Gus Stevens

Love Me, Love My Dog

CHAPTER ONE

When Trudy showed up at my front door that evening I became an instant dog lover.

Don't get me wrong, Trudy is no dog. Far from it.

She batted her big baby-blue eyes at me and it was several seconds before I was able to break away from her gaze and examine the rest of her. What there was wouldn't quit and I saw an instant winner.

Trudy was built so that every last brick was perfectly placed. She was maybe five-four, with blonde hair that could light an absolutely black room. She had the face of an angel and-as I was to discover-the soul and body of a devil. The eyes gave me the message and that figure backed them up. Under her miniskirt lurked the shape of a vamp encased in the skin of a teen-ager.

The reason I became a dog lover was because of Alexander, our German shepherd. Maybe I don't have Alexander to thank, if I keep on going back. Maybe I should thank Amy because she'd never become pregnant.

It all started a few weeks earlier when Amy was complaining one day because we'd been married for going on three years and there were no little Bradys running around the house as living proof.

I immediately volunteered my services for another attempt at baby-making, running my hand down the back of Amy's shorts as she knelt in the grass of our back yard. She jumped a foot, protesting loudly, but I could see the flicker of light in the back of her eyes. She was game, all right.

“I wasn't suggesting that we run into the bedroom this minute,” she said crossly, getting up and brushing at her knees.

“Well I was,” I said.

She made a face, trying to look angry, but it didn't come off. My wife Amy is a damned good-looking girl, even if I do say so. She's a big one at five-eight, with brown hair that caresses with its softness and good smell, hazel eyes that can make me weak in the knees, and a figure that adds up to a very exciting and comfortable roll in the hay about three times a week.

“What I mean is,” she continued, shading her eyes with her palm, “that the house seems to terribly empty.”

“Thanks loads.”

She smiled, touching my arm. “You know what I mean. We have all those bedrooms and nobody to fill them. We both know there's nothing wrong with us, only that we haven't matched your sperm with my egg at the precisely correct time.”

“You sound just like the doctor.”

“He's assured us that we're normal often enough,” she replied. “Heaven knows he's examined me thoroughly.”

“I've been wanting to talk to him about that,” I grumbled. I don't like him sticking his arm into you every six months like some damned plumber. He's getting his kicks and I'm paying him twenty-five bucks every time.”

Amy stood still while I touched her throat and let my hand drift down into her halter. She has dandy breasts and I never tire of playing games with them. Her excitement was rising, but she had to finish her speech.

“I thought perhaps a pet would be nice,” she went on, batting her eyes at me, her look promising me a nice fast and clean piece if I'd only cooperate and listen like an adult. “You know, a dog or something like that. It would help fill the lonely days until we have children of our own.”

“Sounds sick, substituting a cocker spaniel for a child.” I sniffed in disgust, but her breasts felt more interesting by the minute. “Ridiculous. Wanting to practice diaper changing on a mutt.”

“He's not a cocker spaniel and he's not a mutt,” she complained.

“Who isn't?”

The answer came from the garage, where a loud and anguished whine interrupted our conversation. It sounded like an overgrown baby, and that was what Amy released into the yard a few seconds later.

It was, she explained, a very valuable German shepherd, in excellent condition, six months old, and a pet-store bargain at only a hundred dollars. My whine outdid the dog's as he raced about the yard, panting, leaking on the avocado tree and trying to fall into the pool.

Slapping my forehead, I complained, “God, five minutes home from the office and you present me with this. I should have opened the front door of the garage and let him go back to his kennel, or wherever he comes from.”

Amy listened to my bitching for fifteen minutes, countering each of my arguments as to why keeping a dog was impossible with a better argument of her own. He could stay in the garage while we were at work, he wouldn't cost more than a dollar a day to feed, he'd be excellent protection when Amy was home alone, he'd only need a sitter at night, according to the man in the pet shop…

“A sitter at night?” My icy voice stopped her.

She batted her eyes. “We don't go out much, anyhow.”

“I repeat: a sitter at night?”

She nodded. “Alexander's afraid of the dark, unless someone's with him.”

“A fine watchdog. We can just leave a light on in the garage and to hell with a sitter.”

“It isn't the same, the man said,” she replied, taking my hand and shoving it back inside her halter. “He needs and loves people… except for thieves and rapers.”

I stormed on, but it was no good. I might have won, but my hand finally slipped low enough to cup a heavy and yielding breast and that was all she wrote. She could have asked me to buy her a full-scale replica of the Statue of Liberty for the front yard and I would have written out a check at once.

My jaw kept moving, but no words would come. Amy smiled like an angel, batting her eyes and taking my other hand. “Now everything's going to be all right. You'll love the dog and we can afford him. Just because he's chicken doesn't mean we can't give him love and affection. When a real baby comes along he'll be wonderful protection for the carriage when I'm walking Donald Junior in the park.”

I gaped at her swelling breast, squeezing one final time before she slipped away from my fingers and began pulling me toward the house. I looked back at the thing named Alexander and managed to blurt, as he watered the brand new orange tree, “How did you come up with Alexander? Crazy name for a mutt.”

She lifted her face and laughed. “For your father, of course. They're both chicken, yet both handsome and lovable, just like you.”

“I'm not chicken.”

“I meant lovable.”

“You mean that?” I breathed, watching her bottom twitch back and forth as we went into the house. Alexander, it appeared, could safely be left alone in the comforting sun of the back yard.

Amy nodded. 'I'm going to show my appreciation for letting me keep our new dog… and I'm going to love every minute of it.”

“Every minute with the dog?” I scowled. “I've heard about crazy dames who do things with collies and Shetland ponies. You have plans for Alexander, eh?”

“Please shut, dear husband. Stop that filthy talk and concentrate on love. Those are the minutes I'm going to enjoy. The ones with you… starting now.”

She turned fast, facing me and locking her arms around my neck. My head was pulled down and her lips were like starving piranha as they nibbled at mine and then began chewing furiously. I chewed back while her body fastened itself against mine, her breasts flattening, her belly trembling, her hips jockeying for position. Even her knees knocked against mine as she tried to crawl inside my skin.

I lifted my face for an instant. “It's been a long time since we've done it in the kitchen like this,” I managed to gasp, sucking air like it was going out of style.

She laughed with a low gurgle, deeply in her throat, playing a sultry role she knew drove me out of my mind. “Let's adjourn to the bedroom. I want this one to be good and thorough.”

I played along with her until we were in the hall, heading for the master bedroom. Then I began to grapple with her, getting my hand back inside her halter and flipping a breast free before she could protest herself.

It bobbed out like a shiny new penny, only this one's value had not been diminished by inflation. It was beautiful, soft and round, bronzed by her buff sunbathing, and the cherry at its tip winked in invitation. I winked back and shoved my thumb into the knob.

“Oh… Don…” she gasped, her head rolling at once. I always loved Amy for her low boiling point. “That's so wonderful. Thank goodness that dog brought us together this afternoon.”

“Screw that dog,” I muttered, watching the nipple grow firm until the little core of pink flesh popped out like a valve on a football.

I leaned my face down, kissing the nipple, and her hands were in my hair, pulling hard, and the sound of her dry swallowing was loud. When I looked up she was untying the knot at the middle of her back, so that the halter affair was falling away and both breasts were bobbing and smiling at me in greeting.

“Come on,” she pleaded, dragging me toward the bedroom and I came, willingly, feeling the hardening bulge inside my pants knotting like a stiffening rope.

We were in by the bed before she turned to me, running her hands across my shoulders while I returned to her breasts, helping the neglected mound catch up with its twin. Both were lifting, expanding and hardening by the second, sitting up like twin puppies anxious to be nursed… and I was anxious to play ball with my little friends.

While I hefted their weight in my palms, she was sliding her fingers inside my jacket, unbuttoning it and then snaking inside my shirt. Almost idly, she plucked at the hairs on my chest, knowing she was driving me out of my mind.

“Hey… I like that.”

“I know.”

“Do you like this?”

“You know damned well I do,” she purred, playing the role of a contented tabby.

I was pinching her nipples between my thumbs and fingers, squeezing gently and then harder until she began to wince. Then I'd let up until she told me with her-eyes that she was ready for more.

Through it all she was busy, too, removing my jacket and somehow folding it neatly over a chair-Amy could keep a house spick and span in the middle of a tornado funnel-and then jerking my shirt from the belt of my trousers. She unbuttoned it, her fingers trembling each time I'd give her nipples another turn of the screws, but she worked on with determination.

Soon she had me naked to the waist, just as she was, and together we massaged and kissed, me pecking at her breasts and sliding my mouth down to her belly, while she clung to my ears, guiding me to various targets of opportunity. Not one to be selfish, Amy from time to time pushed me away so she could nibble at my ears, drop down to my throat and then jerk at my chest hairs with her teeth. I reacted by allowing my nerves and muscles to do a little dance of pleasure, jigging this way and that to show their appreciation.

“Hey… you're good.”

“You too, tiger.”

I began to work at her hip, opening a fastener and then sliding a zipper, while she fumbled at my belt and then grasped the tab of my fly. Together we pulled and the zipping sound was far sweeter harmony than the Andrews Sisters could ever muster. We were open, her shorts peeling away from her hip, my pants beginning to sag.

She jerked at my hips and my pants fell to the carpet. She went for my shorts at once, working them down across my groin so that I was one inch away from being exposed all over the place. Fighting back, I rammed her shorts down to her knees and then rolled her panties after them, watching the sheer pink material cooperate beautifully as it gave up its skin hugging for the rest of the afternoon.

Then, with a few additional flicks of the wrist, we looked like a couple of jaybirds, every bit as naked but a lot more exciting.

I gazed the length of her great body, loving every inch of her tanned skin, her thin waist, her swelling hips and breasts, her legs that played their game straight. She smiled at me in the shadows of our room, her teeth a slash of white across her California face, and she tossed her head, removing a lock of hair from in front of one eye.

“Well?”

“Just fantastic, nothing more. They ought to cast you in bronze, wife, but not before I get through with you.”

“Yes. You must finish what you were doing first. They can put you on the pedestal with me, if they wish, but I've got to get what I'm after first.”

We went for our goodies together, me running my hands down the curve of her lower stomach and between her legs, feeling her stiff hairs play games with my fingers before they became heavy and soggy with her own increased lubrication. She managed to keep her knees from buckling long enough to reach around me and run her fingers down the crack of my buttocks until she was working her way through a forest of hairs. Then she was tickling the rear base of my gonads, starting a forest fire in my belly.

I could feel my load of sperm begin to build up like an army getting ready to charge down the slope on the enemy. My fingers dipped inside Amy long enough to trigger her and I could feel her convulsions increase.

With no further messing around, I tossed her down on the bed and she bounced attractively, all flopping breasts, waving hips and heaving belly. The total effect was of a complete woman, wanton with desire and eminently capable of living up to her full capabilities.

I crawled over her, giving her a chance to grasp my penis and pull it toward her vagina in a final gesture of pleasure and invitation, Then I was coming down, shoving hard, penetrating and shooting home with an ease born of many months of practice with the same wonderful woman.

We were lying together, relaxing in that final few seconds before the frenzy would be brought to a climax. She smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded, her entire appearance driving me out of my mind.

“Then it's all right?” she breathed, her lips brushing across mine like two dry sticks trying to start a forest fire.

“Is it all right?” I gasped. “Hell, yes, it's all right. It's perfect.”

“I mean about Alexander.”

“Screw Alexander.”

“No, I prefer you. Then we'll keep him?”

“You can keep a hundred pair of rabbits in the living room if you want,” I complained, “But please shut up and wrap those legs around my tormented body.”

She did and we pumped hard, driving ourselves to the brink and then beyond. Hemingway described it as making the earth move, but in our case, Amy and I managed to move the whole damned universe.

I began to come, my cock swelling and then erupting like a weathered cannon that was still full of fire. She arched her hips and took my full assault, not flinching, gurgling like a bottle baby all the while.

Presently my load was shot and, sweating like a trooper on the march in the desert, I fell against her, collapsing her arch. We lay quietly for some time before she stirred under me, her body also dripping.

“You're a nice man.”

“Thank you. Do you like me because I'm hung better than anyone else in town?”

“Not really, but there's that, too.”

“Why, then?”

She didn't answer and I stiffened.

“Don't tell me it's because of that damned dog.”

“All right, I won't, but it is.”

Thus, Alexander-all hundred dollars and fifty plus pounds of him-came into our lives, bringing Trudy with him You see, Alexander would need a sitter and, with the events that were to follow, I became a dog lover.

It all ties together. Amy couldn't get pregnant. Alexander was piped aboard to provide company, and Trudy followed on his heels as the sitter.

Get the point? I sure did… and fast.

CHAPTER TWO

I was busy for several days, building up a load of weariness and also a load of desire for Amy. It was rarely that we went for a week without a session in the hay together, but that's what had happened. Finally I got on top of my work at the office and now I was ready to do the same with my wife.

She shook her head as I came in the door, trying to keep Alexander from eating me up with joy at the same time. “I'm sorry, darling, but it's the Champions.”

I glared at her and then at the mutt, which was rapidly turning into something the size of an elephant seal. “What about the Champions?”

“They've invited us over for the night. You know, it's Friday, and we always…”

“Maybe we always see them on Friday, but I don't always wait for a week between lovemaking sessions, as we girls like to call it. Tell the Champions it's off for tonight. Maybe tomorrow if we get caught up.”

She let her hips rest against my flanks, and I know damned well she could feel my cock ramming like a loaded torpedo. “I'm terribly sorry sweetheart, but I've already accepted for bridge at seven. You'll just have time to clean up and grab a bite on the fly.”

“That's what I was hoping I'd be able to talk you into doing,” I complained, “grabbing a bite on the old fly.”

“Get going,” she murmured, pecking me on the end of the nose. “And you can forget that dirty talk for tonight.”

I paused on my way to the rear of the house, shucking my coat and shirt along the way. “What about your four-legged police force?” Suddenly I laughed in triumph. “He can't go along and he won't stay home without a baby-sitter, to quote that son of a bitch in the pet store.”

Amy broke the news as gently as she could. “I checked the want ads, and there's a sitter available. She lives just two blocks away and she's dying to come and sit with our dog.”

My heart felt like a cannonball suspended in my chest. “Jesus, but you're efficient. What's her name?”

“Trudy Pipp, I believe she said. Yes, that was it. She'll be here in a half hour, so hurry along now.” Amy's eyes turned sad. “If I wasn't afraid she'd walk in on us any moment I'd say to heck with your shower and we could play games for thirty minutes. But I don't dare. Sitters are so hard to find these days.”

I turned away in disgust and snorted my way through a cold shower, cussing out the Champions, my wife and, most of all, that dog that should have been wearing feathers instead of a coat of fur. I was just combing my hair when the bell rang and Amy, still in the bathroom, yelled at me to get it.

When I opened the door and saw what was standing on the stoop, my heart went out to Alexander. I loved all dogs, especially him. Any pet that could attract a baby-sitter like this blonde had to be nominated for a canine medal of honor.

I opened my mouth, but nothing would come out, so I stared, my eyes working steadily from her shining hair to her sandal-clad feet. At last I was looking into those baby blue eyes, transfixed. The electricity was arcing like the Niagara Falls power station, shooting from her body into mine and back again, building a positive charge ever higher with each exchange.

I might have been a struck dumb, but I was smart enough to know that something was going to have to happen between this girl and me before the night was over. The look in her eyes confirmed it in silent-and total-agreement. Then her look changed, innocence replacing the vamp for the moment.

“Hi,” she blurted, her voice like that of a breathless teen-ager. “I'm Trudy Pipp. Mrs. Brady called me about sitting tonight.”

I managed to nod.

“You Mr. Brady?” Her glittering head tilted like that of a child eyeing things in a candy store window, things she wanted desperately but had little chance of possessing.

Trying desperately to get hold of myself, I cleared my throat in a no-nonsense fashion and stepped aside. “I'm Mr. Brady, all right, and we've been waiting for you. It's ten minutes past the hour.”

“I'm sorry, but my aunt wanted me to help with the dishes before I came over here.” She blinked and my resolve fell apart like a damp cardboard box. “I hope I didn't make you miss anything, Mr. Brady.”

My eyes fell to her knees and lower thighs, which were generously displayed by her to brief miniskirt. Closing the door behind her, I muttered, “No, I haven't missed a thing.”

“I didn't think you had,” she said with a choice of words that could have only one meaning.

I could feel my mouth going all dry again by the time Amy came in, screwing an earring onto her left lobe as she entered the front hall. She blinked at the teen-ager, who couldn't have been more than eighteen, her eyes taking in the big picture, and then at me. I felt as though I'd been caught with my hands in some forbidden place, even thought I had them locked firmly behind my back.

“Well?” Amy prompted.

I started. “This is… uh, Trudy… Trudy Pipp. Meet Mrs. Brady.” Somehow it wasn't coming out right.

“Hi,” Trudy chirped. She had that sort of voice. You had to describe it as a chirp, like an innocent canary.

“How do you do,” Amy purred, smiling like a schoolteacher on opening day in September, resolved that it was going to be a long and perhaps painful year ahead. “I hope you don't mind sitting with Alexander. He's only six months old.”

The stacked little blonde looked doubtful. “That's not very old, is it?”

“But he does weigh fifty pounds already.”

Trudy stared, her lips parting in a way that caused my penis to begin to harden at once. My groin was swelling with an ache that increased fast and I cursed my bad luck at not having had the opportunity to lay Amy before going out to the Champions' for the evening.

“Fifty pounds at six months?” Small white teeth were still showing.

“Perhaps I should explain,” my wife continued. “Alexander is a German shepherd.”

Miss teen-age sex-a-go-go blinked. “A dog?”

“A very valuable dog who has difficulty staying home alone at night. So we decided a regular sitter would provide company. Do you mind?”

Amy fastened her eyes hard on Trudy, daring her to say no, as though she might be relieved to get rid of the blonde. My wife is no fool; she recognizes a threat as quickly as the next married woman.

Trudy shrugged and things bobbed inside her mini, even as my pouch bobbed and increased its ache. I hoped my steel zipper would stand the strain. “Why should I care? A dollar fifty an hour is a dollar fifty an hour, whether I watch a kid or a goldfish.”

“Excellent,” Amy shot back. “There's cold chicken in the refrigerator, soft drinks and a large leftover piece of cake, if you get hungry.”

“Yummy,” Trudy blurted, looking at me, her eyes doing new tricks. “I think I am hungry… for something.”

There was a new roaring in my ears and I knew my brain was only half functioning, so I tried to nod in all the right places. Apparently I wasn't doing a good job of it, for Amy looked strangely at me, scowling, and Trudy seemed to be hiding a giggle behind her small fists.

“Get your things, Don,” Amy muttered.

“I've got my things.”

“Then let's go. The Champions will be waiting and you know how they get when we're so much as five minutes late.” She turned to the teen-age monster, gesturing toward the front room. “There's color TV in there and a pool in the yard, although I don't imagine you've brought a suit.”

“Golly, a pool,” Trudy blurted. “I'll remember that next time.”

“Yes… next time,” Amy breathed. 'Come along, Don.”

“How long do you think you'll be, Mrs. Brady?” the blonde went on, innocent as hell.

Don't ask me how I knew she was putting on an act, but I just knew she was. Just as she knew it and just as Amy knew it. It was like a large ship sighting an iceberg too late to turn away or even to slow down. There would be a meeting of the two, just as there would be a meeting between Trudy and me. I knew it had to happen and we all knew there was no real way of stopping it.

Sort of a super kismet.

“We should be back by midnight,” Amy was saying, opening the door and signaling to me. “Not much later that that, I'm certain.”

“Take your time,” Trudy was gurgling, already kicking off her sandals. Jesus, what sexy feet. “It's all a dollar fifty an hour to me.”

I walked stiff-legged out to the car, which I had left in the driveway after work, and Amy looked down at me.

“How disgusting. Look at yourself.”

“I don't need to, thanks.”

“Imagine. All that excitement over a child.”

“A child of eighteen.”

Amy pressed her lips together as she slid into the car, affording me a good look at her legs. Damned good legs. “Eighteen, my foot, dear husband. Trudy Pipp isn't more than sixteen, and I'll bet my virginity on that.”

“You cashed that in years ago, remember?” I chided.

“It's only an expression,” she snapped, her voice cross. “At any rate, I don't want to catch you playing around with children. It would be a disgrace and an insult.”

I managed to smirk as I started the engine and kicked on the air conditioning. “Then it's okay if I shack up with an adult broad, is that it? Say, somebody like Alice Champion?”

“Stop putting words into my mouth, cave man. You know damned well what I mean. No Trudy Pipp and no Alice Champion.”

I was relieved to feel the strain in my crotch lessen as we backed out of the drive and I got the car out on the boulevard. It wasn't more than five minutes to the Champions' ranch home and I didn't want to pole-vault into their parlor like an Olympic champion.

“Not that Alice wouldn't like to play a few games with your old man,” I continued, seeking to regain some of my lost prestige. “You don't know how many times we've rubbed knees under the bridge table.”

I'm certain it can't be any more often than Sam Champion has put his hand on my thigh,” she replied, her voice sweet with triumph.

“Ouch.”

“Ouch, indeed. Some nights I'm black and blue from his pinching around the insides of my knees. It's amazing that he can play such a wonderful game of bridge while his fingers are walking up and down my legs.”

“Why, that dirty bas-”

“Tell the truth, darling,” Amy interrupted. “Can you call him a bastard with full innocence? Can you tell me that you've never made a pass at Alice?”

I cleared my throat. “I've never tried to throw a long-gainer. Just an occasional down-and-out that she could handle and toss back without any complications.”

She puffed out her cheeks. “At least you're honest. I've seen you two in the kitchen and I'm pleased that you didn't bother to lie.”

“I never lie.”

She turned, her knees jamming into my thigh as she stared at my profile. “Can you promise not to lie to me about Trudy Pipp?”

“What the hell,” I blustered. “'I hardly know the woman… the child. Don't accuse me of something that hasn't…”

“She's tempting, Donald, my boy. Please don't tell a lie now and say she isn't.”

“A bank vault is also tempting,” I retorted, “but that doesn't mean I'm going to try to filch a million when the branch manager's back is turned.”

“Meaning?” she persisted as we turned into the broad driveway leading up to the Champions' suburban home.

“Meaning that I have plenty of money of my own and I don't need to get more by being dishonest.” I leaned over and punctuated my remark with a kiss. “You're a fat enough bankroll for me, baby.”

She gurgled with pleasure and I realized I'd hit home with that shot. Even so, I wasn't any more certain that I meant it than I was certain that I had enough money of my own.

When it came to a broad like Trudy Pipp, I could grow mighty expensive tastes.

Just as my penis began to sit and look around again the Champions opened their front door and, in the din of gay greetings, my family jewel quieted.

CHAPTER THREE

Alice Champion was in good form that night, I discovered during the very first hand her husband dealt.

We were still bidding the first time around when her knee snaked over to rest against mine. I kept my eyes on my hand, which was lousy, and listened to the others bid. There was a long silence and, when I looked up, they were all staring.

“Huh?”

“Your bid, darling,” Amy cooed, her voice dripping like honey that was one degree above freezing.

I glanced at my hand again. Nothing, except a king and queen of clubs. “Two clubs,” I blurted.

“Too late, partner,” Sam replied, peering at me with a funny look in his eyes. “My wife has already said two spades.”

I sniffed, pretending to be baffled by the game when, actually, I was baffled by another sort of game. How could Alice turn me on like that and not miss a stroke in the bidding? Women were heartless creatures.

Alice did me a favor. She got up and went into the kitchen for another bowl of peanuts, giving me a chance to sit back and blow out my cheeks. Watching her disappear, I realized why she'd excited me so quickly. That damned Trudy Pipp was to blame. It had to be her.

Alice didn't have all that much going for her sex appeal. Sure, she had a good body, but she was pushing thirty and there was the first hint of a spare tire around her hips. Her hair was still an unstreaked black and her eyes were warm and brown, but she'd never been what I would consider a sex box.

It had to be Trudy who was still on my mind… Trudy and the fact that I hadn't been in the sack with my wife for a week. Add chastity plus Alice plus Trudy and you've got one overheated accountant who needed a piece of tail in the worst way.

Sam was talking and I made myself listen, trying to return to the party without everybody being damned certain I'd been somewhere else.

“… wish they didn't want us to drop everything and devote all our time to them. Don't you think I'm right, Don?”

I blinked. He was talking about the business, that was certain. Hitchcock and Son were the clients who were always wanting things done yesterday, so it had to be them. I nodded with what I hoped was sincere interest.

“Old man Hitchcock can wait his turn, like everybody else,” I snapped, my voice ringing with authority.

“Good for you, darling,” Amy intoned, looking closely into my face. “Nice recovery.”

I blinked at her, knowing what she meant but pretending, while Sam also blinked for a moment, really not knowing what the dickens my wife was talking about.

Then Alice was calling from the kitchen, pleading for a man to come and help her get the lid off a fresh jar of peanuts. Sam wasn't listening and it fell to me to push back my chair and leave the table. I didn't want to go, because I knew that if Alice had wanted her jar opened and nothing else she'd have brought it into the living room.

“Don't be long, sweetheart,” Amy called after me. The honey had frozen solid and I didn't dare turn to look back.

“I won't. It doesn't take an Atlas to figure out a little thing like a peanut jar.”

Alice was waiting for me, out of sight, a jar clutched in her hands. She looked excited as hell, her breasts rising and falling under a sweater that was three sizes too small, her knees shaking below the skirt of her mini, her white throat working as she swallowed. Right away I had a rod building up again and, by the time she handed me the jar, I could have presented her with something just as hard.

I touched the lid of the jar and it damned near fell off on the vinyl floor. “What the hell…”

“Don't be naive, Donny,” she whispered, her voice rasping quietly as I heard Amy and Sam speaking normally from the front room. “I don't care about that jar lid. Besides, I have stronger hands than you.”

“Come on, Alice,” I hissed, angling my chin back over my shoulder. “Let's return to the game.”

“I'd prefer a quick hand here, first,” she replied, her eyes pleading. “Come on, guy, just for a second.”

“That would be crazy and dangerous and you know it.”

We listened to the voices again. “Not as long as we can hear them,” she whispered. Switching to a loud voice, she called, “I think you're getting it finally. Try running a little hot water over the lid.”

She turned the tap and water ran into the sink, but it wasn't so loud that we couldn't hear Amy and Sam chuckling together in the other room. I hesitated, my palms itching, sweat on my forehead. “It won't do any good,” I said at last.

“Please let me decide that,” she whispered, her lips moist and red as she licked away the extra spittle. “God, but I'm burning up tonight.”

“Take Sam to bed after we're gone.”

“I intend to, silly, but I need something to tide me over. Something like a quick feel and-with extra luck — an instant orgasm.”

“You're taking a hell of a risk,” I whispered, still paying close attention to the sounds from the others. They seemed to be engrossed in an argument about the relative merits of plastic water hose and rubber hose.

“Come on!” she hissed through clenched teeth, taking the jar from me, turning the tap up somewhat, and then planting her feet twelve inches apart. She put her hands on her hips and shoved her loins forward, like a stripper presenting her talent to a crowd of Legionnaires.

I decided there was nothing to do but help myself. If I didn't, she'd be eating me up under the bridge table the rest of the night and my knees would look as though I'd crawled across no man's land. I reached under the hem of her mini and ran my hand up her quaking thigh, which shimmered like a bowl of fresh pudding.

“Yes… yes,” she rasped, her whisper catching in her throat.

She felt good and, pushing thirty or not, I realized Alice Champion was no dog. No dog? For a moment Trudy Pipp and her charge, Alexander the German shepherd, popped into my mind. Just as quickly they popped out again and I returned to the business at hand.

“Keep going.”

I went higher, clearing the top of her stocking and running into the stiff nylon fringe of her pants. It gave way, stretching aside, and I was inside, on skin so tender it felt like a baby's bottom that had been dusted with talcum. Then I felt the first stiff hairs and they also parted on command of their anxious owner.

“What's going on in there?” Amy's call hit me like a glass of ice water and my eyes bugged at Alice.

“Our tiger is taking his time getting that damned lid loose,” Alice called back at one, her voice lilting with a half laugh. “Stay where you are. Another minute should do it,”

“Well, hurry up. My hand is cooling off.”

“We're coming,” I said.

Alice looked desperate. “One minute!” she rasped.

I rammed home, letting my fingers thread through her hairs and inside her spread and panting lips. At the same time she grabbed me between the legs, holding on as though she were swinging for the fences in Yankee Stadium. My Louisville slugger was in talented hands.

I worked my hand inside her vagina, groping frantically for the magic button that could set her off fast. I found it and worked it like a bomb toggle on a B-52 and she began to shudder like a ship taking a five-hundred-pounder right down her stack.

“Lordy… yes…”

Then she was getting her gun, pouring fresh milk into my hand like an obliging and talented dairy cow, except that no cow ever looked so sexy. Her eyes rolled and she squeezed my outlined penis right through my pants, twisting as hard as I'd twisted her button. No peanut jar lid ever was seized with stronger, more ambitious fingers.

She staggered and almost fell and I helped her regain her feet while she let go of me to brace herself on the edge of the sink. Then we heard a footstep and in a fraction of a second I had both hands on that peanut jar and Alice was watching my work like a student at the feet of the master.

I looked back to see Sam coming into the kitchen, empty glasses in his hands. “Got it!” I boomed. “Damned lid.”

“To hell with the nuts,” he replied. “Amy and I need refills. Where's the bourbon?”

I had to hand it to Alice. She was as cool as a model on a Seventh Avenue ramp. “We're all out, remember, genius man? And you forgot to stop at the liquor store on the way home from the office.”

I was in a bad way, but I though I saw an out. Alice had worked me over until I was maybe ten seconds away from blissful ejaculation, and God knew I needed it. Now the game was called and I was faced with the prospect of sitting in the front room until midnight, my groin aching like a cow begging to be hooked up to the farmer's milking machine.

No, I had to run and now there was a way. “I'll get a bottle,” I called, laughing on a rising note that might have sounded hysterical. “I know a place that's open until eleven. Just up the street. I'll get two bottles. Name your poison.”

Amy was coming into the kitchen, her eyes darting from Alice to me and back to Alice. I saw her look down at Alice's miniskirt and I knew she suspected, but the skirt wasn't marked. Apparently the nylon pants had soaked up her lubricant safely.

“Can I join the party?” Amy remarked, her smile a bit forced. “Or is it private?”

“Come on in,” Sam replied. “We'll need to start the game over again, anyhow. I've forgotten the bid.”

“I'll just run along for those bottles,” I snapped, leaning toward the exit.

“Forget it, partner,” Sam said, waving his hand. “We've got gin, vodka and Scotch.”

I shook my head. “Tonight's my bourbon night. Nothing else will do. I'll be back in twenty minutes. Maybe less than that.”

Amy placed her hands on her shapely hips, her beautiful breasts jutting in inviting fashion, and I wished she could go with me. “Want a ride?” I invited, leering at her in a way that the others couldn't see.

“You're being silly,” she retorted, waving me off. “Since when are you so choosy? Until now you'd be willing to chase bathtub gin with draft beer, if somebody made you an offer. All of a sudden it's got to be bourbon or nothing.”

I shook my head. “I have a terrific yen for it… bourbon, that is.” I edged toward the door. “You kids have fun with the peanuts until I get back. Then Sam and I will beat the pants off you girls in three straight rubbers.”

“Is that a promise?” Alice called after me, giggling, and I realized she was still giddy from her orgasm. Damn, but I envied her the feeling.

I raced out to the car and slid behind the wheel, fumbling in the darkness until I found the key. I raced along the boulevard, passing the liquor store and its brightly lighted windows without slowing down. I knew what I was going to do, and it had nothing to do with drinking. Not bourbon, anyhow.

In a couple of minutes I was turning into our driveway, my lights sweeping across the house. I cut the engine and the lights, leaping out. There wasn't much time to lose, not with Sam maybe drifting down to the liquor store himself to find out what had happened to me.

I went to the door and let myself in. From the other room I could hear the sound of the television, so I went to the door. Trudy Pipp was seated on the couch, her legs tucked under her lap, mini all the way up her crotch as she stared at the screen and ate a chunk of cold chicken. A piece of cake and a can of low-calorie cola were on the table before her. She was watching one of those game shows where they handed the fat lady from Jersey City a hundred thousand dollars in trading stamps because she could spell her own maiden name right the first time.

The lights were very low so that the room was in semi-darkness, but I saw enough of Trudy to know I'd come to the right place for servicing. Her high young breasts pointed like cannon shells against the front of her blouse and her thighs glistened like white, tightly packed sausages, fresh from the factory.

At last she turned, utterly unaffected by my presence, as though she'd been waiting and was, perhaps, mildly puzzled because I'd taken so long.

“Hi, Mr. Brady,” she said in that teen-age chirp.

“Hello.” My voice came from the end of a long, twisted tube, but I suppose she heard. “We ran out of bottles, so I came to restock.” I cleared my throat. “I suppose Alexander's okay.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “Not a peep out of the garage.”

I swallowed, pulling my head from the doorway and stumbling into the kitchen. I opened a cabinet and took down two full quarts of Jim Beam, wheeling and returning to the front door. I set them just inside, so that I'd fall over them on my way out.

Then I went back, just drifting along, toward the idiot-like sounds coming from the television. The fat lady was still on and they'd loaded the stage with just the sort of things she'd always needed: surfboard, water skis, mountain climbing boots, judo instructor.

I came inside and stood before Trudy, staring down at those inviting thighs. Jesus, but she had a shape. If they made people get licenses for carrying deadly weapons, they should have made her register that body. It was much too dangerous to be allowed to run around loose.

“What's up, Mr. Brady?” she asked, her voice higher than ever. “No bottles in the house?”

I sniffed. “How old are you, Trudy?” I watched her tear off another hunk of chicken and then put the bone down on the plate. Then she picked up the cake and bit into it, chewing slowly as she thought about my question. Presently she swallowed, licking her lips while I grew another hard-on. I needed help in the worst way. She took a swig of cola.

“Sixteen,” she said at last. “Anything wrong in that?”

“Nothing that couldn't land a man in San Quentin,” I muttered half under my breath.

Trudy giggled like a child, her pointed cannon breasts shaking like plates of fresh Jello, her skirt riding higher so that I caught sight of a fringe of lace that couldn't have been more than an inch below the gates of her vagina. “Golly, you sure say funny things, Mr. Brady.”

“I'm a very amusing fellow,” I managed to reply, my words coming out with a strangled sound. Sitting down across from her, I glanced casually at the television. “Do you really like to watch that sort of thing?”

Wrinkling up her button nose, she answered, “Only until the Jimmy Junkin show comes on. He's groovy. Those eyes… like wow.”

My penis was storming around inside my trousers like a caged tiger, bellowing to be fed or released or both. It had been worked up for more than an hour-with Trudy starting the ball rolling, to coin a phrase-and it still had received no satisfaction. I wondered how long it could go before it decided to explode without waiting for me to pull the trigger.

“What's up, Mr. Brady?” she asked, tilting her head like a stuffed doll under a Christmas tree. She looked so damned innocent, except for the eyes, the face and the body. Other than that, there wasn't an ounce of sex appeal in Trudy Pipp.

“Just taking a breather,” I snapped, crossing my legs, hoping to hide the bulge that she'd probably already seen.

Trudy smiled without showing her row of small white teeth, her lips curving like a snake's tail. She knew what was going on, of course, just as we both had known the moment I'd let her into the house at seven o'clock.

“Are they waiting for you at your friends' house?”

I nodded. “I'm supposed to be at the liquor store, buying out the place.”

“You came here instead.”

“Looks that way.”

“How come? You didn't want to see something special on the television, I don't suppose?”

“I suppose not.”

“Maybe you wanted to see me, Mr. Brady,” she continued, her baby blue eyes wide and unblinking. “Maybe you came back here to get into my panties.”

I signed like a man receiving a gloomy examination report from his physician. “Maybe you're right, Trudy. Maybe you're right.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I moved to the couch, trying not to seem too obviously lecherous. Sinking down at her side, I took the can of cola and sipped from it, bathing my hot and dry throat in stinging bubbles. “Ugh, how can you drink that stuff?”

“Don't knock it,” she answered. “There's only one calorie to a can and a girl has to watch her figure all the time.”

I watched her figure, letting my eyes roam as they pleased, and they were thoroughly pleased at the chance. She had a waist that couldn't have been more than twenty-four inches around and her hips were just mature enough to have that spread of excitement offered by a woman who has just become completely nubile. Her breasts strained against the sheer material of her blouse so that her nipples begged for release to the outside air. The legs I'd gone over thoroughly before and they remained as desirable as ever.

“There's nothing wrong with your figure,” I blurted, sounding like a member of the sophomore class at George Washington High. “Nothing at all.”

“Thanks, Mr. Brady, but a girl can't be too careful. They say it's easier to keep the pounds off than to have to get rid of them once they've arrived.”

“Wonderful philosophy,” I muttered, edging closer. I could smell her now. Not much female scent, just a clean young smell, like she should have been sitting nude on a shade-dappled bank of a country swimming hole. For a stud who was hotter than a cheap pistol, I was still being mighty poetic.

Clearing my throat as though preparing for a Senate speech, I continued, “You said something about an aunt when you came to the door.”

Wiping her hands and lips on a paper napkin, she blinked at me and I could feel myself falling into the void, with complete weightlessness. “My Aunt Charlotte. Me and my brother stay with her, just two blocks away from here.”

“Just two blocks?”

She smiled, showing her teeth this time, and I figured they would have grown points, but they hadn't. “We don't have any real parents. They were killed a long time ago and there's just Buddy and me and Aunt Charlotte.”

I hardly heard what she was saying, but I tacked an interested look on my face and kept it there. Then I thought about the time and Amy and the Champions. They were probably calling missing persons about now, but there was nothing I could do about that. My snake couldn't be denied any longer. It had been shut off cold by Amy when I'd come home, Alice hadn't had time to fire it and it wasn't going to be left out in the cold any longer.

“Trudy, I…”

She leaned toward me, her eyes like twin swimming pools-the kind that have soft lights under the surface of the water at night. She must have had night lights inside her skull. “Yes, Mr. Brady?” Her lips were shining, probably from cake frosting and cola mixed.

“Trudy…”

“You keep saying that, Mr. Brady.”

“You're a very attractive girl and I… well, I had to come back here to see you alone. You know that, don't you?”

“Sure I do. We both knew it when I got here at seven o'clock, right? You don't need to play around with me, Mr. Brady. I know the score.”

“And what is the score, Miss Pipp?”

She giggled at my formal use of her name, shaking her packages of goodies. “Like I said, you want to get into my pants. Don't be surprised. Lots of boys have wanted to make me. They say I seem to ask for it, but I can't help the way I'm put together.”

Groaning, I replied, “Unfortunately, I'm not one of the boys. I'm twenty-seven years old and you're sixteen. That's not a healthy age spread.”

She made a face. “One of my boy friends used to say, if they're big enough they're old enough.”

“Unfortunately, the law doesn't agree.”

She made a wide-eyed face. “You think there's a policeman looking in the window?”

“No, I suppose not.”

She reached over, placing her hand directly on my groin, fumbling around for a moment until she got her bearings, and then she pinched the head of my cock, a perfect shot. “Then what's the big hang-up?”

I made a noise somewhere between a gasp of surprise and a sigh of pleasure. “Miss Pipp, you're a remarkable young woman.”

“Thank you very much,” she replied, as though I'd given her a gold star for Sunday school attendance. “But you talk an awful lot for a man who doesn't have an awful lot of time.”

“That's what my wife says,” I muttered, regretting mentioning Amy a split second later.

Trudy pursed her lips and my penis got harder. “Ah, yes, Mrs. Brady. We'll need to get around to her someday. But we don't have to worry about her now… not as long as you know where she is.”

Feeling awkward as hell, I came closer and placed my arm across the back of the couch, touching her shoulder. She looked down at my fingers, an indulgent smile on her lips and, leaning back, she caught a finger between her teeth. She pulled it into her mouth, lipping it thoroughly. It was a peculiarly exciting sensation, her nursing on my finger that way.

“Careful,” I warned.

She released it and I wiped it on her collar. “Of what?” she asked, turning to look into my face again. “Of you? Don't be a nut, Mr. Brady. I know what you want and I don't see why you can't have it, as long as you don't take too long. You've got your card party and I've got to watch Jimmy Junkin.”

Screw Jimmy Junkin, I growled to myself, reaching my fingers down to cup her breast. God, but it was a delightful hill of flesh, full of life, warm and throbbing as though it had its own little transistor heart built in. She wiggled and looked up at me again, her lips parted. I kissed them gently, tasting the lingering cola until it washed away in the juices from my mouth.

She surprised me by pulling her face away. “Let's face it, Mr. Brady, you're not very good at cheating, are you?”

I frowned. “I've had few complaints in the past,” I protested, feeling as though I were testifying before a Senate subcommittee investigating sex symbols.

“Why don't you just relax and let me do everything? We both know that would be the best way.” She smiled, her face that of an angel. “What do you say?”

I could only nod, the defeated general handing over his sword.

Trudy went to work immediately, removing my arm from her breast and slipping from the couch. She stood before me, hands on her hips, staring down while her agile young mind darted from one idea to another, like a deer in the forest. Then she fell to her knees, her body making a thumping sound despite the heavy carpet. She leaned on my knees, smiling in a rather lazy and confident way, staring into my crotch. The bulge was all too obvious, I'm afraid.

“It looks as though you've got all the tools, as they say about a capable professional football player,” she mused, her tone thoughtful, like a physician examining a patient for the first time. “Let's have a little look.”

Deft fingers slid my zipper and my cock popped out, waving like a battle flag, rigid, red on the end, white with blue throbbing veins along the shaft. I stared down at my charger, admiring it with some pride, for no woman had ever complained that it was without adequate size or talent.

“Well?”

She was obviously pleased, leaning her face closer, the clinical look still in her eye. “Very, very nice. Good size, reasonably straight, although a bit knobby…”

“The better to stimulate you, my dear.”

She nodded, making a strange sucking noise between her teeth. “Do you mind if I touch?”

“I suppose that would be all right,” I said, fighting mightily to keep my voice under control.

She touched, placing her fingers on the top center of the shaft and letting them rest there for a few moments, as though she were taking my pulse. “There's quite a bit of heat and throbbing. You must be more excited than I thought.”

“That's very possible.” Sweat dotted my forehead and my chest was dripping into my undershirt. I looked at my stallion, watching a giant drop ooze from the slit in its head and slide down.

Trudy saw it, too, and she wiped it with her finger, popping the finger into her mouth and, in the process, opening a whole new line of thought into my imaginative mind. “Hm, good,” she purred, coming closer.

Her fingers went around the shaft, gripping it gently. “Good firm weight. Ought to pack a good punch with real staying power. Do you ever go soft in the middle of the fucking act?”

“Jesus God,” I groaned. “What the hell am I doing here? No, I don't go soft. I stay hard until I get relief, or until somebody pours ice water on me, as though I'm a stud in heat.”

Trudy nodded with satisfaction, surprising the hell out of me-but also confirming my wildest hopes- when she got her mouth down to peck her lips lightly on my head. It responded like a general quarters alarm in a deep-diving submarine, all kinds of klaxons going off all through my tingling body. She'd hit my central nervous system, which has its headquarters right in the head of my penis.

The touch of her lips made my head tingle and the sensation raced though my shaft and into my gonads and up into the pit of my stomach. My groin ached as though it had been kicked by a beautiful lady wearing a silver slipper. She purred like a sexy tabby.

“All right?”

“All right!”

She kissed me again and this time I felt the scraping dart of her tongue between her teeth, lapping the very tip with a fine sandpaper effect that grated all the way up to my brain, dragging sleeping nerves from their beds and sending them into action.

She used her hands once more, opening my zipper all the way and then releasing the catch on my belt. She freed the front of my trousers, peeling them away from my shorts and then tearing open the snaps on my drawers. She shoved the entire business halfway down to my knees and I felt like a man about to undergo major surgery.

Reaching down and under my horizontal shaft, she groped through my wiry hairs until her fingers encountered my balls. She placed them in her palm as though they were family jewels worth a fortune-which was, I suppose, entirely true-and she studied them like an Amsterdam diamond merchant. I half expected her to screw a magnifying glass into her eye socket.

“Are they genuine?” I asked.

“Huh?” She frowned. “Oh, sure. They look good, Mr. Brady. Full, trembling, loaded for action. I guess it's been a while since they've been drained. Something wrong with you and Mrs. Brady?”

“Nothing that enough time and the proper place wouldn't have made right,” I groaned, loving the sensitive feel of her baby fingers as they wormed into my gonads, fingering the stuff of my life inside the sack. “Unfortunately…”

“Unfortunately, you didn't have time to make out this week. I thought I walked into something tonight. You looked sort of frustrated and I guess your wife did, too. Golly, you poor married people have it tough.”

“Now you're talking too much,” I protested.

She quit talking, instead getting a firmer grip on my balls and again kissing the head of my cock. Her kiss was lingering, deeper, and before I realized what was going on, she'd parted her lips and allowed my head to penetrate. Ah, this new morality everybody was talking about had certain things to commend it.

Her girlish jaws spread and my shaft went deeper until she took the entire head. I could feel her tiny teeth nibble at the broad flange, while her fluttering tongue darted about, probing at the intruder like hungry goldfish nibbling at some foreign object inserted into their tank.

“Miss Pipp,” I gasped.

As quickly as she had started, she released me, wiping her lips with her wrist and then wiping my dripping penis with the handkerchief she'd taken from my breast pocket. Then she sat back on the floor, raising her skirt so that I had a clear view of her pants. They were, of course, baby blue to match her eyes, and they were even more inviting.

“Please hurry, Mr. Brady. We don't have much time.”

I leered. “Ready to explode, eh?”

“Maybe, but I was thinking of Mr. Junkin and your game of bridge. Won't they be wondering?”

“Who gives a damn?” I blurted, slipping from the couch and falling between those tempting knees and thighs. God, but she had skin like milk, white and soft as a lamb's bottom.

She reached for my head, wrapping her arms about my neck and pulling me down on her, sprawling on the floor in a tangle of arms, legs and bodies. I could feel her knees gripping my hips insistently, hugging and tugging, as though she were trying to work my penis into position using no hands.

I groped, pressing my fingers against her heaving little belly until it yielded so that I could rip at her pants, tugging them down over her hips. They cooperated, sliding down easily and then there was only that white lower stomach with its dimple and the blonde hairs that were almost as bright as the mop on her head.

She was a talented little thing, wiggling like a juggler balancing three balls-or, in this case, two-sliding her hips about on the carpet until I felt my dork being rammed into her pubic hairs. They seemed to part on command and, looking down the narrow chasm between our quaking bodies, I could see her open gates.

My head fit inside, even though she was surprisingly tight. I would have expected, from the way she'd been behaving, that her vagina would have been well broken in, even though she was only sixteen. But she was a snug little piece and my cock enjoyed the sensation of being hugged on all sides as it slid along her canal.

“Everything all right?” she breathed into my ear, her breathing coming in little pants. Even though she was almost as excited as I, she could still giggle deeply in her throat. “You don't need to answer that.”

I didn't, instead pushing more deeply and, before knew what was happening, my week of abstention began paying its generous dividends. My dork was beginning to spill its stuff, the sperm raging down my shaft, racing for my head and, beyond, the rear wall of her womb.

She felt it and, giving her hips a half dozen rabbit-like jerks, she brought herself to the brink. These kids are usually loaded with power and she apparently could time herself almost to the second.

She proved her talent, a giant shaking possessing her for an instant, and then I joined her in the orgasm, my sperm rocketing its boiling stream into her midsection, tumbling out like anxious pupils on the last day of school.

We came for perhaps a minute, the sensation thoroughly draining and satisfying as I sagged against her, perhaps crushing her but not giving a damn. I was already thinking ahead. There were the two people waiting at the Champions, there were the bottles by the front door… and there was Trudy Pipp.

At the moment, Trudy was the only thing that mattered in the whole wide world. She nibbled my ear while I cooled off, my cock gradually softening and slipping from her, leaving its puddle on the carpet.

“You, Mr. Brady, are something else,” she whispered between nibbles.

“And you, Miss Pipp, are a problem which is assuming major proportions,” I groaned.

CHAPTER FIVE

I lay in a daze on the carpet and, when I was able to focus, my eyes fell on the battered baby-blue heap that had been Trudy's pants. They lay there like a pathetic forest creature that had been shot and left to die by a heartless hunter. Was that how I was viewing the sixteen-year-old blonde? Had she been my victim in the forest, where only the fittest could survive?

Like hell, I snorted, climbing to my feet, clutching at my trousers. Working fast, like a man late for the office, I straightened my clothing and Trudy got up, doing the same, except that she remained barefoot. Jesus, but even her feet were sexy, her toes pink and wiggling like cute puppies lined up for a nursing.

“They'll be thinking I took a wrong turn and drove into the ocean,” I muttered, checking myself in a wall mirror while she stood behind me, looking as demure as a child waiting for Sunday school to begin.

She made a face as I turned back to her, something that might have been a pout. “Do you really need to run off? A girl likes to know her man's really interested.”

“I dare say my interest has been demonstrated,” I grumbled, heading for the front of the house.

“What about my panties?” she whined. “The seams are all torn out.”

I pulled out my wallet, handing her a five dollar bill, “Keep this inside your brassiere,” I snapped. “Don't let Mrs. Brady catch a look at it. When we get home I'll pay you for your sitting time, all right?”

“Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir.”

“Cut the sass and keep your ear open for that monster in the garage. Remember, he's chicken after dark. I suppose you can let him inside, if he starts to fuss.”

She nodded. “I wondered about that. Lordy, he's a big one, but I think he's kind of cute. Maybe I'll cuddle with him and we can watch TV together.” She smiled like an angel.

“He loves Jimmy Junkin.”

She followed me to the door, where I picked up my supply of sauce. “What will Mrs. Brady think?” she asked, her voice all innocence.

“She won't think anything, except that I'm a slowpoke.”

She barked a high laugh, sort of like a French poodle. “You know better, Mr. Brady. She'll know something's been going on. She was looking daggers at me while we were being introduced.”

I went out on the porch, glaring back at her, resisting a wild impulse to get back inside and to hell with the bridge party. “Just do your job,” I hissed. “Alexander's your beat, kid, at a buck fifty the hour.”

She was laughing again as I closed the door and I wondered how long it would be before I would manage to get myself alone with that torrid piece once again. Hurrying out to the car, I roared back to the Champions and hurried inside, looking breathless as hell. Amy and the hosts were sprawled about the living room, heavy-eyed, staring at me, so I took to the offensive before their questions started.

“God damned liquor stores,” I blurted, wiping my brow and holding up the Jim Beam. “The place up the street was closed and I had to drive halfway across the state to find somebody who would let loose of a couple of quarts.”

They blinked, looking at one another. “Halfway across the country seems more accurate,” Amy murmured, glancing at the wall clock with a toss of her shining brown hair. I was pleased to see that she looked as exciting as before, despite Trudy's tapping of my reservoir of semen. “You could have gotten something at home far easier.”

I nodded. “I suppose you're right, but I was mad and finding somebody became a matter of principle.”

“Well, break something open,” Sam muttered, heaving himself to his feet. “This party's been idling out of gear for damned near an hour.”

Alice stirred at Amy's side, peering at me from under black bangs, her dark eyes still warm from our bout by the kitchen sink. “How can any party move without our Donny?” she purred in mock-seductive tones, drawing a sharp look from Amy. “Come on, mister man, and serve us something good.”

I hurried into the kitchen and Sam followed. Together we mixed drinks, he shooting glances at me.

“Where were you, partner? I was ready to call the cops.”

“I told you. Prowling all over town.”

A nasty sound came from his nostrils. “The place up the street is open every night of the year, including Christmas Eve and Guy Fawkes Day.”

“God damn it, he's closed for inventory or some crazy business, I tell you. Go look for yourself.” I prayed he wouldn't call my bluff.

Shaking his head, Sam led the way back to the front room, a brimming glass in each hand. I came close behind, determined to be a good little boy for the remainder of the evening.

Again we settled around the bridge table and, sure as hell, a knee was touching mine all over again. I looked wearily at Alice, for I'd always known she wasn't being satisfied by Sam but, Jesus, how many times did I need to drain her oil in one night?

Either Alice was an even better actress than I'd believed or it wasn't her knee against mine. I turned to look at Amy and she was staring into my ear, her eyes focused like one of those magnifying glasses that starts Boy Scout fires in dry leaves. Her lips were parted and shiny and her breasts were rising and falling as though there might be a tidal wave heading her way.

Her eyes shifted to mine and she began shooting code that could only mean one thing. She wanted to get me alone and play a game other than bridge and, despite my earlier exercise with Alice and Trudy, I found my dork beginning to weave like an awakened cobra.

Sighing like a steam engine at ease in a roundhouse, I dropped my cards on the table. “I don't have a thing, including any desire to go on with the game. I'm sorry, kids, but it's not my night to be good company.”

“You've been a charmer,” Alice replied, shaking her head in denial. “A regular little gentleman.”

“Stick around,” Sam muttered. “I promise not to talk shop.”

Amy was already getting to her feet, smoothing her short skirt over her thighs, but Alice joined in her husband's protest. “Come on, maybe we can play swap, or something.”

Amy froze, as though someone were pointing a forty-five at her tummy. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” the dark woman replied with a giggle that seemed frantic. “Just making zee small joke, you know?”

“So small I can hardly find it,” my wife went on. “We do not make jokes about swapping, Alice honey. There's too much of it going on among our friends to treat it lightly.”

Glances were exchanged around the card table, like someone had picked up a red hot coal and, unable to drop it on the carpet, tossed it to the next man and so forth. All of us, it seemed, had our own dark thoughts about mate-swapping and I could almost hear the wheels grinding inside the other three heads.

True, I had toyed with Alice in the kitchen on more than one occasion, but while I knew she'd be a comfortable lay, I had never quite reached that level. Besides, Trudy seemed infinitely more exciting at the moment and my crotch was still a-tingle with memories of our recent excursion before the television set.

“Come on,” Amy muttered, taking my arm and breaking the dark and dangerous spell. “Alexander's probably having puppies in the garage by now.”

Alice's eyes darted like a ferret's. “Alexander? Come on, gang, no secrets.”

“Alexander's our German shepherd.” I explained. “Sam, didn't I mention him at the office?”

“Sure. I just forgot. Didn't you say something about him being chicken? You had to get a sitter.”

Amy tossed her head. “She's costing a fortune for every minute we stand here and waste time,” she said, her voice rising in impatience. Shoving herself against me, she let her thigh rub across mine. “Come on, honey, let's go. Really, it's getting late and nobody wants to play bridge.”

Alice chuckled in a damnably familiar way she had. “Look at them, Sam. They can hardly wait to jump into bed together. Why don't you turn me on like that?”

“Because you're never plugged in, cold heart,” her husband grumbled. “We'll see you, kids. Get out of here before we try to rent you the spare bedroom.”

Amy and I headed for the door and I thought about the brimming highball glasses and my two quarts of booze in the kitchen. I didn't think for long, because I knew it wasn't worth as much as my wife when she was possessed with one of her torrid moods-like now.

I got the car in gear and we zipped out of there. Luckily, we were pointed the wrong way from our house so that I had to go around the block and miss going past the brightly lighted liquor store.

“Honey?” The word fell on my ears like a hot towel during a blizzard, but she managed to stay on the far end of the seat, her back against the door, her feet tucked under her bottom.

“Hm?”

“Let's not go straight home.”

“The motel?” We had this thing about once in a while going to a nearby motel to shack up, so we could pretend we were still single and making out behind Amy's parents' back. It was more exciting that way, especially when we got tired of our same old bed at home.

“Head for the beach.”

I did, running boulevard stops along the way before pulling up in front of the sea wall, cutting the lights and engine in the same split second. Then I turned, arms out, ready to let her fall into my arms-except that she wasn't falling, she was still sitting with her back against the wall.

Her teeth made a white line in the darkness. “Let's talk, huh?”

I sighed. “Not about new curtains for the guest bath or the part of the front lawn that ought to be reseeded, please.”

“All right, darling, then we'll discuss where you really were for an hour this evening.” She could sound sweet as strawberry jam while machine-gunning an entire column of refugees.

“I told you…”

“I know what you told me, and the Champions, and I'll bet they didn't believe you, either. They're probably trying to guess whether you were out robbing a bank or swimming in the buff with a beautiful maiden.”

I must have jerked as though one of her wild slugs had caught me in the small of the back, for she leaned forward, her eyes glittering like Charlie Chan's number one son sniffing out a clue.

“Hit close to home, I dare say.”

“Look, I was shopping for bourbon. What the hell else would I be doing?”

Her head shook like a ticking clock. “I know that Jim Beam came from our liquor cabinet as well as you. Do you want me to look when we get home?”

I started to reach for her, but she slapped my hands away. I reached again, catching her shoulder and pulling her halfway across the seat. “Can it, cutie, and we'll do what we do best together.”

“All right, so I'll check and find out if you've been lying.”

“You said you already knew.” I spread my hands, slapping my thighs. “Okay, kill me, but I went to our house to check on that damned dog.”

Amy glared, looking like a native queen daring me to try to swipe the jewel in her navel, and I wanted to dig for it in the worst way. “Please don't ask me to believe you're suddenly fond of that dog.”

“I am,” I said truthfully, for I'd already figured out that Alexander had brought me a piece of ass already. “But I was afraid he might be raising hell. After all, he'd never been left alone by either of us until tonight and-who knows? — he might have eaten that kid of a sitter for dinner. I just wanted to check out the house, pick up the booze and hurry back to the side of my ever-trusting wife.”

“You could have made better time in an ox cart.”

I batted my eyes. “You missed me so much that the time dragged. It tends to do that when lovers are apart.”

“Crap.” She looked out to sea, turning her back on me.

“Such language for a native queen to use. Turn around and I'll pluck the jewel from your belly button.”

Amy turned, all right, staring. “Sometimes I think you're crazy, and maybe crazy like a fox. I don't know whether to believe you or not, especially when you admit you were alone with that Trudy Pipp person.”

“Alone for five minutes,” I pleaded, “spending the time discussing Alexander and whether Trudy-Miss Pipp-should get a round dollar fifty for the final fraction of an hour she's at the house.”

Amy got out of the car, hugging her arms as a cool night breeze whispered in over the beach and swirled behind the wall. I hopped out, coming after her and draping my coat around her shoulders. I gave her a little squeeze.

“Why would I be so hot and bothered just being near you if I'd already had a… if I'd already made love to someone else tonight?” I whispered through her brown wisps of hair into her ear. When I was in high school I could drive them wild by whispering into their ears. In fact, that's how I got my first cherry, out in back of the football grandstand.

She turned toward me, leaning her back against the concrete of the wall. “Oh, Don, I'm not sure of anything these days. Why do you think I got that silly dog? He's just something to do… some company while you're away. I guess a woman who's worried behaves like a suspicious fool.”

Inside me something sighed with relief and sat back to relax. I suppose it was my rotten conscience, which was strictly an invertebrate when it came to having a stiff spine. I leaned close to her, resting my hand on the wall, which was still warm from the last sun of the day.

“You're worried about having a baby… or not having a baby? We can always try once again to solve that problem, sweetheart. Right here and now.” My voice was husky and it wasn't all acting.

“You're a nut,” she whispered, turning her face up to mine and not behaving as though she thought I was a nut at all. “A complete idiot. Suppose the cop on the beat were to come along?”

I shook my head. “It's uphill from the street, so he won't get out of his prowl car.”

“Even so,” she murmured, shoving my arm out of the way and walking to where there was a break in the wall. Steps led down to the sand and we took them, she leading the way back to the wall so that we were on the dark side, below the top level, facing the ocean across a hundred yards of sand.

She turned, got up on tiptoe and kissed the tip of my nose. “Now then, what were you saying about making babies?”

A strange sound filled my ears as I came closer to her and it was several seconds before I realized it was coming out of my own throat.

CHAPTER SIX

I've tried to make it clear that my wife Amy has a body that wouldn't quit if it were surrounded by Sitting Bull's Indians and that's a fact. I've never understood why we didn't have a house crammed with kids, because she has one of those fertile looks. One would almost believe that she'd become pregnant from a warm handshake.

So, as she leaned back against the sea wall and curved her lips in a smile that was loaded with invitation, I was a ready guy. I stepped forward and her arms snaked around my neck, her fingers playing hide and seek with the hairs where they touched my shirt collar.

“You're a sex box.” My voice was accusing.

“Guilty, your honor.”

“You get me all hot and bothered and then you announce that you've bought a new fall coat.”

“Guilty again.”

“The worst part is, you don't mind cheating this way. If the Geneva Convention ever got a look at you bare-assed they'd charge you with violations of international law. Poison gas, the hydrogen bomb, Amy Brady's bottom. They're all inhumanly effective weapons.”

She wasn't laughing, her fingers still horsing around at the back of my neck. “Talk. Is that all you do?”

“I perform too.”

“Start the performance.”

I did, leaning forward until I was flattening her against the concrete, and flattening my wife's curves isn't easy because she's pneumatic. Squeeze her one place and she produces a curve somewhere else.

I loved the feel of her breasts spreading out across my chest and, while there was still some room left, she opened my jacket so her nipples could do their dance against my shirt. I got their message loud and clear, five by five, feeling their twin rake across the skin of my chest. Her hips wiggled their way around until she had a knee thrust between mine and I didn't have the heart not to relax and let her shove deeper toward my loins.

“Gros Gott!” I blurted.

“What's that supposed to mean?” she breathed, her lips moving against mine, her tongue flicking around like that of a playful garter snake looking for a place to snap.

“German for you're loaded, sweetheart.”

“More talk,” she sighed.

I kissed her good while she tried to force her body behind me and we must have held it for a full minute. Just before we began to turn blue, I broke our embrace. “You're pretty steamed up.”

“You know how long it's been,” she muttered, kissing me on the chin and neck like a sexy burp gunner. Then she froze, pulling her head back. “What's wrong? Don't you need it?”

“Of course I do.”

She shoved me away, staring. “I wonder if you do. You were a busy little man, especially with your pat excuses. Alice in the kitchen and Trudy Pipp at home. You could have unloaded your scrotum into either one, for all I know.”

“Come on, honey…”

“Come on, my eye. I can tell when I'm hotter than you-like right now. I'm ready to swallow you like a whale taking in a minnow and you're fiddling around. Your reactions are much too slow for such a hot-blooded lover type.”

I sulked. “You spend so much time being jealous of nothing I get cooled off.”

“I've never cooled you off before,” she snapped, turning away, her arms folded over her breasts.

I followed, grasping her shoulders and holding on tightly until her head fell back against my chest. Her eyes were squeezed shut. “God damn you, Don Brady, but I've got to have you, even if it's only sloppy seconds.”

“Baby, I swear…”

“Kindly close your mouth, unless you're willing to use it for something besides talking.”

Kissing the side of her neck, I let my fingers whisper across her throat, touching every curve and hollow in that elegant place until I could feel the rasping of her breath in my fingertips. Slowly, her head rocked back and forth and her hands groped before her for a moment before coming back to feel of me and then clutch the sides of my thighs. She held on hard, digging in for what was to come.

My touch slid more deeply into her throat, into the deep divided valley of her bosom, where it was cool from the night yet warm from her passion, her internal fires making the flesh hot and dry.

I pressed on, more deeply and then up the side of one of her magnificent Alps, shoving my way toward the button at its summit. It was a squeeze, so I freed a hand long enough to locate the zipper tab at the back of her neck and slide the tab halfway to her waist. The back of her dress parted like a banana peel, freeing itself from the heaving tightness of her torso so that white skin and the firm band of a brassiere came into view. I solved the riddle of the brassiere clasp and the ends sprang from my fingers as though they'd been shot from a catapult.

I went back to the front door, into the now less confining valley and up to that seething summit, where the cherry nipple awaited me, almost beating with its own rabbit heart. I scissored it quickly and her breathing turned into a file-like rasping.

“God, turned on, turned on…” she panted.

I switched to the other bunny point and it came to life, anxious to perform any tricks I, its master, might command. Her breasts became heavier as I slid my hands to their bottoms and lifted, forcing them over the tops of the loosened brassiere cups so that they fell into the cool air of the darkness.

I went lower, across her belly, and things got too tight once again. So a second time I slid her zipper, this trip going all the way to her waist. I shoved in a route that took me over the slight curve of her belly, into and out of her navel and then into the woods that signaled the close proximity of her treasure house, that place of joy where I'd visited so many times, each time vowing to return for a longer stay.

I shoved my fingers into it and began to push, feeling her hands-which had been gripping my thighs like they were life preservers and we were aboard the Titanic-spring into life. She was pushing them between the thrusting cheeks of her buttocks and my loins, across my pouch to my fly. It was no problem for her to get the thing open and then her fingers were inside, checking out the position of my shorts, finding the slit that led to my sexual arsenal and then locating the shaft of my big gun itself.

“Ah, always at attention.”

“Oui, mon general.”

“First he makes with the German. Now he's crossed the Rhine. What comes next, Pig Latin?”

She pulled until my snake whipped out and lashed her across the bottom with its stone of a head. She flinched, her buttock cheeks quivering like they were made of hard rubber. That was my Amy-pneumatic.

Her thumb and forefinger made a delicate circle which she forced over the head, seating the ring just at the place where my flange was widest. Then the ring began to pull back and forth, stoking the furnace that was also overheating my crotch.

“You do that so well, my dear.”

“Thank you,” she purred. “Just leave the money on the bedside table.”

I had my hands roaming over the folds of her vagina, luxuriating in the glories of Pussyland, U.S.A. and she was loving it every bit as much as I. There's something to that old chestnut about mutual hands scratching mutual backs. We were cooperation personified and, before long, the fluid results were certain to manifest themselves.

I stuck my finger between her lips and held it here, waiting, not moving. She became impatient and her hips began to thrust at my hand, arching forward until my finger was sliding more deeply between her portals. With each arc of her hips she was giving a small cry and her hands stayed busy, working over my penis and then shifting to my balls, so that no part of my crotch was left neglected.

“I should imagine it's time to shift gears,” I suggested, croaking into her ear like a dying man after his final piece of tail. “I dare say,” she whispered with a shudder that tore through her like an Iowa twister.

I turned her around and she looked down at my cock, and then into the exposed gates of her loins. By now her skirt was around her ankles and the pants had long since given up, parting like silk clouds in a blue sky.

“Another pair down the drain,” she complained, not meaning it one bit.

“A wonderful way to go, struck down in the midst of glorious battle.”

She took my penis, studied it like a shortstop looks at a hot grounder he's picked up before firing to first, and then she placed the head against her box. Her hips pushed and half of the knob sank inside. We waited and I wondered if she were testing me, for Id been known to go off before even being properly seated.

I closed my eyes and concentrated, thinking of every movie star I'd ever wanted to roll and finally switching to someone closer to home-Trudy Pipp. My staff at once began to convulse; great ripples travelling its length, each one expanding the big red knob that was buried inside my wife.

“Very, very good,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “You get an 'A' in today's lesson.”

“This is night school, honey,” I gasped, as my stuff began to pour.

She pulled me against her, grabbing the cheeks of my bottom and steering me as though she had her hands on the handles of a powerful lathe. I was seated in her, all the way home, my balls flapping against her thighs. Then she was shaking, her knees giving way so that I had to hold her up.

“This, as the general told his troops, is it.”

“Stop blabbing, general.”

Then we were shooting our milk into each other, hard, my stuff pouring forth and splashing against the base of her womb. I was rather proud, for it hadn't been too much earlier that I'd enjoyed a similar ejaculation. I'm twenty-seven, you understand, and, according to some sex experts, I'm a good ten years past my prime. What do they know? Hopefully, I'm a medical freak.

Amy was letting go, giving me everything, her knees recovering their strength and gripping me as though she were squeezing every drop from a toothpaste tube. We emptied our sex organs, draining our desire until I half fell against the sea wall and she clung to me.

When it was over we picked up our things and I helped her get back into her dress. Her shattered pants went into my coat pocket and I knew we'd have a load for the cleaners when we got home.

Back in the car she opened her knees enough for me to slip my hands between her thighs and then up against the drying lips of her box. The slight shaking of the car caused her to become moist all over again and I looked her in the eye.

“God, you need more?”

She snuggled on my shoulder, her breast poking. “I think that's possible.”

I shook my head, wondering how she could keep from becoming pregnant after such a thorough servicing. I had shot so much so deeply that even a wall of birth control pills would have been broached.

As always, time would tell. For now, it was time to get home, time to check on that chicken dog and his keeper, the teen-aged temptress, Trudy Pipp.

We drove in silence and I wondered if Amy was thinking the same thoughts as I. It was funny but, even as I knew we satiated one another, somehow there was a need for more. We had always resisted the impulse to get into the swapping game, even though Sam and Alice Champion had made it clear enough that they wouldn't turn a deaf ear to such a proposal.

Even as Amy had drained me of passion, even as those lovely legs had squeezed my waist time after time over the past months, even as she gave me all the loving any normal man could desire, there was that age-old wish to try something new. That was where Trudy Pipp had come into the picture.

I felt guilty about seducing her, even though she'd offered it to me on a platter. After all, I was a man and man had to have his pleasures. I almost had the feeling that I wouldn't seem so guilty if Amy were getting her kicks, too. So far as I knew she'd never cheated on me.

Sure, she'd been working for Pratt in his dental office for some time, but I didn't think a dentist who was losing his hair could beat my time with my wife. If that happened, then I deserved to lose her through sheer neglect. No, Pratt wasn't making out. He was too interested in abscesses and drainage canals.

We pulled into the drive and I pressed the button that opened the garage door. Inside, we paused, looking around for Alexander. He wasn't in sight.

“She said something about letting him into the house, I think,” I muttered, showing supreme disinterest in anything Miss Trudy Pipp might be up to.

Once in the house we found the two of them curled up in front of the television, Alexander flat on his side and Trudy fast asleep, her head lying on his stomach. She looked like a range cowboy being faithful to his pinto.

Alexander's eyes opened and his tail thudded on the carpet, but Amy had to kneel and shake Trudy's shoulder before those melting glacier eyes opened. They blinked and then looked at me. They shifted to Amy and then back to me, shooting a question to which I blinked an answer in Morse code.

She sat up, smiling and stretching until I thought her firm buns might pop out of her blouse, but they didn't. Scrambling to her feet, she looked at the clock. “Golly, it's late. I didn't know.”

“Don't worry about it,” Amy muttered, her voice flat. “After all, you made money with each tick of the clock.”

“Gee, I guess that's right, Mrs. Brady. Did you have a nice bridge game?”

Amy looked at me for a long time before swinging her eyes back to the perky blonde. “Lovely, but it's time my husband took you home.”

She shook her head. “I don't mind walking. It's only a couple of blocks away.”

Amy was firm. “It's also after midnight and we're responsible for seeing that you get back to your aunt's place safely. All right, Donald.” She always called me Donald instead of Don when she was trying to impress somebody or when she was sore. At that moment she was probably halfway in between.

Trudy and I headed for the door. “I hope I did well enough so you'll ask me to sit again, Mrs. Brady,” the kid was saying over her shoulder as Amy knelt and stroked Alexander's heavy coat. He was trying to get up to follow, but she gripped his collar, keeping his head down.

“You did beautifully, my dear. I hope Alexander behaved himself.”

“He was a dreamboat. Gosh, you wouldn't know he was afraid of the dark, he's so big and strong.”

Amy snorted. “You'll someday discover men are like Alexander in that respect, Trudy. Good night.”

It took less than half a minute to drive to Trudy's Aunt Charlotte's old two-story home and I stopped, letting the engine idle while I dug into my pocket and pulled out some bills. “This ought to cover it.” I murmured, “And there's no deduction for refrigerator raiding. Good night.”

She paused, her hand on the door. “I will be sitting at your house again, won't I, Mr. Brady?”

I shrugged. “Who knows? Alexander might not make it as a permanent member of the household, or he might quit being chicken or my wife and I may never again go out at night. It's really difficult to say, Trudy.”

She got out but leaned back through the window long enough to say, “I think you'll be calling me anyhow.”

“I told you…”

She reached inside the car far enough to grasp at my crotch, catching me right on the head of my penis, which she squeezed.

“Yes,” she whispered, agreeing with herself, “you'll be calling… unless your dong is just naturally half hard like that all the time.”

When she let go I drove home to my wife and Alexander.

CHAPTER SEVEN

As it turned out, Alexander did become a steady member of the household, he remained completely frightened of the dark, and the time came when Amy and I received and accepted another invitation to play bridge with the Champions.

We delayed talking about it until the evening before we were to go out, and she waited until I had to broach the subject of a sitter. I hid behind my newspaper, casting occasional glances toward the television news that Amy was watching and, when a deodorant commercial winked on, I spoke.

“I suppose you've done something about the problem of Alexander for tomorrow night.” My voice sounded strange, like I was asking Dad if I could borrow the car for the very first time.

“Not yet,” she murmured, apparently engrossed in the young woman on the screen who couldn't find a guy to throw the blocks to her because of her underarm problem.

“It's getting late. You know how they're often tied up if you wait until the last minute.”

“I was waiting for you to call her,” Amy replied, still watching as our heroine sprayed a generous dose of Slam-O under each arm.

“Who? Me?”

“You, of course, and Trudy Pipp, that's who.” Her eyes flicked away from the TV drama even as guys came pouring out of the woodwork to carry the sweet-smelling girl to the altar in triumph.

I was sputtering like a firecracker with a damp fuse. “I… I don't understand.”

“It's simple. We need a sitter and Trudy Pipp seems dependable… and available. You got along so well with her the last time it's only logical that you should be the one to convince her to return.”

“I'm getting fed up with your innuendoes,” I sputtered, half rising from my chair. But it had been a tough day at the office and I settled back again. “You're continually suggesting that Trudy-Miss Pipp — and I share some dark secret. You'd think I'd been keeping her behind your back to listen to you.”

“For 'keeping' read 'making out,'“ she retorted.

“You're guessing,” I snapped back. “God, but you're turning into a jealous woman at twenty-five. Maybe I ought to send you back for a new model.”

“Something ten years younger and much more blonde, like our famous baby-sitter?”

“Get somebody else to sit, if you want.” I lighted a cigarette, using two matches as my words blew out the first. “Get a boy, somebody you think is safe from my ravaging sex organs.”

She looked directly into my face, frowning. “Don't you think I've tried? There's no one available. Lord, I even considered taking Alexander along, but Alice wouldn't hear of it. She and her precious Oriental rug in the front room. So it's got to be Trudy or we stay home. You make the call. She won't turn you down.”

I muttered about it for several minutes but at last I believed her. We were in trouble and Trudy was our last hope. Stubbing out my cigarette, I went to the telephone and looked up Charlotte Pipp's number.

It wasn't Trudy who answered, but it was an interesting voice, all the same.

“Mrs. Pipp?” I asked. “This is Don Brady, one of your neighbors.”

“Ah,” the throaty voice replied. “My niece told me all about you… and Mrs. Brady, of course. And, just for the record, I'm Miss Pipp. I took my name back when my last husband walked out on me.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not. However, Trudy's in the tub at the moment.” She laughed as though trying to hide some secret and I pictured that teen-age torpedo of a body clothed in suds and nothing else. My snake began to stir between my legs. “Is there any message?”

“Uh, my wife and I are looking for a sitter for tomorrow night. Do you think…?”

“For that dog Trudy told me about?” She gave a whisky laugh that was right off the barroom floor. “That's the most precious thing I've ever heard. You must let me meet a dog who's afraid of the dark.”

“My pleasure, Mrs.-Miss Pipp.”

“Now, you want to know if Trudy's available. Just a moment, I'll consult through the bathroom door.”

The receiver rattled in my ear as she dropped it on something hard and I waited, humming a little tune of the Forties and drumming my fingers against the door jamb. She was back in a minute.

“Hello, Mr. Brady? She says she can make it but there's a problem. It's her little brother, Buddy. I'm going out tomorrow night, too, and he doesn't want to stay here alone. Would it be all right if he comes along with her? I promise he won't eat much, even though he's shooting up like a weed.”

I thought about the price of groceries, but what the hell. “Of course he can come along. I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience to you, since you're going out.”

“If you saw the fellow I'm going out with, you'd know nothing's an inconvenience if I can spend an evening with him,” she replied, laughing somewhere down in her throat so that what came out was pure merry sex. I had an urge to meet Trudy's Aunt Charlotte. Boy Scout training had taught me to be kind to old ladies and I'm certain we could find a street I could help her across.

“Very well,” I said, very correct in my accountant's voice. “Eight tomorrow night will be fine, and we'll expect two for dinner… er, for sitting.”

She laughed again and I felt like saying something inviting or off-color over the phone, but I didn't want to get into trouble because they say they can trace calls fast these days. “You'll only be paying for one, naturally,” she concluded.

As I hung up I wasn't so sure. After the way the girl had torn into the foodstuffs that night, I figured with a little brother to help they'd outstrip the work of the great locust attack in North Dakota in 1933.

There was a lot of nervousness around the house as we cleaned up and dressed for the bridge game. I was content to wear shirt and slacks, but Amy got into something new and sleeveless, looking exciting as all get out. I told her so, but she wasn't impressed.

“Cool it, Tarzan. The sitter will be ringing the bell at any minute.”

I came up behind her and slipped my hands under her arms, coming up to cup her breasts. “Ah, just like fresh oranges.”

“Last time they were grapefruit.” She pretended to sob. “You don't love me any more.”

“There's one way to find out,” I breathed, panting like Rin-Tin-Tin.

The bell sounded and all bets were off as we went to the door together. Amy was glancing at me from the corner of her eye, not about to let me establish any further rapport with Trudy without her being around to catch the action.

There was a surprise on our doorstep. I'd forgotten that the brother was coming but there he was, a gangling adolescent standing beside his pint-sized sister, a somewhat silly smirk on his disarming face.

Trudy greeted us both and then waved at her brother. “This is Buddy. He thinks it's swell that you're going to let him sit with me while I sit with Alexander.” A heavy bark came from immediately behind my buttocks as the dog heard his name spoken. By now he'd moved into the house and, indeed, he'd been given liberty to roam about as he pleased.

We bade the sitters enter and they came inside, the highpockets brother looking about like a new kid on the block. He had to be over six feet but I was willing to bet he was younger than his sister. He had blond wavy hair that curled around his neck and ears, a long angelic face that was only slightly marred by acne, and a long, thin body that was apparently without a chest. When he said hello his voice broke just like Henry Aldrich's on the old radio show. All in all, he was a handsome lad who would someday grow up to be a center on the high school basketball team and then, after he'd filled out, he'd be a varsity flanker back.

It occurred to me that if his sex organ had stretched in relation to the rest of his body he would be hung like Man O' War. Casually, I turned to Amy to observe her reaction. It was something to see.

She was working her jaw like a gaffed halibut, her eyes wide, her hands rolling themselves into, a ball and then peeling apart, time after time. She had paled and was, apparently, lost in a mild form of shock, unable to get control of her senses. Her saucer eyes were fixed on Buddy Pipp as though she were a mouse and he were the moon, made of solid green cheese.

“Amy?” I said her name gently.

She didn't move and, strangely enough, neither did Buddy. He stared back, almost as intently as my wife, although I suspected his interest was mixed with politeness while Amy's was pure fascination.

Talk about the eyes-across-a-crowded-room syndrome. Those two had it and I felt something tighten my stomach as Trudy glanced toward me, her Mona Lisa smile switched on. She knew what I was thinking and she was right. Oh-oh, I thought, this could be the start of something big, as the popular standard goes.

“Amy!” I barked this time and Alexander gave off a soft whine, nuzzling against his mistress's hip.

It was enough to, if not shatter the spell, at least bend it out of focus a bit, and Amy turned to look down at the dog and then at me. “Hm?”

“We're going to be late,” I reminded her. “You know. Bridge. The Champions. Tonight. Chop chop.”

“Oh.” Her fingers went to her lips and she looked rather wildly at Buddy and then at his sister, while I closed the front door so the world wouldn't find out what was going on quite so quickly. “Trudy, there are things in the refrigerator and we're leaving an hour later, as you know, so we may be a little late.”

Trudy nodded, and even as she responded, Amy's brief return to reality ended and she was again looking at the gangling lout as though he were the son of Tarzan, down out of the vines for the evening. He should have been wearing a loincloth and been carrying Jane on one hip and a chimpanzee on the other.

I turned to Trudy, flapping my arms against my sides and leading the way into the front room, where I turned. “You know where the chow line forms and you know how to work the TV knobs. I suppose your heart-throb is on tonight. What's his name?”

“Jimmy Junkin?”

“Give the little lady sixty-four thousand dollars.”

Trudy smiled, stepping closer, her twin points brushing my shirt. I looked down at her, loving the fellow who invented the mini like a brother. This girl had a shape that made Raquel Welch look angular.

Still, I was a gentleman first. “Easy, kiddo. There are others about.”

“I don't believe you,” she replied, looking back over her shoulder, so that her bodice stretched playfully over her breasts. I wanted to fill my hands with them, like spilling diamonds through my fingers. “They don't know what's going on out there.”

I frowned, gazing past her, to where Amy and the tall kid were still standing, candidates for the waxworks. “By the way, what is going on out there?”

She looked back at me, cute as a button, fingering my shirt front as her lower lip went out in a moist pout. “He always affects older women that way, I guess. They say he's tall, he's got beautiful blond hair that they want to comb, and when he smiles they say he's like an adolescent angel. Sum it up and I guess he's a super turn-on.”

“Not to Amy he isn't,” I muttered. “My God, she must be almost twice his age.”

“I doubt that,” she purred. “He's only a year younger than yours truly.”

“Lord, a deadly weapon at fifteen.” And also, I reminded myself, that shaft between his legs was as potent as it was ever going to be. Somehow, he didn't seem like a harmless angelic kid any more.

Trudy wasn't interested in them, turning her full attention to me. Her knee came forward to touch my crotch, jiggling lightly, her aim as accurate as always as she hit me right on the old knob. I began to pump strength into my staff, pouring in reinforcements for the battle that might be looming.

“I guess you're not so senile, Mr. Brady,” she chirped, her head tilting in approval.

“Who said I was? I thought I did rather well the other night on the living-room floor.”

She nodded. “Still, they say a man over twenty-one is losing his stuff, you know? You come back pretty quickly.”

I wanted to brag a little and tell her I'd been active since her last visit, too, but I wasn't spilling my guts for the sake of stature. “I think,” I mumbled, pulling my fly away from her groping hand, “that Mrs. Brady and I had better go play some bridge.”

Her lower lip shot out again. “I thought you wouldn't need to leave for a while.”

Shaking my head, I muttered, “You're a sitter, not a mistress, remember? Alexander is your responsibility and so is that stud in the front room. I'm expecting you to keep a leash on them both. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sure, Mr. Brady,” she replied, bright as ever. She didn't believe a word I was saying and her supreme confidence made me feel a hundred years old.

I stalked back into the parlor to break up the waiting game. Buddy was still smirking, hands plunged into the pockets of his jeans, his T-shirt stretched across his rib cage. My eyes dropped and, sure enough, his pouch looked like a sackful of rocks. Not only were his jeans glued to his thighs, but he was stretching them even tighter with his hands. The bastard wasn't playing fair.

I turned to Amy, who was still moving her jaw as though it were a metronome without the ticking. I planted myself before her and those hazel eyes focused on me. “Don?”

“Me Don, you Amy. We go. Come on, haul it, wife.”

She seemed to shake the pieces back into place inside her skull, looking about and then bidding her new big friend good evening. Trudy came back behind me and was included in the final act.

At last we pulled ourselves away and, once in the car, I turned to her. “You all right?”

“Of course I'm all right, why?”

“I don't know. You acted sort of funny, as though Columbus had just reported back that the earth was flat and the Pinta and Santa Maria had sailed off the edge.”

“You're being funny now.”

I sighed, concentrating on my driving for a minute. “It seems we have double trouble.”

She was looking into my ear, apparently studying the loops and curves. “Please explain that.”

I shook my head. “If you're going to pretend you don't understand, I'm not going to waste my time.”

But I found it difficult to switch my interest to a game of bridge.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sam and Alice Champion were waiting for us, their eyes a little brighter than usual, and I wondered what tricks-other than those used in the game of bridge- they had up their sleeves.

“What's been keeping you two?” my business partner blurted as we walked into their living room. The card table was already set up, two decks stacked neatly, tally sheet and pencil at the ready.

I shrugged at Sam, angling my chin at Amy. “You know how women are. She spent fifteen minutes inspecting the sitters to make sure they were capable of watching a German shepherd until midnight.”

Alice's laugh filled the room and we looked at our hostess, who was dressed like a teen-ager rather than a woman of close to thirty, her hem halfway up to her box, her bodice cut so low I could see halfway to her equator. “I still can't believe it. A sitter for a watchdog. Wait a minute. You say you inspected the sitters. More than one this time?”

I nodded and Amy explained about the little brother coming along.

Now Alice is no dope, even though she likes to pretend she is, and her head was angled in concentration as she studied my wife. “Something's going on,” she said at last, as we settled around the bridge table. Sam went into the kitchen to prepare a batch of drinks.

Amy frowned across the table at her partner. “Like what, sweetie?”

“Like you're funny tonight and you never call me 'sweetie' unless you're afraid I'm getting too nosy. Tell me Amy, darling, are you embarrassed about something?”

Amy's warm eyes jumped into the quick-freeze compartment as she turned to me. “Don't you agree that even close friends shouldn't pry too deeply into one's private life?”

I shrugged like a neutral ambassador from India as Alice kept on. “What's happened? You can tell us. After all, what are friends for?”

“To mind their own business,” Amy snapped, smiling like an angel as Sam returned with a tray of booze, passing out tall glasses dark with bourbon.

As we played hand after hand the women continued their sparring while Sam and I exchanged sympathetic glances and tried to interrupt by occasionally talking about the business. From time to time Alice's knee found mine and jiggled its familiar hello, but I didn't answer very loudly.

Alice was in a bad way, I figured, either because she knew Amy and I had something going she didn't know about or because Sam had been even more impotent that week and her crotch was building up a head of steam. As it turned out she made her move for me without bothering with the old retreat-into-the-privacy-of-the-kitchen routine.

It was about the fourth hand that I felt her fingers replace her knee, and how a woman can play bridge with one hand, dropping and scooping up cards, is beyond me, but she did it skillfully. Nobody seemed to notice that anything was going on, except for me, naturally.

Her fingers wiggled up my thigh and I looked her straight in the eye, smiling like a used car salesman. “Your play.”

She batted her eyes at me, taking my words opposite to the way I'd intended. “I know. I'm doing something about it.”

For a moment Amy looked sharply at Alice and then at me, but our faces were so serene. Besides. I figured my wife still had the gangling image of Buddy Pipp seared into her brain, so we could have knocked out the front wall of the parlor and she wouldn't have noticed.

Alice's fingers squirmed farther up my thigh and, just when I thought she was going to dip around the curve and into my crotch, she instead went all the way up until she could tap my elbow. Again, she was managing all this without a movement that could be seen and still playing her usual excellent bridge.

My hand joined hers under the table and she squeezed my fingers as though they were heroes just back from defeating the Hun at Belleau Wood. I was having trouble concentrating, so she eased up each time it was my turn to make a play.

Then my hand was being pulled into position, against her knees and then between them. She shifted, spreading her legs and then clamping them on my fingers. It was clear what I was supposed to do next.

I proceeded up the insides of her thighs and she turned her head, smiling at me, the only signs of heightened sexual pleasure a moistness at her lips and a brightness in her brown cow eyes. “There are nights when you play an excellent game, Don,” she murmured.

Amy shot another daring glance our way, but Sam didn't seem to suspect a thing. “Excellent game, my foot. He let us drop two tricks we should have collected.” Snorting, he turned toward my wife. “Come on, Amy, help me with the next round of booze. I need some pretty company to inspire me when I pour.”

Amy touched his hand lightly, smiling in a way that could switch on a eunuch. “My pleasure, tiger.”

They slipped out of the room and I sighed, watching them go and then turning back to the business at hand. Hand was the word for it, for I was under the hem of her short skirt and clearing the tops of her stockings already, my fingertips whispering on incredibly soft flesh. Alice was a little on the hefty side, but it made her curves a little softer than other women's and there were times when that was a comforting thing.

She was gurgling like a nursing infant, so I paused, shooting a look toward the kitchen. “Let's recess until further notice,” I whispered, watching her begin to squirm. “It's impossible to hide an orgy at the bridge table.”

“You stop and I'll scream, Donald Brady,” she hissed. “You know I'm not kidding.”

I knew it, all right, so I pushed on until I reached the place where her pants should have started, except that they didn't. There was nothing there but more heat and more soft skin that was softer than ever. I looked at her.

“Nothing?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Proceed, Attila.”

My groping hand brushed across a fringe of fur and her gasp seemed loud enough to be heard out in the street. I listened, but there was nothing except ordinary bantering chatter coming from the kitchen as bottles clinked. I touched again and Alice gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white as her body turned on to high gear.

“Soon?” I whispered.

She nodded, biting her lips.

My operation deep probe resumed and I fluttered through her bush until I was against the softest place of all, those double folds of mystery and joy where the deer and the antelope and my fingers loved to play. She was shuddering and gasping as the noise in the kitchen ceased and I froze.

Amy and Sam trooped back into the parlor, carrying drinks as they settled down at the table. Somehow I was able to take my glass from the tray and Alice let go of the table edge long enough to help herself, even taking a sip from a shaking hand that carried the glass to her lips,

Sam was dealing the cards now and, under the table, Alice's legs were undulating against my wrist, imploring me to go on. Alice stared into my face. “I'll simply scream if you don't tell me the rest of that joke,” she murmured, almost losing control of her voice.

Her message was sharp and deadly, so I shoved the tip of a finger between her lips, realizing I'd been this route only the week before. Rather sadly, I wished I could use my cock once in a while in this house, instead of always being called on to give somebody else all the fun with a hand job.

“Yes, Don,” Amy was saying, her voice level. “Tell us the joke, too.”

“It's only a traveling salesman story,” I stuttered, smiling like a sick hippo. “You've heard it before.”

“But I insist,” my wife continued, her eyes sliding to Alice's wan face. If she got any more suspicious she'd make some excuse to look under the table and yours truly would be washed up for a long time to come.

“Well,” I mumbled, shoving my finger another inch into Alice's snatch and wiggling it, “the farmer said, you'll have to sleep in the upstairs bedroom with the baby.”

Alice's shriek was meant to sound like laughter, but she was losing control fast, her face frozen in a howl of mirth. Sam frowned at her. “What's wrong with you, dummy? He hasn't gotten to the punch line yet.”

“Oh,” she giggled, squirming forward so that my finger shot inside another inch. It was cozy and wet in there and I realized she'd already had a half-hearted orgasm, but the main event was still to come.

“Anyhow,” I blurted, fighting to keep my voice under control, “he gets into bed and finds this beautiful doll curled up at his side. She's about eighteen and loaded.”

Amy smirked at me, her expression joyless. “Perhaps like Trudy Pipp?”

Alice recovered long enough to look at my wife. “Trudy Pipp? Is that your sitter?”

Amy nodded.

“Hm, is that why you two have been shooting daggers at each other? A sitter must be providing the third point of the lovers' triangle.” She giggled, snapping her knees against my forearm.

“Alice, for Christ's sake,” Sam snapped back, twisting his face. “Forget your wild imagination for a minute and make your play.”

“I already have,” she blurted.

Her husband frowned. “Like hell. Get your card down on that trick and cut the chatter.”

“Oh,” Alice mumbled, “that play.”

She tossed a card, glaring at me. “It's your move, lover.”

I made my move, extracting a card with one hand and working the other higher. A second finger joined the loner inside Alice's pussy and they began to scissor their way here and there, fishing around for even more vital spots in the interior. Alice was giggling again and Amy seemed madder than before.

“Come on, clown,” she said to me, “finish the joke so we can share in the hilarity.”

“It isn't much of a joke,” I muttered, finding her button of pleasure with my forefinger. I strummed it and she rolled her eyes, giggling more loudly than ever.

“Finish it,” Amy hissed.

“So the traveling salesman gets into bed with this doll and knocks off a piece,” I continued. “When he's through he gets out of bed and the broad asks, 'Where are you going?' 'I'm in the wrong room,' he answers. 'I'm supposed to sleep with the baby. Who are you?' 'I'm baby,' she replies.”

Alice went crazy, shaking all over the place, pounding the table and coming all over my hand. She was spouting like a Roman fountain, getting her gun and screaming with laughter, tears rolling down her face. This went on for almost a minute before she began to get control of herself.

Amy looked at Sam. “Some joke.”

Sam shrugged. “He warned it wasn't much.”

“Then why is she falling off her chair?”

Again our host shrugged, eyeing his wife curiously. “They say women start to do funny things when they approach middle age.”

Amy shook her head. “How old is she, twenty-eight? Much too soon for that sort of thing, my friend. Much too soon.”

“The booze hit me, I suppose,” Alice chuckled, wiping her eyes. “I didn't have much dinner and it's gone straight to my head.”

Meanwhile, I'd withdrawn my hand and fished out a handkerchief, wiping myself reasonably clean. After that, things quieted down again and I found myself studying Amy, wondering if Sam had tried anything with her in the kitchen. Sure, he wasn't much in the sack with his own wife, but that didn't mean my business partner couldn't be a tiger with someone else's woman.

Amy seemed ruffled, but I didn't think Sam had done the ruffling. Perhaps she was still shaken from her silent encounter with Buddy Pipp, although that was hard to behave. After all, the kid hadn't turned on at all and Amy wasn't so physical a woman that she'd get her gun just looking at a handsome stranger, who was only a kid, at that. At least, I didn't think she was.

Still, there was something wrong and I was certain of it when she got up from the bridge table early, stretching for all to see, including Sam, who seemed to take a deep breath at the sight of her straining breasts.

“Time for us to get on home, Don,” she murmured, her voice sleepy, but I knew when my wife was tired and this wasn't one of those times. She was faking all the way.

I didn't do any of the protesting because I was anxious to get out of there. Sure, it was fun diddling Alice, but she hadn't gotten around to diddling back and that left me hot and bothered-just like the week before. That night Trudy and then Amy had tapped my overflowing cup and tonight Trudy and Amy were still close by. There was an outside chance…

“Hey, it's only eleven o'clock,” Sam was complaining. “Since when do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

Alice batted her eyes at me. “You haven't given me a chance to be a gracious hostess, Donny. After all, there are other things to do besides playing bridge.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Amy snapped, sitting down fast and leaning across the table.

Alice looked at her husband and Sam cleared his throat. “Go ahead, darling,” Alice muttered. “It's your speech.”

“Well,” Sam began, his throat bobbing as he swallowed a half-dozen times, “there comes a time in some people's lives when they need a change. Alice and I feel we're at that place when we've maybe gotten a little tired of each other and we're looking around for new experiences.”

I knew damned well what Sam was getting at because I'd thought out those same words a number of times myself, but I'd never gotten around to suggesting to Amy that we try them out on our friends. Amy I figured, wasn't that tired of me yet… not after the way she'd performed down at the sea wall that night.

“Do I make myself clear?” Sam asked, his voice desperate as he looked at me and then Amy.

I nodded but Amy was looking at him like he was a candidate for a long rest in a place where everybody talked in whispers. “I don't understand a word. You're not thinking of quitting your job and bumming around the world, are you?”

Sam and Alice shook their heads like twins on the same string. Sam licked his lips and began to sweat through his shirt, so I stepped in.

“Let me talk to her on the way home, okay? We'll think about it and let you know, if that's all right.”

Sam looked relieved. “Now I know why I picked you as a partner, partner. Take over from here. We'd be pleased to know what you think about the idea.”

“Roger.”

Amy and I left at once, joining in the chorus of good nights at the door. I looked down at the slight stain on Alice's miniskirt, but I didn't think anyone else had caught sight of it. Once on our way, Amy turned to me like a starving native looking at a tender missionary.

“Well?”

“They want to swap, naturally.”

“Oh?”

“Sure. He's been firing blanks with her because they're kind of old hat together and he's hoping another partner will show him he's still a man. Alice… well, she's just hot to jump into bed with someone else most any time.”

“How well I know,” she replied, turning her gaze on the pavement ahead. “I saw that spot on her skirt.”

I swallowed. “She spill booze?”

“Of course,” she said with sarcasm. “Early Times all down her front. Old Donald Brady would be more like it, your own brand of hundred and ten proof.”

I sighed. “What do you think of Sam's offer?”

She shook her head. “I don't think we need them yet.”

I thought she was going to say something more, like we don't need them yet because we've got something better at home, waiting in the parlor. I merely said, “How come you want to get home so early?”

She didn't look at me when she replied, “How come you didn't protest when I got up to go?”

She had me on that one.

CHAPTER NINE

Fancy writers talk about cutting the tension with a knife and I'd never understood what they were talking about until we were ready to walk into the house. If I'd had a blade in my hand then I would have been slashing right and left, hitting the target every time.

The place was dark, except for a faint light in the front room and when we entered we saw the three of them curled up in front of the television set. I looked at Amy and she stared back at me, licking her lips, that same glassy glint in her eye… the one she'd had when Buddy Pipp had walked in.

The place looked like a dining room of a busy resort hotel, the coffee table littered with plates and bottles. They'd feasted on sandwiches, pie and soft drinks and, from the looks of the plates on the floor, Alexander had helped lick everything clean.

They hadn't seen us yet and, on impulse, I grasped Amy's hand, giving it a hard squeeze. My wife looked at me and her lips curved in a smile. For a moment I felt a little sad, because I knew she was off on a trip and I knew what had to happen on her journey. Sure, I'd be up to the same tricks, but it was a little hard for me to accept. I'm an old double-standard man from way back, I suppose, but that didn't mean I was right.

I leaned close, whispering into her hair. “See you around.”

She nodded. “I'll think of you often, darling.”

That was good enough for me. She had to have her satisfaction through a night of variety and I couldn't blame her for that. This was a physical thing and she'd assured me that I wouldn't be forgotten, no matter what would be going on in her body,

Clearing my throat loudly, I stepped into the room, pulling Amy behind me. She was a schoolgirl being dragged onto the dance floor for the first time, and I liked her for that, too, but it was clear that her need would prevail. It was best to get on with it.

Heads turned and, stumbling, around, Buddy Pipp got to his feet, an awkward grin splitting his open face like two halves of a sandwich being pulled apart. Trudy leaned back on her hands, gazing up at me, her eyes once again like overheated glaciers. Alexander merely lay on his side, his tail thudding on the floor. He was happy in the knowledge that he had less chance than ever of being left alone.

The young people looked at the litter and Trudy spread her hands, “I guess we got sort of hungry. We always eat through the Westerns.”

“Ah, the late show?”

Buddy nodded, scratching what there was of his chest while Amy watched with a certain fascination. Three Bugles to the Rescue or something. It was pretty good, except for the part where the trooper fools around with the captain's daughter.”

Amy smiled and I watched her eyes frisk his lean body like a police sergeant's hands. “You get bored when the love scenes come on?” she asked, her voice quiet and, I thought, a bit sultry.

He shrugged, plunging his hands into his jeans and, again, his tool and its assemblage of extra parts popped into stark relief. Damn him. He must have possessed a snake the size of a boa. “It's kind of corny to sit around and just watch all the time.”

“I see,” my wife murmured, swallowing and turning to me. “We're home so early, perhaps the children would like a little something to drink before it's time to leave.” She swung back to them. “I know I'm terribly dry.”

I pondered. “I've got soft drinks, all right, and harder stuff for us.”

Trudy was shaking her head, her hand moving in a small circle on her tummy, and I wanted to snatch it away and replace it with my own hand. “No, thanks, because we've had plenty. Even Buddy is full and that's wild. You should see him at the table at home.”

“Your Aunt Charlotte is a good cook?” I asked, thinking of that whisky voice on the telephone.

Buddy made a face. “She's out a lot, so Trudy opens lots of cans. Our aunt is pretty popular, I guess.”

“Yes, I talked to her on the phone. She sounds quite young.”

Trudy raised her eyebrows in a childish imitation of a gossip. “Well, if you think thirty-five isn't over the hill, then I guess she's young. I suppose she looks pretty good for somebody's old aunt. She's a blonde, like me.

“She's been married three times,” Buddy added, grinning like he was proud to complete the dossier on Miss Pipp. “Three guys she went through, got fed up with and then took back her original name. She's our father's sister, I guess.”

“And your parents?” Amy asked gently.

“Oh, they're around somewhere,” Trudy chirped, not at all self-conscious about the way she and her brother live. “They like to take off and run around the country having fun. Dad plays the horses and he's good at it. When he hits big they take in Las Vegas, Miami, other places. Golly, I wish I could live like them.”

Amy settled herself on the couch while I went to the television set, snapping it off just as Dracula's daughter was taking another drink of human blood. We sat silently for a few minutes, looking around, wondering what to do with our hands.

“You're home early,” Trudy said.

“Yes. It wasn't much of a game.”

“Bridge. Huh. That's a funny way to get your kicks.”

My wife turned to Buddy, something like smoke curling out from under her lashes. “You must explain to me how people your age enjoy themselves. Things have changed so in the last five years.”

Five years! I knew Amy was pulling out the stops when she began to lie about her age and I saw Trudy trying to hide a grin, too. Sure, Amy could pass for twenty. She had the face and shape to back her up. But kids knew about these things and the way Amy talked and moved didn't say she was twenty. She was twenty-five, all right, and that was fine with me.

Amy was getting little more out of the tall, skinny Buddy than a series of shrugs, but their mutual interest continued to light the room. This was charisma in action, friends, and those two were turning it on with their high beams. At last Amy leaped to her feet, as though she'd been blessed with an inspiration.

“I know, the pool. You haven't seen the pool.”

Buddy grinned and reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling something from behind his hip. “I haven't seen it, but I heard about it.” He waved a bathing suit that didn't amount to much more than a jock strap.

“Goody.” My wife was clapping her hands. “We'll go swimming. What do you say?”

“Groovy,” Trudy agreed, also getting to her feet. From her purse popped the two halves of a bikini, the total material no more than that in a handkerchief.

I made a sound in my throat that I hoped sounded adult. “You two go ahead while I settle Trudy's bill. We'll catch up with you.”

Amy blinked at Trudy and then me, but there was no jealousy in her look. She knew what she wanted and, for all she cared at that moment, I could hit the sack with a Shetland pony.

Taking Buddy's hand, Amy skipped from the room, laughing like a kid, her various parts bouncing lightly as they tripped along. Buddy grinned over his shoulder at his sister. “See you around. I don't guess you'll be hurrying into the yard, huh?”

“I suppose not,” Trudy called back as they disappeared.

We stood looking at each other and I expected romantic music to start pouring from the ceiling, like in the movies, but the only sound was Alexander licking himself at our feet. I glared at him until he lifted his muzzle from his cock and balls and then I pointed toward the rear of the house.

“Out. Go get your mistress. Bug her for a while.”

He surprised me by obeying. He'd always been too much of a coward to give me any sass, but I thought he was too dumb to know what was expected of him.

“Well.” I rubbed my hands like a jewelry salesman looking over a bride-to-be. “Here we are.”

“Time for more fun and games, huh?” Trudy replied, her voice sweet but not very soft. “Time for you and me to fuck again.”

I rolled my eyes. “Diplomatic you ain't, girl.”

“Who says I should be? You want to pour it to me all the time and that's all right, just so you don't go around pretending. Why do you think I brought Buddy with me? I told him about Mrs. Brady and he thought she would be nice.” She giggled. “Seems like the feeling's mutual.”

I sighed, taking her by the shoulders, feeling the tingle race up into my hands. “Don't you and your brother have friends your own age?”

“Sure we do, but we want to get ahead. After all, what can kids fifteen and sixteen do for us, except give out with a lot of drippy romance stuff and gripe about how broke they are all the time.” She waited, her eyes fixed on mine.

“I see, you're here for profit as well as fun.”

“You win first prize, Mr. Brady. Please don't call me a whore; I wouldn't come right out and hold back until you paid up.” She grinned like an infant in its crib. “But if you were to add a tip to the sitting money, that wouldn't be so bad. I don't like the idea of turning pro all the way. Then you get involved with pimps and lots of other middlemen who skim away the profit. I'd rather free-lance and pick my own friends.”

“I suppose I should be honored.” My voice was dry, but the palms of my hands weren't.

“That's up to you, “but I don't sleep around all that much.” She stepped closer, touching my collar and running her finger along my buttons until she reached my belt. “I liked you right away, and that's no fooling. I hate the phonies and you're a real person.”

I was gulping like a woman in traffic court. “So what happens now?”

She winked. “You've been awfully nice, Mr. Brady, so I thought I'd take charge tonight and show you a good time. It doesn't look as though the others will walk in on us, does it?”

I shook my head. Amy wasn't going to let loose of that stud horse and Buddy had been drooling during their exit.

“Good. Then I'm the boss from here on out, and I'm going to give it to you forty ways to breakfast, whatever that means. Anyhow, you just relax and let me take charge, okay?”

Was it okay if a stranger came up to me on the street and gave me a sack of money? Hell, yes, it was okay. But I only nodded, to preserve my dignity for a few more seconds.

The little blonde went to work, humming like a seamstress fitting a hundred-dollar gown on a good customer. She opened my shirt, helping me out of it. Then she untied my shoes and allowed me to lean on her shoulder as I stepped from them. My socks were whipped away and then she loosened my belt, zipped my zipper and, pulling my pants from hip to ankle, she had me to my shorts in seconds.

She paused nibbling her lip in thought, as though measuring her strategy. Then she opened the snaps and allowed my shorts to flutter down like a symbol of surrender. Everything was pulled off and heaped on a chair and she stood back to look, the artist examining her creation.

“You're real good, Mr. Brady. I've seen my share of cocks here and there, one way and another, but I must say you've got plenty of size and you know how to use it.”

I was glad my old mother couldn't see me now. My sixth-grade English teacher, too. They'd never understand.

She took a turn around me and I half expected she'd kick one or two of my tires before she hopped on for a test spin. “Do I pass?” I muttered.

“You pass. Let's get going.”

She grabbed me by the head of my penis and held on, laughing like a banshee.

CHAPTER TEN

I put my finger to her lips and she quieted at once, looking sheepish. “Golly, I got carried away. I guess I'm going to love this as much as you.”

I stiffened and nodded my head like a Von Krupp, but my dignity was fading fast. My penis was not, however. It was growing to prodigious size under her grip. I was in the same shape as the last time, all worked up and not yet relieved of my load.

Trudy wiggled her fingers on my shaft and I felt the electricity zip all the way up to the fuse box inside my balls, where the sperm cells were lined up, anxious to be trooped out for inspection. Her hand went to my head and again I got the message, feeling my belly tighten and the muscles in my thighs turn tighter, anxious to propel my loins against the target.

“You're ready already,” she observed, looking like a clinic physician.

“Yes. And you?”

“First you'll have to take my clothes off. I'll allow you to do that much.”

I was as surprised as she when I shook my head. “Nope. You said you'd do everything. I'm your guest, sweetheart, so you take care of yourself. As a matter of fact, I'd like to watch you removing your clothing. Put some style into it and maybe we can write it into the act.”

She was giggling again, suddenly the child, and my heart went out to her. I wanted to cuddle her, almost like a father-but not quite. She caught the mood, sucking her thumb and making her knees knock as she put one foot on top of the other.

“Don't suck your finger, child,” I said, “and get out of those dirty clothes. Come on, dance for your old man.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she exclaimed, kicking off her sandals and reaching behind her to pull the long zipper. Her mini split open like a banana and she had it down over her hips to the carpet in seconds, giggling and casting shy glances at me all the while. She had nothing on but her pants and they were a baby blue with lots of pretty lace around the bottom and up into her crotch. I could see a few blonde hairs sticking out through the material, waving hello to me.

“Like me?” she cried.

“You're a lovely child,” I exclaimed, my cock standing straight out from my body, daring me to vault onto her, but I held back. “Now the dance.”

She began to skip around the room, humming a childhood song that was vaguely familiar even to me. As she pranced, I kept turning, my eyes glued on her, watching her hair fly back, her stiff breasts quake, their nipples dancing. Jesus, but she was built like a mermaid with exquisite legs, her waist thin, her hips flashing back and ahead with each leap from her strong legs. Her toes gripped the carpet like a mountain goat and even that was exciting.

She had everything: youth, beauty, grace, talent and a style all her own.

“Trudy?” I whispered as she flashed close to me, her fingers shoving her pants over her hips so that they barely clung, like a sagging bikini bottom.

“What?”

“You're not real, are you? You were sent here to me as a reward by some hand greater than us.”

She was laughing again, pausing to allow her pants to drop to her ankles. With an expert kick she lofted them across the room, draping them across a black cat figurine on the TV set. “If you say so,” she said breathlessly. “You're the daddy so you know best.”

“Then come sit in your old daddy's lap, child.”

I sank to the floor, leaning back against the sofa, my hands out to her. She paused, her head alert like a bird's, listening for her worm in the moist ground. Then she came to me, her white thighs working, her pussy a nest of blondeness that invited penetration with its every quiver.

She went to her knees before me so that I had a straight ahead view, loving it, seeing directly into her crotch. My hand came out to caress the hairs, but I took it back. I was the daddy and she was the little girl and this thing had to be done right-with parental restraint.

I wiggled my fingers and she crawled forward, turning herself so that she eased her bottom across my loins and then settled in my lap. Her lovely legs kicked at one side and her head was thrown far back at the other. Directly under my nose were those zestful breasts, that belly that was breathing a bit hard from her exertion, and that Y where I was soon going to place my I.

“Fantastic.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Let's play a little game.”

“Gee, that sounds groovy.”

“Everywhere I touch you, then you touch me in the same place. Ready?”

She was plenty ready, and so was I, my penis temporarily thrust aside by her bottom, but it was throbbing hard and I knew she felt its impatience.

I placed my finger on the tip of her nose and she did the same to me. I touched her lips and she did the same to me. My finger slid inside her lips and she opened her mouth to receive it, sucking on my finger until it was all the way inside. Jesus, I was ready to go off already but, fortunately, her weight was acting as a partial brake on my flow.

Her finger popped into my mouth and I let her count my teeth. They were all there, all right, and I used them to nibble on her finger, while she nibbled on mine. Taking my finger from her mouth, I dried it in her hair, while she went through the same routine.

Then I traced a line down the profile of her face, from forehead to nose, to lips, to chin, to throat-her finger did the same, shoving a little harder when it passed my chin. My hand went into the valley between her breasts and paused, waiting for her to catch up.

Instead she fooled me, rolling from my lap and releasing my dork so that it was pointed skyward, like a Minuteman on ready alert. She smiled at it like a mother looking into a crib before looking me in the eye.

“I'm in charge, remember? The daughter-daddy game is over. Now please lie down on your back, hands at your sides, feet together.”

I couldn't argue with her sincerity. “All right, doctor.”

“That's an idea. Doctor and nurse.” She pushed her hands into my stomach, sinking several inches until I thought she'd go through to the carpet. “Does it hurt there?”

“I'd hurt anywhere you dropped an anvil on me,” I complained. “Come on, captain, take charge. Cut the chatter for a while.”

“Righto,” she agreed, straightening and leaning back on her feet. She knelt before me like that for more than a minute, looking down, studying my body, but not touching. I took the opportunity to gaze on hers as it loomed over me from my vantage point on the carpet. Her thighs were delightfully flattened against her calves, squeezing together so that my view of her vagina was partly cut off. Somehow this excited me even more and my cock was turning from white to red to blue, looking like the Fourth of July just before the Roman candles go off.

Then her hands were on me and there was no place she missed, working from my head to my feet, rolling me over to do my backside and then straightening me around again. Her touch went across my chest, into my loins. She roamed the crack of my buttocks, along the base of my gonads, out on the shaft of my penis, over every dip and bulge of the head itself, even winking into the eye at the tip.

“I'm coming,” I exclaimed.

“You keep threatening,” she chided, “but I don't see any action yet. What's keeping you?”

“Well, it would be nice if you were engaged, so to speak. Come on, child, make contact.”

“Please be still. I'm the boss lady.”

As though she were mounting a horse, she threw one leg over mine, sitting hard on my knees so that I winced as they tried to bend backwards. My cock was about where the horn would be on a Western saddle, but she didn't grip it right away. Perhaps if we broke into a gallop she'd find it necessary to support herself.

She began to inch forward, sort of like a limbo dancer approaching the low bar, working steadily, keeping her balance. But when she reached my bar, she began to lift herself until her bottom was clear of my thighs and she was hovering over my stallion, sighting on it like an aerial gunner.

This kid was full of surprises. She kept on coming toward my head, clearing my begging prick by an inch, letting it brush against her left thigh only once, but it was a fiery trail that remained behind, if I read the look in her eyes correctly. She went clear over my loins and sat down again, this time on my belly, which was a softer place to rest than my knees.

“Very cute,” I complained, “but what's it get you-or me?”

“Be still. The boss is at work.”

She reached behind her bottom and found my penis, gripping it like a bat and pulling the skin along the shaft in dangerous fashion. I told her so, but she only laughed. These kids are loaded with confidence today.

“Which hole do you want?” she asked, like a bartender wanting to know if my old-fashioned was going to have a red cherry or a green one.

“You're the boss,” I reminded her. “I wouldn't want to butt in.”

“Butt in? Is that a play on words, a clue? You prefer the rosebud to dining at the Y, huh?” She giggled for the one thousandth time. “I aim to oblige, Daddy.”

“Come on, make up your mind. Am I the daddy or are you the boss?” I snapped, impatient with her playing around by now. “The old man is tiring of the sport.”

“My, you are an old man to tire of this sport.” She leaned far down to kiss me on the mouth and I bit her lips. She leaped back, running into my penis, rubbing her lips. “All right, hang on, partner. It's roundup time.”

She gave me a good ride, backing up until she was up on her knees again, taking aim and then coming down on my cock. She made the decision for the back door, allowing my head to come up against her tender hole, that rear place where the stuff that came out wasn't nearly as much fun as the things that could be put inside.

She sat firmly and my head wiggled its way inside like a living thing with its own brain and nervous system, finding its own way among her little pink folds until it hit the high road to adventure without any real directions from me. She was making a gurgling sound and we laughed together, old buddies, enjoying the most of one another.

“Mr. C, you're all right for a senior citizen.”

“Thank you, Miss P. For a kid, you know how to handle yourself pretty well.”

She was coming down harder, enclosing my shaft in a moist, dark wall that hugged tightly, as though there were muscles with thousands of tiny hands growing from them, hands that pulled me ever deeper, into her backside, my knob forging ahead through the ripe waste of her pretty body. It was one of the rare times in my life I'd gone the Greek route and I snapped off a mental salute to the men of Athens. No wonder they had once ruled the civilized world.

This was an experience I would never forget and, for the remainder of my life, I would pay special homage to the passing beauty who might possess a superior posterior. As for Trudy herself, no matter how our affair would end, she had already earned my eternal gratitude. True, I had been up the rectum with other young ladies, but none had owned a bottom to top hers. It was more than its firm cheeks, its saucy shape, its snug little rosebud. It was the way in which it was used, as is the case with any sex organ. No instrument is any better than the individual who plays it. Talent is all.

Grunting lightly with each thrust, she continued to come down on me and my hips were trying to lift from the carpet to meet her drives. It wasn't necessary for, with those little hands doing their job, I was soon pulled all the way inside and it felt as though my distended dong must be all the way into her belly, navigating her alimentary canal like a Columbus of the bedroom set. I wouldn't have been at all surprised to have heard her cough and choke with the emergence of my staff from her mouth.

“Lordy,” she was gasping, looking down into my face as though from Olympus, “a Tiny Tim you're not. I'll go this route as often as not, but you've taken me farther than anybody else who entered my back door.”

I smiled, a little smug, perhaps. “There's a bit more, if you're able.”

“I'm able.”

It was a fact. With a final bit of special straining, we were able to get me another millimeter inside and then my balls were flattened against her bottom. I was, finally, all the way home and snug in my bed, ready to enjoy a warm bit of play under the covers.

Trudy wiggled her bottom from one side to the other and I felt the muscles grab my shaft and pull it with her, working the skin. Not much of that sort of thing would be needed before it would be all over. She knew this, and I could tell from her breathing and the change in her pupils that she was on the very brink of orgasm.

Sweat was beading on her forehead, running along her nose and then dripping from its tip to my face. I didn't mind. It was like a separate orgasm, a preview of the main event that was to follow in seconds.

“Don't just lay there,” she barked, surprising me, breaking the spell I'd slipped into. “Do me. This is a two-way street, I hope.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Stand by for a head-on collision.”

I looked down my front to see the top of her pussy undulating against my lower belly, the lips stretched wide so that it was like looking into an open wound. Nobody had ever convinced me that a woman's box was a pretty thing, but it couldn't be matched for interest and drama. I suppose a diamond in the rough isn't considered beautiful either, but it tends to hold one's attention all the same.

I reached for her center, managing to get a couple of fingers inside the very top of the lips, the remainder of her vagina being buried between our bodies as she worked on our rather complicated union. I thrust as well as I could and it seemed to be adequate. Trudy almost fell from me as she swooned, her eyes rolling up into her head for a few seconds. Her body rocked forward, bending my cock badly as she lowered her head almost to my face.

“Stay aboard,” I barked. “Steady as she goes or we'll sink with all hands.”

“Aye, sir,” she barked right back in a London accent. “Steady as she goes, but I'm finding the weather a bit heavy topside, sir. Makes handling the ship a mite difficult.”

“Not much farther to a safe port,” I replied.

We sailed on, she flexing her legs so that she rode up and down over the waves, up and down, up and down, up and down until there simply wasn't any time left.

“Thar she blows!” I called.

“Sail ho!” she cried right back.

Digging her fingers into my shoulders, Trudy held on, riding out the storm, taking the battering rams of passion that I was throwing at her. My sperm was beginning to surge, rocketing the length of my tube and into her bottom, filling her rectal cavity and shooting beyond until I truly believe some must have fought its way into her stomach.

She was enjoying it as much as I, her orgasm rocking the boat in the same instant. Her vagina was snapping at my fingers like lobster claws, trying to nip off the instruments that were giving her so much sexual torture. I aimed my hands a little higher, wiggling them into new nooks and crannies, triggering a fresh response with each discovery.

“Saints preserve us,” she wailed.

“Ah, an Irish lass.”

“Irish, English, German or Yiddish,” she cried back. “Who cares? Just keep that stuff coming. I think I can taste it. There's something wiggling in my throat.”

“I'll try,” I barked, “but I'm beginning to run low. I've got to save a little for next time.”

“Fuck next time.”

“That's what I'm saying, little girl.”

Then, thank goodness, Trudy also began to run low on fuel and her ups and downs became less frequent. She held on more tightly to my shoulders and I knew she was close to losing consciousness. She was sighing like a freshly milked cow and her eyes fluttered.

Then she sat heavily, giving me all her weight on my still firm cock. This final gesture caused a last small squirt to escape from my sack, along my shaft and into her bottom. She felt it and, smiling wearily, she tilted her head in tribute.

“A soldier to the end,” she acknowledged.

“The end, indeed.”

Then she fell back, her upper body disappearing between my legs as my softening penis allowed itself to escape from her bottom. Just before it gave its final gasp and also plunged between my legs I caught a glimpse of the overworked trooper. It was rather brown over its red and blue, but it didn't look dead yet. I wondered if a rest period would bring my forces back to life, ready for more action. At that moment Trudy rolled from me completely, struggling to her knees and crawling slowly, painfully from the room. I must have dozed, through my haze hearing water running somewhere, and then she was back at my side, leaning over me.

“Are you alive?”

“The issue is in doubt.”

She produced a washcloth soaked in warm soapy water and, as my heart went out to this Florence Nightingale, she washed my loins, taking special care to remove every trace of fecal matter from my Long John Silver. She hummed under her breath as she worked, very much the little mother, and I realized that, with her youth, she was already snapping back.

“How's your bottom?”

“Probably as sore as your prick,” she replied at once, her language as blunt as always. I reminded myself never to escort this young lady to the mayor's birthday ball.

“That's sore enough, but it's a good soreness, you understand?”

She smiled, leaning down to kiss me softly on the lips. “Sure, tiger. I understand that this is what living is all about. Who wants to do dumb things like going to work and paying bills? Why can't people just play all the time? I know that's what they want.”

“That isn't realistic. Somebody must work. Somebody must pay. Haven't you ever worked?”

She raised her eyebrows. “At sixteen? Not at anything I'd want to report on an income tax form. The same goes for Buddy. He picks up a little on the side… or maybe I should say on his back, but it's fun, fun, fun all the time. Don't you see the difference?”

I nodded. “All men do, Trudy, but we're trapped in that establishment you've heard so much about lately. We'd all love to smash our alarm clocks, sleep in and live the lives of beachcombers. But…” I ended with a sigh, shrugging. The truth was, I was having a hard time defending the system before this girl's beautiful and simple logic.

“Speaking of beachcombing,” she mused, sitting back on her heels and giving me a panoramic view of her body, “I wonder how the other guys are doing at the pool. Let's go look in on them, huh?”

I thought about that for a minute. Suppose we were to catch them in the act, walk in on Buddy Pipp in the process of pouring it to my wife. Would I stand there and smile like a cuckolded fool, or would I haul off and knock him off the high board?

That wouldn't be fair, I reasoned, because I'd let them go, knowing that was what Amy had wanted and, after all, I'd had my fun without Amy raising hell by storming into the front room. After listening to my lecture for a while longer, I sat up, nerves flexed, muscles relaxed.

“All right, let's go peek.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Still naked as the legendary jaybird who goes around without even feathers to cover his body, we clasped hands and crept out of the living room, headed for the rear patio and the swimming pool.

Slipping through the sliding doors, we stepped out on the patio, pausing behind a thin screen of foliage, some large-leafed stuff that hid our white bodies well enough in the darkness. The pool was beautiful, the blue-green glow from its depths providing the only light in the back.

We strained our eyes for a minute until they became accustomed to the darkness. Then I could see Amy sitting on the pool apron, wearing her brassiere and pants, which were damp. Her hair was streaming down the back of her neck, but her body looked beautiful, even if her ten-dollar coiffure was shot to hell. The glow behind her placed her in soft silhouette, so that every curve showed up in exciting relief.

Buddy was kneeling by her side, also dripping, and he wore a pair of bathing trunks. He was a tall kid, thin as a rail, but as he half turned his body, I saw a pouch between his legs that looked like a bucket of chicken parts under cloth. Christ, I mused, no wonder she'd been mesmerized as he stood at our front door earlier that evening.

Trudy looked up at me. “Let's not interrupt them.”

“Why not?” I whispered, my voice almost as soft as hers.

“I have an idea they haven't done anything but swim. Can you imagine? Give them a few minutes. It looks like the action may be warming up.”

I didn't like what she was saying, but I followed her suggestion, crouching lower behind the foliage and finding a new hole to look through. Trudy curled up at my feet like a puppy, which reminded me of Alexander. I glanced around and there he was, on the far side of the pool, out like a drunk on the morning after.

As we watched, Buddy waddled closer to Amy, still on his knees. He said something very low and I heard Amy laugh, her chin lifting. It was a familiar gesture, one she used on me before we were married, when she was showing me that I was the greatest guy in the world. Something in me sat up in anger, but I forced it back. Pretend they're two strangers, I reminded myself. This doesn't mean a thing.

Amy was waiting for him to make his move, all right, still seated quietly, leaning back on her hands so that her well-stuffed brassiere shot forward like naval cannon looking for targets of opportunity. She left her head high, her eyes on the distant stars, so that her long, white throat was exposed and inviting as hell. If Buddy had the desire to use that equipment between his legs, now was the time.

He must have heard me, for he leaned over her, still balancing himself, planting his mouth on her throat. Even from where we were, maybe thirty feet away, Trudy and I could see the shudder go through her. Amy had been torpedoed below the water line and she was taking water fast.

I sat down hard, rustling the shrubbery, but those two were beyond hearing. Trudy turned to stare at me, her eyes wide, her lips curved with vicarious delight. “What's the matter, Daddy?”

“I can't stand the idea of that brother of yours throwing the blocks to my wife, if you must know.” I made a face. “Call me an old-fashioned guy.”

She shook her golden head. “Don't worry about Buddy. He always gives them something special the first time around, and it doesn't include fucking.”

“Always?” I breathed.

“He's not without experience, Mr. B.”

I settled back to watch the action resume, hoping that her report had been accurate. If I saw him actually trying to stick his… well, I'd leap up and pop him in the mouth. Buddy was shifting his mouth down to Amy's breasts, his face half hidden in the deep valley as her mounds shot skyward. Then he was opening the clasp, managing it far more easily than I'd ever been able to do, and tossing her brassiere into the pool. It floated forlornly, like a friend who had been forgotten.

I heard Trudy's small sound as Amy's breasts surged into view. “Why, she's wonderful. I never saw such a pair.” Her whisper was urgent.

“I know,” I said, my voice dry. “I've been aware of them for some years.”

“Lucky dog.” Impulsively, the little blonde seized my hand and pulled it to her bosom, cupping my fingers over a breast, imploring me to sink them deeply. I obliged.

At the same time, Buddy was lapping Amy's right mound like a hungry pup, his tongue darting out in the half light, and we could even hear his faint slurping. Amy was loving it, her head bobbing, but still pointed toward the heavens. Once or twice she lifted a hand to pat the back of his head in thanks for his services. Her lips opened and I thought I could hear a moan as she wiggled her breast, causing the nipple to twist between his teeth.

He moved to the twin hill and she wiggled this one in anticipation, the pink knob rasping across the faint chin stubble of her partner. This time her cry was distinct and even I could feel the jolting sensation tear through my chest and straight down into my balls.

“Good for you,” my blonde pal whispered and I followed her eyes.

My penis was half erect, making a comeback after its very recent exertion. I was proud of it but, turning to my hand, I realized that it was due to more than mental stimulation. My fingers were still pumping the high hard breasts of my partner and the effect was not only noticeable in my body. She was beginning to breathe harder, her lips parting as she hauled extra air into her lungs. Her breasts added to the fun by starting their fresh swelling and I immediately began to look forward to further adventures.

Our glances went back to the pool apron, where Buddy was down to my wife's belly, which was jumping in and out like a bellows. She'd always had a nervous stomach. Any little thing would set it to trembling, and now it was going crazy. He tried to kiss the navel, but the thing kept hitting him in the face.

He moved still lower and I could see his pursed lips blowing into her pubic brush, making the hairs stir in the breeze. Amy's “oh” of pleasure was clear in the night. He kept on blowing, apparently in no hurry. He was going to have her reduced to a pile of melted gelatin before he moved in for the kill. I glanced down at Trudy.

Her head had come back against my legs and, as she sat a bit straighter, her hair was pushing up under my balls and my semi-rigid staff was lying quietly atop her head. If she felt the heat or the weight, she gave no sign, so I draped my arm over her shoulder and found the breast I'd been neglecting. It greeted me eagerly.

She tried to look up into my face, but the head of my cock slid across her forehead and stabbed her in the eye. Blinking, her eyes running, she said nothing and we returned our interest to the arena on the other side of the bush.

Buddy was still blowing across the rippling field of wheat, making Amy begin to steam, Her hips were wiggling, slipping from side to side on the concrete, slowly easing the elastic of her pants lower on her bottom until the things were barely clinging to her pussy. Buddy ended the agony by gently taking the pants and easing them over her thighs and down her legs. In a second they joined the floating bra in the pool.

He was whispering his lips into my wife's foliage by now, hardly an inch above the place where the tops of her folds were joined. Amy's knees were slipping farther apart and, leaning back on her hands and digging in her heels, she was raising her hips from the apron, shoving her crotch closer to his mouth.

Buddy shifted his attack, moving from the side around to where he was crouched between Amy's knees. He leaned on them, pushing them wide as he crawled in between, moving up to her thighs. He was poised, staring directly into her box, his eyes wide, his lips still pursed for action.

The suspense was something fantastic as Trudy and I held our breaths. I never had realized that Peeping Tomism could be such sheer delight. Trudy was panting as though she were ready to get her own gun and I was like a stone, my penis thudding down on her head each time I moved. Her fingers crept up past her ear until they found my balls and she pinched, adding to their heat.

“Easy,” I warned.

She let go and we returned to the show. Buddy was leaning on Amy's knees, balancing so he could get his face close to her furry triangle. Still in his skimpy trunks, he was revealing his massive pouch, which looked like it could escape from chains if its owner became stimulated sufficiently. I could see, even in the slight light, the complete outline of his penis, which was trying to stand out straight against the bathing trunks. His balls also seemed swollen, half squeezing from the bottom of the trunks so that tortured folds of hairy flesh were oozing along Buddy's thighs.

“He's a man,” I had to admit.

“You bet he is.”

I glanced down at Trudy, allowing my cock to slide over behind her ear, like a monster pencil. “Have you ever had him?”

She looked up at me, turning her face swiftly to peck her lips on my Long John Silver. “Would you think it was funny?”

“I'd think it funny if he'd never tried to rape you, Trudy. Put it that way.”

“Okay, then we've done it and he's a real champion.”

I was jealous for a moment, but the show made me forget. It was getting close to the final act and we sat up in our seats, forgetting ourselves and our rising passion as best we could to concentrate on the work of two experts.

Buddy's mouth was pressing into Amy's fur, his lips parting it, and we could see the gleam of the moist flesh coming through. She was liberally lubricated, ready to pump. He pushed more deeply and her knees fell all the way apart without any further pushing from her friend.

Then, with the swiftness of a speeding bullet, half of the young man's face was lost to our view. He was fully engaged, his tongue doubtless plunged inside Amy to its fullest extent. Amy was reacting like her fingers had been stuck into an aquarium loaded with starving piranha. Her body was moving in a dozen directions at once, heaving, gasping, wiggling, expanding.

Then her hands were on the back of that large, thrusting head, urging it deeper, gripping the hair and hanging on as though she were riding a runaway stallion. He was making muffled sounds of pleasure and Amy tried vainly to reach forward to his hips, seeking doubtless to remove his suit and handle him, but he was too long in the waist, out of reach by inches.

She did the only thing she could, wrapping her arms around that head, locking it into position, while her hips somehow lifted themselves from the concrete. It was a sight for Trudy and me, and we were panting like Baltimore Colt fans sniffing victory over the Green Bay Packers.

With a final great quaking in her loins, Amy was coming, her orgasm rocking them until it seemed that a string of firecrackers was exploding inside their loins. She came again and then again. I'm certain of it. Amy was often a multiple orgasm woman. I've sometimes been able to coax three or four from her in a few minutes.

But at that moment she was finished, letting go and rolling back until she was flat on the paving. Buddy raised his dripping head, heaving great sighs, sucking fresh air into his starved lungs. For a minute or two no one said anything and we waited.

I looked down at Trudy and she looked up at me, shifting her glance to my throbbing dork.

“You're ready again, aren't you?”

I had to agree. I was super-ready.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Crawling stiffly, we retreated several feet back the way we'd come, back to the sliding doors. Then we got up and looked down at our naked bodies, shrugging off any embarrassment we might have felt.

Then we walked boldly forward, out to the pool, chatting and laughing with some force as we went. They heard us at once and Buddy was struggling to get up on his feet, while Amy could only roll to her side, head resting on her forearm, and watch our arrival.

“Hi, kids,” I called, feeling like a fool, but I was driven. My penis was standing out like a battering ram looking for castle doors to peel back.

Trudy looked primed, too, her breasts riding high and jiggling like Wells Fargo strong boxes loaded with bullion. Her cheeks were blowing out with each step and I knew she was feeling the brush of her plump thighs as they swished together, setting up a stimulation she could not for long endure.

We reached their sides and sat back on our haunches, looking foolishly at one another. I pointed at Buddy as much to draw attention away from myself as any other reason.

“How come he's so modest?”

“He was out of reach,” Amy laughed, sitting up and wiggling her fingers.

Buddy knelt before her and she at once worked on the knotted cord just under the waist of his trunks. She worked it loose and pulled hard on the things, finally rolling them over his hips. They went down to his thighs and his cock leaped out like a firehouse Dalmatian when the alarm sounds.

My sense of fair play forces me to give credit where credit is due, and I had to admit the kid was magnificent. He was hung like a grizzly, his cock easily a foot long even when it wasn't fully extended, and his balls were full and firm like two cabbages in a refrigerator sack.

We gasped like a Shakespeare audience and Trudy giggled. “I told you he ate a lot.”

“I can see where it all goes,” I muttered. “Lord, it must cost a fortune to feed that thing.”

Amy was shaking her head. “Son of King Kong. The archaeologists, when they dig at this spot a million years from now, will never believe it.”

“Who needs a million years?” I sputtered. “I can't believe it now. It's got to be made of plastic. That's it. It's a fake.”

“Tear it off, if you can,” Trudy challenged, a trace of family pride in her voice.

Amy and I shook our heads and I began to think. What would happen next? It was obvious we were worked up-all four of us. True, three of us had had orgasms within the last fifteen minutes, but I knew I wasn't through. Amy still had a couple of strong shots left, and as for Trudy, I knew she could go like a rabbit even after we old folks were skin and bones.

But, Jesus, right here together, the four of us? It was shaping up that way and I guess my desire was outstripping my instinct to keep my wife from getting involved with anything dirty. The new morality was here, brother, and it was singing its praises.

Licking my lips, I gazed into each of their faces.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“What's to think about?” Trudy shot back.

Buddy merely grinned and waved his head-both of them, in fact, the large one and the one on his shoulders.

Amy swallowed and turned to me. “Whatever you say, darling.”

My expression turned wry. “And if I said no?”

“I'd do it anyhow.”

“Thanks for telling the truth.”

I looked around in some desperation. “Maybe if we all went into the pool the cool water would help.”

Trudy giggled. “I don't buy it, but we'll try anything you want, professor.”

“All right, into the pool, all of you,” I ordered.

Amy and I watched as the young people scrambled to their feet and leaped over the side with great thumping splashes. When they were still under the surface, Amy said somewhat sadly, “It won't work. Buddy and I just came out after a long swim. I was hotter than when I dove in.”

I nodded. “I know. It's just my last pretense of trying to act like a solid citizen. It's all over. I'm as ready as everybody else, as you can easily see.”

She sprang to her feet, light and graceful, like a startled deer in the forest. Reaching her hands to me, she helped me up and we stood close together for a moment.

“I still love you.” Her words were warm against my ear and my loins responded graciously.

“I appreciate that. It's all right if we can keep sex and our other emotions separate.”

She nodded, her still damp hair brushing my ear. “Now we can join the young people.”

We did, leaping in, hands joined until we bounced lightly on the bottom and split up. For a moment the cool water felt soothing to my crotch and I bobbed to the surface wondering if I didn't have my passion licked. As soon as I saw Trudy on the other side I knew it was a false alarm.

I stared at her, my feet planted on the bottom and she smiled back, her breasts bobbing like creamy white melons on the surface, waiting to be collected into my net. My cock leaped back to attention, again ready to do my bidding or to take the law into its own hands.

Crossing the pool, I stood before the short blonde, the water hitting me at the waist and her just below those floating boobs. “You look good,” I admitted.

“You, too, pops.”

“Don't call me 'pops.'”

“I don't do it because you're so old. I like to call fellows I like by pet names.” She tilted her head in her cute way, a Debbie Reynolds with thirty-two eye teeth. “Won't you be my pet again?”

“Hey, don't forget us,” Buddy blurted in one of his rare speaking parts. “It's swap time, isn't it? That's what you promised, Sis.”

“Shush,” his older sister chided. “We'll do whatever Mr. and Mrs. Brady want. After all, we're on their payroll.”

Amy joined us and we all stood, the water lapping at our waists, although Buddy was exposed almost to his hips and that giant cock was treading water like the Loch Ness Monster. After a minute I shrugged. “Do what you want. We'll go along.”

Buddy brightened at once. “Good. I haven't gotten my gun all night. It's my turn.”

I stared into his large, simple face, trying to read those spaniel eyes. “All right. Name your poison.”

“Mrs. Brady.”

“That's swapping?” I complained.

“Later, maybe,” he replied, “but I'd sure like to finish with her.”

Trying to make the best of a bad situation, I half bowed and swept my arm toward my wife. “If she's willing, please be my guest.”

“I think,” Amy breathed, “I can stand it. I'll be brave.”

She took his hand and they moved to the side of the pool, where Amy placed her back against the tile and ran her arms along the edge, gripping until she was solidly planted. “Fire when ready,” she gurgled, unable to conceal the expectation in her voice.

Buddy lurched forward, his dork straight out like the deadly prow of a submarine. I stared at it, mentally measuring it, seeing it was perhaps a foot and a half in length and as large around as a baseball bat. It was little marked by veins or other coloring, sticking pretty much to white. The knob was slightly blue, but I figured that was the cool water.

The commotion had roused Alexander and the dog came around the edge of the pool during our conversation, sniffing as he walked, his tail wagging because we had company. He went straight to where Amy's back was against the side and paused for a moment, still sniffing. Then his muzzle was on her shoulder and he drooled a little, until Amy shoved his massive head away. “Get lost, pooch. Not now, please.”

“He smells the sex,” Trudy exclaimed. “They do that, you know.”

I blinked at her, somehow angry. “What do you mean 'smells the sex'?”

“Look at him.” She pointed.

We all looked and, since he was now in profile, we could see a red pencil-like thing thrusting forward from between his hind legs. Even Alexander was looking around and under his belly at the thing, as though it was the first time in his young life that it had come into prominence.

“I'll be darned,” Amy blurted. “Look at what's happened to our cute little puppy dog.”

“Puppy my eye,” I snorted. “He's become a menace to public morality and safety, although I should imagine he's outgrown the need for a baby-sitter, now that he's all dog.”

Buddy's breaking voice interrupted our biological study of the canine cock. “Can we get back to us?”

We turned to him, seeing that his shaft was the size of an automobile piston, only longer. Christ, what a hunk of salami that boy owned. He certainly wasn't behind the door when the horsecock was handed out.

Amy nodded, still in position, and he moved in. She lifted her feet and they floated before her with ease, while she gripped the side, steady as an anchored buoy. Then Buddy was against her, his rod stabbing along her thighs and then into the fur of her lower belly. There didn't seem to be a prayer of a chance for him to actually get that thing inside, but I envied him. He had a wonderful future with the ladies and, someday, he'd be the drawing room toast of the civilized world.

“I… I don't know,” Amy murmured, her eyes fixed on the monster as though it were a pet who might bite if she were to pat its head.

“It hasn't really hurt anyone yet,” Buddy maintained. “Lots of girls like to yell about it, but they all manage, somehow, and they sure like to come back for seconds.”

“Braggart of a young pup, isn't he?” I snapped to Trudy.

“He doesn't believe in hiding his talent.”

“How could he? It would take an awning draped around his crotch to hide that boar's head.”

The young blonde giggled, stepping to my side so that our hips brushed right at water level. Casually, her arm went around me, the hand hanging down across my buttocks, where her fingers lightly kneaded the flesh. She knew how to handle any situation, it seemed, and my anger at what Buddy was about to do subsided at once.

We watched the live action once again, seeing Buddy lower his sights as Amy's ankles went around his waist, pulled him closer and allowed the tip of his head to shove into the spread folds between her legs. She took the rest of the head with surprising ease and I gasped out loud as she received several inches of his plump shaft with his next thrust.

“How can you do that?”

She looked over at me. “Maybe now you know why I sometimes dream about other men,” she laughed, obviously teasing, even though my ego was sinking in the west. “I guess I always had some in reserve.”

“I should guess so,” I agreed.

Buddy continued to uncoil his piston into her loins and the thing sank deeper and deeper, until I was certain it was going out her backside and into a hole in the tile. Yet she took even more and before long he was down to his last two or three inches, his heavy balls already beginning to bulge against her lower thighs.

We were gathered around like guests watching a moon landing on the television set, our eyes wide, mouths open, small gasps of astonishment coming from our throats. Trudy never neglected me through it all and I figured she was smart enough to keep me interested so that I wouldn't flare up and paste the big goon in the mouth.

Her fingers were going underwater to whisper and swirl along the crack of my ass and I had to admit she was doing a good job of keeping me under control. I wouldn't have pulled away from that hand for all the boll weevils in a diseased cotton patch.

Buddy slammed his hips forward for the last time and he was home free, in to the hilt, his balls smashed into her crotch until I thought he might try to tuck them inside, too. Amy's hips and bottom-what I could see of the latter, at least-actually seemed to be distended and I wasn't surprised. I figured she must have absorbed five pounds of hot meat loaf into her middle and that was enough to fill out anybody.

Amy wore a strange expression, like Mona Lisa getting her gun, I guess you might say. At any rate, it was difficult to read that smile, but there wasn't any mystery about what was turning it on. She was a woman fulfilled, all right, and any more would have split her into two parts, I'm certain.

They began their stroking, but it wasn't very rhythmic because he was in so tightly. There was very little play and I imagined that he would take her insides with him if he were to pull out with any great force. As it turned out, there wasn't much need for moving around, because they both appeared to be on the cliff of a climax within a few seconds.

Amy's smile turned into a happy grin and then she save out a thin, high wail as her rump undulated, rolling against the tile like ocean waves. She was coming hard and strong, for the second time that night, still getting her gun before the cave man went off. She was a hair-trigger woman, all right.

Buddy-boy wasn't left completely behind, however; his balls were swelling until I thought they'd burst through their blue sack and float across the pool. Then he was blasting and Trudy and I could see the shock waves radiate across the water from their shuddering loins.

Together, her legs locked around his hips and behind his back, they came again and again and my envy was growing. It didn't help when Alexander came back and, at the precise moment that Amy was getting her rocks off, licked the back of her neck, obviously aroused. While my wife was still in the middle of her climax, the dog's long red tongue went under her ear and then around to her throat as she lay her head back on the apron.

Christ, if he'd wanted to, he could have French-kissed the woman.

“As they became spent, their bodies sagging so that I began to fear Amy might slip under the surface to a watery but peaceful grave, I became aware that Trudy was more insistent. She had navigated the crack of my bottom and now she was down in the hairs, far below the surface, coming between my legs to pinch the rear base of my balls.

“Ouch,” I whispered, dragging my eyes from the others to look at her.

“That doesn't really hurt, does it?” she purred, her eyes half closed. She was turning it on good, her bouncy boob jabbing my upper arm.

“I can stand it,” I admitted.

“Come on. Let's have some fun of our own. I hate spectator sports.”

Taking my hand she pulled me toward the deep end, and soon it was impossible to walk. We swam quietly, our arms below the surface, occasionally cupping a breast or a cock as we paddled. In a moment we paused under the diving board and Trudy looked up.

“Can you reach the end?”

Working easily, I let my body sink and then I bobbed straight up, pumping strongly, and I got high enough to catch the end of the board with both hands and hold on, bobbing, the water halfway between my hips and knees. We looked down at me, Trudy paddling all the while, seeing that my penis was still straight out. She'd been teasing me ever since we'd left the house a good half hour before and the ache was getting tiresome. I told her so.

“All right, hang on, partner.”

She swam to me, wrapping her arms around my shins and pulling herself up until her face was above my knees. My toes dug into her breasts and I located her nipples, wiggling until she almost fell off with a tickling series of giggles. Working higher, she soon had her face just below my crotch and my organ lay heavily on the top of her head. As she pulled herself up again, it was bent back in dangerous fashion, so she ducked her face to one side.

After staring into its blind eye for a long minute, she looked up at me. “All set?”

“God, yes.”

Across the pool the other two, Buddy and my ever-loving wife, were looking on, like spectators at Wimbledon.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Trudy Pipp pursed her red lips and kissed me on the head of my cock.

It was a glorious sensation, reminding me of the night we'd met, when she'd given me a similar courtesy, and I hoped she would linger at her task longer this time. The nerves were jumping for joy from north to south and from the Maine of my head to the California of my big toes.

“Welcome, welcome,” I breathed.

The pretty blonde smiled like an angel, but she would never win her wings in heaven, until creatures of the new morality were to be allowed through the gates. “Ah, so you like me again.”

“I like you still.”

She looked back. “Do you mind, Mrs. Brady?” Gad, such consideration.

“Would it matter if I did?” my wife called, her arm draped around Buddy's shoulders. His hand was coming out of her armpit to cup a breast in his long fingers.

“No,” I called, interrupting the conversation. Then hissing to Trudy, I continued, “Cool it with them and get going, please. Otherwise I'll make a hell of a mess before anybody's ready.”

“Okay, bwana.”

She kissed me again, her rosy lips full and warm on my head, sending out their tingling message once again. My groin ached as I pumped every available dram of blood into my penis, making it strain to burst from its stretched skin. My balls were terribly anxious to unload and I was having trouble keeping them from disobeying orders.

“Ah…”

Her lips parted and slid over the tip of my head, allowing it inside to rub across her front teeth. Such a joy to feel those little hard posts bump in and out of the slit at my very foremost part. Then the teeth were moving and my head went farther inside, but she checked me, biting down, her grip holding my straining flesh until I feared I would go off before she got me seated.

Trudy was an expert, and she let go, pausing until I was able to cool a bit. Then she took me again, popping the entire head inside for the next thrill. There it was, the rasping tip of her tongue, darting across my knob, sending a code of ecstasy darting into my guts so that I wanted to dump everything and take my profits at once. But she prevailed on me to hold out a little longer.

I tried, but it wasn't easy. Then something was happening over my head. The board was bobbing and, for a moment, I feared that the others were coming out for an overhead view. But Buddy and Amy were still feeling one another up at the far end of the pool.

Something was making my fingers wet and they began to slip. Alexander! That damned dog stuck his head over the end of the plank and then went back to tickling my hands. They were losing their grip and I called on Trudy to hurry up.

She obliged, taking me all the way into her throat, ramming her head forward like a woodpecker, so that I feared she would choke. But she was a strong girl and her throat muscles sucked on my penis, pulling it until it was wedged halfway down the route leading to her stomach.

“I'm letting go,” I cried, and I meant it in more ways than one.

She clutched my legs in a bear hug, holding on for dear life, as my fingers slipped and we thundered into the water. In the same instant I began to come, my penis convulsing, sending shock waves along its length and then shooting gay sperm into her belly.

We were below the surface, bumping lazily along the bottom, my hips jerking, her throat taking every drop as I continued to expend myself totally. This time I gave her every available drop, holding back nothing, until I knew it would be some time before I could tip up my tank once again. It was raw oysters and milkshakes for this boy for a few days.

I continued to give her a few more stiff jolts before it was over. Just in time, I pushed off from the bottom and we broke the surface, our bodies parting as we floated on our backs, gasping for air. Faint applause came to our ears and we waved to the audience before going back to our rest period.

I looked over at Trudy, seeing her breasts breaking the surface like twin conning towers, the nipples her red radar warning system. Most women would have gone soft and deflated after such exertion, but my blonde bombshell was as perky as ever, her body seemingly ready for anything else I might be able to manage — which couldn't be much, I assure you.

At last we floated to the side and, struggling, I got up the ladder and then turned to help Trudy along the vertical route. We fell back on the apron, puffing, while the others emerged and dropped to our sides.

“You were marvelous, darling,” Amy purred, her lips close to my ear.

“You're not angry?”

“After what I've done? Don't be silly.”

All the same, I was beginning to feel guilty, so I sat up, trying vainly to cover myself and embarrassed for Amy's nakedness. “I guess it's time to end the party.”

There were no protests. They were good kids about it, getting to their feet and acting rather shy themselves, their arms draped along their bodies. “We can walk home,” Trudy assured me. “It's only a short way, well, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

Trudy went into the house with me while the others put their clothes on around the pool. Soon we were all dressed and trooped to the door. Halfway there, the blonde put her hand to her lips.

“Oh, I forgot something outside. Come on, will you Mr. Brady?”

We left Amy and Buddy just inside the door and, when we were in the rear of the house, Trudy stopped me. “I guess it's time to pay up. Don't you think we deserve a tip for tonight? I mean, after all, your ordinary baby-sitter wouldn't provide all the built-in attractions that my brother and I…”

“All right, all right,” I grumbled, taking her arm and leading her into my den, which was the spare bedroom with a desk in the corner.

She waited at a discreet distance in the half light while I opened a drawer and took out a metal cash box we used for household funds between trips to the bank. I rummaged until I found the stack of large bills, palming one and closing the door. Back in the hallway I handed it over and we glanced at it before she tucked it into her bodice.

“Wowee,” she exclaimed, looking at the hundred note. Then she frowned up at me. “Are you sure this is all right? I mean, won't Mrs. Brady get sore?”

My stomach lost its bottom when I saw the size of the bill, but I couldn't let her badger me that way, so I waved a hand. “Of course it's all right. I handle the financial affairs in this house.”

She snickered, hugging my arm, her crotch catching a grip on my hip so I could feel her through the thin skirt. “Lordy, if I have any more affairs with you, I sure hope they're financial, Mr. Brady. You're a real spender.”

“Let's get back. They'll be wondering.”

Amy was still at the door with her gangling pal and we said our chorus of goodnights. I dug into my pocket and took out a ten spot, handing it to Trudy. “This will take care of your baby-sitting chores, young lady, with something to spare for being so cooperative.”

Amy was taking this in, as I'd planned, and she half raised her arm, but then lowered it. When they were gone, tripping down the front walk like two children off to school before sunrise, we closed the door and she leaned her back against it, her eyes fluttering.

“Some evening.”

“Agreed.”

“I almost stopped you from giving her that ten-dollar bill. While you were gone I couldn't help digging into my purse and giving Buddy a twenty. He was hinting that he was close to being broke.”

I sighed, shielding my eyes, hoping she wouldn't see the light wink out in their depths. “Oh, well, easy come, easy go.”

“It's time for us to go,” she purred, coming forward to take my arm. “On to bed. I'm ready to collapse.”

“I know the feeling.”

We dragged ourselves up the hall, every bone aching, saying nothing. In the master bedroom we slowly undressed, letting our clothing lay as it fell piece by piece from our bodies. She was a long time in the bathroom and then I followed. When I returned, the bedroom was dark and I slid under the covers quietly, figuring she was already drifting off to sleep.

Amy turned, pressing her body against mine and I could feel a shaking as though she might be crying. “Was I so terrible, darling? Please tell me.”

“Hell, no, I thought you were magnificent. Imagine, taking all that size…”

“I'm not talking about my sex prowess, dummy. I'm thinking about morals. Do I have any left?”

I patted her soft hair. “As many as your husband. I suppose it's all right, as long as we sin at the same rate, then nobody can afford to get sore.”

“I really hadn't intended to let myself get carried away, even after he hit me with that look of his when they first came into the house. But that Buddy Pipp… Lord, he turned my knees to butter. My breasts began to swell and the nipples were crying out for his touch. Between my legs there was a fire I couldn't put out.”

My voice was dry. “Kindly spare me the blow-by-blow details.”

She was silent for a moment. “Speaking of blowing, Trudy did a glorious job on you from the end of the diving board. Did she swallow it all?”

“I presume so. I saw no spermatozoa wiggling their way about the pool.”

A shudder ran through her. “How long will it be before we're ready for sex with each other once again?”

I didn't answer, knowing my bag was flat as a beggar's pocketbook. “Honey?” “Hm?”

“I want you to know that, no matter how excited I get when he sticks his tongue or his organ into my body, I always hold something back. I know that without love to go with it, I can't get pregnant by anyone. Only with you do I combine sex and love in the same instant.”

I snorted. “We're not ringing any gongs, either. You ought to check that recipe once again.”

“You know what I mean, don't you? There's a big difference between love and sex. When he had me all excited, his head between my knees, his tongue darting up into me…”

“I told you, no details, please.” I was feeling grouchy all over again, thinking of that moose violating my property.

“I just want you to know, so that next time things will go as smoothly.”

“Next time?” My body stiffened, except for my penis, naturally.

“Well, I presumed there would be other times. After all, we're still going to need baby-sitters.”

I made another ugly sound. “For that whorehound of a dog? Did you see him at the pool, licking your throat and my hands with a six-inch bolt of lightning sticking out of his crotch? Why should he need a sitter, for Christ's sake?”

She didn't answer for a minute. “He could still be afraid of the dark. There's no particular connection between sexual prowess and physical courage.”

“Thank you, doctor,” I rasped, turning my back to her. “I'll think that one over in my dreams.”

“Darling? Don?”

I didn't answer, instead lying quietly for several minutes before drifting into a troubled sleep.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was late when I opened my eyes and the sun was streaming in the window, hitting me in the face. I turned slowly, still aching from crotch to lips, and looked over at Amy.

She was lying on her side, facing me, her face soft and beautiful in repose. There wasn't a harsh line; her expression was angelic, as though she'd spent the night baking apple pies in grandmother's kitchen.

Instead, she been screwed, bored and blown by a youngster ten years younger than she, as I'd worked over-and been worked over by-a girl eleven years my junior. Ah, such is the new way of life, I sighed, rolling my eyes. I wondered if that was what the hippies called doing our thing.

Today, I decided, was to be a day of reckoning, a day of soul-searching, a day to decide what was to become of us. My bad dreams had given me an obvious warning: This sort of conduct couldn't be allowed to continue or we'd go down the drain, as far as morality was concerned.

Gently, I blew into her hair and it fluffed softly. She'd moved so little during the night that it was hardly disturbed, its waves still shining and neat, just as if she'd combed her hundred strokes before falling into bed. I blew again and her eyes fluttered. Her brain was probably working me into her dreams to help her sleep, but I persisted.

At last her eyes opened, blinked once, and then looked into mine. Her lips curved in a smile and, for the first time, I could see that there were tired lines around her mouth. It had been a taxing evening.

“Good morning.” My voice was brisk, businesslike.

“Hi.” She sounded lazy and relaxed, as though she could turn her back to me and sleep five more hours.

“Rise and shine, lady. Move along, or I'll have to run you in.”

“Get lost, pig,”

She staggered from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, where I heard her brushing her teeth. Returning, she fell across the bed again and I replaced her before the sink, looking at myself in the mirror. I didn't like what I saw. The skin was dark and puffy under my eyes and there was a line coming down from my nose to each corner of my mouth that hadn't been there yesterday morning.

Washed up, I wandered back into the bedroom and stood over her until she reached for me, catching my wrist, and pulling me heavily to her side. We bounced and then she was kissing me, her lips very gentle as though she were bruised and she was sparing them further pain.

I broke the kiss, knowing it was stale, knowing there wasn't much inside me to give. “Cool it,” I muttered, rolling to my back and fumbling for a cigarette at the bedside table. I got it lighted and it tasted terrible, so I stubbed it out at once.

Sitting up, I blinked around the place, hearing a thumping in the corridor. Then Alexander trotted into the room, his heavy tail swishing as he planted his muzzle between my legs.

“And you, you horny old goat,” I snapped, tapping the top of his head. His tail continued to swish.

Amy sat up by my side, her hip heavy against mine, her breast crouched against my arm. I looked down at her naked body and she looked at mine but, beautiful as she was, I could feel my genes rolling over and going back to sleep. There just was no interest in sex.

“Wasn't he funny last night?” she remarked.

“Who, Buddy?”

“No, dope, Alexander. You know, that long red thing.”

“What did you expect, a silver bullet? Dogs like to have their share of nookie, you know. All the males on this earth do.”

She shuddered, hugging her breasts until they popped out and lay atop her folded arms, their nipples looking at me in invitation. “Don't say things like that.”

“Why not? It's the truth. I need it, Alexander needs it, Buddy needs it and, for added pleasure, both you and Trudy need it. It makes for a cozy social life, especially if you throw a Sam and Alice as a side order for the same price.”

Somehow offended and angry, Amy got up and went to the closet. Alexander followed and, as she paused to look over her wardrobe, his muzzle tucked itself into the crack of her bottom. For a moment she stiffened, doing nothing, and I waited, jaw agape, as the German shepherd shifted his snout lower and dug deeper, shoving hard. Then Amy was whirling and shoving him away, shaking her fingers.

“Nasty doggie. We don't do that.”

She looked up at me, flushing down between her breasts, and I noticed that her nipples were a brighter color than they had been a minute before, and their points were firmer. Christ, could it really be?

She turned back to the closet, selected a pair of pants and pulled them on. Then she wiggled into stretch capris and pulled a striped T-shirt over her head, mussing her hair. Her last chore was slipping into a pair of sandals.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” I asked, still sitting naked on the bed.

She looked back over her shoulder, saucy as hell. “I don't believe so.”

“What's the matter, have brassieres gone out of style?”

Together we looked at the thrusting points made by her nipples and the generous curves of her complete breasts. It was true that Any didn't need a brassiere for lift and the damned things only served to hold her in. Even so, after the night before, a no-bra day seemed a little rugged.

“Everybody's discarding them these days,” she sniffed. “It's the fashion. Besides, I'm not going out of the house, so you don't need to worry about me being raped on the street.”

I snorted. “You doing the raping would be more like it, if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you,” she hissed, glaring, hands on her nubile hips. “What were you doing last night, singing in the church choir?”

I rasped something neither of us could understand and she marched out of the room. In a minute I could hear her making noises in the kitchen, so I pulled on a shirt and a comfortable old pair of slacks. Old loafers were kind to my feet, too, and they slapped as I shuffled down the hall. In the kitchen I sat at the table by the window and looked out into the back yard, where the pool shimmered like a turquoise jewel.

It brought the memories all over again. Could it really have happened? Could Buddy Pipp have banged my wife against the side? Could he have blown her shortly before as she sat and tugged on his hair? Could I have hung like a devilish Christ from the cross, suspended from a diving board while Trudy Pipp sucked my brain cavity clean?

Scowling, I turned away and watched her at the stove, where she stood with a hissing frying pan in her hand, and the rich smell of bacon and eggs wafted to my nostrils. She had a dandy shape, all right, and I was a fool for allowing anyone else to play around with it.

She caught me looking, having turned while I was dreaming. “Well?”

“Just staring, that's all.”

“Staring at what?”

“Your ass, if you must know.”

“Horny old goat.”-

“Guilty, your honor.”

She put a steaming plate before me and sat down across the table, We ate in silence for ten minutes and I discovered I had the appetite of a squad of Marines and the more I ate the more I wanted. Amy gave me seconds all around and I must have had a quart of coffee.

Later we lighted up and sat back with deep sighs. “You're refueling,” she murmured, nodding at my clean plate.

“Looks that way. Old men aren't accustomed to such strenuous exercise.”

Her eyes were dead serious as she leaned forward, staring into my face. “Don, tell me how you really feel. Was last night as awful as I remember?”

I nodded. “Worse. I'd hate to see the replay on tape, coach.”

She shuddered, dragging on her cigarette, letting the smoke curl into her nostrils and then exhaling to one side. “We can't let that happen again.”

“No. Never. It was a bad scene, Amy. Bad all the way through. It could lead to even worse events.”

“What on earth could be worse?”

I fixed her with a steely gaze. “We could get hooked on that sort of fun. Plenty of couples have and they wind up in divorce court or making an arrangement.”

“They sleep with everybody except each other?”

“You got it, baby. That's not going to happen to us. You're all hot to get yourself pregnant and that's just dandy, but I don't need any help from any teen-age giant.”

“But that isn't why I…”

“I know,” I interrupted, my voice gruff, “but we've got each other and that's enough. We're finished with screwing around with those kids. Is that clear?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What about Alexander? Suppose he needs a sitter.”

“We'll get a little old lady… or better yet a little old man.”

We smoked quietly after that, each lost in our own thoughts, and so it was for the remainder of the morning. I decided to get some work done in the den, instead of running down to the office, and Amy went into the yard where I could hear her snipping roses.

While I was in the middle of balancing the accounts for the Peerless Lumber Company, the phone rang and it was Sam. He was working too, and he asked me several questions about the business. When that was cleared up he got down to the monkey business.

“You remember that little matter I brought up last night?” His voice was wary, as though he were afraid I'd explode all over the place.

“It's not easy to forget.”

“Did you talk it over with Amy?”

“I told her what you had on your mind. She's not too bright about that sort of fooling around, you know.” This was a test line I'd tossed out to see if he bit on it. He might know better than I how much Amy had fooled around. But he didn't tumble and I felt better, still hoping that my wife had gone bad only in the past twenty-four hours.

“What's your decision?”

Clearing my throat, I took on a senatorial tone. “We are not interested in your proposal at this time.”

“Then you're not closing the door altogether.”

“Well, that remains to be seen.” I wasn't being as strong as I'd sounded in my earlier morality lecture to Amy. “The situation is in doubt.”

His sigh came over the wires. “All right, partner, but you know where we are. Christ, that Alice keeps after me to find her some fresh meat. Can you beat that? The woman thinks I'm impotent and she rubs it in by wanting me to fix her up with our friends. A bitter pill, I can tell you.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you impotent?”

“Hell, no. Just because I can't pop my rocks every-time she'd like, she thinks I'm losing my steam. It's just too many years with the same old pair of legs, if you get my point. She's impotent enough around me, as far as that goes. We both need something new. Outside experience.”

“Good luck.”

“But not with you.”

“Not at this time.”

His sigh came just before he hung up and I stared at the instrument for several minutes. Was I getting hooked on sex outside the home? Why didn't I flatly tell him no, instead of horsing around with words? Not only was I interested in sexing it up with a flying bomb like Trudy, but now I was seriously considering trade-sies with Sam and Alice. Jesus, the next thing we knew I'd be propositioning the meter maids around the office downtown.

Come to think of it, there was one sergeant whose ass stuck out real fine when she was on the saddle of her motor bike, Shaking my head, I tossed my work aside and left the desk. Concentration was impossible with such erotic thoughts buzzing around in my head.

That afternoon we climbed into our bathing suits and settled around the pool, reading, having a drink, nibbling on something light and not fattening. I kept stealing glances over the top of my book at Amy, who was looking tremendous in a red bikini.

The thing set off her skin in spectacular fashion, accenting her golden tones and bringing out a chestnut sheen in her hair. She was lying on her stomach on the warm concrete, reading a woman's magazine, her feet idly dangling above her thighs, swaying back and forth. I could see her head-on, looking down into her bra, seeing the deep division between her breasts and the angle that accented the curve of her bottom.

It was quite a sight.

“You're looking at me.”

“You bet your sweet one I am,” I said, my voice gruff. “In that outfit you offer the best excuse I know for not playing around with anyone else.”

“You're loaded too, partner.” She pointed.

I looked down at my crotch, where things had been happening without my knowing. I'd come back to life, ready for more action, my snake uncoiled and pushing against my suit so that I carried a full sack of marbles in plain view.

“I'll be damned. It must have been the vitamins in that hearty breakfast,” I exclaimed.

“Whatever it was, it's catching.”

“You feel it, too?”

She curved her lips, her dazzling teeth breaking into view in the sunlight. “I think we can keep each other happy without resorting to outside agitators, don't you?”

I got up and hobbled to her side, dropping to my knees and running my hands over her back, masseur fashion. “You bet we can, honey, starting right now.”

“Go, brother. Go, sister. Everybody go.”

Working slowly, I kneaded her back, loving the feel of the sun-baked skin. It had a clean yet slightly oily scent and I could feel it loosen as her muscles relaxed under my insistent fingertips. I did a lazy and thorough job, working from her neck to the low-slung band of her bikini, not missing a muscle or a rib all the way.

“You're an expert.”

“Ah, so you've relaxed.”

“Uh huh,” she said lazily, her resting on her arms. “Relaxed but getting up tight in some ways. You know what I'm talking about, tiger.”

“Admit you're hot.”

“All right. I'm hot.”

“You do want to do it with me.”

“As Mr. Hemingway would say, I wish to lie with you, Roberto.”

“That's lay, not lie, rabbit.”

“Don't start getting smutty about it,” she snapped.

“He called her rabbit, I didn't.”

She giggled. “Bunnies do have fun, I guess.”

“Come on, roll over and I'll show you what real fun is all about.”

Her head rolled from side to side on her arms. “No, I'm a cold concrete statue and you've got to bring me to life.”

“That's a kid's game.”

“So? We're both under thirty.”

“Statues are supposed to stand up straight.”

“I'm a reclining statue. Take me as you find me, master.”

I wanted to take her and I knew it would be a sound thing if we could make love right away. It would help to turn off our memories of the night before and those two juvenile delinquents. If we were really finished with sampling sweets outside the family circle, it was time to prove it.

Again I kneaded her back, unsnapping the band of her bra as I did so and leaning hard against her shoulder blades. She took my weight easily, grunting in satisfaction and making other small noises that were hinting at a different kind of euphoria.

My hands drifted down her spine, counting the row of vertebrae one by one. With each little twist of my knuckle there was a twitching in her feet and I didn't know if I was manipulating her nervous system or if she were merely excited by my touch.

I reached the waist and went lower, out over the first curve of her buttocks until I approached the band of her bikini. Lord, but those things rode low, revealing acres of beautiful flesh in the process.

“You got a good butt, kid.”

“Your English is terrible,” she complained, but I knew she was eating it up. She loved it when I told her about herself. “Tell me about myself.”

“You've got a duff that could move nations, open frontiers and shake the moon from its orbit, if you shifted your pratt in the right way. Your waist is as thin as a beggar's wallet. Your knockers are like barrage balloons, always there, always ready, a safe haven for those in need of a place to hide and keep warm.”

“No. They're for you only.”

“Good. I was testing you.”

“No more talk.”

“All right.” I began to work at the knot at her hip, loosening her bottom garment so that my sea nymph could parade for me as she sometimes did. I had almost worked the first knot loose when the ringing came from the kitchen.

“It's the phone,” she wailed.

“Screw the phone.”

“It might be important.”

I sighed, blinking, shaking my head sadly. “All right. Go take the message and I'll mix us fresh drinks, okay?”

She sprang up, catching her bra and resnapping it. As she hurried inside she tugged at the knot on her hip so that her pants wouldn't fall away completely.

I followed slowly, knowing that the phone was bad news. We'd had our chance to be together again and now it was blown.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I wandered into the kitchen while she was in the corner, standing by the wall phone, the receiver tucked under her hair. Stopping, I watched her watching me as she spoke.

“Oh, I'm surprised to hear from you again so soon. Yes, it was a… well, a different sort of night, at least for my husband and me. You would? Well, we hadn't planned on going out again soon, but one can't be too prepared, I suppose. If you'd really like to talk about it… When? Goodness, that isn't much notice. No, we're not doing anything special…”

My heart sank. I thought we were doing plenty special, but I was wrong.

“Very well. We'll be here. Yes, that's fine.”

Amy dropped the receiver on the hook and crossed the kitchen to face me. “I'm sorry, honey.”

“They're coming over, aren't they? Right now. Trudy and that stud-horse brother of hers.”

She nodded. “I found I couldn't say no, even though I wanted to. I'm a terrible person, I suppose, but something came over me, especially when she put him on the line for a minute.”

“Presumably they're coming to discuss baby-sitting chores, I take it.”

Again she nodded. “We both know why they're really coming.”

“Christ haven't they had enough? What are their crotches made of, spring steel?” I blew out my cheeks.

Amy sighed, looking around. “I suppose we should be getting ready.”

“Then our statue game is over before it gets started, and I'm not going to mix any fresh drinks.”

She made a face. “Not for us, you're not. Come on, they'll be over here before we can get in and out of the bathroom, if we don't hurry.”

“Do we have to change?”

She looked at my trunks and then down at her bikini. “I don't see why. We can take them out to the pool where it's cool and sunny.”

On the way to our bedroom, I kept muttering. “I don't like the idea of being near a swimming pool with them again. Not after that diving board party last night, By the way, where's Alexander?”

“In the back yard, I suppose, why?”

“He'll be pleased to know his old friends are coming back to visit, that horny mutt. Why don't we get him a female of his own before he hops into bed with you some night?”

“Stop that filthy talk,” she snapped, disappearing into the bathroom.

After that I could feel our excitement mounting as we hurried about, tidying things, getting out soft and hard things to drink, making small sandwiches and generally laying on a food and drink spread that would astonish Onassis.

I was ready to admit that I was looking forward to seeing Trudy as much as Amy wanted Buddy. I was just plain hot, brother, and even though I was proud, I was worried. I'd been wondering if I could get up the following day after such an orgy and, with my wife, I'd barely begun to stir. But the prospect of Trudy's arrival had me distended like a rubber hose stiff with water pressure.

The same situation was driving Amy close to a frenzy as she scurried about. Her eyes were wide and bright and she continually licked her lips, as though she were actually drooling at the prospect of having that two-foot salami shoved into her belly a second time within twenty-four hours.

Finally everything was ready and we paused, looking at each other, grinning sheepishly. “I'm ready, aren't you?”

“Of course I am. I hate to admit it, but variety really is adding spice.”

“But we still love each other.”

“Like a Christian loves his church, honey.”

We kept talking that way for five minutes, trying vainly to reassure each other that, even though we were aching to explode our juices around someone else's sex organs, it had nothing to do with our deep and abiding love for one another.

Bullshit, brother. I knew down in my gut that we were sailing into shoal-filled waters, taking a risk of driving our personal lives on the rocks. It would be impossible to sex it up with others day after day and still pretend that everything was all right around the house at mealtimes.

Even so, I was as helpless as she. I was hooked. I wanted Trudy's legs wrapped around me in the worst way and I couldn't wait to shoot my wad into that pussy of hers.

That must have been why I beat Amy in the race to answer the door when the bell sounded.

The crowd on the porch looked like a bunch of kids lined up to break their way into the drag races. There were four of them and they seemed to fill the doorway as they moved forward, all grinning ear to ear.

Along with Trudy and her gangling brother, there was another young man who was a couple of inches taller than Buddy, but built about the same way. He had a healing case of acne to go with his mop of blond hair and bell-bottom pants to go with his wild-flowered shirt and beads.

By his side was someone dressed exactly the same, except that it was a full foot or more shorter and, for its sake, I hoped it was a girl. Later events were to bear out my fond hopes.

We stood aside as they came trooping in, chattering among themselves like a bunch of women at an outdoor market. Almost incidentally, Trudy turned to Amy and me, waving her hand.

“Kids, these are the Bradys. Good folks. You'll like them. Mr. Brady, Mrs. Brady, this is Johnny and”- she pointed at the small one-"that's Mary Ellen.”

“How do you do,” Amy replied, her nose going up in the air. She was mirroring my feeling, for neither of us had planned on something like this. We'd wanted some private action. But now… well.

I nodded, closing the door behind them. “Come on in. We're having a little pool party.” Then to Trudy, I went on, “I don't suppose your friends will be able to stay.”

“Oh, sure,” she chirped. “We brought them along because they wanted to see your groovy place. Hey, bathing suits. Too bad we didn't remember ours.”

Buddy giggled behind a massive hand. “Maybe after a little while we won't need them.”

I cleared my throat, shooting glances at the newcomers, trying to remember their names. “I'm wondering… That is, we hadn't counted on…”

“Oh, don't do anything special for Mary Ellen and Johnny. They're just ordinary guys. They'll like whatever you've got in the house.”

“Damned white of them,” I muttered.

Alexander came bounding into the room, his tongue hanging out a foot, and the young people called to him and lavished attention on the dog.

“He's a neat dog,” Trudy exclaimed, her eyes wide as she showed him off to Mary Ellen and Johnny. “I spent two nights with him.”

“I had a night with him, too,” Buddy chimed in. “He's a funny one. There's a long red thing that sticks out under his belly.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes, and Amy turned pale, her knuckles to her teeth.

Johnny, looking at the dog and then staring possessively about the front room, blurted, “Hey, you guys didn't mess around with him, did you? I've heard it can be fun, doing it that way with mutts.”

Trudy shook her head. “Besides, Alexander isn't a mutt.” She turned to my wife. “Mrs. Brady, you don't have anything to eat, do you? We're starving. Haven't had a bite since breakfast.”

“Come over here, little girl,” Johnny was intoning, a leer on his bumpy face, “and I'll give you a bite.”

Amy waved vaguely toward the back yard. “You'll find everything you want out by the pool, a whole table groaning with good things to eat and drink.”

“Hot dog,” Mary Ellen cried, racing for the back, her tail wagging in her tight bell-bottoms. Johnny followed and then Buddy. Trudy paused, looking at us from under shining blonde bangs.

“You don't mind, do you?” she said, her voice soft. I looked at Amy, who shrugged, and then I turned back to her. “We hadn't counted on your friends coming along. I thought we were going to have a nice private visit.”

“You mean you were ready to fuck around some more?” she asked, voice loaded with innocence.

Amy and I shuddered as the harshness of her language hit our ears. “Well, let's just say we were prepared to resume our social exchange of last night.” “That's what I mean, fuck the afternoon away.” Amy set her jaw, hissing her words. “Call it what you will, little darling, we'd rather your friends had their soft drinks and sandwiches at once, so they can leave shortly.”

Trudy blinked and I found myself looking her over, my groin filling out again. She was wearing a T-shirt that outlined her breasts, and, I thought, if she was wearing a bra I'd eat her. Maybe I would anyhow. She also had on short shorts that hardly covered her crotch and, knowing her, I was willing to bet she didn't have any pants on, either. She did have on sandals.

She caught me looking. Somehow they always do. Smiling, she said, “I think you won't mind too much if Mary Ellen and Johnny stay around a while. They're good kids and loads of fun. If you two want to stay in here we'll take over the yard. Don't worry, we won't make the neighbors mad. We know enough to keep things quiet.” She tilted her head. “After all, there could be trouble if anybody found out what was going on around this place, right?”

As she finished Alexander planted himself before her, sniffing at her crotch, his nose close. He moved it closer, tucking it between her legs and lifting his head. For a moment Trudy took it, a strange light in her eyes. Then the long, rasping tongue licked one thigh, and then the other. She pushed him away, giggling.

“Lordy, he is horny. Don't you ever take him somewhere to be serviced?”

Amy shook her head. “He was just a puppy until now.”

Trudy laughed aloud, and, calling to Alexander, she hurried out to the yard, her bottom doing the shake and shimmy for us. Alexander came close on her heels, his drool spotting the carpet.

We stared after them and then looked each other in the eye. “Do you get the feeling we've been given the brush in our own home?” I muttered.

“Even worse. Didn't you hear the threat of blackmail in what she said about the neighbors? More than a threat, she used them as a reason for all four being here to eat us right into the poorhouse. If we were to give those newcomers the heave ho, Trudy and Buddy could make trouble. That's the feeling I get.”

I blinked, my mouth tightening. “You mean we're hooked on them in more ways than one. It's more than just sex.”

Amy nodded. “We've led them astray.”

“Like hell. They did the leading.”

Amy closed her eyes patiently. “Under the eyes of the law we're contributing to their delinquency. We've whored with them and paid them money for it. If Trudy becomes unhappy with us, she can go to the juvenile authorities and they'll have us in court before you can say 'virgin soiled.'”

“She's forgotten the meaning of the word,” I complained.

Amy shrugged, the packages inside her bikini bra bobbing in agreement. “Like I said, the law protects the young.”

“Since when do you know so much law?”

“Since Dr. Pratt told me how he got into trouble, quite by accident, when he gave an underage girl hitchhiker a ride. She screamed rape and hauled him into court when he refused to pay blackmail. He was almost ruined.”

“Yeah?” I thought about old man Pratt, Amy's boss who is a dentist, with new interest. “Tell me really, did he try to get into her pants?”

She looked shocked. “I'll have you know that child was fourteen years old, but she had the body and scheming mind of a twenty-one-year-old.”

“I repeat the question.”

“I should say not,” my wife snapped, but she looked thoughtful. “At least, I have no reason not to believe the doctor. He'd never been in trouble before.”

I sighed, looking toward the yard. Amy followed as I crept to the sliding doors and looked at the pool area. They were all there, sitting around, eating, drinking and sunning themselves. Trudy had rolled up her T-shirt until it was knotted just below her breasts and the two boys had removed their shirts, showing their hollow, white chests. The other girl, Mary Ellen, was fingering her shirt as though she was considering taking it off.

Amy pulled me away from the glass. “Come on, lecher, no matinee for you today.”

“Why not?”

“Because they didn't invite you, remember?”

I got mad, wringing my hands as I stalked the house. My God, it was our home and those punks had burst in like storm troopers, helping themselves to anything they wanted, which would probably include Amy before they were finished. I went to her as she stood quietly in the kitchen, her head in her hands.

Taking her in my arms, I murmured, “Let's go on out there. They can't push us around this way. I'm not frightened of a bunch of kids.”

“There's nothing deadlier than youngsters. Remember, the neighbors? Blackmail? Delinquency?”

I snorted. “You mean they've got us by the short hairs?”

“Can you imagine what would happen to your business if there were a breath of scandal about you and a young girl?” she murmured.

I thought about that. “It would ruin my partner, too. Guess we should have gone ahead and swapped with Sam and Alice. Much safer in your own age level and when the consequences are equally shared.”

“Bingo,” she exclaimed.

I angled my head toward the back. “Maybe if we can entertain them as much as they entertain us, they'll get as hooked on us as we are on them, if you dig.”

Amy's nose wiggled into a wrinkle. “I'm not sure I do.”

“They like their sex with us, so they won't want to have it cut off by starting trouble, Not if they can help it.” I tried to look smug. “Therefore we've got a few weapons in our arsenal.”

“Such as?”

Dipping into her bra, I took out a breast, letting it lie in my hand like something precious from the ocean floor, the strawberry center winking up in surprise. “Something like this. Buddy boy and, if I guess right, Johnny the moose would make some sacrifices to do what I'm doing right now. Don't kid yourself, those babes in the wood don't want to be snatched away from their pleasures by a juvenile court.”

Amy watched me handling her breasts, her eyes shining with a new interest. “Then perhaps-we'd better get out there and show them how a couple of old pros can spread their experience around where it will do the most good.”

“Now you're getting the message. We can make certain they want their playtime as much as we do. That's our insurance.”

Amy licked her lips, looking at the precious breast. “The trouble is, I'm beginning to have my good time right now, here with you.”

“Ah, the magic Donald Brady touch, I presume.”

She nodded, wiggling her shoulders so that her mound slid across her fingers. “You can have the other one, if you like.”

Sadly, I stuffed the exposed boob back inside her bra, and it was a job for the squeeze was mighty tight. “I'm sorry, baby, but we've got to save this for the patio pageant. If I tap your sex now, you'll need to be a better actress out there. It would be safer if you kept your honest sex drive intact so you'll be more convincing.”

Amy seemed to get mad, just as I had been. “You know, I'll be glad when we can get rid of those kids. Let's make today a red-letter day, giving them whatever they want. Then, when we're sure they respect our sexual charms, we'll ease them out of the picture at once. They'll be afraid to make trouble, in the hope that they can see us from time to time. But, the way I feel now, I'd like to keep our front door gently but permanently closed to Trudy, Buddy and their monster friends.”

“Good show,” I exclaimed, tapping her on the chin. “Let's go out there and earn a dual Academy Award.”

Even so, I knew we wouldn't need to count on acting too much. We'd find our roles coming to us naturally, I was certain.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

They were sprawled out all over the place, half undressed, all barefoot by now, their bellies and thighs showing. Alexander was lolling with them and I began to wonder about that dog. He was turning into a con man-or con dog-getting all the best of everything because, presumably, he couldn't exist without plenty of company around.

Amy and I moved briskly into their midst, all smiles and cries of greeting, rubbing our hands and moving here and there so they could get a good look at our bodies.

They looked, all right, and not without interest. Buddy was jabbing Johnny in the ribs as he ogled Amy, who was showing more skin in her bikini than the other two dames put together. Speaking of the other two dames, Mary Ellen was grinning at me like I was something under the tree Christmas morning.

Trudy wasn't missing a trick, looking from Mary Ellen to me and back again. That was an angle I hadn't figured on, a way to split them up. Make them jealous by playing one against the other.

Even as I thought about this, Trudy's face was turning dark with anger and she glared at Mary Ellen. “Remember, little girl, you're my guest here,” she spat.

Mary Ellen looked at her like she was the queen mother. “Little girl. I'm sixteen, just like you.”

“Four months younger, don't forget,” Trudy reminded her.

“Besides,” Mary Ellen continued, “Mr. Brady and Mrs. Brady said we could stay. So there. We're their guests, not yours.”

Trudy was a hustler and she got up at once, hurrying to me, taking my arm. “Go ahead, Mr. Brady, tell her who your favorite is.” Her eyes were promising me the moon, like it was a pimiento stuffed up her snatch.

“Well,” I began, “I wouldn't want to make trouble. You're nice girls, both of you. I'm sure each of you has her strong and weak points.”

“Weak?” Trudy snapped. “All right, tell me where I'm weak.”

I tried to spread my hands, but she was holding on tightly, her breast hammering at me like a soft club. I looked down at it.

“Am I weak there?” she blurted, following my gaze.

“Indeed, no, my dear.”

“Then here?” she continued, shoving her other mound into my chest, her hips jamming me hard.

“Again, I must say no. Your two strong points, actually.”

She swallowed, a kind of desperation in her eyes and I could feel the tables tipping in my favor… my favor and Amy's, because she was going the same route. From the corner of my eye I could see her looking first at Buddy and, when his interest was climbing, she'd turn to Johnny. She was playing them like a yo-yo with two strings.

“Then maybe I don't have what it takes here,” Trudy continued, stepping back and placing both hands on her crotch, gripping herself through her shorts. “Hasn't this thing shown you a couple of good times, Mr. Brady?”

“I never denied it,” I retorted.

“Well, then.”

“Just cool it,” I snapped, waving my hand in a gesture of dismissal. “You can't help it if you're not the only woman in my life.”

Her hands went to her hips, her feet planted far apart. “You remember what I said about keeping our fun quiet, Mr. Brady? I'd hate to have to make trouble now.”

I smiled. “If you did we'd all be in trouble and that fun we'd been having would all be in the past, permanently. Consider that.”

Apparently she did, while Mary Ellen got to her feet. She was hardly five feet tall and, from what I could see under her loose and gaudy shirt, she was buxom. She came to me, her hand out, and I shook it.

“Nice work, Mr. Brady,” she exclaimed. “You put her down real neat.”

I made a face, “I didn't mean to. Trudy's been a generous girl, until now.”

“Shucks, I can be generous, too.” I waited, refusing to commit myself. Let the two of them fight it out.

“Do you want me to show you?” Mary Ellen continued.

“You're my guest, my dear,” I purred, “so feel free to behave as you please.” “All right, then.”

Crossing her arms, Mary Ellen grasped the hem of her T-shirt and jerked it over her head. Naturally there was nothing underneath the thing and her heavy breasts bobbed into view. They were very white with tiny blue veins here and there and the nipples were half the size of coffee cups, their color a blood red.

Dropping the garment, the stocky girl posed, looking like a slightly too chubby cherub, one foot planted before the other. “Like me better now?” “Very appealing,” I admitted. “Huh.” The snort came from Trudy, who was lingering not far away. She came closer and, as she moved, I saw Alexander come into the picture, sniffing at Mary Ellen's discarded T-shirt. He looked up at us, puzzled, and tail wagging. That horny old mutt was loving this sort of action.

Mary Ellen whirled. “Butt out, former friend.” “Up yours, jerk,” Trudy hissed, poking her face into Mary Ellen's.

A split second before they were going to start trading scratches, I stepped between them. “All right, it's only fair that Trudy should have the opportunity to take center stage for the next few minutes, Go ahead, my dear.” My snake was panting, shoving against my zipper like a trapped animal hungering for freedom.

Trudy didn't fool around, either. She whipped away her tight T-shirt and there were those wonderfully familiar breasts, high and hard, bobbing stiffly, like cold Jello, waiting for me to take a spoonful. She put her hands on her hips and, thrusting her elbows back, she made those knobs push farther forward.

“Ha,” snorted Mary Ellen. “Even shoving clear down to your gut you can't make them come anywhere near to my size. Admit that all you've got is a couple of pimples. You could pop them and there'd be nothing left.”

Trudy was boiling and her eyes spat ice-blue fire at her tormentor. “You ungrateful bitch, talking to me like that. After all the fun we've had, after all the dates I've fixed up for you when you didn't want to sit home alone.”

Mary Ellen gasped. “Me sitting home alone? Make that you, honey pie. If I hadn't found you some friends you'd still be making out with Buddy here, your own brother, every night. Boy, talk about sick, she's it.” Mary Ellen said this last with her eyes on me, her thumb cocked toward Trudy.

Trudy started for her enemy, but again I came between them. “Please, young ladies, let us continue the talent show and perhaps a true winner will emerge.”

While I tried to cool them off Amy was playing games with the boys. She had them both down to their shorts and then, hands clasped, the three leaped into the pool with a series of thunderous splashes. They cavorted about, gasping at one another, and I imagined that many a cock, buttock and thigh were being pinched in their merriment.

Meanwhile, Mary Ellen was back on the job, opening buttons at her hip and then peeling back her bell-bottoms from her hips and tummy, letting the flap hang down. Slowly they went down until I was certain she wore nothing underneath. Once the pants passed her knees they dropped to the concrete and were kicked aside.

Again she posed for me and, while she had a belly that boasted a slight pot and her thighs were rather heavy, she was nevertheless in pleasing proportion and I could feel my body rouse itself further. It couldn't be too much longer before I must take one or the other of these young ladies-or both.

“All right?” she wanted to know, again thrusting those massive knockers.

“All right,” I had to admit. “A bit on the heavy side, but not unpleasantly so.

“A bit heavy,” Trudy was rasping, struggling with her shorts. Apparently the zipper in the middle of her buttocks was jammed. “She's built like a pregnant Army tank. Mount a gun on her and she could crash through any fortress.” Suddenly very sweet, she turned her back to me. “Could you help me with this, Mr. Brady? You're so strong.”

Mary Ellen's eyes rolled. “Oh, brother.”

I went along with her game, grasping the tab and pulling the thing down to the crack of her bottom. The white shorts peeled away from her plump cheeks like skin from an egg and at that moment I would have taken her over easy or over hard or even scrambled.

“There we are,” I breathed.

From over her shoulder she cooed, “Thank you.”

Her shimmy began then and after a minute they barely clung to her loins. She stopped, waiting, looking back at me in invitation. “Want to do the honors, Mr. B.?”

“May I?”

“Certainly you may.”

I plucked at her hips and the shorts dropped to Trudy's feet. Kicking like a placement expert, she lofted them to a point atop a bush. Lifting her chin to Mary Ellen, she cooed, “That, my dear, is show business, not an amateur act such as you put on.”. Mary Ellen was a fighter and she came right back, bumping against Trudy, her breasts like battering rams. “Why don't we have it out right now, Miss Flat Chest? I'll knock your brains out and then Mr. Brady and I can do what we both know we want to do.”

Trudy lips curled on one side and she didn't retreat an inch, instead thrusting her own chest against Mary Ellen's booming charge. “Come on, moose. I'll out-maneuver you until you won't know which end's up.”

They began their struggle and, from the pool, the others paused to watch. Slowly, as the contest developed, they emerged from the pool, dripping, the water spattering quietly on the concrete. Stealing a quick glance at the others, I saw that Amy hadn't been idle. Buddy and Johnny were rid of their shorts, their long dongs half hard and waving as they arced before their bodies.

Johnny was hung almost as well as the gigantic Buddy but, even though his frame was taller and larger, he couldn't quite match the over-all size of the king. They stood, side by side, apparently as friendly as ever, even though their girl friends were launching a battle filled with hate. This I was thankful for, because a fight between these two youngsters could mean real bloodshed. The girls, I believed, would provide action enough.

And so it turned out. As we watched Trudy leaped forward, her fists like pistons, and she caught Mary Ellen on the corner of the mouth. An instant later a trickle of blood appeared on her chin, just like in the movies.

Mary Ellen paused, her hand going to her chin and coming away red. She stared at the blood for a moment and then, turning to Alexander, who hovered nearby, the fur standing high on the back of his neck, she offered him her hand. He came forward at once and licked away the red, smacking his chops when he was finished.

Amy and I looked at one another and my wife hugged her breasts, a shudder ripping through her body. What had we started here, I wondered. Whatever it was, I knew it would be wise to put it to rest. I wanted the young people to quarrel, but I didn't want any eyes gouged out.

Trying to step between them, I put my hands out like a fight referee, but they wouldn't break. Mary Ellen thudded her hands down on my forearms, shoving them aside like they were jackstraws.

“Out of my way, Mr. Brady,” she warned. “No use your getting hurt.”

“Come on,” Trudy hissed, “stop the lecture and fight.”

Mary Ellen swung hard, but her aim was wild and she missed the target completely, whirling about until her back was to the agile Trudy. The little but strong blonde was on her like a cat, catching her from behind.

Her arms shot out and under Mary Ellen's armpits, snaking around her ribs to fasten on her ponderous breasts. Trudy's hands seemed like crickets on a pair of basketballs, so generous were Mary Ellen's knockers. Yet Trudy was able to get a firm grip, her hands covering each nipple as she hit right on target.

Mary Ellen's face contorted and she wanted to cry out, I knew, but she refused to make a sound. Instead she shoved her buttocks back hard, knocking Trudy off balance and the grip on the heavier girl's breasts was lost.

Again they faced each other and this time Mary Ellen jumped first, her knee shooting forward to catch Trudy in the pit of the stomach. She doubled over, gasping, her hands clutching her belly, and Mary Ellen moved closer, reaching under the bent form to attach her nails to Trudy's crotch. Her hands sank into the soft fur and she squeezed until tears filled Trudy's eyes.

That was enough for me and I got behind Mary Ellen wrapping my arm around her throat and straightening her. It was easy to lift her feet from the concrete and she lost her grip, coming away with me as I backed up several feet. Recovering, Trudy tried to rush forward, but the two boys each took an arm, restraining her.

Mary Ellen began to cool off, her tremendous breasts heaving less, their nipples losing some of their pointed look as her aroused blood coursed less vigorously. I let go of her and Amy joined me between the two girls.

“Let's quit this nonsense,” I demanded, “or the party will be off right now. You'll all be sent out of here never to return.” I looked both directions. “The decision is yours. Shake hands and be friends or go do your fighting somewhere else.”

They stood for perhaps three minutes before Trudy came forward, her hands out until Mary Ellen took them. “I'm sorry I'm such a bitch,” Trudy murmured.

Tears filled Mary Ellen's eyes and she seemed to shrink to even less than her five-foot height under Trudy's tenderness. Cooing softly, she allowed Trudy to take her in her arms, hold her closely and then kiss her on the mouth. The kiss was held for some time before it broke and my wife and I exchanged new glances of alarm.

Their lips parted and they smiled into one another's face. Their mouths opened before they touched them together again. Now Trudy was clinging to the heavier frame of Mary Ellen, forcing those ponderous breasts against her own until the white hills of flesh were flattened.

I could hear their breathing begin to whistle through their nostrils and I turned to the boys. They were grinning at the show all over again, winking at me.

“Don't worry, Mr. Brady,” Buddy exclaimed. “They do this a lot. It doesn't mean a thing.”

I glanced at Amy and then down at Alexander, who was taking in the entire bizarre drama, from first act to last.

Under his belly the long red pencil had slid back into view.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I don't know whether it was my concentration or the fact that Amy stepped forward, touching each young girl on the shoulder, but they finally broke it up, parting more than good friends, and the party began to return to normal. At least as normal as a party like that one could be.

We ate and drank, smacking our lips over the food as the young people wolfed it down by the pound, and enjoying the liquor. Gin and tonics were popular in the warm afternoon and we killed one bottle, then two, and were well into the third bottle of gin and loving it.

At last Trudy turned to Amy and me, waving her hand for the benefit of the others. “Don't you think it's time the host and hostess got down to the basics?” She looked at her own naked body. “After all, why should they go formal while we're in our birthday suits?”

Amy and I, meeting earlier inside the house, had decided that we could go ahead and cooperate with them. Our earlier plan would hold up all right. That is, we would make ourselves as desirable as possible and in that way hook these kids on us, so that they wouldn't want to be cut off from our pleasures. It was better, we decided, than letting them fight among each other right here.

In other words, we would kill them with kindness and sex, so they'd think very hard before attempting to blackmail us by reporting our parties to the law.

Therefore, when Trudy made her suggestion, I got up at once, extending my hand to Amy. She joined me and, side by side, we prepared to strip away our bathing suits.

“Hey, wait.” This time it was Mary Ellen. “We'll do you. That's part of the game.”

We waited and the girls came to me first. They seemed to dominate the boys in every way, making the decisions, acting first, serving as spokesmen. The boys didn't mind a bit, saving all their strength, apparently, for their sexual adventures. They certainly had the equipment for it and for the past hour their penises had been at least half-hardened at all times. They were carrying guns that were cocked, ready to fire at any targets that presented themselves.

Trudy stood at my left and Mary Ellen at my right, like bookends. Trudy rolled back my waistband and loosened the drawstring that held my trunks snugly about my hips. Then they pulled in unison, each at a hip, and my trunks began their slide toward the bottom of the thermometer.

They went over my hips, across my lower stomach and my crop of pubic hair was showing up like a brush forest. Their lips were shining and I could have sworn Mary Ellen was drooling as my suit passed my loins and cleared my once private areas.

My cock shot into view, freed at last, the head whipping out to an erect position as the staff stood horizontally to my body. It had been hard for a long time, aching and perhaps giving itself a bit of a sprain in its cramped position inside my jock. Now new life coursed through it as the surging blood was free to flow its entire length.

“Not bad,” Buddy said, coming forward. “Come on, Johnny, I'll let you help with Mrs. Brady. She's a groovy one.”

“I can see that,” the gangling youth agreed. My wife shot a look at me, moistening her lips, her fingers rolling and unrolling into fists. I tried to smile, to encourage her, telling her it wouldn't last much longer and we'd be free. After this was over we'd lay down the law and go our own way, with people our own age. Mate swapping with the Champions sounded like a completely sane course of action after these bizarre experiences.

The boys untied Amy's bra at the center of her back, lifting it away. Her breasts hung proudly, high and hard, not as large as Mary Ellen's, of course, but every bit as pointed and youthful as Trudy's. They stood back to admire them, clucking to themselves.

“Not bad, considering her age,” Buddy remarked to his pal. “Not bad at all.”

Johnny nodded. “Golly, she's ten years older than Mary Ellen and they're still right up there like headlights.”

Amy made a face. “Thank you, gentlemen, it's good to know I have a little life left in this old body.”

They laughed and stepped back in, working at her hips to untie the red straps that held the bottom of my wife's bikini in place. They made short work of it, pulling it away so that the front and back barely clung to her loins. Then they peeled it from her crotch, holding it up like a scalp trophy.

Amy surprised everybody by blushing and trying to cover herself, which made me feel better. Holding her hands over her crotch, she finally bowed to their entreaties and removed her hands, straightened her legs and planted her feet several inches apart. Her hands went to her hips and she took a deep breath, lifting her chin.

Amy Brady looked wonderful at that moment, like a proud goddess, an untouchable vestal virgin. Her body was magnificent, tanned, except for the white bands at breasts and loins, her breasts high and tipped with pink, her belly flat, her hips flaring in mature fashion, her vagina only partly hidden by the coat of shining brown fur. Her legs were long, straight and tanned to a golden brown.

If my wife were over the hill at twenty-five, as these kids had believed, then it was a damned good-looking hill that I'd just as soon go over myself.

“Hail the queen,” somebody quipped and the others laughed, self-conscious about the lengths to which their admiration had gone.

“Well,” Trudy chirped, rubbing her hands together, “what's on the agenda now?”

Mary Ellen stood before me, her eyes hungry, her lips working. “As far as I'm concerned, he is.” She was looking me right in the eye.

“I appear to be available,” I sighed, letting her take my hand. God, these girls were aggressive.

She led me around the pool, and when Alexander tried to follow, she paused to shake her finger at him. The German shepherd responded as though he'd been carefully trained, tucking his tail between his legs and returning to the others, who were for the moment content to have another drink and another bite of food.

Behind the diving board there was a small enclosed area, partially hidden from the remainder of the yard by a collection of broad-leafed plants so that it could serve as a place to change one's clothing in reasonable privacy. Set into the concrete was a short wooden bench and here Mary Ellen paused, pushing me down on it. She stood over me, looming like an Amazon out of the past, her breasts paraded across her chest like battlefield honors. She was a striking, strong, beautiful and incredibly young woman, yet mature enough to know what she wanted and to know how to get it.

After posing for a moment, she sat at my side and we looked through the foliage. The yard was pretty well shielded from our view, although we could see movement here and there as the others went about their merry-making.

Mary Ellen half turned her body toward me. “All right, I'm ready.” I merely sat and stared, saying nothing.

“Nurse me, please.”

I frowned. “What did you say?”

“Look. Mr. Brady. I'll do whatever you want, but you've got to be nice to me. Now nurse me, right away.”

“What the hell for?”

She shook her head. “Don't you understand? I'm a fully developed woman, even though I'm barely sixteen. Every woman wants to be a mother, I suppose, although my drive seems kind of funny. To me being a mother means having somebody nurse on me. It doesn't matter who they are. Baby or man, it's all the same.” She giggled. “Besides, it makes me hotter than hell, even while I'm playing big mama.”

I swallowed and she turned even more toward me, throwing one leg up on the bench so that her knee shoved into my hip. “I'm ready, little boy.” She said this last in the cooing voice of a loving mother.

I turned, trying to get at her, and found that the best position was to straddle the bench, which I did. This exposed my genitals fully, of course, and her knee was right in there, jiggling me until my balls began to tingle and my cock resumed its fully hard position, sticking out like a foot-long hot dog.

“Very nice,” she mused, “but I still want to be nursed. We'll think of other things later, if you want.”

I smiled. “All right, little mother.”

“There's a good baby,” she cooed, taking my head and pulling it forward until my mouth was rammed into a nipple.

I opened my lips and the huge red thing popped inside, its tip like a lead pencil, stiff with her erotic desire, aching to be serviced like a milk cow. I sucked at the thing for several minutes, while she made small sounds and stroked my head. All through her mother act, however, she continued to move her knee against my groin so that my cock and balls were humming like tuning forks, anxious to be released for active duty.

Then I was moved to the other breast and its nipple quickly assumed the hardness of its twin. Tentatively, I licked at the nipple and my tongue's touch sent a fresh shudder quaking over her so that I could even feel her probing knee tremble.

“You're a sweet baby,” she whispered, kissing the top of my head, as my mouth shifted back to the first breast, where my tongue worked more of its magic.

As I lapped my hands went to her belly, which, for her size, was surprisingly hard and flat, but certainly larger than Trudy's spare little tummy. I explored the folds and presently found myself in the land of plenty, down in the forest of hair, walking through the moist brush that guarded the gates of her treasure house.

“Oh, I like that,” she purred.

“Children don't do that to their mothers,” I chided, my voice as quiet as hers.

“Mine do, baby, mine do. Proceed and keep your lips where they belong. Skip the talking.”

I kept quiet for a while, sucking on, making small moist sounds as the murmuring from the others in the party drifted in to us. I dropped my busy hands into her crotch, shoving my way into the lips and peeling them back like the shells of an oyster. Inside it was moist and hot, of course, and growing more moist by the second as she turned on her spigots to make entry easier.

She was making sounds deeply in her throat, like a coffee pot that was about to begin its boiling cycle, as I shoved more deeply into her canal. There was plenty of room and I was free to search out her little button and press it, like a messenger boy at the door waiting to deliver a telegram. She replied at once, did this amazing creature, flooding my fingers with her final flow.

Her orgasm was like a shuddering of a great ocean liner, dead in the water, but quivering from some cataclysmic upheaval from far below the waterline. Her body rocked, shook, trembled and broke into a sweat that left her wringing wet from the roots of her hair to her knee, which was still planting itself into my groin, time after time.

She gasped, her lips moving as no sound came, and I halted my nursing, lifting my head to look into her face, where I saw pure bliss in those deep, moist eyes. Mary Ellen was gone on her trip, doing her thing, off somewhere, loving life and its supreme pleasures.

Presently she began to return and her eyes focused on mine. She curved her lips in a rational smile this time. “You're very good, baby.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I suppose you're waiting for a response.”

I licked my lips, glancing toward the others, who were out of sight altogether now. “That might be in order.”

She stood, taking several deep and trembling breaths, her mounds heaving in contentment, having been thoroughly serviced. Getting control of herself, she turned back to me, dropping to her knees and pulling me around straight on the bench, so that I was no longer straddling.

“All right now?”

“All right!”

I was beginning to steam, my penis still waving like a regimental flag, ready to meet the enemy and make him mine. She lunged forward, taking my cock in her mouth, which was a large mouth, by the way, and sinking it in a half dozen inches before even pausing for breath. Then she took another three inches or so and I marveled at her capacity and eagerness for immediate action.

“Go, Mother.”

Her reply was a strangled series of sounds, but I had an idea what she was trying to say.

Her lips made a seal around my shaft and then her head was pulled back a full half a foot or more so that she had only the swollen purple knob and a bit of the shaft inside that cone of red. Her rhythmic stroking began and, even though I'd had more than my share of orgasms in the few days immediately before, I was ready to come almost at once.

She sensed this, taking her time, keeping the seal very tight so that the skin was pulled firmly to and fro, not fast, but with solid effect. I nodded, patting her on the cheeks as she worked like a slow-moving engine, inexorable, never to be still until the thing was done.

“Excellent, just superior, Mom.”

She didn't bother to reply, instead concentrating on her work. Her eyes did remain fixed on mine, as though she were an engineer reading the meters to make certain that the temperature, pressure and other technical factors were all in order.

She blinked deliberately from time to time, but there was no other response to my encouraging words, except to continue on her dedicated mission.

Then my storm began to break, the clouds bumping into one another in the heavens of my loins and cracking open, spilling their contents down the shaft, out of the reservoir in my balls, heading for that head and the promised land beyond.

She felt the final swelling and then the bumpy surging, and at once thrust her face all the way forward so that I had nine or more inches buried deeply in her throat before the advance guard of wiggling sperm burst into her body. The things poured from me like a Las Vegas jackpot raining silver dollars, and I rammed my hips, closing my crotch over her face as she continued to sup, draining me of every last morsel.

I feared that she might suffocate, until I picked up a rasping sound that told me she was getting air down there. So I let myself be emptied, allowing her lips to work me over like my penis was an emptying toothpaste tube, being squeezed of its final squirt of cleaner.

When it was over she opened her mouth and fell back on her buttocks, thudding on the pavement. She felt no pain, I am certain, for her eyes were glazed, her lips dripped with my semen and her breasts were still swollen from my nursing. A clear fluid dripped from her vagina to the concrete, making a small dark puddle, but none of my come had escaped her throat and darting tongue.

“Well,” she breathed at last.

“'Well' yourself,” I replied, continuing this stimulating intellectual exchange.

“What do you suppose they're doing?” She angled her chin toward the party.

“Want to find out?”

She nodded and I helped her up. When she was on her feet she stood close to me for a moment, her hard nipples strumming my chest like they were guitar picks, “You're a nice baby, Mr. Brady. If you ever break up with Trudy or Mrs. Brady…”

“Don't count on it, Mother.”

She stuck out her lower lip and I snapped at it, catching it between my teeth. She let me hang on for a moment, until her breasts trembled with new excitement. God, these kids never had their passion tanks drained. I let go, stepping away, not yet ready to begin act two of our erotic drama.

“But we get on so well,” she continued, coming close again so she could catch my thigh between hers and shove her soggy pussy against my flesh. It was like standing too close to an open furnace door.

“Let's join the others, shall we?” I rasped. “You've already taken the best part of me.”

She shrugged, which was something that had to be seen to be believed, the way those boobs bounced, and then led the way out of our tiny sanctuary. She took my hand as we stepped into the open.

The others apparently hadn't been waiting, although I was certain nobody had been as far out as Mary Ellen and I. They were lounging about, touching here and there, their naked bodies moist with perspiration as the heat of the sun hit full on them.

Good old Alexander was still on station, his red pencil looking for a place to do some writing. I shuddered, wondering who would allow him to help himself.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

We merged with the group, enjoying the heat, letting the moisture roll from our bodies. Briefly, Mary Ellen and I roused ourselves and leaped into the pool, shedding our skin of sexual residue.

While we were splashing about she came close to me, her eyes begging me to wait and listen. “Want to take off?” she whispered. “They're not going to do anything exciting.”

I shook my head. “I told you, there's not much left of me for the rest of today. Go find yourself a playmate with more between his legs than I have.”

She reached under the water, grasping my tool. “You don't have the size of the boys, but you know how to use it. I liked the feel of it in my mouth. No bumps or rough spots. I guess you take good care of it.”

I made a face. “When there's only one to a customer they're rather precious.”

“So you won't run away with me?” She didn't give up easily.

“I'm sorry.”

“Me, too. Thanks, anyhow.”

“Any time.”

“Really?”

“That's only an expression,” I blurted, swimming strongly to the side and pulling myself out. I lay on the concrete, heaving, taking big breaths of air, letting the sun dry my puckering skin. Already I felt better, wondering if perhaps Mary Ellen hadn't taken my all. There might be a new well of pleasure filling in my gonads.

Mary Ellen was soon by my side, apparently slipping into a deep sleep, which didn't seem like a bad idea. I had just closed my eyes when I heard a muffled giggle. They popped open and I turned my head, my face in the shade, to watch the action.

Buddy and Johnny were moving in on Amy, who was lying on her back, hands at her sides, eyes closed to the sun, apparently dozing. I waited to see what would happen, ready to rush into action. They paid no attention to me, apparently believing I had joined Mary Ellen in slumberland.

The boys were on hands and knees, hovering over her gazing down on her body. Her breasts rose and fell evenly and her knees had casually fallen apart so that her bush and the outer lips of her vagina were in plain sight.

Buddy lowered his head until his mouth was inches from her breast. He blew gently, his breath directly on a nipple, and Amy stirred, her head turning slightly and a hand moving. Even a knee twitched. She was, indeed, deeply in sleep by now, not merely dozing.

He blew on the other breast and again she stirred, her lips twitching, a hand lifting a few inches before dropping back. I realized that she was exhausted from the events of the past several days, otherwise she would be awakened at once. It seemed it would take a substantial jolt to rouse her from her slumber.

Pausing, Buddy looked at Johnny, who nodded and then put his face just three inches from Amy's vagina. He, too, shot a jet of air at my wife, stirring the hairs between her legs. Her hips moved and I could have sworn, from the way that her hips were lifted an inch, her buttocks had flexed in response to the stimulation.

Exhausted as she was, Amy was still all woman, ready to answer the call, even in sleep.

Moving very carefully, Buddy kissed her on the throat, his lips leaving a small trail of light kisses from her chin down the curve of her throat almost to the tops of her breasts. Again Amy moved, her knees waving. Johnny placed his hands on those knees, arresting their movement, and his fingers tapped on the insides of her thighs.

Her head rolled from side to side, her fingers curling and straightening, and her mouth opened, her tongue licking her lips. Still, she was far from awake. She was switched on and I wondered what sort of erotic dream was being played out in her brain.

Buddy's lips moved on, into the valley between those hills of white, up the side of a nipple. Amy's hand came up to stroke the back of his head, to guide and encourage him. He lapped at the nipple gently and a small sound escaped her lips.

At that moment Alexander stirred, getting up and wandering over to observe the action. His tail wagged as he saw Buddy kissing the nipple and, to the vast surprise of the boys and me, he came closer to sniff of Amy's breasts. Buddy paused, about to shove him away, when Johnny made a small gesture. Buddy paused and they rocked back on their heels, waiting.

As it turned out, everyone was waiting, for Mary Ellen was now sitting up beside me, and Trudy, who had been sprawled under a tree, had also roused herself, even though she remained some fifteen feet away from the action. For some reason I remained where I was, feigning sleep, possibly to help me cope with my conscience later.

Fascinated, five pairs of eyes watched Alexander as he smelled of the nipples, his black sniffing nose shifting from one to the other. He lifted his head, wagging his tail at Buddy, and then resumed his work.

I felt a physical jolt when his long, blue-black tongue leaped from his jaws to lap a nipple. We could hear the scrape halfway across the backyard as the rough thing bent the roesbud and buried it from view for an instant. Amy's body jerked and her hands worked, gripping her sides, but her eyes didn't open. Was she really asleep?

At my side I could hear Mary Ellen gasp and, looking up, I saw a strange gleam in her eyes. She was enjoying the scene, it was true, but in some deeper, more mysterious way. I sensed that she wished her body was where Amy's was, receiving the dog's attentions.

Alexander moved his massive head to the other breast, lapping at it Amy jerked again and her hips rolled, but then she lay still. The dog sniffed between her breasts, his fat nose and muzzle slobbering in the valley. Then he was below it, working his way around her belly, smelling every inch, as though seeking the source of some odor that excited him.

He was excited, all right, that red hot poker jutting forward from between his rear legs like he was carrying a cane. The lance had come completely out of its sheath and a drop of moisture had collected at its tip. He was definitely looking for something to shove it into.

“Jesus,” Buddy was murmuring.

“Amen,” Johnny replied and I heard a sigh come from Trudy on the other side of the yard. Mary Ellen was still in the midst of her deep breathing exercises, her hands going to her breasts, fondling them as her eyes drank in the pleasures of the German shepherd.

That God-damned dog, I mused. Too chicken to stay by himself after dark, but tough enough to want to screw the hell out of anything that was warm and soft.

That massive muzzle was snorting its way through Amy's bush by now, the tail still going, the red poker dripping a drop on the pavement an inch from my wife's hip. He worked down to her thighs, for some reason skipping the vagina and lapping at the tender skin between Amy's legs. Her knees spread and her breasts quickened, quivering in readiness.

He paused, looking directly into the box, and at the same time her knees went wide, so that she was fully spread ready for whatever the dog wanted. Her arms went out from her sides, the fingers wiggling, her head rolled back and forth and she dug in her heels, lifting her hips to form a human arch on the concrete. I blinked, thoughts raging through my head. Had we sunk so low that we were going to allow this to happen? Was I going to lie here and let a dog seduce my wife before my eyes, probably working myself into sexual excitement at the scene? Was Amy asleep or was she faking it, loving it, hardly able to continue her charade, so excited had she become?

I never needed to learn the answer, for at that moment Trudy was getting up and coming into the circle, her eyes dancing with a wild pleasure, her throat flushed in excitement, her entire body trembling. The others looked up, shushing her, but she would not be stayed.

She went to Amy's side, touching Alexander on the tail. The big dog turned his head, ceasing his lapping for a moment, obviously pleased to see her. Trudy leaned over him, dragging his great head away from my wife's thighs and turning him around.

“Me, Alexander,” she rasped, her voice a half-whisper that carried across the yard. “Not her. Me. I'm the one you want.”

The dog seemed to know, perhaps smelling her need as sexual juices sent out their alarm. There could be no more primitive sexual call than this, I thought. A woman's body emitting a scent that an animal could pick up, trace and follow to its source, there to deliver satisfaction.

Alexander waited while Trudy got on her hands and knees, staring the dog in the eye. Together, they looked at one another, while we looked on. Amy apparently still slept, for she was motionless and her wiggling had ceased as her sexual fires began to bank themselves.

Trudy hugged the dog, working herself against him and then shoving a breast at his jaws. The mutt obliged, shoving that gigantic tongue against it and lapping until Trudy's head rolled back, her eyes closed, ecstasy on her face. “God… God… God…” Buddy crawled around to grasp Trudy's head, kissing her on the mouth and fondling the second breast while Alexander continued to lap. He was surprised when she shoved his face away and slapped his head from her breast.

“Scram, dear brother. I'm getting all the loving I need,” she hissed, at the same time stroking Alexander's head so he wouldn't be hurt and leave.

“What the hell…” Buddy began, but she shushed him.

“I told you, get away. Don't pretend you're shocked. You're getting your kicks just watching, right? Think what I'm experiencing. It's heaven. How would you like to have him wrap that tongue around your prick?” Buddy's eyes lighted. “Say, that's not a bad-” “Later, worm,” she continued. “Much later.” Trudy offered Alexander her other breast, which had already been pumped up by her brother, and the dog welcomed it, still being generous with his tongue. The little blonde's breathing was rasping like a file and she was stroking that head, grasping the ears, thumping those broad flanks.

Mary Ellen stirred, coming forward and trying to join in, her eyes begging, just as Buddy had done. “Get lost,” Trudy repeated, glaring at her rival for the dog's affections.

Mary Ellen seemed not to hear, sprawling on her elbows by Alexander's hindquarters and peering under his belly, to where his swollen balls and red shaft swung precariously. “Golly, what a sight.”

“It's mine, I tell you,” Trudy snapped. “Hands off.” Mary Ellen reached under the dog and her fingers ran along the red lance. “It's just like a sticky sucker, or something.” “I told you…”

“It's so different from a man's, you know?” she continued, trying to get a grip on the thing. Christ, even I was getting a new hard-on, from what erotic and sick portion of my subconscious I'll never know.

Trudy waded into her friend, pulling her breast from Alexander's tongue, and shoving hard on Mary Ellen's shoulder, sending the heavier girl sprawling. “Don't screw up everything, sweetheart. Wait your turn and we'll all be happy. This dog will run at the sight of a rabbit, you know, so stop trying to frighten him.” Her voice was like a whip in the stillness.

Then she was back before the dog, giving him final licks at each nipple before, stroking his head with a gentleness that belied her raging passion, she turned around. Now his head was facing her buttocks and Trudy, on hands and knees, looked back over her shoulder at him.

“Come on, boy,” she whispered. “It's all yours.”

“Jee-sus,” Buddy wailed, smacking his forehead. “If Aunt Charlotte could only see her little niece now.”

“Shut up,” she rasped at her brother. “You keep that tongue quiet or I'll tear it out of your throat.”

Again she was all sweetness and light for the German shepherd. The dog came forward, sniffing the white curve of a buttock, and then the other cheek. His nose wiggled along the crack, shoving deeper.

Trudy, I realized, was going all the way with her four-legged friend, the dog she had come to know so intimately from sitting with him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I stared, hardly believing, reminded of stag shows I'd been told about in which women had shared the billings with Shetland ponies, collies or other creatures belonging to a different species.

I wondered if Alexander himself could believe his good fortune for, so far as I knew, this was his first foray into the world of sex, since he was hardly more than a pup. He withdrew his nose from the sheltering cheeks of Trudy's saucy bottom, staring into her intimate area, the tip of his tail wagging, his ears pricked up high.

Looking around at us, he licked his chops and waited as though hoping his master would give permission. I was certain of it when his eyes locked on mine. I hated what I was doing but, worked up as I was at the bizarre sight, I nodded. He knew what that meant, all right.

He turned back to Trudy, nuzzling his big black beak into her rump again and sliding it down the crack until Trudy was wiggling back and forth and making small noises in her throat. She might have been a white-coated canine herself, the way she was perched on all fours, her buttocks presented as a perfect target. A bitch in heat, that was Trudy Pipp.

“Come on, fellow,” she whispered, her eyes dancing with a weird light. She was perspiring, the sweat collecting on her forehead and running down to the tip of her nose. “Come on. There's a good boy. Please.”

Alexander nuzzled closer and his long dark tongue whipped put, lapping half the length of her buttock fissure. He must have hit a dozen vital spots in a single lap, for Trudy went crazy for a moment, shaking from stem to stern, drooping on the pavement as her head hung, clawing at the concrete with her nails until I feared blood would flow. Then she managed to get some control of her self and she closed her eyes, breathing hard, her breast heaving as she waited for the next step.

The dog shoved lower, getting between her legs, and the little blonde shifted immediately, moving her knees farther apart so the big dark head could get between them and come up against the lips of her vagina.

“Look,” Mary Ellen was hissing, jabbing at me with her elbow, “he's going to shove that tongue into her snatch. Oh, I wish I were her!”

“You do?” I blurted.

She nodded and there were sighs all around the group. I glanced toward Amy and she was getting up, sitting on the concrete, blinking at the awesome spectacle that was unfolding in her own backyard. She looked toward me and I shrugged, feeling weak and foolish. We hadn't planned on this but, in his way Alexander might help us control these young people.

The dog was kicking at the long puffy lips between Trudy's legs, the extended tongue lancing between her folds and making great waves of pleasure ripple through that ripe little body. The tongue darted again and again and Trudy's ecstasy was building with each lap until we knew she was on the verge of an orgasm.

Surprisingly, she closed her legs, forcing the head back out, and even Alexander seemed surprised. Balancing on her drawn up knees, the baby-sitter grasped her buttocks, spreading the cheeks so that her rosebud of a hole appeared in the middle of her posterior.

“That's the place, Alexander,” she wailed, pointing at the hole with a finger. “Somebody show him, please.”

Mary Ellen was waddling over to the battle scene and taking the dog's head, pointing the nose directly into the bunghole. He sniffed and seemed satisfied that it was a comfortable enough place.

Mary Ellen withdrew and Trudy resumed her stance, ready now that the dog had been fully oriented. Alexander placed a paw on Trudy's back, letting it slip down across her left buttock, leaving a trail of red as it bruised the tender skin. He tried again and the paw stayed.

He was experimenting, learning as he went, I knew, and I wondered if he'd mature expecting to have his sexual satisfaction from the human female form rather than from a dog like himself. This I reasoned, was how perverts were created.

He lifted himself, getting his second paw planted on her lower back. “That's a good dog. Come on, boy,” she was rasping through moist lips, looking back over her shoulder.

He jockeyed into position, moving his feet higher on the back and, in the process, shifting his own loins closer to Trudy's. Soon his chest was against her buttocks and then his belly and the tip of the fiery red lance touched a cheek for the first time.

“Oh!” The cry came in unison from Trudy and Mary Ellen, who seemed to be enjoying herself almost as much as the object of Alexander's affections.

The German shepherd shifted his weight slightly, his hind paws scratching noisily against the paving, and then his penis was aimed straight at Trudy's anus, all ready to pierce the sphincter that guarded the treasures inside her rectum. There was nothing to stop his advance and we looked on with obvious anticipation.

I stared at the others. Mary Ellen's mouth was open and, as she stared, she was fingering herself, her vagina receiving the direct benefit of Alexander's foray into the human sex world. Buddy was also staring, a weird smirk on his lips. Johnny was sitting cross-legged, his hands on his crotch, fondling his hardened penis, his eyes wide. Even Amy was lost in the spell of the sex rite, an incredulous frown on her face, as though she didn't want to believe it but she couldn't tear herself away, either.

I knew I was as guilty as the others because I was making no move to protest or halt this act that was unfolding at my home, my castle, the place where I was lord and master over anyone I chose.

Alexander was paying no attention to us and we could hear his guttural panting as he placed his red thing against the rosebud and began a series of rapid jerks, stabbing Trudy cruelly several times before he pierced her anus right on target.

There was nothing sophisticated about his assault. He worked like a Trojan from the first, jabbing in ever faster strokes, sometimes withdrawing entirely and missing with several strokes before working himself inside again. Trudy closed her eyes and held on, enduring what must have been searing pain as the sharp penis stabbed her backside and lashed at the tender muscles in her anal region.

He worked for less than a minute before he began his orgasm, spreading his loins over her bottom and hanging on, close and quivering for a few seconds. His panting was hoarse and his tongue was hanging out a foot as he panted.

Trudy cried out and that told us that Alexander had broken his cherry, so to speak, coming for perhaps the very first time in his young life.

Pretty much a failure at the art of sophisticated loving, the dog leaped from his victim at once, abandoning Trudy to stand, legs spread, panting. Then he began to look around and under his belly, examining his still swollen penis to find out what had happened.

“Here, boy,” Mary Ellen was calling, her voice urgent. “Come here. I'll take care of you.”

We watched, as aghast as before, as the husky young girl hurried to the dog's side and began stroking him keeping his head from under his belly. Then she reached under it herself and grasped the slippery thing, squeezing a drop of leftover semen onto her fingers. She plunged the hand into her mouth, smacking her lips.

“Hm. Not bad at all, eh, fellow?”

She rolled to her back and, working like a mechanic sliding under an ailing automobile, Mary Ellen worked her way under his body while he stood patiently, waiting. Her face slipped back to his loins and then his lance was dangling, still out of its sheath but softening, directly above her lips.

She opened her mouth and the thing fell inside. Her throat muscles worked as she drew it into herself, ever deeper, her head coming up until her face was buried in the heavy fur of his loins. We stared, gasps coming from everyone in the circle, as she sucked on the rod until it was clean. After a few minutes she withdrew her head from Alexander's loins and slid out from under his body.

“Golly.” It was Johnny blurting the word. “Mary Ellen, I didn't know you liked to do stuff that way.”

The girl wiped her mouth, smacking her lips as though she'd just finished a hot fudge sundae. “Neither did I, sport, but one runs into unusual situations out in the world, right? You've got to think fast to catch your pleasures while you can.”

She looked around the group, seeing that even Trudy was sitting up, although still rubbing her sore bottom, her eyes fixed on the newest sexual star in the heavens.

“Was it good, Mary Ellen?” Trudy asked, awe filling her voice.

“Real good. Want to try yourself?”

The blonde baby-sitter made a face. “I don't like sloppy seconds, especially with a dog.”

Johnny guffawed. “Heck, maybe she already did it when she was sitting alone with that elephant. She probably knows him better than anybody else.”

Trudy tossed him a saucy look. “I'm not a kiss and tell girl. You can ask anybody. What happened between me and Alexander is a private matter.”

Buddy snorted in merriment. “At least Alexander will never squeal on you, Sis.”

I stood up, feeling weary and drained, as though I'd had a dream in which the human race drove itself over a cliff into the world of primeval times, trapping itself in the tar pits with the extinct creatures of the past ages and sinking into the ooze forever.

Depressed, I suggested, “Let's all jump into the pool for a while. I think well feel cleaner. I know I will.”

Taking Amy's hand, I helped her to her feet and, as she rose, she looked down strangely at her vagina, stroking her thigh. “I feel funny there,” she murmured.

I thought about Alexander's earlier foray the length of her body. “I shouldn't wonder,” was my only reply, for I still wasn't certain how long she'd been asleep or how much she'd been aware of during the visitation.

We slipped into the pool one by one, silently, as though we were frogmen on a secret mission close to the enemy shore. I watched as the women cleansed themselves. Amy rubbed her entire front briskly, apparently tingling where Alexander's tongue had done its work. Trudy concentrated on her bottom, her small hands massaging. Mary Ellen had the most difficult job, repeatedly filling her mouth and spewing water with great force.

At last we relaxed, lolling in the shallow end and the strange quiet continued, as though we were all spent and perhaps ridden with guilt. I knew I felt very low, wondering why I'd allowed it to happen. Why had I gotten mixed up with these kids in the first place? What magic had Trudy worked that first night to bring me to my knees? How had Buddy worked the same spell over Amy's head, making her go astray for perhaps the first time?

Now I'd opened the door to another pair of young but powerful people, Mary Ellen and Johnny. Together, they made the Trudy-Buddy team seem like innocent children, especially Mary Ellen. If she were a normal teen-ager then Jack the Ripper would have made a wonderful headmaster at a girls' school.

It was Amy who finally spoke, and when she did, I felt a spark of admiration for her. “I think,” she murmured, her voice lifeless and far away, “That it's time to call an end to this party. Good afternoon, children.”

They looked at her, hardly believing, obviously not ready to go. “Cool it, Mrs. Brady,” Trudy snapped. “We're not leaving this gravy train until all the gravy's been eaten, you dig? Just you cool it until we say different.”

“Knock it off, Trudy,” I snapped. “You have no right to talk to my wife that way.”

Trudy raised her eyebrows at me. “Well, lover, so you've finally had enough. You've taken your pleasure with me and my friends until you've had your fill. Now it's all over and you want out. It's not going to be that easy.”

“It doesn't hardly seem fair, Mr. Brady,” Buddy was muttering and I looked on him with surprise, amazed that he seemed to be thinking. “You invite us here and then, when we want to have fun, you get sore and want us out. Why did you think we came and brought Johnny and Mary Ellen, because we wanted to sit around and discuss great books?”

“I don't know why you came and call me a rude host, if you wish,” I snapped, “but you're all going to leave at once. Make trouble, if you dare, I couldn't care less at the moment. I feel dirty and, God love her, my wife feels dirty because of your presence. So long, kids. On your way, pronto.”

They muttered about it for a few more moments and Mary Ellen swam over to me, locking her knees on my thigh. She tried to kiss me, but I turned my head away, close to throwing up as I remembered where those lips had last been.

“Come on, Mr. B., loosen up. We can have some more kicks like we did behind the diving board.” She giggled. “You wouldn't want me to tell Mrs. B what we did over there, would you?”

“I don't give a damn,” I rasped. “Quite obviously she knew we weren't reciting poetry.”

Mary Ellen turned to my wife. “In a way it was like poetry, Mrs. B. We played daddy and mommy, and he sucked my nipples real good. Then I blew him and he said I was a real fine mama through it all. He really popped his balls, I can tell you.”

Amy paled and blinked, but she did not turn away. Instead she took a deep breath and muttered, “You heard what my husband said. You're all to leave at once.”

They began to get the message that the party really was over. “You're going to regret this, Mr. Brady,” Trudy said, coming close to me, playing with the hairs on my chest. “We're such good friends, it world be a crying shame to end it all this way. Our fun could go on and on and on, you know?”

“Goodbye, Trudy,” I snapped, turning away. The sight of Mary Ellen casually fondling Johnny's penis enraged me. “You! Out! At once! All of you!”

I must have sounded like a rabid lion, for they fairly leaped from the pool, drying themselves as best they could and then pulling on their scattered clothing, not caring whose garments they plucked up in the process.

I convoyed them through the house to the door and waited, steam coming from my ears, as they filed out on the porch. It was Trudy who turned back at the end, leaning her hips against mine. She was really a very attractive girl.

“Do you hate me, Mr. Brady?”

“Just call it something less than love,” I snapped.

“I hope we won't need to make trouble.”

“So do I.” I looked into her face, meaning it. “So do I, my dear, but this can't go on.”

She shrugged and began to turn away. “As they say, it's your funeral.”

I closed the door on her and turned back toward the yard. Amy was already picking up things and restoring order to the sordid chaos of the pool area. I wanted to drain the pool and replace it with clean water.

We spent a silent afternoon, ate a silent dinner and climbed into bed in silence. Even Alexander was smart enough to stay out of our way, huddling in the garage all the remainder of that day and night.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was some time before we were able to sit down and discuss it and, by then, I thought I'd come up with a plan. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than hanging around waiting for the juvenile authorities to file charges against us and send us to jail.

We were morose, weak, vulnerable and generally sick at heart as we sat across the dinner table from each other. I watched Amy toy with her food and finally drop her fork.

“I'm still not hungry,” she said, uttering the first words I'd heard in a full day, since we'd tossed the teen-age monsters out of the house.

“Neither am I,” I muttered, watching her. “But we can't go on, hanging in limbo this way. We've got to do something or we'll destroy ourselves, even if the kids don't do the job for us.”

Amy nodded. “I know, you're right. We should get back to work. I've missed two days already and Dr. Pratt will be worried. I imagine you've got piles of work waiting at the office.”

I nodded. “Sam called and I told him we were both a little under the weather, giving him some excuse about a couple of bad steaks we'd eaten. He's trying to take up the slack.”

She tried to smile. “We ate a couple of bad steaks, all right. Steaks named Trudy and Buddy. As a matter of fact, I don't feel at all well.” She touched her forehead. “I wonder if I have a fever.”

I frowned. “You're probably simply exhausted, but I suppose you ought to see a doctor about it.”

“Yes. I'll go into work tomorrow morning and pop across the hall to see Dr: Duncan.” She paused. “You'd better get back on the job, too.”

I bit my upper lip. “I intend to, but there's one thing I'd like to check out, first. I was going to suggest you go along, but if you're not well…”

“What's that?” She was leaning forward, her eyes showing a spark of interest for the first time.

“Aunt Charlotte.”

She frowned. “Aunt Charlotte?”

“Their aunt, remember, the woman they're living with in that old two-story house a couple of blocks from here?” I knew my wife was disoriented now. It wouldn't be a bad idea at all for a doctor to look her over.

“Oh, yes, you told me about her and the house. Didn't you talk to her on the phone? You said something about her sounding like a swinger.”

I nodded. “I don't really know, except that she said something about going out on a date. But why the hell not? Trudy said she was only thirty-five, I believe, hardly old enough to sit around knitting lace curtains, especially if she's been married three times.”

Amy blinked. “She's very experienced. At any rate, why do you bring her up now? Don't tell me you want her to join the party.”

“That's not funny,” I snapped. “I thought she might be a way to help control those kids of hers.”

“She's apparently controlled them very little up until now. What could she do for us?”

“Perhaps if I went to her I could persuade her to exert a little discipline.” I swallowed, thinking fast. “If they don't turn us in, and we can get their aunt to keep them home at night, we'll stand a better chance of getting out of this mess.”

Amy made a face. “We could stay out of it if we'd only be as firm as you were yesterday, when it was time to throw them out. Of course, we are weak, I'll admit that.” She shrugged. “All right, perhaps she could help. If she could control them it would help us to build up our resistance.”

“Exactly.”

We stared at each other for a full minute, awareness growing in our eyes. Yes, it seemed we were regaining our sense of purpose. We would return to work, straighten ourselves out and begin living the good life once again. The extent of our sinning would be cheating at bridge with the Champions and maybe letting Alice Champion tickle my knee occasionally from under the table.

We picked up our forks and ate our first complete meal in a full day, feeling it add strength to our resolve. We were almost normal that evening and, if it hadn't been for my plans to go out, I might have made a pass at my wife. It would be fun to return to normal, healthy sex.

Amy seemed to be regaining her old drive, too, and, shortly after dinner, she came and sat on the arm of my chair as I read the paper. Leaning close, she took my hand and placed it on her breast, letting me feel the thing quivering like a puppy dog.

“See? It's missing you already. Do you have any plans for tonight?”

Her breast felt exciting, full and warm and hard at the tip. I cursed myself for what I had to say, but there was no choice. “I'm sorry, honey, but there's Aunt Charlotte.”

She made a face. “See her tomorrow.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I just called her. The kids are out at the movies…”

“Ha! I'll bet.”

“Anyhow, she's expecting me in half an hour.” When she made a long face, I stroked her cheek. “It's better to get this unpleasantness out of the way and then, when I get home, we can get reacquainted, all right?”

She sniffed and I felt my groin beginning to tighten. I'd had so much sex lately that even a twenty-four-hour layoff was too long. I was hot, she was hot and I had made a date to be somewhere else.

She went with me to the door, her arm around me, her body close. “Hurry back?”

I kissed her lightly. “Like Superman, like a speeding bullet.”

I was thoughtful in the car, trying to sort out the pieces of our jumbled lives, determined that we'd rescue order from chaos. In addition, I wasn't certain what I was going to say to Charlotte Pipp. It was obvious she couldn't be told the entire story, but I could give her enough to shock her into turning the screws on her niece's and nephew's nocturnal activities.

I arrived at the house in a minute or two, seeing the porch light burning. It was a large, old place with a full second story. Quite Victorian, really, and I wondered if Aunt Charlotte would match its decor.

As it turned out, she did, after a fashion. She answered my ring at once, standing in the light and smiling out at me. “Mr. Brady? Do come in, please.”

I remembered the low, whisky voice from our telephone conversation. That seemed like months ago, but it had been only a few days.

Inside I turned to look at her and, while she was attractive, she was hardly the swinger that her voice and her series of husbands had led me to believe. She wore a rather old-fashioned dress, one that almost covered her knees, and it was up to the throat, buttoned chastely. She wore little make-up, had on horn-rimmed glasses, and her blonde hair was wrapped in a tight bun. A real Marian the librarian, I thought.

The inside of the house was filled with antiques, from the full-length grandfather's clock in the entry hall to the lace on the scattered tables. The lamps were shaded by stained glass and some of the furniture was quilted in red.

She smiled at my glances, her hands pressed together. “You're wondering about these old things. I'm afraid I'm not a true patron of antiques, Mr. Brady,” she remarked, her voice perfectly modulated, although still somewhat low. “You see, my last husband owned this house. It had been in his family for a hundred years, so he said. It came to me in the settlement and I'm staying here until something more suitable comes along.”

“I see,” I replied.

“Do you really?” she asked, her lips curved in a chaste smile. “I wonder. We'll soon find out, I expect. Won't you sit down and have a sherry before we get down to business?”

“I don't have much time,” I stammered. “Have to get right back home. My wife…”

“Ah, yes, Trudy and Buddy have told me how charming Mrs. Brady is. I'd adore meeting her.”

She sat, keeping her knees together and to one side, and poured two glasses of amber sherry from a cut glass decanter that must have been in the New World Ion before the Mayflower arrived. She passed me a glass, we lifted our hands to each other, and sipped. It was damned good. Could be even the wine predated the Plymouth colony.

“Now then,” she said, waiting, her head cocked, much as Trudy cocked her head like a bird. In fact, Miss Pipp must have looked a good deal like her niece twenty years before, for her hair was still a bright blonde and her features were almost pert, although much more mature than Trudy's, of course. Her figure — or what I could see of it under her chaste dress-did not seem to have been aged by time. Her waist was thin, her breasts swelled interestingly and her hips looked as though she'd had a great deal of experience.

I cleared my throat. “As you know, my wife and I have had certain social contact with your niece and nephew. I thought it only fair to inform you that they appear to be rather… well, over-friendly is a way to put it.”

Aunt Charlotte pursed her lips and I wondered if she were hiding a smile. “Indeed?”

“Indeed. Not only have I observed them making certain advances to each other, but each has attempted to… um, compromise Mrs. Brady and me. I hope you realize I'm telling you this only because we're very fond of them and have no desire to see them get into trouble.”

Aunt Charlotte got up and paced the room, clutching her sherry glass, and I detected a wiggle in her bottom that hadn't been there ten minutes before.

She turned to me, her face serious. “Just how fond of them are you, Mr. Brady?”

“Huh? Well, you know. They're nice kids. Just so they don't go too far.”

She nodded, standing over me. “Our family has always been one of excesses, I'm afraid. For myself, I've taken three husbands, changing them like changes of bed linen, if you'll pardon my simile. My brother, Trudy's and Buddy's father, and his wife aren't about nearly as much as is necessary to control their children. I'm afraid they follow the horses and other whims, spending their days at Belmont or before the wheels in Reno, rather than close to their children.”

I nodded. “Trudy told me a bit about that. So it falls to you to be the disciplinarian.”

She nodded, sitting down once again and sipping at her sherry. She looked at the glass. “Wouldn't you like something a little stronger, Mr. Brady?”

I felt the glow in my stomach, wondering if it was the ounce of sherry or the wiggle of Aunt Charlotte's bottom. “That would be fine,” I answered.

She went into the far corner and worked at a tiny bar for a moment, showing me her bottom all the while, and then she returned with two tall glasses filled with an amber stuff. We drank and it hit my stomach hard, with a punch like that of straight bourbon.

“All right?” Her smile was still angelic, even as Trudy's could sometimes be.

“Fine,” I gasped, taking another drink that went down more easily. That glow was getting hotter in my stomach.

“Now,” she said, her voice more throaty, “let's return to the problem at hand. Ah, yes, the Pipp family. Well, as you can imagine, with their parents setting such a terrible example, Trudy and Buddy haven't had much of a compass to guide them. It's not surprising that they could lose some of their moral values.”

I smiled. “Surely your values must count for something, Miss Pipp. Their close contact with you and this elegant old house should serve them well.”

Aunt Charlotte put her glass aside and rose again, again pacing before standing before me. “That is where you make your mistake, Mr. Brady. My values might not be what you seem.”

I chuckled. “That's difficult to believe.”

“Is it?”

With that she did something at the back of her head and that bun of hair tumbled down about her shoulders, picking up the light as it did so and changing her entire face and even her figure. Her manner had changed, as well, as Mr. Hyde had emerged from Dr. Jekyll.

I was shocked at her change, not that it was in any way unattractive. However, in five seconds, she had been transformed from the thirty-five-year-old Aunt Charlotte to a slightly older sister of Trudy Pipp. She wore the same smile, the same face, and same figure, although taller and more mature. She carried her head in the same fashion as her niece and, in every way, she was a creature transformed.

The Pipp family, I was learning, was rotten from one generation to another.

“Take it easy, buster,” she rasped, her hands on her hips, her figure emerging as though by magic. Even the dress seemed to shrink. “You're over here to make sure those two brats don't blow the whistle on you, right? Right. Well, they won't. They like their nookie too much to cut themselves off from any supply, like you and your missus.”

I could only stammer and she threw her head high, in another Trudy-like gesture, laughing.

“Jesus Christ, don't you think I know all about you? Don't you think I know how those two have been over at your place, noon and night, screwing their little pointed heads off? Don't you think they came home yesterday bubbling with stories about Mary Ellen and that chicken dog? Christ, would I have gotten my rocks off to have been in her place.”

She was sounding like a bar girl and I could merely stare, clutching my glass and drinking from it. She leaned down, taking it from me. “Not too much straight sauce for that fluttery tummy, right, Donny baby?”

Again she hovered over me, her breasts pointing, her hips thrust forward, daring me to make a grab at something inviting. I hated to think of it, but she was immensely desirable and Amy was waiting at home, ready to satiate that desire. But I was here, trapped, finding a number of things about Aunt Charlotte's body immensely inviting.

“You know, Donny,” she was going on, “if I weren't being serviced by a stud of a truck driver every night of the week I'd have been over there with those kids, helping myself to the Brady family goodies. As it is, they keep me filled with wild stories about your pool-side capers and adventures in front of the television set. And that dog-murder!”

I slumped in my chair, but my crotch was sitting up straight, damn it.

She saw my dork trying to escape and she smiled. “It's lucky I've got tonight off and you've filled the void beautifully. You dig me?”

I shook my head.

“Then dig this.”

She lifted her skirt to her waist. Wearing no pants, she showed me her vagina, spread like an open wound, waiting for me to stem its flow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I stared, my throat working, but no words would come out. She laughed again.

“Don't fret, pet. You don't need to say anything. I know a starving face when I see one.”

The world was going mad, or else I was. I'd walked in on a mature woman of breeding, one who had been dressed like a lady and living in Victorian surroundings. Now, as she whipped off her horn-rimmed glasses and tossed them aside, the picture was complete. She wore no underwear and her body was hot with desire, desire she was counting on me to cool.

“I'd better be leaving now,” I blurted, trying to rise. I was thinking again of Amy waiting at home, ready for me to sample her pleasures like a normal husband. Instead…

She was pushing me back in the chair, her skirt dropping-thank God-with the gesture. Then she was falling to her knees and leaning on my limbs, staring up into my face. Lord, she was exactly like her niece.

Her hands were fast, like twin machines, as they ripped open my fly and released my cock, digging into my shorts until the monster became untangled and waved in the cool night air of the parlor.

“Ah, how lovely,” she purred, reverting to her staid speech of a while before. “How absolutely delightful. No wonder my niece was so pleased with her baby-sitting duties at your house. She told me all about you, of course, but words couldn't describe adequately that magnificent thing I see before me now.”

I cleared my throat. “Get away from me.”

The words were like the peeping of a canary in a covered cage and I was almost tempted to join her laughter. She knew even better than I that I didn't mean a word of my protest.

She was on her feet again, pulling up her skirt and tucking it into her waist. Her legs were gorgeous, like Trudy's but longer. Her hips were somewhat wider and, if anything, more handsome than her niece's. Her vagina was larger, too, and obviously had been used more, but if it were overused it didn't show at first glance.

“Do you like it?” she asked, spreading her legs and holding the lips open with her fingers, like a saleslady displaying quality merchandise.

“Does it matter?” I snapped.

“Not a bit.”

Shoving my legs together, she straddled me and sat hard on my thighs. Seizing my cock in both hands, she worked at it for a moment or two.

“Nothing to get ready there,” she muttered, her voice businesslike. “You're primed.”

Aiming, she shoved her hips higher, forward and then down, forcing me to pierce her vagina dead center and sink my head into her tunnel. She paused, closing her eyes and smiling in the ecstasy of the sensation. Then she came down farther until my shaft was halfway home. Relaxing her knees, she slammed down the rest of the way, hard, but on the money so that I sank in to the hilt, my balls being flattened by her smothering thighs.

“Wonderful,” she breathed.

I said nothing. At least, I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of verbal compliments.

She didn't give a damn. She was getting what she was after and she began to take more of it, pumping, up and down, sideways, back and forth, screwing her hips in one direction and then the other. She was an efficient and talented bitch, I'll give her credit for that. She was milking me quickly so that, much as I wanted to-or, at least, so I told myself-I had no chance to hold back an ejaculation.

In less than thirty seconds I was coming, splattering semen against the back of her womb, feeling her tremble with an orgasm of her own in the same instant. She was convulsed with passion, her vagina gripping my cock and stroking it like it had a hundred pairs of hands, each dedicated to taking one more drop of semen from me, determined not to let a single wiggling sperm escape.

I fell back in exhaustion, feeling my penis begin to soften at once, realizing I wasn't as rested as I'd believed. Even as I felt guilty about neglecting Amy, I was glad she hadn't taken me when I was this weak, so she would have been disappointed.

If Aunt Charlotte was disappointed, it didn't show. She rose from her perch on my thighs, her face glowing, her pussy dripping. She wiped my dork with her lace handkerchief and sniffed it before tucking it into her bodice, between her breasts. Then she packed my cock inside my fly, as though she were wrapping a sterling candlestick.

“Ah, those fortunate children,” she purred. “If you and your wife are to break up with them, my darling Mr. Brady, it will be you who will do the breaking, not them. I can promise you that.”

She allowed me to rise, offering me a fresh drink as she lowered her skirt and brushed at her chaste dress. “Please, don't rush off. I have plenty more tricks in my bag and, besides, the children will be home soon, Think of the fun we can have as a group.”

I stammered something wild, as I recall, and broke for the door. Another session with this creature and those wild young animals would have driven me totally insane. I jerked the door open and rushed into the night. As I started the car, I looked up to see her framed in the doorway of the grand old house.

She was waving the lace handkerchief, calling something soft and gracious into the darkness. Beautiful and charming as she looked, quaint as was the setting, harmless and precious as the house seemed, I knew one thing I would never forget.

That handkerchief she'd pulled from her bodice was still soggy with my semen.

I arrived home much later than I'd planned, of course, and the party that Amy and I had planned was off. Amy was already in bed, even though it wasn't all that late, and she was fast asleep. Unless she was pretending. Remembering that she hadn't felt well, I didn't bother to wake her, instead slipping in beside her and lying wide awake in the darkness for the better part of an hour.

As I at last fell asleep my thoughts were on Aunt Charlotte. God, that Pipp family. They had more talent in their collective sex organs than a bank of computers at IBM.

I knew the deep freeze was on for certain when Amy arose early the following morning and flitted about, without waking me. She was already off to work by the time I rolled out of bed.

All right, so she was sore about my too-long visit with Charlotte, but it was a one-shot deal. I had made that resolve as I lay in bed the night before. We wrap up the whole sinning outfit-Trudy, Buddy, their pals and, finally, Aunt Charlotte-and bar the door to one and all.

I was ramming around the house, a bundle of tough energy, when the telephone rang. It was Trudy Pipp and the girl had picked the wrong time to call.

“What do you want?” I growled. “Forget your bowser bag?”

She giggled. “Golly, you sure are sharp for so early in the morning, Mr. Brady. I knew I'd need to call early to catch you. Are you still mad about yesterday?”

“You bet your sweet one I am.”

Her voice came back lower, seductive. “I think we can make things right. Suppose Buddy and I drop by tonight so we can discuss future baby-sitting ideas.”

“Suppose you go to hell. Tell your aunt ditto for her.”

“Come on, Mr. Brady. You know you can't put us off. We'll just drop by and patch up our lovers' quarrel, okay?”

“It's not okay,” I hissed. “Stay out of my sight and stay off this phone, Trudy. It's finished. No fooling. Finished for good. Goodbye.”

I imagine the Red Chinese in Peking could hear the slam as I brought down the receiver, breaking the connection. It helped firm me, because I wasn't kidding. It was time to save our lives, time to return to sanity, time to clear the Pipps out of our present and future, leaving them in the fading past, where they belonged.

I rushed off to work, where Sam and the office girls seemed genuinely pleased to see me. For a couple of hours I went through the piled-up papers like they were dry leaves and I was a bonfire. After a while Sam wandered into my office, a funny look in his eye.

“You been feeling poorly?” he drawled, sitting on the corner of my desk.

I shrugged. “Plenty to do at home. As a matter of fact, Amy is a little under the weather. Sorry about bugging out on you around this place, but we'll be caught up by noon, if I have anything to say about it”

He made a face. “Don't worry about this place. It runs its merry way, no matter what. Trouble is, Alice and I have missed you two for bridge. When can we get back together?”

I gave him some evasive answer that didn't make him any happier, but he settled for what he could get and then crept out, knowing I was in a working mood. Well, to hell with the Champions and their sexy ideas for a while. At the moment swapping Amy for Alice sounded like a mighty bad deal to me.

After a while I brought in a girl and dictated like a trotting horse for another hour, cleaning up three days' worth of unanswered mail. By then it was noon and I put on my coat, leaving the office with papers swirling behind me.

I had decided to hurry over to Amy's office and take her out to lunch. If she was still sore I could break her down, I was certain. After all, she didn't know what had been going on at the Pipp homestead the night before. Not only that, but I'd been worrying about her health, after her complaint about not feeling well. By now she might have an answer.

I sped into Dr. Pratt's office shortly after noon and the receptionist, a cute little blond with green eyes, smiled at me, showing me the insides of her thighs almost up to her pussy, thanks to the see-through desk. “Good afternoon, Mr. Brady. My, we've missed you around here.”

“Hi,” I replied, avoiding her exposed crotch. Jesus, the women were falling all over me these days. “I hope Amy hasn't gone to lunch yet.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Not yet. Just a moment.” She pushed a button on a box and purred, “Mrs. Brady, there's an important caller out here waiting for you.”

She looked up at me, smug and cute as hell with her little game. “She'll be right out, Mr. Brady.”

I winked into her groin and turned, sitting down with two or three patients, who turned their sorrowful eyes on me like basset hounds. They reminded me of Alexander, whom I'd left locked in the garage, hardly speaking to him that morning. Damn him. He was the cause of all my problems.

Amy popped out a moment later, looking clean and fresh and somehow sexy in her starched white uniform. “Oh, it's you.”

I turned on a smile. “Sure, Don Brady, remember? Where can we talk?”

She led the way to a side room and I followed, watching her ass twitch, thinking how lucky I was to have a wife with a good enough bottom to capture the attention of her very own husband. Not many guys went around ogling their wives. Other people's wives, yes. I was finished with other people. Amy was all I wanted.

I closed the door behind me and looked about the small supply room, which smelled like a hospital ward. “You look good, kid.”

“Thank you,” she sniffed, lifting her chin. “Well, can you explain last night?”

“Easily. We had a long talk, Aunt Charlotte and I and I told her how it was. That we were through with her young relations and to keep them out of our hair.”

“Did she agree?”

“Uh… not exactly, but I poured it to her good”- Lord, what a choice of words! — “and she got the message. I finished by walking out on her.”

She seemed doubtful. “It took you long enough.”

“I told you, I gave her the message good. We're through with the whole Pipp crowd.”

“Well…”

“I really came to find out about you, baby,” I purred, stepping close and putting my arm around her waist, pulling her hip against me. “You're not still mad, are you?”

She made another sniffing sound. “I suppose not, if you really made that woman understand.”

“Believe me, I gave her everything I had.” I hoped my nose wasn't growing longer every time I opened my mouth.

She looked me in the eye and, as I began to grind my crotch over her hip, letting her feel my hardness, she blinked. “How about Aunt Charlotte, is she attractive?”

I laughed. “That old bat? If she's thirty-five she's wearing the body of a fifty-year-old. Maybe she was like Trudy in her younger days, because she's a burned-out shell of a woman now. Ugh, really a shame.”

She blinked. “I guess I believe you.”

“What about you?” I shot back, wanting to leave the Pipp family in the dust. “Did you get over to see the doctor this morning?”

She nodded.

“Well, what did he say? Is anything wrong?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Nothing abnormal.”

I pursed my lips. “Just fagged out, right? That's good. We'll see that you get plenty of rest, with your old dad close by to administer soothing comfort. How does that sound?”

Amy never had a chance to answer, because the door was opened behind us and the green-eyed receptionist stuck her head inside. “Ah, here you are. More visitors, I'm afraid. My, you are popular people today.”

Behind her I could see Buddy's long head bobbing and then Trudy was looking in on tiptoe. They said something to the receptionist, who stepped out of the way as they came inside. “We'll just talk to our friends in here, if you don't mind,” Trudy was purring as she closed the door on the receptionist. As she came toward us, Buddy stepped to the door and snapped the lock home.

Nothing was said for more than a minute, before Trudy, looking younger and prettier than ever, chirped, “I got kind of worried about your nastiness on the phone this morning, Mr. Brady. So we checked your office and they said you might have come over here. Lucky break for us that we caught you before you ducked out for lunch

… or a nooner or whatever it is married people do at lunchtime.”

“Didn't I make myself clear, Trudy?” I snapped, stepping before Amy and half pushing her behind me. “I want you and yours to butt out permanently. Good-by, Buddy, Trudy. It's been nice.”

Trudy cocked her head. “You're really not kidding.”

“One hundred per cent correct.” I was boiling and my fingers itched, wanting to hit somebody.

The blonde angled her chin toward Amy, who had come out to stand beside me. “What about hot pants here? Can you speak for her, too?”

“Of course.” Perhaps they heard some lingering doubt in my voice.

“She's an adult,” Trudy continued. “Let her talk for herself. How about it, Mrs. Brady, are you sure you don't want Buddy and his magic snake coming around any more? You two have had lots of jollies lately.”

Amy shook her head. “No, I don't want to see him again. I'm sorry, Buddy, but it's sick. We're through with all of it.”

Buddy turned to his sister. “I ought to have a chance to test her, Sis.”

Trudy frowned. “Huh?”

“If she puts me down, then we can believe it, you dig?”

The girl's blue eyes twinkled. “Fair enough. If Buddy can't heat you up, Mrs. Brady, we'll know you mean what you say. Otherwise, it's back to the old baby-sitting syndrome, right Mr. Brady?”

It was crazy, but the kid had the idea. If Buddy could make my wife hot now-here and now-then there would be no use kidding ourselves. If we were weak now, we'd be weak later when the Pipps came sniffing around. So I felt myself nodding, praying that Amy would be strong.

Trudy and I stepped aside, feeling like alley cats watching a street fight being born, as Buddy moved toward Amy, a stupid smile on his mouth. He came close, stalking his prey, and Amy stared into his eyes like a cobra being mesmerized by a more intelligent and agile mongoose.

Then he was before her, his arms around her waist, jerking her against him as her eyes widened until they were almost perfectly round. Holding her tightly, his hands went down to the cheeks of her buttocks, where they ground into her tender meat, readying her for his own special dinner menu.

Amy's head fell back and her eyes fluttered. I was sweating by now, my lips moving as I silently urged her to find strength from somewhere.

Amy whispered to Buddy, “Kiss me, you fool.”

My heart fell into my shoe as his leering mouth closed over her wide-open lips. An instant later his head jerked back, teeth marks all across his upper and lower lips, and I realized that for once the cobra had won. He leaped away, his fingers rubbing his mouth.

“What… what was that all about?”

“Keep your hands off me for good, Buddy Pipp,” Amy intoned. “Now you know my husband means what he says and that he speaks for the Brady family.”

The young people withdrew and, much as I wanted to sock Buddy Pipp in the jaw and turn Trudy Pipp over my knee, Amy vetoed my wish. “No, they're aware that we're not fooling any more,” my wife was saying. “Let's at least part like human beings. There's been too much physical contact already.”

Buddy, perhaps in a mild shock, looked at his sister. “What now?”

Trudy made a face, shrugging. “I guess Aunt Charlotte had a good idea, after all. We might as well all go together.”

I frowned, suspicious. “Go where?”

She looked at me. “To Miami. My folks hit it big at the track down there and called Charlotte and us. They said there's plenty of money and action for everybody, if we want to come down and play in the Florida sun.”

My smile was grim. “I hope you have a nice trip.”

Trudy nodded, taking her brother's arm as they backed toward the door. Freeing the lock, Buddy went outside at once, apparently afraid I was still going to paste him one. The little blonde who had showed me so many new erotic games to play looked at me one last time, her smile quite sad.

“So long, Mr. Brady.”

“Goodbye, Trudy.”

“Thanks for the baby-sitting jobs.”

“You're welcome.”

She began to close the door, but that pretty blonde head showed one last time.

“Mr. Brady?”

“Yes, Trudy?”

“No matter what they say about old folks, you were real good.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It was evening and we were sitting in the front room, Amy on my lap, half spraining my hardened penis, which was jabbing against her backside. It was performing like a beggar out in the cold, knocking to get in.

“Honey?”

“Hm?” I answered, reaching into her blouse and extracting an overwarm breast.

“About Alexander.”

I glared at the dog, who lay in the middle of the carpet on his side, dead to the world. “What about him?” I asked, suspicious as hell.

“I don't think we're going to need him any more.”

Letting my fingers and my rod press on, I looked her in the eye. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Dr. Duncan gave me the news in his office this afternoon. The tests were positive.”

“Stop talking in riddles.”

“We're going to have a family, as the heroines say in the women's novels. A human family, not canine.”

I suppose I was still walking around on the ceiling, hog-calling, clapping my hands, stamping my feet, kissing Amy and screaming at the dog when the telephone rang. I hugged Amy one last time, dancing her about the room, before going to answer the thing.

I don't know why I bothered, except that I wanted to tell whoever it was the news-even if it was a wrong number.

“Hi, partner,” Sam drawled and, for some reason, I decided not to blurt it out right away.

“Samuel, my boy, how's tricks?”

He hesitated. “She's all right. In fact, that's why I called. Alice was wondering if you two wanted to play some bridge tonight. You know, kind of get reacquainted.”

I laughed, feeling mad as a March hare. “What you really, mean, partner, is can Amy and I come over so you can throw the blocks to my wife while I diddle Alice, correct?”

“Well… I hate to hear you put it quite that way, Don, but it's not a bad idea.”

I felt Amy come up behind me and reach around my hips, opening my fly and releasing my king cobra. I began to pant, but I was determined to finish the conversation.

“I'm afraid not, old fellow,” I replied, puffing like a fat man with a bad heart climbing Mount Whitney. “You might have an outside chance nine months from now, but I doubt it.”

“I don't get you,” Sam was stammering. “Right, and you don't get my wife, either.” I laughed, delighted with my idea, “Tell you what, though. There's a real friendly German shepherd in the living room. He's looking for a good home-somewhere else. Name's Alexander. Alice would love him.”

The rest is pretty hazy. I remember ringing off and then Amy was all over me, like a thousand electric needles and I knew our troubles were over-for good.

By the way, when the baby came, he looked just like me.

Content

Gus Stevens
Love Me, Love My Dog

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO