little mouth," he chuckled. He withdrew his deflated cock which slipped from her vagina with a wet, popping sound and rolled on his side. "Yeah, next time I think I'll fuck your face."

Nausea rippled through Jennifer at the inconceivable notion of his sperm filling her mouth, bloating her cheeks, cascading down into her stomach. But she forced a smile on her lips, for she knew that sooner or later he'd have his way. She pouted impishly as she reached down and took his soft penis between her fingers and felt its wetness. "Was… was I good, Stan? Did I please you?"

"For a beginner, you were okay," he said in an off-hand way. No use swelling her head, he thought; she might get conceited ideas, and she had to always be aware that her little cunt was now his, and she must be driven to be better each time, to devote herself completely to him. "From now on, you get the job of keeping my balls empty."

"You… mean I'm your girl?"

He shrugged. "As much as any girl is," he replied nonchalantly.

"Are… are you going to take me home now?" she whispered.

His laugh was an evil bark. "Are you kidding? The night's still young. Hell, baby, the party's only beginning."

"I… I need a rest," Jennifer admitted. "I… that is, it was my first time… I'm not used to it. I hurt a little bit. Please, don't do anything to me for a little while."

"Sure, baby," he answered magnanimously. But it wasn't just because of Jennifer he was being kind. He needed a rest as well before he could get another hard-on tonight. She'd milked him with a passion the more experienced little bitches had lost, even though she wasn't as skilled. But, she would be soon, he gloated; she had that natural talent of fucking which only took a little direction and discipline to make into the finest piece of ass in the whole school. In a little while, his balls would be tight with more sperm and his cock would enervate into new lusty life. After a while…

CHAPTER SIX

Club Royale was just outside the city limits of Rapier City, therefore under the Laxer County administration. Its history was long and shameful, starting from when a widow named Monique Kores opened its Colonial style doors in 1909. The local trade even then was good, for Monique Kores only kept the finest and cleanest girls to be fucked. That is, within the concept of that day and age.

Then there was a brief history of being a road-house, with the girls taking second place to the running of very bad liquor. During Prohibition, it was often harder to cage a drink than it was to find a willing girl… As so often happened in the late Twenties, the speak-easy existence attracted a cartel of gangsters, and by the time of Repeal, Club Royale – then known as Foxtail's – was a integral part of a chain of such hootch outlets, and it remained in the hands of the underworld ever since. During the War the girls, and the still considerable quantity of illegal alcohol served unknown over the bar, was supplemented by gambling. The third floor bedrooms were converted into sectional areas devoted to crap tables, poker, and roulette, with a bank of slot machines along one wall. But the motto of the club didn't change: never give the sucker an even break. Between posted house percentages and the unposted rigging of the games, winners were extremely scarce. Still, it attracted the sports for miles around; they may be crooked, but they were the only games in town.

Sam Zeigler became owner and manager of the club during the Swinging Sixties, a perfect cover and operations base for his other gangland business. He didn't like to brag about it – after all, if you are, you don't have to prove it – but he was the area crime boss, with a series of lieutenants and henchmen set up on an Army scale. The numbers racket was his, the women and dope traffic were his; even burglaries were cleared through him first, or the independent thief soon found more heat than all of the cops could put on him.

Zeigler was also shrewd enough to change the club to suit the times. Now it was the Scandalous Seventies, and the emancipation of women more complete than even the original Carrie Nation would have dreamed or approved of. The result was that his second floor prostitution operation took a steady nose-dive, while his bar and dinner business and the gambling above showed rising profits. Even the locals who didn't gamble or really have much of any other vices, liked the now re-named and refurbished Club Royale. It was posh and subdued on the main floor… and there was always that hint of mystery and wickedness from being so close to the rumored gangland overlords. But nothing could happen in so sumptuous and subdued atmosphere… Or could it?

The naive element of Rapier City and surrounding country would be most shocked to learn that yes, things could happen… and did! Using an elevator artfully out-of-the way in the back and carefully watched by a concealed guard, approved and selected clientele could go and gamble, or stop off on the second floor, where extensive changes had been made. Madame Kores would be disheartened not to find any of her fallen women plying their trade – now the willing escorts of sexually active men were customers to a lewd and erotic floor show which rivaled the wildest to be found in Tijuana, Juarez or Copenhagen.

Zeigler had been clever in using the general layout already there. Madam Kores had used the downstairs as her home and general bar and "parlor" for the gentlemen callers. The third floor – all changed now – and the second floors had been identically built for quick turnover. Her cribs were built along the four walls, all opening out to another "parlor" and bar (nowhere near as opulent as the one downstairs) which was in the center of the floor – like a courtyard in a Spanish villa. The girls would sit on the velveteen sofas and wait for their johns, and then use any of the free rooms. There were the usual escape passages: long, narrow halls running the circumference of the outside, the bedrooms opening out on their other side to them.

Zeigler made the escape passages into main halls, the little rooms soundproofed and luxurious, and the walls facing the old parlor tinted glass. With the lights out in the rooms, one couldn't see in, but if the occupants turned the lights on, they and their antics would be in full parade. The parlor was now a raised dais, used for dancing or mixing inbetween the shows… and then a large white-covered round bed would be lowered on gold chains for the show. If that's what the show called for…

Being Friday night, the rooms were full by ten; it was after eleven now and two shows had already gone on and at one o'clock there'd be another. Zeigler glanced at his watch and sipped his martini and hoped that this Mrs. Oliss and her girlfriend would soon show up. He'd not been too happy about reserving a room; lost money on a busy night like this; but Oliss had been insistent, and carefully explained how important it was for the good of his long-range plans.

The gangster sat in the downstairs bar, as he mostly did when he wasn't in his office – what had once been the dining room of Mrs. Kores' apartment – and inbetween the occasional smiles or waves or couple of words to friends and steady customers, he mused over the culpability of the Olisses. Zeigler was not stupid; a successful criminal in today's big-business method of vice and corruption would never be promoted. He had a college education, and had even considered going into teaching once. But the call of easy money and the lure of constant supply for his unquenchable lusts and his totally psychopathic personality suited him to the life he was leading now. He was happy, contented, and like the egomaniacal streak inherent in born criminals, was contemptuously smug.

He'd known of the Carmel development from the trade journals which crossed his desk, and was alert to any chance of getting his hands on it once he found out that Carmel lived in Rapier City and that Skopos was a local company. There had to be some way… and then two incidents happened which placed the invention almost in his lap. One was the request by the swap club to reserve the whole second floor for a private orgy. Zeigler was the kind who couldn't understand how people would pay through the nose for a shot of liquor when a whole bottle could be gotten for one hell of a lot less in the long run at a store, nor how some could fritter away hard-earned money trying to beat Lady Luck and his rigged percentages and then complain about always being broke. But he was always one to go along with sex games. Those he loved and sympathized with; the lavish and personal interest in the shows proved that. Not that he would have turned away the swap club any more than he openly displayed his disdain for the other vices – he was in the business to take, not judge.

He'd let them have the second floor on an off-night, giving them a bulk rate on the condition he could participate. He did, and that night was the first time he'd used a dog in the show – a specially trained German Shepherd from Mexico – and the first time he'd seen his then current girlfriend, fucked by another man. Christ, his cock had leaped at that sight – and he had to return the favor by fucking the seducer's wife. And that swap had been the second incident.

Mr. and Mrs. Martin Oliss had proved to be a well worth-while aquaintanceship. Oliss-Skopos' sales veep! What a stroke of luck! Nothing like selling a salesman, he'd found; Oliss had been putty in his hands, for if the man had been enough of an opportunist, and he had, to fuck his, Zeigler's girl, at the price of letting his wife be laid by the dog, he was sure to be greedy enough to see the pot of gold Zeigler dangled in front of him. All he had to do was get the plans or a mock-up of the invention, and Zeigler would handle the rest. And Oliss' promised cut would make him richer than his fondest dreams. His wife, the greedy, self-centered bitch, had urged her husband on, overcoming his initial reluctance.

