Revenge is one of the most powerful themes in literature. Equally powerful is the theme of sexual attraction between two people. Author Mickey France has taken these two biblically-inherent threads and woven a tale, almost moralistic in tone, in which the desire for revenge and the desire for love clash head-on in a battle that leaves every participant scarred.
We see in Sylvia Akron a personification of many of our society matrons today. She is bitter, unhappy, and disappointed that the magic, the wonderful promises of life have like the morning mists burned away under the hot glare from the sun of reality. At thirty-one she is childless and ready for divorce after ten years of marriage. When she realized that her husband has used her and betrayed her and is now preparing to discard her, Sylvia Akron becomes an avenging angel of doom.
Under her neurotic plan for revenge, she uses everyone -including her own body -- as expendable pawns in some grotesque chess game of revenge. Tod Shelton, the private detective who had taken the revealing photographs of Sylvia's husband and his secretary, finds himself serving first as a hired stud, then as a scout for wife-swapping clubs that might be used in her plan.
During a wife-swap party aboard a yacht off the Southern California coast, both Tod and Sylvia encounter their moments of truth. For Sylvia, she is offered a second chance to experience everything she has missed in her marriage, sexual contentment, happiness, companionship. So blinded is she however, in her desire to humiliate her husband, that the opportunity for happiness appears and disappears before she realizes it. Later, as she lay beneath the weight of four strangers, each using her body for his own delight, she begins to understand that the quest of revenge has led into the deepest depths of total depravity.
Tod's revelation comes when he realizes that the golden apple being offered to him by Sylvia is poisoned forbidden fruit, and that the things that will wither and die if he remains around her destructive presence.
Two hundred and fifty years ago, Thomas Fuller wrote in Gnomologia, "In taking revenge a man is but even with his enemy; in passing it over, he is superior."
In this graphic, extremely candid novel by Mr. France, the question of superiority and the question of the strength of love over revenge are not answered until the final page.
The Publishers
Chapter ONE
The man parked his weary old Chevrolet out in the street, rather than pull it into the circular driveway where it would have looked ludicrously out of place. The man himself looked out of place . . . as weary and out-of-date as his automobile. His pleated out-of-fashion trousers were shiny in the seat, the occupational hazard of a patrol car cop or a man who spends long hours seated behind the wheel of his car waiting for something or someone. And that was his profession: A man hired to wait patiently . . . a man paid to observe and put his observations in printed or photographic form.
He scratched the black-gray stubble of his beard as he pushed the button beside the door. Somewhere deep in the confines of the house, he could hear the chimes. It was an expensive sound . . . just as the house was expensive . . . and the woman who lived in the house, and who had hired him.
She opened the door, and once again the man felt his groin tighten in desire for her. She was taller than his five foot nine by at least three inches . . . "statuesque" that was the only word for her, he thought. Her breasts were like Arkansas cantaloupes, so ripe that a man's hand wouldn't begin to cover the mound of flesh; and she had a way of looking at a man that caused his balls to melt and his prick to freeze. It was all he could do to keep from moaning deep in his throat just from the sight of her. For a brief moment he thought he would have liked to have spent hours just watching her, but he knew that would be a painful mistake . . . even watching her for a minute or two was too much. To look at her was to want to go down on her and fuck hell out of her . . . and the man knew he had about as much chance of doing that as he had of becoming President of the United States.
"Mister Shelton, Come in please." she ordered, and the sound of her voice coming from those full, generous lips, sent a tingle rippling along his inner thigh.
"Mrs. Akron," he acknowledged, feeling at once stupid, ill-kempt and uncivilized.
"We can talk in the library." she said, and turned away from him to lead the way to the room.
He followed, watching her buttocks move sinuously in the tight hip-huggers. She was all motion, smooth, powerful, welcoming. God, he thought, how beautifully she swings that ass. In his mind he kissed and nibbled like a hungry rabbit at those supple mounds of moving muscle, and could almost feel his pecker slowly slipping between them. That was a mistake; one that if allowed to grow to fruition would not go away for a long time. By a supreme effort, he finally made his errant penis subside.
The woman motioned him to the couch and then eased herself into a large leather chair facing him. As she sat, he noticed the way her slacks tugged in between her legs; her delectable pussy was clearly outlined . . . the whole wonderful vaginal slit was there, hiding just behind the cloth. To kiss that would be heaven! His dreaming penis stirred restlessly again at the thought, for he knew she wasn't wearing a damned thing under the slacks.
"Well, Mister Shelton . . . you heard some news?"
He had an instinctive feeling that his information and the photographs were going to hurt her. For just a moment he deliberated whether he should produce the evidence or not, then he mentally shrugged. Hell, that was why she had hired him in the first place. "Yes, ma'am," he said, and withdrew a thick manila envelope from his coat pocket.
He passed it over and watched her weigh it in her hand. After a moment, her half-frightened eyes looked directly at him, as if seeking reassurance. "Is it bad?"
He swallowed. "I'm afraid so." Then he added quickly, "You might prefer not to see them . . . or maybe look at them after I've gone."
"I see. They're as bad as that?"
He nodded. And they would be bad from her point of view. From a photography standpoint however; they were goddamned good pictures . . . shot under extremely trying circumstances. His telephoto lens had caught every hair on the Smith girl's hot, twitching, little pussy . . . every hair on Mrs. Akron's husband's mustache as the banker used his tongue, lips, teeth, and mustache to scour his new secretary's cunt. Another photo showed the girl with her full ripe lips pooching out as they lovingly clung to the shaft of Mr. Akron's hardened cock. Still another photograph showed him pounding away at the wildly thrashing figure, with his prick buried deep in her hungrily clasping vagina. For that shot, Shelton had focused on the banker's rectum; it was one of the best action shots he had ever taken.
Mrs. Akron continued to stare at him as if she were reading his mind. Finally she closed her eyes and took a deep reluctant breath. Then she quickly ran her fingernail under the flap of the envelope and pulled out the five by seven pictures. The one on top showed the couple walking into a motel room. The second showed the nude girl on her knees helping the banker off with his trousers. His erection could clearly be seen in the snapshot. The third was where it really got interesting, and Shelton watched her carefully when she got to it.
Sylvia Akron felt the blood rush to her face when she looked at the third picture. She gasped aloud. There was her husband, Bruce, with an idiotic grin on his face as the girl sucked rapaciously on his penis. Bruce had been after her to do that same thing to him ever since they were married, but she had refused, feeling the act was unsanitary, perverted, and dirty. She knew her hands were trembling, and she wasn't sure whether the movement came from anger, hurt, or embarrassment.
She looked at the next photograph. There was Bruce, his face buried between the girl's widespread thighs. And suddenly she was very angry. "That filthy son of a bitch!" she hissed through clenched teeth.
Shelton shrugged. "I'm sorry."
"Not half as sorry as Mr. Bruce Akron is going to be," she snapped, her mind wildly searching for an idea . . . for any way to really make her husband sorry. And abruptly, it came to her.
It was so audacious that she found herself completely frozen for a moment. But the more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed to her. It would be horribly degrading for her, but what did that matter; it was oh so beautiful, an act of revenge! She looked at the private detective opposite her. She would have liked someone better looking . . . someone younger. But he'd do; he'd have to do! She knew he would go along with it; after all, he had been staring at her in that hungry, rather obvious way men have of looking when they want a woman.
"Mister Shelton, do you have your camera with you?"
Puzzled, he nodded.
Sylvia hesitated, seeking a way of putting it into words. She stood up and deliberately took a deeper than normal breath to make her breasts swell inside the thin blouse. "I want to get revenge on my husband. The only way I can do that is to embarrass him in public. I need photographs for that. For an extra fee, would you take some photographs of me . . . and you . . . together, like this?" She tapped the pictures.
Shelton almost fell out of his chair in surprise. He had heard it with his own ears, but he still didn't believe it . . . feeling he had misinterpreted her remarks. "I'm not sure I understand," he said, cautiously.
"Of course you do," Sylvia snapped. "Can't you set your camera so it will take an automatic photograph of the two of us together. I mean, you don't always have to stand behind the camera, do you?"
Shelton blinked. My God, he thought, she's actually serious. The bitch is serious! Suddenly his throat was dry. Never in his entire life had he encountered anything quite as kooky, but he wasn't about to permit this bit of luck slip out of his hands.
"Let me get this straight," he said slowly and with emphasis. "You want me to take a picture of us," he pointed his finger at her and then at himself, "the two of us doing what the girl . . . and, ah, your husband . . . are doing in these photographs."
"Yes."
He swallowed audibly, feeling the blood beginning to surge to and fro in his groin. "Everything?"
"Everything, Mister Shelton. Including, I believe the technical terms are 'fellatio' and 'cunnilingus'."
"Jesus," he muttered softly, staring at that luscious body opposite him. Never before had there been such a wonderful crazy proposition offered him. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead, and he used the palm of his hand to wipe it away.
"Well? Will you do it . . . for an additional two hundred dollars?"
The private detective had wanted to blurt out that he would do it for nothing . . . would be happy to pay her! But he kept his mouth shut, sternly telling himself, "Don't louse this up, Tod old boy. Let her take the lead." He tried to look as if he were weighing the pros and cons of the situation. After a moment, he said, "That would be very satisfactory."
"Fine, then. Go get your camera, come back and set it up in my husband's bedroom."
Ordinarily Shelton could have made the camera and tripod setup in less than a minute; however, he was so excited by what was about to happen that it took over five minutes and three trips back to the car before he had everything, including the remote snap cable,
The woman had disappeared following his last trip back to the bedroom, and now he could hear the shower running in the bathroom. He didn't know what to do . . . whether to get his clothes off, or wait for instructions.
About three minutes later he heard the water die and the sound of a glass shower door snap open. He was staring out the window at the blue waters of the patio's Olympic-sized swimming pool when he heard the voice behind him. "I have washed myself for you. Would you care to take a shower, also?"
He spun quickly around and felt his breath hiss out of his body just as if he had been kicked in the groin. "Sweet Jesus," he groaned, and his penis leapt to a sudden throbbing life as his famished eyes took in her lush nude body. Her harvest moon breasts, still damp from the shower, shone as if they had little lights buried beneath the warm golden skin. The areola, about the size of brown half-dollars, created little halos around the nipples. Her belly was smooth, as gently rounded as an alluvial plain, where it flowed toward the hairy tributaries of her soft pubic triangle. She had a woman's hips, he observed . . . a real woman's. Her thighs were almost muscular; they looked powerful . . . and the thought of those wrapped around his waist or across his shoulders brought immediate pain to his loins. "My God . . . you are so beautiful," he said, reverently.
Sylvia refused to accept the compliment; she wanted to keep this on strictly a non-personal basis. It was imperative that he realize he was only a servant . . . that under ordinary circumstances she wouldn't give him the time of day, much less her body.
"I think you should take a shower," she said coldly, "And you can use my husband's electric razor to shave."
For one split second, anger flared in Shelton's mind. But then he shoved it aside, thinking to himself: Just wait, baby . . . just wait. In less than twenty minutes you'll be screaming for me to fuck you good. Just wait.
He sat down and slowly took off his shoes and socks. One of the socks had a hole where the nail of the big toe had gouged through. Next, he removed his coat, his tie, shirt and tee shirt. He watched the woman with some amusement. She looked completely off balance . . . Embarrassed . . . obviously not knowing whether to stay and see the strip tease or get out. To hell with her, he thought, and he dropped his trousers. The huge bulge of his penis threatened to rip the seams out of his jockey shorts. Then, never taking his eyes from her, Shelton pulled down the shorts.
Sylvia knew her eyes had widened, that her face had turned crimson, as she saw the mammoth penis leap out like a tiger released from a cage. Good Lord, it was so big! Her eyes were locked on the white throbbing instrument. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea, after all. He would split her with that; she didn't know how any woman could take it. Then feeling sudden guilt and embarrassment, she forced her eyes up to his face and saw that he was watching her with amusement. That made her very angry. "Take your shower," she commanded.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered in mock meekness.
Sylvia watched him walk across the room. His testicles dangled like huge twin pendulums on a clock, and his organ was stuck out and up in an angle that made it look like an elevated artillery gun being sighted before firing.
Now that he was out of the room, she tried to force her mind into some semblance of order. She felt that all of the photographs probably could be taken in about two or three minutes. They would be posed. The detective obviously would want to try to have real sexual intercourse with her but she would permit him to put his penis inside her only long enough for the photograph to be taken. She wouldn't permit him to make any movements, nothing! Just the photograph. As for the other two or three things she was forcing herself to do, well . . . she'd do them and permit them to be done to her, but she knew she would be fighting regurgitation all the way. And she'd gargle and douche thoroughly afterwards!
Abruptly Sylvia realized the water had been turned off and she was now hearing the muted whine of an electric razor. Then it, too, fell silent. She sat, apprehensive, on the edge of the huge king-sized bed waiting for him to make an appearance. Her usually orderly mind was beginning to churn. Once again she began to doubt the wisdom of what she was about to do. Was it really wise or logical to debase herself just to publicly embarrass her husband? Wasn't that stupid? The door opened and the detective entered. It was obviously her imagination, but somehow he looked different. She noted for the first time that he was extremely muscular through the shoulders and arms. He was stocky; his bull-neck and legs looked as if they belonged on a football fullback. He appeared much cleaner . . . more acceptable as a male, she thought. The only thing that hadn't changed was that mammoth cyclopean penis that bobbed and throbbed with each beat of his pulse.
He stood in the middle of the room, feet spread apart, and hands on hips. "Well?" he asked.
She took one deep shuddering breath and then stood. "Let's get over with this as fast as possible," she said. "Which picture do you want to take first?"
"I've focused on the end of the bed." He motioned where she was to be. Sylvia moved next to the camera. She was suddenly very aware of the odor of after-shave lotion; it was her husband's yet it seemed to have more vigor . . . seemed more feral . . . than when Bruce used it. Unaccountably, her knees were beginning to feel rubbery.
Shelton made an adjustment on the camera then unfastened the remote cable from the leg of the tripod. He turned to her. "Sit here on the edge of the bed."
"You want me to sit?" Sylvia repeated idiotically.
He smiled; she noticed his lips . . . they looked strong, too. "Yes, sit. Because if you want to have a photograph taken of someone eating your pussy, it has to be that way."
Sylvia recoiled at his crude obscenity. "Watch your language, Mister Shelton. You aren't with a street whore now."
"I beg your pardon," he said sarcastically, and put one strong hand on her shoulder and pushed her naked buttocks down to the bedspread.
Sylvia tried to regain command of the situation. She watched as he took the long wire cable from the camera and put it at the foot of the bed. Then, without warning, he knelt down between her ankles. She was incapable of movement, feeling almost like a hypnotized bird watching the snake approach. Only then did her mind begin shouting storm warnings at her, but she ignored them and forced herself to continue.
Shelton's lascivious eyes feasted on the soft golden triangle of pubic hair. Almost reverently, he put his strong capable hands on her knees and forced them apart. He kissed her inner thigh, and felt the woman shudder.
"Just take the photographs," Sylvia said, feeling the skin tingling where his hot lips had touched.
"This has to be done properly, or it won't look real," he said.
"Oh, very well," Sylvia answered impatiently, "but do let's get it over with."
"Yes, ma'am." Shelton replied, suppressing a smile.
"When will you take the picture?"
"I'm taking them as I go along; I've already taken one."
Sylvia felt his hot lips on her other thigh, together with the quivering heat of his tongue tracing a wicked galvanism against her naked skin. He spread her legs even further apart and raised her knees a bit by placing her feet on top of his thighs. Through her toes, she could feel his rock hard penis and the bristly hairs of his pelvis. She tried to remove her foot, but he merely grasped her ankle and moved it up until the toes were actually resting on the pulsating flesh of his penis itself .
"Leave it there," he ordered. "This has to look right, otherwise you're wasting your time."
Sylvia closed her eyes in disgust, only to snap them open a second later when his finger tentatively touched her vulva; she jumped as though she had been touched with an electric cattle prod.
Shelton slithered forward, down toward the wide beautiful lips of her cunt. He used his thumbs to peel them back and saw the inviting red cavern of soft, sensitive flesh open to him. God, never in his wildest imaginations had there ever been anything quite as luscious as that sight before him. It was a temple . . . homage must be paid to it and its unknown gods.
Sylvia was aware of his sudden indrawn breath which sounded almost as if it were an exclamation. She wished he would hurry up and get the horribly repugnant act over with. She could feel his hands gently massaging her inner thighs as he spread her legs wider to a point where she was almost incapable of resisting, should she decide suddenly to change her mind. Then a jolt shot through her as his thumbs pressed against the vulva and gently parted the tingling hair-lined lips. He slithered forward once again, his head abruptly bowed, and his hot hungry mouth had fastened on her gently pulsating clitoris.
"Ahhhhh . . . no!" she said loudly, knowing now the danger she was subjecting herself to, and struggling to sit upright. "Don't do that . . . I've changed my mind!"
If he heard her, he paid no heed. His mouth now had begun a gentle sucking motion on her outer lips, sucking them in and out, in rhythm with the flickering of his tongue on her clitoris.
"Stop it," she screamed. "I don't want to do this." Sylvia could feel every horrible thing he was doing; his hands were massaging her buttocks and inner thighs. His lips . . . now hot and eager . . . were caressing, kissing and sucking her vulva. Sparks of unwanted delight were arching throughout the sensitive nerve ends between her open thighs. Then, without warning, his tongue . . . hot and quivering with a life all its own . . . shot like a steelhead trout into the warm cavern of her vaginal slit. Down his trembling tongue went, even deeper, until it was lodged like a small quivering penis fully inside.
"Gaaaaahhhh. Please no." She writhed helplessly beneath him. "No you can't do it. I don't want you to anymore. Don't. It's horrible. Please . . . please . . . oh, pulllll . . . eeezzz."
The last was said even as her abdomen, without volition, rose eagerly to meet his voracious mouth.
Shelton grinned to himself Now he had the bitch going. She had seemed too goddamned glacierlike, such a smart ass . . . and now, within two minutes of scouring her cunt, she was begging for it . . . even if she didn't realize she was begging.
He pulled his mouth away and was delighted to hear her low moan of disappointment. He thought: I'm really going to turn her on now. And he laughed to himself, knowing she was going to be a very hot little piece before he got through with her. He decided to play her along . . . "I think," he said seriously, "we'd better try that shot again; I'm not sure we got the photograph." She attempted to sit upright, but his strong arms kept her pressed back against the bed . . . with her knees and thighs spread lewdly apart. "No," she said, trying to gain control of her runaway emotions. "Please. No more. Not even my husband has done this before. Please . . ."
Shelton tweaked her clitoris, and she jumped as though he had stuck a needle into her buttocks. "Your husband ate the pussy of that little secretary of his . . . it's only fair that you should get some of it, too. Besides . . . remember the photographs." And so saying, he bent his head forward again, where his eyes feasted hungrily on the ripe red lips of her vagina, framed so beautifully with the soft blond pubic hair. From her engorged clitoris, one droplet of her seeping vaginal juice glistened in the light; to Shelton it looked as though it were honey oozing from one inflamed petite rosebud. His voice was almost hoarse with desire when he said, "We'd better take another photograph, just to make sure we got it."
Sylvia moaned in shame . . . feeling her own body betraying her . . . as his tongue slowly and deliberately licked the soft golden curls of pubic hair aside to expose the cavern leading to her innermost femaledom. He breathed against her clitoris, and even the expulsion of his hot breath sent tingles of ecstasy throughout her entire abdominal area. Her body jerked automatically as once again the quivering tongue returned to her vaginal opening. This time he was licking . . . like a thirsty dog lapping up sweet life-giving water . . . licking from clitoris to anus . . . running the gauntlet of uncontrollable desire to horrifying shame. A groan bubbled out of her lips, and she once more made an effort to escape him . . . knowing now that she was within seconds of losing all control.
His long, hot probing tongue suddenly entered full-length into her cunt, and she screamed, "Ahhhhh . . ." Saliva bubbled at the corners of her laxly opened mouth, and her head tossed back and forth on the blue satin covers of the king-sized bed. She wailed in desperate longing and passion as his tongue curled around her clitoris and his lips made loud sucking noises at her pulsating vulva. "Stop . . . "It was said weakly, the last gasp of her dying decency. She felt his head shake negatively . . . and the shaking motion, the feel of his scraping beard against her inner thighs, was enough to cause the flood waters of her passion to suddenly break the levees that had held them in abeyance for all her life.
Her mind was on fire with a hundred thousand different sensations and thoughts . . . thoughts screaming and bumping against each other as though they were maddened animals crowded in one small cage. The unwanted jolts of pleasure were taking precedence over all other feelings. It was happening to her! It couldn't be true! She was being tongue fucked and eaten . . . yes, eaten alive. She could feel his teeth devouring her down there . . . and nothing, absolutely nothing in her entire life had ever felt so delicious before.
Shelton was forced to slip his hands under her buttocks when her wildly squirming pelvis kept slipping out of his mouth. He massaged the soft, resilient cheeks of her ass as though he were kneading bread dough, then slipped one finger down the crevice between her buttocks and found the tiny quivering ring that would open her rectum. She jerked upward when the finger began making its invasion, but the upward movement of her body only drove his tongue deeper into her vaginal well. She cried out aloud, but her words were unintelligible. With one sudden almost vicious movement, Shelton's finger wormed into the tight cringing anus going in as far as the middle knuckle.
"Gaaaaagggh . . . ohhhhhhh," she groaned. "Stop!" His only answer was to make his tongue flicker like summer lightning across her clitoris. He began moving his finger in and out of the squirming rectum.
Sylvia knew she had gone insane . . . there was nothing rational about what she was doing. Nothing so perverted, or so lewd as this had ever happened in her entire life. Bruce had wanted to make love to her this way in the beginning, but she had refused knowing how dirty it was. She had been horribly disappointed and a little frightened, when Bruce had suggested it a second and a third time. And the third time she had screamed at him that he should see a psychiatrist, for it was obvious he was sick to want to do something as perverted as that to her. And now, she was letting a perfect stranger do this to her body. She knew her expression must be the same as that on her husband's new secretary's face; lustful, perverse, demented! . . . And she didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore except that delicious tongue bringing her to what she knew was going to be unsuspected peaks of climax; his tongue was a passport to a land of wild uninhibited passion and pleasure never before entered by her body.
She was only vaguely aware when Shelton, without removing his mouth, drew her legs up and around his neck. Sylvia's buttocks spasmed beneath his touch, and she cried out deliriously when a second finger joined the first in her rectum. When they were pulled out, she groaned in disappointment until, abruptly, she felt his tongue leave her vagina and seek out the now slightly stretched little cavern. She actually screamed in rapture as his tongue flickered sensuously against the anal lips and then pushed its way in. The hedonistic pleasure was like a runaway forest fire; she could feel it roaring up the canyons until suddenly, without warning, it crowned in one raging inferno of lust.
"Don't . . . do . . . that . . ." she cried, giving lie to her words by spreading her legs further apart and lifting her loins so he could get in deeper. The sound of her own voice brought tears to her eyes, for she realized that this was total degradation. For the first time in her life she had lost control of her traitorous body. Oh, God, she'd have orgasms sometimes . . . from her husband, but even they had been controlled. Nothing though . . . nothing ever . . . like this wildly plunging tongue that aroused her to the point of complete subservience. And finally, she fell back no longer fighting anything he did to her . . . made completely helpless by her own lust-incited body.
Shelton changed tactics as he suddenly felt the fight go out of her. He began licking again . . . knowing, even if she didn't . . . that her clutching and clenching pussy was getting close to a gigantic orgasm. He licked on and on . . . moving from clitoris to anus . . . deliberately touching at every spot where he knew there was a nerve ending.
Sylvia lay there feeling pleasure wash over her like a warm roaring tide, and her woman's body began crying out for fulfillment. She wondered if it were possible to reach a climax this way, she presumed so, for reportedly this was the way lesbians brought pleasure to each other at times. She was barely conscious of her wildly squirming hips that swiveled as though on ball bearings, grinding her hungrily clasping vagina harder and harder up into his eager face.
And then she felt it. She knew it was coming . . . that the gate to the wild, untamed land so long denied her were swinging open. She had no idea what it would be like in that other country; she merely waited as the sight unfolded. Now, with Shelton's fevered mouth clamped on her tingling clitoris, she began experiencing the first flush of the overpowering climax. Her vaginal walls began automatically squeezing, her cervix dipped and rose in time to music only it could hear, her clitoris shorted out in a blaze of her fiery sparks, and her rectum clenched and unclenched so rapidly that it could have sucked up water like a vacuum. Loud mewls of pleasure broke out of her taut lips, and her breasts reddened, mottled, then turned almost magenta as the straining blood pumped into them. Her abdomen whipped back and forth like an insane pile driver, and her hands reached down viciously to shove his face, nose, tongue, teeth, eyebrows, head and all . . . deep inside her voraciously churning loins.
She was there! She was there! "Ahhhhh? Aaahhhhhhh . Ohhhhh . . . Aiiiiieeeeeeeee, I'm cumming . . . I'm cummm . . . eeee iiinnng!" And then she was jerking helplessly against his face, her body pumping up and down in wild and uncontrolled abandon as the cataclysmic orgasm ripped like a powerful earthquake through her entire being. She was only vaguely aware of his hands groping and reaching and teasing her breasts and clitoris and rectum while his tongue continued its machinations at the desperately throbbing entrance to her very soul.
Half an eternity later, with the orgasm fading away like a reluctant sunset, Sylvia became aware that the loud rasping noise she was hearing was actually her own breath whistling and hissing through her constricted throat. Through heavy lidded eyes, she looked up at the man who had brought her to his point. Her heart was pounding so heavily that she felt surely the bed must be quaking. Sylvia stared at him and his figure became dimmed and misty; she was weeping and she didn't know why . . . didn't know whether it was from the overpowering shame she felt . . . or from the equally overpowering, but beautiful aftermath of passion.
His face had a strange expression on it . . . almost expectant. as though he were a conductor who had just completed the overture to a symphony and checks the orchestra before beginning the first movement. Her eyes trailed from his face down to his powerful hairy chest and flat muscular stomach to finally come to rest on the mammoth penis that throbbed and beat with a life of its own. Shelton glanced at her, and seeing that she was watching him, he slowly pulled back the foreskin so that the one cyclopean eye of the hardened instrument could peer out at her. He stroked it teasingly and she saw it grow even larger. Sylvia knew she should say something now . . . put an end to this before it became even more shameful. Yet, even as the thought went through her mind, she could feel a strange wanton desire begin building up in her loins. The sight of that beautiful male organ was doing something to her. She blushed as she realized she actually wanted to kiss it, to enclose its throbbing head within her lips.
"I'm going to fuck you now," Shelton said gruffly.
And she heard her desperate, almost hysterical voice say, "Don't be a fool, Mister Shelton. Remember, you're here to do as I say. I don't want a repetition of that disgraceful scene again. Just take your photographs."
Shelton smiled at the audacity of the woman. How could she say such a thing, lying there with her orgasmic juices bubbling like fermenting champagne and her vulva pulsating as it cried out for more. Well, he'd show her . . . oh, yes! And starting right now. He got up from the bed.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"I'm rearranging the camera for the next series of shots." He moved the camera until it was focused midway on the bed. Then he turned to her, "Scoot up."
Sylvia paused, trying to summon up enough energy and will to resist him . . . to call off this entire stupid project. But then she realized he had already taken half a dozen photographs, so the project might as well be completed. "All right," she said, moving up until she was directly in the middle of the bed, "but I want one thing understood. You are going to insert your penis; you are going to take a picture immediately . . . and then you are going to withdraw. This is for photographic purposes only. Is that understood?"
The detective once again was forced to suppress a grin. "Yes, Mrs. Akron, I will do anything you say."
Sylvia watched as he bent down behind the camera and adjusted it to his satisfaction. Then he stood upright and came over to the bed. She could not take her eyes off that mammoth penis; it was so huge! She had never seen one this big before; but then, of course, she had only seen a few in her lifetime anyway . . . and only one had ever been inside her . . . her husband's.
Shelton felt the soft satin against his knees as he crawled across the bed toward the waiting figure of the woman. Then his hands were pulling her long, lithe legs apart. Her naked cunt slowly came into view again as though the curtains were parting on a theatrical production. Once again he wanted to plunge his face into the still quivering mass of nerves, but he knew that probably would cause her to rebel.
He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice when he said, "I don't know which will make the best photograph, so we'd better try three or four positions. That way at least one definitely will be good." He noted that she blushed in embarrassment, and for a moment he thought she was going to protest. But she kept her mouth shut. The heat in Shelton's groin would have done justice to a rocket engine. He felt as though he were about to explode, and he hadn't even put his cock inside her yet. He wasn't too worried; control had never been something he lacked. He could fuck her all night and not cum until he wanted to. And he might just do that . . . fuck her until she was a whimpering, broken, completely subjugated mass of flesh.
He felt the woman shudder as his hands slipped along her thighs. Then, using the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, he parted the vulva. The glowing entrance to the smooth fleshy tunnel immediately came into sight. There, at the top of the vaginal split, stood the clitoris like a guard tower over a sleeping city. And there, at the bottom, ran a silver river of her own orgasm and his earlier saliva. Slowly, he stuck the middle finger of his right hand into the gently pulsating opening.
Sylvia jumped. "Stop that," she ordered.
"Look," he said quietly, as though he were explaining something to a backward child, "I don't want to hurt you. I have to prepare you first before I can get inside of you for the photograph."
Her only answer was to close her eyes. Teasingly, he moved his finger in and out. Christ, he thought in surprise, she had a tight little cunt for a broad her size. Her husband must not use it very often . . . and, of course, the detective had no way of knowing that it hadn't been used in three months, and prior to that, only once or twice a month for the past seven years. The tempo speeded up as his finger began sliding in deeper and more rapidly. She winced when he wormed in a second finger, but she was so well lubricated that her vagina easily accommodated it. Shelton was hypnotized by the sight of his finger moving in and out of the soft, hair-fringed lips. He was so taken by the sensation that it was a moment or two before he realized he was getting some reaction from the snooty little cunt. He felt one muscle twitch in there against his fingers, and saw the smooth, white cheeks of her buttocks flex.
She was ready. Quickly then, before she could change her mind, he lifted and draped her knees up across his shoulders and dropped between her open thighs. His savage throbbing cock was eager to begin the invasion of this promised land. His breath was coming hoarsely now, and he knew he could not deny his prick its well-earned reward any longer. Then he pressed forward. The head of his cock touched the wet, fevered cuntal lips. She moaned. He let it stay there for a moment, savoring the feeling of her soft resilient pubic hair against his glans. He pressed in, and felt the hardened rod of flesh slowly slip in about an inch.
"Oh, you're hurting me," she groaned. "Hurry up and take the photograph."
"I'm not in all the way yet."
"Then hurry up," she commanded, closing her eyes in mortification and pain.
"As you say, ma'am." Shelton grinned savagely, then he grunted and with one smooth stroke shoved it all the way in.
"Agggggggagggh," she screamed, and the sound of her agony caused birds outside the house to fly away in terror. She was being split apart . . . torn asunder like a recalcitrant slave put between two draft horses. Her fingernails dug against his hirsute chest and her legs splayed out wide in an effort to alleviate the horrible pain. But it was to no avail. Down, down, down the white inexorable drill moved into her defensively contracting belly. "No . . . stop! You're killing meeeeeeee . . ." And then Sylvia felt his penis slam against her cervix and his testicles slap hard against her defenseless, upturned rectum. He was all the way into her; deeper by at least three inches than anyone had ever been into her before. Her body was a sheet of red agonizing flame . . . a flame that surged and swept upward like a fire storm with each pulsating beat of her vagina. Her breath was coming so hoarsely that she actually had to force words from her pain contorted lips. "Don't move it. Please." And then the tears began flowing . . . tears of pain, and shame.
Shelton knew he had let his emotions get the better of him. That one savage plunge into her helpless body was something he had not planned to do. He had wanted to take it easy . . . by stages . . . and bring her to a mewling chant of desire where she would beg.
Beg . . . beg! He feared he had injured her; he knew he had hurt her. She was tight . . . so terribly tight for a woman her size. Once, a few years ago, he had had sexual intercourse with an eighteen year old virgin daughter of a client. Even that hadn't been as tight as this cunt. He wanted now to kiss her tears away, to beg her forgiveness . . . but instinct warned him against this. He glanced down at his chest and saw the skin torn beneath the hair . . . two long furrows left by her desperately digging fingernails. Odd, he thought, it hadn't hurt a bit. He glanced even further down and saw his black pubic hair tangled with the golden strands down between her widespread thighs. That was a mistake, for he felt his penis twitch uncontrollably.
"No . . . don't," she begged.
He remained still for a moment, but when he felt her smooth trembling legs against his bare shoulders he consciously made his prick twitch again.
"No . . . you're hurting me," she complained. Then, sobbing, she asked, "Haven't you taken the photographs yet?"
"I can't without moving you around a bit," he lied.
Sylvia, feeling the cruel impalement between her thighs, wanted desperately to have him take it out, but she was afraid withdrawal would be just as excruciating as the fiery entry had been. She had never before in her life been so filled up there. It seemed as if her stomach was being stretched upward and outward from his instrument of maledom. As for the vagina itself, she knew beyond a doubt that it had ripped and was bleeding . . . she could even feel what must be blood trickling down the crevice between her buttocks. Had she looked, however, she would have realized as did Shelton . . . that the viscous fluid came solely from the tortured walls of her vagina pouring out lubricant . . . a defensive lubricant that would permit the sheath to accommodate the sword.
Sylvia took a deep shuddering breath, and Shelton felt her abdominal muscles involuntarily pull upward with the expulsion of her breath. Her cervix dipped in reaction and scraped across the throbbing head of his cock. He twitched. She moaned again. Then, miraculously, Shelton felt the vaginal lips themselves . . . clasped tight like elastic around the end of the penis . . . move slightly.
Sylvia was not aware of her body responding automatically to the invasion. All she knew, for sure, was the pain seemed to be lessening a bit. She swallowed, and her muscles relaxed to permit passage of the saliva from mouth to stomach. With the relaxation of these muscles, other tissues and tendons in the area of the cervix crept forward. To Shelton it was as though an expert massage artist were at work down there on the head of his warmly surrounded prick. He twitched his cock, making it jerk upward
inside her. This time, the only reaction from her was a brief grimace which might have been pain . . . or something else. Now was the time, he thought. The bitch is ready for some real fucking, providing it's done gently at first. "I'm going to move us around a little so I can get the photograph. All right?"
"Yes . . . sss" she replied almost inaudibly, and Shelton felt all her muscles suddenly tighten again as though she were attempting to protect herself from any feeling whatsoever.
"Relax," he crooned. "Just relax. I won't hurt you anymore."
She sighed. "All . . . right. But please hurry with the camera. It still hurts."
Very, very slowly, Shelton began pulling back a bit. Her vaginal lips clung like a tight rubber band to the trunk of his penis they seemed almost reluctant to let it leave. But Shelton had no thoughts of leaving. He flexed the cheeks of his buttocks which caused his cock to throb in the tight clinging passage. One flicker of pleasure crossed Sylvia's face. It was a momentary thing, but enough to let him know he was on the right track. When he had pulled about three inches of his long desire-hardened penis out of her tightly clasping pussy, he stopped. Then, slowly again . . . very slowly . . . he pushed it in, feeling it slip like an underground gondola through the warm, closely surrounding walls of flesh.
Sylvia had felt him start to pull out and was surprised that there was no pain in the withdrawal. She felt his penis twitch and was surprised at the delight this one little motion brought her. She felt withdrawal stop and was surprised that one rebellious part of her mind was glad it wasn't being pulled out after all. Then she felt him move in again to the deepest depths of her womb and was surprised how very pleasurable it was. She could feel every muscular ridge on the trunk of his probing male organ pressing out against the smooth velvety walls of her vagina.
Within moments, he was slowly and tantalizingly pumping in and out of her. "No . . . ugh . . . you mustn't. Ugh . . . just the . . . photo . . . ugh . . . graphs . . ." she began, realizing that her pelvis was beginning to involuntarily elevate upward to meet him. God, her body was coming completely alive. She could suddenly feel everything, could feel the heat of his ears as she clasped her knees against his head, could feel her nakedly exposed rectum throbbing in what she feared was expectation, could feel her breasts crying out for attention.
Now Shelton began to rotate his hips, grinding his hardened penis deeper and deeper into her vagina. He was not the least bit surprised to find an answering rotation movement coming from her. He had known the girl was beginning to heat up . . . in another minute or two, she would be ready for almost anything. Patiently, he rocked above her, stroking into her with a long easy rhythm.
And then, in spite of her initial revulsion at being made love to by a stranger, Sylvia's mouth was beginning to open and close with passion. She no longer cared about the photographs, there was nothing left but that long beautiful cock sawing into her as though she were a violin and it a bow . . . bringing with it a wild savage music she had never heard before. Gone were all thoughts of pride, or morals, of anything except the feeling . . . and a music older than Adam and Eve themselves.
Bruce, her husband, had never caused her to feel this way, and even as she thought about it she wondered if perhaps it hadn't been partially her own fault. With the rapid departure of morals and pride, all her facades and inhibitions were falling away. She strained upward, heaving her abdomen in passion, and clasped her hands against his buttocks pulling this stranger deeper and deeper into her screaming body.
With considerable surprise and pleasure, Shelton suddenly felt her go wild beneath him. For a second, he thought she was cumming; then he realized that the cunt's motor had just been put into gear . . . it had only been idling before. Smiling triumphantly, he moved up higher on her body and without breaking his rhythm began nibbling at her breast.
"Aahhhhhhh," she moaned, feeling not only his hot lips on her nipple, but a new and even more wonderful sensation as his cock began really pressing against her clitoris. She dipped and revolved her pelvis, hard, hungrily keeping the clitoris in contact with his rigid driving pole of flesh.
Shelton, feeling the first vestiges of control leaving his body, began fucking into her with ever-increasing force. He lengthened the stroke, drawing his cock almost all the way out before slamming it home again. Faster, faster, faster, he worked. She met him each time. Her vaginal lips caressed it as it went in . . . sucked and massaged it as it came out. His scrotum was beginning to tighten . . . to swell, and he knew his time was coming close.
Sylvia's body had begun rocking from side to side in addition to her frantic up and down movements. She was soaring rapidly toward a pinnacle. Her head tossed back and forth like a buoy in a stormy sea, and her breath whistled and rasped out of her in short cries of passion. My God, she thought, I'm about to cum again. Never . . . never before had anything felt as wonderful as this. This man had mouthed her cunt until she was helpless with desire; he had made her reach a climax the likes of which she had never experienced before. And now . . . and now! That gigantic throbbing godhead was causing her senses to leave her. His huge prick had filled her with insane pleasure, and it was peaking . . . she was peaking. She fought her own climax; she didn't want it . . . because it would mean the end of it. He would leave her . . . he would pull it out of her. And she began weeping. She was nothing more than an adulteress . . . a common slut! "Oh, God!" she screamed.
Shelton wanted her to cum first; he wasn't sure how close she was. Abruptly, he stopped.
Shelton felt her cunt pulling and sucking desperately at his hardened cock. For Pete's sake, he thought, the hot crazy bitch was going to make him cum anyway . . . whether he moved or not! Quickly then, he withdrew his cock until only her thin, hair-lined vaginal lips covered the head.
"What? Why . . . are you . . . stopping?" she groaned, looking up at him with calf-like pleading eyes.
Shelton was fighting his own breath as well. He smiled, panting, "The photographs are taken."
Sylvia blinked, as the perspiration ran off her forehead, across her eyebrows, and into her eyes. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The raging fires he had set in her loins had to be extinguished. No one could be that insensitive, that unfeeling. She didn't care what she sounded like now . . . all she knew was that she had to have that life-giving instrument of maledom back in her. She was incomplete without it; she'd die, a screaming death, without it. "Don't stop, please, don't stop," she wept, knowing she was debasing herself even further by begging. "Please?"
Shelton felt the joy in his balls at the knowledge she was begging for it. Begging for him! For his cock! "Say what you want," he ordered sternly.
"Do it to me."
"Do what?" He was as unbending as his own prick.
"Fuck me," she screamed. "Fuck me, please . . . fuck me, you bastard!" The sound of her own lewd expression caused the flames to leap even higher in her abdomen and she screamed again as she felt the cruel white submarine crash dive, sliding inexorably into the turbulent depths of her vaginal sea. "Ahhhhhhh, God . . ." she gasped, and the delight flowed over her in . . . an aurora borealis of pleasure. Her legs quivered on either side of his thick shoulders and she reached up for his head, French-kissing him, sucking his tongue as though she were sucking voraciously on a cock. The bliss was unbearable. He slammed mercilessly into her vagina, and with the perigee of each stroke she screamed from sheer lust and pleasure; screwing his tongue deep into her threat as though she wanted tongue and cock to meet midway in her body. She was close . . . coming, closer. . . closer.
Shelton moaned as he felt his own unbearable climax beginning deep within him. No amount of flexing ass muscles would keep this one away, he thought, and abruptly gave himself in to the exquisite sensations. He hammered in and out as though he were a runaway pile driver, and then he felt the scalding heat as her vaginal walls began to seep the elixir that was the precursor to her climax. Beneath him, the woman's eyes suddenly widened in disbelief and her breath caught in her throat. "I'm cumming," she shouted, "I'm cumming. . . Oh, God. . . I'm. . . I'm cumming . . . Yes . . . Yes? Now . . . NOW . . . Aiiiiiieeeeeeeee." Her body twisted beneath him and then she was thrashing around, convulsing crazily with her mouth and cunt both sucking at him, while her vagina squirted its own white hot lava around the impaling shaft.
Shelton fucked her as if she would be the last fuck ever! He pounded into her, pinning the thrashing body to the mattress, his breath coming in short hot gasps. The bitch continued to cum . . . she wouldn't stop. Her orgasm had been going on for at least a minute and still she thrashed and screamed. He dug deeper into the quivering slit between her widespread legs, stretching it even wider. Then he was cumming! He felt the tortured pressure within his scrotum suddenly blow up and, like waters from a collapsing dam, his seminal juices and cum roared down the subterranean tunnel of his cock to explode like a ball of fire deep up into the estuaries of her wildly heaving belly. He fell forward against her breasts with an incredible feeling of delight and sensuality sweeping over him in a seismic wave of all consuming pleasure.
Sylvia felt the boiling white sperm pumping into her, and she worked vaginal muscles she had never known existed before to milk his penis in a desperate effort to consume every bit of every spurt. Her own orgasms were fading now, but her belly muscles still rippled and jumped from the unaccustomed delight and exertion.
She felt his maledom deflating inside her. God! it was like something slowly dying, something that had once been so terribly alive. It continued to twitch, but more slowly . . . until, finally, it lay quiescent. Then, after about a minute, he pulled it out. She heard the soft plopping sound when it was removed . . . almost like a cork coming from a flat bottle of champagne.
Sylvia felt him lie down alongside her. She hoped he wouldn't say anything. She needed time to think. She heard him swallow; his spittle sounded like dry sandpaper sliding down his throat. Sylvia knew that within the last hour she had discovered a wanton streak in herself She had never realized that sex could be so wonderful. And that was Bruce's fault! Goddamn him . . . the dirty son of a bitch. She had wasted twelve years of her life on him . . . twelve long dry years in which he had led her to believe that she was a "frigid neurotic female incapable of feeling anything for anyone." And all that time, Bruce had been sleeping with everything and everyone that wore a skirt. Twelve years! Well, she would show him. Oh, how she would show him! He'd pay for those twelve years, and it would seem like he was paying one day at a time.
Shelton's breath still hadn't returned to normal when he felt the woman turn over to face him. Her eyes were unfathomable; he thought she looked pretty angry about something though.
Sylvia said, "Is your camera focused for the next photograph, the fellatio one?"
Wearily, the detective nodded, and blindly reached out of the remote cable.
"Will the picture show it when . . . when . . . you cum in my mouth?"
Shelton felt a jolt go through his half-awakened body. He nodded once more. "It might take awhile, though, for me to build up strength again."
Sylvia wanted to get the thing over with as soon as possible. "What's the fastest way to build you up again?" she asked.
Shelton grinned broadly. "Just suck; it will do the rest." He watched, fascinated, as the woman lowered her head down and her golden hair fell across his stomach and her warm lips ovalled and then dropping fastened uncertainly around the head of his cock. She was inexperienced, but instinct told her what to do. The soft warm suction began and, within seconds, the miracle of resurrection had occurred.
Chapter TWO
Shelton had been too weary that night to develop the film; as a result, it was after two o'clock the next afternoon before he withdrew the negatives from the soup and examined them in light. As he looked at the developed film, his prick stirred to life again. Of them all, probably the best of the batch was the one where she was blowing him, he thought.
He didn't even remember taking the picture, so lost had he been in the overpowering sensation of her lips and tongue working on his cock. The photograph showed him with his straining buttocks lifted at least a foot off the bed as he seemingly sought to jam the spurting cock deeper into her eager throat. Shining white cum squirted from between her pooched out lips. The woman's expression was the most surprising thing about the picture. On her face was a look of sheer, unadulterated exaltation . . . as though she had accidentally stumbled upon the legendary Fountain of Youth.
Shelton thoughtfully hung the negatives up to dry and went back into his office where he sat, feet propped up on the desk, staring out the window and seeing nothing. For a moment yesterday afternoon, he had entered paradise. A beautiful, seemingly untouchable woman. The world of softness. An expensive velvet comforter hiding satin sheets atop a king-sized bed . . . not a threadbare and grease-spotted corduroy cover hiding the sagging springs of his own pathetic pull-down Murphy bed. Once again he felt her body thrashing beneath him, screaming out obscenities that were never truly "obscene" coming from the throat of a woman in a fit passion. Once again he tasted the rare elixir of her vagina. Once again he felt his tongue trembling at the threshold of her anus. He groaned deep in his throat and was abruptly angry at the realization he was actually feeling sorry for himself "You stupid son of a bitch," he snarled aloud, castigating himself "So you got to fuck a rich man's wife. Does that spoil screwing poor women for you? Isn't one cunt just as good as another?" Even as he said the words, he already knew the answer to the questions: Yes, she had spoiled everything. Her money had nothing to do with it; she could be in debt up to that wonderful ass of hers, and it wouldn't make any difference. He'd had her; and as obviously inexperienced as she was, no other broad could ever be the same again for him. Angrily, he fished for a cigarette and then cursed as he found the package was empty. He threw the pack at a waste basket and shook his head mournfully as it hit the rim and bounced When the phone jangled at
that moment, he almost ripped the cord from the receiver when he yanked it up and growled, "Yeh?"
Her voice came over the line. "Mister Shelton?"
He took a deep breath and tried to sound civilized. "Yes, Mrs. Akron."
She didn't waste any time in getting to the point. "How did the photographs turn out?" He could sense her embarrassment over the phone.
For a split second he thought about telling her the film had been ruined and that they would have to do it over again. Then he realized she wouldn't buy that and, besides, it would be a reflection of inefficiency on his part. "They're O.K.," he said non-committally.
He heard the sound of her swallow over the phone and then her voice was brisk and businesslike. "Good. Are you willing to continue working with me?"
"More photographs," he wisecracked and almost blew the whole deal right there.
The heat of her anger came through the miles of wire. "Don't be smart, Mister Shelton."
"Sorry."
"All right. Here's what I want you to do.
First: I need to get in touch with at least three different . . . ah 'wife-swapping' organizations. I want to know the name of each of the club's leaders. It would be better, I believe, if they were from another part of the state. They must be high-class people, however, No tramps! And . . . one of them has to be an all-Negro, or mainly Negro, club. Is that understood?"
Shelton blinked and scratched his right ear thoughtfully. "That may be a tall order, Mrs. Akron. Christ! I'm not even sure where to start."
"At two hundred dollars a day plus expenses, I'm sure you'll find a place."
"It's liable to take a week or so . . ." he began.
"I don't care. I'll give you a retainer. Will a thousand dollars be enough to start?"
Shelton, speechless, merely nodded and then, suddenly realizing she couldn't see his nod of acceptance, said quickly, "That will be fine."
"Good. Incidentally, I don't know anything about these organizations, but I would suggest you begin looking at the Santa Barbara Royal Yacht Club for a group. It's common knowledge that they have an active bunch that swaps with other yacht clubs. Perhaps you can find the all-Negro group in the San Francisco Bay Area. For my plan, I will need at least twelve couples altogether. No more than fifteen couples though."
Slowly, Shelton brought his feet down off the desk. He realized he probably should keep his mouth shut, but he also knew the question had to be asked even if he got his head snapped off "Mrs. Akron . . . would you mind telling me just what you have in mind?"
She didn't answer for so long a time that Shelton began to think she had left the line, then he heard her inhale and exhale loudly as if she had just reached a decision. "You're entitled to know, I think. I'm planning a little surprise party for my husband. He'll enjoy it so! I want him to come home to me . . . at midnight . . . after visiting his little tart, and I want him to walk in on a wild orgy. He's a brilliant banker, but a small-minded, possessive, selfish, petty little bigot. He hates Negroes. And I want him to see his wife being made love to like the lowest harlot by a black man. I want him to be humiliated in public, with lots of people around to see him squirm. I want big very big enlargements in the hallway of me . . . and you . . . in bed together!"
The breath whistled out of Hansen's constricted throat, "Jesus!"
"It is the only way I can ever repay him."
The broad was nuts. She had to be. She'd slipped her trolley somewhere. This thing was getting crazier by the minute. Hansen knew he had to make some effort to change her mind . . . even if it were to cost him a thousand bucks. "Look, Mrs. Akron. I don't know about this. How do you know these groups will respond to your invitation? I mean, hell! you're a stranger; they aren't acquainted with you. Most of them are secret organizations not easy to break into. Besides, I'm sure they won't go along with any party you plan unless your husband participates, too."
She brushed all his arguments aside. "They'll come if the invitation is worded properly. I intend to see that it is an affair they will be eager to attend."
"And your husband?"
"I thought you understood that, Mister Shelton. You are to be my partner for the evening . . ."
Shelton's mind was reeling when he hung up several minutes later. He was still in a daze when he made the photographic prints and put them on the dryer. In the fifteen years as a private detective, he had never before made extra copies of any client's photographs . . . no matter how juicy. This time, however, he broke his own rule because he knew that he wanted always to remember Sylvia Akron and what she had done to and for him that afternoon.
He really didn't come back to complete reality until he found himself standing before a mirror in one of Palo Alto's best known and most expensive men's stores having a $350.00 black mohair and silk suit fitted to him. He hardly recognized the man he saw in the mirror; it was a different Shelton, a Shelton who was almost polished, almost handsome. It was the image of the man Shelton had wanted to be when he had planned to become a lawyer. The war had shot down those plans. Before he left the store, he had blown another $75 on one pair of shoes, and over $100 on shirts and ties.
As he walked back to his dingy little office, he noticed that he was actually standing a bit straighter and taking long strides. It was then he knew . . . with utter incredulity in his mind . . . that he wanted the Akron woman and was going to do his goddamnedest to get her . . . for keeps . . . no matter what the cost. Then he said, aloud, "Tod Shelton, you are the stupidest shit alive."
Five hours later, he was en route to Santa Barbara on the first leg of his assignment.
Chapter THREE
The day was simply full of pleasurable surprises, Sylvia thought. First, she had awakened to find that Bruce hadn't come home at all last night and hadn't even bothered to call. For a moment she had flared in anger and then abruptly recognized she didn't care one way or the other any longer. The hell with him; she wanted only one thing and that was revenge.
The second and third surprises had come with the telephone call from the detective, Shelton, while she was still in bed. She was surprised at the effect his voice had on her body; it was almost as though he were lying in bed with her. Her abdomen and breasts both reacted as if they had been caressed. She closed her eyes and imagined him alongside her . . . that beautiful penis, hard and throbbing, pressed against her buttocks. She spread her legs out wide and flexed her vaginal lips, pushing her pelvis in the air. "What did you say, Mister Shelton?" she asked, shamelessly stroking her clitoris and waiting to hear his voice.
"I said I have the names of three different groups in Santa Barbara and two all-black organizations in Oakland."
"That's fast work for only two days," she replied, feeling a hot dampness against her fingers.
"I was lucky," he said. "Ah . . . I ok! This thing is rather involved for a written report. I think I had better just tell you about it."
"All right. When can you come out?" And a wanton little voice within her mind cried silently out, "Come now, right now. I've got a present for you!"
There had been silence over the line and then Shelton's voice came, "I have to be in court this morning and probably won't get out until noon. It's probable that I'll be recalled to the witness stand in the afternoon session, so . . . well, are you free for a business lunch?"
Sylvia had paused, all of her upbringing scolding her not to get socially involved with an employee. Then she remembered what she had done to him, what he had done to her, what she was doing to herself right now as she listened to his voice . . . and what they were going to have to do together before this whole thing was over. It struck her as a joke . . . on herself . . . and she began laughing. There was genuine warmth and sincerity in her voice when she had answered, "I'd love to have lunch with you, Mister Shelton. Where?"
She was surprised and amused . . . at her feelings of anticipation as she dressed and drove to the restaurant he had named. This was, she abruptly realized, the first time she had lunched with a male alone other than her husband since her marriage. She was actually looking forward to it! The Barrister Restaurant was across the street from the Superior Court Buildings and the Police Department. Sylvia had heard of it and seen it mentioned in the various gossip columns, but she had never eaten there. She was pleasantly surprised when the parking lot attendent took her Porsche and she entered the restaurant itself. The exterior had been rather deceptive, the inside was impressive. Although there was a line of almost two dozen people waiting for seats, the maitre d' immediately came over to her; there was a look of open admiration in his eyes. "You must be Mrs. Akron."
"Why . . . yes?" She found herself flustered for a second; how could he have known who she was?
She got her answer. "Mister Shelton said you'd be here. He described you. We have your table ready."
Sylvia followed him past the crowded tables and booths until they reached an alcove marked "Judicial Chambers." It was quieter in here, the conversation was muted, and although every booth was occupied, the room didn't seem nearly as crowded as the main section. Over in the corner, Sylvia saw the detective deep in conversation with a gray-haired man who had his back to her. She felt a strong tug of disappointment; Shelton had not told her there would be someone else.
Then as she came closer, she became aware of a change in Shelton. He was so different! His clothes looked as if they had been tailored for him. He seemed completely at ease in these surroundings . . . as if he belonged! It was almost as if he were a completely different man than that dreary little creature who had brought the photographs . . . and then she remembered that he had seemed changed when he came out of the bathroom that day and had . . . had . . . obeyed her instructions. She was blushing when she reached the table.
She saw Tod look in her direction. A broad smile of welcome and something else lit up his face as he stood. The older man stood also and Sylvia gasped in recognition. "Judge Morse?" she stammered.
"Sylvia? Good Lord! What a pleasant surprise!" He looked from the private detective back to her. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then obviously thought better of it.
Shelton's thick eyebrows had raised quizzically. "You two know each other?"
Sylvia merely nodded, feeling some embarrassment. Judge Morse had been a friend of her father's family for over fifty years; he had performed the marriage ceremonies for her and Bruce's wedding . . . even though she had overheard him telling her mother that he was sure Sylvia was making a mistake.
Shelton moved to her rescue. "Please sit down, Mrs. Akron. Judge Morse and I were just shooting the breeze."
Sylvia moved into the designated seat and Shelton sat down beside her. She looked up, almost guiltily, toward the magistrate who continued to gaze speculatively at her.
Shelton said, without too much sincerity in his voice, "Tom, why don't you join us for lunch?"
"No, Tod. I've other plans." The judge stared at both of them and then asked the question he had obviously been holding back. "Sylvia, I'm dumbfounded. Have you two known each other very long?"
She didn't get a chance to answer, for Shelton interrupted, "This is strictly business, Tom."
Judge Morse peered at her and said slowly, "I see. You and Bruce . . . a . . . thinking about . . . ?"
"I'm leaving him," she said simply, feeling that honesty was probably the better policy. Then she added rapidly, "Mother doesn't know about it yet. No one knows. Not even Bruce."
The Judge nodded. "I shall say nothing." He gazed at the two of them then smiled paternally. "For a moment there I thought that perhaps the two of you . . ." he shrugged, then grinned. "Hell, I've known the two of you for about thirty years. When an almost old man sees two of his favorite young people together, he obviously begins to hope that . . . that maybe . . . " He said nothing else, but Sylvia could feel herself blushing. She looked over toward Shelton and saw his face was colored as well. The magistrate patted her hand paternally. "Well, Sylvia, I must say that if you need assistance in a divorce matter you've certainly come to the right man. Tod, here, is the most honest, the most capable . . . He's in the wrong business, of course. I keep telling him that he should go back to school and get his law degree, but he's really quite stubborn."
Sylvia sat through it all, listening with amazement at the good-natured and obviously affectionate banter between the two men. It was not until the Judge left them alone that the detective turned his full attention on her. She felt a jolt of pleasure shoot through her. He was a goddamned handsome man, she thought . . . handsome and virile, too. He had come up in her estimation considerably. Judge Morse had called the detective one of his "favorite" people; that meant Shelton was o.k. all the way down the line.
"What will you have to drink?" he asked.
Shelton merely held his hand up about shoulder height, and a waiter almost immediately appeared carrying two Tarnquerays with a lemon twist.
Sylvia knew her earlier pose of snobbish superiority had been shattered; even so, she tried to regain her composure and command of the situation . . . after all, he was working for her. She toyed with her drink, refusing to look directly at him. "How did you and Judge Morse come to know each other?" she asked.
"I used to deliver papers to his office. He was just a struggling attorney at the time. Horribly poor. Near starving. We used to share cheese crackers together." Shelton laughed in remembrance, and Sylvia suddenly realized she liked his laugh. "It was the Depression then. He didn't have any money, so I gave him credit. I was only nine years old, living with an uncle. My folks died when I was six, I guess I felt sort of protective toward Tom. He couldn't pay his bill for almost nine months, then he finally won a case, his first big one. When he paid me, he tried to give me ten bucks extra. I refused to take it."
Sylvia looked at him then, and he turned his eyes away as if he were ashamed of his own emotions. "It seems kind of stupid now, but I was just a kid. I remember that I got mad at him and started bawling. He asked me what was wrong and I answered something like I had given credit because I thought he was a friend who needed help, and you can't pay friends for helping you. I ran out of his office, blubbering. He chased and caught up with me three blocks away. Funny thing . . . I remember . . . he had tears in his eyes, too, when he asked me to forgive him. World War II came and he went . . . wrote to me regularly every week' about Africa, Italy, Germany . . . wherever he happened to be, just like an older brother . . . or a father. He helped me get a scholarship at Pomona College, then sponsored me in my first two years at Boalt. I was going to be a lawyer, too . . . but the Korean War came along." He shrugged. "When I came back I discovered that all these punks who had gotten deferments had crawled out of the woodwork from as far away as New York to get into Boalt, and now the school had a waiting list of two years. I got married, went to work as a cop, then got involved in a shooting beef one night with a joker who hit me in the left arm with a .44 slug. They gave me a forty percent disability and told me I wasn't suitable for active police work any longer." He laughed and for a moment his bitterness showed. "They offered me a job inside as a record clerk. I told them what they could do with that job. Then I used my disability pay to start my own investigation agency. So here I am."
"And your wife?" It was said casually, too casually. "We couldn't hack it together. We'd been married about seven months and she was constantly bitching about my working nights as a policeman; she took off with a boyfriend . . . sent me divorce papers from Mexico. She wiped herself out about ten years ago in an automobile accident in Germany."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Not for me. Or for her! She went out the way she would have wanted to go . . . taking an internationally famous movie star with her. It made headlines throughout Europe. They'd been living together while she was trying to get her fifth divorce."
Sylvia listened to him talk. Odd, she thought, I've been married to Bruce for ten years and I never understood or felt one damned thing about him. Yet, here I am sitting with almost a stranger, and I've gotten more insight into this man's character in fifteen minutes than I'll ever have about Bruce . . . even if we were married for another ten years. She found herself in empathy with the detective. When he had been talking about the newspaper delivery episode she'd actually found herself reaching impulsively for his hand to show him she understood. Fortunately he hadn't noticed her abortive movement.
Over lunch they chatted about inconsequential things. When they both fell silent at the same time, it was a warm, companionable silence, with neither feeling any need of conversation. Someone had once told Sylvia that when lovers are silent and not speaking, their bodies are talking to each other. While it had seemed nonsense at the time, she could almost believe it now. She was all too aware of his body next to her. She imagined she could feel the heat of his thighs radiating against her own. And although she fought against the remembrances, she found herself recalling her reactions to him when he had been taking the photographs. It had taken her hours of soul searching that night before admitting that she had, for the very first time in her life, truly enjoyed sex. She didn't know if it was the result of some mental quirk on her part . . . of having "paid" for a sex servant who did her bidding . . . or whether the man's body and her body were that compatible. One way or the other, she thought, I'll find out for sure before this thing is over.
Sylvia was forced to concentrate on his report about the Santa Barbara group. Twice she found herself watching his lips move not hearing his words . . . remembering how his lips had felt against her body. With considerable dismay, she realized there was a hot dampness between her legs, and she flushed as she knew it came from her arousal.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't hear that, would you mind repeating."
Shelton nodded and glanced down at his notes again. "I said you might think the group best suited to your purposes in Santa Barbara is one led by a couple named Liz and Ed Hunt. They own a yacht called the "Jolly Rogue", and it would appear that some of the parties are held aboard the boat. They have a three-day party coming up over the long weekend next month, and they're presently seeking two new couples."
"How did you find all this out?" Shelton smiled. "Electronics." "Can you think of any way of . . . of meeting them socially?"
The detective thought a minute, then pursed his lips and answered, "We could wait until the Hunts are on board some evening, take a water taxi out, get on board and dismiss the taxi, then claim that we've accidentally gotten on the wrong boat."
Sylvia thought about it. The plan should work, would definitely work, if the Hunts had any social graces at all. The couple would invite them to have a drink while another taxi was en route. Then . . . well, they'd have to play it by ear from there. Finally she nodded. "All right. When shall we do it?"
Shelton shrugged. "We should infiltrate as soon as possible, if we're going to be included in the three-day party."
"This weekend?"
Shelton blinked; he actually seemed uncertain himself "We'll have to register someplace as "Mr. and Mrs.," in case the Hunts run a check on us."
A sudden shock of alarm surged through Sylvia's body. She scolded herself silently, "Silly, what else did you expect?" Then she recognized, with more surprise than ever, that she was actually looking forward to it. She wanted to be in bed with him; she wanted to spend an entire night with him. She wanted him to . . . to . . . and she framed the words in her mind, "Fuck me half to death!"
"All right," she said, hoping that none of the throbbing excitement was showing on her face.
Shelton paused, staring at her thoughtfully. "You know, of course, what's involved? The Hunts will probably want to swap that first evening; you'll have to . . . to . . . cooperate."
"You mean I will have to let him make love to me."
"Yes."
"And presumably you and Mrs. Hunt will be alongside us in the bed or on the floor . . . doing the same thing?"
"Yes."
The thought of the lewd spectacle they would present sent a shiver of forbidden excitement up her spine. To actually watch Shelton's monstrous penis pile-driving into another woman's naked vagina! "My God," she said to herself in sudden dismay, "what's happening to me that I would want to witness a perverted thing like that." Part of her dismay came with the knowledge that she was not only eager to watch it, but eager to participate in it.
Her hands were trembling noticeably when she finally nodded again. "This weekend. I'll meet you in Santa Barbara on Friday afternoon'. Will you take care of the accommodations?"
Shelton relaxed then and grinned. "It's already taken care of We're staying at the Ambassador. A king-sized bed . . . just in case the Hunt's try to check on us or want to come up for a drink."
"Of course," Sylvia said, refusing to look at him. And suddenly very suddenly she knew that even though it was only three days away, it was going to take forever for Friday to arrive. She wanted Shelton to come back to the house with her now; she wanted him to undress her . . . to peel her panties slowly and tantalizingly down over her buttocks, around her knees to unfasten her bra . . . to kneel . . . She swallowed. Realizing the wickedness of her thoughts, she told herself that she was glad the detective had to get back to court that afternoon.
But then, when Sylvia analyzed her thoughts, she knew she wasn't "glad" at all.
She was disappointed!
It was a disappointment that gradually turned to a smoldering excitement that continued to grow during the next three days . . . growing in strength and heat until her entire body was aflame with a passionate impatience when she stepped off the elevator at the Ambassador Friday afternoon and followed the bellboy with her bags to her "husband's" suite."
Chapter FOUR
For a split second as she entered the suite, Sylvia felt a deep sense of disappointment because Shelton wasn't there to greet her. Then she heard him singing off-key in the shower. The edges of her mouth turned up in a small impish smile of delight, and the first zephyrs of anticipation were already blowing through her belly when she tipped the admiring bellboy five dollars.
God, she thought, I'm acting like nothing but a bitch in heat. She wanted Shelton, she wanted him now, right now! There was a vast loneliness aching down there between her legs. There really was only one question to be answered: should she play hard to get and act coy, or take the initiative?
She strode across the room and gazed out the window toward the harbor where half a hundred boats rode at anchor. They bobbed gently up and down; the motion was a completely sexual one, and the masts looked like thin eager penises jamming the womb of the sky.
And now her hands had begun to shake and her knees felt rubbery; the moment for action or non-action had arrived. She could still turn back. Her face dimpled in sudden decision, and then she was almost frantically removing shoes, yanking down panty hose, stepping out of her expensive, blue Italian knit skirt, and taking off blouse and bra. She wanted to be naked before he finished his shower.
She stood in the center of the room, waiting for him. Her breasts had darkened, and her nipples had grown erect by themselves. She groaned as she ran a hand feverishly down over her pubic hair; the current shot through her. She flaunted her pelvis a couple of times and whimpered deep in her throat . . . like a bitch in heat, she thought again.
When Shelton still did not put in an appearance, Sylvia bit her lower lip indecisively and then tiptoed rapidly toward the bathroom. She opened the door. The steam hit her with a warm moistness. Through the fog, she could see his muscular body outlined in the glass door of the large shower stall. He continued to sing.
Her eyes were flashing mischievously as she slowly reached out for the door handle. Then, quickly, she opened it and stepped inside. She couldn't have asked for a better setup, she thought; there was the detective, his hair all lathered up, his eyes closed . . . and not the least bit aware that someone had stepped into the shower stall with him. She choked back a giggle as she watched him . . . watched the white soapy suds running down his backbone to disappear into the crevice between his strong buttocks. Slowly, with a prankish grin on her face, she reached out for his penis.
Shelton's first awareness that someone was in the shower with him came with the soft touch of a hand sliding down his abdomen to fasten gently on his cock. "What in hell," he shouted, and jumped in sudden alarm, almost slipping. His eyes opened, a mistake! . . . for the soap blinded him again almost immediately. He saw enough, though.
There, as if a dream had suddenly materialized, was the nude golden body of the Akron woman, her harvest moon breasts already wet, and a stream of water running down her belly into her silken pubic hair. She was laughing at his reaction.
The surprised yelp came out of him, "Sylvia?"
"Who else did you expect? Sophia Loren? After all, I am supposed to be your wife."
He gasped, then choked as soapy water ran into his mouth, for Sylvia had begun to slowly move her hand back and forth on his prick. A low groan of desire came squawking out of his larynx, and her delighted laughter hit his ears.
Sylvia stepped up even closer to him and, still stroking his cock with her right hand, put her left arm around his waist. She knew she was getting her hair soaked. Too bad, she thought uncaringly; her hairdresser had worked almost an hour on it this morning because Sylvia wanted to look especially nice. Under the machinations of her fingers, she could feel life surging into the prick; it was a terribly sensual feeling as the soapy water caused her hand to slip almost without friction from head to base of the huge rod. She felt lewd excitement expanding in her loins as the thing in her hand grew in size. Now it was elongated, sticking out in front of him as though it were the long, white-skinned neck of a turkey.
"Hurry up and get the soap out of your hair and eyes," she said, beginning to feel impatient again and jerking his cock a couple of times in emphasis.
Hansen, who had been standing there with his eyes closed, let the sensations flow over his body. He could feel the warm water flowing over his head, could feel Sylvia's breasts and nipples pressing against his chest . . . but the best thing of all was that excruciatingly wonderful movement of her hand stroking his hardening prick.
Quickly he rinsed his hair and washed the soap from his blinded eyes. Then he looked at her. Even barefoot, she was still about two inches taller than he. Her eyes were gazing unfathomably at him, almost as if they were daring him. Her moist lips . . . parted in amusement and possibly hunger . . . were only inches from his. He reached out, planted his sinewy hands on her flaring hips, and gruffly pulled her to him. The new position made it difficult for her pliant fingers to stroke his prick, so she contented herself with holding it tightly in her fist clenching and unclenching her hand in time to the beat of his pulse down there. It was a maddening tempo, one that she found echoed in her own belly.
Tod found his thoughts in complete disarray, but that did not stop him from shoving his tongue into her open mouth. Her tongue met his, and teased and cajoled it until he was pushing it in and out of her mouth as though it were a little red throbbing cock. They dueled this way for almost a minute, the water streaming down both of their faces.
Sylvia was the first to break contact; when she pulled away her breath was coming in short, puppy dog-like pants. She looked at her hand gripping his monstrous maledom, and then pushed down on it so the head of the penis was touching the upper entrance to her vaginal slit. He moved forward just a tiny bit, and she felt the head slid against her dampened pubic hair and soap-lubricated clitoris. She groaned as a shower of heated sparks shot through the region of naked genitals.
"Life is just full of surprises," Tod said, French-kissing her again. He hadn't been sure the girl would really consent to sexual intercourse with him. How wrong can one guy be, he thought. Christ, she's practically raping me, but I'll go along peacefully.
Shelton felt the wild elation growing in him as Sylvia began sliding the hair-covered softness of her vagina along the top of his cock. She was tall enough that he could take her this way without undue strain on his leg muscles. She was obviously ready; he could put it in right now if he wanted. Her eyes were closed as her breath rasped out hoarsely. She did something with her pelvis and inner thighs which caused the cuntal lips to lock like a hot fleshy vise over the cock; she held it that way as she began moving back and forth again. It was almost as if he were deep inside her.
Amazed, Tod began running his hands up and down her soapy buttocks. He slipped his middle finger down into the soft, yielding crevice and nudged her anal ring. She jumped and her eyes fluttered open.
The sensation of his finger against her rectum had startled Sylvia. It had actually shot a nefarious jolt of pleasure through her; never before had she realized she was sexually sensitive there. Now Shelton was doing other things with those capable hands of his; they were all over her, kneading her breasts as though they were bread dough, tweaking the nipples, stroking her abdomen in time to her own body movements. She was afire down there. She wanted him inside her. She said it, and the obscene words spilling out of her lips caused a certain amazement to register in her mind. "Fuck me, please do, Tod . . ." she crooned. It wasn't so much a command as it was a plea.
His balls throbbed, and the blood had long since been pounding hotly through the veins in his rigid cock. He wanted her now . . . and yet? He also wanted it to be absolutely right. It was important that it be right the first time she came willingly to him.
He pulled his penis from between her tightly clenched thighs. "What's wrong?" she asked whimperingly.
"Nothing. Let's not hurry it, though."
"I want you now." She reached for his cock and enclosed it again in her fist. She began yanking on it in short impatient motions.
Tod said nothing. He merely reached behind him and got the soap from the soap tray. He used the palms of both hands to raise a lather. The hot scented soap was almost an aphrodisiac in itself
Sylvia didn't protest when he began to lather up her breasts; she watched the white bubbly river run down across her navel and disappear down into her drenched pubic hair. Tod now was lathering up her abdomen and hips; his hands were gentle, and the electrifying sensations arched through her belly. Then he was using two fingers and the palm of his hand to soap up her vagina. She closed her eyes and moaned; her legs becoming so weak that she felt they couldn't support her any longer. Tod kneeled in front of her and used both hands to bring a white lather to her thighs and legs. He ran his hands up and down her lower extremities as though he were stroking a giant's cock. She screwed her pelvis toward him, wanting to feel his lips against her femaledom, but he avoided it . . . then began working his way up her backside.
A part of Tod's mind stood off watching him operate. It was obvious the girl was just about to go out of her mind with lust. He knew that the upper torsos of some women became mottled, almost as if they were just getting over a bad case of measles, when they are within seconds of a climax. Anytime this mottling occurs on a woman, an orgasm is almost inevitable . . . no matter what the man does or doesn't do. And Sylvia was that color now.
Quickly then, he lathered up his cock and used his soapy hands on her abdomen. His fingertips brushed across the wet, curling strands of the soft nest of fleece between her legs. He didn't pause there; his hand slid down ever further, middle finger extended, until he parted the soft wet strands of pubic hair, touched and began caressing her cuntal slit.
Sylvia's body almost jackknifed with the maddening contact of his finger sliding through the already fevered area. She began to moan in wild, inarticulate phrases, and her inner thighs tried to trap that hand that beautiful hand and keep it captive. Now a second finger was making a lovely intrusion; the middle finger toyed with the clitoris . . . both fingers moving in unison.
She had to have it . . . now! She was close . . . She wanted to feel that powerful maledom inside her. She could no longer be patient. "Please?" It was a craven croak of desire spilling out of her throat.
Shelton, watching her and listening to her, revelled in the feel of her nubile pussy and the vibrating arousal of her goddess-like body. God, he thought, she's the hottest thing I've ever seen. She really wants it; she's so fired up that she's about to explode.
"Sylvia, baby," he said very slowly, "Put it in for me."
Frantically, she reached down for his soap-slickened penis and pulled it up between her legs. She spread her thighs and pointed the cock, like a Coca-Cola bottle, toward the opening of her vagina. She snaked her other arm around his waist and pulled him forward, guiding the magnificent hardened instrument toward her eagerly awaiting cuntal lips.
Her cunt opened and closed like a hungry sea anemone as she pushed forward with her pelvis. His prick sliced through the voracious lips, down and up, and rammed deep into the soft pulsating flesh of her belly.
"Ahhhhhhh," she chanted, moving her body back and forth, feeling his cum-bloated scrotum swinging and teasing against her thighs. She reached down for his testicles and caressed them, as she wildly flaunted her pelvis sliding her cunt up and down on the throbbing rod of hardened male flesh sunk so deep up inside her. It all happened unbelievably fast. "Ahhh? Ahhhhhhhhh?? AH! Aieeeeee, I'm cumming . . . I'm cumming . . . Oh, God, I'm cumming," she screamed. And then she was really in a frenzy with her pelvis slamming so hard against Shelton's hip bones that it seemed certain something was about to break.
Tod's eyes had widened in complete surprise. My God, she had reached an orgasm within twenty seconds of the time his cock was first shoved in. He hadn't made one single thrust on his own part; she had done all the work. She swallowed with her mouth hung loosely open, and the sound of air panting in and out of her throat made almost an obscene noise of satisfied passion.
Sylvia stood there, trembling uncontrollably, as the orgasm drained away her strength. She was forced to lean against Shelton, there was nothing left in her body. She was sure she had lost consciousness at the height of the climax for she had slumped, and the movement had caused his hard rigid instrument to slip out of her vagina with a wet, plopping sound that could be heard even above the hiss of the shower water and the deep gasps of her breathing.
She felt an almost uncontrollable desire to go to sleep. This in spite of her mind swarming with thoughts like a disturbed wasps' nest. She knew what had happened; she had reached a powerful orgasm, and it had been just as if she had hooked into a high voltage line. She had been aroused for days and release, when it came, had been as sudden as a thunderbolt.
She closed her eyes and nodded. A moment later, Tod's hands were on her shoulders, turning her around so the soap would wash off She was as obedient as a small sleepy child. Then there came the velvetlike softness of a wash cloth gently rubbing between her legs as it rinsed the soap suds from her still slightly pulsating cunt. She winced when the cloth as soft as it was . . . accidentally brushed against her clitoris. The organ was overly sensitive now; any touch there was painful for the moment. Then the hissing hot water was turned off
Tod began toweling her dry, treating her as if she were an infant being dried after a bath. The roughness of the towel began bringing a new life to her body; it felt, she decided, very, very sensual. Warm, comfortable, and for the moment satisfied, she permitted him to do anything he wanted. She even stood on tiptoe to help, when he rubbed the towel between the cheeks of her ass. She was all too aware that he still had his mammoth erection, and dully she wondered if he wanted to be "relieved".
Tod wadded up the towel and threw it into the corner of the shower. Then, without saying a word, he picked up Sylvia and carried her out of the stall, through the bathroom, and to the king-sized bed. He carried her as effortlessly as a rag doll. Feeling like a little girl, which she knew was pretty ridiculous considering her Amazon-like body, Sylvia put her head against his hairy chest. She closed her eyes and gave herself to the sensation of his erect cock rubbing across her buttocks with each step he took.
He put her in the center of the bed and stood looking down at her. She still had her eyes closed, and her lovely full breasts rose and fell like the surge of the sea with each breath. It was incredible, simply incredible, he thought. All this mine . . . for now. Once again, he wondered about her. She didn't seem the "hair trigger" type, yet that first evening when they had taken the photographs, she had cum almost immediately . . . and had continued to reach orgasm after orgasm, each one building on the other. And in the shower? She had been there within seconds after he had pushed his prick between her warm welcoming thighs. Yet? During her moments of delight, she had implied she had never been able to do anything with her husband, and that her husband Bruce thought her "frigid". Tod couldn't understand it at all! The photographs had shown that Bruce was well-versed in the art of turning on a woman, so what was the score?
On the bed, Sylvia's eyes blinked open. She felt a great wave of tenderness well up within her as she gazed at the detective. It was something she had never felt before about any man. Those broad shoulders, that craggy handsome face, the furlike hair on his chest . . . and that beautiful, beautiful penis.
She wanted that penis. She wanted to kiss it to pay homage to it. Never before had she desired the taste of one, but then never before had one brought her such sweet rapture. Still lying on her back, she bent her knees and used the balls of her feet and shoulders to scooch over so that the prick was directly above her pouting mouth; it hung above her like a hardened sword of Damocles. She was amazed at her own boldness, and her words sounded alien . . . almost unintelligible to her . . . when she said, "Mister Shelton, I want to kiss your penis."
His laugh rumbled out, "I'd love to have you do just that. But don't you think it's time to dispense with the formalities. My friends call me Tod."
Sylvia suddenly giggled. It was funny. But then she stopped giggling when the "sword" dipped toward her lips. She reached up and caressed it, feeling every powerful ridge beneath the taut skin. Her eyes feasted hungrily upon it; she was beginning to understand many things. This, she thought, was the real staff of life. Her eyes were hazy "smoky", coming from the fires that were being kindled within her and the huge throbbing god's head was already oozing love from the eye of the glans.
She licked her lips in anticipation, then cupped the bloated sac of sperm as though she were evaluating it. Her lips kissed the underside of the moist head, and Shelton quivered like a powerful stallion at bay. Then her tongue lashed out, making maddening circles around the entire head of the cock. Her own body reacted. It trembled with a suppressed power. Sighing with pleasure, she opened her mouth wide and accepted the cock. She began to suck on it, gentle little milking motions that came from an instinctive knowledge older than time itself She thrilled to the residual taste of soap, his love secretions, and still another taste. "Could it be," she asked herself, "the taste of my own vagina?" And feeling as though she were somehow completing a circle of life, she took his cock within the soft, wet folds of her cheeks.
Tod's hands dropped to Sylvia's hair and pulled her even closer to him. She had begun running her tongue along the underside of his cock, and the sensations were causing great thunderheads to build up in his belly. "Suck it," he panted, "suck it, Sylvia." He lifted his right leg from the floor and, without pulling away from her, placed his knee on the pillow alongside her head. A second later, he was straddling her breasts and kneeling above her face. He began jerking his loins forward at her beauty in the motion of fucking.
Sylvia cupped his buttocks in the palms of her hands. She liked him in this position, it gave her a masochistic pleasure to know that she was almost incapable of moving her head in any direction now except up and down on that vibrant wonderful penis. She slavered up and down, instinct telling her to use her tongue and teeth against the head.
Shelton slowly moved his pelvis back and forth so that her lips, like the voracious lips of a hot, hairless vagina . . . slid along the trunk. God, he thought in wonderment, nothing has ever felt this good before! She obviously was inexperienced in this type of thing, but the heat of her mouth and the way she used her tongue was absolutely fantastic. He'd had blow jobs before from a woman; his first wife had been a master at it, and with her he hadn't cared enough to want to know where she had learned the art or who had taught her. With his wife, the act had been a grotesque parody of sexual intercourse. With Sylvia, though, it was something else, something of a greater dimension. He knew he was going to cum soon, already his boiling cauldron of semen was beginning to seek avenues of escape. He put both hands on his hips and straightened his shoulders so he could look straight down at her as he sawed in and out of her mouth. Her pink lips contrasted with the blood infused shaft which pumped into her. Her mouth was so tight around the cock that the flesh of her lips were pulled out like the hot opening of a volcanic crater each time he made a withdrawal.
Sylvia, lost in a frenzy of delight, was only vaguely aware of his saying; "Better stop, or I'm going to cum." She merely sucked harder. She wanted to taste his sperm; she wanted the boiling eruption in her mouth. Yet . . .? What would he think about her? Reluctantly, she unfastened her lips from around his desire-throbbing cock. When she looked up at him, Tod seemed twenty feet tall . . . staring down at her as though his head were somewhere near the ceiling. He was breathing rapidly, and she could see his stomach muscles quivering as he fought for control. She swallowed and forced herself to say, "Do you want to cum in my mouth?"
Tod fought a battle within himself Yes, he wanted to cum in that wonderful mouth, but . . . at the same time . . . he wanted to fuck her. Maybe, if she were willing later tonight, they'd get around to other ways. Right now, though, there was one thing he wanted more than any other.
"I want to fuck you," he said firmly. "Fuck you between the legs!"
"Oh, my darling. Yes! Then do it now." Sylvia was amazed that the term of endearment coming from her lips. She abruptly realized there was an unfulfilled feeling down in her pulsating vagina; that feeling rapidly swept away all other desire. She wanted him inside her; she wanted him to be a part of her, to be a part of him. Joined in fucking. "Now . . . do it now. Fuck me, Tod." she repeated, and opened her legs wide to receive him.
Tod put his hands beneath her knees and pushed them back until they were against the pillow. Her tight defenseless pussy was revealed beneath him; the outer lips a darker than normal color from her intense excitement, the inner lips pumping out a viscous lubricant, and the large red clitoris engorged with blood and ready.
Tod put the head of his throbbing prick against the hot moistened lips of her vulva. He pushed forward, and the head parted the still wet curls of pubic hair and slipped easily down through the two sets of sensitive cuntal lips.
"OOOOhhhh," she crooned, and her eyelids flickered in rapture.
"You like that?" he asked, not really needing assurance, but wanting to hear her say it.
"Oh, God! . . . yes, it's beautiful."
Tod pushed in a bit further; he knew he had to take this in easy stages for the position was one which would permit him to go at least two inches deeper into her. Too rapid an entry would result in pain or injury. When he had gotten about three inches inside her, he began slow withdrawal movements coupled with tiny, controlled jerking of his prick. He felt a responding twitch from her vaginal walls.
"Ahhhh..." she panted, and tried to rock back and forth on the hardness hanging down between her legs.
Sylvia could feel his scrotum tingling against her naked, uplifted buttocks and she reached down and around to fondle his balls with fevered joyousness. Tod had begun moving in and out and she was sure she had taken all he had, not realizing that he was less than five inches into her. She could feel the head of his maledom pressing against the cervix, knocking at the door to her womb. The shaft, like hot hard iron and soft feathers rubbed the inside of her vagina.
"Oooooohhhhh," she wailed, for now he was going even deeper. "You're hurting . . ." she began, but then she felt his pubic hair tickling against the backs of her thighs and knew that he was in as far as he could go. Joyously, she realized she had taken all of him; they were a perfect fit. Now his movements became masterful, she could feel him in complete command of the situation, and so she lay there, grinding her full rounded buttocks around in tiny teasing circles, as he pounded in and out of her body.
Her entire belly was afire as her mind screamed out its insane delight. Nothing had ever been so wonderful, so wild, so free. She knew she had become a woman. She was really being fucked and she was responding as a woman . . . a hot, tempestuous woman, full of fire for the man she loved. And it was tribute to Shelton's fucking ability that she didn't even wonder about her use of the alien phrase, "the man she loved".
Tod was aware that she was approaching another explosive orgasm. Her body was fighting him down there; it was as if he had hooked into a mighty game fish that was attempting to dislodge the hook. Her pelvis jerked and revolved madly, but there wasn't much she could do because of the position. It was then Tod decided to hold back his own climax and see just how much he could do for her.
He clamped down on his sphincter muscles and began pounding into her with a demonic fury, screwing his cock even harder and deeper into her cunt until it seemed her battered cervix would be dislodged. Her hot passageways screamed for more, and the interior muscles of her vagina clasped his shaft like the hungry tentacles of a starving octopus. Her asshole clenched and unclenched as it seemingly sought to bite and capture his balls as they slapped down in a ceaseless drumbeat of lust against her upturned buttocks.
Sylvia tossed her head from side to side, her mouth open laxly, and her eyes focused in disbelief at her own knees rocking above her head. "Ohhh . . . ohhhh . . . "she said, with each shove of his cock into her. It was a chant, a liturgy of love, a song whose tempo speeded up as she felt her body taking over. "Ohhh . . . oohhhh . . . ohhhhh . . . Ahhhh?"
Suddenly Sylvia punched her pelvis up with almost superhuman strength, and her legs splayed out until it seemed as if she were splitting herself right down the middle. The scream of delight bubbled out of her mouth, "I'm cumming . . . Ohhh . . . AHHIHIFIITT . . . Aaaaaiiieeee . . . I'm cummmmmmm . . . ing, darling!" She groveled beneath him, and her fingernails dug long bloody furrows down his back. Then she fell lifeless against the mattress.
Tod slowed his pace to the point where he merely bobbed in and out of her like the soft surgings of the tide. He knew he could bring her on again by continuing this gentle movement, and so he bided his time. A slow movement in, gentle partial withdrawal, slow in, pull out . . . slow in . . . pull out.
From somewhere way out beyond the furthermost planet of her emotional solar system, Sylvia's errant mind began returning to her body. The wild storm that had arced through the heavens of her nerves had moved on; now there was only the voluptuous, almost hypnotic, movement in and out of her cunt. Tod was aware of the returning sensations in her body. Knowing she would soon be cramped by her present position, he released her captive legs and pulled them down alongside his hips. She almost immediately lifted her knees and wrapped her legs around his thighs. Her knees pressed in tightly against and partially around his buttocks.
She was groaning . . . not a sound of pain, but of guttural wonderment . . . and the sound spewed from her throat. Sylvia couldn't believe what was happening to her; she had reached some beautifully high, wind-swept plateau . . . a land of pure sensation! She was cumming again! She reached up for his head and pulled his face down to her. She passionately kissed him, grinding her tongue into his mouth . . . and the she whispered, "I'm . . . cumming."
This time her climax was different . . . just as powerful and strong, but more controlled. She found she could manage it bring it along play it and make it peak like a musical piece. But, only seconds later, she discovered that in reality his hot living shaft was the baton that he was conducting the symphony sensation and she was only a player following directions.
"Oooooh, God, Ooooooh, God! So wonderful . . . so gooooood!" she sang, feeling unwanted tears welling up in her eyes. She wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him, and pulled his hairy chest down into the soft voluptuousness of her breasts. She discovered that pulling him down against her caused his prick to ride higher against her clitoris . . . and a wild wantonness was on her again. "I'm cumming . . . again . . ." she whimpered, and her body thrashed beneath his.
Tod knew that in spite of all his control he was nearing the end of his efforts. His balls had begun to throb painfully, and suppressed excitement had swollen his prick until his urethral opening was large enough to take a pencil.
"I'm cumming . . ." she screamed, for the second time in less than twenty seconds, and her body jerked and twisted as though she were in throes of a huge, uncontrolled epileptic seizure. Her face was contorted in lust, and her mouth opened and closed ceaselessly as her nostrils flared like an untamed wildly bucking animal's.
It was time, Tod thought, and he plunged his long white cock up and up, deeper and deeper into the warm caverns beneath him. He let the sensations flow up the shaft where they spread out through the scrotum and overflowed into his belly.
Sylvia's forehead, face, and shoulders glistened with the sheen of sweat. Her breasts felt as if they were balloons being pumped full of hot scented air, and her vagina and uterus felt as if they were being stuffed with electric eels, all throwing off electric charges . . . and wiggling deeper, ever deeper, into her innermost femaledom. She knew instinctively that each preceding orgasm had been like a higher step on a high diving board, that she had reached the top, and now there was a swan dive to be made into the warm waters of oblivion. There was nothing that could stop her from making the dive, and she knew that Tod was suddenly fucking her like a mad man as he sought to join her dive.
"Cum with me, Tod . . . cum . . ." she pleaded. "Cum with me in me . . ." She wanted him to make the dive with her; she was giving herself completely to him. No man had ever had this from her before. It was a gift. A gift. "Cum . . . my darling . . . please cum.
And Tod, hearing the words, felt the dam gates slowly opening within him. He slithered his strong, sinewy hands under the wildly pumping cheeks of her ass and cupped them tightly . . . pulling them toward him for greater access to her open and pleading cunt. He drove into her with all his strength . . . wanting to give her everything he had; he could feel the smooth, hot flesh of her tight, almost unusual massaging and sucking away at his expanding, explosive cock. He fucked into her, ramming every last inch of his huge cudgel into the hot willing hole down between her legs. A cry started within her, and at first it sounded like the low moan of the Arctic winds blowing high in the heavens; the sound grew in intensity until it was the shriek of a typhoon leveling everything before it.
"AIIIIEEEEEEEE . . . I'm CUMMIING!" She screamed, and it was the cry of a hawk . . . and eagle . . . diving from great heights. Her smoky eyes stared, unseeing, at things beyond both of them. Her ass waved in wild abandonment from side to side, screwing her cunt up and down crazily on his white pistoning rod.
Sylvia's wildly thrashing body triggered his own climax. He could feel the velvet explosion beginning somewhere around the spine. It spread rapidly to his balls. Tod increased the intensity of his strokes so that his scrotum swung like an iron wrecking ball against the trembling walls of her buttocks.
Then he was there; its intensity frightened him for a moment, but he let everything go. Her arms had him in a deathlike grip, but he was still able to gasp into her open mouth, "I'm cumming . . ."
Her words were almost incomprehensible when she panted, "Cum in me . . . cum . . . dar-leee-nng."
Tod heard the whimpering moan from her and her knees flexing and unflexing powerfully back against his driving ass, as she sought to assist him. With a low moan of ecstasy, he exploded inside her, and the white hot lava of his love erupted deep down inside the pulsating depths of her womb.
His cock continued to spurt and throb for almost two minutes, then it gradually stilled. Deep inside her, he could feel her muscles loosening, the uterine walls deflating, the cervix returning to its normal position, and the vaginal lips twitching like the lips of a slowly dying fish. He opened his eyes and looked down at the girl; she appeared to be at least ten years younger than her real age. A soft, wondering smile was etched on her lips: she looked happy, fulfilled. He smiled gently as he watched the even rise and fall of her beautiful breasts at repose. She was asleep . . . so soundly asleep that she didn't even stir when he slowly withdrew his deflated penis. It came out with a soft hissing sound and with the stopper removed, a torrent of white, expended sperm began to flow like a river out of her open cunt.
Tod pulled the bedspread over her perspiration streaked body. Then, nude, he walked toward the window overlooking the yacht club and picked up his binoculars. Sunset was coming to the basin. In the fading light he could see three people on the deck of the Jolly Rogue. Two of them he recognized as Liz and Ed Hunt. The third one was a tall brunette clad in an extremely small bikini that accentuated, rather than hid, her body. She looked very good indeed. Even as he watched, he saw Ed Hunt pat the girl's ass in a very proprietary manner. The brunette threw back her head and laughed, then wantonly put her hand down the side front of Hunt's bulging swim suit. Liz Hunt, standing right alongside them, seemed amused at their antics. She turned as a fourth figure obviously the brunette's husband came on deck. Sue pointed toward the man and woman fondling each other and made a remark which caused him to double over in glee.
"Eight bells and all's well," Tod said softly. "Fun and games time on the old Jolly Rogue'."
Behind him, he heard Sylvia stir on the bed. One lovely golden arm had come out from beneath the bedspread, and one delicious mound of breast flesh with its inviting little nipple was uncovered. She was still asleep and apparently dreaming now, for there was a tender smile on her face as her lips opened partially arid she whispered, "Tod . . . darling."
He watched her. She had surprised hell out of him, but his biggest surprise had come with his own emotions. It was one thing to want to fuck a woman, quite another to feel a need to protect her and to want to share things with her.
When he turned his attention back to the Jolly Rogue, Liz Hunt . . . a lewd expression on her face was spread-eagled on the deck and being finger-fucked by the man. The brunette and Ed Hunt had disappeared below decks. The only evidence that they had ever been on deck was a scanty blue handkerchief lying next to the galley door . . . the bottom part of the girl's bikini.
Chapter FIVE
The Anchor Bay Restaurant sits out near the end of the Santa Barbara wharf, most of it hangs out like an aircraft carrier's forward deck over the water. The view is of the Yacht Club and the opening to the breakwater. If the Table Captain thinks you look important enough and you're prepared to wait a bit after tipping, you get a window table where you can watch the lights dancing across the water, the sun setting behind the blue-gray shrouded Channel Islands, and at certain times of the year . . . the moon rising like a ripe pumpkin over the Santa Ynez mountains.
Friday night is the worst evening to get reservations; Saturdays are almost as bad. To walk in on one of these nights with no reservations at all is tantamount to dropping in unexpectedly for a chat, tea and tiffin with the Pope.
Shelton and Sylvia arrived without reservations. One look at Tod's expensive suit and Sylvia's obviously original Pucci silk crepe mini, and the Table Captain put a small "w" in front of Shelton's name. A ten dollar bill surreptitiously pressed into his hand resulted in a large black asterisk following the name . . . this denoting a big spender. They were seated within three minutes . . . at a table that had been set only moments before for a party of six who had been waiting for almost two hours in the bar and were rapidly reaching a state of non compos mentis.
The Tanqueray arrived in a frosted glass. The waiter asked, "Will there be anything else at the moment, sir?"
"Thank you, no."
Then Tod was left alone with Sylvia, with only the soft hum of other conversations in the background. She looked very female, very beautiful, he thought and then told her so. She smiled softly in answer. Her hair looked like a golden waterfall frozen in mid-flight. Her face seemed softer, her lips fuller, her eyes a deeper haze. There was just the faintest suggestion of color high on each of her lovely cheekbones. That, he was pretty sure, had come from his beard stubble during their second round of lovemaking after Sylvia had awakened. Her inner thighs would be the same color . . . for the same reason.
Sylvia, watching the candlelight dance on his face, thought he was the most handsome man she had ever known. She told him so; he grinned in reply. She really couldn't get over how contented she was, how very secure and very complete she felt around him. She lifted her glass in a toast, "What shall we drink to?"
Tod pursed his lips, then shrugged his shoulders, "To drinking?"
"No, silly. To . . . to . . . "she closed her eyes, unable to force herself to say it. She wanted to say, "To us!" but that would sound possessive.
Tod saved her. "To the rest of the weekend. May it be as pleasurable as its beginning."
She nodded, touched his glass, then drank. She sat back in her chair, completely relaxed, and let the sensations wash over her. Every single pore of her body was alive and singing. God, she felt so alive! She could spend the rest of her life just sitting here, feeling this way. How much of it was due to sex and how much of it due to being with Shelton, she couldn't say. She was pretty sure, though, that they were inseparable. She had never come close to feeling this content with Bruce. Not once. Never!
"Penny?" Tod asked.
"What?"
"A penny for your thoughts," he said. "You looked so bloody serious."
"If I told you, I'd embarrass you . . . and myself"
"Try me and see."
She paused then said, "All right. Light me a cigarette, buy me another drink, and I'll tell you my life's story. A little sad piano music, if you please, Hoagy." She grinned impishly at her own joke.
She gazed toward the window, studying her reflection in the glass. She pointed at her image, "See that woman. I sometimes think that is the real me . . . something seen dimly, infrequently." She squinted and blew smoke at the reflection. "Sometimes I don't see her for months. Sometimes she won't go away, like now. Look at her, staring at me. She's accusing me." "Oh? Have you done something you shouldn't have?"
Sylvia ground out her half-smoked cigarette. "No, it's the other way around. I haven't done a lot of things that I should have. When I was very, very young . . . say about four, I knew what I wanted to do; I wanted to be a doctor and help people. Then my father he and I were very close . . . died when I was six, and the doctors couldn't help him. I hated doctors then. When I was in junior high school, I was sure I would be a famous movie actress; that lasted until I was about fourteen when I decided I would rather become an Olympic swimmer. That lasted about four days; the coach took one look at my form and said no dice. Then I thought I'd be a famous writer or artist. No talent. When I got out of school, I thought about joining the Peace Corps or something like that. But I knew I just couldn't spend time in some dirty-floored hovel trying to make someone do something they really didn't want to do . . . or holding someone else's sick child. I was in my third year at Scripps College and had changed my major six times in the three years when I suddenly realized I really didn't give a damn about school either. I came back home. Mother took me with her on a round the world tour on the Caronia, she hoped I would meet some nice eligible male who had acceptable social qualifications." She snorted and there was a touch of bitterness in her voice. "We're very social and very rich, you know."
"No, I didn't know," Shelton said softly.
"Oh my, yes." She mimicked the words, "Terribly rich!" Then she became serious again. "My maiden name was Mayfair."
Tod cocked one eyebrow and was impressed in spite of himself "Stephen Mayfair? Mayfair Aircraft? Mayfair Boats?"
"The same. Daddy's." She fell silent as the waiter brought the second round of drinks. When he left she raised her glass again. This time she paused only a second before saying, "To us!"
Shelton nodded his approval and touched glasses with her.
"Where was I?" Sylvia asked then answered her own question.
"Oh, yes! Aboard the Caronia, eighty beautiful days, forty exotic ports, eighty romantic nights!!' " She knew her bitterness and sarcasm were showing, but she didn't care. "I couldn't get interested in any of the males; they bored me stiff Mother kept pushing me off on Bruce; she even had his table changed from the Second Officer's to the Captain's where we sat. He gave me the creeps. Mother nearly exploded when I told her he looked like the crooked banker in a Western movie." She grinned as she saw Tod's appreciative smile.
Sylvia held her glass up to the candle and inspected its contents, deliberatingly whether she should continue or not. She mentally shrugged and went on. "I . . . ah . . . began to think there was something wrong with me. There I was, twenty-one years old and still a virgin and not the least bit interested in any male I had ever met. Except one I met when I was fifteen. He was fifteen, too. And I would have given in to him if he'd known what to do. He didn't. His name was Ron. He was tall and blond and skinny and was going to be a poet. He used to read poems to me that he'd written, and some of them were so sad and beautiful that I used to cry, you know." She paused and stared out the window at a fishing boat plowing its way into the harbor. "I saw him again a couple of years ago. Already bald at thirty, working as assistant manager in a chain shoe store, married, five kids, no longer writing poetry . . . or anything." She looked up, grimacing. "Jesus, this is getting depressing. Sure you want to hear the rest?"
"I'm interested," Shelton said.
"Okay, then. Back to the old Caronia. I'm on board, you see. Mother is pushing Bruce, the blue plate special at me. Bruce is socially acceptable. He's a nose talker Harvard and some precious private finishing school on the East Coast. He's also fifteen years older than I. Divorced. He kept coming on like gangbusters. I couldn't see him or the panting Third Officer or the deck boy who looked as if I were a hot fudge sundae and he hadn't eaten for a month. So . . . ah . . . well, I started thinking there must be something horribly wrong with me. That maybe I was a lesbian. There was another girl on board a Swede who definitely was a lesbian. I mean, she had made no bones about that to me. She just up and told me that she was les and wanted to know if I was straight or gay, and one way or the other would I be interested in letting her make love to me. Finally, I think it happened between Gibraltar and Egypt, one night I went with her to her cabin and let her do what she wanted. I felt I had to know. She did everything to me . . . and nothing for me. After it was all over, and I hadn't reacted. I felt dirty and sick. When I got on deck, I saw Bruce. He made his usual proposition; I said why not.' He . . . he . . . laid' me the same evening. It hurt a little, not much. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. He told me that he had used protection,' but he lied. He took away my hymen and left in its place a baby. It wasn't until later that I realized the son of a bitch had done it on purpose."
Shelton watched as she fumbled angrily for a cigarette; he didn't have a chance to light it . . . the hovering waiter beat him to it.
Sylvia exhaled a boiling cloud of smoke. "We got . . . we had to get married. Mother was thrilled, in spite of the circumstances. Two days after we started our honeymoon, I lost the baby. You know . . . it was the first real thing I had wanted in a long time; I wanted to be a mother. And even that was denied me. Since then, Bruce has repeatedly stated that he doesn't want a child." She sighed. "He even had his tubes or something tied off so he couldn't."
She was silent for so long a time that Shelton thought she had decided to stop talking, but then she began again. "We had parties, got our pictures in the society pages of the newspaper, attended all the socially proper things like polo at Pebble Beach, the Regatta, and so on. I joined all the proper society matron organizations, the Junior League, the Hospital Auxiliary, the Symphony Guild." She looked directly at him, and her eyes mirrored her misery. "I was bored to death with it all. I started dying little by little. There was a thick shell of indifference growing around me, shutting off the fresh air and sunshine. By the time I was thirty years old, that shell seemed impenetrable to me. I . . . I even tried . . . to kill myself once last year." She smiled sadly. "I failed at that, too. Failed so
badly that not even Bruce knew I had tried. Not that he would have given a damn one way or the other, except for the bad publicity." She paused, cocked her head to one side and asked, "May I have another drink?"
Shelton used his forefinger to indicate he wanted the drink order repeated, and the waiter . . . standing like a silent sentinel just out of earshot . . . nodded his understanding . . . Sylvia continued to stare at Tod. "You know something?" "What?"
"I'm glad I didn't commit suicide."
"I'm glad you didn't, too." He meant it.
"That thick old shell of indifference I was telling you about you broke through it as though it wasn't there at all. You just shattered it. Crash! Tinkle . . . tinkle . . . tinkle. It was an egg, and out came the ugly duckling."
"No . . . out came the swan. Long slender neck, graceful, queenly . . . and I've got good tits, too." She giggled then put her hand quickly to her mouth. "Oops. Say . . . are you trying to get me drunk? I haven't had anything to eat all day." Her eyes narrowed wickedly, and she grinned as she bit her lower lip, " . . . at least nothing to eat in the food department."
Shelton's delighted laughter boomed out. "Sylvia, my pet . . . you are beginning to talk shall we say dirty.' Time to get some food into you . . . Anything special you want?"
"I'll have what you have."
"Right. Well, after our little exercise this afternoon, maybe we'd better have some red meat." He scanned the huge menu. "How about a Chateaubriand for the two of us?"
"Great," she answered enthusiastically.
"How do you likes your meat?"
"How do you like yours?"
"Charred and blood rare," Tod said.
"Charred and blood rare is fine with me. I always feel barbarian when I eat raw meat." She growled playfully and raised her eyebrows suggestively. Then her face collapsed. "No . . . that's a lie. I've never felt anything. Before you . . ." She forced a smile. "Anyway, hell, I'm hungry!" . . . and let's try a bottle of number twenty four, the pinot noir," Tod said, finishing his instructions to the Captain who had come over personally to take their order.
Moments later, they both were watching silently as the Captain made a full-scale production out of the Caesar salad. By the time he had finished and handed the salad to the waiter for serving, Sylvia and Tod were ravenous.
Still later, they watched appreciatively as the mammoth Chateaubriand together with its garnish of ten fresh vegetables and mushrooms was presented to them. They dawdled pleasurably over dinner and lingered even longer over coffee and brandy. It was with considerable surprise then that both of them suddenly realized the dining room had emptied of everyone except one or two busboys and their waiter.
Tod glanced down at his watch. "Good God! It's midnight."
"I can't believe it," Sylvia said, looking at her own wrist watch for confirmation.
Tod signaled for the bill, and when it arrived he peeled off three twenties. The waiter's eyes widened at the size of the tip; he was practically fawning over them as he pulled out Sylvia's chair for her.
"An after dinner drink in the bar?" Tod asked.
"That would be nice," Sylvia replied.
They made their way to the cocktail lounge. In the corner, several people were crowded around a piano bar. Most of the booths were empty, however. Sylvia and Tod slid into one against the far wall.
They sat close together, their legs and thighs pressed together.
When their drinks had been served, Tod asked, "Are you still planning to go ahead with your . . . plan?"
"Of course," she replied, almost indignantly. "That's why we're here, isn't it?"
"Just asking."
"As I told you earlier this evening, I've never wanted very much out of life. But I do want to pay Bruce Akron back for everything he's done and hasn't done . . . to me. I hate him. Oh, God! How I hate him. I want revenge. I'm going to get revenge. Whatever the cost."
"All right. I just wanted to make sure you still felt the same way." He nodded his head toward the piano bar. "There's your quarry."
"What do you mean?"
"The Hunts. She's the little brunette with the busy hands in the tight purple sheath; he's the cigar-smoker in the lime-colored blazer. The couple they're playing kneesies with at the moment are the ones who were on deck earlier tonight before they switched partners."
Sylvia stared at the men. She felt an immediate sense of dismay and disappointment. Ed Hunt was pot-bellied; if his laughter was any indication, he was coarse as well. The other man was almost a non-entity. The thought of letting those men make love to her was repulsive. She crinkled up her nose, "Yeecckk."
Shelton smiled. "The best we could do under such short notice. You should have seen the members of the other two clubs."
"There's nothing wrong with the two women, but just look at those two men."
Tod agreed with her evaluation. The two females were extremely well-built, both looked like well-oiled high-powered sex machines.
"What about the other two couples in this group?"
Tod shrugged. "A little better. One of the men looks like a professional football player. Big, big man. The other male is shorter than I am. He looks like Jack Lemmon, the actor."
"That's something anyway."
Sylvia continued to watch then she nudged Tod, "Here's your chance for a really close look at her; she's coming this way."
Liz Hunt passed their table, and her hungry glance locked on Shelton's face and shoulders. Her expression was unfathomable, but she gave off a powerful aura of sensuality that clung to the air even after she had disappeared.
Sylvia stood. "She's going to the powder room. I think I'll try to strike up an acquaintance."
Shelton ordered another drink for himself and had just lit a cigarette four minutes later when Sylvia said rather loudly, "Darling, I want you to meet someone. Liz, this is my husband Tod. Tod, meet Mrs. Liz Hunt."
Liz put out her hand, and Tod discovered she had an especially strong grip for a woman. "Mr. Shelton . . . Tod," her voice purred. "I'm pleased to meet you. Your wife and I were just talking in the powder room. She says you two don't know anyone in Santa Barbara. This isn't a town to be alone in . . . Come on. I want you to meet Ed, my husband. And another couple, too."
Tod forced himself to look uncertain. "I don't know . . . Mrs. Hunt. I . . . we . . . don't want to intrude."
"Oh, nonsense! Come on." She grabbed him by the arm, and Tod was all too aware of her breasts pushing purposely against his biceps. She led them to the piano bar. Ed Hunt, in the middle of a bawdy story, simply stopped talking when he saw Sylvia. His mouth stayed open, and his cigar slipped from his lips. He looked as if he had wanted to fall on his knees at that moment and bury his face between Sylvia's thighs. Sylvia's high color indicated she read the message loud and clear.
Liz held onto Tod's arm all during the introductions. "Mr. and Mrs. Reem . . . Sam and Sally . . . meet Mr. and Mrs. Shelton, Tod and Sylvia. And this . . . this here . . . is my husband . . . Ed."
"You don't have to sound so damned proud about it," Ed Hunt snarled playfully, and then turned his undivided attention back to Sylvia. "My gawd! You are really something," he said.
Tod, watching his expression, felt a twinge of jealousy and perhaps, anger. He knew if Sylvia were actually his wife, Hunt would get slugged for staring like that.
Sally's eyes widened in appreciation as she looked at Tod. When she spoke, her voice was almost a growl. "You, sir, are a handsome devil. Where have you been hiding . . .?"
Her husband paid no attention. He was obviously mentally undressing Sylvia . . . and he liked what he saw.
Sylvia found herself separated from Tod. Ed Hunt had given her his stool at the piano bar. Now he stood alongside her, surreptitiously', rubbing his pelvis against her nylon sheathed right leg. On her left, Sam Reem's cock was stirring to life against her thigh. She could feel it growing through his trousers. She forced herself to think of revenge against Bruce when Hunt casually placed his ham-like hand on her upper thigh; his fingers twitched, and she felt his thick forefinger nudge her pubic area.
Guiltily, she glanced over toward Tod. The two women had flanked him, and even as Sylvia watched, Sally bent over the bar to get a cigarette. The scoop-neck of her dress gaped open and one full, rounded breast was visible. Tod grinned and made some remark and Sally said, "Naughty, naughty." Liz Hunt laughed uproariously at it.
Sylvia became aware that Ed Hunt was actually trying to finger-fuck her right out here in the open. That's when she took his hand away. She smiled in what she hoped was a seductive manner to show him she wasn't too displeased. He guffawed. On her left, Sam's erection was complete; he looked as if it were actually paining him.
Hunt began telling her a dirty joke about a customer in a Montana whorehouse who insisted on doing it on the windowsill during fifty degree below weather. Ed's breath smelled like stale cigars and bad booze. She noted his teeth were stained from nicotine. " . . . All of a sudden, there he is, banging away into her and the window flies up. They fall out, still screwing away, and are frozen solid before they hit the ground. A few minutes later, this drunk is stumbling down the street, and he sees the frozen whore with the frozen guy frozen deep inside her. He goes up to the door and knocks loudly. When the madam comes to the door and asks, Yes? What is it?' The drunk answers, Excuse me, ma'am . . . but your sign fell down."
Sylvia laughed, but not as loudly as Hunt. Sam didn't laugh at all, he merely stood there staring at her face to see how she was taking it.
Finally, he said, "Ed, why in hell don't you show a little hospitality and invite the lady out to see your boat? It won't hurt you to spring for a drink out there, either, you cheap son of a bitch."
Hunt, right on cue; turned as if he hadn't thought of this idea before. "Say . . . you're right." He grabbed Sylvia's arm, and his fingers dug into the flesh. "Come on. We'll run on out for a quickie . . . a drink, that is."
Sylvia suddenly made up her mind. "Not tonight, thanks. May I have a rain check?"
"Why not tonight? Hell, it's plenty early yet." Hunt insisted and was echoed by Sam, "Sure . . . it's not even one o'clock yet."
"No." It was final; her tone of voice was emphatic. She stood, and as she did her skirt slid up all the way to her bikini panties. She did it on purpose; it had the desired effect. "Jesus," Hunt groaned, staring at the promise between her open thighs. Sam's hand was quick, he made one swipe up her thigh and cupped her loins in the dimness. Sylvia merely smiled and took his hand away.
"Come on, darling," she said loudly to Tod. There was protest from Liz and Sally, both of whom called simultaneously, "Don't be a party pooper!"
Hunt apparently made a quick decision. "Look," he said in his most winning way. "We're going to have a little party tomorrow night on board my boat, the Jolly Rogue. Why don't you and your husband come. There'll be two other couples. I think you'll like them."
"I . . . I don't know . . ." Sylvia said, trying to appear uncertain. She looked at Tod as though she wanted him to advise her, knowing he would play along with the reluctance act.
"Come on," Liz said, rallying to her husband's argument. "The party tomorrow night is going to be fun. You'll love it. Everyone is lively. Lots of fun."
"Yeh . . . "Sally amplified.
Tod asked, "You're sure we won't be intruding?"
Hunt clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms, "Hell, no. We'd love to have you. Come on out about . . . ah . . . six o'clock! I'll have the launch here at the boat landing outside the restaurant. Don't get dressed . . . very informal."
Sally said, "No, don't get dressed. No one dresses at one of Ed's parties." She giggled and was rewarded by Liz's elbow savagely jabbed into her ribs in warning.
"Okay," Sylvia said as if she were delighted with the whole affair, "six o'clock."
Sylvia and Tod made a hasty exit from the piano bar. They were riding up in the Ambassador's elevator before Tod asked the question that had been bothering him. "Why didn't you want to go out there tonight? We could have infiltrated right then and there. God knows old Ed baby was hot for it. And Sally and Liz were about to crawl up the wall, they wanted it so badly."
Sylvia, who in spite of herself had become very aroused by the strange hands on her, grinned and said, "And Sam baby was a bit excited, too. He almost punched a hole in my leg by jabbing me with his . . . ah . . . erection." She looked directly at him and then answered his question. "I didn't want to go out there: tonight and spoil the evening we've already had. I didn't want anything to ruin that. Silly of me, I guess. But I felt this might be our last chance to be together alone. I wanted you tonight. I want you to undress me slowly. And then . . .?"
"Yes?"
She gritted her teeth and purred, "And then? I want you to fuck me." The door to the elevator whispered open, and the smile disappeared from her face as she was struck with a sudden thought. "That is.. . if you can. I mean . . . can you again . . . after doing it this afternoon and this evening?"
Tod laughed. "I can. I can and I will."
He could and he did, again and again, and the smog-inflamed sun had already crept up over the Santa Ynez before they finally went to sleep lying on their sides, face to face . . . with Tod's softened prick still buried deep inside her.
Chapter SIX
About two o'clock in the afternoon, the fire boat raced out of the harbor with its siren and klaxon echoing through the steel and concrete canyons of the waterfront. Tod awakened to find the bed empty. He stretched lethargically and felt the incrustations of cum split open on his legs and buttocks. He had a vague desire for a cigarette, but the pack was over on the table by the window, and so he thought, to hell with it!
He lay looking up at the ceiling and smiling contentedly. God! What an absolutely fabulous woman Sylvia was. She was learning the arts of love rapidly, and most of her newfound knowledge seemed to well up from deep hidden springs within her. She used her vaginal-uterine muscles as though she had worked in a whorehouse all her life. This in spite of the fact that she obviously hadn't even known she had such muscles until last week! And she liked to experiment with positions in an effort to find new ones that would bring her even more pleasure.
The experimentation didn't stop with positions alone.
At four-thirty this morning she had suddenly rolled over and whispered, "Tod . . . are you awake?"
"Yes."
"Let's take a shower together."
"Now?"
"Sure . . . come on, lazy bones. I'll wash you . . . you wash me."
It had taken less than a minute of Sylvia's soaping his body before Tod was raring to go again. That's when she really surprised him.
She was blushing when she asked, "When sailors talk about playing drop the soap,' does it mean what I think it does?"
Tod laughed in answer.
She was persistent. "They make love in each other's rectum? Is that it?
Tod, suddenly catching the drift of her conversation, nodded his head in amusement and felt a sudden tightening of his groin.
"Do men ever make love to women that way?"
"Some do frequently."
"Does it do anything for the woman? I mean, does she get any pleasure out of it?"
"Many do. Why?"
She reached one soapy hand down for his cock and began sliding her fingers up and down the shaft. "I want you to make love to me that way then. What shall I do?" She turned around so that the full roundness of her naked buttocks were exposed to him.
Tod felt a new excitement pounding in his loins. With each beat of his pulse, his cock bobbed up and down as though it were eager to play this new game. In his mind there was one little seed of doubt. He knew his prick was considerably larger than most; he also knew that it would fit very nicely in an experienced woman's anus, but in a virginal asshole? "It might be uncomfortable at first," he said in warning.
"I don't care. Fuck me there." She bent over even further.
Tod worked up a lather on his hands then ran his hands along the rounded globes of her smooth wet buttocks. When he reached the anal ring, he tentatively dipped his middle finger against the tightly puckered opening. "Ummmmph," Sylvia said, a grimace crossing her face.
The finger nudged and prodded . . . and then slipped in up to the first joint. Sylvia felt a jolt of perverted pleasure shoot through her abdomen.
"Bend over and put your hands on the wall . . . spread your feet out a little more," Tod ordered, beginning to make little circular motions with his finger.
Sylvia did as she was told. Now, Tod's finger began slowly worming its way in and out, going in deeper with each new push inward. Finally, she felt the knuckles of his fist pushing up against her buttocks. His soap lubricated finger slid easily in and out, and she felt no pain . . . just a growing excitement.
Tod sensed she was relaxing and felt it was time to widen the aperture even further. He began working his forefinger also into the anus.
"Oooooh," Sylvia moaned, and Tod felt her sphincter muscles suddenly tighten in alarm. "Relax," he crooned. "Push back on my finger . . . relax. Aaah, that's right.
"Ummmmm!" Sylvia crooned as his second finger joined the first in the warm aperture of her asshole. She felt pretty proud of herself It really hadn't hurt at all. And she was enjoying it! She was being stretched down there, but it was a pleasurable stretching. She found herself wiggling her hips back against his fingers, clenching and unclenching her buttock cheeks in time with each of his shoves inward. God! She was getting excited! Her mouth fell open, and she started to moan as she felt an overwhelming need to be completely subjugated. "Put it in . . . put your penis in my rectum now," she whimpered eagerly.
Tod pulled his fingers out, the rubbery lips of her anus clinging to them. Their withdrawal resulted in a slight sucking, hissing noise that caused her to redden in embarrassment. Then his hands were lathering her anus again as well as working up a lather on his own cock.
Tod gazed at the lewd spectacle of Sylvia bent over at the waist, her ass in the air like a waiting archery target. Well, he had the arrow for that little bullseye, he thought impatiently. Suddenly, very suddenly, he no longer felt the least bit gentle about her. She wanted to be sodomized; he'd do the job, and she would never forget it. "Spread the cheeks of your ass," he said gruffly.
Sylvia, wide eyed at the sudden change in the sound of his voice, looked apprehensively around. She flinched as though she had been struck with a whip when he repeated savagely, "Spread your cheeks. Open them up!" Sylvia hesitantly presented him with the stretched orbs of her buttocks. She put her hands behind her and spread the fleshy globes apart as he had instructed. She felt a shiver of fear go through her. Tod, gentle Tod, sounded so mean all of a sudden. Then a shiver of anticipation surged through her as she felt the huge, throbbing head of his penis pressing against the small entryway to her rectum.
Tod's cock pressed inward relentlessly. It was easily twice as large as his fingers had been, and Sylvia suddenly felt alarm growing in her. She would never be able to take that there. He would split her apart. She started to raise upright when she felt a sharp sting as Tod cruelly slapped her buttocks with the open palm of his hand and snarled, "Stay down."
"Ough, that hurt," she complained, bending over again.
"This was your idea." There was no mercy in that voice, she thought. She held her breath as his hands locked themselves on her hips; she was a captive now, she could move only one way . . . back against that insufferable monstrous rod of lust-hardened flesh. She felt him begin to prod and knew abruptly that her fear had been well founded. He was going to hurt her. He would never be able to slip that thing into her body this way. It was much too large! The prick strained against her virginal passageway. She cried out in pain as her tiny puckered anal ring suddenly gave, and he popped into her. Desperately, she tried to pull away from him, but his hands held her with all the strength of a ship's hawser.
"No, Tod," she panted. "Oh, God! That hurts. You're too big?"
It was as though Tod had suddenly lost his sense of hearing. He paid absolutely no heed to her. The inexorable cock moved in. slowly, but persistently. "Gaaagh, Tod!" It was a scream of agony. She was being split apart down there; it was as painful as though he had shoved an electric knife that was sawing away at her.
"Aggghh!" she yelled. "No!" Would he never stop?
"Push back, you bitch. Shove your ass back to me!" It was a stranger's voice coming from the throat of a cruel barbarian savagely raping a helpless female inhabitant of a conquered city.
What was he saying? What was he saying? What was he telling her to do? Sylvia could hardly think. The agony was so overwhelming that it had short-circuited out her centers of intelligence. All she felt was pain . . . pain from that red hot pole being levered up into her rectum.
"Push back, goddamnit!"
Panting, she did, and then screamed, "Aaaaggghh!" as the guard gates to her rectum fell before the inexorable onslaught of his cock. His huge prick surged into the spongy, resistant flesh; it slid mercilessly in until she felt his pelvis hit hard against and flatten the softness of her buttocks.
Tod gave a long sigh that was almost a whine of passion as he felt her defensively clasping asshole tremble around the shaft of his cock. God, she was tight! He'd never been in a rectum so tight before in his life. It was so confined that it actually caused him pain as well. He knew what it must be doing to her. And strangely enough, with the heat upon him as it was now, he didn't care about her.
"Don't move it, please don't move it," she pleaded, the tears and water both running down her face. She almost immediately realized the futility of her request for he began to saw rhythmically deeper and deeper into the nether regions of her rectum.
"Aaaaggghhh!" the pained protest was wrenched out of her throat. He was in so deep that she felt that he surely must be using her spinal vertebrae as a xylophone . . . and his cock as the hammer, pounding out notes of savage perverted music.
It was at least two or three minutes before she became vaguely aware that the pain was beginning to lessen. There was, if she were to admit it, even a certain stimulation starting within the depths of her belly. She made a deliberate effort to relax, and discovered that she could lessen or tighten the tension on her muscles at will. It was then that she really began to feel the harmonic vibrations resulting from his salacious movements in her rectum.
Tod felt her suddenly relax, and then subsequently she was using some hidden inner muscles to work on the cock; it felt almost as though he had gotten caught in a milking machine. Sylvia had bared her teeth and wagged her head from side to side, her hair swaying like golden seaweed at the bottom of a warm and wonderful ocean. He rammed her again and again, and each time, he heard and felt the resonance of her increasing passion and enjoyment.
She was moving freely with him now, meeting his every thrust with one of her own. Tod felt he could relinquish his hold on her without losing her so he dropped one hand to her front and began massaging her clitoris.
Sylvia had been astonished when she felt his hand fumbling for and finding the tiny hungry organ down between her thighs. She wanted to scream with ecstasy as he began stroking it gently. But she did moan, "Wonderful! Oh, God! That's beautiful." She began squirming back onto his beautiful cock and rotating her pelvis so that delightful contact between finger and clitoris, penis and soul would remain. She was filled with a wild, masochistic joy. She was being sodomized! The pain had long since been vanquished, replaced by an all-conquering pleasure. She not only matched his movements but made movements of her own! She found herself undulating her body and moving her buttocks in savage, tight little circles. She could feel his sperm-filled scrotum bouncing off her unprotected vaginal lips with each new movement, and this, too, excited her.
Tod was lost in the wonder of it. He watched the crinkled pink flesh of the little round asshole draw back with his cock; it seemed reluctant to relinquish its tight grip on him, and it greedily clasped at him as if to keep him captive. He watched and smiled in far-off delight as his balls slapped against her vaginal lips each time he sank his prick to the hilt in her wide-split crevice. And he played a tune of love on the passion-engorged clitoris in front; he strummed it as if it were a finger harp. His cock felt as if it were being squeezed out of shape in there. And the jolts of pleasure! She must have an electric cattle prod in there, he thought. Most amazing though was Sylvia's reaction. He knew she was building to a climax. Each time he plunged into her and his white throbbing shaft disappeared into that gyrating ass, her loud moan of delight echoed louder and louder above the hiss of the shower water. Her beautiful face was flushed . . . the color of strawberries . . . and her eyes rolled around in her head. She began mewling little inarticulate sounds of lust, and he saw her suddenly rise on tiptoe.
He drew his prick out to the point where only the head was lodged inside then pushed gently but firmly in all the way. The long, long stroke drove her insane. She whined and jiggled her ass as though she were a friendly puppy wagging its tail. He did it again and again and again! Speeding up his tempo now as he felt the white hot lava of his own cum threatening an eruption in his balls.
She was panting so loudly that it was almost impossible to make sense of her words, but the meaning did reach him, "Harder, faster. Fuck harder. Fuck faster," she groaned with her mouth open making silent screams as her body suddenly began an uncontrollable convulsing.
And then Tod was there, too. In spite of her own orgasm, Sylvia felt the first delicious torrents of hot, white cum spurt far up into the hidden depths of her rectum. She was getting an enema of love filling her almost to the bursting point! And she almost immediately careened into a wilder and deeper orgasm. She screamed as the great gush of pleasure shot through her. And had it not been for his almost superhuman strength, she would have toppled forward onto the tile floor of the shower.
Later, much later, when they had returned to bed, Sylvia had pouted like a little girl. "I'm sore there," she said, pointing to her ravaged anus.
"Shall I kiss it to make it feel better?" Tod had asked playfully.
His only answer had been a low purr, and then she had presented him with her buttocks.
And of course, that had started all the machinery working again in both of their bodies.
Now, lying in the deserted and rumpled bed, Tod began to wonder where Sylvia was? He called her name, but there was no answer from the bathroom. Finally, curiosity got the better of lethargy, and he rolled out of bed and padded into the bathroom. A crumpled towel on the floor was evidence that she had showered and left the room . . . for what purposes, he couldn't imagine.
The stinging spray of the shower began to fully awaken him, and after he had been in it for almost ten minutes, he turned the temperature knob all the way to cold. That drove the last vestiges of sleep away. He was still under the stream when he heard the outer door of the bathroom open and Sylvia's voice yell, "Good afternoon, sleepy-head."
"Hi," he shouted back and then turned off the water. When he opened the glass door of the shower stall Sylvia dressed in a blue mini and very tight blue cashmere sweater . . . was holding an open towel for him.
She grinned at him and mimicked a Japanese bath girl's voice, "Master, al reddly to be dlied off" She blinked her eyes several times rapidly and then giggled. "Come on," she said, jerking her head sideways. "Don't be bashful. I'll be gentle with it . . . you! I mean." She giggled again. "That was a Freudian slip."
Tod docilely permitted himself to be dried. The rubbing of the towel was a terrible sensual thing, and he could feel the reverberations of an awakening, desire . . . especially when she carefully, oh so carefully, the beautiful bitch! dried his scrotum and penis.
As she worked, she looked up at him and grinned, "Aren't you curious about where I've been? Or don't you care? An entire army of wildly erotic Chinese gangsters could have burst into the room and sold me into white slavery while you were sleeping .
for all you know."
Tod laughed. "Did they?"
"Yes," she said, feigning distress. "It was all so horrible. They all had me . . . three times each!"
"I would have thought you'd have a ball on a deal like that. What's so horrible?" She pouted, "There wasn't a single one of the evil gang who . . . who . . . could match junior here." She bent and kissed the head of his cock.
Tod growled low in his throat and attempted to cup her face in his hands.
She twisted away from him. "No. Not yet. Come on in the front room; I want to show you what I bought."
"All right. How about tossing me my bathrobe?"
"No. Come out as you are. I have a surprise for you."
Tod felt the corners of his mouth turning up in amusement, and he decided to play along with her little game. He padded out into the front room of their suite. There were several packages on top of the couch.
Sylvia acted like a small child at Christmas time. She excitedly opened one sack and pulled out a navy blue tie with silver pin stripes. "This is for you. Do you like it?"
Tod nodded his thanks. "Great. It makes me look as though I came from a terribly important British school."
Sylvia came up to him and began to wrap it around his neck. Tod's penis was stirring to life so he tried to catch her around the waist and pull her body into him. Again Sylvia twisted away and smiled teasingly at him. "No. No . . . no!" she said, shaking her finger in mock anger at him. She stood back, her head cocked to one side, evaluating the tie. "It looks very dignified on you."
"Thank you. Are you talking about the tie? Or this?" He looked down at his rising prick.
Sylvia's answer was a giggle. "Now something for me!" She bent over another sack and then stood up triumphantly brandishing an incredibly transparent pair of white silk bikini panties. Embroidered on the front of the panties or at least Tod assumed it was the front . . . was a green-stemmed red rose. The petals of the rose opened to full bloom over the pubic area. Sylvia looked askance at him, waiting for his reaction.
"Wild." What the hell else was there to say, he thought, feeling a need for sex from just looking at the thing being held up in the air.
Sylvia clapped her hands in glee. "You do like them, don't you. I can tell." She pulled out a half bra that was so skimpy it wouldn't cover twin postage stamps. "I bought them for the party tonight. Would you like an advanced preview?"
"That would be very, very nice," he said, beginning to feel foolish standing in the middle of the room with a half hard-on.
Sylvia began to strip, and his hard-on almost immediately graduated with honors. It actually pained him, and Sylvia obviously knew it was hurting him. Shamelessly, she removed each item of her clothing as though she were working in a burlesque theater. A button undone, a quick peek-a-boo glimpse of the merchandise, then teasingly cover the sweets again for a moment before spinning around and tossing the item of clothing onto the couch. Her sweater went first, followed by her skirt. All this took time, for she was enjoying herself . . . enjoying the tease she was performing. And it was definitely a performance. To make sure he understood it was a show, she was cornballing, "a . . . purty girl . . . is like a . . . mello-dee.
Finally she was down to the buff. Twice Tod had impatiently started toward her, and twice he had been ordered to get back.
She stepped into the panties and tantalizingly pulled them up. The rose now had an extra dimension; it looked as though it were growing, and her mound of Venus caused it to swell with life. The bra, of course, didn't hide a damned thing; it merely emphasized the already almost perfect upthrust of her breasts.
Tod's words were forced out of his desire-tightened throat. "Jesus, Sylvia. You're killing me."
She grinned a Cheshire cat's smile and asked, "Do you think it will be suitable for the party tonight?",
"Baby, if those guys feel like I feel right now, you won't have that outfit on long enough for anyone to see it."
Sylvia bowed in acknowledgment. "Thank you, sir. That's the nicest thing anyone had said to me so far today. Well, now. Are you ready for your other present?"
Tod nodded rapidly.
"Will you do as I say?"
"I am . . . your obedient slave." It was an echo of a little game they had played earlier last evening.
She laughed delightedly, "No, I am your slave. And I am going to do as you command. But first you have to do what I tell you."
"Fire away, baby, fire away!"
"All right, then. Go over and lie down on the bed."
Tod grinned happily; that was more like it. That, at least, was an order he could obey without question.
"Close your eyes," Sylvia said.
Tod did as he was instructed. He heard a paper sack rattling, and then he was aware of Sylvia's presence next to the bed. "Your eyes closed?" she whispered.
"Yeh."
"Don't open them until I tell you to. Promise?"
"Okay."
There was a moment of silence. Tod was waiting for something, anything! to happen. And then Sylvia said, "Cross your heart and hope to die, you won't peek."
"Oh, for God's sake, Sylvia!" he protested. "Are you trying to build me up for rape?"
She laughed. "No, you poor boy. Here's your present. Keep your eyes closed."
Tod heard the hiss and then jumped as something very cold hit his abdomen. "What the hell?" he started to say and was pushed back against the mattress by Sylvia's firm hand. "You promised," she said.
The hissing continued, and now Tod could feel the cool, yet satiny substance beginning to cover his belly. A second later, the coldness hit his prick. First the head was covered, then the entire shaft. Next he felt it covering his inner thighs and then, almost painfully, the frigid stuff his scrotum and anus. During the entire event, Sylvia was chortling aloud. Finally, the delightful and mysterious torture ended.
Sylvia said almost breathlessly, "You can look now."
Tod raised himself up on his elbows and then exclaimed, "Good Christ! What's that?" There, written across his belly in something that looked like shaving foam was the word Sylvia. The tail end of the "A" was in the form of a curlicue that surrounded his penis. His penis itself looked like a snow-covered tower, and his scrotum and thighs were white with the stuff as well.
"What is it?" he asked again.
Sylvia dimpled. "Whipped cream . . . master."
"That," said Tod in mock sternness, "is a terrible waste of food."
"I agree. We mustn't waste it."
"Do you have any ideas?" Tod asked, already knowing the answer.
Sylvia looked as though she were really studying the problem; then she said, "Maybe . . . if we put some walnuts around it and a cherry on top . . . we could sell it as a sundae?"
Tod doubled up in laughter. "You little bitch," he said, and there was warm affection in his voice.
"Or . . . I could lick it off Which would you prefer?"
"Like lick, little friend. Lic-ycck!" The last was squeezed out of his throat as he felt her hot trembling little tongue scraping the underside of his cock. "Ummmm," he purred.
Sylvia, with cream all over her face, looked up and asked softly, "You like that?"
"Oh, God!"
She went back to her ministrations. The consistency of the whipped cream was almost that of a lightweight foamy butter so her mouth moved up and down the shaft of his cock almost without friction. She licked the letter S, then Y and then with one tingling swipe, wiped out LVIA. Her tongue followed the curlicue as it circled the massive base of his cock. Then she was licking his balls. Lap . . . lap . . . lap . . . like a dainty little kitten lapping up milk. But then she became a tiger and bit his thighs, only to become a kitten again when she reached that sensitive area between scrotum and anus.
At first Tod was content to lie back with his eyes closed and let the wonderful sensations wash over him. He had never felt anything quite as erotic in his life. He was completely alive in the mid-portion of his body. He could feel the heat of her tongue working at the entrance to his anus, could feel the beat . . . beat . . . beat of the metronome in his scrotum.
But then, as if sensing the buildup within his body, Sylvia stopped and said, quite firmly, "Don't tell me when you're ready to cum. I want it to be a surprise." Her head bowed and her hot lips enclosed the head of his cock.
The movement and her command had taken him by surprise. It was then he opened his eyes and gazed down at her kneeling between his hairy knees. He watched with unbelieving rapture as the tight, rounded ovals of wide-stretched lipstick-covered lips covered the head and a good portion of the shaft of his cock. His instrument skewered into the beautiful face of the woman, and there was a moment when her enraptured expression looked as if it were something on canvas done by a master. The look of enjoyment was almost electric in itself
Sylvia had started using her tongue, slowly at first, but with increasing expertise and tempo. She licked and sucked, and once when she playfully bit, his cock jerked in her mouth. Those lips, those ripe, wonderfully full lips, were soft and smooth as they clasped his prick in a close, elastic ring. He could feel them as they moved down, down the shaft when Sylvia attempted to take as much of him as she could in her mouth. She surrounded, almost drowned his cock with her hot saliva, and then she went back to that maddening, that beautiful! slow lick . . . lick . . . lick on the underside. He pressed his hands on either side of her hollowing cheeks and pressed inward, attempting to ram it even further down her voracious throat.
The pressure in his cum-stretched scrotum had grown almost unbearable. Apparently, sensing this, Sylvia began to suck him with a moist, nibbling motion so perfect that it seemed surely she had done this every day of her life. She was so instinctive in her actions that it was almost as if she were sucking at the teat of life . . . almost as if a hidden hunger deep in her vagina was now concentrated in her mouth.
In spite of her instructions to the contrary, Tod began to groan incoherently low in his throat. He clasped both sides of her face and began to fuck it as though it were some large, happy, incredibly moist vagina. She gagged with each inward stroke. He wanted to cum. He had to cum. She wanted him to cum! And he did! feeling the boiling sperm suddenly freed of all restraint . . . suddenly able to shoot toward freedom. And it gushed out of him in a never-ending torrent, filling her mouth, raging down her convulsively working throat, spurting out of her tightly clasped lips to drain down across her chin and drip onto her breasts. She drank his elixir of love, she took all he had . . . and then nibbled and sucked continuously until finally the slowly deflating cock died in her mouth.
Tod fell back onto the bed. Never in his wildest imaginations had he believed a blow job could feel so good. After a moment, he felt those lips reluctantly leave his godsend, and then there was the warmth of her nude, trembling body against his.
She whispered, "Did I please the master?"
His eyes were closed; he didn't bother to open them. "You did."
Sylvia kissed the hair on his chest; she even nibbled once or twice at his almost imperceptible breast nipples. Then her mouth was on his; her tongue swam into his mouth . . . and Tod . . . for the first time in his life tasted his own semen. It was all over her face, and her mouth was full of it. Slightly alien, slightly saline . . . his!
She continued to tremble alongside him, and he knew her own desire had gotten the better of her. She wanted him; she needed release . . . any kind of release! He had been so lost in his ejaculation that he had spent everything he had . . . it would take hours to build it up again to full potential. Caring, he knew Sylvia shouldn't have to wait that long. And then, abruptly, he knew what he was going to do.
He laughed as he sat upright and looked down at her trembling body. "Love . . ." he asked slowly. "Is there any more whipped cream left?"
There was.
And it was Sylvia a few minutes later with legs splayed out wide who was screaming her release.
And it was Sylvia, all breathless in wide-eyed eagerness, who said . . . as they toweled each other dry after showering, "You know, I think walnuts and a cherry would be too rich for that sundae." She paused as if suddenly thinking of something, and her cheeks dimpled, "Everything I like is supposed to be fattening. How many calories would you say you shot into my mouth?"
Tod rolled his eyes and groaned at the ridiculousness of the question.
Sylvia smiled, "Are you trying to say it isn't fattening?"
"Only at a certain time of the month when deposited in your pussy . . . unless you're on the pill."
Suddenly, she was serious, completely serious. "I'm not on the pill. And I'd like to get fat . . . that way!"
And Tod, hearing the words and seeing her expression, abruptly decided it was time to change the subject.
Chapter SEVEN
Sylvia tried to analyze her emotions as she walked out on the wharf toward the waiting motor launch from the Jolly Rogue. She knew she was rapidly approaching a point of no return. Part of her churning uncertainty was Shelton's fault. He had, quite unexpectedly, once again asked her before they left the hotel, "Are you positive you want to do this?"
She had stared at him, perplexed. "I told you before: that's why we're here."
"And you're quite prepared to go to bed with Hunt, Reem, and two other men you've never seen before? Prepared to let them use your body . . . two, three, even four of them at a time?"
"Yes!" It was said sharply, and in a tone of voice that requested him to drop the subject.
Shelton was persistent. "One more question, and I'll leave you alone!"
"Well?"
"Would you, even though . . . ah . . . suppose you don't like the two men?
"I don't care terribly much for Ed baby, or Sam; neither is exactly what I call my cup of tea."
"But you'd do it to get revenge?"
She was exasperated. How many times did she have to tell him! Her voice indicated her anger, "Tod, you're not that dense. I've told you at least twice now that revenge is the only I repeat . . . the only reason I intend to go through with this. I'll do anything to humiliate Bruce."
He had sighed. "Okay. End of subject. You're over twenty-one."
Still, though, the conversation had disturbed her. She knew he had been trying to say something important; his real meaning had eluded her.
She abruptly put it out of her mind when she heard Sally's shrill voice calling from the landing, "Over here, Sylvia . . . Tod! Yoo-hoo!" Sally waved frantically to get their attention. She was wearing a pair of black matador hip-huggers so tight that they looked as if they had been painted on her. For her top, she wore a button less, black silk, long sleeve blouse that was tied just under the breast. Obviously, she was not wearing a bra.
Sylvia heard Tod's low whistle of admiration, and for a second she was jealous.
Ed Hunt's boisterous laughter boomed out, and he shouted loudly enough for tourists to turn around and stare, "Hey. . . come on. The booze is getting hot . . . and the broads are cooling off"
Sam's giggle cut through the air like a jackal's bark.
Sylvia climbed down the ladder to the skiff She still had six rungs to go when she felt Hunt's hands cup her hips and his voice say, "Okay, I've got you." His fingers were digging unnecessarily into her full rounded buttocks as he lowered her to the deck. She was surprised at his strength; he had brought her down as lightly as a sack of sugar. Even after he let go, she could still feel the tingling where his hands had been.
Sally gazed enviously at Sylvia; alongside Sylvia's expensively cut, navy blue cashmere sweater and white raw silk sailor pants, Sally looked slightly cheap. "Gee," Sally said, blinking her eyes, "Your outfit sure is cute." Then her eyes shifted to Tod and began glowing with an animal-like intensity. "Hello, there . . . she said breathlessly.
Hunt seated Sylvia in the front seat between himself and Reem, and indicated Tod was to sit in back with Sally.
Tod still had not settled down when Hunt opened the throttle with a roar, throwing Tod down against the Reem woman. His shoulder scraped across her breast, pulling the skimpy cloth aside. The aureole and half of her left breast was unveiled; she made no effort to pull the cloth back. She merely stared at him, her tongue quivering on her lower teeth as if daring him to bite.
Tod finally got himself adjusted in a comfortable position, and discovered Sally had slid over until her leg was wantonly pressed against his. In the front seat, he could see Sam's hand slowly and surreptitiously massaging the top part of Sylvia's shoulder. He was wasting no time, Tod thought, then mentally added as Sally pressed her hip against his, "and neither is she."
"Where's everyone else?" Tod asked.
Sally simpered, "They're all on the boat already." She put her hand on Tod's knee and acted as if she were testing the cloth of his trousers. "I just love the feel of good wool, don't you?" she asked, blinking, and running her hand up and down his leg.
Tod went along with the gag. He put his hand on her leg at mid-thigh. "I like your nylon better."
She giggled, and then lowered her voice. "So do I; that's why I'm not wearing anything under them."
Up front, Sylvia was aware of Sam's hand moving over her shoulder; she could also feel Hunt's knee suggestively rubbing against her leg. She was a little frightened . . . and a little amused. Sam, gaining courage as they got closer to the yacht, dropped his hand until his fingers idly brushed across the tip of her left breast with each movement the launch made. That disturbed her a bit; it wasn't displeasing, but it seemed rather obvious, so she captured his
hand and held on to it. Hunt snorted, obviously he had been aware of what was going on.
Hunt abruptly swung a wide circle as they approached the yacht. The unexpected swerve of the vessel threw Sally over onto Shelton and, in what seemed to be an accidental attempt to straighten herself, she put her hand in his lap for support. He felt her hand squeeze his prick once, twice, before sitting upright again. "Little girls get into trouble that way," he said quietly, as his cock stirred out of its sleep.
"I can hardly wait," she answered, staring directly at him in an unmistakable fashion. Her eyes were really smoldering now, Tod noticed and he knew that Sally, dear little Sally was very impatient for the evening's entertainment to begin.
Hunt cut all power as they came in alongside the Jolly Rogue, and the motor launch came to a smooth stop right opposite the gangplank. Sam reached out for the mooring rope, and then they were snug against the large vessel.
The sound of stereo music came from the decks, along with laughter from somewhere within the confines of the ship.
"It sounds like they didn't wait," Sam said petulantly.
"What the hell, there's enough for everyone," Hunt grinned lewdly and stared at Sylvia.
Sylvia climbed up the coconut matted steps to the teak deck. She stared around her. The yacht was much larger than it had looked from a distance. It was in immaculate condition, obviously Hunt thought a lot of it. "I'm impressed," she told him.
"You should be," he grunted, "the goddamned thing costs me twenty grand a year for taxes, fuel and mooring fees."
Sam cackled, "Don't listen to him, the cheapskate. He writes it all off on taxes."
"Why, you little son of a bitch . . . do you want to walk back?" Hunt snarled, rising to the bait.
"Now . . . now, gentlemen and I use that term loosely," Liz Hunt said, coming out on deck. She grinned as she saw Sylvia and Tod, and came toward Sylvia with her hand outstretched in greeting. "I'm so glad you came."
"We're happy you invited us," Sylvia said.
"I'm glad they came too," Sally said, wiggling her eyebrows and flaunting herself against Shelton.
"Sally, darling! Why don't you go into the cabin and mix yourself a drink," Liz said through tight lips.
"Ta . . . ta,' Sally waved good-bye to Sam and Hunt. She grabbed Tod's arm, "I'm taking you with me."
Liz shook her head in mock dismay, sighed, and laughed. "Come on, Sylvia. I'll show you what the old tub looks like."
"Hey," Hunt growled. "That's my chore. I'm captain."
"You have duties to do . . . do them . . . Captain," Liz retorted.
Sam cackled again, and was rewarded by a glare and a command from Hunt. "You can help, buster. Get that launch tied up at the stem and for Christ's sake, do it right this time."
Sam, grumbling, helped secure the launch to the davits, and a moment later the boat was raised dripping . . . out of the water.
Sylvia followed Sally and Tod and Liz into the main cabin salon where two women and a man were gathered, singing, around a male playing show tunes on a solid red piano even the keys were red. The luxuriousness of the salon startled Sylvia; she recognized the work of several well-known contemporary artists whose original oil paintings lined one entire wall of the spacious main cabin. The other wall was taken up with a long mahogany bar with eight red leather stools. A round divan about six feet wide was placed in front of a fireplace. The fireplace, she noted, was genuine.
Sylvia became abruptly aware that the singing had stopped at the piano. She realized she and Tod were now up for inspection; she had no doubt that they both had passed at first glance . . . if the hungry expression on the faces of the other couples was any indication. The two new women looked as if they were devouring Tod. The one on the right introduced as Beth Stone was a tall, green-eyed brunette with a tan so dark that she looked North African. She was wearing a simple yellow tunic open to her navel, fled with a golden velvet rope. Her hair was piled high atop her head in a Grecian hair style; this, together with sandals that had leather thongs wrapped around her shapely calves, made her look as though she were an island goddess of love out of the Mediterranean area. The other woman Sara Aims was a petite blonde, barely five feet tall, with an intense air about her. She had a broad Texan accent to go along with a deep, almost whiskey, baritone voice. She looked lesbian, Sylvia thought, then rapidly dismissed the thought in view of the nature of the party. Still, though, Sara had a manner about her that undoubtedly brought out all the bestial qualities in a male and raised storm warning flags in a female's mind. Sylvia made a mental point to avoid being alone with Sara if she could help it.
The two men were quite attractive. Tod had been pretty close in his description of them. The big man who had been playing the piano was Jack Stone, and he did look like a professional football player. Tony Aims was shorter than Sylvia, but he had a warm good-natured air about him, and he moved with a litheness that was almost animal-like. Sylvia knew she was blushing because she could read their thoughts, and their thoughts were enough to make an experienced whore somewhat apprehensive.
Working as a team, the two men lost no time separating her from Tod and Liz Hunt. Talking animatedly, they took her to the long mahogany bar that ran half the length of the room, and began mixing drinks.
Tod wasn't the least bit lonely. All four women had closed in on him, like cattle buyers inspecting a prize bull at an auction. He thought about the delight that was to come . . . knowing that before the night was over, he was going to fuck all four of them. He said nothing, merely grinned and held out his arms to them. All four, giggling, crowded like chicks under his wing.
Sally said, breathlessly, "Beth. You should feel his muscles."
Beth did and made appreciative sounds.
Sara also reached up and touched his biceps, then his stomach muscles. "Why, gracious sakes alive! The man feels like he's made out of real hard old steel."
Liz stared speculatively and growled, "That would be nice."
Sally rolled her eyes, "Just heavenly."
Beth gazed languidly at him, then said pointedly, "Are you that muscular . . . all over?"
Tod grinned. "That, lady, is for me to know . . . and for you to find out."
There was a moment's silence before Beth smiled wickedly and . . . without taking her eyes off his face said to Liz, "You know, I think I'm going to like this boy."
"This thirsty' boy," Tod corrected.
"Oh, how thoughtless of me!" Liz exclaimed, stepping out from beneath his arm. "What are you drinking?"
"Any Tanqueray in the house?"
"No . . . but we've got a case of Bombay gin and several bottles of House of Lords."
"That should do . . . for a start." His little joke was rewarded by appreciative laughter. Beth meanwhile had taken over the spot vacated by Liz. She had her arm around his waist and was covertly doing disconcerting things with her fingers playing "hop-skip-jump" along his ribs. Her perfume was a heady aphrodisiac, and Tod knew he was responding to her. It was impossible not to respond; even a wooden, cigar store Indian would get a hard-on around her! Beth stood on tiptoe and whispered, "Would you like to see the rest of the boat?" Her breasts strained against him; he could feel her nipples burning holes through his shirts.
Why not, he thought, and nodded.
Beth smiled and pulled him away from Sally and Sara. "I'm going to show him the rest of the boat," she said.
Sally began pouting; she looked over her shoulder for support from Liz. None was forthcoming, Liz merely looked amused at the entire situation. Sara was openly sneering at Beth's impatience. Sally guiltily glanced over to see how Sylvia was taking this outrageous play for her husband. Sylvia was getting a snow job of her own; she obviously wasn't aware of Tod's happy predicament.
Tod followed Beth's sensuously swaying buttocks as she led the way up three stairs at the far end of the salon and through the doors into a well-lighted passageway. Highly varnished brown oak doors lined both sides of the narrow corridor. Beth glanced behind them, then opened a door marked "3C" leading to a stateroom. A large round bed with a royal purple bedspread took up most of the room. "This is playroom . . . I mean . . . stateroom number three." She smiled wantonly up at him, the invitation written on her face and breasts and body. She kicked the door shut with her heel.
Tod felt his heart pounding at the nearness of the woman. His being here at this moment seemed almost unreal; the only real thing was his rapidly hardening cock . . . and his hand which had of its own accord . . . reached out to knead one of her supple buttocks. She immediately came to him, her mouth open wide to receive him, and her expert fingers tracing the growing outline of his prick beneath his trouser.
"Ummmmmmmm," she whispered, undulating her hips in a jerking motion. Your hand feels nice there."
"And your hand feels nice there," he said, feeling the tingling excitement that came from her little stroking movements against the outside of his pants.
Beth clamped her lips against his as if to shut off anymore unnecessary conversation. Her hand reached surely up to his zipper and pulled it down. There was no fumbling, no uncertainty, as she reached in through the opening and found his bare cock. Only then did she pull back in some surprise. "No shorts?"
"No shorts," he said grinning.
She laughed, and then, just before she began passionately French-kissing him again, she said, "Join the club."
For a second, he wasn't sure exactly what she meant. Then a moment later, as his eager hands began their treasure hunt for the secrets of her body, he knew the answer. Beneath the short little yellow tunic, she wasn't wearing a thing. The little black triangle of pubic hair was already hot and damp at its lower end, and she spread her legs slightly in order to give him freer access. Meanwhile, her hand had begun a tantalizing stroking movement of his penis . . highlighted by wild sensations as she expertly used her fingernails to trace a design of rapture on the underpart of his hardening shaft. Her touch was driving him almost out of his mind,
but by the same token, Beth was quaking like a tree in a high wind as his thumb and forefinger tapped out a Morse code of lust and desire on her clitoris.
"Oh, God, I can't stand it any longer," Beth said, pulling him back toward the bed. "Fuck me . . . fuck me now."
She didn't let go of his prick, so he didn't take his fingers away from her clitoris as they slowly backed toward the bed. When Beth felt the mattress behind her knees, she fell back. In almost the same motion, she raised her legs so that her heels were resting on the mattress and her hot moist, eager pussy was there quivering impudently up at him.
Tod used his left hand to release his belt and waistband, then dropped his pants. His huge cock was throbbing eagerly. He had started to move forward when suddenly he heard Sally's voice say from behind him, "Oh . . . here you are." Then she gasped and said to Beth, "You didn't waste any time, you bitch." She walked forward and then her delighted eyes froze on Shelton's eight-inch rigid shaft. "Oh, my . . . Oh, my!" she exclaimed. Her eyes the size of half dollars.
"Get out of here, Sally," Beth said through gritted teeth.
"Let me stay and watch . . . please?"
Beth closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. She looked questioningly up toward Ted. He shrugged.
And then Sally clapped her hands joyfully.
"Thank you . . . Thank you. I'll be quiet as a little mouse. I promise you." She was quiet less than four seconds before she timidly asked, "Would you mind, Tod . . . If I put it in her for you?"
"That's the best offer I've had all day."
"Hurry, for Christ's sake, and stop all this talking," Beth said, twisting her body back further on the mattress, and lifting her impatient cunt off the bed.
Sally was in genuine awe when she took hold of Tod's cock. "I just can't believe it," she said, and then stroked it a couple of times. She looked almost mesmerized as she bent her head and took it in her mouth.
Beth sat up angrily. "Damnit, what do you think you're doing, Sally Reem? Stop that!"
Tod feeling the delicious sensations from her hot lips clasped about his cock, held out his hands expansively, "Girls . . . don't fight over me."
Sally gave a little nibble, then took her mouth away. "It's delicious," she told Beth in all sincerity. "I was just lubricating it for you."
Beth lay back on the bed. Sally began stroking Tod again and continued stroking, all the while pulling him forward until the massive head of the prick touched the fevered cuntal lips of Beth's waiting pussy. Beth jumped and moaned as Sally either accidentally or purposely hit the clitoris with her fingernail.
Tod pushed forward, gently. Beth was not so gentle. She viciously pushed her pelvis up to meet him, and his cock slid in like a great white whale in a crash dive. Down, down . . . down! The cunt . . . the warm, wonderful, throbbing cunt took every bit of it, and then Beth, her eyes closed in rapture, locked her legs around his buttocks and tried to pull him in even further. "Heavenly," she said. "Heavenly." She began moving her body up and down to meet his strokes.
It was then that Tod realized Sally was impatiently removing her clothes. She hadn't worn anything under her clothes either. Completely nude, she walked over until she was standing right alongside the wildly fucking couple. She reached out and began caressing Tod's mammoth scrotum, and then she began lavishing kisses on his back and buttocks. A second later she straddled his left leg and began rubbing her cuntal lips up and down the back of his calf
It was all very disconcerting at first, but Tod soon got used to it. Not only "used" to it, but wildly enthusiastic.
Back in the bar, Tony had already made Sylvia a third drink. Jack had spent the last two minutes gazing in rapture down the front of her dress. Then, tentatively, he kissed her. She felt his tongue swim into her mouth. She pulled away from him, embarrassed. Glancing around, she became aware for the first time that she was alone with just the two men.
Jack correctly interpreting her look, said, "Don't worry. It's okay." He kissed her again and this time she responded, standing up and pressing her body into his. Tony came around from behind the bar carrying her drink. He put it down in front of her, then casually reached out and began massaging her breast through the sweater.
Sylvia startled, pulled away. She sat down again on the stool. Jack and Tony stood looking at each other and grinning. They sat down one on each side of her.
Jack said, "What's wrong? Haven't you ever made out with a stranger before?"
"You two work too fast for me," she answered.
"Evasive . . . evasive," Tony crooned. "The lady's being evasive."
"You like a slow worker, eh?" Jack asked. "One that takes a long, long time?"
Sylvia smiled in spite of herself "I can't win, can I?"
"Everyone wins, that's our motto," Jack said, and he took her chin in the palm of his hand and turned her face to him. He began savagely French-kissing her. She returned his kiss, feeling a forbidden excitement beginning to well up in her body. She felt as though she were taking part in some Satanic ceremony. A moment later, she felt Tony's hand take hers and put it in his lap. He wrapped her fingers around a warm rigid shaft of flesh.
The shock reverberated through her body. He had exposed himself, he had taken her hand and wrapped it around his erection! What did he think she was? A whore? She pulled her hand away and attempted to pull her mouth away from Jack's hungry kiss. Jack, however, simply put one hand behind her head and held her captive. Tony undaunted, put her hand back on his penis again.
She thought of struggling, but then Bruce's evil, smirking face came to mind. In her imagination she could see him at the very moment he would be humiliated. All this she was experiencing now yes, all this and even more to come was worthwhile because this would lead to his ultimate humiliation. And so, instead of removing her hand from Tony's prick, she stroked it . . . lovingly, tenderly.
She did not see Tony's grin toward Jack. A look of unspoken agreement passed between the two men. Slowly, as to not alarm her, Tony's hand slid up her inner thigh and, with one smooth, unhesitating motion, pushed past the tiny elastic band and touched her defenseless, unprotected vaginal area. A jolt of pure pleasure racked through her cunt, and it was only then that the alarm bells began ringing in her mind, and a shrill sure little voice in her mind began screaming, "What are you doing, Sylvia? What are you doing? Have you no pride? No decency?"
Sylvia pulled herself away. "No," she stammered, twisting away from both of them. She could feel the familiar rubberiness in her knees; she wanted it. She wanted cock! And yet? She didn't want it with two complete strangers. Where was Tod?
"Tod?" she called, turning around to look at the completely empty room. "Tod!"
"Now just where do you think he is?" Jack asked, and then answered his own question. "By now, he is in the process of fucking the hell out of my wife."
"And mine . . . " Tony added. "After all, let's not kid one another, sweetheart. That's why we are all on this ship, isn't it?"
Sylvia, swaying on her feet, silently said to herself, "That may be why you two are on this ship, but Tod and I are on it for a better reason than that." She swayed again, and it was then she realized .
with a heart-pounding dismay that the Jolly Rogue was underway. Even as her startled eyes looked out the porthole, the lights of Santa Barbara were growing smaller and fainter.
"Come on, love, sit down. We'll not harm you," Jack said in a hypnotic tone of voice.
And Sylvia, knowing now that she had really passed a point of no return, permitted herself to be led back to the bar. A moment later the strange hands, the strange lips, were busy again . . . along with her own hands, for now it seemed there were two pricks to be fondled.
Inside the deepest part of her mind, that shrill voice of conscience continued to scream its warnings to her . . . a voice that gradually faded until it like the lights of Santa Barbara disappeared.
Chapter EIGHT
An angry Liz, followed by Sara, climbed the stairs to the wheel house where they found Hunt at the wheel and, together with Sam, chortling as he watched something on the closed-circuit television screen. The men were so engrossed at what they were viewing that neither one of them heard the girls enter. Both jumped like guilty small boys when Liz petulantly demanded, "What happened to Tod and Beth and Sally?"
"Goddamnit," Hunt snarled, "don't come creeping up on us that way. You scared the piss out of me."
"Who's creeping, you creep?" she answered angrily. "We've been looking all over the ship for them."
Sam cackled, "Did you check stateroom three?"! He jerked his head toward the TV monitor.
Both women moved toward the set; it was Sara who spoke first, "Why lookee there." Her eyes were wide in surprise. "That man certainly didn't waste anytime." And then, admiringly, "Look at him go! And look at that big old mustang whang on him. Wheeeeeee."
Liz walked right up to the set and shouldered Sam aside. Through gritted teeth, she said, "That bitch Beth. She knows the rules!" She slammed her fist down on top of the console. "Those two will wear him out."
On the screen, Tod and Beth fought each other for mastery. Tod's monstrous white rod drove mercilessly into the hungrily clasping pussy between the girl's legs, while Beth's sandals pounded at his buttocks as though she were spurring a horse onto greater effort. For comic relief there was Sally, her eyes rolling around deliriously in her head as she stood straddling Tod's muscular leg, wantonly scraping her cuntal lips and clitoris against the back of his lower leg. Her right hand was hidden in back of her at first, but then it came into view as Tod climbed higher on Beth; abruptly everyone in the wheel house saw that Sally not only was masturbating herself on Tod's leg, but had one long slender finger buried in Tod's anus as well. She was madly sodomizing him in time to her own motions against his calf
"Oh, I declare," Sara said. "They are going to use him all up."
"Goddamn her," Liz spat out, and found her anger doubled by the snorts of laughter from her husband. She spun on him, and a bitter sarcastic smile crossed her face. "Go ahead and laugh, you baboon. The Lord and Master of the ship may think it's funny when dear little Beth breaks the rules, but you'll sing a different tune when you have to slither through a tidal wave of someone else's cum to reach the new girl."
The amusement left Hunt's face, to be replaced immediately by a snarl. "What in hell are you blabbering about?"
Liz gave him a tight little smile of satisfaction. She didn't answer, merely reached over to the monitor and switched to the main salon cameras.
The screen flickered with horizontal lines, then adjusted itself to a steady glow. Liz punched a button marked "PAN", and the camera swung from the empty round couch in front of the fireplace over toward the bar. Then the screen was filled with clasp images. First was the hunched over figure of Tony Aims who was voraciously sucking on Sylvia's right breast while Sylvia's fingers stroked his rampant prick. On the other side, Jack Stone was working his tongue around in Sylvia's eager mouth, while his hand expertly played an arpeggio of stimulation on her cunt. Sylvia was eagerly massaging his cock as well. Even as they watched, Tony was easing a skimpy pair of panties down past Sylvia's knees, aided and abetted by her.
"Jesus!" No one wasted anytime," Sam began, and was interrupted by Hunt's impatient shove pushing him away from the console. Hunt pushed a button on the public address system leading to the main salon and shouted into the microphone, "Goddamnit you guys, leave the cunt alone. You know the fucking rules."
They heard Sylvia's squeal of fright as the voice came booming powerfully out of the speakers. Jack and Tony both jumped, startled. Jack apparently knew exactly where the camera was located, for he looked directly into it and said placatingly, "Ah, Ed. We're just tuning up the machinery, you know . . . "He smiled and held his hands out, palms up.
"Bullshit," Hunt answered. "Keep your hands off her until we get to San Pablo Island. That's a goddamned order . . . otherwise I'll put you ashore there and let you figure out how in hell to get back to the mainland." He turned to Liz and Sara. "Get your asses down there and see that they obey the rules. We'll be at San Pablo in another twenty minutes. They can keep their fucking peckers in their pants that long."
Sara had turned to go, but Liz grabbed her arm. "We're not going . . . and to hell with you!"
"Do as I say, damnit
"Not unless you stop that horseshit in stateroom three, too."
Hunt sighed in resignation and pushed another button on the pa. console. He took half a step back from the microphone and then shouted at the top of his lungs, "Beth! Sally! Get your asses into the main salon! Right now . . . You know the rules!"
The sudden booming shout from right over his head startled Shelton so badly that he thought for a second he would lose his
erection. The fright had the exact opposite effect on Beth; it triggered her orgasm, and her leather-thonged legs slapped against his buttocks and thighs with so much power that he actually felt pain. She wasn't a screamer or moaner, she just came, and came! . . . and convulsed with her mouth open, making dry sucking sounds, with her eyes rolled up in her head. One of her sudden kicks outward had kicked poor Sally in the rear, and she had been thrust across the room to fall with a loud thud against the door.
Beth unwrapped her legs from Tod's buttocks, and she lay with a smile of contentment on her face. "God, that was just what the doctor ordered." Sally, undaunted, shook her head, and staggered to her feet. When Beth lay back, Sally impatiently slid down on the mattress beside her and reached over to pull Tod's ripe, throbbing, and ready-to-burst prick over to her own starving cunt.
For Tod it was simply a matter of using his knees to move over about two feet. Sally never relinquished hold on his cock; she put it at the hot pulsating opening to her steaming cunt, and then reared her haunches upward. And the cock slid in with one uninterrupted movement, down, down, down into the hot fevered valley between her widespread legs. She felt completely different from Beth . . . hotter inside . . . and softer, fleshier. He made exactly six strokes when Sally began squirming uncontrollably beneath him. Her panting voice cried out the message, "I'm cumming . . . I'm cumming . . . Aiiiiieeeee. .
Beth, who had turned on her side to watch them, had amusement mirrored on her face. "Just like a little rabbit, that girl!"
The public address system boomed again in the stateroom. "Sally . . . I'm not going to tell you again: get your ass off that bed and go to the main salon. That goes for you, too, Shelton."
Tod merely looked up toward the speaker and said, "Fuck you, friend!" His throbbing cock was primed, and he made an effort to continue fucking into Sally. She, however, sucked in her gut and twisted out from beneath him.
"Listen," he began angrily, "What in hell gives here?"
Beth smiled, reached out, and clasped his prick in her hand. She massaged it gently. "Don't worry," she crooned, "you'll have plenty of chance to use this before the night is over. Don't be impatient."
And from the ceiling speaker came the snort of Hunt's lewd laughter. "Look who's talking about impatience. You practically raped the poor bastard."
Beth gazed up languidly toward the camera. She made a production out of pulling her tunic down to cover her pubic area. She smiled sweetly and then hissed. "Fuck you, Ed . . ., baby!"
The voice came again, this time with undisguised excitement. "Yeh! You will . . . and I will, you bitch. I've got something here you'll be begging for before the night's over."
"What is it? A mink coat?" She laughed sarcastically. And Sally, using Kleenex to wipe her cuntal lips, shrilly giggled.
Only Shelton, feeling the pain from the boiling white hot lava of his unreleased semen, did not laugh. It wasn't very damned funny, he thought. He was still grousing and unhappy as hell twenty minutes later in the main salon when he heard the anchor chain rumble and rattle as the Jolly Rogue came to a dead stop in the water at a little known cove on the east side of San Pablo Island.
His unhappiness, he knew, was compounded by the expression on Sylvia's face. There was a wantonness in her eyes, a color to her cheeks, and a certain animal-like intensity about her movements that made him realize she had been aroused to fevered pitch by something or someone. Even though it was patently ridiculous, he knew he was jealous of the man, the men, who were going to have her.
Chapter NINE
Although it obviously wasn't necessary, Liz had felt the new couple should be apprised of their situation. All five couples were lounging in the main salon. Drinks had been replenished. Sam and Ed had come down from the wheel house with the announcement that the Jolly Rogue was now anchored. Over the stereo system came the sensuous hypnotic beat of Brazilian-Southern Caribbean music. Liz clapped her hands for attention and, when everyone fell silent, she said to Sylvia and Tod, "I suppose you realize that we are all members of a rather exclusive club, and you've been invited to join us tonight."
Sylvia and Tod both nodded their heads.
Liz continued, "Do you have any idea what kind of a club this is?"
Sylvia looked at Tod, and Tod laughed. Sylvia grinned in a friendly fashion and answered, "I have a feeling that this club is like our club in Pebble Beach. We swing, we swap up there."
A vast sigh of relief swept the room, and everyone began talking at once. Liz smiled in satisfaction. "Well, then, so much for that. I will turn the floor over to the Captain, who will explain the evening's program."
Ed stood up importantly and held up his hands, "No applause, please." Laughter. "You've all heard about the girl we had aboard the Rogue last month. Here's a ditty to mark that historic occasion. Ready?" He hummed a tune, then began singing off-key: "Oh, there was a young lady named Bid; Who, while fuckin', fell o'er the side; One could tell by her squeals; That those wiggly ole eels; Had discovered a warm place to hide."
When the laughter died down, Sam cackled, "With a voice like that, you ought to be on the stage . . . there's one leaving for El Paso in ten minutes. Be on it!"
This old gag brought groans of dismay from the group, the loudest predictably coming from Ed. Hunt turned to his audience and shook his head sadly, "A funny thing happened to poor Sam en route to the brain bank.
Sylvia listened to the good natured banter with only part of her mind: the other part was thinking with considerable astonishment that anyone dropping in unexpectedly on this group would think it consisted simply of ten people having a cocktail party and making small talk. Twenty minutes before, when the great booming voice had interrupted Jack and Sara's activities with her, she had felt the heat of her own arousal. That impatient heat had gradually faded, to be replaced by a vague restlessness. She was still damp between her thighs, and the fires were still tightly banked down there. She glanced around the room; she wasn't the only one who was becoming restless. Liz Hunt's pearl lacquered fingernails drummed impatiently on the back of the couch. Sara was almost imperceptibly rubbing her thighs together as she looked in undisguised lust at Tod.
And abruptly, the waiting was over. Hunt's good-natured introduction had ended and he got down to business. "Okay, Tod, Sylvia. Our club has the same rules as most of the other swap organizations have. The first part of the evening, the regular male members get to initiate your wife . . . while the regular female members initiate you. Males in the main salon here; females in stateroom two. It's now eight-fifteen. We all meet back here in an hour and a half for dinner. After dinner we have a general meeting with everyone here in the main salon. Any questions, anyone?" No one spoke up, and Ed nodded, satisfied. "Okay, then. Strip."
For the first time, Sylvia felt an overwhelming feeling of embarrassment sweep through her body. She gazed around her, but nothing she saw did anything to alleviate her own uncertainty. The women had begun peeling off clothes; Sylvia noticed that she was the only person in the room who had worn undergarments. Now, as trousers dropped, it seemed as though a whole forest of rising penises had suddenly sprung up. Sylvia tried not to look, but it was impossible. Five cocks were all too evident, each of them different . . . three already at full erection, and two slowly rising like artillery guns. She blinked as she suddenly realized that she was the only one still with any clothes on; the other women were gazing at her expectantly. The men looked hungrily at her . . . all except Tod, who was staring in amusement at her.
Sylvia unbuttoned her sweater and pulled it off She made a big thing out of looking for her zipper, and she kept her eyes fastened on it as she pulled it down . . . not wanting to look at anyone or anything. She took off her slacks and carefully folded them over the back of a chair. She heard a low growl in Jack's throat as he gazed rapturously at the embroidered rose covering her vaginal area. Quickly then, she slid down the panties and stepped out of them. And a moment later, her full firm breasts were freed. She stood completely nude, defenseless, encircled by nine people, all staring at her.
Sam said, in a hoarse tone of voice, "Goddamn, Ed . . . look at that beautiful, fantastic ass."
Sylvia knew she was blushing. Tony had said nothing, but he continually licked his lips as though he were tasting and evaluating a rare wine.
"Okay, Shelton. Take your harem and go," Hunt said, jerking his head toward the passageway leading to the staterooms. He turned back to Sylvia and grinned lewdly, "Well, baby. You ready for your initiation? . . . into the Jolly Rogue Society?"
Sylvia, feeling apprehensive, glanced toward the passageway, but even as she looked, Tod's broad shoulders and muscular bare buttocks were disappearing into an open stateroom door midway down the corridor. Beth stood at the salon door, looking questioningly at Sylvia; then she threw her head back, laughed, and shut the door.
Something akin to terror was beginning to come over Sylvia . . . What was she doing here? Nude! With four strangers, four men who had encircled her as though she were a trembling, helpless doe that had been tracked down by a savage pack of hungry wolves. They were closing in now. She jumped as though she had been touched with a live wire when Sam lovingly stroked one cheek of her supple buttocks.
"Don't be jumpy," Jack said.
"Maybe she's goosey," Sam suggested, then wormed his middle finger into the crevice between her buttocks. Sylvia jumped again, and this time all four men laughed cruelly at her. Hunt stood right in front of her, his burning eyes like spotlights moved up and down her body. And he said, in a lust-contorted voice as he thoughtfully stroked his salami chub-like cock, "Baby, you were made for fucking, and you're going to be fucked like you've never been fucked before."
Humiliated and biting her lips in shame, Sylvia stood with downcast head, as Jack reached forward and used his thumb and forefinger to part her vaginal lips, "That is eating pussy, if I've ever seen it."
Hunt nodded his head. "I agree. Maybe we should all try a little." He took Sylvia by the arm and pulled her over to the round divan in front of the fireplace. Time for your initiation, baby," he said. "Lie down."
Sylvia hesitated, and found herself being forced down on the divan. From then on, everything happened so fast. She heard Hunt order, "Get a couple of pillows and put them under her ass." Then Jack grabbed the left arm and stretched it out from her body; simultaneously, Tony had taken her right arm and extended it. She tried to struggle, but her efforts were fruitless. "What? What are you doing?" she asked, frightened, as she felt leather straps being placed around her wrists.
Hunt put two hands under her buttocks and lifted them so Sam could put the pillows in place.
"What are you doing?" she demanded in a loud voice.
Only then did Hunt deign to answer her question. He stared down at her, and his face was infused with a hot, implacable lust that was akin to cruelty. "We won't hurt you. This is the initiation." He nodded his head, and Sylvia felt her ankles grabbed and pulled apart.
"No . . ." she whimpered, and then said louder as she felt the leather straps being put around each ankle, "No! I've changed my mind." It was too late, and she knew it. She was spread-eagled, a prisoner on the divan; her legs were wide apart, her defenseless, trembling loins and nakedly exposed vagina raised in the air like an exhibit completely exposed.
"God, what a beautiful, delectable pussy," Tony said in obvious awe as he stared down at her.
"Please," she pleaded. "Not this way. I don't want to . . . please?"
"Come on," Hunt snarled, "you're acting like a shit-scared goddamned, high school kid."
Jack glanced over toward Ed and smirked, "If anyone would know what one looks like, you ought to."
"Go to hell," Hunt replied. He looked down again at the helpless quivering figure of the girl. "We're not going to hurt you. Now just relax. I'm even going to give you some music to relax by." He grinned and walked out of sight. Sylvia struggled to find release from her bonds, but it was hopeless. She was a captured butterfly, impaled on a collector's display board.
A second later, she thought she was becoming sick, for the room seemed to be going around. It wasn't though; she was the one going around. The divan was beginning to revolve slowly, and as it moved a music box-like affair began to play, "The Music Goes Around and Around."
Hunt reappeared alongside her. "This is the initiation. We call this first part, The Compass Game'. All you have to do is relax."
She heard Sam cackle and as the divan revolved, he came into sight. "I'm South," he explained, and held up a long peacock's feather. Sylvia saw his shoulder dip, and then she felt the feather tickling her vaginal lips. She jerked against her bonds and said, "No . . .
no!" As the divan moved the feather could no longer reach her cuntal lips, and it stroked the outer part of her thigh.
"I'm West," Jack said, grinning lewdly, and showing his feather. Sylvia jumped again as the feather caressed her vulva and inner thighs. The touch of the thing was electrifying.
"I'm North," Hunt said, gruffly. He bent over and his feather just barely flicked at her clitoris. A jolt of pleasure shot through her. "Ahhhh," she squirmed. "Don't . . ."
Hunt's cruelly grinning face swirled out of sight to be replaced by Tony's, who stared affectionately down at her. "I'm East, as you might have surmised." He smiled, and his feather traced an electric erotic path from her cuntal lips down to her tiny quivering anus. "Ugggh! Please . . . " she begged. "Let me up. Not this way."
The feather touches started coming faster and lasting longer as the men began taking two or three strides keeping up with the revolving divan.
Sylvia pleaded with them, a pleading that became more and more urgent as the feathers started bringing an unwanted life to her vagina. It was torment. It felt . . . it felt horrible . . . horrible! No. No! Beautiful! Sylvia fought against the sensations to no avail; she fought against her own rebellious muscles wanting to respond to the delightful titillation they were receiving. The low moans of distress began changing, almost imperceptibly, to tiny mewls of unwanted pleasure.
Sylvia felt an almost overpowering sense of shame as she realized what was happening to her. Those feathers, that tickling, were fanning the banked fires deep within her womb. She knew she was losing the battle for control of her body knew it with a certainty when, without volition, her pelvis raised eagerly and sought out the continuing delightful touch of one feather. Her breath was coming faster, and she began whipping her body around not in an effort to escape, but to keep the sensation constant.
She barely heard Hunt's short snort of contemptuous laughter and his voice, hoarse with a desire of his own, "Jesus . . . look at the machinery going to work. I'll bet she's got a Rolls marine engine working that cunt."
Sylvia's head bounced from side to side and her eyes were beginning to glaze in passion. The tickling was driving her insane. She had to make them stop. She screamed and her body thrashed against the confining leather straps. The wildly sensual flicking and caressing from the feathers didn't stop; if anything, it grew in intensity and tempo. One of them, she didn't know which one, was concentrating on her tiny defensively clenching rectal mouth. Another on her clitoris. Her body grew used to the routine; her anus, clitoris; vagina and inner thighs, all eagerly looked forward to their own feather, and each of them lunged wantonly upward when its time for caressing came. The lascivious stroking against her moist pink slit had caused a flood of lubricant to pour out; it ran like a tiny silver river down to her anus.
She was going out of her mind; her body had cast off all her mental and emotional restraints. Now it buckled and gamboled as though it had never had an inhibition in its life.
It was her voice, she recognized it even though it was a guttural croak that cried out, "Oh . . . no. Please, stop it. Please! I . . . I can't stand it. Pluu-eezz."
One of them was it Tony? Yes . . . Tony! used his feather to tantalizingly play with the soft, tender area under her arms. Sam, noting this, used his feather on her breasts. And, in spite of her raging torment, she felt a disappointment that the feather at her anus had gone on to another part of her body.
That one teasing feather working at her clitoris stayed, however, and made its appointed rounds. It circled the engorged little column of flesh; it created its own electricity. Sylvia could hear Hunt's cruel laughter as she pumped her body eagerly against that tormenting feather. She knew that she was beginning to weep from shame, from degradation . . . and from the knowledge that she no longer was master of her own body or mind. Against her will, her proud, full breasts had peaked to a mottled hardness as the feather drew imaginary halos around the areolae. And then, as if by some signal, all the feathers went to work on her cunt. She heard their exclamations as her body writhed; she heard their laughter as her pelvis strained up toward the ceiling in desperate effort to prolong the contact. She was close to cumming; the insane torment and teasing had caused her to reach a trembling plateau of pleasure. She held her breath. Yes . . . she was almost there. She reached for it, throwing her head back against the mattress and willing her orgasm to come. And reached for it . . . and reached . . . Then, with an absolute feeling of disbelief, she realized they were no longer using the feathers! Her voice, like a shrill scream of agony, cried out, "You can't stop now." She sobbed and pleaded, "Please .
don't stop."
Hunt and Sam both laughed like hyenas; Jack looked amused. Tony was the only one who seemed to feel empathy toward her.
She turned to him, pleading, "Tony . . . "and could go no further, for her body was quivering and she was sobbing so loudly that it was impossible to speak any longer.
Sam said loudly, "My God. Look at her! I've never seen a cunt so hot for it before. I'm going to fuck it right now."
Through a haze of lust and frustration, Sylvia heard Hunt's impatient snarl, "Oh, no you don't. Not until I give the word. And then we roll dice for first go at it."
Oh God! How low could she sink? Here she was, spread-eagled and crying to be fucked, while men fought over her like dogs around a bitch in heat. This had to be the bottom of the pit of depravity, for she knew instinctively that the true reason she wanted the fighting and snarling to end, was so the fucking could begin.
Somewhere over to the right, Tony's voice came. "I'm going to eat it." This was echoed by Jack's, "I'd like a little eating pussy, too."
Sylvia felt the divan jerk to a stop; the room still revolved in her mind, but she couldn't tell for sure because her eyes were closed. Her body shook with unsuppressed shudders, and her breath came in rasping uneven whistles from her lust-constricted throat.
Then there was someone between her legs. She opened her eyes, but they could not focus properly at first. That someone was kneeling, and even as she watched, she saw the head drop, and a wet quivering tongue begin to probe the starved, impatient lips of her vagina.
Her body responded automatically, convulsively jerking, and a loud moan spewed from her lips as, at first, she sought to avoid this perverted wickedness in public. "Aaaagghhhh . . . God! You mustn't . . ." But even as her words bubbled to her lips, that wonderfully hot and talented tongue unmercifully scoured her defenseless cunt. She wailed like a banshee as his voracious mouth clamped like a wet suction cup on her vaginal lips, and the tongue flickered like heat lightning in and out of her pussy.
Straining, she stared around her. She saw Hunt, Sam, and Jack. Then it must be Tony, she thought, "Tony . . ." and it was a cry of ecstasy as she felt her body begin to reverberate. Suddenly she fell back and gave herself completely to his perverted licking. Tony licked on and on, moving from clitoris to vagina to anus. He was bringing her release, she could feel it coming . . . and her body cried out for fulfillment. She raised her desire-heavy pelvis up to his face, and she groaned and bubbled with each swipe of his tongue.
Her body had climbed from the plateau to the moment of truth. She was so close to cumming now that she could feel nerve endings vibrating like the strings of an aeolian harp. This was it, she thought. She reached toward those golden apples of the sun and then . . . realizing Tony had sadistically stopped, she screamed.
"Please . . . oh, God!" and deep shuddering sobs wracked her body.
She heard the voice, as though it were coming from a million miles off, "Don't worry, Sweetheart. Here's old long-tongued Jack." And then, miraculously, she felt a new and different tongue down there; it moved in and out as surely and as strongly as a small penis. Above her impending orgasm, she could feel only love for this man who was doing this for her . . . she was there!
"I'm . . . I'm . . . " she panted, and then screamed, "I'm cumming . . . I'm cummmmm-innnnnnng!" She writhed and twisted with inarticulate sounds of passion pouring out of her mouth; her face was twisted in a grotesque parody of lust, and her body bucked against the straps in deep feral abandonment.
Sylvia was only vaguely aware of someone else's mouth on her left breast, another mouth on her right breast, and still another mouth on her lips. She opened her mouth gratefully to welcome the tongue . . . and could feel, over and above her own continuing orgasm, a new and different excitement building in her. Someone loosened the straps at her ankles, and she immediately raised her knees and splayed her legs even wider in a lewd invitation for anyone to do what they liked down between her thighs. Her hands were freed, and she put them around the neck of the person kissing her.
Now there were gentle ministrations going on about her cunt. Someone was stroking her gently down there and a second later, a large middle finger was tentatively inserted in her vagina. The finger began sawing in and out.
Sylvia, feeling a complete impotency to fight any further indignity to her body and emotions, simply lay back and let them do what they wished. A warm comfortable glow was spreading through her body.
Two mouths still sucked voraciously at her breasts, and she could feel her nipples coming back to life. The fire spread from her tits to her navel and then to her cunt, where two fingers moved in and out in a delicious harmony of pure sensation. Her flames were rapidly fanned by the rising winds of her own lustful desire. She wanted to cum again . . . she needed to cum again. She wanted to be fucked.
"Sylvia!" The voice was coarse, rough, demanding. Everything else was gentle, peaceful, loving. She ignored the voice. "Sylvia!" The fingers in her open cunt cruelly jabbed down there, and a fingernail painfully scraped her vaginal walls. She cried out and opened her eyes.
Hunt smiled when he saw he had her attention finally. She saw him kneeling between her legs, his face twisted in animal-like lust. Her eyes fell down his chest to his pot belly and to the erect penis standing out like a crossarm on a telephone pole from the bristly gray-black patch of pubic hair. He smiled as he stroked it. That rod, not as large as Shelton's, still seemed monstrous in size. Sylvia continued to stare at it, and felt the return of shame again. She looked at Tony and Jack's hungry mouths lock on her breasts, and Sam's penis within inches of her own moistened lips. The awful realization of what was being done to her filled her mind with a great humiliation and despair.
"I'm going to fuck you 'til your eyes pop right out of that lovely little head of yours," Hunt said. "You won't be able to walk for a week after."
"No . . . I . . . I don't want . . . "she began.
Hunt simply said, "Shut up. Put it in for me." He took her hand and placed it on his cock.
Sylvia pulled back as though she had touched a poisonous snake. It did her no good, for seconds later Hunt had her hand captive again.
"Put it in, I said," Hunt growled.
"Oh, God . . . she began, and in abject surrender, tightened her hand around the rigid shaft of warm throbbing flesh.
"Go on," he said, a little more gently this time, and lowered his hips to her widespread legs. "Stick it in . . . you know where it goes."
She gasped and guided the blinded giant of a cock to the open cave of her cunt. She fumbled for a moment, then felt the thick bulbous head touching her cuntal lips. The touch of his hardened penis sent unwanted spasms of ecstasy surging through her abdomen. He pushed in, whining with pleasure as the huge prick slid through the portals of her femaledom.
"Ohhhhh," she panted . . . "no . . ." and attempted to grind her buttocks down into the mattress to escape the impaling pain. The movement only brought her clitoris into electrifying contact with the sinking shaft. Hunt continued his merciless impalement and his cock slowly slid inch by inch into her piteously cringing pussy. He filled her completely, and she could feel every wrinkle, every variegation on his prick through the tortured walls of her vagina.
Hunt lay still for a moment, then made his cock jerk deep inside of her.
"Aaaaggh," she responded, feeling the forbidden rapture spreading like warm honey through her loins. Her strained passageway rapidly became accustomed to the invading penis, and her low moans of protest changed to small, involuntary whimpers of uncontained pleasure. Hunt had begun rotating his hips as though he were screwing his cock in even deeper, and soon he had the head of it beating relentlessly against her cervix. He rocked above her, stroking in a long easy rhythm which she found almost intolerable in its sensation.
Tony and Jack had let up on her breasts. They kneeled atop the divan watching her face go from shadow to light as the clouds of passion boiled across her sky. She was panting now, her mouth open. Beads of perspiration had formed on her forehead, and her neck tendons stood out like steel cables.
She felt nothing new no shame, no remorse, no despair nothing! except that wonderfully vibrant cock that was fucking into her like a piledriver.
She saw Tony nod as if he were giving a signal, and Hunt suddenly stopped.
"What . . . what's wrong?" she groaned, bewildered.
Hunt smiled mysteriously at her. "Nothing. I'm just going to let you be the boss now." lie grabbed her buttocks, shoved his prick in as far up her cunt as it would go, then rolled over on his side carrying Sylvia with him. She was on top, looking down at him. She ground her buttocks up and down experimentally a couple of times, and felt happiness at what happened down there. She moved her cunt up and down the hardened pole at will. It was simply fabulous this way. . . she liked it.
Beside the divan, she saw Sam smearing some clear jelly on his penis. He looked at her, grinned, reached out, and began rubbing it around the tiny puckered lips of her anus.
"What . . . " she began, startled by his action, and then yelped as his well-lubricated finger slid effortlessly deep into her rectum. "What . . . what are you . . . doing . . . ? " she grunted as Hunt locked his arms around her waist.
"Ready?" Sam asked.
"Go ahead," Hunt ordered, then looked up at Sylvia's disbelieving face. "Just relax."
Sam slithered between her legs and stared at the unprotected golden mounds of flesh and its brown puckered little opening. He inserted a finger and began finger-fucking her.
"You can't. Not both of you at the same time," Sylvia cried, horrified. She turned to Tony for help. "You can't let them."
Tony, unexpectedly, laughed. "Darling, you must have double and triple features up in your swap club. Just relax. You're with friends. We won't hurt you."
Sam cackled, and then, fiercely stroking his cock, he put the head against the tiny clenching anal ring and shoved.
Sylvia suddenly felt the straining elastic ring of her asshole give way under Sam's relentless pressure.
"Aaaaagggghhh," she screamed, and her face reflected pain and shame, and yet at the same time, some unfathomable thing .
masochistic joy, perhaps. She made a frantic twisting effort to pull her lewdly stretching rectum away from the cruel invading cudgel, but Hunt held tightly to her from below.
Sam whined, "God . . . that's a tight little one." Hunt laughed. Tony and Jack watched, fascinated, as Sam's lust-hardened rod disappeared in the wide-stretched opening between the two smoothly quivering mounds of flesh. Sylvia groaned loudly through the entire insertion. Finally, it was all the way in. Sylvia cried out in an almost inarticulate voice filled with torment as he began moving it back and forth. She tried twisting down away from him, only to find herself being skewered even more deeply on Hunt's jerking cock. She attempted to throw Sam off, but the waggling of her ass caused his prick to burrow even deeper in her bowels . . . already hideously stretched beyond capacity.
Then, both men were moving in unison, driving in and out of her cunt and asshole like well-oiled machinery neither missing a stroke. Sylvia suffered through it, knowing now this was her punishment for getting involved in this perverted sex club. It was her own stupidity, her own illogical desire for revenge that had brought her to this place, and now she was paying for her stupidity. The payment was this cruel debasement in public, this degradation . . . this pain. Pain? I should feel pain, she thought. I need pain to be punished. But even this absolution was denied her, for the pain had evaporated under the encroachment of the two cocks. Now she felt . . . she felt? What? She could feel Hunt's pubic hair grazing teasingly against her belly, could feel Sam's bristly balls hot against her legs. She recognized the sudden rippling of her own internal muscles, and knew she must control herself "Punish me, oh, God, punish me!" she whispered, not knowing why she was mewling the words, but feeling punishment was better than this evil sensation of wantonness in her bowels and cunt. A moment later, she was whimpering, "Fuck harder . . . fuck me harder in the asshole and punish me." There was an ocean of excitement surging and pounding in her loins as wave after wave of pure feeling crashed in on the wild lonely shores of her cunt's consciousness. For her now, there was only an almost insatiable desire as she reveled in the perverted sodomizing of her defenseless asshole and felt her vagina being cruelly raped by an uncouth stranger. The shame and humiliation had fled, leaving behind only uncontrollable spasms of delight that continued to build with each inward thrust of the two lustfully driving pricks.
Now she was to find, as Tony gently took her head and turned it toward him, that two cocks really were not enough for her. She wanted more! She stared gratefully toward him as his powerful, throbbing penis was lowered salaciously toward her mouth. She parted her lips in a soft smile, and wrapped her fist warmly around his masculinity, jerking it impatiently toward her. The feeling of carnal delight completely blacked out her only remaining vestiges of decency and intelligence, as she eagerly took the alien cock in her mouth and began slowly and wetly sucking. Only then being fucked in all her bodily orifices by three men . . did she begin to feel the full humiliation, her debasement, was complete.
She stared through unseeing eyes at the cock in her mouth, at Tony's reddish-blond pubic hair. God! it was evil. But, it was beautiful! She nibbled and sucked and tickled the softness of his testicles with her fingernails. In penitence, she slaved over his penis with her own drooling saliva, lavishing her fevered tongue over its base, along its sensitive underside, playing and caressing it with every lick. She nibbled gently at the throbbing, rubbery head, and her tongue sought out and tried to enlarge the urethral opening. She concentrated on the lust-hardened penis to the exclusion of all other things, and she realized that . . . like some participant in a black religious mass she loved it in her mouth. She wanted his hot juices of love-cum to fill her throat. Frantically then, she began using her hand to milk the shaft of his prick, making her lips and mouth form a powerful sucking vacuum.
She forced herself to keep on thinking about it, thinking about the moment that wonderful instrument would swell almost twice-sized in her mouth, and the elixir of his manhood would suddenly begin spurting like an uncapped geyser exploding under intolerable underground pressure.
An interruption in Hunt's and Sam's smooth tempo flicking into the dual orifices down between her legs made Sylvia shift her concentration to what was happening to her body back there. Sam was rasping and moaning like a man about to have a heart attack, and then abruptly, spewing obscenities, he shoved his hardened shaft of flesh in as far as it would reach into the tightly clenching depths of her rectum. Sylvia felt the first tentative squirt of hot boiling semen begin to flood her asshole. Sam was acting like a sex-crazed maniac now as he pounded his prick mercilessly into the warm rubbing depths of her rectum. And he continued to cum . . . continued to cum until the white hot cream bubbled and gurgled out of her anus, to run in a shining white river down her inner thighs. Sylvia quivered beneath him, enjoying now the majesty of Hunt's still hardy prick slamming into her. She did not lose the rhythm of her mouth on Tony's cock, not even when Sam pulled out his rapidly deflating cock from her still clenching anus and moved over to make room for Jack. She was so well-lubricated from the earlier petroleum jelly and Sam's semen that Jack's larger cock slid all the way up into her forever stretched rectum without hesitation.
And now, as though the first string team had returned to action, all three of the men worked and bucked in unison . . . pounding into anus, mouth and cunt with a hypnotic savage rhythm. Sylvia knew she was cumming. She didn't encourage it; as a matter of fact, she fought it. She didn't want a climax not yet! She wanted to feel it all, to experience it all. Everything! Her body had other ideas, however. It began to twist and surge and turn to catch every sensational: movement they made. She was afire with unholy delight. Her senses were failing. The beautiful taste of cock in her mouth was slowly fading. Her breasts were numb, her heart pounding . . . her ears deafened to the obscene encouragements of the men. And suddenly, an earthquake of passion began its tremoring devastation of her body. She tried to tell them she was cumming, but all she got out of her cock-filled mouth was a strangled unintelligible sound.
Hunt apparently sensed her approaching climax, for he began speeding up his movements. His cock banged hard against her cervix, bringing an indescribable sweet feeling of pure animal lust and pleasure to her. Jack's elongated penis rode smoothly in and out of her anus as he speeded up at the same moment that Hunt changed pace.
Sylvia was suddenly aware that Tony had taken her head in his hands and was making violent pumping movements. "Suck harder . . . milk me, baby," he pleaded. And Sylvia tried to obey, only to be rewarded with a throat-rending lunge that almost shoved his expanding prick all the way back against her gullet. She gagged. She was being smothered to death in his pubic hair. She didn't care. She could die now. . . she would die and be happy!
It was her just punishment. Her lips sucked his prick as though she were a starving infant . . . sucked at them . . . until her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a scream as her triple climax overpowered all other nerve functions and shorted out nerve ganglions that had her naked body twitching and jerking uncontrollably. She was cumming! She was cumming! Tony grabbed her head and used his hands to press her lips tighter around his cock. Then, groaning, he began spurting hot steaming jets of sperm deep into her throat.
Hunt made one powerful lunge upward that almost unseated both Sylvia and Jack, and then fell back as his overpowering orgasm brought a beatific smile to his face. Sylvia fell forward, almost dislodging Jack's still wildly ravaging prick in her rectum. She wantonly rubbed her breasts against Hunt's hairy chest, all the while feeling his throbbing, spurting cock drowning her pussy in his seminal juices. And then, miraculously, she felt the velvet vibrations in her vagina spread to her anus. She was cumming there, too. She splayed her legs even wider in an effort to give him more room, allow him in deeper. She pushed back against the rampaging cock and was rewarded with one mighty plunge that went in deeper than she had ever believed possible. It stayed there . . . and began pumping its love juices into her already impossibly flooded rectum.
Sylvia, lost in the delirium of her continuing climax, was only vaguely aware when Hunt and Jack pulled their deflating cocks from the dual steaming holes between her widespread thighs. She was turned over on her back, and then Sam was fucking like a wildman inside her pussy. He made her cum twice in three minutes; then there was Tony, gentle Tony who rode her and carried her to new and unexpected heights of bliss . . . and then Jack, and after Jack, someone else. She screamed out her releases until she was hoarse, and her voice sounded like the croak of a raven.
Hunt shook her awake. "Hey . . . we're taking a breather and then having supper. Don't go to sleep on us . . . go take a cold shower. it'll wake you up." Staggering in weariness, she got to her feet. She stood, swaying, as a torrent of seminal juices flood down the inside of her naked thighs. Then she made her way toward the indicated shower. The last words she heard before the door swung shut behind her came from Hunt, it was a compliment, she supposed, but she was much too tired to think about it. Hunt said, with sincere admiration in his voice, "You know . . . that's just got to be the hottest fucking pussy I've ever had. God, she's a real goer." And there was the weary rumble of assent from the other men.
When Sylvia got under the cold salt water shower, she discovered that she was crying . . . and it was the weeping of a small, frightened, lost child a long, long way from home.
Chapter TEN
For Tod, the entire affair was something out of an unbelievable wet dream. Here he was lying atop a circular bed surrounded on all sides of the compass by four of the most luscious nude women he could ever remember seeing in one room. Liz Hunt was stroking his cock gently. Sara had offered him her breasts which he had accepted gladly. Beth and Sally stroked his thighs and played with his scrotum.
He knew he was about to explode. The animal heat had been building up in him since his earlier unsatisfactory, but stimulating bouts with Beth and Sally. He wondered about their teasing him if that was part of the initiation. Then Liz had taken his hand and placed it down between her legs on her moist cuntal lips; she was so wet, so hot down there, that she couldn't possibly be teasing. He began massaging it and was rewarded by a deep sigh from her.
Sara pulled her tit away from his mouth; she purred with excitement. "Your little ole tongue feels so good against my nipple just like a teensy-weensy kitty lapping up milk." She licked her lips, "I bet your mouth would be even bettah if it were used someplace else. I mean . . . if you ever do that sort of thing ever?"
Shelton smiled up at her, teasing her, wanting her to say it. "What are you suggesting?"
Sara fluttered her eyes. "Well, I declare! You know."
"Nope. I don't know. Why don't you just tell us all."
"You ninny! You-all know very well what I'm talking about. How about using that college trained little old tongue right here." She kneeled alongside and grasped the softness of her pubic hair in the palm of her hand. "This little ole thing right heah." she squeezed.
Why sure, honey chile, why didn't you say so?" Tod laughed. "Up north, we-all call that eating pussy'."
Sara looked at him in mock seriousness. "You-all promise not to let on to anyone? Well, down south we use the same term." She giggled then became serious again staring at him with an intense look. "Well?"
Tod started to roll over toward her, but Liz said sharply. "No!" Then she took the sting out of her refusal by ordering, "You just lay there, big boy, and leave the driving to us!"
Liz rose on her knees arid, raising a leg over him, straddled Tod's hips. Slowly, very slowly, she began settling down on his hungrily throbbing cock. Tod watched her then felt his prick against her steaming cuntal lips. She spread the tight, hair-lined lips with her fingers then settled a bit more. A grimace of ecstatic pain crossed her face, and she rubbed her vagina back and forth against the head, lubricating it with her own vaginal juices. Then she settled down again. Tod, lost in the fabulous wonderment of the spectacle and the sensations, felt his fevered cock slide in the tight, elastic opening about two inches. Liz bobbed up and down, making little sawing motions that sent ripples of pure delight through his hardened penis. All three of the other girls were breathless and silent as they watched the huge cock slowly disappearing into Liz's clasping, fur-lined vagina. Finally, when there still was about four more inches to get inside her, Liz merely closed her eyes in rapture and with a small, mewling grunt sunk down completely on it. God, Tod thought, what a feeling! Her vagina slid like soft melted butter down the length of his pole, and Tod could feel every twitching little muscle, every jumping little nerve in her voraciously devouring pussy. He felt the head of his cock touch and press in against her cervix. Liz did not make a movement. She merely sat there and allowed her uterine and vaginal muscles to do the work. For Tod it was one of the damnedest, most wildly sensual things he had ever felt. It was almost as if there were hundreds of tiny little leeches locking around his penis all of them hungry and nibbling at him with rubberized teeth.
In the midst of all this, Sara rose on her knees and straddled his chest. She looked breathlessly down at him and then offered her gently pulsating pussy as a tasty gift from the gods.
Tod looked up at the overhanging cunt, wide open and ready for anything he had to offer. The pink, moist lips of the vulva were shining from her heated vaginal secretions; the most amazing thing of all was a clitoris with the size and shape of a tiny cock. Even as he watched, it quivered with a life of its own. Never before had he had a cunt offered to him quite this sensuously. He took advantage of it, gladly, feeling an overwhelming power and sense of sexuality raging through his bloodstream.
Groaning, he cupped her full, supple buttocks in his hands and pulled the naked pussy toward his face. Sara squirmed and squealed as his teeth clamped lightly on the clitoris; then she moaned when he used his tongue to maddeningly encircle the tiny engorged nerve. She almost collapsed in delirious enjoyment when his tightly compressed lips encompassed the clitoris and began milking it as though he were actually sucking the miniature cock. He drove his tongue in through the vaginal lips and for the first time tasted the pungent nectar of her cunt. It was delicious; it acted as a powerful aphrodisiac to his already raging desire. He licked, he scoured, he lavished, he teased, he sucked . . . all the while vigorously kneading her buttocks.
Sara came before Liz, cumming with a shrill Confederate War Cry of delight and release that could have been heard on the other side of the island. She ground her cunt down against his face; she attempted to bury his face between her rampaging thighs. All to no avail! Each time she sought to smother him with her voracious cunt, he used his teeth against the clitoris or drove his tongue deeper into her vagina. The bliss was too much for her each time, and she was forced to pull away. Finally, trembling and panting in exertion, she came . . . and came . . . and rolled over almost dead to the world.
Liz, meanwhile, had continued her devastatingly sensual exhibit of the use of interior muscles. She was wearing though, and Tod could sense she was probably ready for the whole of his cock to take over. Sure enough, a moment later, she began tentative little movements of her pelvis. Up and down . . . around and around. Little movements that brought an inexpressible look of animal lust and sexual happiness to her flushed face. She moved up, up, all the way until only the bulging head of the sperm-loaded cock was still inside her. The seven-inch shaft glistened in the reflected light like a silver-white column supporting two ivory globes. Liz kept it that way, her eyes closed, and her tongue quivering restlessly on her lower lips. Tod pushed up and was rewarded by a low guttural moan of ecstasy as his hardened flesh drove in four more inches. He dropped back to the mattress, and slowly like a descending elevator her cunt slid teasingly down the shaft again.
Poor Sally obviously was going out of her mind at this display, for now she had unashamedly put two of her own fingers into her vagina and was wantonly finger-fucking herself. Her body quivered and shook, and her eyes rolled around with each inward jab of her fingers.
Tod felt a difference in Liz, and he grinned. All of his years of experience told him that she was approaching the ultimate climax. Her womb seemed to have expanded, her cervix had moved up and back, and her cuntal lips had thickened until they were no longer soft and pliant, but hard and almost inflexible. That tightening of her vulva had increased the friction against the shaft and head of his cock. He knew now that not only was Liz about to cum, but his own sperm-laden balls were about to empty as well.
He lay back quite happy to let Liz do the work if she desired. Her full, rounded buttocks riding his prick up and down, up and down, as though she were riding a carousel, tossing her head wantonly from side to side and unconsciously muttering incoherent phrases of joy.
His view of Liz was blocked out by Hunt's wife's perspiring face. She knelt alongside his right shoulder and looked at him with a lustful pleading expression. "Me next?" she groaned huskily, sliding one knee over his chest.
Shelton merely clasped the softness of her buttocks in answer, and a second later he was voraciously tonguing deep between her legs, listening to new and greater moans of delight.
Liz had become almost demented now as she sought her release. She bounced up and down on his prick, using straight jabs and rotary movements of her ass. Her breath came loudly, unevenly in deep gasping gulps of air. And then, her eyes opened until they were almost completely circular. She stopped all movement. Tod could feel the twitching and jerking of her vaginal interior muscles as the gigantic orgasm began racking her body. She moaned and then savagely impaled herself in one great slam forward the cock thundered like a runaway express train through the wildly clasping tunnels of her open cunt. She moaned continuously, and her muscles milked and sucked at him until he thought he would go out of his mind. She was making him cum, the bitch! She was taking control away from him and making him cum like he had never cum before!
Hunt's wife had buried her cunt in his face, and it was with considerable surprise that he felt her vaginal lips milking and sucking at his tongue. She had already cum!
And it was then, feeling his cock being milked like a hungry sucking child and his tongue being sucked by an insatiable vagina that Tod simply let himself go.
He felt his balls growing and straining inside their watery sac, felt his penis expanding until it tightly filled every nook and cranny of Liz's cunt, felt everything falling apart all at once. And then he was cumming, groaning out his powerful release like a snorting bull as semen roared to freedom out of its insufferable captivity, down the hot tunnels of his maledom where it surfaced, leaping with newfound life into the waiting, eager womb of the Hunt woman. As with so many females, the hot spewing liquid spurting into the deepest part of her womb caused a second orgasm to wreak its sensuous havoc throughout her whole body. She seemed almost senseless as she rolled almost lifelessly away.
Tod felt it all and loved it all. He felt powerful, alive, happy, contented! There was only one other thing he could ask for: Sylvia! The thought of what was probably happening to her at this very moment perversely excited him again. But then he forgot all about that because Sally had begun impatiently jerking at his limp, deflated prick in an effort to make it come to life again.
"Hey!" he protested, laughing. "Give the poor thing a chance to breath. He'll be okay in a minute or two."
"Honestly, I can't wait, Tod," Sally said, "I'm going out of my mind." She bent forward and began licking the cum and Liz's vaginal juices from his cock. It felt tremendously and wickedly erotic, he thought and lay back with his hands behind his head, watching her. His prick had already begun stirring when Sara bent down opposite Sally . . . and then he had two trembling little tongues working in harmony on his rising shaft and cock's head. He was fully erect within two minutes, feeling the warmth of Sally's mouth covering the head and her sucking, nibbling motions . . . while at the same time Sara was making mewling sounds of pleasure as she cleansed the trunk with her tongue and prepared the well-used instrument of love for its next insertion..
Tod later was to recall the next hour with a certain amount of satisfaction and a great deal of pride. Once he had cum, he no longer felt the urgent need of release, and so he was able to go from woman to woman his masterful, all-powerful cock bringing them rapidly to their peaks and keeping them there, resulting in powerful orgasm after orgasm. Some time shortly after the first thirty minutes had elapsed, Tod simply stopped trying to keep track of their climaxes; he had quit counting at an even dozen . . . and there still was another forty minutes or so before they were to go knock off for dinner and the "general meeting."
It was a very shopworn and exhausted Liz who called a halt to the initiation. Her weary voice announced, "It's almost time for supper. But we can go one more round, girls, if you can."
Sally, sitting slumped against the wall, merely shook her head negatively.
"Beth?" Liz asked, and was answered by a low moan from the girl who was turned on her side facing the wall.
"Sara?"
"Honeylamb, my little ole pussy would just jump right out of my body and march away in protest if I tried to do it again without some kind of rest. My Gawd!"
Liz tried to sound businesslike, but it didn't come off "Well, then. I guess we should clean up for dinner."
And Tod, looking at them, felt a great wave of affection go out to the four women. He loved them all; they were his . . . and he'd been man enough to handle them. He rolled off the bed and stood, straddle-legged and hands on his hips, gazing down at their satiated bodies. Then, grinning impudently, he reached over to the oak chest of drawers and took a pair of sunglasses off the top. He fitted the nose piece just behind the head of his cock and then took the still powerfully erect prick in his hand and moved it back and forth across the room. He said, completely straight-faced, "Look around, big boy, and see if we missed anybody."
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the girls were giggling crowding around him again, seeking shelter as they had done earlier under his wing.
It was not until he was standing alone under the cold salt water shower that he felt his self-assurance fading and a strange sadness creeping in upon him. Once again, his thoughts had turned to Sylvia . . . and abruptly, he knew that it was for all intents and purposes over between them. If indeed, there had ever been anything more than several beautiful moments shared between them.
Chapter ELEVEN
Tod, standing behind the wheel of the Jolly Rogue, watched the dawn come in the east. First the mountains were merely black indefinable monoliths against the horizon, but then as the stars faded and the sky lightened, the Santa Ynez mountain range began to assume its individual characteristics. Beside him, in the pilot's chair, Hunt snored loudly.
The gulls swooped and soared playfully around the bow of the yacht, and occasionally their shrill cries could be heard above the muffled roar of the marine engines.
Hunt snorted and came awake suddenly the moment Tod entered the breakwater. He blinked, yawned prodigiously and glanced at his watch. "Five o'clock," he commented. "You shouldn't have let me sleep so long." He stood, then put his hand over his kidney area and groaned. "God, I'm bushed. I'm getting too old for this sort of thing."
"Maybe you should cut down on the length of the general meeting," Tod said, fighting back a grin. The so-called "general meeting" following dinner had been a classic production of debauchery that would have turned the Roman hedonists green with envy. At one point, all five women had been on hands and knees atop the revolving divan; their smooth rounded buttocks had been pointing outward. The divan was timed to stop for twenty seconds in front of each man.
The women had squealed like a herd of pigs being led to slaughter as their rectums and cunts were soundly reamed for twenty second periods. The hole to be used was at the discretion of the male. Another time, Tod looked up from his energetic fucking of Sara to gaze around the room; the floor was covered with writhing, moaning bodies. The entire orgy had lasted slightly over three hours. Then, satiated and exhausted, the participants had begun falling asleep.
Because Tod felt relatively awake compared with the others he had volunteered to ride in the wheel house with Hunt on their return to the mainland. Hunt had turned over the wheel to Tod within seconds from the time the anchor was lifted aboard.
Tod had welcomed the solitude and had spent almost the entire time behind the wheel thinking about Sylvia. Except for the revolving divan episode, he hadn't been permitted to make love to her. Probably, he thought, it was just as well. He didn't look forward to telling her that he was resigning, but he knew it had to be done. He was getting much too involved with her. That's what he had wanted to do in the beginning. Not now, though. She would destroy him, just as she was destroying herself. In the end, she would make a eunuch of him. This insane desire for revenge against her husband Bruce; she couldn't be swayed away from that . . . even at the cost of her self-respect and decency. He had known women like that in the past. Bad news . . . always bad news, that's what they were.
Now Hunt reached across him and pulled the throttled down to quarter-speed as they entered the yacht basin. The Jolly Rogue slowed in the water then coasted toward its mooring as the throttles were shut down completely. Hunt let go the stem anchor while Tod went forward and tied up at the buoy.
Hunt yawned again and scratched himself He gazed sleepily around at the morning mists still hugging the water. The sound of a garbage truck grinding up trash came echoing from the shore. "Well another day, another dollar," Hunt said, obviously not energetic enough to make conversation. He yawned again.
"You going to wake up the rest of them?" Tod asked.
"Nah . . . . hell, let them sleep," Hunt answered then turned to Tod, "You in a hurry to get ashore?"
Tod thought for a moment. He nodded. "I think I'd better get Sylvia back to the hotel. I'm due in San Jose this afternoon."
"Okay, take the launch. Just leave it tied up at Freddie's Landing. Tell him I'll ship-to-shore him when we're ready to come ashore."
Tod went down into the main salon where Sylvia slept stretched out on a couch. He looked down at her naked body and tried to think what it would be like to wake up every morning and find her beside him. It was a fantasy he could no longer afford. Wanting to remember her, he mentally took a picture of her as she was now her lips slightly parted, a soft tentative smile on her face as she dreamed, and a golden strand of hair entwined like a necklace around her neck. Her breasts rose and fell gently with her even breathing. Yes, he thought, she would be something to remember . . . always.
He reached down and touched her shoulder. "Sylvia." She came awake at once and looked up at him. She smiled happily and reached out for his hand. Then, abruptly, as recollection of the night's events came flooding back into her mind, her expression changed. She closed her eyes as if to blot it out.
"We're in the harbor," he said. "I'm going ashore. You want to come with me?"
She shuddered. "Oh, God . . . yes!" It was said quickly as she swung her feet onto the deck. She looked around her in distaste.
Hunt had lowered the launch and the loading ramp. He held Sylvia's hand, all the while inspecting her. "God, honey, you were really something special. I'm glad you came to the party," he said, and then smiled at Tod and added, "You, too, of course."
"Thank you," she said softly.
"Ah . . . we all will be up to Pebble Beach for that party you were talking about," Hunt said, patting her hand paternally. "Looking forward to it on the twenty-fifth. Should be fun with an all-black outfit invited too; they're real swingers, you know." He beamed and looked as if the thought were bringing him completely awake.
Sylvia quickly went down the stairs into the launch, where Tod steadies her as she sat down amidships. She looked up and waved back at the Jolly Rogue as Tod opened the throttle. Then, silent and lost in her own thoughts, she sat with shoulders hunched forward as if she were warding off a blow. She stared woodenly at the approaching wharf, not really seeing it nor feeling the coolness of the morning.
They both remained silent all the way back to the hotel. The first words either of them said came from Sylvia when they got into their suite. "I'd like to take a shower." Tod nodded. Sylvia turned to him and opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something else, to explain something, but then fell silent.
When Tod spoke, he sighed deeply. "I won't be here when you come out. I'm going back home."
She reeled back as if she bad been slapped, a look of astonishment and bewildered hurt on her face. "You're what?" It was said unbelievingly.
"I'm going back home. To where I belong. I'm resigning. You're going to have to get yourself another boy." He held up his hand as she attempted to interject. "No!" he said sternly. "Let me finish. Don't say anything until I'm through. Then go take your shower. When you come out again, I'll be gone."
She blinked, and her eyes were misty. She swallowed loudly, "I . . . don't understand, Tod. Why?"
This was the part he had dreaded. He rubbed his face wearily and sought to organize his words. "Answer me a question first," he demanded. "Are you still planning the big party?"
She closed her eyes.
Tod sighed again. "I was sure that would be the case. Look . . . I'm not sure you'll understand what I'm trying to say. I want to tell you something about yourself You operate from a base of hate. I don't know when it started, but it had reached its full bloom before you married your husband. You use people as objects of hate. You used me, photographs of me . . . so you could hurt your husband. You used yourself last week and last night; you humiliated yourself, destroyed your self-respect . . . not because you wanted to have sex with other men. That, at least would be understandable. No, you fucked them all solely because you needed these people for a party. Is the party going to be held for fun? No. It's being held to hurt your husband. You're inviting an all-Black and on the basis of what I saw of them, a fairly decent bunch of Blacks to the party. You're going to use them as objects of hate. You want your husband to walk in and see a Black man making love to you. That's your revenge! You've used us all . . . just as though we were expendable pawns. I have no doubt that right now you feel you're essentially a much nicer person than Sally or Liz or Betty or Sara. I mean, in your mind they're just a bunch of swappers. And yet, there's this important difference between them and you; it's what makes them far, far better human beings than you are. You see . . . they enjoy what they're doing; they enjoy swapping . . . they do it out of hunger and love. And you, Sylvia? You do it from hate, for reasons of your own . . . you use us all for some stinking, petty, spiteful, little scheme of revenge." He shook his head sadly. "It's odd, too. You're a woman who can give of herself, you have a great deal to give. But I don't have time or the passive character to wait around until you come to your senses."
Sylvia stood penitent before him, the tears streaming down her face and splashing on the blue cashmere sweater. His words had seared themselves on her consciousness. He was right; she had destroyed anything that might have been between them. Her stupidity had done it! And the punishment while on the racks of passion last night was only a precursor of the long sad days to come. Tod was a good man. Much too good for her. She wanted to fall on her knees and beg forgiveness, but he had made up his mind . . . and she knew she cared enough for him that she wouldn't embarrass him by creating a scene. So when Tod said softly, "Now go take your shower," she turned blindly and forced herself not to run to the bathroom.
She was on the floor, weeping silently a few minutes later when she heard the door open and close. Tod was gone. He hadn't even told her good-bye. Only then did she tearfully give voice to her terrible despair.
THE END
EPILOGUE
The summer had come, all hot and brassy and then gone away. Fall and winter brought life-giving rains to a parched California and now spring had once again cloaked the brown hills with green. A soft rain was falling as Tod left the company car in care of the Barrister's parking lot attendant.
He saw Tom Morse wave at him from a back booth and made his way across the room . . . stopping here and there to say a word or exchange pleasantries with various attorneys.
"Tod," Tom said warmly, "it's good to see you again."
"Good to see you, too, your Honor." Tod grinned. "Tom, you don't look a day older than the last time I saw you."
"Well, now . . . let's see. That was over a year ago. No . . . by George, I shouldn't look older. After all, I love a good, clean, healthy, wholesome and boring as hell life." He cleared his throat and inspected the younger man. "You look different, though. You've lost weight, look tired."
Tod shrugged. "I've been a little busy."
Tom grunted, "Yes . . . I know. I've been keeping up with you in the Mercury-News and the Chronicle. Stories there all the time about Shelton and . . . ah . . ."
"Shelton and Jackson," Tod said.
"Ah, yes. Shelton and Jackson. The fastest growing industrial security agency in the U.S., the papers say. Just how many people do you have working for you, anyway?"
"About two hundred and fifty on the industrial side; twenty-five or so on the private investigation section. I don't have a definite figure, we're expanding so rapidly." He took a sip of his martini. "I just this morning signed a contract with the airport authority. That'll mean another fifty or so patrolmen have to be hired." He sighed wearily and took a deep drag on his cigarette.
Judge Morse gazed at him from under the thick gray eyebrows. He said casually, "You've come a long way . . . since last year about this time."
"Yes . . . I guess it was largely a matter of waking up. I've changed. I stopped feeling sorry for myself, Tom. Stopped thinking about what I had become and what I should have been and began concentrating on what I could be . . . if I concentrated hard enough." He grinned wryly, "All it took was twenty-four hours of concentration a day, seven days a week."
Tom asked, playing with a matchstick and not looking at him, "No time out for play? No love life?"
Tod ground his half-finished cigarette out in the ashtray. He shook his head. "No play. No love life. No time . . . " As incredible as it sounded, it was the truth. There had been no one, not even for one night or one short assignation in a motel. No one since Sylvia and that weekend in Santa Barbara almost fifteen months ago.
Tom wagged his head in dismay, "I don't know what the young people are coming to these days." Then he dropped the bombshell.
"Oh, incidentally, speaking of young people, I hope you don't mind; I've invited Sylvia Akron to join us for lunch."
Tod glared angrily at him and started to rise from the booth; he was pushed back by Tom's hand. "Look, Tod," he said sternly. "I want you to listen to me. Think of me as you did in the old days as a brother or father." He held up his hand as Tod sought to interrupt. "How long are you going to make her do penance? My God! It's been fifteen months. I don't even sentence some gun-waving hoodlums that long."
"Tom, you don't know what in hell you're talking about," Tod growled unhappily.
"Don't I? I know more than you give me credit for. I know, in spite of your protestations to the contrary, that you're in love with her. And she freely admits that her life is nothing, absolutely nothing, meaningless, without you."
Tod stirred restlessly, and the judge tapped the table with his cigarette case as though he were pounding the gavel in court. "Pay attention. Yes, I know far more than you could suspect. I know all about her infantile plan to get even with Bruce. She told me. Everything! I know the part you played in it, the photographs, the Santa Barbara hotel, the orgy in the Jolly . . . the Jolly whatever in hell it was. I know what she planned to do in Pebble Beach with the Negro swap club. What you don't know is that she discarded that plan the instant you told her what she was really doing. I can relate to you word for word . . . your indictment of her the day you walked out on her. She remembers it. She feels it was justified. You had no way of knowing then that she had already come to the same conclusion about herself as you had. She hated herself She hated what she had done to the relationship between you and her. She recognized instinctively that you and she had had something special which, added together, made you both compatible to each other. You were able to talk to each other as man and woman and that's something valuable right there. You had other things, individually and collectively. You were good for each other."
Judge Morse peered at him. "Just look at you today. You brushed against her for only a brief moment as time goes, but some of it rubbed off on you. After meeting her, you realized that if you were ever to win or deserve a woman like her that you would have to better yourself, pull yourself up by the bootstraps. She made you realize what there was to be had in this world; she made you stop feeling sorry for yourself"
The judge looked down at his hands, inspecting them, looking at them as if he had never seen them before. "And so you know something. Some of you rubbed off on her. Since her divorce a year ago, she's been working four nights a week as a volunteer in the Geriatrics Ward of the County Hospital; she hasn't missed a single shift during that time. Some of those poor damned patients have no control of their bowels or bladders. Sylvia cleans them up, that's her job. She soothes them and comforts them. They're the children she'll never have now . . . unless you and she."
Judge Morse took a very deep breath. "I'll say this, even knowing it might mean the end of our friendship, Tod. Whatever reason you had for breaking with her, that reason no longer exists. You don't hate her, you never did. You love her. She loves you. You knew she was falling in love with you. To deny her and yourself the companionship and love and children you two could have together . . . to do this thing means that you, Tod Shelton, are in the exact same position she was in when she wanted to get revenge. You are being vengeful! I know you're man enough not to let her money come between the two of you. As far as that's concerned, you'll probably be a millionaire yourself within three or four years at the rate you're going. So there's no reason why you two should not be together." He stood. "Here she comes . . . you think about what I said."
Tod looked up at the same moment Sylvia saw him. She stopped, a look of uncertain fright . . . and something else . . . crossing her lovely face. For a moment, it appeared as though she were about to turn away and run away from them. Tod felt his throat grow tight. She looked thinner, far more beautiful than he had remembered. This was the face that had haunted him all those sleepless, lonely nights a face that now loomed up out of the dreamworld passing into reality. As cautiously as some timid forest creature prepared for instant flight, she approached the table and waited for his invitation.
"Sylvia," he said, his swollen throat unable to say more.
He saw the hot tears boil up in her eyes as, trembling, she held out her hand. He took it, held onto it.
"How . . . how . . . have you been . . . Tod?" she asked in a voice so low that it was almost inaudible.
He nodded his head several times rapidly, not trusting his voice, and seated her beside him. Then he said, uncertainly, "How have you been?"
She bit her lower lip and used the back of her hand to wipe away one tear that had begun running down her nose. "Do you want the horrible truth?" She gazed at him, the truth in her eyes . . . the truth, her own being, her hopes, her future, all mirrored in her eyes.
They were so engrossed in each other that neither noticed Tom Morse slip from the booth and make his way toward the exit. He stepped outside. The rain had stopped. Here and there the sun was breaking through the clouds. He took a deep breath then whistling jauntily, he crossed the street toward his offices. It was, he thought, turning out to be a fine day after all. A splendid day, one he was sure he would remember for all the rest of the days of his life.
