True summer was a late arrival to Paeifica Woods. After months of generally overcast, grey skies, the golds and blues and greens of early August were burgeoning forth with such beauty, in such a splendid array of hues and shadows, that it seemed as if all the best summers everywhere had rallied for a grand annual showing along that stretch of coast.
The sea was a bright turquoise, the waves flashing like shattering quartz on the rocks and beaches. Gulls and hawks circled slowly overhead, drifting dots riding the high tides of air. It was an idyllic setting for the half dozen or so homes nestled among the pines and cypresses bending and swaying with the wind.
Elevated slightly above the other homes in the area, Marty and Inger White's rambling redwood house perched in a dense stand of forest on one of the lower slopes of Springer Mountain. Not the most expensive structure in Pacifica Woods, it was nevertheless surrounded by blazing wildflowers and had a unique, private charm. Also, because of its higher vantage-point, it afforded a spectacular view of the ocean. Marty and Inger often sat by the enormous picture-window that constituted almost the entire front of the house, peering through binoculars at whales cavorting and blowing as they passed by during spring migration.
The living room was quiet, deserted, a medley of orange and red shafts of sunset streaming through the window to cast fire on the glass and all the polished surfaces in the room. From the main bedroom, situated in the rear of the house, a series of moans and grunts contrasted the mute quality of the hour.
A short while later, Marty and Inger entered the room carrying freshly mixed cocktails. They were still naked and breathing hard from their lovemaking in the back bedroom. Inger, a strikingly beautiful blond of twenty-six, seated herself on the arm of an overstuffed chair near the window. She sipped her drink contemplatively, brooding as the sun caught her hair and turned her fair skin a rich golden color. Her finely-molded facial features and complexion would cause even strangers to guess that she was Danish. Only her impeccable English would befuddle them when they learned that she-had been in America only three years.
Glancing down at the symmetry of her long rounded legs, she realized all over again how really beautiful she was-her full breasts high and firm, the nipples light brown; tummy flat, narrow, sloping faultlessly into the tawny-haired pubic mound; buttocks stark white, perfect circles of soft yet taut flesh. Still, though, how was it possible, she asked herself, that her husband had proved to be such a boring perfunctory lover during most of their two years of marriage? When he did not simply mount her for a maddeningly quick union, just long enough to work himself to orgasm, he insisted on insulting her with playing a game that he was someone else, someone animal-like, to whip himself into a frenzy of passion. She wondered why he could not accept sex for itself, as a wholesome natural function, as she had been taught in Denmark. After all, he was still young, only forty-one, and had been careful to keep his body solid and in fine trim. She could find no excuse for his selfishness-which frustrated her more than he knew-nor for his humiliating mental masquerades when he was pounding his loins against hers. And yet he loved her, she knew, despite his lewd sex fantasies and fondness of ridiculing her in his cruel inimitable way.
"What's the matter, baby?" he asked coolly, interrupting her thoughts. "Don't tell me you've got acid indigestion again, because you didn't cum?"
"Oh please, Martin, can't you just for once stop poking fun at our sex life? And besides, I hardly think it's all my fault when I don't- as you put it-'cum'... I should think you'd spend a little more time worrying about my satisfaction and ... Oh, just forget it."
"Supposing," suggested Marty, beginning his game again, "that I were an aborigine, a stinking husky brute of a savage, who came to ravage you every time the moon was full. Then, my love, would you be satisfied? When she refused to answer and looked away, out the window, he let his eyes roam over her naked contours, the smoothness of her high-set breasts, the delicious curves of her hips disappearing into her tiny wisp of a waist. She was woman enough for any one man. His eyes flicked lower to the enticingly rounded, ivory-sheened lips that led to the sweep of her thighs. He could see clearly the fleshy pinkness of her vaginal slit glistening wetly through the softness of her pubic hair in the waning twilight.
"Marty," she began, "I know you don't take my painting to be very important, but-"
"But what?" he broke in. "What's painting got to do with a piece of ass? Now look, my little Nordic genius, I'm well aware of the praise and encouragement you've received from other painters-most of whom want only to lay you- but I think it's bad taste to discuss art and fucking together. Anyway, I doubt your hot-blooded aborigine warrior would be terribly stimulated by textures and color values." He knew she would be upset by his sarcastic references to her painting but could not contain himself when there was the least opportunity to air his wit.
"If you're finished," Inger sighed, "I'll tell you what's on my mind. I need a male model preferably young, to study and maybe even use as a figure in several paintings I'll include in my upcoming exhibition." She turned to look imploringly into his eyes, hoping he would understand the real extent of her anxiousness.
"Well, if that's all you want, there's no problem," he said, his voice softening in recognition of her sincerity. "I'll stop by Rocky Cliff Inn tomorrow And speak with the manager about hiring one of his boys. The after-school help should be finished work by two-thirty-I think that's when the shift ends-which means that you'd have almost three hours of good light while the boy poses."
"Oh darling, do you mean it! I can have a model?"
"Why not? You don't seem to want an aborigine... And that reminds me, baby-I guess I'd better remedy that dissatisfaction you feel." He rose and crossed the room to where she sat still beaming happily, looking more beautiful than ever. He knelt then and caught her legs, his palms clamping against the soft insides of her thighs as she giggled and struggled half-heartedly in an attempt to free herself. She could see him haunched down on his knees between her wide-spread thighs, grinning up at her through the deep valley of her proud upstanding breasts like a depraved madman. The pink moist flesh of her exposed cunt was presented up to his leering face in an attitude of sacrifice. She lay back on the arm of the chair and felt a brief flash of alarm when it occurred to her that perhaps his expression was not part of a game but real.
She watched his tongue slowly circling his lips in eager anticipation of the ravishment about to take place. He moved closer, placing his thumbs on the soft fleshy flanges of her cunt. Then, with a deliberately slow, torturing outward movement, he slowly drew apart the hair-lined lips of her pussy and pressed his mouth against her, his long slippery tongue darting snake-like into the throbbing warmth of her belly. Her stomach rolled and felt a convulsive spasm of delight course up and down her spine as he sucked wildly and nibbled at her erect clitoris with the sharp tips of his teeth.
"Oh eat me, darling, eat me up!" she groaned suddenly, watching with fascination as his head bobbed with the effort of his assault. She whimpered and threw back her head on the top of the chair, her hands clutching unashamedly at his face to pull him tighter against her squirming cunt as the wet sucking noises filled her ears. He reached up then and placed both hands on her heaving, hard-nippled breasts, his wide shoulders and upper arms prying her legs even further apart. As his mouth and tongue worked in bestial subjugation at the lusciousness of her hungry, widely flowered vagina, his eyes remained open wide, watching with vulgar excitement the grotesque contortions of her face.
"Good, eh? Isn't it good to have an ignorant savage sucking and slobbering at your little cunt-hole?" he asked pantingly, a crazed glassy look in his eyes. Her hips ground involuntarily forward, burying the flicking tongue to its roots, as he renewed his obscene attack. She was powerless to fight it, the unrelenting thrill that rocked her very soul, even though she felt simultaneous revulsion at the vile meaning behind his words. Then fire replaced her sense of wounded dignity ... everything. Seldom had she felt so utterly wanton with him.
"Well, isn't it?" he demanded, once again pulling away his wet trembling mouth to ask the question.
"Ooooooh, yessss!" she wailed, splaying her legs wider and wider to give him greater access. Inger's mind was lost in a flood of ecstasy. Every muscle she possessed was tensed as she strained her hips upward toward the sensuous probe between her legs. Her up-drawn thighs opened and closed around the tormenting head that was licking gluttonously at her steaming cunt. She kicked her heels against his back, spurring him on to suck harder, harder, until there came a rushing in her ears, a great resounding and echoing torrent of sound. The cords of her long graceful neck stood out as she pulled with all her strength against the tangled hair of his head.
"Oh God, I'm almost there! Don't stop, please!" she pleaded. At that moment, just as the sweet flow of emotion and sensual abandonment was nearing its crest, she saw an ugly lascivious grin twist his lips and change him almost miraculously into a stranger. Suddenly her writhing excited body switched off as though someone had pushed a button at the center of her senses. She was swamped with a feeling of disgust and groaned in anguish at the sight of her own husband kneeling with his face buried between her legs, pretending that he was really the raw primitive barbarian he thought he must be to stir her hunger for his body.
"Oh darling, stop, stop!" she sobbed, struggling to loosen his fierce grip on her breasts and squirm away from him. "This is no good, not this way... It's degrading to both of us!"
"Don't hand me that shit... Come on!" he said angrily, between breaths, fighting to open her clenched thighs and continue his lurid punishment of her still throbbing vagina. Then, mustering all her strength, she jerked violently away from him and walked to the other side of the room, stopping next to the kitchen entrance, where she stood wordlessly and stared at the floor. Marty remained for a few moments in his kneeling position, then sighed and climbed up to seat himself in the chair she had vacated. He also stared down, a sheepish, guilty look on his face, his penis now rapidly deflating and finally falling like a wounded creature to rest on the velvet-covered cushion beneath him. After what seemed an eternity, he raised his head and opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing and lowered his eyes again in an attitude of distant thought. Knowing how painfully humiliated Marty must feel after her outburst and then the abrupt halt she had brought to his perverted game, Inger felt her heart swell with pity. She ransacked her mind for something comforting to say.
"What would you like for dinner?" she finally asked, her voice breaking the long embarrassing silence. But he seemed not to hear her and continued to peer down between his legs, his gaze fixed on something secret and faraway. Then, without warning, he straightened up with a wry, self-satisfied smile brightening his face.
"Well now, let's see... What would a good warrior have for dinner?" he asked musingly. "How about some fried monkey balls and ant sauce? And yes, maybe a small bottle of kangaroo wine to liven up my palate... How does that sound? Or is the wonderful white queen even willing to feed a mere primitive selfish beast such as her husband?"
Refusing to acknowledge his sadistic sarcasm, Inger quickly turned and disappeared into the kitchen. As she slammed shut the door she heard him chuckle contemptuously.
Chapter 2
The next morning at eleven o'clock, Marty telephoned Inger to inform her that he had kept good his promise to stop at Rocky Cliff Inn and speak with the manager. Yes, she could have her model, a boy of eighteen named Chuck. According to the manager, Chuck was a remarkably strong lad, not very bright but honest and exceptionally well-built. He would be knocking on her door by no later than three that afternoon-just as soon as he finished his chores at the inn.
Inger's anger at Marty changed almost immediately to a feeling of warmth and genuine gratitude. She bustled about the house, singing to herself as she cleaned and moved furniture in preparation for the boy's arrival. Everything must be just right, she thought happily, especially since this would be her first really private session with a hired model. She got out new pencils, charcoal and sketching paper, all of which she placed carefully on the sturdy rectangular board supported by her easel. But what should she wear? It was a silly question, she decided... Of course she should wear something practical, something cool because it was summer and the humidity was extremely high. Then she began wondering about what to say to the boy, how she should pose him, where to position him to get the best light... Should she ask him to actually take off his clothes for a nude study, a mere boy of fifteen? What if he refused, felt shy and was afraid to surrender his young body to the gaze of a woman eleven years his senior? What should she do then-simply pay him for the afternoon and tell him he might as well leave? She shuddered at the thought and how unmercifully Marty would tease her, saying that her "wholesome attitude toward sex" had frightened the boy away.
But her attitude was wholesome, she thought, and had been formed by years of training by her parents in a perfectly normal, healthy atmosphere in Denmark. She remembered the first time that a boy had tenderly caressed her breasts and gone on with her permission to place his hand between her thighs, slowly massaging against the soft hair of her pubic mound until they were both wildly excited and ready to scream. When the boy had opened his trousers, his hands clumsy and shaking, she softly reassured him that he need not worry- she would allow him to undress her the rest of the way and finish what they had started. Later, she had told her father about the experience with the boy, and her father had understood and urged her not to feel guilty or in any way ashamed because she had followed what were after all her natural instincts. That was when she was eighteem, still in form school and attending art class three, sometimes four nights a week. After that, she felt no qualms whatsoever about going to bed with whomever she liked and thought might provide even an hour's honestly satisfying love-play in bed. Her girlfriends were of the same opinion and deployed their charms as freely as she had among the best-looking available males.
When she came to America, however, her freedom as a healthy, sensuous woman had been looked upon as sluttishness. Her unhesitating willingness to disrobe and open her legs for a man she really liked often shocked and sexually incapacitated the man she happened to be with. Until Marty. He had been different, she thought, and had regarded her openness about sex without the usual fears and inhibitions most American men she knew had displayed. He had been really turned on by her straightforwardness and had been more than just a satisfactory lover during the first few months of their relationship. They had been deliriously happy and had spent entire weekends talking about painting and books, had taken long lazy walks together in the woods and along the private beach reserved for Pacifica Woods residents, and their love-making sessions had been more than just rewarding-they had been heavenly and fulfilling.
Then, gradually, for no apparent reason, he had begun to seem angry and hardly spoke without a note of sarcasm in his words. He belittled her and referred to her painting as "child's play" that was tolerable only in the sense that it kept her occupied while he was away at the office, during the day, doing "important" work. His sexual advances became less and less frequent and were characterized by the strange delight he took in thinking of himself as a beast or someone brutal -and primitive. Why, why? she had asked herself in the midst of the shame and frustration brought on by his humiliating fantasies. She needed sex just as much as anyone, maybe more than the average person, and it was cruel and self-indulgent of him to dampen her desire with his ugly language and vulgar imaginings.
Inger noticed the clock, then, and hastened to make last-minute preparations for the boy's arrival.
The doorbell rang at exactly three o'clock, startling Inger even though she had been anticipating the hard jangling sound for the last twenty minutes. Smoothing her hair and making a final check on her appearance in the hall mirror, she nervously opened the heavy oak door and saw a tall, handsome young man standing before her. He was dressed in blue-jeans and a faded, well-worn flannel shirt with two buttons missing at the "vee" of the neck.
"You Mrs. White?" he asked in a slow husky voice. "I'm Chuck from the hotel... They said I was to come up here ... You're supposed to have work for me." He smiled as he shifted his weight to one foot, waiting for her to answer, his berry-black eyes surveying her own as she tried frantically to think of something appropriate to reply.
"Yes ... yes, I'm Mrs. White," Inger finally said lamely, her face flushing pink with embarrassment at the awkwardness of the situation. Despite her own acceptance and understanding of nudity, she felt immediately threatened at the prospect of asking this naive, innocent-looking boy to undress for her. He did not appear to be very bright and might misunderstand her intentions.
"Mrs. White? ..." the boy asked again, confused by her silence.
"Oh, please forgive me ... Come in," Inger said, pointing to the interior of the house as she stepped back to allow him to enter. "Did the manager of the hotel explain the work-I mean, did he tell you what I want you to do?"
"He said it ain't hard work," the tall boy answered. Then he added eagerly. "But I ain't afraid of hard work, lady. I'm strong and need all the money I can earn, so you just tell me what you want me to do."
"No, it's not hard work," Inger assured.
"Have you ever done any modeling before?"
"Modeling?"
"Yes, have you ever posed for an artist? ... Have you ever taken anv art class in school and drawn a figure-a person or some kind of object-that the teacher placed in front of the class?"
"I ... I don't guess so ... I don't know," Chuck replied, his narrow brow wrinkled with the effort of trying to understand what was to him the complexity of her question. They were standing in the middle of the living room now, beside the easel, only inches apart. Inger began to realize the true extent of his ignorance and felt a sinking despair and discouragement. She could sense the power in his body and a small tingle of excitement coursed through her as his clean male scent assailed her nostrils. He would be perfect, an inspiration, if only he could understand his role as a model without reading something else into it.
"Well, it's simple," she explained. "You just sit over there, by the window, and stay in the position I tell you to take. Above all, you mustn't move, not even a little. Then, while you're sitting there, I draw a picture of you ... Do you understand?"
"Gosh, that's all?" he asked incredulously. "They told me you wanted me to work... I need the money."
"Don't worry, Chuck. It's work, all right, I can promise you that." She began puzzling over how she should broach the subject of having him take off his clothes. Meanwhile, he stood waiting for her instructions with a dumb, expectant expression on his face.
Very well, she inwardly decided, the only way to accomplish her goal was with direct honesty. She swallowed and set her teeth, turning slightly away from him as she spoke. "Now, Chuck, if you'll take off all your clothes, everything except your shorts, I'll show you how to sit... And we'd better hurry," she added matter-of-factly, "because I want to take advantage of this good light before it's too late." The tall, good-looking boy stripped off his shirt without batting an eye, his hands working next at the buttons of his trouser fly as though he had been waiting all along for her signal to undress. At first Inger avoided looking fully upon his almost-nude figure, and busied herself with the task of selecting a sketching pencil from the assorts ment in the small tray attached to the side of her drawing board. Then, still amazed that he had responded so readily to her request, she faced him and gasped in admiration of his youthful, heavily-muscled body, its exquisite swelling lines and deeply tanned surfaces. His long legs tapered from thick, well-defined cords of muscle on the fronts of his thighs to the hairy rounded calves and slim ankles. She noticed that his jockey shorts were frayed and sagged far down in front with the weight of what must be an enormously long, thick penis and heavy testicles. She involuntarily shivered at the unbelievable sight before her, the beauty and virility of his virginal young body affecting her senses like an aphrodisiac. The thought of his youthful strength and the fact that he was nude for the benefit of her own eyes, flooded through her mind, paralyzing her, making her momentarily unable to move or do anything but feast on his magnificent limbs.
Suddenly Inger's appraisal of his body was cut short when she noticed that he had not removed his socks. Smiling broadly, she said, "Please, if you don't mind, I'd like you to take those off, too." She gestured casually, pointing to his feet, being careful not to embarrass him. But he was not in the least fazed and leaned over to remove the socks, his back bowing and coming easily alive with the rippling of his muscles like fish swimming just beneath the surface of his taut skin.
She spent the next few minutes positioning him in a half-seated position on the edge of a squat, marble-topped table she often used when setting up still-life studies. The light was excellent, she thought with satisfaction, seeing the soft hues along the crest of his shoulders and running down to his slightly spread thighs. The pendulous bagging crotch of his shorts hung down several inches over the edge of the table and pulled the loose elastic band at the waist low enough to expose the sparse upper portion of his dark pubic hair. Inger found it nearly impossible to concentrate on the sketch she had started and wondered instead how he would look entirely naked, his boyish cock hanging down in front of him.
She wished with all her heart that she had the courage to ask him to remove his flimsy shorts, to reveal everything! She saw then that one of his huge balls was on the verge of falling free from a ragged, especially thin place at the bottom-most bulge of his shorts. The slightest movement would spill the testicle into view. She fought the maddening temptation to instruct him to change position, just slightly, just enough to produce the desired effect. He gazed intently at the opposite wall, his face a complete blank, his body obediently locked in immobility ... Then she decided.
"Chuck, would you please turn toward the window just a little, not much... That's it." His large, intricately-veined ball dropped out of his shorts just as she had wished, and hung down over an inch lower than its twin still nestling in the cotton fabric covering his crotch. God, he was so lovely and innocent, and how wonderful it would be to cup that great bloated sac in her soft hand. She was surprised when he gave no indication that he even noticed what had happened. And now that his eyes were turned further away from her, she was able to study him more openly and carefully. She had never seen such a glorious body-had not even dreamed that a male, man or boy, could be so unconditionally beautiful and sensual.
She noticed that her hand was shaking helplessly out of control and, unless she was careful would make a complete mess of the sketch she had blocked out and was now rounding off with graceful lines and curves. She could feel the warm center of her loins flexing almost violently in passionate answer to the sight of his male nakedness. Her throbbing vaginal slit was moist under the thin filmy silkiness of her panties, and her nipples had grown pebble-hard and burned against the now abrasive inner material of her brassiere as her full white breasts heaved higher and swelled with the torment of her excitement.
She struggled against the almost overpowering desire to plunge her hand down inside her brief linen shorts to rub the fleshy burning ridges of her cunt to even greater arousal. This was it, the kind of honest lust that she had been taught to expect from her healthy ripe body ... In Denmark she would feel free to tell this tantalizing specimen of manhood that she wanted him, to have him inside her so that they could both enjoy each other to the fullest sexual advantage. But this was America... There was Marty and the humiliating fascination he and most other American males had for the forbidden aspects of sex ... Why must she restrain herself and feel guilty because this boy made her breasts and-cunt cry for his touch?
"Mrs. White, you okay?" Chuck's voice broke in, shocking Inger back to the reality of the moment. "I ain't sittin' wrong, am I? You bin actin' sort of funny. I saw you by mistake and your face looked kinda weird."
"No, no, I'm fine," Inger said, flustered by his simple questioning look, which in her consternation she feared might be sufficiently penetrating to discover what she had really been thinking. "Just continue that position- please-and I'll be finished pretty soon."
"Sure ... I didn't mean to speak out of turn or anything."
Her erotic self-indulgence shattered by the exchange with her model, she renewed her attention to the sketch and began the final touches to complete her first study of his almost naked figure. She chided herself for having been distracted. She had to hurry to finish the sketch, for the light was dying and she was afraid that Chuck might be growing tired from having held one position for so long without a break. It was important that she succeed in producing competent work from this first sitting, lest Marty scoff and feel justified in continuing to patronize her artistic efforts.
After offering the boy a short rest break, which he declined to accept, she worked furiously for another hour, until the light had dimmed to the point where it was impossible to go on without jeopardizing the value of what she had done. Still, she finally decided, the end result was not something she should feel ashamed of-her sketch had about it a wonderful sinuous quality, a potency, unlike anything she had ever done before. She imagined it finished in oils and was proud that once again her creative ability had survived her fear of Marty's murderous ridicule. Probably she would be ready to actually work in oils after only a few more sittings.
"Okay, Chuck," Inger said with a sigh of relief, "that's all for today. You may dress now." She moved from the easel to sit/on the chair next to the table, no more than arm's-length away from him, watching with a feeling of regret as he dressed, veiling the beautiful male body that had thrilled her so all afternoon. She was already anxious to view it again, wishing it were the beginning rather than the end of that day's modeling session. Then, remembering that she had not paid him, she rose and crossed to the desk to make out a check. "What's your last name, Chuck?"
"Evans, ma'am ... Chuck Evans."
"Would three dollars an hour be enough?" Inger asked uncertainly. She had never paid a model and knew nothing of standard rates or what even this thick-witted boy might expect for sitting without flinching a muscles for almost three hours.
"Golly, three dollars an hours!" he exclaimed, jerking around to face her with a look of amazement. "But I didn't do nothin'... I just sat there ... Kin I wash your dishes or somethin' ... or chop up some wood before I go?"
"No," she grinned, a warm glow of compassion filling her as she understood his confused appreciation. "You earned your money, believe me, and I thank you very much for your patience and the way you sat so quietly. Just try, if you can, to be here tomorrow as soon as you get off work at the hotel. I want to try some different poses."
"I-I'll run up here," he beamed, pocketing the check. "Boy, wait'll Mom hears about this!"
Inger opened the door to let him out, patting his sturdy forearm in a show of thanks as he passed in front of her to leave.
Chapter 3
Marty had arrived home that evening a little later than usual. He had explained his lateness as being due to having stopped for a few drinks with an office associate who wanted counseling on an issue concerning corporate law. Inger detected that her husband was more than a little inebriated, was in fact quite drunk, and had trouble enunciating his words. She was thankful when he announced that he wanted to lie down awhile before dinner, then lurched off unsteadily toward the bedroom without any question whatsoever about her experience that day with the boy model. She was still aroused and could not shake the vision of Chuck's fine young body from her memory. She was worried about what had happened to her senses that afternoon, and was slightly fearful that the same thing would happen when he came again the next day.
She paced the front room impatiently while dinner simmered on the stove, her thoughts racing as she searched fruitlessly for a way out of the predicament. She knew it would be foolish to deny, even to herself, that she was tremendously stimulated by the idea of having sex with Chuck, yet she was doubtful that she could maintain anything resembling a high level of creativity while thinking of him as a potential lover rather than just a model. And there was also the consideration that she had never been unfaithful to Marty since they had been married. Even though she had been taught to regard sex as a natural part of everyday life, that was still no reason to believe that cheating with another man-even a mere boy-was all right for a married woman.
Her thoughts were cut short as Marty suddenly entered the room, holding in one hand the sketch she had done of Chuck. His eyes sparkled with an inner excitement, and she was filled with horror as she realized that he was about to start another of his sarcastic tirades about her art.
"Well, well, my little artist, I see that your model was quite satisfactory ... really quite satisfactory!" He held up the now-wrinkled sketch which she had put away in the bedroom with the rest of her art materials after Chuck's departure. Not wanting to subject her creative endeavors to his belittling criticism, she had hidden the sketch from Marty beneath a pile of old still-lifes and nature studies. Evidently, though, he had rummaged through the pile and found today's piece of work by accident.
"Oh, please, don't wave it about so," she pled. "You'll only wrinkle it more than you already have." But her plea seemed merely to urge him on, and he waved the sketch drunkenly as though it were a flag to be dishonored. The alcohol still buzzing in his head made him more cantankerous than usual, and he struck grandiose postures of mock appraisal of the sketch, first grinning and then frowning as he viewed it from different angles.
"By God, baby, I lined up one helluva young stud for you, didn't I?" Then she saw him pause, his face lighting up anew as he stopped to give the sketch a closer scrutiny under the lamp on one of the end-tables flanking the couch. "But what's this?" he asked slurringly, pointing to the lower portion of the sketch. "Am I correct in presuming that you chose not to view your stud model in his altogether natural state? I mean, where's the lad's cock, baby? ... Didn't he have one?"
"He was too young to ask ... to expect to ... pose that way. Marty, please, I..."
"Come on, now," he said with a sweeping flourish of his hand, warming to her discomfort, "you can't be a real artist if you're going to blanch at the sight of your own hired boy's sex organs. Would Rubens or Gaugin or even your sickly French Impressionists be afraid to ask their female models to show their cunts in the name of true art? Besides," he went on tauntingly, "it's fairly apparent that you knew he had a cock, judging from the size of the one you imagined he has under that silly little loincloth he was wearing."
"He wasn't wearing a loincloth," Inger explained. "He was just wearing his underpants, and I ... I just ... drew in what you see instead."
"Well, why bother to improvise?" he teased. "Isn't the phallus part of the male anatomy, and aren't you interested in the whole man?"
Inger's tolerance had reached the breaking point and she felt her anger blaze up in defiance of his derisive attitude toward her work. She wanted to hurt back, to pluck his wings for a change.
"Yes, I am interested in the whole male anatomy," she answered, "but as an artist and not just for sexual reasons, as you seem to be..." She stood in the middle of the room, glaring at him with a near hatred that clearly unbalanced him. Then, elucidating her point, she added: "I can't help but wonder about you, Marty, since you seem to find it necessary to search my old work for even a rough sketch of an almost naked boy... Would you have troubled yourself so much to find the same kind of drawing of a girl?"
She knew she had gone too far, even for Marty, when he winced and stared back at her with a look of total unbelief on his face. She watched him standing before her, making no move or effort to counter her fantastic statement with words or any sort of action. He was iust staring at her, watching as though he expected her to smile and in some way show that she had not meant the cutting remark about his manhood. She sincerely wanted to retract her words, to simply come out and say that she had only meant to stand up for herself, but for some reason unknown to her she could not do it this time, as she had so many times, for different reasons, in the past. She was experiencing a peculiar mixture of feelings-pity and yet a cruel, unflinching confidence in her moment of superiority.
"Inger," he finally said, "you ... didn't mean that really, did you? You know better,... don't you?"
She remained silent, still debating whether or not to end his unbearable humiliation and surprise. This might be good for him, for their relationship, and she wanted to break down the barriers between them perhaps even more than at that moment to put him at ease again by admitting that her statement had been plain retaliatory bitchiness. But at that moment, she saw his lips begin to quiver and tears well up in his eyes. He had never displayed this much emotion, a sort which he would be the first to label weak and unbefitting a real man with real masculine values and common sense. Suddenly she could no longer stand his pitiful expression and broke her resolve to make him suffer as long as she possibly could that evening ... regardless of the reason.
"Darling, forgive me," Inger said, her own eyes filling with tears. "I didn't mean what I said ... I was just angry and wanted to strike out at you ... I'm sorry." She was crying openly now, ashamed and sorry that she had attacked him with such a vicious suggestion. After all, he was her husband, and even if he did fail to understand how im- portant art was to her, she had no right to try to undermine his self-image as a man. And Marty's self-image was terribly vital to him, professionally as well as personally. As an attorney, he felt it necessary to look upon himself as a tiger, shrewd, feral and cunning, to project himself effectively in court and in his dealings with other attorneys and heads of corporations.
In her sobbing, Inger did not notice that he had regained his composure and was standing next to the small portable bar, pouring himself a martini with studied nonchalance. He was even smiling, now showing no trace of the awful humiliation he had seemed to feel so deeply only a moment before.
"For Christ's sake, Inger, can't you stop your idiotic weeping?" he snapped, lifting his glass as he spoke, then drinking off most of the martini in one long draught. "You don't actually believe I was all that meltingly stricken by your silly remark, do you? I've had rather a lot to drink this evening, that's all... And I simply thought I'd give you some emotional plasma by pretending to be distressed." His voice sounded typically acid and condescending, as though he were attempting to intimidate a witness or communicate to a dinner guest that he was bored stiff with the run of conversation at the table. Inger's first agonized thoughts as she slowly grasped the meaning and tone of his words were that she had been drawn into a trap. She had made a gross error in judgment. She had thought that for once he was being human, really human, unafraid to show her that inside he was not as cruelly calculating and self-assured as he always appeared to be.
Mixing another shaker of martini, Marty flashed her a triumphant look. "As for your young cretin model, I admit that he reeks of virulence and seems to have a wealth of physical potential, so why don't you use him as best you can? ... It might just perk up our own sex life, you know."
Inger could feel her strength steadily leaving her body as he continued to drink and stare more and more fiercely at her, his eyes like the white heat of bright sun, the alcohol in his veins investing his manner with a deadliness like carbon monoxide. She had to admit to herself that he had won again, had reversed everything so that she seemed to be the foolish petulant wife, the loser. She stood then, her nerves bursting like trees in stiff wind, and left the room without another word.
Chapter 4
Inger had been awakened at ten the next morning, an hour later than she normally got, up, by a telephone call from her closest neighbor, Sandy Pollard. Sandy was George Pol-lard's wife and was several years older than Inger-though there was more than age that was different between the two women. Sandy was known throughout the Woods as an incorrigible gossip and busybody. George owned a number of small shops in the little towns on the] peninsula and spent most of his waking hours being conspicuously successful. Inger some-times sympathized with Sandy for being so catty and given over to gossip, because George was rarely if ever home, and when he was, paid his slender brunette wife only the barest amount of attention.
Still, Inger was irritated that morning by Sandy's call, especially since the call had been ostensibly only about one of Inger's recipes for Danish bread. She knew full well that Sandy never baked and had simply used the recipe as-an excuse to camouflage her curiosity about Inger's and Marty's social and sex life during the past weeks. Usually, Inger indulged her prying neighbor and invented some juicy tales to fill Sandy's ears, but this had not been one of those mornings. She had actually been curt with Sandy and not bothered to elaborate on why she had to cut short the conversation.
Inger was more concerned with her own odd feeling of desolation, one that had been torturing her since the ugly encounter with her husband the night before. More, she felt that she could not continue to avoid the flagrant crippling flaw in her relationship with Marty. He seemed to live in some dark psychological corner of himself that she could never reach, never enter and know, not even to comfort him. Perhaps her freedom and acceptance as an artist was not as world-shatteringly important as she supposed. Maybe he really had meant what he said about her taking advantage of Chuck's physical assets to help "perk up" their own sex life. God knows, she thought, something had to be done if they were to enjoy everything marriage was designed to promote and sanction. Love could wither when it became a habit, without the revitalizing effects of sex and a deepening of understanding between the partners involved. She knew this and could no longer deny that she and Marty had come to a stage in their marriage where being together was more of an ordeal than a joy. They definitely had to find a way to break down the barriers between them, and soon.
Chuck should be arriving soon, she reminded herself, and she must hurry to have everything set up if she were not to lose time and precious light. One thing, Marty had been right, in a truly disturbing sense, about her rather silly decision not to sketch the boy completely nude. But how on earth could she ask such a simple, hopelessly dull American boy like Chuck to take off the last protective shred of his clothing in front of a woman over ten years older? He had not even posed before yesterday; not even heard of modelling ... Inger changed into her shorts and a brief, daringly low-cut halter about twenty minutes before Chuck was due to knock on the door. She had gone outside a short while before and been nearly bowled over by the blasting August heat. But it was an extraordinarily beautiful day. She had felt an overwhelming joy at the linen-clean air in her lungs, the parallels of sea and sky colors flattening like heavy blue satin far out on the horizon. And there were eggshell yachts floating on the summer green and sun-silvered waters of the bay off to the right of the headlands. The sound of the surf breaking in the near distance had been like rashers of bacon frying, shussshing over and over again in her ears. It had been like Denmark, when she was a little girl, serenely happy and full of dreams about the limitless future.
Then came the expected knock at the door. It was Chuck, just as he had promised, out of breath from hurrying up the mountain road to keep his appointment with her. He was wearing the same clothes, but they seemed somehow fresher, as though they had been laundered and pressed during the night, and his hair was combed neatly back with the exception of one long stray lock which hung down on his forehead and was damply clinging to thin beads of perspiration there.
"Hello, Mrs. White," he panted. "I sure hope I'm not late. My mom said I'd better not be ... I'm supposed to mind my manners, she said, and not give you no trouble."
"Gracious no, you're not late. As a matter of fact, you're a few minutes early," Inger said, her lovely white teeth flashing in a friendly smile. "Wouldn't you like a cold drink after your walk? I'd give you a glass of chilled wine, but I'm certain your mother wouldn't approve of it."
"Heck, that's okay. My dad gives me beer all the time. An' sometimes I just swipe a couple bottles when he goes to sleep and Mom gets mad at him."
"Well, if you're certain it's all right," Inger grinned, amused by his enthusiasm. "But I don't want you falling asleep while you're posing... Heck," she went on, adopting his style of speech in the spirit of fun, "I'll just have a glass with you. It's a grand summer day, and we should drink to it!"
"Heck, yeah!" he half shouted, his eyes sparkling with animal brightness. When Inger returned from the kitchen with the wine, she was startled to see that he had stripped off his clothes, again except for his shorts, and was sitting on the same small table on which he had posed yesterday. The only difference was that today he wore a pair of clean white shorts, obviously new, and his genital area was more hidden from view.
"No, no, you needn't sit there," Inger said with a laugh. "We'll drink our wine first-and besides, you'll be standing for the first pose today." At that instant, she seized on a solution she hoped would take care of the problem of asking him to pose in absolute nakedness. "Chuck, I want to ask you something... As an artist, it's sometimes necessary to draw everything on a model's body, even if I don't really see it... What I mean is, well ... I'd like to be able to draw all of you ... your ... your sex organs too, if you don't mind."
"Huh?" His look was one of utter bewilderment, as though she had asked him to work out a particularly complicated math problem in his head.
"I-I simply want your permission to draw you as if you were completely undressed," Inger said, embarrassed and certain that her face was flushed a bright crimson.
Chuck labored a minute with the meaning of what she had said, then shrugged and stood up. "Gosh, okay," he smiled as he hooked his thumbs in his shorts and slipped them down over his strong, bronzed legs to his ankles. "Mom told me to pay real attention to anything you tell me to do ..." He stooped then to pick up the new jockey shorts, wadding them up in a tight ball and placing them atop the heap of other garments he had put on the floor next to the couch.
Inger shuddered and could not believe her eyes when she saw the long, heavy thickness of the huge young cock hanging limply between his powerful thighs. His testicles were larger than any she had ever seen and sagged down almost as far as the thickly tapering tip of his beautiful uncircumcised penis. He had not understood her, of course, and yet she could not bring herself to say that she had not meant that he should take off his shorts too. If only she could settle down, take her eyes off his awe-inspiring genitalia, she was positive she could do one of the finest figure studies of her life. She gulped thirstily at her wine, hoping to relax herself enough to commence sketching.
When he swallowed the last dregs of the cool wine, Inger took up a piece of charcoal and motioned to a spot about five feet in front of her easel. "Please stand there, Chuck, and just let your arms rest at your sides ... Be comfortable." He took the position-not precisely the one she wanted, but interesting nevertheless-and she began with conscious self-control to block out the outstanding vertical lines of his stance.
The work had been going well for some time, perhaps twenty minutes, when she noticed a barely perceptible change in his pose-. just enough to throw off her perspective and make a discernible difference in her critical judgment of the progress of the form taking shape under her head. It was then that she allowed her gaze to drop and see that his penis was half erect, standing out in front of him like a majestic cobra whose head was fanning out from its partially alert length. Suddenly she knew that he was staring at her, ravenously, not like a teenage boy, but as a full-grown man stares at a woman who excites his natural lust to boldness.
"You're a real pretty woman, Mrs. White ... I like you a lot more than I know how to say." His eyes feasted on Inger's immodestly clad form, brazenly resting on her high plush bosom and then wandering down to take in her bare midriff.
She was visibly trembling now and felt delicious erotic sensations rippling through every nerve in her body. It would be useless to continue sketching in her aroused nervous state, not unless she was able to magically short-circuit the sexual currents of feeling that had begun to leap between their bodies. She remembered what Marty had said about using Chuck as best she could and was momentarily filled with visions of aggressiveness that bordered on shameless plans of seducing the boy. Her gaze fell again to his enormous pulsing cock and then ran over the rest of his sublime young body, coming to rest on his face and the tiny black eyes smouldering with unaccustomed passion.
"Chuck, I think it's time to change poses now .. Please seat yourself on the table ... but turn away a little more than you were yesterday."
"Ma'am?" he questioned, searching her face for an explanation of her instructions. She knew that she would have to personally place him to get exactly the position she wanted. She held up her hand to signify that he should not move, not yet, then crossed over to him where he had taken a seat on the marble-topped table again. His eyes scanned her legs hungrily as she approached, making her shiver and feel as though her clothing were like tight elastic around her body, choking off the supply of blood that ran through her veins. She saw his cock jerk slightly higher as though unable to contain itself while in the presence of such a beautiful, mature woman.
"Now, turn this way ... just a bit," she said shakily, placing her hand on his broad shoulder and applying just enough pressure to ease him into the pose she had had in mind. There, that seemed perfect, she thought, and backed off a step to make certain. But he turned almost immediately to look at her, drinking in her closeness and ignoring the surprised expression on her face as his gaze roved over every soft contour of her ripe female form. Then, with the quickness of a cat, he reached out with both hands and caught the backs of her bare thighs, pulling her closer to plant several rapid kisses on her flat white belly. Inger released a little cry of shock as he flicked out his hot tongue and began to lick the tiny indentation of her navel... This was wrong, she knew it, yet her senses were suddenly drunk with desire for this hard-muscled young stallion, for his solid young limbs. His own innocent desire for her aroused her even more, so that she ceased squirming and actually pressed forward in an attempt to encourage him on with the suggestive, seductive motion.
"Ma'am, I can't help myself ... I hope you ain't mad," he whispered up hotly to her. His hands were now shamelessly clutching her firm rounded buttocks under her shorts, squeezing and releasing them with a hypnotic rhythm that jarred her from head to foot. More and more the crazy passion that had been building in her since yesterday, when she had first seen Chuck's exquisite body, was taking control of her mind and emotions. She wanted him desperately and was willing to subjugate herself if necessary to achieve her goal.
"Chuck," she said, forcing her voice to sound calm and logical, "we can't work when we're like this ... Let's take a rest... We can lie down awhile in the bedroom. Come on," she urged, taking his hand in her own and guiding him toward the back of the house. When they were just inside the entrance of the bedroom, Inger's courage left her and she found herself searching for any excuse she could think of to avoid what she knew was about to take place. But Chuck grabbed her up in his brawny arms and crushed her to him, kissing her first on the mouth and then on her neck with fumbling adolescent fervor. Her loins were growing warm and she wavered in his embrace as though she were about to lose her balance. He guided her backwards to the bed while she struggled weakly and then all resistance ceased. "He pushed her back further, until the edge of the mattress caught her behind the knees and jackknifed her legs, and she fell, arms and legs askew, looking glassy-eyed straight up at the ceiling. The white nylon band of her panties was visible beneath the flare of the crotch of her brief shorts, and tiny blond threads of soft curling pubic hair could be seen at the edges of the tight leg bands stretched tautly from the position in which she lay.
"What's happening to me? . . . What's happening to me?" she moaned incoherently. She tried to move but could not. Her body refused to follow the dictates of her mind. She could see Chuck standing over her, an eager grin etched obscenely on his innocent young face. It was strange-one part of her mind was fully aware of the compromising circumstances, that she had hired this virginal boy and was now inciting him as well as responding to his passionate caresses. In another part of her brain she kept repeating over and over to herself that there is nothing, nothing at all, wrong or dirty about a man, even a boy, and a woman enjoying sex together in any way or situation that gives pleasure to both of them.
Chuck bent down over her prostrate form, his hands working frantically to undo the stubborn fastening of her halter while the excitement flooding his dull mind caused him to tug and tear with frustration at the device. She lifted her back slightly off the bed and reached back with one hand to unfasten the garment before he ripped it from her. She could feel his fingers struggling inside the loosened halter to get at the clasps of her bra. He was having the same difficulty as with the halter, so she deftly unsnapped the hooks and lay back aban-donedly while he removed the freed clothing. She was almost motionless now, with her thighs open wide, her breath coming so fast that she thought her lungs would burst. Her belly quivered and heaved as though he already had the long thick cock extending out from his virile loins sunk deep inside her.
Chuck moved down along her side, fastening his teeth harshly into the nipple of her swollen left breast. She groaned in pain, attempting to twist away from the sudden sharp torture, but his hands, playing over the softness of her thighs and hips, held her firmly. His questing lips roamed wetly over the white palpitating mounds, causing a blissful twitch that descended feather-like to her loins below. Her buttocks began a slow impatient grinding down into the mattress.
"Gosh, you're beautiful," he groaned as his lips kissed and nibbled all the soft sensitive parts of her body, his eyes wide and glazed in the need of his desire. "I ain't never done this to a girl before. I just heard Dad giving it to Mom a couple of times ... She yelled out 'fuck me, fuck me' an' I played with myself afterwards."
Inger lay frozen under the bluntness of his obscene words. And yet their very lewdness excited her more and more, so that she was at a loss to understand her reactions to what was occurring. She could feel the moisture soaking her vagina and crossed her legs to press them closely together, trying to ease the burning sensation that was churning madly in the pit of her stomach. Chuck's fervent kisses and manipulations turned her entire body into a loose bundle of raw nerve ends that she was helpless to control. Then his hands seized both breasts and squeezed them together like huge straining grapefruits. She could feel small pin pricks of delicious feeling racing through the tips of them as he rolled the light brown hardening nipples maddeningly between his thumbs and forefingers. She could feel the heat of his breath rushing into her ear as he turned his head toward her to lock his mouth wildly against hers. She tried for a moment to twist away, to make a last futile stand against the seduction she had started and yet was now helpless to contain, but the pressure of his strong male grip was altogether too much for her in her present state of mind.
She had forgotten about Marty, about everything, except the sheer joy of having this glorious young boy's splendid lusting body against her tingling female flesh. His hands had now dropped from her solid bulging tits to fondle her hips and trace the lovely full convexities of her buttocks.
"Kin I fuck ya, Mrs. White? ... Okay?" he asked between breathless gulping pants.
"Oooooh God, yessssss ... Now!" she moanei ecstatically, her arms reaching out to twine tightly around his neck, pulling his muscular bronzed chest into the soft whitness of her breasts. She despised herself for the surges of hot longing that made her ache to have him inside her, to take her at will... Then suddenly she was released from the depraved bondage of desire, the tremendous relief of acceptance clearing her mind of every thought but that of anticipation. She wanted him now, that instant, and began to wriggle out of her shorts and panties as her eyes rolled uncontrollably in her head. When she had kicked free of her shorts and the flimsy white underwear, completely baring the lower half of her firm body, he pulled her tightly against him and dropped one hand down between them to take the long hard throbbing cock between his fingers and guided it forward, using the thick rubbery head to part the full, fleshy lips of her cunt. She turned her head to the side on the mattress, closing her eyes with a shudder as she felt its soft electrical contact against the sensitive ragged edges of her moist pussy. She held her breath for what seemed an eternity, lying still in utter wantonness before him, not even daring to breathe.
"Hurry," she pled, her voice trembling as she felt the first shocking pressure against the tight elastic opening of her vagina.
He shoved.
"Ooooh, no, waaiiit-it's too much," she cried as the huge tip slipped through, stretching wide the small wet opening until Inger felt as though her thighs were splitting apart from the relentless outward pressure.
"God, no, please, you're hurting me, you're hurting me!" She was almost screaming as she jerked open her eyes in fear and saw that he had not even heard her. He was lost in the throes of his first real sexual experience with a woman, and he was completely oblivious to everything else, even her pleading cries.
Suddenly, his no longer innocent face twisted into a contorted expression of sheer raw lust as he looked down at his first woman helplessly spread-eagled beneath him, the head of his colossal young penis disappearing excitedly into the soft, curling hair of her pussy. He fell forward, then, his weight smashing her full rounded tits tightly back against her chest. He thrust his hips forward at the same time and his long, thick cock slid into her cunt like a driving telephone pole pushing the soft moist flesh of her vaginal walls in rippling waves before it. There was no stopping it until with a loud groan from his throat, his balls smacked heavily into the quivering cheeks of her tightly clenched ass.
"Ooooooh! Oooooooh!" she wailed beneath him. She had never been so utterly filled in her life, and his rock-hard, heavily-veined cock felt as though it had torn her vagina into a thousand tiny shreds as he rammed into her without thought of mercy or injury to her tender insides. And now it lay sunk deep in her belly, filling it to the point of bursting. There was not a single tiny ridge of flesh on it that she could not feel as it pressed tightly against the soft flesh of her pussy, encased in the moist hot sheath like a spike planted cruell; into his victim's belly.
The young boy levered her beautiful long satiny legs up off the bed in an arc far back over her head, pressing her feet harshly into the mattress on either side of her shoulders. Her tortured body was bent back double, the pain of her strained muscles almost overpowering. The glistening wet, flattened plane of her crotch was presented up to him as he quickened his thrusts, the intrusion making her dilated vagina grow and expand before his uncontrolled assault, the heavy weight of his hard muscular loins crushing hard into her buttocks, sweeping them wider and wider apart as he lunged forward with all his strength to sink his cock as deep as he was able into her smooth white belly.
Inger groaned defenselessly beneath him, her face showing a mixture of feelings, pain and humiliation and pleasure. She tried not to move as she felt the pain easing with the stillness of her body. His hands cupped her full naked breasts, twisting and squeezing them with savage brutality, teasing and tugging at them until she thought they would burst from the wild manipulations. Then, as if a miracle had taken place, she felt her pleasure increasing and the delicate moist walls of her cunt began to clasp around his fleshy cudgel hungrily, her hips slithering up wetly to devour the length of his young lust-hardened rod. His big balls still smacked into the passion-drenched crevice of her buttocks, making the sensitive area tingle and contract as she began a slow rhythmic undulation to meet the young stud's long, spearing strokes.
The pain was gone now and her eyes were closed as she writhed beneath him from the intensity of her wild, ever-mounting excitement. Chuck sweated over her, moving suddenly into a series of longer, smoother plunging strokes that brought his thick prick almost all the way out of her clutching vagina on the backstroke and then ramming forward into her until he could feel the blood-engorged head of his cock colliding hard against her cervix deep inside.
She was no longer ashamed for having led this magnificent boy to her bed-not even though he had turned on the hot streak in her and she was now engaged in committing her first betrayal of her husband ... and enjoying it as she had never enjoyed sex with anyone before. Nothing but the delicious waves of stormy feeling mattered now, nothing but the young boy, his huge pile-driving cock fucking into her steaming, sucking cunt.
"Jesus, I-I'm hotter'n the dickens," Chuck! breathed, ramming faster and faster into her with a maniacal frenzy, his heavy-lidded eyes filmed over with the force of his sexual transport. The fire of animal lust raged out of control in his slamming groin and he too was aware of nothing else in the world but the fact that a beautiful, blond, full-bodied woman was responding under him to his skewering cock and frantically roving hands. Spurred on by Inger's pitching body and the way she kicked with her heels against his shoulders, he dug more deeply into her, pinning her flatter to the bed and restricting her movements until she thought she would go thoroughly mad unless she could move with him as freely as she wanted. With his every hard forward lunge now, he flung her far forward, and her tossing head was close to the headboard of the bed. He felt his own head touch the solid hard surface and automatically raised himself over her in a push-up position, his hands dropping from her flushed tits to grasp her ankles and pry them further apart and level with her upper torso for leverage.
Inger sighed and attempted to hump upwards as she felt her climax approaching, the rosy hue of her face brightening and deepening as an unmistakable sign.
"Oh, darling, I'm cumming! I'm cumming, j oh God, I'm cumming nowwww! Fuck harder! Fuck harder!" Her hands darted behind his driving buttocks, pulling him as far as humanly possible into her open loins. "I'm cumming aaaaaah!" she cried in a voice shrill with mind-reeling passion. Her cum juice flowed wetly out around his still driving prick, spilling down into the soft, excitedly clenching crevice of her buttocks and flooding his testicles and the base of his cock as he drubbed unrelentingly into her. Dazzling flashes of light filled her head as she continued to grunt out her orgasm, her juices still flowing in unchecked spurts down the full quivering moons of her uncontrollably jerking buttocks.
Then the boy reached down and cupped the twin globes of her ass, stretching them, and watched his shift pummelling into her pussy. He could feel the hot load of his sperm building up for an earth shattering release, the broad head of his cock flexing and suddenly growing larger inside her ravaged cuntal passage. At last he erupted, his hot thick liquid shooting deep up into her widely stretched womb, mixing salaciously with the juices of her own cumming. Her head whirled in mindless sensuality as the burning, powerful squirts surged deeply inside her, filling her to overflowing with its warm sticky whiteness. The hot wet walls of her pussy clasped and unclasped desperately, milking at the jerking organ like a sucking, starving mouth. Inger's firm, perfectly sculptured body was drained of everything, her limbs collapsing loosely on the bed as the young boys grip on her buttocks slowly relaxed and was finally released altogether. He rolled off her, breathing thickly in an effort to fill his lungs with air. Inger groaned at the loss of his penis and felt a cool rush of breeze laving her spent, sweat-soaked body.
The room was quiet except for the sound of their fast breathing. Inger rolled over on her stomach and lay still, unable to move and not really caring. Her body was wholly satiated, ached all over, and she dimly felt the boy's broad palm resting slackly on her thigh, which was still wet and slippery from his sperm. More of the cooling fluid trickled in a tiny rivulet out of her vagina to form a moist, lewd pool between her still wide-spread legs.
"Ma'am, you okay?" Chuck asked, a look of exhaustion on his handsome yet simian face. "That was a real good fuck, wasn't it? I ain't never had no ass before, but I ... well, I guess you gotta be about the best fuck around."
She had never been spoken to this way before-except when Marty played his savage, calculated games with her, which she understood, strangely enough, even though they seemed sick to her-and yet now the obscene words pierced her heart, despite her understanding of Chuck's ignorance of more sophisticated terms. She could not make an ultimate decision as to how she felt now. As the reality of the situation came over her again, she nevertheless felt an undeniable glow of satisfaction and a new sense of adventure in her illicit relationship with the young boy at her side. There was little question in her mind about whether she should continue to endorse the artist-model situation with him: he was an ideal subject, but she also knew that her guilt would probably be renewed by other, perhaps even frequent repetitions of what had happened this afternoon. Marty had seemed to encourage her infidelity to him, but still, she could not help but confess to herself that she was truly uneasy and overcome by guilt with her seduction of Chuck and the disloyalty to her hardworking husband. She had lost the battle against her own feelings and yet even the thought of her total surrender sent wonderful chills running along the base of her spine.
She lay there a moment more and then gathered herself up for the tremendous effort of rising to her feet. "Get up, Chuck," she said with authority once she was standing herself. "It's nearly four-thirty and we've hardly begun today's work."
"Sure, Mrs. White, I'm ready to work as soon as you are," he answered reluctantly, as though he had been expecting another round of sex play that afternoon.
A little over an hour later, when Chuck left with that day's paycheck in his hand, Inger had completed her charcoal sketch of him seated on the table-top in a half-turn toward the window. The drawing was even more sensuous and bold than the one of the day before, and this time his pubic area was drawn in with care and in great detail.
Chapter 5
Marty was due to arrive home any minute. Inger had decided to go out for awhile, to clear her head, and was just now returning from a short stroll down to the edge of Wildcat Canyon and back. The late afternoon sun had been soothing and pleasant and was now shining peacefully through the trees, loading them with fiery red light. A few Monarch butterflies, stragglers after the main host that had already migrated south more than a month ago, sat barely fluttering on branches and random bushes like parlor queens in a world of their own. The woods was subdued, shadowy, golden, the wind a thin whisper in the uppermost branches and leaves.
Inger began to hum a somber Danish lullaby she neared the house. There was something bout the freshness and tranquility of the woods that lifted her spirits and made her feel wonderfully liberated, free of all guilt and regret for the stimulating interlude earlier that afternoon with young Chuck... She began to believe that maybe Marty had been right in giving her an implied license to enjoy herself with someone else; still, though, she was profoundly uncertain as to the moral regard she should have for what she had done. It was something she would keep a secret until she knew her own mind and had worked out the ramifications of the experience.
As Inger slowly walked up the rocky path that led out of the woods to her lovely, rustic home, she heard the muted roar of the engine of Marty's car and then crunching of gravel as he turned into the long winding driveway in the front of the house. On impulse, she paused at the edge of the lawn, still partially hidden in the forest's deep shadows, to watch as the long, sleek car came to a halt before the front door. After her long, erotic afternoon with the handsome, but undeniably slow-witted, youth, the sight of Marty's mature and obviously intelligent face, as he emerged from the now-silent car and headed up the short walk to the house, sent a surge of joy through Inger, and she longed suddenly to rush up to him and tell him all about her sexual experience with the young boy. She realized he looked tired, and worried, and she knew she could make him laugh with her vivid descriptions of the boy's almost inept eagerness and her own role in the love-making, something between a loving governess and cunning seductress. But something held her back, staring moodily from the protection of the deepening shadows-she could not tell him the story, because it was not really funny. She had been taken only hours before by an animal of a boy who, working purely on natural instinct, had fired her body past all knowledge or will, except sexual, and had reduced her to a wild, carnal piece of quivering flesh. How could she ever explain this to her husband, the almost middle-aged man who had just trudged so wearily into their lovely home?
Then Inger remembered that she had forgotten to prepare anything for Marty's dinner. Her distraction after Chuck's departure, plus the quieting walk she had just taken, had left her mind too filled with other matters to think of anything as simple and practical as dinner. She hurried inside then, ready to offer up some weak excuse in explanation for her absence and the lack of dinner. Marty had not heard her entrance and was relaxing with his usual before-dinner martini on the couch in the living room. The expression he wore made it plain to her that he had not stopped anywhere for drinks this evening. His face was lined, troubled, and she immediately felt sympathy for him, hating whatever it was that just then made him look ten years older than his actual age. Was it something wrong at the office, she wondered? Had he lost an important case-maybe a client of long standing? Or perhaps he was merely exhausted because of an especially punishing schedule.
"Hi, darling," Inger finally said, cutting through the silence. She noticed a miraculous change come over him at the sound and sight of her. As though by a kind of osmosis, his face changed from worried to surprised delight to his special sort of sardonic smirk, and his entire body seemed to perk up in preparation for whatever he might be faced with next.
"Cheers, kiddo," Marty replied, she thought a bit too brightly to be believed. "What's for dinner?"
"Well, to tell you the truth, dinner isn't ready... I took a nice walk over to the edge of the canyon, and I'm afraid I got involved looking at things and just forgot the time. I'm sorry." She steeled herself for the barrage of sarcasm she knew was about to come, as it always did, following her admission that she liked sometimes to simply sit and study the colors and shapes of things. This evening, though, she could almost welcome his attacks, the relief they would bring, for now she definitely felt guilty and uncertain about her love-making with Chuck.
"That's very nice, Inger. But you needn't be sorry. There's nothing I'd rather have my gorgeous wife do than cavort blissfully among the trees like an innocent little woodland creature, ignoring mundane things such as dinner and husband. Actually," he added, pouring another large martini, "I can well imagine that you'd need respite in nature after another hard day at your task of painting and scribbling your holy pictures on pieces of paper and canvass."
The reference to that day with Chuck, her art, filled Inger with alarm. She was afraid to speak or even move; she was horrified by the possibility that Marty might know something, that somehow, mysteriously, he had begun to suspect her of unfaithfulness to him and had put two and two together... But he continued to slouch on the long, puffy couch, resting, with knees wide apart and a cigarette in his mouth, eyes half-shut and indicating nothing unusual. Inger turned then and stared out the huge front window. There was a full moon casting a yellow lane on the ocean, which seemed, not over a mile away,'but just outside the window, and the room was sweet with the scent of jasmine and pine coming in from the open kitchen window. Suddenly the sheer loveliness of the night-the aromas, the moon, the comforting sound of an owl hooting in the tree behind the house-made her want to cry, cry out to Marty ... to ask forgiveness and for a chance for them to be really in love and together again ... to stop hurting each other. She knew in that moment that she would do anything he wanted.
"You know, I was just thinking," he interrupted, "why don't we take a few days off in a week or so and drive up to Clareborn Cove? I could fish a little and you could paint some seascapes-unless you'd rather screw around in town with some of your dopey artist friends..-What do you think?"
"Golly, are you serious?" she asked, her face brightening at the prospect. "Oh, Marty, there's nothing I'd like better. You need the rest too. And we could visit the Chapmans ..." "Oh Christ, not them! There's nothing I'd rather do less than spend perfectly good relaxation time listening to Joe Chapman's endless monologue against the evils of American capitalism. The dumb bastard's a Communist, as we both well know, and what's worse, his so-called mind reminds me of a very, very old Sears & Roebuck catalogue."
"But Marty ..."
"But Marty, hell! He's a goddamned moron, that's what-and sometimes I worry about you too. As I recall, the last time we were there you embarrassed hell out of me saying, and I quote, 'I think what this country needs is an intelligent form of socialism' ... which was pretty stupid, as I'm certain that even you realize America's already fairly socialistic, though not very intelligently. But if you think Americans are ready to turn over the ownership and control to the community as a whole, you're daft. That's why there's no such thing as a true Communism in Russia or a democracy in this country-I mean, it's impossible due to physical reasons and because of the characters of the peoples in both countries. In both cases, it's state capitalism, and your silly friend Joe won't admit it!"
"Marty, I know," Inger said softly. "Don't you remember, we went through all this on the way home from our last visit there? agreed with you." She knew he was exhausted, had other, unspoken matters on his mind, for he rarely permitted himself to vent this much spleen on purely academic subjects; nor was he accustomed to the imprecision he had just displayed in his ranting speech. She had been right, she knew it now, in deciding that he was troubled by something he was keeping to himself. Once again her fear rose that he had somehow learned of her sexual encounter with Chuck.
However, Inger's fear and uncertainty reverted to pique when she heard him start up again, this time about Joe Chapman's wife, Janice, one of Inger's best friends from the days when the two women were fresh from Denmark and frankly over-awed by the size and strangeness of America.
"As for his brainless wife, what's-her-name, I'll bet she's colder than a polar bear's ass, and that's why he goes on and on in his out-dated political beliefs ... He's probably so horny and frustrated that he takes it out on fucking up the truth."
"Can't we just skip all this?" Inger sighed, resigned to his dislike for her friends. "What about our visit to Clareborn Cove, or have you forgotten that? I'd like to go-and we can avoid the Chapmans if they upset you so much." "Nah, let's skip the whole trip-the Chap-mans, the fishing, the peace and quiet, all of it. Just the way you seem to have skipped the necessity of fixing my dinner."
Inger wheeled around at that, and stormed off to disappear in the kitchen. Well, let the bitch go, Marty thought to himself, rising to fix another batch of martinis. True, she had no way of knowing that he really wanted to go to Clareborn Cove himself, to fish and merely laze around, unwinding from the fantastic pressures at the office and in his own mind about his marriage to Inger. The last week or so he had been on the brink of nervous breakdown, had even been drinking heavily for the first time in his life-partly to escape his professional problems and partly to help ease the constant tension he had been personally feeling for several months now. She was also unaware of the fact that he had been seeing a psychiatrist, a long-time acquaintance who had an office in the same complex his office was in, and that his friend had quickly diagnosed Marty's inner tension as being mostly sexual. The doctor had said that Marty was currently suffering from a fairly common disturbance among modern American males-something called the Availability Syndrome, or in other words, that men frequently felt a lessening of desire for women when they were too easy to get. The psychiatrist had gone on to explain that, because of dramatic changes in modern morals, women were freer and less inhibited than ever before in the history of America. Men were confused, were still used to pursuing and conquering their women, and that often crippled male sexuality.
When Marty had asked the doctor for advice in combatting the problem, the man had shocked him within an inch of his life by actually suggesting extra-marital sex. He had explained that perhaps Marty's decline of in-terest in Inger's body might be remedied that his desire might be rekindled, if Inger were to go to bed with another man, once twice, maybe more. When Marty had asked why he simply could not screw another woman and accomplish the same thing, the doctor had said, logically enough, that Inger was sexually well-adjusted and did not need to be made jealous... The problem was Marty's. And yet he knew of no graceful way of telling his beautiful Danish wife that it would help them if she could manage to get herself' fucked half silly by some stranger. He was not even certain he could bear such a thing, whatever the reason. Still, he had to admit to himself that he was genuinely aroused by the picture of some big stud spreading her legs apart and giving her a good fucking-and this, despite the hurt and anger the idea caused him.
He was often ashamed of himself for treating her so cruelly, lampooning her dedication to art as well as the deep interest she took in the natural world around her. But his pride was hurt, too. He was sometimes scared as hell that she had stopped looking upon him as a real man, regardless of his excellent reputa-tion as a lawyer, that he loved her totally and wanted to give her everything she deserved.
"Hey, you old grouch, dinner's ready any time you are," Inger yelled from the kitchen.
"I hope you don't mind eating in here. It's late and I thought you'd appreciate something fast and easy."
"Okay, baby, whatever you say. Christ, the way you starve me, I'd eat in the bathroom if I could just stop this gnawing in my belly." He was smiling broadly and she heaved a sigh of gratitude as she recognized a switch in his humor. Perhaps they would get their trip to Clareborn Cove after all, she mused, setting the table.
When they had settled down to their meal, she racked her mind for an easy way to introduce the topic of the sketch she had done of Chuck that afternoon, afterwards ... Obviously Marty would remember the boy and inquire about the sitting; and he would no doubt also ask whether or not she had done the study with Chuck completely nude this time. Earlier, on her walk, she had decided that the best solution would be to bring up the issue herself and offer to show her husband the sketch. There was a slim chance that her willingness to show it would bore him and he would try to wiggle out of seeing it-but she doubted that that would happen. It would only be another session of abuse, herself the target, and he would malign her talent again. That time in bed with Chuck had been so exciting and satisfying, though, that she was not even threatened at the thought of his inevitable attack.
As they were sitting over coffee, Inger mus-tered her courage and said, "by the way" you've not said a word about the sitting this afternoon. Wouldn't you like to see the results?"
"Why not?" he answered without looking up from his steady thoughtful gaze into the cup between his hands on the table.
"You wait here, then, and I'll go get it," she said, dread flustering her as she left to get the sketch. She reinforced her failing nerve with anger, preparing herself to fight for her work, no matter what he might say. She returned a moment later, holding the large sheet carefully by the edges, so as not to smear the charcoal. "Well,... what do you think?" she asked as she lifted it higher in front of him, trying to guess which cutting line he would use this time to insult her work.
"Huh?" he said, jerking up his head, sur-prised. "I'm sorry, I was thinking.. , But well, what's this?" he acknowledged, his eyes travelling over the picture, coming to rest at last on Chuck's generous allotment of genitalia.
"Good God, Inger, have you gone altogether crazy? You can't-you can't draw a joint like that on a mere boy! It-it's inhuman! I know you're a healthy woman, strongly sexed and all that, but you've got to learn to curb your imagination."
Inger said nothing and just stood there, holding the sketch, toying with the notion of letting him persist in his belief that she had simply exaggerated the size of Chuck's penis. Well, she might have expected it, she finally concluded--that Marty would think she had been so foolish as to draw something that was not actually there. The very idea was absurd, especially since she had gone to the trouble in the first place of asking for a model to study. His idea was even more absurd, really ironic, when she went on to consider that Chuck's penis was in reality even a bit larger than the one she had sketched in on the figure.
"Marty, I wasn't imagining anything," she said at last, starting to roll up the sketch. "He's merely a well-built boy. It's not my fault."
"Wait a minute, let me see that again," he barked, reaching for the sketch. When she had released it, he cleared a space on the table and spread it out before him, studying the artfully done figure with an interest bordering on fascination. He could not deny, not to himself, that she had done an excellent job in capturing a quality of raw brute strength and beauty in her model-if he was really like that. He remembered that the manager of the hotel had said that the boy was not bright, which probably accounted for the dull, almost primitive look in the eyes of the boy in the sketch. The musculature, the impressive symmetry and power were what most astonished him, though. And that cock, my God, it must be every bit of seven inches long, even soft, just hanging there like a thick hose with veins as big as heavy twine just under the skin. And this was the "kid" who ran around stark naked, every afternoon now, in front of his wife. That huge prick was what she had stared at-how long?-while she sketched it.
He wondered what she felt, if she was turned on, by the sight of such a display of masculinity. He knew his time in the service and before that in school, had proved to him that his own cock was much larger than most men's. Those were times in a man's life when he checks out in shower rooms how he measures up to other men ... It was something everyone did. And he had been damned confi-dent that he had nothing to worry about in the matter of size. But this dumb-looking young boy made him look under-endowed by comparison! Did Inger think something that big inside her would be more exciting, he wondered? Did she compare him to the boy perhaps wonder if such an obscenely long, thick cock would be much more satisfying than his own? He was repulsed and jealous at the thought of anyone else, this youngster in-cluded, touching her, but at the same time he could not say that he was not tantalized by the image of something so incredibly large buried up to the hilt between her open legs. The doctor had said he might be, and by God he was!
"Let me ask you, how do you ... feel when you stand there looking at your teenager, your young Hercules?" Marty looked up at her, searching her face for any sign of emotion. When he saw none, he asked, "Well? ... Or, let me put it this way-Do you get very stirred up?"
"I am an artist, not anything else, when I draw or paint ... I-I don't know ... I don't understand," she stammered, fighting to keep her face from betraying her guilt.
Meanwhile, he continued to examine her eyes, his unyielding gaze knifing into her like that of a prosecutor's, or a cop's, in the midst of a damning interrogation. She wanted to run, to scream, to escape his accusing eyes any way possible... Now!
"Hey, what's the matter?" he inquired with gentleness. "I was only wondering what an artist feels-if you can stay objective all the time." He felt sorry for her, truly sorry, even though the feeling was mixed with mounting stimulation and he had a hard-on that jerked in his trousers the more he imagined the torturing, yet thrilling scene of Inger being fucked hard and deep by the boy with the mammoth cock. He could envision her holding his balls, the same huge balls in the drawing, tickling them with her slim, graceful fingertips as the savage nitwit ploughed her until they both came off.
It was working, it was working! Her delicious body looked better than ever!
"Listen, baby, I wouldn't blame you," he said, "if the boy did get you hot and bothered. Hell, it's normal. And you're always telling me how honestly natural it is for sexually healthy people to want each other's bodies ... Okay, don't worry about it. If the kid turns you on, so what? And even if something hap.-pened, I'm grownup-I'd understand...It wouldn't hurt. I know you love me." He moved his face forward, careful not to shake the trust he saw building in her. His face was a scant few inches from the fine blonde hairs covering her closest arm, and he inhaled the sweetness of her skin as one breathes in the finest exotic incense to caress the senses. She shivered as though her spine were being brushed with the lightest feather, then swallowed deeply and moved closer, placing her hand on his neck with loving tenderness.
"And I love you," Inger whispered. "Thank you, darling, for understanding so much . .. I'll do anything you want me to do."
"Come to bed... We'll talk about it there," Marty said as he rose, casting a last look at the sketch of Chuck before rolling it up and handing it to her with a knowing, passionate glint in his eyes.
It was the first time she had felt completely at ease with Marty in over two years, she thought happily as they headed for their bedroom.
Chapter 6
Marty and George Pollard were sitting at a small table near the back of the Casswell, an informal restaurant-bar that catered almost exclusively to businessmen and upper middle-class daytime shoppers. Marty liked the Casswell, just as he liked all the old buildings in that area. Hearing about them being torn down, even reading about it in the newspaper, gave him a distinct pang, as though he had heard of the death of a friend. Today, however, he had only a peripheral sense of the restaurant, the other diners, the tables set with silver and red plaid napkins and glasses-these all existed just beyond his consciousness, like designs on the rim of a plate. What he was most aware of was his pleasurable session in bed with Inger the night before-one of the best times they had had since they were first married. She had been spectacular, twisting and squirming beneath him so that not even a complete eunuch could have restrained him-self from reaching the pinnacle of lust, it made him wonder, of course, if maybe his suggestion that she jump in bed with the boy had not already been carried out, for he doubted that he had done anything differently during the act itself. But what if they had ... fucked? What if?
"Marty!" George Pollard said with good-humored irritation. "You've been woolgathering for the last ten minutes. I've been trying to draw your attention to that girl who just walked in-the one over there."
"Oh ... yes," Marty said as he turned his head to follow the direction in which his com- panion's finger pointed. The girl was lovely, he had to admit, when his search came to an end with the discovery of the girl George was talking about. She was short and beautifully stacked, and she was wearing a bright sun- yellow dress that clung to her pert figure like shimmering skin. Then he recognized her- Jill, hell yes, his former secretary, the one he had to let go after she had riled several of his clients by flashing her huge bust and wonderful legs while they waited for admittance to his office. Even Inger had been upset by the girl's presence in the office and had months later confessed relief when he had told the girl, as diplomatically as he could, that she was not quite suited for the job. It had been sad in a way, because she had been mar-velously efficient and had proved herself to be intelligent and sincerely curious about every legal matter that came to her attention. Evidently she had had similar problems, concerning her figure, with former employers, for she had merely grinned and been polite when he gave her notice.
"Dammit, Marty, come on! What do you think of her?" George enthused.
"Why don't we buy her a drink and find out?"
"What the hell are you talking about? You can't just pick up a girl like that," George fumed, screwing up his face in an expression of impatience.
"Can't we?" Marty asked, smiling with mock smugness. He rose then and walked directly to where the tormentingly beautiful girl was standing as she waited for a table. She recognized him immediately and extended her gloved hand in greeting.
"Why, hello, honey! I was just thinking of you this morning," she said warmly. She was an open, blond, fair-skinned girl, in some ways as attractive as Inger and very much like her in manner. He chatted about incidentals with her for a moment or two, then invited her to join him and his friend for lunch and a cocktail. As they approached the table where George was waiting, his eyes wide and incredulous over what appeared to be Marty's phenomenal luck, Marty leaned close to her and then draped his arm around her narrow shoulders with a kind of brotherly affection. She responded, leaning into Marty's shoulder as though it were something she were used to doing all the time, thus shocking George Pollard all the more.
"Well, George, I didn't think I'd have any trouble picking up this broad," Marty teased, "and as it turned out, I didn't." Jill seemed to understand the game immediately and at the last minute chose to sit in the chair closest to George Pollard's plump, solid figure.
Marty had never really liked George and actually enjoyed the man's befuddlement when Jill moved her chair closer to him, her trim, willowy body not more than a few inches from his. George coughed and pretended to be bored, a gesture so conspicuously phony that it made him all the sillier in their eyes. Then, as they went through the motions of introduction, Marty found himself re-evaluating his stocky neighbor. George had that peculiar combination of suavity-the effect of his early success as a businessman, taking over and expanding on a small network of stores-and an almost childlike awkwardness. He had always reminded Marty of those precocious little boys at school who were shoved several grades ahead, who delighted the teachers, and yet were always the butt of jokes ' among their schoolmates, never quite fitting in, despite endless geniality, even obsequiousness.
"That's such a pretty tie," Jill cooed, fingering George's tie like a wife admiring her mother's Christmas present to her husband. "Fantastic!" she said, catching Marty's eye and winking. "You know, it says something about you-something important." "Hmmmm, yes, I suppose it does," George said flushing as he picked up the end of his tie to inspect it. His voice became husky and self-assured as he added, "The thing about ties is that it's just about the only area where a man can exert any taste in what he wears. You see, most things like suits are so plain-always so bland in color and cut."
"You're quite right," Jill exclaimed. "Now you take this dress, for example-it's not a tie, but I own three others exactly like it except for color and a slight variation in style. Women are lucky when it comes to clothes." Marty laughed inwardly when he saw George's eyes pop at the sight of Jill's deep, provoking cleavage disappearing down the front of her low-cut dress. The foxy little bitch was making George fidget and blush like a young boy during his first visit to a whorehouse. Then Marty himself stared at her. Now, close up, he realized a strange new fact about her appearance. Her dress, which he had taken for a uniform yellow, was not what it had at first glance appeared to be. It was cut out at various places to reveal bare flesh, one such place being a circle around her stomach in the middle of which, like a bull's-eye on an archery target, her navel was revealed. The other he saw when she leaned forward to pick up her drink-another place in the back, curving down dangerously low almost to the point where her spine ended and spiraling up to a thin strip near the neck.
Evidently amused by Marty's absorbed stare, she laughed and said, "What do you think of it? I saw the pattern in a French magazine, liked it, and made four of them with just enough difference to be able to wear them to the same place four days in a row."
"You must get an interesting suntan wearing a dress like that, if you're outside very much," Marty chuckled. He tried to picture Inger in the same dress and the vision brought a euphoric feeling to his groin.
Just then the waiter, who had been hovering discreetly near their table, approached and quietly placed their orders in front of them. Jill and Marty began to eat at once, but George sat there impassively, still fascinated by the hole cut out around Jill's belly button. Thoughts from the first days of his marriage to Sandy flickered hazily through his mind. He remembered how she had worn a dress, then as daring and promiscuous as Jill's seemed to him now, to a party at his tennis club. He had resolved to himself that he would "score" later that evening, and had ... Several months later they had been married and began what to him was a romantic, active sex life. Not long after that, he had bought his small but promising chain of stores and invested every cent of his inheritance in them. Sandy had complained, mainly about his increasing lack of attention to her, and he had been irked at first, thinking her silly and selfish because she could not conduct herself as he thought an energetic young business-man's wife should. Gradually, though, he knew it was simply that he had lost interest in her-at least sexually. His arousal by girls such as the one sitting beside him now, talking to Marty, became the main source of his interest in sex, even love, and he came more and more to think of his wife as just someone who was there when he came home to sleep and eat.
"Well, listen, you two, I've got to take off. I'm due back at my office for an appointment in ten minutes. I'm taking off early for a change," Marty said as he picked up the check and slid his chair back from the table.
Jill glanced up from her partially-finished lunch to flash him an affectionate smile of farewell, adding conspiratorily, "I'm working for another attorney now, but you know I'm always available if you're in a jam ... Don't hesitate to call." She waved good-bye as he turned to walk away, punctuating her gesture with a mock-solemn wink, then turned back to George who was still staring at the soft expanse of tanned skin that peered from the cut-out portion of her dress.
Marty grinned to himself when he looked back from the entranceway across the room to see the two deeply engrossed in quiet conversation, his neighbor's face absurdly close to Jill's cleavage as he leaned closer to her to emphasize some point he had obviously just made.
Though Marty had known of George's extramarital activities for some time now, he had never actually seen him in the process of seduction. The sight of George's almost-adolescent fascination with a harmless patch of bare skin struck the attorney as so ludicrous that he was forced to think of something else to keep from laughing out loud in the restaurant. A sobering thought came quickly to his mind-his wife Inger and that young Hercules, alone in the house for hours yesterday afternoon.
What really had happened, he wondered as he drove along the boulder-lined state highway that curved and twisted like an asphalt river, winding gracefully between the city and the outlying highlands. He had tried to force the question from his mind during the important meeting after lunch, but it kept popping up, distracting his attention from the commercial issues being discussed with his client, until he finally ended the conference, citing a need for several documents not yet in his client's possession. Luckily, the corporate representative with whom he had met that afternoon had been, young, a junior executive who was awed by Marty's wide reputation as a corporation counsel. To the attorney's relief, the young man did not question his decision to conclude the appoint-, ment, but had smilingly left the office with profuse thanks for Marty's time and efforts.
Now, as he drove leisurely along the deserted road, Marty's thoughts dwelled once again on his lovely wife and her association with the well-endowed young boy. Jealousy was a new addition to Marty's emotional make-up and his own reactions surprised him. As with other unanticipated developments in his professional and private affairs, he tried to analyze the occurrence objectively with an eye to all revelant concerns, but this situation continued to worry and amaze him. Before he met Inger, no woman had ever appeared so attractive to him, both physically and intellectually, however the doctor had very tactfully suggested that perhaps Inger's unthinking acceptance of sexual desires as simply a healthy natural function had, in essence, turned him off. He found the mystique, the shadowy secrecy surrounding the sex act had faded, and with it, his interest.
But then, he mused, a new element is added. Inger's provocative sketch appeared once more in his mental vision, the long, limp sex organ standing out as if spotlighted. Of course, his beloved wife would never even consider ... or would she? As his imagination stiffened the cock, filled it with surging lust-driven blood, he pictured the massive instrument crammed brutally into his young wife's unresisting cunt, filling and stretching her vaginal passage until her smooth white belly could only quiver helplessly above the cruel impalement. Once again, Marty felt his own prick lurch under the tight confinement of his trousers and his foot pressed the gas pedal toward the floor of the car, speeding to his arrival at today's modeling session.
Chapter 7
Marty paused on the flagstone stairway to gaze thoughtfully at the heavy oaken door leading into his home. He had left the car down on the shoulder of the highway and hiked up the steep drive to the house, planning to surprise her with his first free afternoon in many months. But as he stood on the doorstep, his courage suddenly deserted him and he considered walking back down to the car and driving it up to the house to give her fair warning of his arrival. As it passed through his consciousness, the idea of warning his own wife seemed suddenly ridiculous and he slowly turned the knob, admonishing himself to be quiet so as not to disturb Inger as she worked.
He slipped into the spacious living room, only to find it empty. In consternation, Marty checked his wrist watch. Yes, it was nearly four o''clock, almost an hour after Inger and the boy were scheduled to begin the sitting. Disjointed images of his wife laying naked with the young brute flashed through his mind. Were they in the woods, out by the canyon, maybe in the wild-flowers in the tiny clearing behind the house? Despite his mountainous anxiety, he felt a growing sexual excitement at the lascivious thoughts.
Suddenly his eyes fell on a small, neatly folded pile of clothes under Inger's easel. The topmost garment was a pair of white under-shorts rolled tightly into a ball and placed on some faded bluejeans like a snowy peak on the heap of masculine garments. His gaze traveled upward to the easel where he could barely discern the rough beginnings of another drawing of the boy model. But where were they? he wondered, hardly forming the question before it was answered by a deep moan from the master bedroom. Their bedroom!
Forcing his legs to carry him to the back of the house, he tried mentally to deny his fear of viewing what was obviously happening in his own home. He stood for several moments at the edge of the open bedroom door, calling on all his emotional strength, before he rasied his head and peered around the door frame to find the source of the grunts and moans that were now increasing in volume and frequency. His mind blanked with shock at the sight he beheld and he leaned heavily against the doorway for support as he watched un-comprehendingly the spectacle of sexual de-pravity taking place before him. He wanted to run, to get away, to somehow forget that he had ever been home that afternoon, but his limbs were paralyzed and he stood motionless as if rooted to the spot.
There, in front of him, on the bed he had shared with her for all the years of their marriage, Inger crouched on all fours like a tawny lioness about to leap, but she was solidly anchored in her position by the taut-bodied youth who held her hips high in the air as he stood behind her, rhythmically fucking his huge member in and out of her exposed cunt. Marty stared in at them with astonishment as Inger clawed at the bedspread like a woman possessed, her head down and moaning incoherently as the boy brutally pulled back at her hips, sinking his massive gleaming cock up to his balls between the soft golden hair-lined lips of her vagina. The boy no longer resembled the stupid, almost sweet-faced lad in Inger's draw-ing, but wore a demoniacal expression, his eyes glazed and face contorted with greedy lust.
"Aaaaaaah ... harder! Fuck harder!" Inger cried as her ass gyrated under the boy's hands| and he pounded savagely into her with growing abandon.
When Marty heard the lewd words escape his wife's lips, he felt his horror at the obscene sight change to uncontrollable anger, and yet despite his revulsion at her unforgivable wantonness, a wave of passion flooded through him- Although he longed to fly into the bedroom and tear the madly fucking youth away from his wife's buttocks, maybe to beat him to death or screw her until the bitch pled for mercy, he nevertheless watched the couple as their naked, perspiring bodies continued to hump and heave in exciting unison. Even in his rage, he could not help but be proud of Inger's beautiful body, her smooth creamy buttocks waving high off the bed, her full, heavy breasts swinging and bouncing from the terrific buffeting her entire lower body was undergoing. As Marty watched the scene with rising excitement, the beginnings of an idea were taking shape in his mind. Yes, he almost said aloud, what's good for the goose certainly is good for the gander ... Why not?
He heard Inger and the boy screaming out their climax together just before he closed the front door behind him. Marty took the forest path back down to the highway, just in case one of them happened to glance out the window after they rose from their wild spell in bed. Well, he pondered, it seems damned strange to be paying some kid to fuck my own wife-especially since he was supposed to be just sitting around while she looked at him. Christ, the kid ought to be paying him ... or at least doing a little extra work around the house ... for what the punk was getting. A strange smile lit his face by the time Marty reached the car where he had left it parked. With a dry chuckle, he slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove off toward Rocky Cliff Inn to speak with the manager.
At the hotel, he located the manager and ob-tained Chuck's home address, assuring the man that there was nothing wrong with the boy's work but that a matter of trivial importance, had to be discussed with his mother. It was early yet, nearly two hours before Chuck and Inger would be finished "working" and, besides, Marty was not due home himself for about three hours. He had plenty of time to knock off a few much-needed drinks at the hotel before making the drive across the peninsula to Chuck's home. Anyway, he wanted sufficient time to think through and refine the initial stages of his new program for stepping up the benefits of his marriage to Inger.
The hotel cocktail lounge was crowded with summer tourists and a few local residents, one or two of whom Marty recognized. He kept his back to the throng, though, and stared out the window at the sea glittering like a field of diamonds. After two double shots of bourbon on the rocks, he felt the tension draining from his body, replaced by a warm sense of satisfaction over his restraint at seeing his wife being fucked dog-style by a young boy so. many years her junior. He wondered what his psychiatrist friend would say if he knew that Inger had taken the professional advice on her own, without even knowing it. Would her action be as effective, even though he, her husband, had so far not had a real, acknowledged part in it? Yes, it would, of course it would, he decided; hell, it already had .. He was still half hard just remembering how out of her mind with lust his wife had been when he left. Next, he found himself won- -dering about the true circumstances of Inger's liaison with Chuck. Had the boy been the aggressor, or had she followed Marty's own encouragement to take on another male? And when had it happened-the first day? Just today? Had the pair extended their erotic game to include other things, such as?
"Another drink, sir?" the waitress inquired, looking down at his empty glass with two melting ice cubes in it.
"Uh, no, no thanks, I've got to be leaving now," Marty said as the voice jolted him back to the moment and the room full of people. Checking his watch, he noted that it was time to leave, so he rose and withdrew a wad of bills from his pocket, peeling off a single which he threw down on the table as a tip for the waitress. It was an exorbitant amount, he thought, but he was feeling generous and wanted to share his high spirit with others.
The drive down from the highlands and through the little towns on the peninsula was one of the most enjoyable Marty had ever made. Occasionally, he was amused at himself for looking over at other motorists while waiting for traffic signals to change, musing over whether their private lives were fulfilling, if they were plagued with sex hangups, if any of them had the same choice he had to improve his life and love. He was on the threshold of happiness because he was strong, a leader objective and shrewd enough to do something decisive about his and Inger's life. If his plan worked, he would definitely make reservations for them at the Clareborn Cove Hotel, probably for the next week if he could manage to juggle his court calendar accordingly. They could even have sort of a second honeymoon. .Suddenly he spied the street sign he had been looking for-Roberts Avenue. He wheeled the big heavy sedan around the corner and began to check the numbers on the mailboxes. It was certainly a lousy neighborhood, he thought to himself, practically an outright slum. The houses were small and run-down, built mostly of adobe and patched here and there with un-painted plaster and crude boards. The ones with lawns at all were weed-choked and usually littered with the debris one sees in front of most houses in poor neighborhoods, broken toys, bald tires, dog dung. Finally, he saw the number the hotel manager had given him. Surprisingly enough, the house Chuck lived in was in fairly good repair, was newly painted, neatly kept, and the lawn was free of weeds and had been recently mowed... No doubt it was Chuck's doing.
Marty parked and walked up to knock on the door, his self-confidence making him look like a bill collector or plain-clothes police detective. After a moment, a short fat woman who reminded him of the typical cleaning woman one sees in movies, opened the door and glared at him a long time before speaking.
"Yeah, whatcha want, mister?" she growled, her black beady eyes burning into him like hot rays.. "I'm Mr. White... Your son Chuck works afternoons for my wife," Marty hurriedly explained, not wanting the woman to slam the door shut in his face before he could accomplish the purpose of his visit. "I'd like to talk with you for a few minutes, if I may. It's fairly important."
"Oh yeah," she beamed as she recognized his name from the personalized checks her son brought home. "Sure, sure I know you... You come on in, now, and we'll talk. Criminey, Mr. White, you sure don't know how much those checks come in handy... You gotta be poor to know the meaning of a buck-nowadays anyhow." She escorted him to an ancient velour chair with worn shiny spots on the back and along the arms. The interior of the house was immaculate, he noticed, taking the seat she had offered; not a single item was out of place.
"Well, whatcha wanna talk about, Mr. White?" she asked, taking a seat across from him. She sat with her fat knees spread to balance her tremendous weight, and Marty could see fold after fold of blubber hanging along her thighs where her cheap dress had hiked up when she sat down. Granted, she was clean, he mused, but how on earth such a gross creature could produce such a remarkably well-built son, even an idiot, was beyond him.
"I guess we should start," he said, "by finding out if you know what Chuck's doing with Inger-my wife. Has he told you anything about the work he does?"
"Nope, except that he says he don't do none. He just sits around while she makes pitchers ... Don't seem honest work to me, but we sure can use them bucks he earns." At least Chuck had not come home with tales about his sexual exploits with Inger, Marty concluded, relieved.
"Yes, simply said, that's exactly what he does. My wife's an artist and uses your son as a model. And by the way, she's quite pleased with Chuck's patience."
"Ha! that's a laugh," the obese woman cackled. "The kid's not smart enough for much of anythin' else. It ain't patience, it's juss what dumbness he got from his pa."
"To get to the point," Marty chimed in, ignoring her reference to the obvious, "I came to ask you to recommend a young girl, say about Chuck's age, to work with him as a model for my wife. The pay is the same and of course we'll pay the girl a little extra to make up the cost of bus fare to Pacifica Woods. Do you know of anyone, some pretty girl, who would like to earn some extra money?" "Extra, hell!" the big woman boomed. "Around here there juss ain't no such thing as extra bucks ... But lemme think a bit." Marty sat quietly, wordlessly hoping that she would come up with some delicious young morsel just right for his plan. He had in mind an innocent, virginal type, at least tolerably well put together, who could be talked into playing an easy, very basic role for money. Almost any kid in this area would welcome a chance to make some easy cash, he was positive, and there was also the advantage that whomever he hired would more than likely be less morally inhibited than a kid from a more prosperous section of town.
"Hey, I juss got it! Marie, Chuck's gal-friend. She'd love makin' some bucks ... and she's a looker. Boys all the time affer her HI box-'scuse me-but she don't give up nothin', no sir. Chuck's too dumb to git it hisself."
"How old is she?" Marty asked, trying to hide his rapidly increasing interest by lighting a cigarette.
"Fine, she sounds fine. You'll get in touch with her, I hope, and explain everything," Marty said presumptively, certain that the ten-dollar bill he was handing the fleshy woman would guarantee that she would. "That's for your trouble... Oh, there's one more little thing I hope you'll do for me. I'd appreciate it if you'd not tell Chuck this evening about our talk. He'll be with my wife tomorrow afternoon, and I'd like to introduce Marie as a surprise ... a kind of gift, if you know what I mean."
"Gotcha," the woman winked, stuffing the bill down the front of her dress, between her large sagging breasts.
"I'll pick her up here, if it's okay with you. Say around three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
"She'll be here if I gotta drag 'er," she said, rising to her feet with great difficulty as Marty stood to leave, smiling with the same charm he often used in court to seduce a witness into saying something to strengthen his case. He bade Chuck's mother good-bye, then, and walked out to his car, feeling smug and already eager to return to the dingy neighborhood the next afternoon. The scheme was working far better than he had expected, so far anyway, but the true test would be the young girl herself.
He looked at his watch again and made the quick, perhaps premature decision to stop on the way to telephone Clareborn Cove Hotel for reservations. The stop, the call, and the drive the rest of the way home would make his arrival coincide very nearly with young Chuck's departure.
Chapter 8
Inger was finding it difficult to grasp the meaning of Marty's behavior on the night before. He had arrived home grinning like a school boy, not even drunk, and seemed to have completely solved whatever had been troubling him lately. Then he had taken her altogether by surprise with the announcement that he had just made a telephone call to Clareborn Cove to arrange for their reservations at the hotel there. They would be staying for two or three days late next week, according to his schedule at the office and whether or not the hotel reservation clerk would be able to fit them in on the days they wanted. She had been happy, of course, not only because of the prospective trip, but also because Marty was happy and had not found it necessary to rattle off his usual nightly attack of her per-sonal values and her dedication to art. Nor had he bothered to ask how yesterday's sketching session had been-had not even wanted to see what pitifully little sketching she had done.
There was obviously something in the air, for there had been other more subtle changes in his attitude. He had been exceptionally tender toward her all evening, offering to rise and fetch whatever she might want, a drink or something, and later in bed, he had actually held her as though she were a little girl who needed protection against the world and all the evils in it. It had been wonderful, she recalled-just as when they were first married. But then, just as she was beginning to enjoy his new gentleness and attention, he had asked her, still softly, something they had never before mentioned. How many men had she gone to bed with in her life? It had thrown her for a loop, but his tone and manner had remained the same, still sincere and tender, and he had seemed genuinely curious. At first she had tried to dissuade him from pursuing the uncomfortable subject, saying she had never kept track and believed that quality was a more important issue than number. But he had been gently adamant, so she thought back over the years, counting her lovers as accurately as she could remember them. When she had tallied thirty-three, a total far greater than she had ever realized, she had been a little shocked and ashamed, afraid that Marty would think her sluttish and promiscuous. But he had simply nodded ... was silent for awhile, seemingly thoughtful, inward, not really distant from her and yet not really there either. It had been a strange evening.
Inger was still in bed as she now reviewed the events of the previous night. Then she re-rembered the time and jumped up, feeling guilty for having slept so late when there was much to do. She crossed to the closet and took blue nylon robe from its hanger, slipping it over her nakedness. She buttoned it part way down, leaving the bottom portion open to allow the cool morning air to play over her legs. She might as well enjoy the coolness now, she thought, as it would probably be hotter than blazes by noon. She caught a brief glimpse of herself as she passed in front of the full-length mirror next to the bedroom door, and she was pleased with what she saw. Her skin was milky white, clear and sensuously soft-looking, and her cheeks were slightly rosy even though she had just risen from a full night's sleep. Marty had also noticed the blossoming quality in her appearance, saying that her work with Chuck was evidently agreeing with her.
His reference to Chuck had caused her a moment of panic, but she had taken hold of herself and shown no outward sign that she and the boy had spent practically the whole afternoon making love, not working. Just the memory of the youth sent a little thrill of pleasure through her, making her nipples harden and tingle ... But no, she had already decided that she and Chuck would spend the entire afternoon session working to make up for the time they had lost in the past two days. Still, though, she enjoyed tantalizing herself with remembrances of the boy's strong body, his animal lust, and the amazingly rapid way he had grasped the essentials of love-making. She had been thankful that Marty had not made any real sexual over, tures in bed last night, because she had been ex-hausted by Chuck; and then too in the back of her mind she knew she might just melt today and wind up in bed again with her virile adolescent model. She was resolved not to, but honesty did make her admit the possibility.
Just then Inger heard Hans barking furiously at the kitchen door. The massive Russian wolfhound had dug under the wire fence of his run at the side of the house and disappeared over a week ago. She and Marty had both been frantic with worry. They had offered a substantial reward in the newspaper and had spent hours driving up and down Springer Mountain, stopping the car every hundred yards or so to get out and call the dog by name. Finally, after several days, they had assumed that the valuable beast was either dead or had been stolen and taken off the penisula to be sold.
Inger hurried into the kitchen, her heart lifting with joy as she flung open the door and saw the huge brown creature standing there on the porch, his thick brushy tail wagging crazily. When she admitted the dog, laughing aloud at his enthusiatic entry, he reared and nearly bowled her over as he placed his great paws on her shoulders. Inger giggled and hugged him with all her strength, asking him where he had been,rubbing and ruffling the coarse hair on his back talking a steady stream of affectionate nonsense as if he were capable of understanding every word. After a moment, however, Hans walked away from her and began sniffing at the door of the pantry, his great tongue lolling out and dripping saliva in tiny pools on the floor. "So, you want food, eh? Cupboard love, eh?" she chortled as she opened the refrigerator and took out a two-pound package of ground beef that she had planned on using for dinner. When she had set down the meat and watched for a moment as the big dog gulped at it, she thought of Marty, how happy he would be to know that their pet had returned from his wanderings. Her first reaction was to telephone him at once, but then she recalled that he was no doubt in court. Well, she would just surprise him, then. She would put Hans in their bedroom and take great delight in watching her husband's face when he went in to change clothes upon his arrival home from the office.
Marty loved the dog as much as she, maybe more. Originally, buying Hans had been her idea, but as time passed her husband had developed an affection for the mammoth beast and often the two of them, man and dog, would romp for what seemed hours on end. Inger had sometimes been a trifle jealous and felt left out.
But Hans was home now-and that was worth all the jealousy she had ever known! She had moved into the living room and was now sitting on the couch, leisurely smoking. Presently she heard the clicking of Hans' paws on the hardwood floor as he left his plate and padded in to join Inger. He nuzzled her leg until the loose skirt of her robe fell aside, revealing the ivory smoothness of her rounded thighs, then began licking and nosing her belly just above the blond patch of exposed pubic hair. He pushed his massive head down into her crotch then, his long red tongue still slithering in and out of his drooling mouth as it probed and lapped at the enticing female odor rising from her vagina. She shivered and chilled from the unexpected stimulation of the dog's hot wet tongue and the warm blast of his breath against the sensitive area.
"Hans, you devil, you stop that!" she said with mock sternness. But he paid no attention and renewed his effort to reach the source of the wonderful scent that was exciting him. With a powerful downward push, he succeeded in opening Inger's tightly clenched thighs with his nose and ran his tongue wetly the full length of the narrow pink slit that came into view. Her clit came suddenly alive and throbbed as the hairy dog's long moist tongue flicked hotly over the sensitive bud. She found herself responding, her hips digging back at the dog, quivering of their own volition, until it fully dawned on her what she was doing.
"Back, Hans, back!" she snapped, pushing his face away with both hands. The huge brute moved to one side reluctantly, only to sit up and place his front paws on the back of the couch, his hind-quarters beginning an obscene humping motion against the edge of the cushion. Inger watched aghast as his glistening, scarlet penis slipped out from its hairy sheath, dripping; the tapered erect point jabbed and danced as he tried futilely to bury it in the cushion. The hot scarlet of his jabbing penis contrasted startlingly with the lighter, muted color of the couch cushion, and Inger scolded herself for the spasms of erotic pleasure that made her loins quiver as she wondered what it would be like to have the dog's lewd-looking organ sunk up between her open thighs. The very thought of it was perverted, disgusting, and she rose to her feet, taking the mountainous Russian wolfhound by the collar to lead him outside to his run, where she would tie him until Marty could repair the fence.
Later, after securing the rutting dog to a tree with heavy rope, Inger began to entertain the possibility of doing her first real painting of Chuck in the clearing behind the house. It was quite private, blocked off from anyone's view, and now it was truly warm enough for her model to pose nude outside. Of course she must do at least two or three more studies of him first, a back view for one ... Yes, she would do a back view this afternoon-one with him standing, head canted downward just a little. And she would ask him if he minded going along with her plan to move outside, probably early next week, when it came time to start work with oils. She knew he would do anything for her- anything but stop driving her wild with his Greek god-like physique and raw, maddening love-making. Well, today would be different, she swore all over again ... It had to be!
At quarter of three, even before she had had a chance to make a change into less provocative clothes as a measure of safety against Chuck's arousal, he appeared at the door, huffing as he had been for the last two days from his jog up to the house.
"I come up through the woods," he said to ac. count for his early arrival. She saw that he was still wearing the same shirt and jeans, as always, and that they were once again freshly washed and pressed.
"Okay, Chuck, please get out of your clothes and stand over there," she instructed, her voice as cold and businesslike as she could make it. "I want you to stand with your back to me today." He finished undressing with haste, obviously befuddled and intimidated by her offi-ciousness, and quickly moved to the spot she pointed to with her finger. Inger knew a moment of weakness, a pang of regret that she had to bully the youth simply because she was afraid of her own emotions taking control again. But there was no choice.
"Now turn around. Look down ... No, not that much-just a little ... Okay, hold it there." She began immediately to capture the main lines and bulging muscles of his torso, working intently as tiny rivulets of perspiration streaked down her brow. Chuck was also sweating, his broad fanning back shining as though it had been oiled lightly for a body builder's show. Had he ever chosen to enter a contest, she knew he would win easily. His form was imbued with grace and flawlessness that few people ever imagined, let alone saw in the flesh.
"Listen, Chuck, stay perfectly still-I'm eoing to open the front door to let in a breeze. I'll be back in a second." She half ran to the door, opened it anjd stood for a moment to allow the rush of tangy sea air to flow over her, cooling her, then swiftly returned to her easel and took up the piece of charcoal again.
"That's nice, ma'am ... I feel it on me," Chuck said without so much as flinching as he spoke. There was a long pause as she worked on, pleased with the progress of the drawing, then the boy spoke again. "Ma'am, you mad at me? I done somethin' bad, somethin' you don't like?" The contrite, doleful tone of Ms voice made her sigh and feel sorry that she had to treat the dim-witted youngster so harshly in order to contain her own shameless desire for him.
"No, Chuck, I'm not mad at you ... I'm-I'm only trying very hard to get my money's worth out of you for a change. So don't move, whatever you do." She amended her bossy tone with a light tinkling laugh to put him at ease as much as she could while continuing to work.
"Thanks, Mrs. White ... That makes me glad, that you ain't mad at me. Heck, I'd come up here for nothin'. I sure like you." Inger smiled, thanking him, but not pausing for fear she would lose the spirit of her involvement in the development of the figure she was doing. She worked on, pleased with her efforts, until she heard footsteps mounting the stairs on the front porch.
"Inger, you home?" a woman's voice called from the open doorway. It was Sandy Pollard her neighbor, a pale woman of about thirty slender without being tall, whose light brown hair hung far down below her shoulders and was her best feature. Sandy could see Inger standing at her easel but not the corner of the room where Chuck was standing with his wide back flaring out. "I hope I'm not intruding. I didn't know you were working," the brunette said as she entered the room, not yet aware of Chuck's presence.
"Oh, that's all right, we'll be taking a break in a few minutes," Inger said, feeling irritation at the interruption and at the same time a sense of satisfaction when she realized that Sandy had not yet seen Chuck's nude form. Gesturing to-ward the boy, Inger added: "As you can see, I've hired a model." Sandy's eyes followed her Danish neighbor's finger that pointed across the room, and caught sight of the young Adonis, his naked back and buttocks causing her to gasp and involuntarily avert her eyes. Inger saw Sandy's startled reaction out of the corner of her eye, but said nothing, reapplying herself to the sketch as an inner amusement filled her, making her bite her lip to keep from breaking out into laughter. If it were not that the work was going so well, she might have played on Sandy's embarrassment for all it was worth.
When she was convinced that she had finished the basic form and the dynamics of his stance were just right, Inger turned to Sandy and grinned, saying, "That's all for now. Now, I'd like to introduce you to Chuck ... Chuck, come and meet my friend, Mrs. Pollard." Inger watched Sandy's eyes drop to the boy's hairy crotch as he obediently turned around and lum-bered over to the pair of women, his long thick penis swinging to and fro as he walked. After the introduction had been completed, Chuck took a seat directly across from Sandy, his dull eyes missing her flustered expression as she stared, now openly, at his magnificent young prick and testicles hanging far down over the edge of the chair in which he sat.
Sandy was flabbergasted, had never seen, never known that a male organ could be so large and breath-taking, so formidable but exciting. George's sex organ was ridiculously small-not that it mattered, as he seldom used it to satisfy her anyway-but this mere boy sitting before her was absolutely incredible!
"Well, what do you think of him?" Inger asked, certain that the woman seated beside her would quail and blush.
"If I told you the truth, you'd change your opinion of me," Sandy said. Then, boldly, she went on, "One thing, I think it's a crying shame that someone with Chuck's advantages should spend all his time just standing there. How old are you, Chuck?"
"Eighteen, I guess. .. My mom says so," he bumbled out, unable to take his eyes off Inger's long, beautifully rounded legs, the first stirrings of lust causing his big cock to jerk slightly between his legs. He was dimly conscious of the other woman's interest in him and swerved his gaze to meet hers. He was not at all fazed when he saw that she was brazenly sur-veying every inch of his body she could, particu-larly his slowly rising penis. It was good to have real, grownup women look at him, he de-cided; it made him hot inside and he wanted to touch them back with his hands.... Jesus, he was getting hot now, for that matter, and would give just about anything to get up that very min-ute and reach out to feel the soft white skin of Mrs. White's nice tits ... even though he felt sort of afraid to, because she seemed mad today But that other woman, Mrs. Pollard, seemed pretty hot herself ... Maybe he could start out with her.
"Chuck, I think you're forgetting yourself," Inger said sharply, even though her own eyes were locked on the handsome young boy's steadily hardening prick, a silent, pulsating glow of warmth beginning to spread through her loins and flood the area around her clitoris.
"Oh, Inger, leave him alone. He's just healthy-and God knows, we need some healthy males these days," Sandy blurted, reprimanding Inger for what seemed to be prud-ishness. The brunette's mind was reeling and she stared enthralled at Chuck's stiff, projecting rod of flesh without shame or any inkling of embarrassment. She could feel her small but well-shaped breasts straining under her thin summer blouse, the tiny pink nipples growing taut and throbbing until she feared they would burst any second. My God, she thought, if only she could touch him, just once, just to see if he really was as hard and muscular as he seemed to be, sitting there so tenderly young and available.
Her daring wish was soon to be realized, for suddenly Chuck rose from the chair, unable to restrain himself a second more, and strode over to stand in front of Sandy, his prick jutting out only inches from her face. Then, without ceremony, he reached out to seize one of her still-clad breasts, pawing and squeezing it as though she were merchandise on display to be tested before buying. Sandy did not protest-all that mattered to her now was the obscene pleasure coursing through her like a fire out of control. She wanted to be subjected to any lewd demands the passionate youth expected of her sex-starved body. Next, as if controlled by an alien force, Sandy leaned forward and did some exploring on her own, boldly stroking the curls of pubic hair above his cock, feeling his young muscles tense beneath the gentle pressure of her fingertips. He groaned, moving closer to give her better access to his passion-inflamed groin.
Inger could not believe what was happening before her very eyes. The fluttering sensations in her breasts and loins were also turning into a raging fire of lust as she watched Sandy take Chuck's great straining shaft in the clenched fists of her hands, slowly sliding up and down its length in a milking motion. Inger's vaginal slit was becoming moist under her sheer silk panties, and she saw Chuck's face change into that of a wild youthful savage as he watched the motion of Sandy's hand on his cock, seeing it continue to grow as he felt an ever-increasing tide of desire coursing through its rigidity. He moved up even closer so that his knees were on either side of the slim brunette's head, and his long pulsing cock throbbed out directly over her face, presenting her sex-filmed eyes a view of the quaking sperm-filled ridge running be-neath it. His balls lay almost on her chin.
"Lie down ... on the floor," Sandy said husk-ily, pushing him back a little as he spoke. Chuck did not have to be told twice-he immediately responded and knelt first to his knees and then rolled over on his back in one continuous movement. "Aren't you going to join me, Inger?" Sandy said with sly, lascivious grin on her face, then moved out of her chair to kneel on the plush carpet where Chuck was lying, waiting.
Inger sat still for a moment, feeling the firm resilient mounds of her breasts swelling and quivering even more as tremors of greedy hunger for the young boy made her whole body shake. At last she could no longer remain sitting there, doing nothing, while Sandy prepared to enjoy to the fullest the feast of youthful male flesh there on the floor like a banquet of beauty. She must share him as well, Inger thought, sliding off the seat to the floor on her knees, then crawling to one side of Chuck's naked form, opposite Sandy. Both women began to strip off their clothes, too, tossing them in a tangled pile on the carpet above the youth's head. When they also were naked, Sandy's slight small-breasted form made a striking contrast to Inger's more voluptuous Scandina-vian body; yet they were both lovely, each in her own way, and Chuck was at a loss to decide which one he wanted first.
Finally, his weak mind chose Inger, because he knew her, and he placed both of his hands gently behind her head, bending her neck down toward him so that her face and mouth were poised directly in front of the palpitating head of his enormous cock. He pushed upward a little, his buttocks lifting off the floor, until the wide head of his penis was pressed gently between her slightly parted lips. He groaned anew as he felt the soft lipsticked surfaces brush teasingly and moistly against the sensitive skin of the glans. Her lips closed at the first touch and he held his breath, waithing for the beautiful woman to issue a cry of protest... but she said nothing. Instead, her lips fell limply open and her head pressed forward of its own accord without his having to exert the least amount of force. The movement caught him unawares, surprising him, and he watched with unbelieving delight as the tight rounded ovals of lipstick covered mouth closed over the tightly stretched skin of his cock. He had never in his wildest dreams believed he would know the day when a real woman did to him what he had heard the smart-ass boys at school talking about. But there she was-he could look down and see his big thick cock skewering into the face of a really pretty woman ... and she was liking it, too.
"Hey, save some for me," Sandy said as she grabbed the base of the cock and wrenched it from Inger's mouth with a pop. The slender woman fell at once on his slippery member and guided it into her soft moist lips, massaging the tender flexible skin of his balls with one hand and pinching her erect right nipple with the other. She began to use her tongue, slowly at first, and he shuddered as he felt it swiping around him, causing his cock to jerk inside her hot mouth. Her lips were soft and smooth and clasped tightly to him in a sucking ovalled elastic ring. He could feel them eagerly sliding down his prick and taking as much of him as she possibly could in her mouth, surrounding the throbbing staff with the delicious warmth of her saliva and the tender inner flesh of her tongue. He pressed his hands against her hollowing cheeks and pressed inward almost cruelly, her burning tongue continuing to twirl almost torturously around the huge cock at the apex of the withdrawal, the tip flicking magically over the tiny opening of the glans on the end. He flexed his loins, his head still raised high enough to watch the top of her head bobbing up and down below. The sight alone of what she was doing made it all the more stir-ing for him.
Suddenly Sandy jerked the cock from her sucking lips and bent it toward Inger, who without hesitation closed her mouth on the thick, turgid head and once again almost choked from the sheer size of the organ buried between her puckered lips. She sucked at it hungrily and could feel the boy's heated reaction, so she began to draw on it a little harder, the tips of her teeth digging gently into the rock-hard re-sisting flesh, leaving small white trails of spittle along the length of the jerking rod. Then Inger felt the warmth of Sandy's palm against her hip pushing until she was forced to kneel on all fours to keep from losing her mouth's grip on the semen-oozing penis disappearing into he r face. Sandy grasped the base of the cock with one hand and wiggled down flat on her belly between Chuck's wide-spread thighs, taking his soft, hairy balls in her hand. Inger continued to suck voraciously, her lips touching Sandy's, hand where it still clutched at thebottom of the youngster's shaft, squeezing and letting go of the cudgel with a maddening rhythm ... Then Inger saw out of the corner of her eye that Sandy had swallowed one of the big balls and was trying desperately to cram the other one into her mouth too.
Great torrents of heat were building deep in the young boy's aching testicles as he watched the two luscious women working, sucking and nibbling at his fiery organs. The muscles of his stomach flexed until he was afraid they would snap from the pressure as he arched his back up off the floor and drove even further between the red wetness of Inger's lips, the thin pink ridges of her flesh pulling out from her mouth but clinging avidly to his thrusting prick. His balls in the other woman's stretched mouth was just as deeply exciting and he knew she was nearly suffocating even though she tickled and teased the tender, sensitive sacs with her darting and rolling tongue without let up.
"Ahhhhh, suck, Mrs. White ... Suck my nuts Mrs. Pollard. Suck me off good Oooooooooh!" Chuck moaned over and over again, his mouth opening and shutting as he muttered incoherently, the fire in his balls now unbearably hot. At last, he gasped-the real moment was here and a low, guttural sound started from somewhere deep in his chest as he felt the first surges of sticky white sperm begin to rage through his cock. He began to thrash from side to side like a demented animal as the dam of his desire began to burst, causing him to involuntarily jerk his prick from Inger's sucking mouth and begin to spew the hot white gush-ings of cum directly in her face. The thin, quick spurts shot from him like warm, thick cream, dripping from her beautiful face to fall and form lewd puddles of the substance on his own belly. Sandy grappled at his thighs to pull herself higher and bend down to drink from the little pools of cum, trying not to lose a drop of the precious, lust-inciting fluid, not if she could help it. Inger licked her own lips where some of the sweet youthful cum had landed or run down from other parts of her face, relishing the liquid as though it were a vintage wine.
"Well, ladies, that was quite a performance. I didn't know either of you were so accomplished," Marty's voice suddenly rasped from where he was standing in the hallway with a pretty, young girl at his side. He chuckled ob-scenely and placed his arm around the beautifully built girl's shoulders, turning his head to ask her, "Don't you think so, Marie, don't you think that Sandy and my wife did a marvelous job on your Mongoloid boyfriend? What do you think of him now?"
"I -- I don't understand ... Why-why were they hurting him that way? ... Oh Chuck, honey, are you alright?" she half cried, her sweet voice filled with concern as she ran to the boy where he still lay on the floor, on his back, the mixture of a happy smile and uncomprehending confusion on his face. Marie knelt beside him, cooing and stroking his sticky stomach as she placed her head on his solid chest.
Inger's first reaction to the sound of Marty's voice had been utter, paralyzing disbelief, then shame and humiliation beyond words. She had never felt so debased, so wicked, in her life. Afraid to meet his eyes, she turned to search Sandy's face for solace-an irrational move, she knew, but at least a straw of hope to cling to. But Sandy seemed unaffected by the arrival of Marty and the girl who was apparently Chuck's friend, and was staring hotly in the direction of the hallway toward Marty. Inger turned and with horror saw that her husband was completely naked and just now draping his shorts and trousers over one end of the bookcase at the entrance to the living room. His prick was standing out in front of him like a sword and he wore a salacious grin on his face as he eyed Marie's up-thrust buttocks where she knelt alongside Chuck. My God, no! It was unthinkable! Surely her husband would not think of fucking such a young innocent girl?
All of Inger's liberal upbringing, her regard toward sex as a natural function, teetered on the edge of a collapse.
Averting her eyes from the lewd sight of her husband's yearning for Marie, Inger saw that Chuck had taken Marie's head in his hands and was pushing her down toward his newly, aroused cock. Sandy was holding the thick pole, rubbing her thumb over the inflamed - head as she milked up more sparkling semen from the thick inner tube that ran along its length. Marty had crossed the room and was now on his knees behind Chuck's girlfriend, stroking his own jutting cock with one hand as he reached up under the young redhead's dress with his other, feeling the satiny roundness of her ass under the panties that embraced the cheeks.
"Just a minute, boy," Marty barked at Chuck, who was trying to slip his prick into Marie's mouth. "Let's get her undressed first."
"Yeah, yeah, Mr. White ... Okay, Marie, git them clothes off like he says," Chuck commanded, startling the youthful girl into action. She sat back on her haunches, reaching behind her back to unclasp the buttons of her cotton blouse and the hooks of her heavily laden brassiere. She was breathing fast, both excited and frightened by the new adventure in which she was a participant. The vision of Chuck's magnificent penis standing high in the air, his bloated balls cradling below it on the floor, made her young girlish heart soar higher than ever before, a bird on its maiden flight. She had never seen a naked man but had spent long hours in bed at night thinking of what was really the reason that boy's pants bulged and sometimes got wet in front when she was around. She has-tened to wriggle out of her skirt and brief pink underpants, then leaned forward again, allowing Chuck to steer her sweet lips down to his cock. When her open mouth had slipped over the blood-filled cocktip, engulfing it innocently, she began to follow the urgings of his strong hands that pulled her head up and down as he fucked back and forth into her soft wet cavern.
Inger could barely hold herself in check, wrestling with her conscience as she sat next to Sandy, no more than six inches from the boy model's prostrate body, watching Marty fondle the softness of Marie's buttocks.
"Take my prick ... and put it in your asshole, baby!" Marty ordered with a wheezing gasp, slapping the teenager on her hip to show that he meant business. Without thinking, the dazed Marie reached behind her and took hold of the trembling shaft, aiming the swollen tip at the tiny brown ring of her tight, hairless anus. The older man's cock leaped in her hand and he pushed forward as the girl rubbed the head up and down the full slit of her crotch, lubricating the tool without knowing it with her cunt juices. She still had not actually understood the curt order from the man behind her until she felt him reach down and guide the hard rubbery tip of his cock up from her vaginal lips and into the soft, yielding moons of her parted buttocks ...
Good God! he had never seen such a perfect lit-tie asshole.
A gentle wave of fear passed through the girl's virginal body as Marty's hands took a firm hold of her buttocks and drew them apart slowly insinuating the thick head of his penis between the soft yielding cheeks and into the rubbery flesh of her rectum. Marie's hips began an involuntary swaying from side to side in an attempt to escape the unnatural invasion of her tight, tiny rectum. But, the impatient Marty lunged forward then, sinking almost half of his cock in her tightly clenched rectal entrance. She felt the heat of his thighs against her own and the tormented elastic ring of her anus suddenly stretched to the point of ripping as he pushed into her.
"Aaaaaagggggghhhhh!" she screamed, her face contorted with agony and helpless defilement. She tried to twist her head back and stop his depraved assault on her defenseless, never-before-fucked rectum.
Marty gazed down insanely at his cock stuck into the young virgin's asshole, the long hard length buried inside her, and he grinned with satisfaction when her globular cheeks began a low, it seemed methodical rotation against him. In the meantime, Chuck drove hard into the girl's mouth, arching up his hips to sink his great cock all the way into her throat when the man behind her slammed into her behind, pushing her forward. Marie was obviously not feeling pain now, but pure pleasure, for she was thrusting and squirming back to meet the obscene impalement of her back passage, then driving forward with Marty's in-stroke to swal-low as much as possible of her boyfriend's wildly humping prick Inger could no longer tolerate her passive role in the orgiastic scene when she saw Sandy crawl away from her and position herself over Chuck's face, her legs straddling the boy's houlders and slowly lowering her steaming wet crotch down to his mouth. Inger watched fascinatedly as Chuck gazed up at the palpitating opening of Sandy's cunt, then ran out his tongue into the soft rimmed flesh, flicking at it for a moment, and finally pressing his gaping mouth over the clasping viscous opening. The blonde wife had to do something, right away! The closest unused male flesh was her husband's buttocks gyrating wildly as he fucked into Marie's tender asshole, his balls slapping against the young girl's erect clitoris as he buried his prick in her up to the hilt.
Inger moved forward and grabbed the cheeks of Marty's flailing ass, prying them apart with her fingers as she pushed his knees a little further apart with her own. She knelt there a moment on all fours, holding open his forward pitching buttocks, looking at the tight brown ring of his anus as it clenched and unclenched with his efforts to satisfy himself and the moaning girl in front of him ... Inger conquered her moment of revulsion at what she was about to do, then gasped and bent down her head until she was only an inch or two from his rear at the end of his back-stroke. Now... now or never, she thought, working her head back and forth to fall in with his rhythm and finally pushing her head forward to lock her warm, wet lips over his anus, her tongue darting out lizard-like to circ-cle and trace the sensitive puckered area.
Jesus, Marty thought excitedly, my wife is actually reaming me! The beautiful bitch is sucking my asshole!
Steadying himself with one hand on Marie's enticingly rounded buttocks, still fucking into her expanded rectal passage, Marty reached for-ward and pinched one of Sandy's throbbing nip-pies, making the brunette woman moan and grind down even harder with her naked pussy into Chuck's frantically sucking mouth, impaling herself on the long wet tongue that slithered hotly up into her cunt.
"Oooooh, oooooooh," Sandy cried, pressing forward as far as she could to enjoy the benefit of Marty's pinching and plucking fingers at her tit, yet being careful not to deprive herself of the thrilling contact with Chuck's mouth and tongue. She had never felt anything so wonderful, so thoroughly and deeply stimulating! God, yes! Suck, squeeze, take me, take me! And there before her eyes, thrilling her more, she could see the young voluptuous girl wantonly sucking Chuck's huge cock, taking almost the entire length of it into her mouth while she ground her smooth white ass backwards into Marty's lunging loins and received his swollen prick far up into her belly. Inger-Inger too was in the fun, now holding onto her husband's driving buttocks as onto a life raft as she sucked and tongued his asshole like a wild woman. Sandy saw that everyone was sweating freely, herself included, and their bodies glistened and flashed in the late afternoon sun streaming in the window.
Marie could almost feel herself splitting open from the power and pressure the man behind her was exerting deep inside her, but she loved every second of it and occasionally lifted her head from Chuck's pulsing organ to shout back encouragement to the old man who was violating her rectum so wonderfully and savagely. He now began to screw into her with ever-increasing speed, his hand dropping from the slim brunette woman's breast to rip and pull at her own breast hanging far down beneath her, bouncing wildly with the buffeting she was getting at both ends of her pleasure-wracked body. Then he released even her breast and reached back to spread the soft white rounded globes of her ass with both hands as if they were clay to be molded at will.
Marty felt as though his penis would burst at any minute, not just at the end but all along the full length where the rubbery tight walls of little Marie's rectum held it vise-like and hot. The girl was mumbling and whimpering incoherent noises around the cock in her mouth and he increased the vigor and power of his strokes until he was driving her forward so far that Chuck's upward bucking cock sank into her throat all the way up to the thickened base of his cock. He could feel Inger's mouth following him, sucking and probing his desperately clenching rectum with lewd enthusiasm, shamelessly now, as though she had discovered an entirely new sexual satisfaction that she had not known existed.
Marie felt the cock in her ass jerk and began to realize that something fantastic was about to happen, that the blonde woman's husband was swelling and on the verge of exploding inside her wide-split, brutalized rectum. There was a muffled gurgle behind her and she felt his huge throbbing rod of flesh burst like a dam as he gave one last tremendous buttock flattening thrust into the back of her upraised buttocks and emptied his hot sperm in spurt after spurt far into the depths of her asshole. Marie thought the ejaculating cock would never stop shooting into her and could feel the hot sticky fluid overflowing around the instrument and forcing its way out of the stretched opening of her rectum that was encircling the base of the shaft like a tightly sucking mouth. She gasped out a deep sigh of regret as she felt the deflated and limply hanging cock slowly withdraw from her flooded behind. There was a barely discernable wet, slurping sound as it slipped out from between her full white globes. Then came a sudden rush of cool air into the wetness of her crotch as she continued to suck and swipe with her tongue at the cock still in her mouth. Chuck too was approaching his orgasm and she was certain that the flexing and swelling sex organ would grow to such a size that her lips would tear painfully apart at the sides of her mouth. "Gaaaahhhhd, I'm cummminnnnn'," the muscular boy screamed, his words muffled by the grinding force of Sandy's moist pussy down into his face- Marie choked, almost gagging, as her virile young boyfriend's hot load shot into her throat, welling up to fill her rosy cheeks until she had to swallow madly to keep up with his great torrent of gushing cum. Still, it was too much for her and thin trails of the milky white juice oozed out of her mouth and down onto the thick veins of cock and, further down, onto the now-spent balls that Sandy had sucked and tickled earlier.
Sandy was also nearing orgasm, twisting her hips down to receive every bit of ecstatic pleasure she could get from the boy's tongue running fast and furious along the spread slit of her twitch-pussy ... Even though he had cum, the eager Chuck licked gluttonously at her flame-seared cunt.
"I'm cumming, I'm cumming t o o o o o o o," Sandy shrieked. She reached her hands down beneath Chuck's head, tangling her fingers in the thick thatch of his hair, and pulled upward to press the handsome young face hard into her steaming crotch, rolling and wiggling her flanks in spastic uncontrollable passion.
Inger and Marie watched the display of orgasm, envious that they had not yet been brought to completion themselves.
Marty seemed to understand and with a heroic compassionate effort, raised himself to his knees from the floor where he had fallen exhausted a moment before.
"Come on, boy, we've still got two more to bring off," Marty said to Chuck, shaking the boy's leg to bring him back to the reality of the moment. Chuck nodded dumbly, looking to the mature man for an explanation of the statement. When Marty rolled his beautiful blonde wife over on her back and began to hold open her long, flawless legs, Chuck finally perceived the man's meaning and pushed the panting Sandy to one side, away from his face, so that he could sit up and reach for Marie's still-pulsing body. He also pushed his girl to the floor, flat on her back, and pried open her semen drenched thighs until he could see the tight vestal slit of her soft hair-lined little pussy.
He had always wanted to play with her cunt and tits, had pictured them in his slow mind at night while he played with himself under the covers, pretending that his semen-lubricated hand was the snug little hole between her pretty white legs. Now was his chance and he was really going to take advantage of it.
"I can't fuck ya yet... unless ya wanna wait awhile," he said, lifting his head to look up at her through the firm white spheres of her breasts.
"No, don't wait, honey ... Do what he's doing," Marie begged as she pointed to Marty who was now crazily sucking and licking Inger's naked cunt. "And Hurry, Chuck, please hurry up and do it to me as fast as you can."
The dull-witted boy needed no further prompting and bent his head to fasten his mouth, still wet from Sandy's cum juice, to his girlfriend's trembling vagina. He reached up with one hand to knead one of her tits and dropped his other hand down to cup her smooth young ass, his fingers creeping down into the crevice to tease her still-oozing anus. He circled it a short while and then inserted two fingers up to the second knuckle, causing her to flinch and throw her cunt up onto his long protruding tongue, which he drove into the hotness of her cuntal lips. She screamed and started a spasmodic up and down movement, pushing her ass against his fingers and then her loosening vagina into his mouth. Her nipples thrummed and threatened to crack, they were so hard, and she could sense a strange building of sensation in her clitoris where he jabbed and nibbled and sucked like a maniac.
"Don't stop! Oh never stop! ... I'm doing it -it's cummmming all over me Aaaaaaaggghh!" the girl yelled, the rising scream of her first climax mingling with the cries from Inger's throat as she too achieved delicious orgasm under Marty's sweating face.
After a long wordless silence, while the five utterly wornout people heaved and gulped, trying to regain their breath, Marty rose unsteadily with a wide, satiated grin on his face, and made his way to the bar.
"Anyone for a martini?" he asked, adding, "I mean except for you kids ... I think we've got some soda in the icebox for you two."
Chapter 9
It was a sunny Saturday morning in Pacifica Woods. Marty was still sleeping, but Inger had risen early and was standing at the huge front window, looking out at the blues and greens of the sea running like oils where the depths and shallows varied several times as far as she could see. The room was washed with bright light except for the mottling shadows of trees outside which cast their forms in silhouette on one wall.
Inger was wearing the long, flowing robe that Marty had given her as a present in celebration of all the new and wonderful events that were taking place in their marriage. The sunlight streaming in made the thin fabric almost transparent and she seemed even taller and more beautiful than usual. She tiptoed, then, from the window to a nearby chair, curling herself up in the luxurious upholstery to muse for a few minutes on the adventurous series of events that had occurred since that seemingly innocuous afternoon, earlier in the week, when Chuck had appeared to model for her in the nude ... In some respects, she was happier than ever before, felt secure, loved, confident that her husband was coming to terms with himself in their relationship.
After he had driven home Marie and Chuck, convincing them both.that they should not divulge the afternoon's activities to anyone, Marty had returned home and, over many cups of hot coffee, they had discussed their marital problems, many of which Inger had never known existed. He had seemed calm, almost serene, for the first time in months as he told her of his secret visits to the psychiatrist-and of the man's shocking advice. She had been sympathetic and inwardly angry at herself for not having long ago recognized where Marty's problems lay-if they could be called problems-and was amazed when she realized that the doctors's strange prescription had also worked for her, bringing her to heights of sexual arousal she had never known or dreamed possible. She had been absolutely dumbfounded at her own reaction to the sight of Marty's cock skewering into young Marie's lovely buttocks. She had been jealous, rabidly at first, and angry and hurt, but then a fever pitch of sexual excitement had drugged her mind and she had wanted nothing more than to have a thick cock driving into her too. When Marty had finally turned to her and forced open her legs to kneel and suck her cunt, she had felt as though a thousand bolts of lightning were tearing through her body ... It had been one of the most incapacitating and satisfying orgasms she had ever experienced.
During their long discussion, Inger had also made a confession. She remembered now her humiliating embarrassment when she had shamefacedly told Marty the broad story of her short affair with Chuck. She had been astounded when he gleefully asked for more of the juicy details like an adolescent boy hearing his first dirty story. Nor had he shown anger, only a little worry that perhaps Chuck had been more fulfilling to her. She had not known how to explain that it was a completely different experience for her, that her sexual involvement with the well-endowed, naive youth could not really be compared to Marty's maturity, his greater understanding of her emotional needs as well as the basic physical satisfaction of the sex act.
To her surprise, Marty had clapped his hands and laughed out loud as if she were a witness giving unexpectedly beneficial testimony. Then, he had suggested something that seemed peculiar to hear even now. Would she agree to having Chuck and Marie back for more of the same thing on a regular basis? She remembered that she had been afraid to agree too quickly, on the chance that she might hurt his feelings, and had nodded hesitantly in a way that could be interpreted as a yes or a no.
Later, they had retired to the bedroom and Marty had driven her once again that day to the crest of sexual frenzy with his hands, finally fucking her with his wonderful re-hardened cock until she came and came again with the intensity of the pleasure. Afterwards, she had been de-liciously lazy, not caring if she ever moved again, and Marty had brought her dinner in bed. They had shared the feast, kissing between bites like two young lovers finding each other all over again. Of course, she had not grown quite accustomed to the idea of her own husband fucking anyone else, not even a teenager, but the picture of it did fill her with a kind of perverse excitement, she had to admit, and now she looked forward with eager anticipation to the next session with their two young sex companions. Marty had even suggested that they have Sandy over again, in the event that Marie might not be able to accommodate their schedule.
In all the confusion of activity, she had forgotten to tell Marty about the miraculous return of Hans, their Russian wolfhound. He had discovered the dog's presence in the run the next morning when the giant beast had yelped to be released from where he was tied to a tree. Marty had laughingly proposed that maybe she should see if Hans could be enticed to partake of a little afternoon dalliance. The suggestion had left her flushed, at a loss for words, and she was too embarrassed to relate what had happened on the morning when the big dog had returned.
"Hey, baby, how about a kiss for your weary old husband?" Marty said, stumbling sleepily into the living room and crossing over to her to take the kiss with or without her permission Inger giggled happily, rumpling more his a\-ready-tousled hair and passing her hand lightly over his naked back and buttocks. He sat down next to her and she leaned over to kiss the dormant penis that had given her such pleasure recently.
"Hey ... hey, restrain yourself!" he mockingly protested as her pink tongue flicked out to lick teasingly along the rim of the thick tip. "You'd better save your enthusiasm for tonight. You're going to need your strength to handle both of us."
Yes, tonight was special, she suddenly realized, remembering that yesterday Marty had come home, his spirits a little dampened, to inform her that he had arranged with Chuck's mother for the boy to spend one or two nights a week with them but that he had not been so lucky with Marie's parents. The shapely young girl had been discreet enough not to say anything about her wild afternoon with the Whites, but her mother and father had said that they had reservations about their daughter's posing naked even for art's sake and despite the fact that they needed the money she could earn. Marty had launched one of his most eloquent summations, but her doughty mother and stern-eyed father had held to their decision.
Inger shivered in sensual anxiety, wondering if tonight Marty and Chuck would do the same things to her at the same time that they had done to the innocent girl that strangely decisive afternoon. She was not certain, that she would like it, but it had been so exciting to watch that she knew she would not object if they decided tonight to try it. Even now, Marty rambled on with the stimulating descriptions of different things that he and Chuck would do to, and for, her reborn body.
Marty slipped a hand under her chin, lifting her head up to face him. "Just think, baby, just think of two big stiff cocks fucking you out of your mind ... in you at the same time ... all the way up you together ... our balls hitting against each other between your legs as we fuck you and fuck you and fuck you. That dumb kid and I are going to do that this evening... We're going to fill you full of cock!"
"Oh, darling ... darling, I love you," Inger sighed as she snuggled into his arms, her eyes glued to the half-hard staff pulsing between his legs. Yes, that was what she wanted, both of them, both men inside her, all around her, all through her at the same time. The first realization that Chuck was also important to her sifted into her lust-blurred mind, and the desires mounted proportionately within her ... As for Marty, just the thought of fucking his wife while the boy screwed her underneath, while she handled the nitwit's cock, drove him to such a height of excitement and jealousy that he could hardly contain himself until Chuck's arrival on the bus at seven o'clock that evening.
Marty had promised to drive down to Rocky Cliff Inn to pick him up for the ride back, as much to save the boy's strength as out of any real kindness. Now, though, he had work to do, briefs to read, and besides, later that afternoon he wanted to make a couple of important telephone calls-one to Clareborn Cove Hotel, to inform them that there might be three people in their party on the following Friday, and another to the psychiatrist... to thank him and say that his professional advice seemed to be working out splendidly.
At a little after seven that evening, Marty was tearing down the narrow, curving Springer Mountain road in the big sedan, trying to make up lost time. He and Inger had fallen asleep just after dinner and not wakened until about ten minutes ago. She was home now, dressing and making up, and he was still in an old pair of lounging jeans and a ragged sweatshirt. Hell, so what, he said aloud to himself, Chuck always wore jeans and a silly plaid shirt, and it obviously made little difference in his sex ap-peal, not to Inger anway. Nor to Sandy. Christ, he had been almost as amazed to see Sandy's proficiency in cock-sucking as he had Inger's. After all, Sandy was supposed to be the Paci-fica Woods old maid of sorts, much more interested in telling tales on her friends than in getting down to business sexually. Not that he had ever blamed her for the image she projected-far from it! Anyone with a husband as empty and preoccupied with business as George, deserved all the extra action she could get. And man, had she got it! It had been the wildest thing he had ever seen, her sucking both of the kid's mammoth balls at once while his wife sucked his obscenely huge prick. It might not be a bad idea to have Sandy stay with them some night, when George was away on one of his frequent business jaunts, and have the two women give his own joint the same excellent routine. It was damned unfortunate about Marie, though. She would have been even better, her innocence and delectable young body all the more stirring.
Damn, he hoped that that lame-brained Chuck had not been early, seen that no one was there to meet him and, discouraged, caught the next bus back across the peninsula ... But no, Marty knew the lad had better sense, at least enough to know which side his bread was buttered on ... "Ha!" Marty laughed, immensely amused by his own joke-one that Inger would not yet understand. She had no knowledge whatsoever that he actually intended to stage a real sandwich with the boy, and that she was the filling-that he virtually had meant that she would have two cocks in her at once, one up her ass and one in her pussy. Just the thought of it rattled him and he drifted to one side of the one-lane, bumpy road, swerving at the last minute to avoid ploughing into the ditch.
On the road again, the car now under control, Marty heaved a sigh of relief and vowed to keep his mind on his driving. It would be a hell of note, he thought, if he were to crash and cripple himself just as things were going so well. Then he saw Chuck in the wide path of the car's head-lights, walking fast along the dirt shoulder of the road, occasionally picking up his stride to a dog-trot. Marty applied the brakes and slowed the powerful sedan to a halt, leaning his head out the open window to hail the boy.
"Hey, Chuck, it's me-Mr. White. What's the big hurry?" Marty asked, amused by the tall boy's haste.
"Gee, I'm sure sorry, Mr. White... I didn' see you nowhere at the hotel and started up... Ah'm sure sorry if ah'm late. Musta bin that bus," Chuck said between breaths, still squinting as the headlights blinded him.
"You're not late, I am ... And I'm sorry," Marty apologized, opening the door opposite him so that Chuck could climb in beside him on the front seat. "Inger and I took a little nap after dinner and forgot the time. I was afraid you'd be discouraged and go on home." "Dis-cur ...?" Chuck frowned. Quickly apprehending his confusion, Marty simplified: "I was afraid you'd be mad because I wasn't there to meet you. Discouraged means ... well, it means ... Hell, forget it. How are you this evening?" he asked, realizing that it was senseless to tax the boy's feeble brain with words of more than one syllable. And yet he also felt a flash of compassion for the oaf, a feeling tempered with gratitude for Chuck's unwitting aid in helping to solve what had been a tragic disorder and illness in the marriage Marty and Inger had been floundering in ... Maybe he could return the favor and help Chuck in some vital way-perhaps money, special schooling, or at least some decent clothes. He knew that Inger would be more than willing to shop for a new wardrobe for Chuck. The hell with the money-despite his own troubled emotions during the last few months, his law practice was flourishing and raking in tidy sums, case after case. The boy needed something to help him along, something more than his fantastic body and colossal cock ... But maybe not, Marty smiled as he swung the nose into a driveway to turn around, the big tires squealing as the car dove slightly forward and rocked to a stop.
"Ah'm okay, Mr. White," Chuck said at last, having waited until Marty had negotiated the sedan back onto the road to begin the steep climb toward the house. "An' I sure thank you and Mrs. White for all you done for me ... I sure like her."
"I'll bet you do," Marty chuckled. "But listen, how would you like to take a trip with Mrs. White and me? Next weekend? We're going to a pretty place ... for two days ... and you could swim and fish and ... do other things."
"Heck, okay!" Chuck said. He was almost beside himself with happiness and the fact that the educated man at his side actually wanted him to go somewhere with him-and with his wife too. Maybe they could even repeat what had happened a few days ago-and fish and swim too!
"Well, we'll see," Marty said as he headed the long vehicle into the parking area beside the house. "It will have to be all right with your mom and dad."
As they entered the house and strode down the hallway into the living room, Marty felt a moment of concern when he saw that Inger was no-where in sight. God, had she chosen to back out at the last minute, just when everything was primed for a whole night of orgiastic fun?
"Inger, we're here," Marty called. "Where the hell are you hiding yourself?"
"I'm in here, in the bedroom," Inger's voice answered. "Come on in, it's all right."
Marty walked to the rear of the house, Chuck closed behind him, and entered the bedroom, catching his breath when he saw that his gorgeous blonde wife was sitting up in bed, completely naked except for a fluffy quilt which she had thrown over her legs against the chill evening air. Her full upright breasts were clearly exposed to their view, the bud-like nipples already hard as though she had been ma-nipulating~them in preparation for their arrival. The flat, firm plane of her stomach sloped enticingly down to the golden hair of her groin, rounding out then to her lovely white hips and tapering in again to the symmetry of her rounded thighs.
"Gee, she wants it, don't she, Mr. White?" Chuck said knowingly as he began to undo the front of his trousers, his eyes still fixed on In-gef's plump breasts.
"I think you're right, boy ... So let's not keep her waiting," Marty said, a lewd gleam in his eyes as he also worked hastily to rid himself of his cumbersome clothes. His prick was already humming tight and climbing higher every second, just as Chuck's was, he noted out of the corner of his eye, once more astonished by the size and thickness of the boy's abnormal cock. He saw that Inger was watching them closely, an almost smug expression on her face at the power she had to make their sex organs tormentingly hard and erect whenever she chose.
As Chuck stood at the edge of the bed, uncertain what to do, Marty tossed his shorts on top of the pile his and the boy's discarded clothes had formed next to the dresser. With the ease of intimate knowledge, Marty lay down beside Inger and took one of her hands to place it on his pulsing, erect prick. Already mindless with passion, she obediently clasped his rod and began stroking it in time with her provocatively undulating hips, her eyes now closed with the transport of her arousal. She squeezed and jerked at the cock, delighting in its hardness, and then felt Chuck's huge member nudging for attention against her other hip. She seized it also, pulling it forward, harder against her, feeling the huge head sliding slickly with its oozing semen up over her thigh and onto her belly. Their hands came from nowhere to clutch and knead her swollen tits, their fingers now and then scrabbling to find hef bursting nipples to pinch them, driving her mad with an ever-increasing tempo of shameless desire.
"Ah, God, darling, do something, do some-thing before I go out of my mind!" she moaned at Marty, who had already begun to lift her up into the desire position for a sandwich-the dou-ble fucking by two men at once, an experience he knew that most women longed for but seldom enjoyed in reality.
"Get on your back, boy," Marty panted, indicating with a sweep of his hand where Chuck should lie, then shifting Inger's writhing body on top of the youth's hard stomach while he positioned himself behind her, his knees between their splayed-out legs. He was shaking violently, poker-hot with animal lust; he had never dreamed that such debauchery, such glorious depravity could be prescribed by a doctor, actually sanctioned as treatment of an illness. An illness? Glory be to illness!
"Inger, do you hear me? I'm going to fuck you in your asshole!" Marty yelled. "And Chuck's going to ram his big prick up your cunt! Do you understand?"
"Ooooh, yes!" she groaned, as his vile words penetrated her nearly insensate mind. "Yessss, fuck me, fuck me, both of you Pleeeeeaaasse!" She could feel the pit of her stomach roiling, her thighs quivering and ready to receive both big cocks between them. Then Marty opened her buttocks wide with both hands, reaching in with his thumb to probe at her tiny, tightly puckered anus! She turned her head from watching Chuck manipulate her breasts hanging inches from his face. She could see Marty stroking his thick, blue-veined cock, pulling his foreskin back, exposing the big bulbous head as he readied himself to implant the thing deep up in her rectum. She spread open her thighs further as she saw him aim his glistening cock-head directly at her anus, feeling a slight pang of fear at the thought of such a large fleshy thing entering her there. But he wanted this, and now so did she, so she reached back between her legs and guided his stiff cock up to the tight puckered entrance of her rectum. Then she held her breath as the smooth, rubbery head touched her, teased there for awhile, pressing harder, then popping suddenly through the snug elastic ring. The pain was excruciating and sent waves of agony through her entire lower body, but Marty caught hold of her shoulders and pushed harder, inch by inch slipping further into her burning asshole, until at last he shoved the full length of hs cock into her up to its hair-covered hilt, his balls slapping harshly against the backs of her thighs. She screamed, again and again, first in agony, then in increasing pleasure, mewled like an animal bitch and gradually sank back her white buttocks to take in more of his jerking cock.
"Now, boy, now! Stick your prick in her cunt!" Marty shouted at the glassy-eyed youth beneath Inger. Chuck needed no further encouragement and grasped his throbbing weapon with one hand to place its great fanning head against the lips of Inger's wet, ready pussy. Feeling the moist, pressure-tight channel of her vagina, he pushed upwards, and Inger groaned piteously as the monstrous cock wormed up into her, inch by inch, until she could feel the hardness of his pubic bone against her erect clitoris. She whim-pered helplessly, both with the throbbing pain and also with the humiliating posture she sud-denly found herself in, sandwiched like a slut whore between her grunting husband and the youth, both of whom were now fucking in and out of her with their angry, fiery cocks. She could feel every ridge and vein on them as they thrust deeper into her lovely white body with only the thin layer of fleshy tissue between rectum and cunt separating the huge, hard columns.
Marty was fucking wildly now, ramming his prick all the way in her with a wet slithering rush and then dragging it out almost to the head. He could look down and see his plunging cock shoving and pulling at the stretched, thin ring of anal flesh as it gluttenously sucked up and swallowed the lust-hardened shaft. Below his own prick, he could see Chuck's cock skewering into her hair-lined cunt, spreading the soft clinging lips wide and almost to the tearing point. And he could feel it too, inside Inger, as the dull-minded boy reamed wetly into her, all the way up to her cervix, battering it cruelly, threatening to break through the fragile tissue and on into the deeper confines of her stomach.
"Ooooooh!" she groaned aloud like some bitch in heat as both husband and boy screwed into her as though she were a helpless ragdoll impaled on the two stiff, rampaging cocks. Then, as if on a prearranged signal, they began to fuck into her in unison, withdrawing together and then ramming simultaneously back up into her cuntal and rectal passages. My God, it was good-no, beautiful! she thought dazedly as they roughly battered her rhythmically between them, glad now that her husband had chosen to use her this way ... "More, I want more! fuck harder, faster!" she shouted at her husband and the boy, grinding her asshole and cunt down on them to meet their thrusts and bury as much of the two cocks in her as she could. She felt Marty's hands digging into the soft flesh of her hips as he held her for support, then arched down her neck so she could watch as well as feel Chuck's big hands squeezing and milking her heavy, swollen tits ... Her nipples were achingly rigid and dug into his palms like tiny pebbles.
"Hump, baby, hump!" Marty said through his tightly-clenched teeth.
"Oh, yesss, yessssss," she groaned, her eyes rolling in her tossing head as she tightened more hungrily around the cocks relentlessly pounding into her wet, defenseless passages with a rhythm that made her think vaguely of the waves crashing on the beach at Pacifica Point. Again and again they pounded against the drenched area of her two ravaged passages, fucking faster and faster until her tongue hung out loosely betweeen her lips and she gasped desperately for air, her blonde hair spilling down and swaying as she worked to keep up with their steadily accelerating pace. She hoped it would never end ... this delicious double fucking, the most wonderful, exciting, maddening screwing she had ever had. She wanted to tell them, to thank them and kiss them, yet her brain was too flooded with ecstasy to even form the words on her lips. Instead, she bucked all the harder trying to demonstrate the pleasure she felt but could not say. It was an unknown kind of masochistic joy, maybe as much from the sheer helplessness of her role as from the lewd lovely thought of being fucked half to death by two men at once like this. Whatever it was, it was heaven and she was rocked by one orgasm after another, until she thought she would never cum again, but did, time and again.
And then, her brain reeled anew as she heard a low ape-like groan suddenly escape from deep in the throat of the sweating, pump-boy filling her cunt with his thick cock. She peered down between her bruised breasts, still locked in the boy's steely grip to watch his cock begin throbbing out its vulgar hot liquid deep inside her sucking cunt. She could see it jerking forward and tunneling its way as deeply into her as it could possibly go to shoot its hot flood of sperm far, far up into her wildly contracting belly. Then she saw the lewd white fluid of his pent-up desire bubbling and overflowing out around his tightly sheathed penis and down the insides of her wide-spread thighs.
"Ah'm doooooin' it! ... Ah'm, cu-uuummmmmin'," Chuck cried out to no one. He jammed up into her crazily a last time, causing her to jump from the pain of his blunt cock-head against her cervix, then collapsed back on the bed as his own sperm dripped out of her and down onto his completely drained testicles. Inger could feel Marty's hot load building up too to the bursting point as his prick thick-ened and flexed in her desperately contracting rectum, and she clamped even harder on it to speed of his orgasm. Suddenly she felt the ob-scene boiling river of his cum shoot with a spurt-ing thud against the depths of her asshole as he pitched out of control with her own final cum-ming. the electric sensations of fulfillment rippling through every bone and muscle of her body like a current of unbearable pleasure. She could feel every jerking pulsation of his spewing cock as it emptied his lust-born deposit of hot white cream deep, deep up into her still-sucking bowels.
For what seemed hours, their panting filled the now otherwise silent bedroom, until finally Marty rolled over from between Inger's buttocks, his deflating cock slipping from her flooded asshole with a slight, sucking popping sound. Thin strings of his sticky white cum still spanned the short distance between the end of his penis and her slowly closing anus. Inger felt a quick draft of cool evening air from the window flow over her naked crotch like a soothing balm to her thoroughly used, deliciously aching genitals. She lay then between the sprawled forms of Marty and Chuck, her legs still open as the pink loose folds of her vulvae glistened with the sticky white fluid that dribbled out from deep in her dilated womb. Thin streams of it trickling out to run down into the soft yielding crevice of her buttocks and mix with that of Marty's oozing from her forever stretched rec-tum.
Inger rested quietly in the stillness, feeling the gentle sea breeze drying her sweat-soaked body. The two men flanking her were motion-less and, as she turned her head to ask about her husband's reaction to the orgiastic experience she realized that he had drifted into sleep, completely drained by the wild fucking he had arranged for his young wife. The lovely blond felt a momentary spasm of disappointment-there had been so much that she wanted to ask him, to know, but then she realized that she too was weary and utterly spent. Smiling slightly, she remembered that there would be many other times for talking ... all the years of their life together.
She stretched her exhausted body out on the bed, almost purring in a state of complete contentment. She knew she was cherished and loved, even respected, and completely, unimaginably satisfied. Though it had been frightening, and perhaps a little humiliating, to have those two huge cocks ramming into her loins, she now realized that Marty had been right all along-another male had been the answer, for both of them. Hoping that he too had felt as beautifully satiated as she, she nestled into her husband's shoulder and let sleep overtake her.
Her slumber was interrupted several times during the night by insistent hands on her breasts or roving brazenly between her thighs. Before morning, the trio performed again, other thrilling and sensual acts, all morality cast aside as they allowed their most primitive in-tincts to overcome them. Sometime before sunrise, Inger finally fell into undisturbed and well-earned sleep, not waking until far into the morning.
"Well, what are you two doing in my kitchen? I thought this was a woman's domain," Inger said in greeting as she stumbled sleepily into the modern, well-equipped kitchen, her blonde, newly-brushed hair gleaming in the morning sunlight that flooded the room. Her smooth, lightly tanned skin glowed damply from the quick washing she had just given it.
"Hell, look here! I'm damned if it isn't Lady Godiva," Marty grinned, reaching out to envelope her in an enthusiastic embrace. "You're just lucky we don't dress for breakfast around here."
"Hi, Mrs. White," Chuck beamed. "Mr. White and me, we made you a big breakfast... to surprize you ... Uh, ah'm sorry, Mr. White... I forgot, I guess." Chuck picked up a glass of orange juice from the table, averting his eyes in embarrassment over his disclosure of their secret, but Marty just laughed and turned from Inger to slap the boy heartily on the back.
"That's all right, son. It's about time the lazy bitch hauled herself out of bed anyway. Breakfast in bed would've just spoiled her." Then, turning again to Inger, he chided with a merry, lascivious glint in his eye, "My God, woman, you look beat. But I don't understand -you've been in bed for the last twelve hours How damned much sleep do you need?"
Her eyebrows raised and she started to sputter a mock indignant reply, but Marty broke in, sav ing, "By the way, baby, do you know that we're having for breakfast? Chuck and I have made pancakes and sausage, and then a little later we're going to have brandy-^and you. Doesn't that sound absolutely delicious?" he chuckled.
Marty twisted her around, giving her a gentle shove back toward the bedroom. "Now go in there and put on a robe or we may just have you for an appetizer. I think Chuck's already getting a bit hungry."
"What do you mean-Chuck's getting hungry? Don't tell me that you're all worn out after that simple little experiment last night?" She sighed in pretended sorrow, asking, "What's the matter-am I getting too fat?" She struck a seductive pose in the kitchen doorway, blinking her eyelashes suggestively, as she joined in with a little teasing of her own. She saw that both her husband's and the boy's cocks were rising to stiffness as they ogled her jutting breasts and the roundness of her white-mooned buttocks.
"Heck, no, Mrs. White ... why, why, you look about as good as anythin' I ever seen," Chuck finally broke in, excitedly adding, "Come on, Mr. White, let's do her now ... Like ya said we could! We can eat later!"
Marty tore his eyes away from his wife's tantalizing body just long enough to look at Chuck and say, "By God, you're right, boy, let's do her now."
Chapter 10
"Oh, Marty, look at this!"
Marty's head jerked up at Inger's sudden distressed cry and he saw that she was pointing to an article on the front page of the local newspaper. It was late in the evening, several weeks after their orgiastic night and day with Chuck. The delightful effects of their experience with the boy had stayed with them and they had decided to have her indulge in sex with him only when they felt the need for a refreshing change from their regular sexual routine. Marty had found that just thinking about his beautiful young wife being fucked by the handsome adolescent clod turned him on almost as much as having the boy share her with him. And Inger herself was more than contented by her husband's increased interest in her body... Of course, Chuck still posed for her in the nude and she was well pleased with the advanced results she was seeing in her work-even if occasionally she was tempted to break her promise to Marty and tempt the youth back to the bedroom for an illicit session of lovemaking. Chuck also was disturbed and confused when she shunned his advances, thinking she was angry with him for something he had done; but Inger had tried to explain, saying that it was no fault of his, but merely an agreement she had worked out with her husband. Still, the tall youth seemed restless, uneasy around her, and more than once she had had to scold him for staring at her instead of keeping to the position in which she had posed him.
Now there was this, this horrible thing in the newspaper.
"Marty!" Inger said again, impatiently, her face clouded with worry and distress. "Chuck's in serious trouble! What can we do?"
She ran across the room to him, thrusting the newspaper in front of his face, her finger pointing and jabbing at the front page article. Marty took the paper from her and read:
YOUTH HELD IN RAPE
Charles Barrington,
of 1720 Roberts Avenue,
Coastline City,
was arrested by local police
last night as the result of an
extensive investigation into
the brutal rape of a
tourist visiting the area.
The boy is being held at the county jail in lieu of $5,000 bond and was unavailable for comment, although his mother, Mrs. Henrietta Barrington, told reporters at her home, "It just ain't possible. Chuck's a good boy. I brought the kid up right, even though Chuck's ... father wasn't no help."
She said that she had no plans as yet regarding her son's bail or defense. The details of the case have not been disclosed by the police in an effort to protect the victim, Miss Christine Anderson, 27, a tall attractive blonde of Perth Amboy, New Jersey.
Police sources divulged no more information other than that they have "an air-tight case..."
Marty sat stupified for a moment, trying to organize his mind, then stared up in horror at Inger standing over him, her lips trembling as she struggled to control the involuntary welling of tears in her eyes.
"Marty, we did this," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "We've simply got to accept our responsibility in this and help him all we can."
"Certainly we'll help him," Marty snapped, feeling a brief flash of anger as he remembered that Inger, not he, had first gotten them involved with Chuck, first because of her vain belief that she was an artist and then, later, by seducing the youngster behind his back... No, that was silly, immature, he thought, chastising himself as he thought back to the endorsement he had given to her sexual indulgence with Chuck for everyone's benefit, his own included.
"Listen now, baby, don't worry. I'll telephone his mother first thing in the morning and see what I can do about lining up Henry Fallbrook to defend him in court. Hell," Marty smiled, "it ought to be a cinch to get Chuck off on mental incompetency ... and maybe even help the kid to boot. He's obviously retarded and they'll probably teach him a skill wherever he goes ... You know, to help him be self-supporting when, and if, he ever leaves home."
"Oh God, how can you just sit there? How can you be so calm and callous?" she asked accusingly, her eyes bright with the fire of anger and impatience, staring coldly down at him as though he were a creature beneath contempt. "What are we going to do to help him? ... I-I feel so guilty!" She was openly sobbing now, her heart breaking with the violent pangs of guilt and sorrow she felt towards the innocent boy ... If only she could take it all back, magically undo the events that must have led Chuck to take that poor woman by force.
"Now honey, be reasonable," Marty soothed. "You should know that I feel terrible too, but there's just so much I can do. I didn't advocate rape or even suggest it. That was his doing... As for helping him out, I'll pull all the strings I possibly can. Just try to be calm and intelligent, that's all."
"But can't we put up the bail money at least that?" she sobbed, the hopelessness of the situation overwhelming her.
"I'm afraid it wouldn't do any good," Marty said. "In cases involving sex-especially rape -the prisoner is denied bail pending examination by a psychiatrist, which means that Chuck can't be released until he's declared legally sane in court. Please believe me, I'm just as saddened by this as you are."
For the first time since reading the article, she realized how terribly selfish she was being, not even considering her husband's feelings or the chance that he felt the same sense of loss and regret that she was feeling. She slumped down to sit on the arm of His chair, watching his frowning face as he puzzled over the shocking, unexpected news about Chuck.
"Darling, please, I'm sorry. I merely lost control of myself," she said softly, her hand reaching out to rub the back of his neck with tender affection.
"Just don't worry, baby. I'll think of something," he whispered, touched by her contrite-ness and concern for his feelings.
"I know, I know you will. Would you like some coffee?"
"Please, baby ... Just give me some time alone to think over everything."
When Inger had left for the kitchen, he sat for a moment without a thought in his mind, a practice he had learned that was advantageous just before entering the courtroom to plea an expe-cially complicated corporate case. He knew the gravity of the circumstances that confronted them and wanted to be at his sharpest while considering them. After a short while, he began to take a hard look at the facts. In the first place, just as he had explained to Inger, he knew that the setting of Chuck's bail at $5,000 was merely a legal formality, that no judge would permit the boy to go free without first ordering an examination by a court-appointed, qualified psychiatrist. It was an absolute must. And Marty knew that, just then, because of the fact that court calendars were especially heavy that time of year, it was fairly unlikely that Chuck's case would come to the attention of a higher court for virtually weeks. But that might just be an advantage, for it would give Marty enough time to make some important contacts, do some fancy finagling, and maybe arrange to have his own psychiatrist friend appointed to make the examination. After all, the crazy son-of-a-bitch had been the one who had suggested all this extra-marital hanky-panky in the beginning, so he damned well owed Marty a favor. A short chat with him tomorrow ought to fix up at least that aspect of the dilemma.
More important, though, was the threat of Chuck's shooting off his mouth and implicating them in the whole mess. He could just picture the kid squirming under the questioning of two or three crafty detectives, finally spilling out the whole story just to please them. Christ, how they would love that! The very idea of a prominent local corporate attorney, and his luscious blonde wife, leading astray a half-witted teenaged boy would send them into fits of laughter for months. It was imperative that he see his old college pal, Henry Fallbrook, before anyone else in the morning. Henry had always idolized him and would be willing to break his neck to help out without nosing into things any more than was necessary. He would arrange through . Henry to see Chuck and offer the boy something too tempting to pass up-a car, a motorcycle, anything material and thus attractive to a boy of his age.
As for Chuck's mother, a nice lump of cash would certainly make her more than cooperative and reluctant to involve Inger and him in any scandal, particularly if he suggested that her discretion might earn her even more in the future.
It was a nasty situation, true, but there was no reason to place his and Inger's lives on the line-not just because they had all enjoyed themselves in some harmless fun, sexual or not. If even the hint of a story leaked out that they had been taking advantage of Chuck, and contributing to what would be called his delinquency, his law practice would go down the drain within a matter of a week or two. And then where would they be? Probably in jail, eventually, or at the very best, forced to subsist for a couple of years on what they had saved, until he could discover a new way to make use of his years of education and professional background.
"Darling, you look really grim," Inger said sympathetically as she approached him with two cups of steaming black coffee. "Is the situation that bad?"
"No, no, it's all going to work out, so don't you get yourself all flustered," Marty consoled. "It'll just take a few days of juggling and fixing... But above all, should anyone come nosing around ... and I mean anyone at all ... don't say anything until you talk to me about it." Wrinkling his brow, he added, "Moreover, it wouldn't hurt to be nice to Sandy for awhile. Despite her own involvement in this thing, she might just be stupid enough to say something incriminating to the wrong person. Okay?"
"Okay, darling. You know best... And listen, I really was sincere when I said I was sorry... It's just that we were so happy, and I hated the thought of losing the boy. You know."
"Yes, I know," Marty said, stroking her hair and pulling her down closer to him on the chair in order to kiss her neck and face tenderly, reassuringly. "Jesus, I just remembered! I haven't fed Hans this evening. I'll bet the big old fool's eating his heart out, out there alone with no one to pay attention to him."
Marty rose with Inger close behind him and went into the kitchen to forage for food for their giant pet.
"You know," Marty said as he took a package of meat from the refrigerator, "that dog's damned lucky. He doesn't have to worry about where his next meal's coming from and, above all, penned up the way he is, he doesn't have any sex problems."
Inger nodded and turned away as her husband went outside to feed the huge beast.
Chapter 11
The next morning, just before the first light of day, Inger awoke and stole carefully out of bed and made her way into the living room. Marty was still sleeping soundly, the result of having stayed up late into the night, mulling over the problem of Chuck and some other pressing matters. She found a note explaining this as she prepared a cup of coffee for herself in the chilly kitchen.
In the living room again, she saw that the dawn was coming up as thick as glue; westward the sky had taken on the color of oiled steel and was ominous with storm clouds. As she watched the sea propping itself up in an endless succession of watery slabs, she reminded herself that she would have to bring in Hans after Marty left for the office. The poor beast, as huge and rugged-looking as he was, caught cold easily when exposed to inclement weather. They had nearly lost him during the second year of their marriage, when he had been left to fend for himself in the rain for almost two days while she and Marty were vacationing in the southern part of the state.
The thought of loss caused her to wince as she remembered the newspaper article describing what had happened to Chuck. She had been ultimately surprized when Marty seemed so deeply worried, to be taking the boy's arrest even harder than she had at first ... It was unlike him, she mused, knowing that normally he maintained a professional objectivity about matters concerning the law. She found herself wondering if he was really worried about Chuck or perhaps just the prospect of enduring sexually without the boy's stimulating role in their sex life. If the latter did happen to be true, she could hardly blame her husband, for she too had begun to look forward eagerly to other sensual experiences in bed with her two lovers. She felt a rush of desire just remembering how they had used her the last time, driving her to soul-shaking-new heights of pleasure as they fucked her back and forth between them and caressed her that night and then again the next day. The feeling n of delicious remembrance was so intoxicating that she felt almost drunk with a hidden, exquisite power, a power to arouse men and drive them wild, a power so awesomely wonderful that it took her breath away just to contemplate it now, weeks afterward.
Then her thoughts of power and sensuality were dashed by the vision of young Chuck sitting alone in a jail cell, wondering what he had done wrong that they should punish him. For Inger believed that she knew him well enough to understand that he had not meant to do that woman from-where was it, New Jersey?-any real harm. He probably had had the idea that all women over twenty were fair game, that they all wanted his fantastic body and were willing to suffer whatever advances he chose to make toward them. She had helped to form that belief in his dim mind, she knew it, and now felt an agonizing grief and sense of responsibility all over again.
Suddenly her reflections were interrupted by the sound of the alarm going off in the bedroom, the insistent jangling sound filling her brain like a thousand tiny knives. Rising, she whisked into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee for Marty. He would be coming in any second now, fresh as a daisy, his keen mind already planning his day and overflowing in a steady stream of intelligent conversation-one of his many abilities that she often had to brace herself to bear.
"Hello, sweetheart, what's for breakfast?" Marty said with just the brightness that she had expected. "Come on, cheer up and don't look so damned glum. I've got everything about Chuck pieced together-there'll be a minimum of trouble, believe me. I'll get the kid the best counsel possible and he'll be in good care within a matter of weeks. Just trust me."
"I do, darling-I do trust you," Inger replied feeling her own confidence rise to meet Marty's.
"Hey, it looks like a whopper of a storm's coming," he said as he picked up the binoculars to watch the terrific slap of the surf against the rocks and sheer cliffs of the coast. He saw a fishing boat less than a few hundred yards off the shore, its tiny prow burying itself in the waves with heroic crunchings. "Get a load of that," he said as he handed the glasses to Inger and aimed his finger in the direction of the almost foundering craft. "That poor bastard of a captain must be saying his prayers."
"Me too," she said, smiling up at him a feigned bravery.
Just after Marty roared away for the office in the big sedan, Inger decided to follow his advice and telephone Sandy for a seemingly innocent chat, to find out if her neighbor had read about Chuck's arrest and also to drop a few well-aimed hints regarding the necessity for discretion about their afternoon with the boy. Surely Sandy must realize that she had as much to lose as anyone else, Inger thought as she dialed the Pollard's number; the woman had, after all, been more aggressive than Inger earlier that fatalistic afternoon, and she doubtless wanted to avoid any unpleasantness with George.
"Hello, Sandy, this is Inger. I just wanted to call to see if everything's all right with you.
You know, we haven't spoken to each other since ... . then."
"Oh yes, I'm glad you called," Sandy's soprano voice replied. "I was just going to call you, as a matter of fact. Did you see the newspaper ... the story about your young model's escapade with the girl from New Jersey?"
"Yes,___I saw it," Inger said coolly, resentment rising in her at the tone Sandy was taking. "Marty and I discussed the matter last night, and we thought you should know your place in the turn of events ... In short, Sandy, it wouldn't be at all wise to brag around about that afternoon. It could cause you just as much trouble as us, and besides, I'm certain that George wouldn't be too happy to know what actually happened."
A long silence ensued Inger's remark, evidently a result of the effect she had planned to make on her gossipy neighbor. It was as though Sandy were being silent to be heard, to acknowledge that she well understood the implication behind the blonde woman's remark.
"Yes, I understand, Inger-and thanks for calling." Inger knew that her point had been made and that the slender brunette had been frightened by the possibility of George's discovery of the true facts concerning his wife's comportment with Inger's simpleminded model on the floor. The silence on the other end of the line was proof enough.
Inger noticed that the rain had started, was dimpling the now calm surface of the sea and rattering down in big bull-like drops on the roof. She felt cold and crossed the room to build the first fire that year since late April. As she stacked the logs in the cast iron grate, she thought of that afternoon only last week when Chuck had almost begged her to give him something more to do, and she had led him to the woodpile behind the house. He had said that he wanted to do more for the money he earned, but she had thought at the time that he instinctively wanted to get away from her for a little while - away from her womanly body that was so tantalizingly close to him while she sketched, yet so unavailable to him as she forced herself to keep her promise to Marty. God, if only he had known the temptation that she too felt when she sat for hours trying to attend to her drawing as he stood naked before her in all his youthful masculine perfection.
Inger rose from the already-blazing fire and crossed the room to the carved oak buffet in which she kept all her sketches of Chuck, withdrawing the thick roll of papers from one of the cabinets in the massive piece of furniture. Kneeling on the floor, she carefully unrolled the sheaf of drawings and spread them out one by one until a large part of the living room floor was blanketed by the impressive display of her artistic proficiency. She rose and stepped back to obtain a better view, her face lighting in appreciation, not at the exhibition of her own talent, but at the breathtaking array of poses exploiting the boy's magnificent physique.
Was it wrong? she wondered. Was she being unfaithful to her husband if she stared so lustfully at the body of the youth who had offered her such great sensual pleasure? No, Inger decided, it was not sexual interest she felt, but artistic awareness of his beautiful, muscular form. Still, she felt a throbbing heat growing in her loins as she thought of Chuck's huge hard cock ramming into her, filling her belly until she pled for mercy, then thrusting in to fill her even more. Suddenly impatient with her lascivious memories of the youth who no longer had a place in her life, she re-stacked the drawings and left them on the couch as she went out to the kitchen to bring Hans, the poor soaking brute, in out of the rain storm.
"Hey! Down, down, Hans!" Inger laughed as the huge dog nearly knocked down the kitchen door in his rush to get in out of the rain, then jumped up on his mistress, slobbering great dog-kisses all over her face in his gratitude for being let into the house.
"Oh, Hans, look what you've done to my dress!" she groaned after she finally pushed the big beast down to the kitchen floor and saw that the front of her light blue house-dress was streaked with muddy paw-prints. Beneath the Russian Wolfhound, the tiled floor already showed a dark pool of muddy water that was rapidly dripping from the beast's long wavy fur. "Okay, boy, it's not your fault," she sighed as his wagging tail sent the muddy droplets flying across the room, spotting everything from the table cloth to the stack of freshly washed dishes on the drainboard near the sink. "I guess I should have let you in sooner," she ruefully added, grabbing a fluffy terry-cloth dish towel to rub away the greater part of the moisture from the dog's coat.
"Come on, boy," Inger ordered as she finally dropped the sopping towel in the kitchen sink. Let's go in by the fire so you can really dry out." The monstrous dog followed happily behind her as she led him back into the living room. The fire was blazing, spreading a friendly glow throughout the room, sharply contrasting with the cold gray wetness Inger could see outside the bay window.
She had stripped off her damp garments as she walked and took them into the bathroom to hang the wet muddied clothing over the shower rod to dry. Returning to the living room, she found Hans sprawled in front of the fireplace, apparently fast asleep. The fire had warmed the room and Inger decided to wait before dressing again. The golden glow of the flames relaxed her and she sat down on the couch next to her sketches of Chuck, deciding to look them over once again-this time as an artist, not a woman.
Despite her determination to stay objective, she found herself staring greedily at the topmost picture, the first nude study she had done of the boy. Her eyes roved over the graceful patterns of taut sinewy muscle that ripple over his limbs and torso, but no matter where on the drawing she looked, her gaze stubbornly returned to the long soft member that hung between his legs, framed by his heavy dangling balls. The insistent ache, rose again deep in her belly, and she was suddenly terribly aware of her body, her curved hips and buttocks pressing against the rough nubby material of the sofa, cushion, her high rounded breasts jutting out to partially hide from her sight the sketch that rested in her lap. As her hands began to roam restlessly over the smooth warm skin of her body, she remembered how childishly delighted Chuck had been on that first day when she had stood before him as naked as she was now.
Inger leaned back into the soft cushion still staring at the drawing, realizing with surprise that she was terribly excited and needed release badly. Putting the picture aside, she began to knead her own breasts, pinching the soft pliant nipples into rubbery tightness. Though the sketch was no longer before her eyes, the image of Chuck remained as if branded in her mind. Oh, if.he were only here now, she thought as remembrances of her pledge to Marty faded in the light of her over-powering arousal.
Inger's long shapely legs scissored open and closed slowly as she teased herself with the rhythmic pressure on her tingling clitoris, working herself into a burning passion. Complete surrender to the need building within her showed in her eyes as her buttocks twisted tensely into the soft cushions until she could feel the rough edges brush thrillingly against the tender swelling of her vulva. At the almost electrical contact, her breath quickened and the passionate yearning grew in her loins.
Inger was astounded that the mere thought of Chuck's body had so heightened her arousal, but the slight shame she felt only stimulated her more. Her mouth opened in sensual rapture as both her hands scurried over body as if no longer under her control, floating over her soft ivory belly, then coming to rest on the dark golden vee at the entranceway to her burning genitals. Groaning-at the sudden contact with her hard sensitive clitoris, she spread her legs far apart exposing the moist glistening furrow between them. Her trembling fingers slid down to the soft, swollen lips, pulling them gently outward until the deep pink opening was fully exposed to the warm air and the mouth-like orifice throbbed, greedily open like the mouth of a gulping fish.
Slowly and tenderly, she wormed her middle finger into the moist throbbing hole, forcing it downward until it was completely embedded in the tight, smooth passageway, at the same time flicking at her erect bud-like clitoris with another finger. Afraid to pause as her excitement mounted, Inger quickly thrust another finger past the rosy edges of her moist cunt, widening the lips as she rotated the inserted fingers in sensual abandon. Incoherent images of Chuck skewering her with his bulging rock-like prick, invading her cunt, her protesting rectum, jack-hammering into her soft, willing mouth, flashed through her mind. In a frenzy of lust, she jerked her legs back against her chest and heaved her hips upward to meet each stroke of her probing fingers. Her face contorted with the effort of her frantic manipulations. It was not enough! Clenching her teeth, she jammed another finger into her ravenously hungry pussy, writhing beneath the pounding instruments in unthinking passion.
Deep moans of animal pleasure rose from deep in her throat as she speeded into a more rapid rhythm, straining for a climax, lunging up to bury the invading fingers deep into the tight pink opening. Her head rolled from side to side on the back of the sofa and she groaned in frustration as she tried and tried to bring herself to orgasm. Suddenly, another whine answered her own, and she opened her eyes to see Hans, the huge Russian Wolfhound, standing before her nakedly squirming pussy.
"Oh, no, Hans. Go away," she begged. "You'll ruin it!"
As if in answer, he brought his great panting head down to her defenseless, up-turned cunt and licked it, sliding his soft tongue from the tight puckered hole of her anus up to the tiny burning nodule of her clitoris, just as he had done once before. This time, however, his hot wet tongue sent her body trembling and jerking helplessly under the strange stimulation. No, no, she thought to herself, this is not right. It's unnatural, perverted! But as she tried to slip away, the big dog's tongue snaked out again, licking hungrily at her moist crevice, halting finally at her anus where the tip pushed trying to force its way past the outer fleshy ring.
With a deep moan, she realized that her body would give her no choice she would have to surrender to the beast's exciting ministrations. Her thighs quivered back against her chest as the animal's cold nose pushed through the hair covered swelling of her cunt-lips, searching out the source of the delicious female cuntal aroma.. She squirmed downward in forbidden pleasure as the tongue flicked out again, curling deep into her vaginal passageway. She knew that she did not want to' do this, but the big dog's slathering, wet tongue was forcing her inspite of her revulsion, to enjoy this perverted stimulation.
Suddenly the giant tongue stabbed into her vulnerable pussy like a thick, pink snake, plunging deep up into her pelvis without regard for the maniacal screams of passion that suddenly streamed from her lips. Oblivious to all morality and reason, she rolled her buttocks against the face of the animal, drowning the weird, obscene sensation of being licked and sucked by a dumb animal. Something told her that she should stop the great beast, get out of the lewd, unnatural situation before it went any further, but suddenly the dog lifted his head from her crotch to stare down in bewilderment at his mistress' frenzied excitement.
Inger groaned as she realized she wanted still more of the horrible, debasing excitement. Her natural resistance had vanished under the maddening torture of the Russian Wolfhound's tongue and, fighting down her revulsion, she bent over to touch the sheath that enclosed the beast's penis. Inger's heart beat crazily as she took hold of the hairy sheath and began milking it, first gently, then with increasing authority. She flinched in fear when the animal began to respond, his natural savage lust kindling and jerking his muscles to life. She labored slowly, carefully, gasping for breath as she squirmed back into the cushions, pushing the wet, swollen lips of her cunt into the roughness of the fabric to further ignite the fire raging in her loins.
A bizarre masochistic pleasure seethed unwanted in her as the glistening red penis slipped out from its furry casing, dancing and jerking in her hand as Hans began to hump obscenely and squirt tiny premature jets of semen on the floor. Once again she was controlling the body of a male, a dog, but nevertheless a male ... And she liked it, despite her awareness that what she was doing was degrading her even in her own eyes.
Then, before she realized what was happening, the giant dog pulled away from her hands and reared up to place its forepaws on the couch above her shoulders. Almost sobbing in an agony of desire, she looked up at him leaning over her nakedness, then, as though a demon had taken over her will, she hungrily thrust her buttocks upward in an attempt to capture the lengthening shaft with her cunt-lips. Her mind reeling in a confusing daze of sexual need and debasing humiliation, she heaved towards the long scarlet organ as though she were a rutting bitch herself. The very thought of herself as an animal sent another electric tingle deep into her belly and she could feel the seeping wetness between her thighs increasing even more. Her heart pounded like a tom-tom.
The dog pushed forward wildly as he struggled to plant the pointed tip of his cock between her thighs, thrusting against her until his tapering member by mistake found the tiny opening of her anus instead and popped into her cruelly.
"Ooooooh, noooooooooo!" she screamed with the pain of the unexpected intrusion, twisting to one side in an effort to escape the hideous impalement.
But Hans was not to be discouraged and returned to the attack with all the barbarous lust of a human Tartar, mindlessly, savagely humping against her hard, pea-sized clitoris and then slipping down to thrust between the lips of her white-hot pussy. Inger shamelessly and deliberately grasped the canine's slippery organ and parted her cuntal opening to assist Hans, holding her breath as he began to stroke into her, inch after inch of his thick cock disappearing in her with each new pile-driving forward thrust of his flanks. Suddenly she let out a high whistling sigh as the great cock slipped into her all the way and began to slam up the moist cavern like a speeding train running wild through a dark tunnel smaller than itself.
A moan of relief came from her contorted lips as she began to move rhythmically backwards to meet the lunges of the panting dog. His forelegs dropped down on either side of her waist, then, trapping her, and she began to undulate her body and ass in lewd circles, abandoning herself to the wonderful animal fucking she was receiving from Hans. Her face was twisted with ecstasy from the delicious fucking the dog was giving her, and her full, taut breasts bounced lightly, moving in time to the throbbing cock of the beast as it ran in and out of her like a hot poker.
Oh God, she moaned inwardly, relishing every vicious slam of Hans' prick into her cunt, her mind straying for a second to thoughts of Marty ... how he might think of her now ... his own wife being screwed senseless by a dumb beast ... a big dog-cock filling her belly and pushing her inner organs higher, higher, until she was afraid they would rupture and burst out of her mouth. It was ripping her soul from her body and pushing it out of her with every punishing stroke. Oh Christ, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, you ... you beautiful bastard! "All, all of it-I want all of it!" she finally screamed, completely out of her mind now as she lewdly encouraged the dog on to greater ravishment of her pinioned body ... She was begging him to fuck her harder and faster and to shoot his hot cum up her pussy, aching to be filled with it in her madness, and that was all that mattered to her now. She was no longer human but a shaking mass of sweating, lust-deranged flesh that begged to be subjugated. She was revelling in her defilement, uncaring, no longer capable of thinking of sex as normal, healthy, anything but a tremendous shaft of animal flesh piston-ing back and forth in her stretched pussy, causing her to grind against the hairy, jerking body like an animal herself.
Small droplets of moisture were building in the crevice of Inger's rotating thighs, glistening and sparking even in the dim light as they ran down from her buttocks onto the couch, sometimes sticking to the dog's heavy balls as they slapped hard down against her anus with each inward stroke. Then, slowly, steadily, inexorably, the beginning throes of orgasm began and she screwed up greedily against the brute like a she-demon possessed. Hans' long, slithering tongue hung from his mouth as he fucked into her waving crotch, saliva dripping from it onto the sweat between her wildly dancing tits.
She screamed suddenly and rammed up against the dog just as he hunched forward and his cock began spewing its sperm in hot searing torrents deep up in her clasping vagina. Inger's hindquarters began to pitch and toss crazily, signaling her own thrilling climactic upheaval far inside her belly. Thick white liquid ran from the tightness of her cunt squeezing and sucking the prick of the dog, soaking her backside and pubic hair as she moaned and reached forward to drive the dog's still ejaculating cock deep into her for the last time. The Russian Wolfhound's deflating penis pulled out of her with a wet sucking noise that lewdly filled the room and left her animal-fucked cunt nakedly exposed to the lesser heat still issuing from the low-burning fire she had built.
Hans dropped down to the floor on all fours again, his tail wagging in evident appreciation. Inger watched as, in a last act of obscene depravity, he dropped his head between her widely splayed thighs and lapped at the white sticky animal sperm still running from her battered cunt. He gulped at it thirstily until eventually there was no more, then he turned as from a meal he had just finished and lumbered across the room to lower his massive body in stages down to the rug in front of the fire, his great head nuzzling for a comfortable position between his paws.
Gradually the realization of what she had done, behind Marty's back, in their own home, with their own pet, made her shudder and break into uninhibited sobbing. Just the sight of Hans sleeping peacefully in front of the fire, one ear twitching as he dreamed, made her feel vile and forever tainted ... Nothing she could do or think would ever erase the mortifying humiliation she felt in every fiber of her being ... She wished for death, for unending sleep and escape from the reality of herself-a wanton slut who would use anything or anyone at her disposal to temporarily quench the wildfire of passion raging within her. A nympho, yes, that was it-she was a dirty nymphomaniac who would accept the handiest cock, no matter from whom or tvhat, to quell her lust.
After awhile she rose and trudged disgustedly toward the rear of the house, her still slightly damp garments clutched in one hand in a haphazard ball. She would change clothes and at least make an effort to imitate decency before her husband's arrival home. In the bedroom, she happened to glance at the tottering pile of old sketches of paintings she had done during the early half of their marriage, when she was still full of confidence and faith in her ability as an artist. Now they seemed ludicrous, the pitiful dabblings of a frustrated whore from Denmark, a married woman who took on young boys and big dogs whenever she felt the urge. Well, there was at least one consolation, she thought as she withdrew fresh clothes from the closet, and that was the merciful fact that neither the dog nor Chuck were intelligent enough to know how really depraved she was ... that she was a degenerate in disguise as a normal married woman.
Inger showered longer than usual, trying vainly to wash her body of the evidence of evil just as Lady Macbeth had when she felt the blood lingering on her hands after her crime.
"Inger? ... Honey? ... I'm home," Marty called from the living room as he unloaded his briefcase and a pile of thick envelopes from his arms onto the couch. He was tired, emotionally depleted, and wore a slight stubble of beard on his chin and cheeks like a badge signifying the pressures he had been under that day. Shrugging out of his rain-soaked jacket, he moved in front of the gaily leaping fire to absorb the welcome warmth, nearly stumbling over the snoozing Hans.
"Hey, boy, inside for a change, eh?" Marty knelt then and gave the drowsy dog a good back-scratching, laughing to himself as he thought of the effort involved in merely petting such a mountain of a dog like Hans.
"I didn't know you were home," Inger said as she made her entrance into the room, her skin glowing and large eyes bright despite the loggy, depressed feeling that weighed heavily on her spirits.
"I just came in-soaked through, of course," he grinned, rising to embrace her. After they had kissed and held each other for a moment, he took on a serious expression and said, "Well, baby, are you ready for the news?"
"What news, what's wrong?" Inger frowned.
"Oh, it's nothing much. I just managed to do a little fixing here and there, bribing a few officials--that sort of thing," he said cryptically, still wearing a deeply serious expression on his face, as though he wore about to tell her of a tragic death or incident that had happened in the family.
"Marty, dammit, don't tease me! What's wrong?" she shouted, her nerves now screaming at the suspense.
"Darling, calm down now. I was just teasing," he soothed- "I had a long talk with Henry Fallbrook this morning, first thing, and explained as much as I could without compromising us. He was a gem about the whole thing, even laughed, and got to work on things right away-free of charge, I might add."
"So-so what happened?" she urged.
"Well, it just so happens that Hank and the psychiatrist are bosom buddies-went to school together or something, though I'm damned if I remember the doctor from those days. Anyway, to make a long story short, Hank and the doc had lunch with the judge scheduled to sit for Chuck's case when it comes to superior court, and they convinced him that the kid's okay and more likely to represent a social liability if he's jailed than if they simply send him off to learn a trade in one of the less scary state institutions."
"But for how long?" Inger asked, her concern for the boy surfacing in the worried expression on her face.
"That depends ... It could be for a year and then it could be until he's twenty-one, whichever age his immediate superiors decide is most to his advantage when it comes to the question of his fitness for society ... Now look," he said, lowering his voice to lend authority to his statement, "you've got to come to grips with the fact that Chuck did rape a woman ... on his own ... without our encouragement... for reasons of his own."
"I know, but ... it just seems unfair ... He was so innocent and honest before he started taking lessons from us."
Marty was suddenly filled with anger at her unreasonable attitude, her seeming vacillations from loyalty to him and then back to her illiterate young felon. Perhaps he had been mistaken in considering her mature enough to handle such a sophisticated sexual situation.
"Inger, tell me something," he began dryly. "Are you so overwhelmed with guilt for our part in Chuck's delinquency-or is it that you're wondering how we'll ever get along without his charming stupidity and over-sized sex organ?"
Inger's glance met her husband's wry smile, then fell away from his probing eyes. She felt as if she had ventured too close to a raging bonfire, as if the unanticipated heat had singed away the protective mask she wore, revealing the bestial ugliness that lay beneath her pretty face and pleasing manner.
"Well, Inger, which is it?" he demanded. "After all, the whole idea was to help my problems. Has the remedy back-fired on us?"
Inger racked her brain for something to say- anything to exonerate herself. But should she even try? she wondered. It was obvious to her that Marty now understood what kind of despicable monster she was. Of course, he would want a divorce, and she would not argue. She loved him too much to force him to call a nymphomaniac his wife. Tears welled in her eyes and her lower lip trembled as she tried to imagine herself walking bravely out of his life.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Marty asked, true concern in his voice as he saw Inger's face crumple in an expression of heartbreaking sadness. As he gathered her shaking body into his arms, he realized for the first time that she was deeply troubled. "No, baby, don't cry," he murmured, wiping away a lone tear that had rolled down her cheek. "Whatever it is, we can work it out. I truly didn't know you had become so fond of the boy."
"Oh, Marty, don't mock me!" she cried, lifting her head to face him with her grief-stricken eyes. "I know that you've guessed, and when I tell you that you're right ... you'll want to leave me," she sobbed.
"Honey, what are you talking about?" Marty asked in true bewilderment.
"H-hans .,.. our dog, our an-animal..." she sobbed, barely able to speak through the emotion that wracked her body.
"Yes, baby, I know all that about Hans," he said, exhibiting the first signs of impatience. "I've known about it for some time, ever since I paid the kennel four times what the brute was worth."
Annoyed at Marty's tasteless humor at such a terrible moment for both of them, Inger drew herself up to coldly face him. "I'm afraid you don't understand," she announced, bracing herself for the final confession that would certainly end their marriage. "Marty, this afternoon ... I... made love with Hans!"
"You're kidding!" Marty gasped, his eyes widening in sheer amazement.
Inger stepped back from him in fear of the violent outburst she knew would erupt any moment, but Marty's face broke into a happy smile as he spoke.
"Now, why didn't I ever think of Hans? Of course, a dog has limitations, but, my God, that monster's prick must be almost as big as mine. And he could be trained! Christ, think of the fantastic tricks we could teach him!"
Stunned by the sudden realization that her husband still did not suspect the depths of her depravity, Inger listened in misery to his verbal musings. Finally, no longer able to contain herself, she broke into his stream of happy prattle.
"Marty! You still don't understand "the gravity of the situation," she blurted. "Hans fucked me! And I deliberately enticed him! What kind of woman would do that?"
"You beautiful numbskull, don't tell me you're finally catching up with our American sexual hang-ups!" he asked, grinning from ear to ear at the distressed look on her face. "You ask what kind of woman would do that-well, I'll tell you. A woman like you, baby, with normal, healthy desires ... A woman who, when she gets horny in the afternoon, has the basic good sense to choose a stud who won't kiss and tell." A worried expression crossed his face and he added, "I mean, it's just great as long as I don't lose you to a damned Russian Wolfhound. I won't, will I?"
She knew at last that he understood her, what had really really happened that afternoon, and broke out into relieved laughter, shaking her head "no" in answer to his absurd question. She had never loved anyone in her entire life as much as she loved him at that exact moment.
"Good!" Marty grinned, hugging her enthusiastically. "Then may I watch next time? Christ, now that I think of it, this is much more exciting than Chuck could ever be. My balls are aching at the mere thought of you with that big hairy brute of a dog."
"In that case, when shall we perform? Of course, I'll have to ask Hans-to see if he can fit the appointment into his schedule," she giggled.
"Well, not right now. The poor bastard needs a rest. Besides, I'd like you to save at least a little of your vast stores of energy for me."
Marty paused then, the first glimmerings of an exciting new idea cousing through his brain. "You know, love, I've just been inspired. Why should we bother wasting time to train our stupid dog, no matter how valuable he is, when there's a great wealth of natural talent just begging to be used?"
With Marty's last statement, they launched into a serious discussion that lasted far into the night. Marty had proposed that they petition one of the several adoption agencies on the peninsula on the chance that they might adopt a pair of youngsters about the same age as Chuck and Marie. After all, there was no reason why a successful attorney and his wife should be debarred as prospective parents for a pair of appropriate teenagers. They were perfectly reputable married people, with a more than adequate income, all the references they could ever require, and their home alone was an asset that would impress any government agency.
After promising that he would devote every ounce of his attention and energy to the matter first thing the next morning, they wandered off arm in arm to the master bedroom, setting for the many dramatic changes that had transpired in their marriage during the last enlightening weeks.
Inger smiled up at her husband as the sound of Hans' barking pierced the silence of the night. Was he remembering his interlude with her that afternoon, she wondered as she stripped off her underwear, basking in the appreciative gaze lighting her husband's bold eyes? Once they were in bed, she snuggled into Marty's arms under the single sheet covering them, drifting comfortably off to sleep with her mind filled with visions of the children they planned to adopt. She had never thought of herself as a mother, but the idea invoked pleasant images of domesticity as she grew drowsy and her eyes closed for the last time that night.
Chapter 12
We are aware of Mr. White's fine reputation in this area as a corporate attorney and are taking this into consideration while conducting our routine examination of your fitness as prospective parents.
We feel reasonably certain that our attention to your application will be such that you may expect to hear from us concerning a definite date for interview within the next ten days.
Thank you for your interest in the many displaced children in this area.
The answering letter from the adoption' agency arrived several days later, stamped ominously with a state seal. Inger trembled as she opened the official-looking portentous envelope, her nervous fingers nearing ripping the letter enclosed as she tore off one end of the missive.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. White:
We have received your application for adoption of two adolescent children and are now considering it. As you doubtless know, the adoption of children is a serious consideration to be weighed heavily by both the potential parents and the agency involved. A great deal of investigation is required, both for your own and the children's sake.
Epilogue
On the following Monday, when Marty's and Inger's anticipation was reaching the breaking point, they received a letter from the agency instructing them to secure a number of character references and a notarized affidavit stipulating their joint total income and political leanings. Marty laughed aloud at the latter request, saying that "some damned incumbent must be bucking for support in the upcoming election to be so flagrantly importunate ..." about something so irrelevant as political commitment.
They were overjoyed, though, just to be seriously considered as parents to a strange pair of teen-agers. Inger put aside her artistic essays into sketching and painting-for the time being anyway-and applied herself wholeheartedly to making their Pacifica Woods home an appealing haven for healthy, active young people ... kids who would want privacy and yet have access to adult companionship whenever they wanted it.
She managed to talk her husband out of enough extra allowance to purchase a dart-board and furnishings appropriate for the bedroom that was located just off the kitchen. Later, after the newcomers to their home had settled in, she would approach Marty with the suggestion that their children be allowed to have their choice of sleeping arrangements, according to their desires and schedules.
It was not as though she were being greedy, the wantonly lusty bitch she had recently thought herself to be, but merely that she deemed it only right that their own children should have a say in the matter of bed-partners. Then, too, there was always Hans to be considered if the children were unable to fulfill their roles as competent healthy offspring, adopted or not.
Time would tell-it always did-and she and Marty were young enough to stand the test of time.
Inger was finally happy, actually anxious to confront whatever new problems might crop up, as she smiled at her husband and walked casually out of the living room.
It was a lovely day for a stroll, she remarked to herself as she descended the steps on the front porch and tossed her heavy mane of blonde hair. In the distance she could hear the sea plodding to shore like an hourglass of her own emotion.
She laughed, hugging herself, as Hans began to bark at the hawks circling over the house like names for what she felt.