Things hadn't been so damned easy after that, though. Zeigler couldn't tolerate excuses, yet that's all he'd gotten from Oliss. If he didn't know the sucker better, he'd almost suspect he was trying a double-cross… but he was too naive to believe in the old adage: "honor among thieves". Too bad Zeigler didn't – that is, Zeigler laughed silently to himself, too bad for Oliss. Oliss wasn't going to end up with anything when this was over, except a long jail sentence and a ruined reputation if he squealed. But Carmel's plans and models were in Kirsten, Nevada, and Oliss hadn't been able to come up with an excuse to go there until today. And now it was going to be nip-and-tuck to see if the invention could be wrenched from Skopos' control before the unveiling.

Zeigler was impatient and frustrated, and damned irritated at how close, and yet how far away he was. His superiors would brook less mercy on him if he failed than he was with Oliss. They already had the contacts lined up and the legitimate front organization with which to make a quick bleeding of the invention's worth. He had to succeed, and that was the only reason he could see for going along with this hair-brained, eleventh hour scheme of Oliss'.

To fuck some woman he'd never seen before! And a woman who never had laid for any man except her dippy husband! God, Zeigler could just imagine what Mrs. Carmel was like if she didn't like to fool around much. A sexless, horse-faced old prune, not withstanding Oliss' assurances that the wife was a looker. They always said the blind date was a stunning wanton, but if that was the case, why was she a wall-flower? Zeigler conjured up a skeletal-type in her late forties with damp-looking, string-like brown hair. She'd be wearing a limp dress with damp spots under her arms, and talk with a nasal twang.

And Zeigler could just imagine how smart she'd be. He'd tell her all the crappy lines and look mistily in her eyes, and all he'd see is vagueness, as if she'd just come up from a basement and didn't know quite why. He sighed and ate the olive and shoved his glass across to Louie, the bartender. Jesus and Mary, Mother of God, the things he had to do to make a buck these days.

"Why hello, Sam," came a familiar throaty purr, and he turned around, taking a deep breath as he started his act. He smiled in warm, yet surprised greetings to the sultry blonde standing next to him.

"Mrs. Oliss," he said with honeyed tones. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"It's Cylvia, remember?" she grinned back, and then added, "We came here for dinner. Oh – I'd like you to meet my very best friend, Lonnie Carmel. Lonnie – Sam Zeigler. A dear old friend of the family."

"How… how do you do, Mr. Zeigler," Lonnie said hesitantly.

"Fine, thank you. And call me Sam… Lonnie. Everybody does." He grinned infectuously, and then was interrupted by the bartender who placed another drink in front of him. "Your martini, Mr. Zeigler." The gangster chuckled at the two women. "Except for bartenders," he added. His cock stirred heavily in his pants. Jesus, so this is Mrs. Carmel, the woman he's to fuck! God, was he wrong! She's a knock-out, an absolutely tasty dish.

Lonnie stood and slightly blushed under the brazen gaze of Sam Zeigler. She tried to not show that his roving assessment of her curves were making her feel warm and embarrassed. Of course, she'd had that same shame-faced emotion ever since Cylvia had disapproved of her clothes and taken Lonnie to her house and selected one of the outfits hanging in her wardrobe. There had been the inevitable couple of drinks to steady her nerves, and so she'd been unable to put up more than weak resistance when Cylvia had insisted the wife put on a see-through gossamer blouse with only two small dark cups to hide her nipples, and a wet-look green plastic mini-skirt which barely covered her buttocks. And instead of her usual panties, the other woman had given her a tiny G-string which covered her actual vagina, but left her cunt lips exposed. The string rubbed against her still aroused clitoris, making her tingle every time she moved.

It was as if she was naked… and she blushed at the mere thought of allowing such indecent public display. But Cylvia had dressed similarity, and the blonde-haired woman's influence was still too strong to deny. They'd used the Oliss' flashy new Buick and before she'd realized it, they were parking in the large macadam lot of the Club Royale. She'd been here a couple of times before, on special occasions like her anniversary and Roger's birthday. After a few timorous hesitations, Lonnie screwed up her courage, and with her girlfriend's encouragement, walked through the marble foyer, keeping her eyes averted from the frank ogles which passing males gave the couple.

The interior of Club Royale was a combination of Gone With the Wind – which went with the Old Plantation style of Colonial facade – and Gay Nineties. The main dining and cocktail salon was impressive with white pillars and rich burgundy wallpaper and polished hardwood, and the booths were even out of the dim, indirect lighting, giving a romantic seclusion to their atmosphere. Their very design connotated knee-to-knee and head-to-head sitting while sipping cocktails or fine wines and talking in dusky murmurs, caught in a timeless void of sensual magnetism. The bar, at which Lonnie and Cylvia had "bumped into" the Oliss' wife's old friend was ornated carved oak with a gilt-framed mirror along the back-bar and low-hanging chandeliers of curved brass stems and rose-cups.

Lonnie was affected by the pervasive atmosphere, whether she consciously knew it or not; much time and money had been spent in making sure that the effect was not wasted. Somehow, Lonnie found that she was looking back at Sam Zeigler with less embarrassment, and with more interest. Detached interest, of course; she was not thinking in terms of him as a sex partner, but just as a good looking man. Sam was a six-footer, with a boyish and clean face and a strong, jutting jaw line. He was muscular and had a rusty brown color to his hair. In the soft light he was a handsome virile man; it wasn't until he was seen in daylight, a rare occurrence, that one could notice the softness to his skin, the slight moistness in his eyes, the small indications of beginning ravagement from his life of prolonged dissipation.

"Well, look," Zeigler said graciously, "if I wouldn't be butting in, why don't you two girls join me for dinner? I was about to eat, and," he said with a slight shrug, "who likes to eat alone?"

"Well, I don't think…" began Lonnie.

"Sounds delightful," Cylvia said strongly. "Of course we will."

"It's an expensive gesture, Cylvia," Lonnie protested. "I don't think it's fair to make Mr. Zeigler – Sam – pay for us."

"Nonsense," Zeigler said, waving his hand. "All on the expense account." He winked at Lonnie. "You're just a couple of my customers tonight. That's what I like about being a salesman."

Cylvia Oliss laughed at the harmless deception; her inner mirth came from the more evil joke that Zeigler was no more a traveling salesman than she was, and that the "expense account" was the gratis of the management. She hooked her arm through the gangster's arm and said: "Take your drink and find us a table. We're hungry!"

Yeah, I bet, Mrs. Oliss. Hungry for the show upstairs and the fun to begin. Zeigler signaled for the maitre d', outwardly pleasant, but filled now with burgeoning desire for the luscious black-haired young wife on his other side. The way she looked so damned worried! So blasted concerned and frightened! Zeigler was nearly unable to get off his bar stool as her innocent appeal made his cock stiffen into an erection and bulge his pants.

"We can't do this," Lonnie whispered urgently to her friend. "We're married women! What if somebody sees us?"

"Oh, don't be so silly," Cylvia admonished the wife. "Sam's a nice guy I've known for years. Best protection I can think of, and perfectly respectable." Before Lonnie could protest further, Cylvia grabbed her arm too, and the three of them followed the maitre d' to one of the darkest corners of the room.

Zeigler sat between the two women and while they had a delicious dinner, he steered the conversation artfully around a dozen different, innocuous subjects, fully in command. Slowly, inexorably, he moved into other, more intimate channels. He was a master of timing and could sense the most subtle of moods, knowing when to change and when to retreat or advance.

Lonnie Carmel, by her own admission, drank too much. Again. She always seemed to have a full glass in front of her; and the spicy food she'd allowed Zeigler to order for her was excellent but thirst provoking. If it wasn't the drink that was ordered before the main dinner arrived, it was the white wine with the fish course; if it wasn't the red wine which came with the meal, it was the port which was served with the dessert of cheese and crackers. By the time she was sipping her after-dinner coffee and the tulip-stem of Grand Marnier, she was more heady than she'd been at her house. It was an odd, worldly, devil-take-the-hindmost feeling she had, sitting so close to a strange man as if on a date – though she knew that it really wasn't any such thing as that, merely a friend of Cylvia and Martin. Zeigler was awful witty and even his off-color jokes kept her giggling. She'd never heard such course language before in mixed company, but it only made the jokes funnier, and she blushed at a few but laughed anyway, to be a good sport.

"Well, now," Zeigler said, sitting back from his coffee. "What did you two lovely ladies have planned now?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Cylvia said.

"It so happens I've been invited to the party room upstairs," Zeigler said expansively. "Are you interested in being my guests?"

"A party?" Lonnie blurted out. "At this hour? Why, it's almost one in the morning!"

Zeigler burst out in laughter. "It isn't that kind of party."

"Well, I'm all for a little fun," Cylvia said, "but Lonnie here likes to go to bed early."

Her chiding remark irked the young woman, and she was just drunk enough to take umbrage. "I'd love to go. What kind of party is it?"

"Well, I don't know," Zeigler said, as if reconsidering a hasty offer. "It's a strip show, and I wouldn't want to scare you."

Now Lonnie was really stirred up. "Don't worry about me," she boasted. "I've been around a bit." Hollow words, and she knew it – but she wasn't going to admit being little more than a baby.

"I didn't know you'd ever seen a strip show," Cylvia said, adding insult to injury. "I didn't think you approved of them."

"I think they're lots of fun," Lonnie retorted, stung. She had seen one, in San Diego, with Roger before they were married, and she thought it as disgusting. "I'd love to see one, if it's good and hot." She could almost bite her tongue after blurting out the bald-faced lie. But the inferences to her Pollyanna virtue was too much to bear. Zeigler might not know her, but Cylvia should! Hadn't she given her friend her body just a couple of hours ago?

Zeigler signed the back of the bill with a flourish, not even bothering to see how much it was. Lonnie was impressed; Sam must be very successful to afford not even to look at the amount, and to be known well enough to sign rather than pay. Then he led the girls to the elevator, which she'd never even heard of before much less about the rooms above, and down one of the halls after the short ride to the second floor.

Lonnie was startled by the richness all around her. As Zeigler opened one of the doors to the converted rooms and held it open for her and Cylvia, she thought she'd entered a Hollywood set. There was a small but lavish bar next to the door, and a set of soft, low couches facing the large picture window. Through the window she could see other windows encircling a large stage, which was bare at the moment. One spotlight shone down like a ray of sun on the exact center, and some of the other rooms had their lights on, too, so that Lonnie could see other couples, three-somes, and parties of fours talking and drinking. Still other windows were dark, opaque and at first she thought they were the empty ones until she caught the fire-fly glimmer of a cigarette ember in one of them.

"Well, kiddies, how about a drink? What'll you have?" Zeigler grinned and went behind the bar. "Brandy, Benedictine, scotch, more Grand Marnier perhaps?"

The Grand Marnier had been delicious; Lonnie had another of the sweet liqueur, while Zeigler and Cylvia both had Black Russians. When Zeigler served Lonnie he let his hand slide down and half cup her right breast, but Lonnie moved away, uncertain whether it was an accident, but more worried that his one contact had made her nipple leap erect.

"Here's to a good evening, kiddies," Zeigler toasted.

Lonnie tipped her glass and the warm, smooth liquid felt wonderful going down. Then she sat down on one of the couches, tucking her feet under her buttocks after slipping her shoes off. Modestly she pressed her thighs and knees together so that Zeigler couldn't see up her tiny wisp of skirt – up to where her soft, hair-fringed cunt nestled nakedly. She smiled even as she remembered his hand on her breast, and when he winked at her she detected a certain lewd quality in the man she'd missed before. The hapless wife hoped that she hadn't gotten in over her head with her brave talk – but if things did get too rough she could always demand that a taxi be called. The logic soothed her and she drank more of the seemingly harmless liqueur.

Zeigler and Cylvia sat down on the same couch with Lonnie, crowding her, and the strange man's legs pressed against her thighs tightly. She tried to squirm away but there wasn't room. Then as a few minutes passed some of her restraints passed as once more she was laughing at Zeigler's stories and the banter which passed between him and Mrs. Oliss. Then Zeigler turned to her and said: "There's a few minutes before the show. I'd like to dance." He got up and went to a switch on the wall, and from a hidden speaker came a lilting refrain of a popular song, oozing violins and muted horns. Zeigler crossed to Roger Carmel's young wife and added: "You don't mind, do you, Lonnie?"

Lonnie looked at Cylvia pleadingly, but there was no help forthcoming. The other woman had a peculiar glint in her eyes, a shine which Lonnie had never seen before and made her uneasy. "Go right ahead," Cylvia purred in an erotic voice. "Enjoy yourself, Lonnie. That's why we came tonight, wasn't it?"

With a premonition of dread, Lonnie Carmel allowed herself to be pulled from her sitting position and into the stranger's arms. Their bodies met and Zeigler proved to be an excellent dancer, and she found herself melting in his strong embrace. The slow tempo beat through her body, and her breasts strained through the thin blouse, and after Zeigler had slipped his leg between her thighs she could sense a light dampness ease its way from her vagina as the rougher material of his suit rubbed her bare inner thighs and naked vaginal slit. It was as if he was fingering her, the way the tiny G-string pushed against her sensitive flesh and his leg grazed her tender skin – and she tried to pull back, alarmed. But his arms tightened, holding her closer.

The pretty wife turned her head and caught the length of her body and groaned with embarrassment. Her skirt was almost above her hips, and the fullness of her buttocks were visible to not only Cylvia, but to Zeigler, reflected as they were in the room's many mirrors, and to anybody in the other rooms who cared to look at her. The shiver of mortification, instead of making her stop, only seemed to urge her on, a tingle of wickedness starting in her belly. The alcohol lowered her reserves, the soothing music dropped them still further, and the awakening of her prurient desires by her lusting girlfriend shortly before shattered them. She allowed herself to drift from concerned fright into a slumberous feeling of wickedness. After all… it wasn't as if Sam was actually fucking her!

The lewd word, which had suddenly popped into her dizzy mind made Lonnie gasp. What was she thinking! She was thinking of being unfaithful to Roger… but hadn't she been already? The concept, which she promised herself would never take place, was erotically exciting to think about, though… She closed her eyes and imagined what Sam Zeigler would look like naked, his penis slipping inside her vagina – was he bigger than Roger? She opened her legs wider and bent backwards, jerking her body to the music beat, not wanting to stop now. Zeigler placed his hands on her all but naked buttocks and pulled her to his throbbing cock. She ground her hips against his loins, unable to control her body's sudden awakening, breathing a new fire which was growing in her.

The music stopped. Lonnie awoke from her stupor and shamed, she pulled out of Zeigler's arms and sat down hurriedly. The man said: "Your friend has a beautiful body, Cylvia."

"You should see her naked, Sam. She's really gorgeous."

Lonnie finished the contents of her glass in one gulp, petrified at the suggestive words her girlfriend had spoken. She blossomed in crimson and looked out on the stage. Then a cool, tall glass was slipped into her hands by Zeigler. "No more Grand Marnier, I'm afraid, Lonnie. Have a Black Russian with us." He sat down beside her, brushing her thighs as he had before…

And the house lights dimmed. Now the other windows were dark, and Lonnie noticed that the room they were in had also been plunged into darkness. The performance was about to begin! There was a soft rustling sound, and then from the middle of the stage's ceiling came a bed. It slowly lowered on gold chains – one at each corner. And on the bed was a young girl. Lonnie thought that the girl was about her daughter, Jennie's, age, perhaps a couple of years older, and as she sipped the Black Russian absently, she felt sympathy for the girl. The little titian-haired adolescent looked so forlorn and trembling as she looked around her, clad only in a brief bra and panties. They were black, and contrasted with her ivory skin.

Then the girl got up on her knees and arched her back as if yawning and tired. It seemed so real… Lonnie empathized, and identified with her innocence and melancholic look. The girl slipped her bra from her shoulders, and firm, ripe, yet almost child-like breasts hoved into view. The dias started to slowly revolve now so that little by little everybody in all the rooms, and Lonnie caught the sight off all of the lovely form as she turned.

Bending slightly, still acting as if scared witless but forced by some unknown threat to continue, the girl nervously rolled her silk panties down and took them off. Lonnie gaped stupefied at the young black pubic triangle. She'd never expected this! In the show she and Roger had seen, the girl had tassled breast cups and spangled panties at the end. It wasn't five minutes into the performance that the girl was completely nude, and making no attempt to hide it either! What more could happen!

Lonnie shifted uncomfortably on the couch, noticing for the first time that Zeigler had his arm around her waist, his hand tight on her side… but her mind was focused on the tender body on the bed as the girl lay back and opened her legs, exposing her pink cuntal slit and sparse young curls of pubic hair and her mounds of hard, pink-tipped breasts.

Lonnie blushed furiously as now the girl moved her hands first to her breasts, tweaking her nipples to hardened chips, and then down over her quivering belly to rub her inner thighs, her fingers never quite touching her vaginal parts. Lonnie shuddered, fascinated with the dual curses of remembering how she had been a little earlier on her livingroom couch, and how the girl was building to similar lusts – and taking Lonnie with her. The girl groaned, a silent plea that couldn't pass through the glass, but was obvious by her gaping mouth and tossing head.

Her fingers couldn't stay away… they had to touch her pussy, to relieve the burning itch inside her womb. Again Lonnie found herself sympathetically bound with the lovely young girl, tingling with anticipation. A soft moan escaped from her lips, and she grabbed her drink to try and quench the fluttering in her belly.

But the Black Russian only intensified the heat and excitement inside her. She squirmed down on the sofa and rubbed her nearly naked vaginal slit against the material, her body rocking in an almost discernible rhythm to the writhing girl. The girl inserted one finger… then two in her cunt hole and stroked her tiny clitoris with her other hand, her face tightening as she masturbated in full view of one and all, her white skin now glistening with the sheen of her lubricious pumpings, her black pubic curls becoming matted to her flesh. Lonnie could feel her own pussy moisten – and now she thought of how Cylvia's abandoned fingering had so aroused her prurient desires to the point where she succumbed to her fevered sexual needs. She fuzzily tried to convince herself that this time it wouldn't happen, that somehow she'd control the liquor in her and overcome any such temptations.

She leaned back, careful not to break contact with the edge of the cushion, and Zeigler's hand worked around her waist still more. Without thinking, she relaxed against its insistent tug, and rested heavily against his chest. His arm is so soothing, and it can't hurt… Zeigler's expensive cologne had a rich, suggestive aroma, stimulating her more.

The girl on the bed was now striving for her orgasm. She groaned and shuddered as her driving fingers sunk into her tight young opening, thrusting harder and harder. They were not enough. Still she tried, eyes tight, teeth clenched, straining every sinew and muscle in her frustrated longing for release.

Suddenly, from out of the black depths of one side, bounded a large, German Shepherd. He leaped on the bed, tongue lolling, and Lonnie gasped with terror, just as the girl was sitting up, her hands frozen in the position of masturbation. The giant dog bared its fangs in a menacing warning for the girl not to move, his panting head just above her exposed, defenseless crotch.

Lonnie tensed, and only Zeigler's firm grip kept her from bolting out of her seat. "My God!" she whispered, "what's that dog doing there?"

Zeigler grinned. "You'll see, my pet."

Lonnie sensed that she had better go before it was too late and her own excitement overpowered her – again. But the helplessness of the girl and the snarling of the dog sadistically fascinated her. A cold shiver ran through her, and she swallowed her drink eagerly. Then she leaned back again, the chill passing, and she couldn't resist as Zeigler's hand began to work upwards, toward her exposed, unsupported and heaving breasts. She squirmed tighter on the seat as one finger caressed the soft underside of one globe, then the finger and a thumb slipped under the minuscule cup and tweaked her nipple. Her nipple ached with hardness, and with a groan, she felt tiny throbs pulsing in her breasts and then her vagina, and she bit her lip to hold back further forbidden sensations.

She couldn't keep her eyes and attention off the stage, for now, as Zeigler massaged her aching breasts, she saw the girl moan as the dog lowered his head and sniffed her hair-covered pussy. Then the boxer snaked out a long, pink tongue and licked wetly the full length up from the girl's tiny puckered anus to the fluted little cuntal lips surrounding her clitoris. The animal wagged its tail, and flicked relentlessly between the girl's trembling, wide-spread legs. She jerked spasmodically and squirmed, raising her arms in indecision.

Lonnie could feel Zeigler become restless, and she heard the short panting gasps from her girlfriend and Cylvia twisted her buttocks on the couch nearby. She ground her own buttocks downward, and aching hunger inside her making her labor for breath. She shoved her wet, swollen vaginal lips against the soft material of the couch, and Zeigler's hand which was around her and cupping her breast, kneading it unhindered, thrilled her as much as it frightened her. She wanted to show Cylvia that she wasn't a prude, but for all of her desire to continue to watch the show, she didn't want her friend to know she was succumbing disgracefully to Zeigler's manipulations. So she snuggled closer, thankful for the lack of light in the room, and out of the corner of her eye she watched Cylvia, glad to see the blonde wife was rapturously intent on the girl and the dog and could not see her.

Zeigler dropped his other hand to her bare knee, slipping it up to the hem of her thigh-high skirt. Lonnie froze at the unexpected advance, and the man was half-way under her skirt, almost to her G-string before she recovered enough to restrain his wrist with her wrist.

The girl on the stage had capitulated to the dog's lewd demands now. She kicked her legs back and pulled his snout toward her flaming, spread cunt by holding the brute's long ears. His lizard-like tongue ravished her up-turned vagina without mercy, and she urged the dog on. The boxer worked like the savage beast it was, the rutting lust of the wild driving him on…

The girl's surrender hit Lonnie, and she was unable to stop Zeigler's hand in empathetic response. She squirmed as his middle finger began to gently stroke her cuntal lips, pushing the slender thread of her G-string panties away from the excitedly throbbing slit. A gush of shame washed over her as the waves of indecent pleasure overcame all desire to resist. Lonnie glanced at Cylvia again, but her friend showed every indication of not being aware. In fact, her own hand was under her skirt; Lonnie could see the moving bulge as the woman fingered herself underneath the cover of the material. A sudden cold rush of air across her fevered skin warned the mesmerized young wife that Zeigler had taken her moment of concentration to work her narrow skirt up over her thighs.

Zeigler wormed his finger into the moist, demanding walls of the soft, gently pulsating pussy, and she tightened her inner muscles against it, only making the electric sensations that much more acute. She held her breath for fear that some tell-tale sound would escape her lips, while her very being quivered on its foundations as Zeigler moved his finger in teasing little circles inside her. She could feel her lubricating juices cover his palm as it ground almost flat now against her pubic hair.

The girl was following the orders of the dog as Lonnie gazed enraptured at the salacious sight. The dog was nuzzling the girl's pelvis, and what he wanted was plain – for the girl to turn over on her stomach. And the girl, after one wild-eyed shudder of terror, obediently knelt, elevating her firm young buttocks, bending before the great animal in abject surrender. His relentless tongue had crushed all revulsion, his viscous temper halting any hope of resistance. She cowered, face to the bed, awaiting his attack.

Lonnie's nerves were shattered, her brain dulled almost comatose by the large amounts of alcohol she'd consumed, and her body was prickling with sexual heat. She knew deep in her mind that she should flee this carnal house, for Cylvia's friend, Sam Zeigler, was far too fast for her and this wasn't being true to Roger. She owed her husband faithfulness and herself a chance to let the wound of her earlier transgression time to heal. But she couldn't resist the maddening teasing of her inflamed cunt, and the lewd sight of the little girl and the monster dog was just too much to bear.

"What… what is she waiting for?" the young housewife whimpered gutturally. "She's… she's just hunched like that. What's the dog… the dog going to do to her?"

"Why," Zeigler chuckled throatily, lewdly, "the dog's going to fuck her, Lonnie."

"Wh-what?" His obscene explanation burned her brain.

"Fuck her," Cylvia Oliss cut in eagerly. "Fuck her just like Sam here is going to fuck you while I watch!"

Lonnie Carmel went out of her mind at that moment, and a thin film glazed over her eyes. She nearly fainted. Something had to give!

CHAPTER SEVEN

The El Mecca was the best motel in Kirsten, Nevada – which wasn't saying a whole hell of a lot for it. The town's two other motels had been built during the motoring craze of the Thirties; were peeling and yellow, little more than cracked wash basins and sagging beds that would collapse if they ever saw a married couple. The local trade frequented the two, and on Friday and Saturday nights they employed two cleaning girls to change the bed linen, the in-and-outers so fast and frequent.

The El Mecca was a good ten years old, a drab stucco imitation of a Spanish hacienda, but it was clean and had a decent little combo six nights a week, and it catered to the salesmen and businessmen on the prowl and the divorcees and married women wanting to be prowled. There were the usual slot machines in evidence, but anybody who'd stayed at the El Mecca or frequented it for very long soon gave wide berth to the one-armed bandits – the odds were set worse than the ones on the third floor of the Club Royale.

Earlier in the same evening as Roger Carmel's unexpected return to the Skopos plant in Kirsten, he and Martin Oliss sat in the small bar, drinking a couple of scotch-and-waters and adding their own conversation to the murmur of other voices. Roger was moody, reflecting on his unpacified wife five hundred miles away and what the hell he could do about it – which was nothing – and how he could convince her that trips such as the one he was on were necessary – which was an impossibility.

Martin Oliss was busier thinking of the right psychological moment in which to spring his portion of the trap. They'd arrived after Skopos had closed for the day there. Carmel would be stuck in Kirsten until his invention was finished; theoretically Oliss would be in the town only long enough to take some pictures and ideas for stories, and then return to Rapier City.

Oliss had the hunch that both he and Carmel would be back before the weekend was out. That was, if his wife and daughter played their parts successfully. If either or both of them failed, he was to have received a telephone call, but he hadn't as of yet, so he figured (correctly) that all had gone according to schedule. There would be that other phone call tomorrow or Sunday – but that was in the future, and not included in the immediate task on hand. He had serious doubts that he'd be able to steal the figures and charts on Carmel's miniskopos while he was here; the nature of the set-up almost precluded that miracle, but even if he did land the prize, the insidious plot he'd hatched in desperation would still carry on. There was no way of stopping it, in fact, now that the wheels had begun to turn.

Oliss ran his finger around the rim of his glass and stared at the amber fluid in it as if in deep, disturbed contemplation. "Roger," he said slowly, heavily, "I've got to talk to you."

Carmel looked at his business associate, curious. He was never as close to Martin Oliss as his wife was to Cylvia or his daughter was to Tamera, but that wasn't through the fault of Martin. In spite of Carmel's feeling of uneasiness that he got occasionally when around the sales vice-president, it was more a matter that he, Carmel, wasn't one for any close ties save for his family. He didn't have either the time or temperament for pals and buddies, and the little spare time he did have he preferred to spend in the warm bosom of his family. So he was a little surprised by the tone in Oliss' voice. They'd been talking for the last few hours, on the plane and here at the El Mecca, but of inconsequentialities. That wasn't the kind of "talking" Oliss was now intimating. Something was on his mind, something that was troubling him greatly.

"Yes, Martin," Carmel said. "About what?"

"I…" Oliss pursed his lips. "Here, let me buy you another drink." He hooked a finger toward the bartender.

"Well, if you don't want to tell me…"

"It isn't that, Roger. It's…" He bit his lip. "Ah, hell. I'll be blunt. Sometimes we don't want to spill something to a friend because it's private and personal. You know what I mean?"

"That's true," Carmel agreed, tasting his fresh drink.

"I mean, it's sort of embarrassing, and it's difficult to judge just how much of a friend a person is at times like that."

"Well, I don't think you should trust anybody too quickly, Martin. Where self-interest is concerned most people will betray you, and a guy has only one or two genuine buddies throughout his whole life if he's lucky. But," he said, "on the other hand, I'm not the kind for butt-kissing or politics or petty gossiping. So in that sense, I'm a friend. At least a better risk than most." He shrugged. "Of course, it's up to you."

Oliss contemplated his scotch again, and then swung to Carmel abruptly, his face wrenched by the seeming pain of his indecision. "No, Roger. No, it concerns you, too."

"Me?"

"Yes, and… intimately." Oliss gritted his teeth. "I… well, I'll start at the beginning." He took a deep breath, knowing that he had Carmel hooked. "A month back I learned my wife was seeing another man. I love Cylvia very much, just as you love Lonnie I'm sure, so you can imagine how I felt when I thought that she was running around on me."

"Running ar…" Carmel's eyes bulged. "You mean, having an affair? Cylvia? Are you sure?"

"Oh, more sure than I care to think about," Oliss said bitterly. "You see, her lover came to see me." He saw Carmel's mouth open, and he waved his hand. "No, not for a divorce. Worse than that." Oliss leaned toward Carmel and looked him in the eye. "He was one of those slimy Latin lover types; you know the kind. Worm their way in before the woman knows what's happening. Anyway, he threatened exposure, a scandal, all of the lowest and rottenest tricks he could think of if I didn't… cooperate."

"Cooperate? I don't follow, Martin. Cooperate how?"

Oliss dropped his voice as if utterly ashamed. "By spying on you, Roger. By stealing your invention and turning it over to him. He said he had pictures and proof. Oh, God, I was sick!"

"My… invention! I can't believe it! You mean another company would stoop to such filth as to seduce your wife and then blackmail you into taking my miniskopos?" He shook his head, dazed.

"I'm afraid so."

"What… what did you do?" Roger gasped.

"Oh, I was beset with indecision. You see, my wife didn't know that I knew what she'd been doing. I wasn't about to tell her and perhaps ruin my marriage. Neither could I see coming to you… then. What could you do for me?" He groaned in humiliation. "Neither could I bring myself to subvert the company I've given so many of my years to. It was horrible. A nightmare."

"And?" Carmel was almost rocking on his stool with shock.

"I hired a private eye. I told him what the problem was, blurted out the whole sordid mess. I wanted him to first of all confirm what this sonofabitch was telling me about my wife was true, and then take whatever means short of murder to get back the proof. Once I had the proof of my wife's infidelity, then this bastard wouldn't have a hold on me… or so I figured… and I could tell Cylvia that I knew what she'd done, and what her… mistake had almost caused. I'd forgive her, and I believe that she'd understand her foolishness and never do such a thing again, once she understood she'd been doped."

"Martin, you poor man," Carmel sympathized.

"Wait, there's more." Oliss shuddered, as if the worst was yet to come – and for Roger Carmel, it was. "I… got a report from the detective late last week. No, Monday it was. Christ, this thing has me so shaken up, I can barely keep the days straight. Anyway, he confirmed that this cocksman had indeed been sleeping with my wife, that he'd followed him and Cylvia to a string of motels and a couple of times… in my own house." Tears nearly welled in Oliss' eyes as he poured forth his tale in choking words. "My… own house! My… marital bed, de-defiled by this bastard!"

"Martin," Carmel soothed. "Get hold of yourself."

"I… asked him to see what he could do about the proof, and he said it might be wiser for him to dig up some dirt on the man – you know, an eye for an eye kind of thing. He called me after lunch today, just before we left, Roger, with the most disturbing news of all. It… it seems as though this bastard has decided to make sure he gets the miniskopos plans, since I haven't helped him any."

"How? What more could he do?"

"He's…" And here Oliss paused dramatically. "He's seduced another man's wife. One… oh, shit, Roger, he may be fucking Lonnie, too."

"Lonnie?" Carmel staggered under the impact. "My wife?"

"I'm afraid so, Roger. I… hate telling you this, but it looks as though we're in the same boat together."

"But are you sure it's Lonnie? I can't believe it!"

"I couldn't believe it about Cylvia, either," Oliss said sadly. "But in all fairness, I'll tell you that by the description my detective gave and the other facts he learned, I'm almost positive it's Lonnie."

"But you're not sure!" Carmel demanded, grasping at straws.

"Ninety percent positive, Roger. I ordered my detective to find out without a shadow of a doubt and call me here sometime tomorrow or Sunday."

"No man's come to me," Carmel blustered.

"Evidently he just… started with your wife. He'll be by to see you, just as he came to see me. A matter of time."

Carmel's mind whirled disconcertedly. What Oliss was telling him was the most wild, inconceivable story he'd ever heard! Lonnie would never… but then, he wasn't home much, and women are prone… no, no…! It was ridiculous…! absurd… the detective must have another woman mixed up with his wife. He knew Lonnie; she was strictly a one-man female, and she'd never…

"I know what you're thinking, Roger," Oliss said glumly. "Same thing I kept telling myself until I was shown by the detective that what I had been told was true. You're thinking I'm crazy, or that this affair has made me see ghosts in every corner. I wish that were true, friend; I wish I didn't have to tell you this."

Carmel shook his head, numb to his bones. "I don't believe it."

"Don't," Oliss suggested. "It's probably better if you forget what I told you altogether."

"But how can I?" Carmel cried. "My wife! For God's sake!"

"Yes, your wife and mine," Oliss pressed on, his voice calm and low now, well hiding his inner elation, his satisfaction and sadistic pleasure at seeing Carmel shaken to thievery core of his soul. Good… good… and after a day or so of torment, he'll be ripe for the final phase of my plan. And then… He had a hard time keeping a straight face as he added: "And we're going to have to do something about it, too!"

"My God, my God… what?" Confused, unready to accept the fact of his wife's infidelity, Roger Carmel swallowed his scotch and ordered another one straight and almost dementedly turned to Martin Oliss for help. His whole, wonderful world was teetering from extinction by the slender thread that what Oliss and the detective said were mistakes, and that Lonnie was not letting another man touch her. But Oliss was so insistent! So damnably sure!

"Well, there's nothing either of us can do until the detective calls," Oliss said. "Then we'll know for sure whether your wife is involved as mine is. Then… well, then perhaps we should go back."

"Go back…" Carmel moaned abjectly. Go back to what? A torn fabric of his love and happiness? And yet, he couldn't stay away, not fight for what he considered the most important objects in his life, his wife and home. Go back echoed through his brain. Christ, could he sit it out until the phone call? He'd go mad! Stark, staring, raving imbicilic! He downed the shot in one gulp.

"If it isn't Lonnie," Oliss continued, "I imagine I will make the best of it… alone. But if it is…" He let the nameless terror seep deeper into Carmel's stricken mind. Damned right it was going to be both, he thought demonically. Both – in some perverted bacchanal… and it won't be any imaginary detective passing on the news, but my sweet whore of a wife on the phone. I wonder what the hell my luscious twin cunts are up to now, anyway?

The lewd projection of Cylvia and Tamera Oliss in wild and licentious abandonment as strange cocks and mouths fucked their wits silly made his cock leap. And then the further image of Carmel's wife and daughter getting the same orgiastic treatment, whether to their delight or anguish, made his penis bloat with lust and press against his pants painfully. Soon… soon I'll know, and soon after that I'll be participating. And who the hell knows? Maybe old stick-in-the-mud Carmel will, too. For the first time in his idyllic marriage, Roger Carmel began to question its solidarity, and the values which he and it were living by. Had he been so inconsiderate a husband to let Lonnie fall prey to this Latin lover Oliss was telling him about? Was he that shallow a man as to not know how to hold her fidelity? He was beginning to think he didn't know. He loved Lonnie and Jennifer with all his heart, and in spite of what the detective would report, he knew that he would try to repair his marriage with the same panicked desire that Martin Oliss evinced. He couldn't leave Lonnie… would she leave him? Was her desires now changed and she no longer wanted him around? Is that what prompted her actions – if that indeed is what was happening.

If… if… The poisonous word berated his tortured soul. The next day or so would be a nightmare, and he knew that the only way he'd find sleep tonight was to drink himself unconscious. Thank God for the few drinks he'd had – without them I'd have gone completely to pieces. Roger Carmel slumped to the bar, utterly dejected, his brain a cauldron of agony and fears. He never noticed as Martin Oliss peered down on him with a sadistically triumphant leer twisting his lips and mustache.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lonnie Carmel couldn't believe her ears! Stunned senseless, she turned to the woman she'd always considered her best friend, and wailed: "Cylvia! Noooooo!" Tears steeped her eyes in a bath of agony and fears. "Noooooooooo!"

Languidly, Cylvia Oliss got up from the couch and came to stand over Lonnie, and she grinned in obscene delight as she stared at the young wife's squirming body, impaled as it was by the finger of lusting Sam Zeigler. She placed her hands over Lonnie's breasts and squeezed the tender globes. "We're going to show you a new way of life, Lonnie. A better way – and you're going to learn to like it!"

"No… no…" the shattered young woman mewled, cringing. "I… I want to go home now. I've had enough for one night." She never had felt so ashamed or alone or defenseless then, for Zeigler and Cylvia started to laugh fiendishly.

"Stop pretending to be so damned innocent, Lonnie," Cylvia said, still chuckling, "you sure have been enjoying the show, what with allowing Sam, a perfect stranger to fingerfuck you. And the way you're squirming around, I'd say you're still hotter than hell."

"I've been a fool," Lonnie wailed. "Oh, God! A drunken fool, but I love my husband and I don't want to deceive him any more than I already have." She tried to bury her tear-stained face in her hands, but Cylvia's manipulating hands on her breasts prevented her. Instead she leaned back, her eyes clenched and wet, her teeth bared over her straining lips. "I've done enough to be sorry for to last me a lifetime."

"Lonnie," Zeigler said, smirking, his finger digging in her trembling cunt, "Lonnie, you've barely begun." He took it out suddenly.

Together, the gangster and Mrs. Oliss pulled the terrified, but emotionally charged young woman down on the couch, and then Zeigler started pushing her knees apart and slid his hand once more under her mini-skirt. Lonnie spasmed with a deep, gurgling wretchedness in her throat as the G-string was pulled farther to one side of her vaginal slit and he caressed the naked pink flesh. She moaned out her humiliation, then groaned as Zeigler once more commenced to slowly stroke in and out in a make-believe of copulation.

"Go on and make all the noise you want, Lonnie. The walls are sound-proofed and the glass unbreakable. That is, if anybody was interested in what's going on in here – which they aren't. They're playing their own games while watching the dog-fuck show."

Lonnie Carmel fluttered her eyes open again, and the first sight she saw was the stage. A gasp of utter horror sprang from her lips, and for a split second she forgot about her own misery as she caught the obscene spectacle on the bed. The girl, still kneeling on all fours, and the huge animal at her swaying ivory buttocks, and the beast was mounting her… his huge paws covered in mittens so that his claws couldn't scratch. But Lonnie's agonized vision telescoped in on the glistening, scarlet tube of the dog's penis which had slid from his hairy sheath and was now dancing in the soft crevice of the girl's up-tilted buttocks; the dog jerked and trembled in his attempt to find the girl's vagina and to bury his thick tapered shaft into her belly.

The girl tensed, evading the alien invasion of her cunt, but the dog, mindlessly thrust time and time again, and then in frustration, growled and once again bared his saliva dripping fangs. Lonnie held her breath as the girl, in desperation and absolute terror, reached one slim, young arm back and grasped the slippery canine penis and guided it to the point of her pink, wet slit where her open vaginal mouth flexed invitingly. And then the boxer heaved his massive loins forward and buried his scarlet cock into her cunt with a quick wet rush until it was sunk to the hilt, his hairy balls swinging lewdly below her blonde pubic hair.

Lonnie's breath whistled as she let it out, and a deep burning sensation bubbling in her belly grew in intensity as the ravishing sight continued unabated. Then her mind jumped back to the room and her own plight as the couch shifted and Cylvia's sweet feminine perfume filled her nostril's… she looked around and the woman was standing naked, unashamed, as breathtaking a blonde Venus as she had been in Lonnie's arms but a few hours earlier!

Her body and mind, a swirling, shattering craze of liquor and torment, didn't even offer a protest as she felt her naked girlfriend and Zeigler lift her buttocks and remove her dress… then her G-string, her last vestige of protection! Her cunt was exposed to their lusting gazes now, and she heard Zeigler groan in appreciation as he leered over her quivering thighs. A burning shame flowed through her, and she held her breath as she watched the girl on the bed being buffeted by the dog and then drip saliva from his lolling tongue onto her back… and she heard the rustling of clothes, and she knew that Zeigler was stripping naked.

Then a surging heat inundated her vagina and expanded her breasts, and her brain revolved as Cylvia unbuttoned the see-through blouse, leaving Lonnie without even the last vestige of decency, and somewhere in the haze of her mind, she heard her girlfriend say: "She's a hot piece of ass, Sam. I've had her once today, and she's about ready for you to fuck. But let me get her really primed first. Help me if you want; she can take anything."

"Noooo," came bubbling from the helpless young wife's lips, but to no avail. Cylvia's lewd suggestion was set into action without a moment's hesitation; in unison, the naked bodies of Zeigler and Mrs. Oliss closed in on her, and they began to run their hands over her full, quivering breasts and soft warm flesh until her white skin glowed pearlescent. Cylvia took Lonnie's nipples and massaged them to agonizing hardness, and Lonnie could only stare in wonderment as the woman began crawling over her squirming body and lick her nipples, her areoles, her white curve of flesh… Then down, down with passionate kisses over the soft mound of her belly and the smoldering skin of her inner thighs. A seething hot coal scalded her belly and loins, leaving her thighs and vagina steaming. She tried to close her obscenely spread legs, but Cylvia's hands forced them apart slightly more.

A gripping lust ripped through Sam Zeigler, making his legs weak and his testicles swell with the excitement of the scene. God! The damned dog show wasn't nearly as passionate or lust-provoking as the lewd depravity of the two naked wives. Cylvia was forcing the Carmel woman's slender ankles apart until her full-lipped cunt was no longer a pink slash but a gaping valley of quivering flesh. His eyes mirrored the glittering eyes of Cylvia Oliss as with obscene delight they stared at Lonnie's tingling upraised clitoris.

"As they say, Lonnie," Cylvia mused, "when getting your pussy fucked is inevitable, relax and enjoy it." Her lips were glistening with anticipatory saliva. "And, honey, I know you enjoy what I'm going to do to you."

A hopeless moan fluttered from Lonnie as she felt for the second time in the evening her girlfriend's hot, panting breath on her raw, moist, pink cunt. And then she groaned as Cylvia lowered her head and sucked her vagina, licking her clitoris with her tongue until it was hard and throbbing. Velvet lips once more were covering her sensitive pussy lips and the hair-fringed edges of her vaginal split until Lonnie's breath was matching Cylvia's in intensity and excitement. Her body squirmed ecstatically as teeth, lips, tongue worked their magic scorchings across her loins.

"Oh God… oh God, you're driving me mad I can't take this… no, no… please stop, Cylvia!" Her cries filled the room, making Zeigler's hardened penis jerk with blood-filled tingling. God! He was having a hard time controlling his throbbing cock, waiting until Cylvia was ready to let it take the place of her teasing mouth.

Lonnie's mind whirled and she gasped in short, grunting breaths as Cylvia slid from her moist pubic slit, playing with her hungry cunt opening, and then thrust her tongue deep as it would go inside her vaginal tunnel. Lonnie could feel that pink tongue all the way up her belly and to her breasts. But the Oliss wife wasn't satisfied; she wanted more than soft moans, she wanted to be begged, to be screamed at…

Cylvia raised her face and grinned lewdly up the expanse of undulating flesh, past the rose-tipped crests of Lonnie's breasts. Her mouth and cheeks were moist and glistening from her own saliva and the young wife's secretions. "Tell me," she taunted. "Tell me what you want… tell me, Lonnie!"

Lonnie gasped and rolled her body from side to side, and sobbed uncontrollably in humiliation and rippling sensuality. She couldn't, she just couldn't do what Cylvia wanted… it was too lewd to form into words… but then she saw the young girl on the bed with the dog again, and she shuddered as her own lust erupted deep in her belly at the salacious sight.

The girl was reveling in total, abandoned humiliation as the panting, lunging animal fucked her on the bed, in full view of the glassed-in rooms. Rivulets of moisture were clearly visible in the crevice of the girl's rotating buttocks, the droplets glistening in the stage-lights.

"Damn it, Lonnie, tell me!" Cylvia hissed urgently.

Lonnie Carmel watched the girl in abject fascination, almost delirious from the suckings on her own cunt and the lewdness of the dumb beast screwing the young girl. But she clenched her teeth shut, unable to comply with the obscene command of the woman hovering over her. And yet… as the girl on the stage undulated her buttocks, and the stage slowly revolved so that all of the alien coupling could be seen, Lonnie realized that the girl, far from her earlier look of abhorrence, was now encouraging the German Shepherd to fuck her. The little blonde's face was contorted in enrapturement and her taut breasts danced beneath her hunched body, moving in time to the huge dog cock which was skewering her warm, throbbing pussy. The girl was no longer a female human being – but a quivering mass of lust-deranged, sweating flesh begging for subjugation, reveling in the delicious screwing she was receiving from behind.

And… as Lonnie Carmel watched all this, the dam inside her burst. Eager and desperate mewlings poured from her lips, as she knew her plight was hopeless, the pleasure too great. Her mouth opened and closed to the sensuous lickings of the girlfriend in and around her cunt. A hot flame burst from her tortured loins all the way up to her breasts, and she was no longer able to fight the lust which raced out of control through her body.

"Do it… do it… yes, dooo iiiitttttttt," she babbled frantically.

"Do what?" Cylvia teased, and Zeigler grinned down at the two women's faces of lust and added: "Yes, Lonnie, tell us what you want me to do to you."

"Fuck me! Fuck me! Please…" Lonnie's whole tormented soul shuddered under the lash of her self-defilement, but she was cognizant of nothing save her own obscene words. "Fuck meeeee!"

Cylvia crawled from between her passion-deranged friend's thighs, a satisfied grin on her wet, glistening mouth. "She's ready for anything you want to do to her, Sam. Her nice, tight little cunt is snapping like a fish out of water. Go ahead and fuck her good!"

The last shards of her marital vows dissolved into dust as Lonnie took her eyes from the dog fucking the young girl on the stage bed and focused her attention on the cool rush of air over her wet pubic slit and the man standing over her. It was then that she consciously recognized the thick, fat stump of flesh and blood which protruded from his curly pubic hair. She saw it for what it was – his aching, raging penis – and what it meant to her – the end of her fidelity. The final, bitter capitulation of all which she had held sacred since taking her wedding ring from Roger. She shuddered as Zeigler crawled over her naked body, and parted the lips of her vagina with his fingers, but she offered no resistance. She wanted him… she wanted that huge scarlet penis inside her… and once more she groaned: "Fuck me… oh, please fuck me…"

Then he crushed down upon her, and there was a sharp stab of fire in her belly. She twitched and writhed and groaned her welcome of his punishing cock as he ground the shaft deep up into her receptive cunt. Her face contorted, and cries of ecstasy burst from her lips. His cock head battered her cervix, probing deeper and deeper, past where even her husband had ever been. Forgotten was the remnants of her shame and perversion in her actions forgotten was Roger, her marriage, today, tomorrow… everything except the dark well of her lust. She wanted to be fucked like this, she wanted to be subjected to any further lewd demands placed on her fire-wracked body.

"Hot damn, would you look at her go!" Cylvia Oliss said, breathing hard. "I never imagined she'd be this choice!"

"Man… man is she tender and tight," groaned the gangster as he surged and thrust his cock in her cunt. "I could fuck her to death!"

"Fine with me," Cylvia said. "She's been Mrs. Sweet and Innocent too damned long."

The defiling words only came through Lonnie's haze dimly, and she became something like the girl on the bed – an inhuman devil of spreading legs and sucking, clasping cunt. "Ohhhhh, yes, Sam! Fuck me hard! Fuck me hard!"

Zeigler slipped his hands beneath her buttocks and raised them to his straining cock. Lonnie moaned incoherently and wound her warm, smooth legs around his hips, and the velvet walls of her vagina held his rigid, pumping cock until she could feel every inch of his hotly pulsating shaft. She was insane as she'd never been before, completely surrendered to the lure of sexual fulfillment, and her drugged mind reveled in her wickedness.

"Hell, look at her hot little cunt climb and suck!" Cylvia gasped. Through crazed, flickering eyes Lonnie saw her best friend lying on the floor beside them, the woman's eyes feasting on the close-up of Zeigler's rock-hardened penis screwing demonically into her desperately pulsating cunt. The blonde-haired wife had her legs bent up around her, her knees touching her pooling breasts and her full pubic area was wide and fully before Lonnie's view. From clitoris to anus, the stretched cunt slit was a proud, inflamed pink, and Cylvia was masturbating wildly. Her fingers were plunging crazily in and out of her gaping vaginal hole as she struggled for breath, her face never off of the lewd, carnal drubbing of penis into vagina but scant inches away.

"Ram it to her, Sam, ram it to her!" Cylvia grunted.

The words lashed at Lonnie, for the thrashing body of her girlfriend was sending still more messages of lewdness through her. That throbbing cunt of hers was less than six inches away, the couch she was being fucked on without legs, and Cylvia lying with her head toward the grinding loins of Lonnie and Zeigler. Lonnie felt her senses slip yet another notch… and for the first time she didn't fight the prurient lusts. She did what her body demanded she do. Twisting slightly, she bent her shoulders and head that scant half foot…

"Christ!" gaped Zeigler from above. "She… she wants to suck you off, Cylvia! Let her! God damn it! Let her kiss your cunt!" He was whipped to still further pile-driving surges but the obscenity of the menage a trots that this once proud, once innocent little wife had instigated.

Urged by the fucking of her insatiable cunt, Lonnie felt the overwhelming passion to pay Cylvia back in kind. She wanted to suck her open cunt until Cylvia was screaming as she had, and in her zealous mind, her action became almost one of revenge. She dipped until she could run her ovalled lips over the moist slit, and Cylvia removed her fingers hurriedly and lifted her buttocks so that Lonnie's entire mouth could engulf her throbbing cunt. She wanted the helpless wife of Roger Carmel to make her cunt spasm with orgasm, for the young Lonnie to tongue her to climax, and her hands gripped her heaving breasts and squeezed with sadistic strength, her brain lost in the heat of the fiery spasms rolling from her vaginal slit. She wanted it… oh God, she wanted it!

Lonnie's twin centers of desire drove on. She was almost ready to cum and could not stop either her mouth or her cunt. Her belly danced with relentless excitement and her hot-walled vagina gripped around Zeigler's plunging cock like a warm, clenched fist, while his balls pounded against her buttocks and the soft-haired skin of her wide spread loins.

Spurred on by the double sight of dog in girl and Lonnie on Cylvia, Zeigler dug deeper, forcing Lonnie's legs farther back, his cock fucking into her like a pile-driving machine gone mad. Then Cylvia, the sucking lips driving her to raw, naked insanity, rocked back and forth and she screamed out: "I'm cuuummmiiinnngggg!" She jerked and twisted crazily beneath the oral drubbings of the wife. "Suck me harder, you bitch! Suck me harder!" And her whole cunt spilled out with the juices of her orgasm. "Ahhhh!"

Zeigler fucked into Lonnie's churning cunt, the cries and moans egging him with burning heat. Lonnie cried out from the brutal impalement – her voice muffled – but her greedy vagina clasped around his shaft and slithered up wetly to devour still more. She was cumming, tooo… sweat was pouring from her body as she strove wildly for her climax… it was so close…

And then…

A wail from outside the room was heard by Lonnie. It was so loud that it came through the room's glass, and so pitiful and anguished that it filtered through the liquor and sensation fogged mind of the hopelessly skewered wife, and made her take her mouth from Cylvia's straining cunt. She was able to see in the reflection of the room's mirrors to stage… the girl… the giant dog…

The little teen-ager was in the first throes of her orgasm, and she was screwing her cunt back against the dog insanely. The beast jerked forward, and his tuberous scarlet cock spit out its animal sperm in hard surges, deep up in the girl's vagina, releasing her own climax. Thick white cream appeared at her cuntal mouth as her belly muscles squeezed with her sensations, and rivulets of the dog sperm ran down the backs of her ivory thighs to the bed below.

The large beast slipped his deflating cock from her and she pitched forward, seemingly unconscious; the dog wagged his tail in obvious appreciation and in a last act of depravity, licked her wide-spread thighs and pussy, licking his own animal semen from her quivering cunt. And this perversion blasted Lonnie's brain. Is a dog, is that dog, really that satisfying? With a shudder of forbidden horror, her whole body tensed, and that was the last little bit needed to set off Zeigler's boiling testicles.

He groaned and suddenly Lonnie could feel his hot waves of male seed shoot hotly up into her dilated womb. Her head whirled with lust as the hot, powerful squirts filled her belly to the bursting point. She could feel its forceful jets spattering against the walls of her womb… but she was still seconds away from her own frantically building release. His cock began to slowly stop its wild ejaculations, and she couldn't stand it.

"No! No! Wait… please wait for me…" She sobbed with frustration, but her pleas were useless. She clenched her buttocks desperately up against his softening penis which had lost its mastery over her seething desires, and her heels pounded ineffectually on his backsides as with an empty groan of satisfaction, he rolled from her, exhausted.

Lonnie was beside herself, torn between the hot hungering need scorching her still insatiated cunt and the quick twinge of shame and humiliation that flitted through her desire-contorted brain. She rolled her head, whimpering. Her end was so near… and yet so far. She kicked out her legs and with her own hands fingerfucked her desperately sucking pussy, digging into herself greedily, trying to reach the impossible depths of the man named Ziegler's vanquished cock.

"Fuck me… Oh God help me, but please fuck me…"

"Give it to her," Cylvia goaded, sitting up, glazed eyed and for the moment satiated. "Shoot it to her again."

"I will, you little nymphomaniac. She's not dead yet," Zeigler panted, "but I sure am for a few minutes. God almighty, she's insatiable!"

"Want me to make your cock hard for you?" Cylvia teased. "Want me to take your cock and put it on my mouth and suck you until it's hard again?"

Zeigler groaned at the lurid thought, and incredibly, his cock stirred slightly. "No," he decided. "I want Lonnie to suck me. I want her to put those lovely lips of hers over my cock and suck me until I cum in her mouth. And then," he said, his eyes two glittering stones of lasciviousness, "and then I'll screw her in that hairless little asshole of hers. If I've got the strength left."

"You do, Sam," Cylvia replied knowingly. "You always have with me, anyway, and I'd say that little Mrs. Carmel is as much – if not more of a prick-riser than I am."

"Impossible!" Zeigler said, grinning.

"Well, if you get too tired, I know a number of guys and one large dog that'll love to fuck her – and are going to, if I have my way!"

"And you always do, don't you, Cylvia?" Zeigler said with a knowing smile. "You always do."

Mrs. Lonnie Carmel could only hear this lewd conversation with the infitesimal portion of her brain that was still lucid. The rest of her was a quivenng mass of frustrations and lusts. Her only reaction to the two others were her rambling cries of desire. "Fuck me… please, I must have more… fuck me…"

"And…" in the background Cylvia Oliss' voice droned almost gleefully on… "And when Tamera's friends get through gangfucking that snotty little daughter of hers I think both mother and daughter will be ready for a little dual workout with all the boys at the same time. Won't the sight of that tear innocent Mr. Roger Carmel's mind apart. He should be ready for anything we ask him to do after that…!"

Content

Peter Jensen
The blackmailed mother book I

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT