Message-ID: <16480eli$9810150602@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "zombienight" Subject: The Camera Club (Hetero Sex, Voyeurism, Blackmail, D/s, Anal, Bestiality-dog/woman, Rape) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <002b01bdf331$0149c200$a69156d1@oemcomputer> This has: Hetero Sex, Voyeurism, Blackmail, D/s, Anal, Bestiality-dog/woman, Rape) I reserve all rights to this story. It may not be transmitted to the public by any means (such as posting to the Internet or to newsgroups) and may not be changed in any way (such as altering the story or title) without my expressed written permission. Zombie Night (c) 1991 Send Any Comments To ZombieNight@Hotmail.com The Camera Club The third anniversary party of the Jamisons was going well. Cindy Jamison, smiling broadly and her ice-blue eyes sparkling, walked out of the kitchen as the last of the dinner dishes were taken from the table by her husband, Howard, and their two party guests, Ralph and Norma Taylor. Cindy was happy; happy because the dinner had gone perfectly, her special potato flambe having earned well deserved praise, and because as she looked at her tall, handsome husband, she realized just how much in love with him she was. She kissed him fondly on the cheek as he passed her with the gravy boat. "I love you, Howie," she murmured. Howard grinned, and kissed her back. He looked down at Cindy, once more feeling the stirrings of love and physical attraction which had first excited him, and had never once stopped making him want her over the past three years. Her full, ripe figure nearly burst the tight bodice of her white dress, and the plunging neckline disclosed more than just a casual view of her sun-bronzed breasts, breasts which he knew had been first caressed by him--- Cindy having been not only a virgin but a shy, hesitant maiden before their marriage. She turned and went into the living room, and for a long moment Howard watched the smooth enticing undulations of her buttocks, the twin globes a rhythmic reminder of the warm wet passion she stored between her well-curved thighs. There was just enough dinner wine in him to let his thoughts roam to what was going to happen later, after the Taylors left, and he and Cindy were alone, and in the privacy of their bedroom... His revery was interrupted by the entrance of Ralph Taylor. He walked out of the kitchen wiping his wide, muscular hands on a dish towel, his face a picture of pleasantness. "Howie, my boy, let's open the champagne now!" "Champagne?" Howard asked, baffled. "You don't think that I could let you folks celebrate without a little of the bubble-juice, do you?" He laughed jovially. "Heh, heh, Norma brought two magnums with her, along with your present." Cindy, lighting a cigarette as she sat on the couch, said, "Ah now, Ralph, you didn't have to buy us a thing." "Nonsense! No employee of mine is going to be let off his anniversary without something to liven things up. Especially a star salesman like Howie, here. I know how it is with old married couples, Cindy; after all, I'm going on ten years in the ball-and-chain, and so I've got a little deal for you both which will perk up everything, believe you me!" Cindy wasn't too sure what Ralph meant, talking about a gift to "perk up" their anything but dead marriage, but she smiled anyway. After all, Ralph was the manager of Auto Circus, Morriston's biggest and most prosperous used car lot, and Howard worked under him. Ralph was a big, impressive looking man, liking to dress well and flashy; right now he wore a double breasted blazer cut Edwardian, gray striped pants, and polished loafers. As usual there were three cigars poking out of the handkerchief pocket, and a pearl and diamond tie-tac in his wide, striped tie. Cindy liked him, not only because he was her husband's boss, but because Ralph was so jovial and fun-loving, ever smiling and with a joke to tell---even if some of them embarrassed her because they were a bit too riske. Ralph, she knew, often said things in a round-about manner, a carry- over from his work when he would talk about a car in almost teasing buildup to interest a prospective customer. So she wasn't concerned that his comment wasn't clear to her and knew that by the end of the evening all would be explained. "Yes, Cindy," Ralph said expansively, "I can just picture you now with the gift. I can't wait to see how things developed!" He started laughing in his hearty, gravelly laugh, and was joined in by his wife, who was still in the kitchen but who had evidently overheard his conversation. "Oh, Ralph," Norma said loudly, "you card!" She and Howard then came out of the kitchen, her arm linked in his in a gesture of friendship. "Are you sure you want to expose them to this?" she asked Ralph, again the emphasis falling so that the Jamisons knew a double meaning was hidden in her words. "Perhaps we haven't timed it right!" The Taylors erupted in more laughter, the Jamisons looking at them with bewilderment. They were both jokers, Howard reflected, Norma just as quick with the puns as her husband. He grinned anyway, caught up with the humor of the situation, and gripped Norma's arm tighter. She was a good- looking woman, thinner than Cindy but no less desirable, with her multicolored hostess gown falling over pert, upthrust breasts and thin, tightly molded buttocks and thighs. Her raven black hair, cut in a boyish bob, cameoed her round, innocent face, but Howard knew from the way she reacted to some of Ralph's spicy stories, she was well experienced in the ways of love... "Ralph, honey," Norma continued, releasing her arm and walking across to where her husband was lighting a cigar, "Where's my bag?" "By the front door, where you left it," came the reply. He released a stream of smoke. "Want me to get it?" "No, I will." She crossed to the front door of the Jamison home and opened it. Reaching around the corner she retrieved a large straw shopping bag from the porch. "We hid this on the way in," she explained, shutting the door again. "We wanted it to be a surprise." "It is that," agreed Howard, still mystified. They all grouped around Norma and her bag as she opened it. Out came the two magnums of champagne and a gayly wrapped present. "Ooohh," cooed Cindy, "what's in the present?" "You'll find out," Ralph promised, "but only after some champagne." He chortled, obviously enjoying his role as gift-giver. Cindy picked up the rectangular package and shook it; there was only a faint rattling from inside it. The box was quite large, decorated by "Happy Anniversary" paper and a big red ribbon, and a tingling of expectation ran through her. She loved to receive presents, and Howard often brought her home small, inexpensive, meaningless gifts, just so she'd have something to open. She loved him for this; this, and for many other reasons. Howard went to the credenza in the dining room and got four cocktail glasses, then went back to the kitchen for a bucket of ice. They sat around for a little while after that while one bottle of champagne cooled, Cindy lovingly staring at the large gift, trying to guess what was in it as the Taylors made jokes about its contents. Most of the bottle was consumed, adding a certain glow of merriment to the festivities, when at last the time came for the box to be opened. Cindy, of course, was chosen as the opener. Slowly, carefully, she slid the bow off and then slit the paper... underneath was a plain cardboard carton advertising dog food. She looked up questioningly. "No, we just had to use the box for all the parts," Ralph said. "C'mon, open the thing." Trembling with anticipation, Cindy obeyed, and inside the carton were other boxes, only these were clearly marked. "Howie!" Cindy exclaimed, "look at this!" Howard was pleasantly shocked. The main gift was a brand-new color Polaroid camera, an expensive model with adjustable lens and shutter speed. Then there was a strobe flash attachment, the kind which was rechargeable, and then... well, he wasn't quite sure what the third item was. "A timer," explained Ralph, "it allows you to be in your own pictures." He held it up and showed how it operated. "See, you set this thing for up to fifteen seconds, then get in range and the camera takes your picture. Then one minute later, you have your photo, automatically." "My God, Ralph, you shouldn't have," Howard gulped. "This is so expensive..." "Ha ha, what's money if not to spend, I always say!" "Well, gee, thanks Ralph... thanks a lot!" "Don't mention it, my boy! Don't mention it!" Ralph picked up the Polaroid and opened it up. "I've got one just like it, Howie. Had nothing but fun with it. Hand me a roll of film there, and I'll show you how it works." The balance of the evening was spent in snapping pictures of each other and Ralph showing his star salesman the intricacies of the adjustments and flash. The rest of the champagne was consumed, and then everybody switched to bourbon or scotch, and at one point Cindy, feeling the double effects of the alcohol and the overwhelming generosity of her husband's employer, had her picture taken while bussing Ralph lightly on the cheek. One minute later everybody took turns looking at sweet lips touching the now slightly alcoholic reddened cheeks of Ralph, while he was grinning from ear to ear into the eye of the lens. Howard saw it, and strangely, perversely, an odd feeling crept into his body. He studied the shot, seeing for the first time his wife kissing another man. He was not jealous, not in the least. It was all done in innocence and in the spirit of the occasion, but still, it was a novel experience, as she had never allowed herself even this slight intimacy with anyone before. It somehow strangely excited him... and then he passed the photo to Norma and the tingling went away. Later, as Norma and Cindy were talking of womanly things in the living room, he and Ralph ended up in the kitchen together, mixing drinks. He was still overcome by the magnitude of the gift and said so. "Wait until your anniversary, Ralph. I'll put on the party and---" "Cut it out, Howie, my boy. Glad to do it. Just seeing you and that wonderful wife of yours having fun is enough for me." He put his arm around Howard's shoulder. "I really like you, my boy. You've done a fine job at Auto Circus, a fine job. You deserve a nice present, you really do." Howard, embarrassed, murmured his thanks for the compliment. He could feel his face flush. "Now tell you what I'm going to do for you, Howie," his boss said, a peculiar leer transforming his face to an almost satyr-like countenance, "I'm going to give you a little hint." "Yes?" Howard thought it might be about the job. Some inside information which would help his career. He listened eagerly. "What is it, Ralph?" "Use the camera... in the bedroom!" Ralph said, and then started to laugh. "Get some real nice candid shots of the ol' wifey!" "What?" Howard backed away, both shocked and embarrassed by his boss's suggestion. His off-color jokes were one thing, but never had he spoken so bluntly! It must be the liquor in him, all that champagne and bourbon... "I don't know what you mean, Ralph," he said. The idea of Ralph's was unthinkable! "Perhaps we'd better go in the living room and..." "You mean to tell me you didn't think of the possibilities?" came the reply, interrupting Howard. "C'mon, Howie, boy," his boss chided, "that's the beauty of the camera. You don't have to take the film in to be developed. Whatever you shoot a picture of is all your own affair." He nudged Howard with his elbow, winking as he did so. "See what I mean now?" Howard knew his face was flame red. Sure, he realized what Ralph had in mind; he wasn't naive! But to think of lowering his wife to such things, like... like she was some nudie model in a man's magazine! "Please, Ralph," he said, squirming uncomfortably, "the girls are waiting." "All right," Ralph said, suddenly sobering. He picked up his glass and started for the living room, a small hint of indignation in his voice. "But I'm telling you, there's nothing to be ashamed of, using the Polaroid for... special shots of each other. Everybody who has one has the same ideas. Really turns the gals on too! Howard followed Ralph into the other room, strangely silent. He loved, revered and yes, respected his wife. The lewd implications of Ralph's suggestions burned his brain, and he was as ashamed for his wife's sake as he was for himself. He liked sex, loved making it with his wife... but gutter-talk and locker room snickerings about their private love life were another matter... Yet his emotions were ambivalent. The high-principled resolve not to court his wife's indignation and hurt by even mentioning the incident just now to her wouldn't blend with a remembrance of the picture of her kissing his boss. The photograph grew from a hazy thought to a crystal- clear portrait of her soft, tapered body bending to passionate responsiveness. That strange tingling in his groin began again at the thought, and a slight jerk of his penis told him that he was getting excited. Stop it, he told himself... this is absolutely crazy, thinking like this... but still Ralph's seed-like suggestion whirled in Howard's brain, gathering momentum, and when he looked at his wife sitting on the couch, he couldn't help mentally stripping her of her clothes and seeing her as if in a photo... By the time the Taylors paid their respects and said goodbye, Howard was filled with lustful dreams of Cindy nude and voluptuous on the bed, standing on the bedroom rug, stretched out on the couch. Quickly he downed another scotch to try and steady his nerves, and mentally berating himself for such lascivious preoccupations. Besides, he knew damned well that if he ever dared to suggest such activities, Cindy would be righteously indignant. Surely not that! Not on this night of their anniversary! Still the images came back to haunt him. He groaned, feeling his cock suddenly begin to ache with anticipatory excitement. "That was nice, wasn't it, sweetheart?" Cindy said, cuddling up to him. "And the camera. How can we ever repay them?" Her words were slightly slurred, a condition which always happened to her after the third drink. It didn't mean she was drunk, Howard knew, but that she was high and feeling good. "Sure, Cindy," he said, trembling. There was a pulsing hardness in his loins now, and without really knowing that he was saying it, he said to her, "Say, honey, are you tired yet?" "No... not really." "Well, let's fool around with the camera some more." He grinned at her, realizing that the liquor had gotten to him, too. "You know, just a couple of shots now that they're gone." "All right," she said brightly. She went to the couch and sat down, crossing her legs and placing her hands on her knees after smoothing her skirt. "Maybe one we can send my folks." "Right!" Howard quickly snapped a few innocent ones, but his mind was on the ones he wanted to take... "How about moving the skirt up a bit now?" he suggested casually. "My... my skirt?" His wife looked uncertain. "I... I don't know, Howie. Do you think it would look right?" Howard waved his hand as if to shrug off the worry. "Ah, who's to see? The picture would stay right here, honey. Just you and me." He smiled reassuringly. "Go on, raise the skirt." "All... right, if you want," his pretty young wife replied, and bunched the material in the folds of her waist. She would never have consented to do this, she realized, if it hadn't been for the liquor she'd consumed. It seemed to loosen her strict moral code... perhaps dangerously? No, there wasn't anything to worry about. If her husband wanted a picture of her like this, then why not? It was no different than one in her bathing suit, was it? "But promise me," she added, "promise you won't take it out of the house." "Never," he replied. He held his breath and snapped the shutter. Then one minute later he sat down with her and showed her the portrait, and he found himself breathing harshly as he admired the smooth, firm swell of her naked thighs as she sat almost nude from the pelvis down... the aching built steadily in his pants... he quickly got up, trying to shield the now quite apparent bulge. "Let's take some more like that! It was fun!" "Howie---" came the plea, but he ignored it. "Put your legs up on the couch. That's it. Now lean back and arch your back so that your breasts are out..." He feverishly sighted the camera. "There! That's it! Yes!" Click! Howard impatiently waited for the film to develop, and then he gazed with ever-increasing excitement at the photo. "Hot damn!" he said chokingly under his breath, "Ralph was right!" "Let me see, Howie," Cindy asked, and he handed her the color shot. She gasped, never before seeing herself so provocatively posed, so... sexy! Redness creeped up from her breasts and neck and enflamed her cheeks. "Howie!" she gasped, but her eyes were still glued to her picture. She was stretched out on the cushions just as before, her firm, ripe, quivering breasts straining against the binders of bra and dress... her lips glistening wetly where she had moistened them with her pink tongue seconds earlier... and her sun-tanned legs and thighs were exposed in all their dark silkiness... "Another!" Howard commanded hoarsely. "This time lie down and lean forward." He fingered the camera in anticipation. "I want to see your breasts," he blurted in his excitement. "Howie! What a thing to say!" Yet in spite of her indignation, she did as he bid. For some unexplainable reason, this moral and most proper young woman---a sensual female only in the darkened confines of her marital bedroom and never with anybody save her husband was caught up in the mounting fever. A small, irrational tingling started growing in her loins and inner thighs, and she could tell her vagina down between her thighs was beginning to moisten with the lubrications of building sensuality. No! she thought, this is a bad thing to be doing...! But she looked up at the lusting face of her husband, dropped her eyes to the pulsing bulge clearly evident in his pants, and her own desires grew still more. He's liking this... she concluded. I'm not... I'm highly ashamed at my display, but it's getting Howie excited, and I guess that's what's making me feel so passionate... certainly it can't be these erotic pictures of myself... Stifling a soft moan of inner protest, Cindy lay down on the couch, leaning forward so that the full expanse of her rounded breasts were in view. Again, strangely, she became aware that she too was becoming excited, that her turgid nipples were rising into tantalizing little buds, pressing against the very edge of her bra's cups. Stop! This just isn't right! she moaned to herself. Hurry, Howie, hurry up with the picture! "Wait a minute, honey," her aroused husband said. "Let's make it a little better." He put down the camera on the coffee table and bent over his trembling wife. He fingered her skirt, the electric contact as he brushed against her skin making her gasp. "Let's see a little of your panties..." He had gone too far! Cindy, her eyes clearly showing the agonizing choice she had to make now, her sense of decency by saying "no" to her own husband, or her desire to please him by saying "yes." She pressed her thighs together tightly, stopping him. "Don't be such a prude!" he suddenly snapped. The alcohol, the growing lust-fever of the snapshots, all had now combined to make him lose control in bitter words. Defiantly, now angered at her husband, Cindy cried, "What a thing to say, Howie! I'm not a prude!" And to prove she wasn't, she spread her legs, letting him take her skirt and roll it to her waist. There was a sharp intake of breath as Howard gazed down with feasting eyes on the tender, barely covered pubic triangle of his young wife. "This... this is going to be the last one, though," she said miserably. "No... no more of these awful pictures." "Sure, sure, honey," Howard agreed, hardly cognizant of what she had said. "We'll go to bed after this one." He angled the camera so that most of the picture would be of her delicious breasts and panties, making sure that the soft warm curls of pubic hair which managed to peek out from under the legbands of her panties were clearly visible. "To bed," he repeated hoarsely and snapped the picture. "Wow!" he gulped when a moment later he held up the shot. Everything was in perfect focus, a fine photo. Once more his wife was before him, the flimsy white bikini panties she wore a teasing cover to her sweet, tempting vaginal slit... and the rounded spheres of her breasts were all but fully exposed, ready to break loose from the wispy bra which covered her nipples. "Oh, wow!" he cried, and his mouth watered. Cindy was sitting up now, smoothing her skirt down over her legs. She was nearly in tears. She got to her feet and saw that her husband was busily thumbing through the naughty collection he had just taken, and unsteadily she walked to the bedroom. She couldn't look at herself as she undressed, and slipped on her white nightgown with the same averted eyes. She couldn't look at herself, not now, not after what she had allowed Howie to do with her. Oh, God, But I do love him... She slid under the sheets and turned off the bedside light, plunging the room into darkness. She lay there, waiting for her husband to come to her, upset by his lusting behavior, still more distraught by her own. She had let him do his will with her, and worse, she had become excited as he had. True, it wasn't because of the pictures---of that she adamantly refused to admit--- but only because seeing her husband wanting her so much made her react. What a terrible way for their third anniversary to end! Oh, if only the Taylors could have foreseen what their gift would have meant, she was sure that they'd never have given it! And where was Howie? Was he still looking at those damning pictures? "Howie!" she called out. "Please come to bed!" "C-Coming, honey," came the wavering reply. "I---I was just having another drink!" His strong, masculine form suddenly filled the doorway, and then the lights went on again. Cindy shielded her eyes with her arm. "Turn off the lights," she said. "In a minute, honey. In a minute." He shed his clothes quickly, and then he was on the bed beside her in a kneeling position, naked, his erect and pulsating cock already standing out from his groin. "You're beautiful, Cindy," he murmured, and slowly slid the sheet away from her, exposing her again. "Howie," the trembling young wife responded. "Howie, I love you so much!" "Mmmm!" he answered as he unbuttoned the nightie at the throat and let it fall away from her body, a cascade of filmy white. He roamed his hands over her, playing with her breasts, tweaking her nipples into vibrating firmness. He had never stopped marveling in her beauty, her wide-eyed, almost shy way she came to him, as though she was a virgin every time, as though he was the only man who could arouse her to where her passion overcame her "first time" reluctance. And he was the only man! Then he looked at her, smiling, and in his hands were those filthy pictures! Cindy gasped, cringing down in the bed as she saw them. "Put them away, Howie," she protested. He grinned lewdly, his face a mask of desire. "Why? They're only of you, my darling. Here, see this one?" He cast a shot of her on the couch in front of her eyes... and once more she saw herself smiling provocatively, her throbbing breasts rich and full, her skirt high and her soft white panties in full view... "Please! Howie," she moaned, and twisted her face away, but as she did so, she glimpsed down her body, at her breasts which were now unhampered by a bra, at the flat plane of her trembling belly, at the soft, lovely spread legs and the soft pubic down which covered her pink vaginal opening. For one terrifying moment she saw that inexplicably her cunt was shining with the excited honeyed dew of her secretions... She was excited! And strangely, by those damnable pictures! The force of the realization was crippling; a blow like a tornado, filling her mind with a lurid feeling of degradation and shame. Her eyes filled with hot tears of self-abasement, and in agony, she grabbed the pictures from her husband and threw her se l f in his arms. She wouldn't admit her arousal, not to herself, and especially to her husband. What would a man think of his sweet, loving wife, then? Terrible things! She gripped the heaving, naked chest of Howard, afraid he would cast her aside as some whore, some defiled harlot sick of mind and body, if he knew what those few snapshots had done to her... "Howie, love me," she pleaded desperately. "Love me slow!" she dropped the photos to the bed, where Howard still saw them, and as he once more spied the curls of golden fleece peeking out of the silken legband of her panties, his cock leapt to a new, full-blooded high. He arched his groin, moving his hardened shaft up and down along her upper belly, for he was still on his knees and she was sitting up... he groaned, feeling the heat of his long-building sexual fire become a raging inferno inside his lust-bloated penis and sperm-filled balls... He leaned back and in doing so his cock neared her breasts. For a moment he shut his eyes, letting the remembrance of those tantalizing lips in the pictures play in his passion-filled brain, and thinking of their softness, their butterlike pliancy on his own lips, he began to ache for them to kiss his pulsing cock. He groaned, sliding uncontrollably up on the bed, angling so that his cock was to his nubile wife's trembling chin. His hand snaked along the covers to the pictures. His fingers felt their edges and even though he couldn't view them, he knew now from memory what each contained, and the thoughts drove to new urgency. As he had so many times in the past when aroused to such a point, he dismissed what he knew was her natural aversion to such an act, and groaned to his wife; "Kiss me, Cindy... kiss me there!" His hardened penis was almost to her ruby lips; all she had to do was bend her face a scant few inches, and her mouth would be closing over the sensitive, fully grown head... A shudder passed through Cindy. "No... no... not that, Howie! You know I... can't... not there!" She turned her face away, her features contorted in a look of revulsion as if to kiss him, to suck his penis was a foul, bitter thing to do. "Not down there," she whispered, and she moved forward, her arms encircling his head and pulling him downwards, full length along the bed. "I... I know you want me to, but don't make me," she sobbed, "I want to make you happy, but not that way. Please!" As before, as always, the urgent and overwhelming desire to have his wife's delicate, soft, warm mouth close around his prick died; the image of her mewling and crooning as he spurted his white hot sperm into her throat vanished with reluctant regard for Cindy's abject repulsion of the act. This was the only flaw in an otherwise wonderful relationship, and at no time in their three years of making love had he been able to prove the eroticism of lips against vagina, mouth against penis. He held her tight, feeling her warm body undulate uncontrollably against his body, her soft belly and pelvis grinding against his penis until her refusal was forgiven and his disappointment forgotten. "Oh... baby!" Cindy moaned. "Darling, darling don't be mad. I need you inside me so much!" "Yes... yes," he heard himself say. He drew her closer to him, moving one hand down to encase the soft, smooth curves of her buttocks. She glued her mouth to his, darting her pink tongue in and out and along his teeth, and then brazenly moved her hand down to grasp his cock. Her cool contact made Howard quiver and he pressed his lips harder against hers to show his appreciation. She strained the full length of her body, grinding and pushing, and then she spread her legs and thighs wide and poised his penis against the snug mouth of her hungry young cunt, the thin, hair-lined lips of her innermost desires relaxing with the overwhelming need of him to enter. There, Howie... right there. Now! He lunged, his hips thrusting heavily as he drove into her waiting passage, feeling her fevered, pulsating vagina almost greedily clasp his cock and absorb it. She wanted all of him tonight, and Howard was amazed that in spite of the rejection of the picture taking, she seemed almost wanton, almost completely lost in the world of sexual abandonment... he couldn't understand her, but didn't try, not with her pussy pushed forward until the head of his cock was pressed hard up against her cervix, her motions of a muscle spasming tempo. She held him tightly, not only with her clasping, smoothly sliding vagina, but with her widespread legs, kicking them out to the side and locking her slender ankles tight around his driving hips. He increased his own strokings, fucking into his wife with almost maniacal fury. Oh, God! He wasn't going to be able to last long tonight! Sometimes they would slowly and softly make love for hours, but not now, not at this rampaging, furious pitch! He was going to reach orgasm soon! "Oooooohhh, Howie! You feel so good! So good!" his now voracious wife whimpered, kissing his neck and shoulders. "Yes! Yes! That feels so goooddddd!" Then she began to babble incoherently, and he knew that Cindy was fast approaching her own climax, and that spurred him on to new, more powerful strokes. Her knees drew up as she raised herself even higher off the bed and her moistly splayed cunt bucked wildly back up against his ramming penis. "OOOOOOOhhhhhh... OOOHHHGodddd!" she cried out as if tortured. "I'm... I'm there! I'm theeeeerrrrrrreeeee!" With a sudden, deep throated groan, Cindy Jamison erupted underneath her husband, and in doing so it released Howard's dammed-up explosion. His cum churned through his swollen testicles and through his penile shaft, bursting through the unseeing eye to flood his wife's hungrily milking pussy. Again and again giant spurts of creamy seed flowed from him until at last he collapsed, a sigh of contentment mingling with her own mewlings of gratification. As sanity returned to him, Howard edged his body off his wife and rolled over. Cindy, nearly asleep, kissed him lightly on the cheek and curled herself up in a warm ball. "Good night, honey," she murmured drowsily. "Happy anniversary." "Sleep tight, honey," he replied thickly, and then put the covers over her. As sleep overtook him, Howard thought that his wife was damned good in bed, in spite of her Victorian hang-up about oral or other forms of sex. He looked at her tenderly, and for some reason, he seemed to view her form, nestled as it was with but a sheet over her and the gown beneath her, as a picture. A simple snapshot... one he would love to add to the few shots he'd taken this evening. But he knew it was one he'd never get. He sighed and turned over, shutting off the light and plunging the room into darkness again. Ralph was sitting in the glassed-in cubicle which served as his office when Howard arrived at the Auto Circus lot the next morning. He waved, his round face beaming cheerfully, and motioned for Howard to join him. "Morning, Howie," Ralph said enthusiastically as Howard entered the office. He shook the younger man's hand. "How's the head today?" "Not too bad," Howard confessed, his voice a little rueful. "I guess I did over-indulge a little, though." "Nonsense, my boy. Anniversary celebrations were made for over- indulgence." Ralph indicated the client's chair before his molded plastic desk, and then went around behind the modernistic furnishing and seated himself in his swivel chair. He cleared his throat, meeting Howard's eyes; his own were twinkling. "Did you and Cindy, ah, go right to bed after we left, Howie?" Howard felt heat inadvertently rise on his neck and cheeks as the remembrance of the previous evening's activities with his wife sprang full-blown into his mind once more. "Well, we... I mean, that is... not exactly..." Ralph chuckled softly. "Tried out the ole Polaroid, eh?" he said sagely. "Norma and I thought you probably would." Howard searched for words, but none of an appropriate nature came to his mind. He finally managed lamely, "It's a very nice camera, Ralph. We... we appreciate such an expensive gift..." "Did you---take some pictures of Cindy, Howie?" asked Ralph with a sly intonation. Howard's face grew an even darker red. "P-pictures?" he stammered. "Sure," said Ralph, winking. "Like I told you. In the bedroom." "I... I..." "Did you try out the timer?" "The... the timer?" "The fifteen-second timer, Howie," Ralph said patiently. Then he leaned forward across the desk, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "How far would she go, hey, boy? Just a little cheesecake, I'd guess. The girls are usually pretty shy at first." "I... I don't know what you mean, Ralph." Howard was fidgeting nervously in his chair, his face flaming now. "Oh come on, Howie," Ralph said, leaning back in his chair again. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Almost everybody who gets his first Polaroid-with-timer has the same ideas and does the same things. They're great little intimacy arousers. Get you hornier than hell, especially if you use the timer so that you get shots of you and the wife making it." Howard stared at his employer with widening eyes. He had known Ralph was open and frank to the point of coarseness at times, but never had he expected to hear such personal comments coming from the man. Why, he was practically suggesting that he, Howard, engage in lewd practices like... well, like voyeurism, for God's sake! Self-voyeurism, at that! Ralph opened the walnut humidor on his desk and selected an imported cigar. He snipped off the end with a tiny pair of gold scissors, lighted it with a gold lighter, and blew a cloud of blue-gray smoke at the ceiling. "You're not going to tell me you're less of a red-blooded man than I thought, are you, Howie? Especially after our little talk in the kitchen last night." Howard bristled a little at that, feeling some of the heat leave his face. "What do you mean by that, Ralph?" "Why do you suppose Norma and I gave you that Polaroid, my boy?" "I don't know," came the reply. "Why did you?" "Because I thought you'd appreciate the potential of such a gift, Howie, that's why. I got my first Polaroid four years ago, from Norma's sister, and I appreciated the potential right away. You seemed like the same kind of fun-loving, new-frontiers type that I am; if you hadn't, I wouldn't have allowed our friendship to bond as tightly as it has. Hell, I figured: why should I be having all the kicks, just because I've got a little more money in the bank than old Howie boy." "You... you mean, you and Norma have...?" "Taken pictures of one another? And together, fucking? Sure we have, boy. Why, thousands of people do the same thing all over the country these days. It's the in-thing with those in-the-know." He paused, measuring the younger man candidly. "But, of course, you already knew that, didn't you?" "Uh, well, sure I did, Ralph. Sure I knew that." Ralph allowed his smile to widen. "That's what I thought. I didn't really believe for a minute that I'd underestimated my star salesman." He chuckled softly, then leaned forward across his desk again. "Now come on, boy, give a little. Did you get some good cheesecake shots or not last night?" Howard moistened his lips uncertainly. Ralph had put him in an awkward position: what he and Cindy did in the privacy of their own home was their business and no one else's---but then again, Ralph was a good friend and his boss, as well; and he was in a position to do Howard a great deal of future good. After all, hadn't Ralph been instrumental in getting him his last promotion and pay raise from the company president? Besides that, Ralph had more or less put this business of picture-taking on a masculine-pride level; Howard was one who would never admit to being a lesser man, much less to being naive in the ways of the world. It wouldn't do any harm, really, he thought, to tell Ralph about the photos he had taken of Cindy the night before. It was all innocent anyway; Cindy would never approve, naturally---but she would never have to know. Howard managed a smile, licking his lips again. "Well," he said, "as a matter of fact, Ralph, I... I did get some pretty good shots, at that. Some... some cheesecake, as you say." "I thought so," Ralph beamed. "Pretty hot, eh?" "Sure," Howard said, having committed himself. "Sure, they were pretty hot ones, Ralph." Ralph laughed. "Nude shots?" Howard felt himself flushing again. "Well... well, not exactly. But they were pretty good anyway. Cheesecake you know." Ralph opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a small manila envelope, which he placed on the glass top in front of Howard. "Not anywhere in the neighborhood of these, I'll bet," he said. Howard frowned, looking at the envelope. "What's this?" "Open it up and take a look, my boy." Howard did that, extracting several glossy full-color photographs which had obviously been taken with Polaroid cameras. They were blown-up five-by-seven prints, and Howard sucked in his breath sharply as he saw what they graphically depicted. "My God!" he managed to whisper. The top photo was of a lithe, buxom brunette with an angelic face. She was lying completely nude on her back on a rumpled bed, her slender legs raised and wide-spread so that the whole of her naked loins were displayed to the eye of the camera. Her hands were cupped teasingly around her pubic triangle, framing the wide-splayed splendor of her softly hair-fringed cunt. She was smiling coyly between her ruby- nippled, alabaster breasts. Howard blinked and looked at the second photo. Another sharp intake of breath, and a small gasp. The same angelic brunette was in this one, but with her also was a dark-haired, handsome male. The brunette was straddling the man's loins, her widespread loins lowered down on the man's hardened penis, so that fully half of its huge length was sunk into her open vagina. She was holding its base between her thumb and forefinger, her small pink tongue held tightly between her full red lips and her eyes squeezed tightly shut in ecstasy. Her other hand was squeezing her left breast, very hard, so that the jutting nipple seemed to point directly at the camera. Quickly, with beads of sweat lacing his forehead and a rising harness in his loins, Howard thumbed through the other pictures. One showed a different, gray-templed man kneeling between the opened thighs of a petite blonde with pear-shaped breasts, his long tongue snaked out so that it touched the swollen bud of her pink clitoris nestled between fleece-like blonde pubic hair. Another depicted a voluptuous raven- haired girl barely out of her teens with her coral-colored lips voraciously encircling the erect, swollen prick of a muscular hirsute man while he used the middle finger of one hand in the wet, glistening area of her soft pink cunt, her leg being raised so that the full extent of her womanhood was presented to the viewer's eyes while she sucked the man's cock and toyed with his sperm-heavy balls. Still another photo showed two couples, both in their mid-thirties, engaged in an orgiastic group session which Howard could not believe upon first sight, since it involved cunnilingus, fellatio, sodomy all at the same time. The final snap was of two blonde girls and a huge German Shepherd dog, the animal's long hot lolling tongue probing the pubic region of one of the girls while his wet red penis sawed into the upthrust cunt of the second. Howard was sweating profusely, his breath coming in short gasps as his own genitals tingling with arousal, when he put the group of photographs back on Ralph's desk. "Good Christ, Ralph," he managed, "where did you get those?" "They're really something, aren't they?" Ralph asked, snickering softly. "I've never seen anything like that in my life!" "And these're just one small example of what can be done with a good old Polaroid camera, Howie," said Ralph. "I've got other ones at home-- - wilder ones, if you can believe it." Howard wiped his forehead with the back of one hand. His throat felt dry. "But where did you get them, Ralph? They... they don't look like model-posed pornographic pictures..." "They're not," Ralph told him. "All the people in these photos are just like you and me, Howie average American citizens just out looking for a few kicks. They all belong to an exchange-photographic organization--- The Camera Club. Norma and I are members ourselves." "You... you are?" Howard could scarcely believe what his boss was telling him; he had thought he knew most everything about Ralph Taylor, his likes and dislikes, his interests and directions. He had never suspected for a moment that Ralph would be involved in this... this... well, this dirty picture club. Still, the photos were extremely stimulating, more stimulating than anything he had ever seen before. Just thinking about them made his prick tremble and begin to rise again... "The way it works," Ralph was explaining, "we subscribe to this monthly newspaper the Club produces. Couples write in, describing themselves and their photos, what they'd like in return, and so on. Then we exchange pictures." "You mean this Camera Club is a nationwide thing?" "Sure. There are four chapters---one in New York, one in Florida, one in Chicago, and one in San Francisco-Los Angeles. The New York Chapter puts out the newspaper. Hell, you can buy a copy of it right here in Morriston, under the counter of course. Costs a buck a copy." "Here in Morriston?" Howard was incredulous. Ralph laughed. "Uh-huh. Why, you'd be surprised at some of the locals who are members of the Club; you really would be, Howie." "You... you just exchange photos, that's all you do? I mean, you hear so much these days about wife-swapping... "That's not our bag," Ralph said with a slow smile. "We're strictly out for our own kicks, together. Oh sure, some of the others undoubtedly go in for that sort of thing---witness some of those pictures you just saw- -but that's their business, not ours. I mean, what the hell?" "Sure," Howard said. "There's not a damned thing wrong with this picture exchange that I can see," said Ralph. "We're being faithful to our wives, aren't we? Those of us who are in the Club for personal gratification, I mean. All we're doing is getting ourselves and our wives turned on watching some other people doing it, and they're doing the same thing watching us. And it does get you turned on, Howie boy, believe me." I believe you, all right, Howard thought. I can remember how excited I got last right, taking pictures of Cindy---and they weren't anything more than some harmless cheesecake. I wonder if I dare... He shook his head, as if to clear it. No, there was no use thinking about trying to carry his thoughts past the pure day-dream stage. Cindy would never allow him to take pictures of her stripped completely naked, even though she had agreed to the cheesecake photos of the previous night, and she would most definitely never allow anything as lascivious as self- photos of the two of them making love. For God's sake, even if she did agree to go that far, she would certainly not agree to let anyone else, much less strangers, see the photos. And he shouldn't expect her to, damn it; what was the matter with him? Cindy was a sweet, moral girl, faithful and passionate and able to satisfy his every need up until now---so why was he thinking about asking her to do something which fairly shouted of perversity and lack of respect for privacy and personal intimacy? Why should he be so excited at the possibility of seeing more of these photos which Ralph had just shown him? Why should the thought of watching other people making love and performing perversion on a regular basis bring the sweat out on his forehead, and bring a tightness to his chest and loins? Well, he couldn't explain it; it was beyond his comprehension. He knew only that the idea of seeing Cindy in a provocative position in a photograph, as he had for the first time last night, turned him on like he had never been turned on before. And the sight of these photos of strangers today had had the same physical effect on him. He realized Ralph was speaking to him. "... do you think, Howie boy?" "I'm sorry, Ralph. what did you say?" "I said," Ralph repeated, "what do you think of the idea of the Polaroid Club?" "Well, I... I suppose it's all right," Howard said hesitantly. "For other people, I mean." He averted his eyes. "But not for you, eh boy?" "No, I... I don't think so, Ralph." Ralph smiled knowledgeably. "Sure now? I can tell by your face that you're interested, Howie." "No... no, I'm not, really, Ralph... I'm not." Howard got quickly to his feet, conscious of his sweat-sheened face and neck. "I... I think I'd better get to work. There are some contracts that have to be drawn up..." Ralph also stood. "Okay, boy," he said. "But think it over, will you? We'd be mighty glad to have you aboard; it's really a wild bag." He chuckled. "And if you're worried about Cindy going along, I've got just the remedy." Howard had turned toward the door. Now, without conscious thought, he found himself turning back to his superior. "What kind of remedy?" he heard himself ask. "Take these pictures with you when you go home for supper tonight," Ralph said, pushing the photos and the manila envelope across the desk toward Howard. "And on your way, stop and buy a copy of that newspaper I was telling you about---The Camera Club News. I'll tell you where you can pick it up. Then you leave the paper and the photos where Cindy will be sure to find them..." "No, I couldn't do that," Howard said, shocked. "It's... not right! Cindy would never forgive me..." "I think you're underestimating not only your wife but women in general, my boy. Why not give it a try? You're interested, I know you are. You can't fool old Ralph. Take it from me, all you've got to do is put the bug in the wife's ear, get her on the track. Once they see the kicks involved, they're only too happy to go along. I know, boy; Norma was the same as Cindy, shy and retiring, when I first heard about the Polaroid Club. Now she's open and much warmer---and hell on wheels in the rack, let me tell you!" Howard felt uncomfortable in the face of all this candidness, the unexpected admissions and ideas and concepts which he had been subjected to this morning. He wanted to get out of there, get to work so he could think more clearly. "I... I don't think so, Ralph, I don't think so..." he managed, groping his way to the door, opening it, walking swiftly toward his own small cubicle. He did not realize until he had entered it and seated himself at his desk that he held the photos Ralph had shown him in his right hand... Howard left the Auto Circus at five that night, for his hour-and-a- half supper break. The lot stayed open until midnight seven days a week, and this was his week to close up five of the seven days. He had not had a good day. He had bungled two sales, unable to keep his mind on the demanding task of promoting a customer's confidence in himself and the vehicle he was selling, and had fouled up a contract for a regular volume buyer. He hadn't been able to get his mind off Ralph's words of that morning and of the photos which seemed to be burning a hole in his jacket pocket. At four-thirty, he had known that there was no use in kidding himself any longer; he was going to take Ralph's suggestion about leaving the photographs and a copy of that newspaper where Cindy would be sure to find them. He had gone in to see Ralph, taken a deep breath, and asked where he could buy a copy of the Camera Club News. Ralph had winked boldly at him, saying, "I thought you'd change your mind, my boy. And you won't be sorry, either; no sir, you won't be sorry at all. Now the place you want to go is Winkler's Used Books, over on Shafer Avenue..." Feeling a strange combination of guilt and mounting excitement at what he was about to do, Howard drove over to Shafer Avenue and found Winkler's Used Books, a small neighbor hood secondhand store set midway in the block. Somewhat self-consciously, for he had never so much as purchased a girlie magazine in the past---although he had managed to sneak a look at some of them from time to time---Howard went inside and asked the grizzled, bald-headed old man behind the counter for a copy of "a modern swinger's newspaper," as Ralph had instructed him. The old man didn't even glance at him twice. He reached under the counter, produced a small, six-page, roughly printed news-sheet, and demanded a dollar. Howard gave it to him and, clutching the paper tightly under his arm, he hurried back to where he had parked his car. He sat inside for a time, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, a curious fluttering sensation in his lower belly. He glanced over the paper, marveling at some of the ads there, growing excited by them; it was as if he couldn't get enough air in his chest. Jesus, but I'd like to send away for some of the photos mentioned in here. If they're half as good as they claim, they ought to really be something... With trembling fingers, he took the manila envelope of pictures from his coat pocket and glanced through them again. His prick seemed to jerk spasmodically in his pants as he once again saw the lewd, tremendously stimulating acts being performed in the full-color splendor of the Polaroid snaps. The ones that really turned him on the most were those depicting oral love: soft feminine mouths closed eagerly, hungrily over the lust-hardened cocks of their husbands; masculine lips and tongues paying devoted homage to the warm, secret, tender cuntal valleys of their wives. These he would put on top, so that they would be the first ones Cindy would see when she opened the envelope; maybe they would convince her of the beauty, of the rightness, of oral love... He started to fold the newspaper around the photos when a sudden frown creased his forehead and he stopped. Some of the other photos, besides those depicting oral by-play, were pretty raw for the uninitiated eyes of his naive young wife; instead of being turned on, being interested and excited by the newspaper and snaps as he intended, mightn't she become repulsed and sickened by viewing such blatantly carnal acts as sodomy and seance a trots and bestiality? Yes, yes, of course she would! He couldn't include those pictures, not now, not at this early date just the milder ones, the ones showing a man and his wife making love in all the possible ways... Quickly, Howard sorted out the photos, putting those he deemed too blatant for Cindy's eyes into the glove compartment; the rest he inserted inside the folded Camera Club News and put into the manila envelope, sealing it. Then he started the car and, with hot blood pounding in his temples, he drove directly home. Cindy met him at the door, wearing a thin hostess gown and holding a freshly made martini in her right hand; her hair was carefully combed, as it always was when he came home. Even after three years of marriage, she never failed to greet him with a drink and a kiss and an alluring outfit, as if they were still honeymooners. This was one of the reasons Howard loved his beautiful young wife so much, one of the reasons he had always felt himself to be very lucky... Cindy kissed him warmly, handing him his Martini. "You're late, Howie," she chided in a mock pout. "I... had to stop off on an errand for Ralph," he told her. "Well, dinner's in the oven. A casserole. Okay?" "Fine, honey." She kissed him again, and then her eyes fell on the manila envelope which he carried in his right hand. "What have you got there?" she asked. "Something for me?" Howard was momentarily tongue-tied. Of all the stupid things! He had come into the house carrying the envelope out in the open, instead of under his coat where Cindy couldn't see it; what was the matter with him? He just wasn't used to this kind of thing, he supposed, not used to it at all... He took a long swallow of his drink, and that seemed to oil his throat muscles so that they worked again. He said, "Well, uh, they're pictures, honey---pictures Ralph gave me. He says they, uh, are ones some friends of his took with their Polaroid and he wanted us to, uh, see what could be done with ours." "Oh! Well, let's look at them, Howie. I'm kind of anxious to see them, after that buildup." "Uh, I'd rather not, if you don't mind, honey," Howard said lamely. He was fouling things up, fouling them all up and he knew it and he kept getting himself in deeper; Christ, why couldn't he be as blase as Ralph was about these things? He laughed nervously. "They're not, uh, my kind of pictures---or yours." Cindy frowned slightly. "What do you mean, Howie?" "Well, they're sort of... sort of like the ones I took of you last night." Howard 's face flushed. "You know, daring and... and like that." "Have you seen them?" "No, but Ralph explained them to me," he lied. "Why in the world would Ralph give you photos like that, Howie? Dirty ones, I mean?" "Oh, they're not dirty," Howard said quickly. "Just... just daring, that's all." Cindy frowned again. She felt a small sense of foreboding, as if there were something Howard was not telling her, as if there was some motive behind his boss having given him these "daring" photographs. She thought back to the previous evening, and to the snapshots Howard had taken of her---with her skirt hiked up and her panties showing; thought back to how excited he had been, how obviously aroused by the sight of her posing so provocatively before the eye of the camera and in its sixty- second lasting capture of it. A small involuntary tremor coursed through her soft young body. She must never let Howard do that again, take pictures of her like that; it was wrong and it was wicked, and it had no place in a happy, fully consummated marriage such as theirs. She said, "Well, if they're that kind of pictures, you take them right back to Ralph. You tell him we don't want anything like that. I don't understand him at all, giving them to you in the first place." "He, uh, was just trying to be friendly, I guess," said Howard, wanting to end the discussion as quickly as possible. "But I'll take them back, don't worry." "I won't honey," his young wife said. She put her arm around him, softening. "Come on. Let's eat before the casserole gets cold." They ate a leisurely dinner, and Howard managed to steer the conversation to many things of little consequence, so that Cindy would forget about the manila envelope. He had slipped it into their bedroom as she was setting the table, putting it on the nightstand by their bed. Now, if only she wouldn't remember it and make him take it with him when he went back to Auto Circus tonight... She didn't remember. Howard fixed them each another Martini after dinner, gulped his down, and told her he had better get back to work--- to relax and enjoy her drink. Then he kissed her, and she whispered, "Come home early and love me tonight, Howie darling." He said that he would, kissed her again, said good-bye, and left quickly, feeling once more that odd mixture of guilt and mounting excitement as he backed the car out of their driveway. Cindy, smiling happily and with a warm glow spreading through her from the Martinis, sat back on the divan in the living room and sipped the remaining liquid from her glass. She stretched languidly, thinking, I feel so good tonight, so warm and loved and happy. I'm a lucky woman, a very lucky woman, to have a wonderful husband like Howie, who has a very good job and Is a good provider and is a very, very, very good lover. She giggled softly, and a warm, pleasant ache began between her tender young thighs. She sighed then, squeezing her legs tightly together, wishing Howie hadn't had to go back to work tonight. They could have had another drink together, and then gone to bed, as they did sometimes, and made love for hours and hours, slow and sweet and good. That was the kind of mood she was in tonight, the mood to make love very, very slowly for a long, long time... Well, Howard would be home at midnight or so and they could make love then. She would have to content herself with waiting, maybe watching a little television and, yes why not, having another drink. She was feeling a little audacious tonight, and even though she knew her absolute limit without getting drunk was two Martinis in one evening, she decided that, by golly, she was going to make herself a third! She mixed the drink in the kitchen, humming softly and a little intoxicatedly, and then decided that she would watch television in the bedroom. She carried the drink in there, switched on the old portable set on its coaster stand by the dresser (now that Howie had gotten a raise at Auto Circus, maybe they could afford the color set they'd wanted for so long), and lay down on the bed. It was when she reached over to set down the Martini glass on the nightstand that she noticed the manila envelope lying there. She frowned mightily. Oh, damn! Now why hadn't Howie taken that back with him to give to Ralph like she'd asked him? Why had he brought it in here to the bedroom, for heaven's sake? She propped herself up on one elbow and took another sip of her drink. She kept looking at the envelope, lying there sealed, and she began to wonder, disinterestedly at first and then with increasing attraction, what the pictures inside were like. Howard had said they were similar to the ones he had taken of her last night, daring and naughty probably, like those were. Some friends of Ralph's, he had said. Did other wives allow their husbands to take pictures of them, as she had allowed Howard last night? Did they---would they dare even go farther than she had, actually undressing to bra and panties or even to... well, to the buff? Cindy sipped again of her Martini. The liquor was beginning to affect her now, in several different ways. Her ardor of a few minutes earlier, instead of waning, seemed to have gained intensity, so that she felt a moistening down between her legs, flowing out to dampen her inner thighs; and she felt, toes a boldness that she had never experienced before, an irrational desire to do something she shouldn't do--- something like opening that manila envelope and looking at the pictures inside. I wonder just how naughty those photos are, she thought. I'll bet they're very naughty, and if they are, I should have Howie speak to Ralph about giving them to us. But I can't do that until I know for myself what they're like. Impulsively, then, stifling another slightly tipsy giggle, Cindy reached out and grasped the manila envelope. Her fingers fumbled at the sealed flap, finally got it open; and then she was drawing out the newspaper wrapped photos and holding them on her lap. She let them lie there, on the warm silken mound of her lower abdomen, as she drained the last of the Martini. Then she opened the newspaper, saw the photos, and held them up to her slightly blurred eyes, squinting at them very close. Her first reaction was one of shocked horror. She blinked rapidly several times, her eyes seemingly held transfixed by the full-color carnality which she held in her hands. Her brain was spinning with the combined forces of startlement and undiluted gin. My... my God! she thought. This is... it's filthy! It's pornography, that's what it is, plain and simple pornography! She wanted to cast the offending photos from her, but a curious perversity made her grip them more tightly between her fingers, made her eyes remain fastened to their glossy detail. The top snapshot showed a sweet-looking brunette straddling a dark-haired man; both of them were nude, with their privates fully exposed to the camera, and his... his penis was pushed halfway up into her open vagina! Cindy swallowed hard, looking at the expression on the young woman's face. It wax one of sheer, unadulterated ecstasy, lids drooped, mouth parted and moist, with the tip of her wet pink tongue showing; she seemed to be oblivious to the camera, caught up in the sexual frenzy of the moment, of the feeling of the man's hardened shaft imbedded deep within her cuntal passage. And she was manipulating her own breast, squeezing it passionately in her ardor... Staring at the angelic young girl's obvious enjoyment, Cindy felt a quickening of her breath, a fluttering in her lower belly. The inside of her mouth was dry, and she ran her pink tongue over her lips several times, trying to dispel the arid, cottony taste. Her now-trembling fingers pulled the first photo aside and the second came into view. She gasped, and a little spiral of unwanted heat wended its way upward through her warmly secreting loins, into her stomach and chest, hardening the firm, ruby crests of her snowy breasts. A man, distinguished and older, crouched between the widespread thighs of a small, well-proportioned blonde, his long wet, seemingly hard, tongue curled out to flick over the swollen naked pubic area and the erect clitoris of the passion-tensed girl! A wave of puritan revulsion took hold of Cindy, and again she wanted to cast the offending photos from her. But again, she did not; again, she stared at the photo, at the man, at his tongue touching the innermost secret of the blonde girl. Oral sex! Perversion! cried the half- intoxicated mind of the young wife. The very same terrible thing Howie wanted to do to me so many times! Oh, God, and I'll bet that if I flip over to another photo it win show the disgusting sight of some woman with her mouth around a man's penis... A cascade of shame flowed through her, causing her to flush a violent crimson. She was no better than the... the lascivious people in the photos! Thinking filthy thoughts, working herself into an impossible froth... Suddenly, she wished again that her husband were home. She was aroused now, aroused by the gin and the thought of lovemaking and yes, aroused by the perversity of the Polaroid snapshots which she held in her quaking hands. "No! No!" she moaned aloud, but even as the words left her lips she was pulling aside the top photo, revealing the one which lay beneath... And there it was! Just as she had feared---a girl, a young-raven- haired teen-age girl, with her lips firmly ovaled around the lust- hardened penis of a thin muscular man! And she was enjoying it, yes reveling in the taste of the man's huge penis! She was actually groveling in the very thing Howard had for so long wanted her to do to him. A low cry of despair tore from Cindy's throat, and she was finally able to push the photos away from her, to fan out in disarray on the bed beside her. She lay there, trembling, opening and closing her legs in a vain effort to dispel the tingling, flowing excitement which the lewd pictures had built to a fanning inferno between her soft, pulsating thighs. Howie, she thought confusedly, Howie, I need you, I wish you were here right now! Howie, I want you, I want you to love me, Howie... Her hands went out on either side of her to clutch the spread, and her fingers encountered the rough newsprint of the paper around which the photos had been wrapped. Something to take her mind off her mounting desire, her confusion and repulsion at the sight of the pictures which that... that lecher Ralph Taylor had given to Howard... Yes, she would read the paper, that was it; read the paper and calm herself that way... She lifted the paper, unfolded it before her eyes. The masthead struck her with the force of a sharp blow: The Camera Club News. What was this? Her eyes traveled down the front page, over the four columns there. It wasn't an ordinary newspaper, it was... oh, God, it was some kind of newspaper of the same kind of people who were in those photos she had just looked at... advertisements for the exchange of lewd pictures, placed by people from all over the country, sick people like Ralph Taylor must be sick, oh, God... Man and wife will exchange erotic poses with similarly motivated couple. Nothing conventional. Oralism preferred. Box ---- Cleveland, Ohio... Couple with German Shepherd would like to swap snaps with dog owners everywhere. These are the wildest ever! If you don't believe us, query Box ----, Atlanta, Ga... The tormented young wife crumpled the paper and flung it to the floor, rolling over onto her stomach. Her lower belly was on fire now, in spite of herself; it was almost as if... as if the sickness she was seeing here tonight had aroused her passions to the desperation point. Tears flowed from her eyes, and her body involuntarily squirmed on the bed. She wiped away the wetness which was obscuring her vision---and her gaze fell on one of the photos, the nearest one. It showed a couple performing simultaneous oral love in the classic sixty-nine position. Her hand swept it up as if with a will of its own, and her eyes grew glazed. Breath spewed raggedly from between her open, saliva moistened lips. She stared at the picture, at the auburn-haired woman in the process of running her wetly glistening tongue upward over the man's sperm-swollen testicles to the ridged underside of his hardened penis; as the man's lips pressed tightly to the gaping, pink-red softness of the girl's wide opened pussy, his nose gently tickling the tiny puckered ring of her anus. Oh, God, I'm sorry, Cindy's mind cried, I'm sorry. But I don't care, I can't stand it I can't! And in one swift motion, the beautiful young wife rolled onto her back, still holding the salacious, full-color photo close to her eyes, and with her free hand drew open the hostess gown. Beneath it she wore only a thin pair of flimsy panty briefs. As if a separate entity, ungoverned by her will, the hand drew the panties down, slowly, slowly, as she raised her quivering buttocks high off the bed. Her liquor-fogged, passion-fogged brain blotted out all the evils she had been led to believe came from masturbation. There was only her urgency now, her need for release from the intense arousal of her body by the lustful activities in the photos. She massaged the smooth flat whiteness of her stomach with the palm of her hand, around and around, raising up to pass over her breasts with their swollen nipples, causing whirlpools of passion to seethe within her. Then her hand with a will of its own moved lower and she arched her back, raising her hips high off the bed, her fingers passing through the downy- soft fleece of her golden pubic hair and intensifying further the rising crescendo of sexual frenzy. A groan of desire and total abandonment escaped her lips, and the young helplessly impassioned wife moved her hand downward between her now- widespread thighs, wet with the secretion of her passion. She gentled her finger into the moist flesh, and the feeling generated by her own fevered fingers was so very, very good. She manipulated the soft hair- lined inner lips until she could feel them swelling with the rush of blood, and her clitoris was rigid and tingling. Her index finger came in contact with the trembling flesh, and she began to gasp with delight as she felt release imminent. Her hips thrashed the bed and the air, her eyes never once leaving the photo and the lewd oralism depicted there---lips on penis, lips on vulva, lips on penis, lips on vulva... Faster, faster, faster her finger rubbed across the sensitive clit, blanking her mind of all thoughts, all sanity; nothing existed for her in that moment except the delirious coming of her impending climax. And then she was there! Oh, God, she was cumming! Her hips flailed frantically at the bed as wave after wave of intense, bursting release seized her. It was pleasure so acute that it approximated pure pain. Then, as her orgasm began to ebb, her buttocks sank back to the spread and her hand stilled but did not leave her cunt. She lay there, not moving, her eyes squeezed tightly shut now and her chest rising and falling spasmodically. And then sanity returned to her brain. With it came abject mortification, a feeling of self-loathing that was almost as great as the delight of her still ebbing orgasm. She moaned aloud in despair, sitting up, brushing the photos from the bed and flinging them to the floor around it as if they were vermin of the foulest type. Then she threw herself face down on the bed, crying out her torment, sick with the knowledge of the act of carnal self-abuse that she had just performed on herself. Those damnable photos! They were the cause of it all, the cause of her rising excitement into the throes of lust, her loss of self-control. Those filthy photos! Oh, damn Ralph Taylor for giving them to Howard, damn him, damn him! Why did he have to interfere in hers and Howard's heretofore placid existence; why did he have to give them that Polaroid camera, anyway? What was the matter with him? Was he as sick as the people who subscribed to that Camera Club News? The questions spun and rotated in Cindy's tortured, liquor fogged mind. She felt sick to her stomach, and... impure, as if her body were harboring disease-ridden microbes. She needed the cleansing release of sleep; she couldn't be this upset when Howard came home. He must never know what she'd done tonight; no, he must never know. After a long moment, she stood from the bed and gathered the photos and the newspaper from the floor, holding them again as if they were excrement laden. She put them back in the manila envelope, returned the envelope to the nightstand. Then she took off her gown and lay back down on the bed, slipping between the sheets, praying for the respite of sleep to ease her tortured mind. But restful sleep, for the confused young Cindy Jamison, was not forthcoming on this night. "Well, Howie, my boy," Ralph Taylor said jovially, "you about ready to see how those pictures worked?" Howard had been in his office for the better part of three hours now, having come back from his dinner hour still disturbed over what he'd done. All the way home and all during the time he was with his wife he kept telling himself he wouldn't leave the corrupting manila envelope of photos and paper... but he had! He didn't feel right about it, not right at all... but the damage had been done. He was here, waiting for some customer to walk on the lot and take his mind away from what he'd done. He had resolved that when midnight came and he could go home, he would straightaway take that packet and burn it if his wife hadn't opened it yet. More than once he'd thought about calling her, telling her under no circumstances should she open it... but every time his hand went to the phone, he stopped. To tell her would be tantamount to confessing that he knew what was in it; Cindy wasn't dumb and she'd figure that she'd been set up. Instead of a customer, in had walked Ralph. There hadn't been a customer all the while he had been back at Auto Circus, nothing to relieve the time-heavy wait. And of all the people he didn't want to see at the moment was his boss, the very man who had turned his head and suggested the whole stupid idea. But, like the professional salesman that he was, Howard swallowed his inner feelings and smiled heartily. "Oh, hello, Ralph. I didn't see you. Aren't you supposed to be home now?" "Hah, hah, home is where the heart is," came the answer, "and tonight I felt that I should see how my friend is doing. And you are my friend, you know, as well as my star salesman." He chuckled again. "Besides, Norma's got a bridge club meeting going on at the house. My heart is certainly not out for any of her friends." "Oh." Howard shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Not much going on tonight, I'm afraid." "Can't expect much, not on a weekday night in between paydays. I sometimes wonder whether it's worth staying open." He sighed, looking out the window at the rows of gleaming cars and then beyond, at the all but deserted main street. "Everybody's home in bed or at my house, playing cards." "Uh-huh." Howard tried to think of some work to do; anything so he could look busy and have an excuse not to talk. There was nothing; he'd finished the paper, and all he could do was sit. "Like I said, boy, how do you think it will go?" Howard felt his face color. "I... I don't know." "What? After three years you can't figure on how your wife will react?" "It isn't that, Ralph." Here we go again, back in the same embarrassed, defensive position I was earlier. God, I must look stupid to him... "It's just that Cindy's not all that experienced. I mean, there's a lot of difference between three years and ten." Good... throw it back on him... Ralph laughed. "Got a point there. Norma was the same way, just like I told you. Shy as the dickens. That's why I'm telling you how to work it, my boy, because I found out the hard way." He leaned over, his breath heavy of cigar and bourbon. "Tell you what. Why don't you close up the lot and we'll go have a drink. We can talk man-to-man, and I'll give you a few more pointers. The last thing I need now is a few pointers from him, Howard thought, but he knew it would be useless to argue. "All right," he said, feigning joviality. "Take me just a minute." "Good, good." A few minutes later the two of them were in Ralph's car, a one-year old Cadillac recently put on the lot and which he'd taken a liking to. Until it was sold, that is, and then he'd pick another big, pretentious car. Howard stared out the window. He thought that they would have walked up to the corner and the little neighborhood tavern, but instead Ralph had "suggested" (the suggestion a command in this instance) that they go downtown to a cocktail lounge in Morriston's fancy and plush hotel, The Constantinople. He felt acutely uncomfortable, as though again he was getting into more than he bargained for, but there wasn't any way he could see of getting out of it. But one drink or two wouldn't make any difference, could it? Besides, he could use it, he told himself; he had a bad case of the jitters at the thought of what he'd done and the storm that might be waiting for him when he got home. A very irate and indignant wife, that's what. He shut his eyes, trying to blot out the thought. Ralph found a parking place near the hotel. "Here we are, my boy." There seemed to be a wicked gleam in his eye, thought his salesman, and the way he's rubbing his hands together! The only time Howard had seen his boss do that was after the closing of a deal, when a customer had been badly overcharged or loaded with a lemon. Again, the nagging doubts as to "stopping for a drink" entered Howard's thoughts, but he went along, through the revolving door, into the deep-carpeted lobby. The hotel's lounge was called The Arabian Knight, and was decorated in a mock Byzantine opulence not at all like Constantinople or Arabia in their most wicked days, but more like a Hollywood dream sequence of what life should have been back then. A pert waitress passed among the quite large crowd, dressed in a harem costume of spangled bra and pantaloons. The pantaloons were see-through gossamer, a wide triangle of gold coins woven together acting as the covering of her pubic area. She had long hair, similar to Cindy's long black, and an exciting, provocative wiggle which in spite of himself made Howard look. Ralph's eyes were fastened on her, drawn to the rotating buttocks like air to a broken vacuum. "Hot damn!" the manager exclaimed. "She gets better looking every time I come in here!" The waitress came over to the table where they were sitting. She smiled perfunctorily at Howard, and grinned at Ralph; she was obviously acquainted with him. Howard had the odd thought pass through him of how well? Ralph said: "Double bourbons." "Ralph, I---" Howard started to protest. "Come on, my boy. The night's young, and the drinks are on me." He winked at the waitress. "She looks damned tempting, doesn't she, Howie?" The girl stuck her tongue out in mock pique, then took her tray and walked off, her rear end twitching provocatively. Ralph laughed, as much at her as at Howard's embarrassment. Howard knew now he was right; he was over his head again, and Ralph was an over-powering force, a person he couldn't hope to cope with. The drinks appeared quickly and again the waitress swished her thighs and jiggled her full, barely contained breasts. This time Ralph leaned over and patted her buttocks lightly. The scent of sex was suddenly strong in the air, and trembling, Howard picked up his drink and downed it before he realized how strong and how full it was. He exploded with the burning heat in his throat and stomach, reaching for the water back. "Another!" crowed Ralph, laughing loudly at Howard's coughing. "And one for me!" He gulped his drink as though it was lemonade. Another round appeared beside Howard before he'd fully recovered from the last. He vowed to keep it there on the table, but somehow he was sipping it every time Ralph raised his glass to his lips, and that was often. Got to watch it... can't get drunk... not with Ralph... not with Cindy waiting at home for me... "Here's a toast, Howie," Ralph said on the third double. "To the only man I've known in the car business who I can trust. Yes sir, you're interested in getting ahead, but by sticking with me, not stabbing me in the back." Howard was stunned. He realized that the bourbon was getting to Ralph-- -was getting to him, too, by the way the room was starting to lose its clarity---but he never bargained on hearing such strong praise. It made him feel important and proud. He vowed that he would never go against Ralph, that his manager could always count on him. He raised his glass. "That's right," he said, his tongue rolling around the words. "I'm for you one hunn'er'pershent." He blinked. "Hundred percent," he repeated. "Heh, heh," Ralph chortled at nothing in particular and clinked glasses. "Here's to us, the swinger and the prude!" Howard suddenly froze. "Wh... what? Me, a prude?" "No offense, my boy," Ralph beamed. "I'm a live'r, and you? Well, let's just say that you're a little too much of a stuffed shirt at times." The waitress appeared with another double shot. It was over-full, the bartender knowing good customers when he saw them and wanting them to stay. What the hell is this bourbon? Howard thought, his head swimming, high octane aviation fuel? Then he saw Ralph stroke the waitress's thigh with loving fingers. "Got to hand it to you," he admitted in a sudden pang of realization that what Ralph was saying was all too true. "Got to be honest and admit it. I am conservative." He had trouble with the word, instead pronouncing it, "coservative." "Don't let it worry you, Howie, my boy," Ralph said. "In time you'll loosen up a bit." He leaned forward, almost hitting the glasses of bourbon, and said conspiratorially to Howard, "Now, for instance, tonight, if I were you, I would go home and have nothing to do with the little woman." "I... I don't follow." "You're worried about how Cindy will react to those pictures, right?" Ralph didn't wait for an answer but went on. "Well, do what I did. Don't touch her. Don't fuck her for three days. Hell, make it four!" he said expansively. "She'll want it then, and all the time those pictures will be on her mind, and she won't be able to get them out of her thoughts, seeing all those wild couples doing it and not her. Got me?" "Yes, but---" "Now that doesn't mean you have to go without a little ass. I'm not, that's for sure. We're going to get some fun, that's what we're going to do." "No!" Howard cried, jerking backwards. He suddenly caught on to what his boss had in mind. Another woman! To be unfaithful to Cindy! The whole idea was ridiculous! Unthinkable! "No! I couldn't do that!" "Damnit, sure you can! You're a man, aren't you?" Ralph's sudden snarl turned into a tone of conciliation. "The trouble with you is that you were raised as a Puritan, my boy, where sex is considered a sin unless for making kids. It's not, and never has been. Sex is good, clean fun and a hot experience whenever and wherever it can be had. And it can't take away any of your love for your wife. I love Norma; love her very much, but we're not exclusive possessions of one another. I---" Ralph suddenly stopped his talk, and was looking over across the still crowded cocktail lounge. "Ah," he said. "Here they come." "Who?" Howard asked, afraid he knew already. "Our fun for tonight," Ralph said with a wink. Howard's mind tumbled crazily from Ralph's strong words of wisdom, his explicitly stated faith in his salesman, and the strong drink. He stared over his shoulder at the two women who were approaching the table. He wanted to get up... to run home and bury his head in his wife's breasts and forget what was happening... but it was as if he had grown roots to the chair. "Now don't let me down, my boy," Ralph whispered. "I'm counting on you." Counting oil you... counting on you... the words burned home. The women were now at the table, and Ralph made room for one, a short, highly developed brunette in a thin sheath. Howard suddenly found a tall, lithe blond haired girl beside him, her luminous green eyes sparkling and her tightly encased buttocks against his. "Hi," she said musically, "I'm Bonnie." "He... hello," Howard replied. "My name's Howard." "Call him Howie," Ralph said. "And this here's Linda." "Pleased to meet you, Howie," Linda said, smiling. "Where's my 'laughing widow,' Ralph?" Ralph snapped his fingers and gave the waitress an order for two more double bourbons and two "laughing widows." Howard asked what the hell a laughing widow was and Bonnie giggled, explaining that it was three dashes of bitters, one part gin, two parts vodka, and a pearl onion. Howard grimaced, which caused more laughter. They fell into easy conversation, far easier than Howard had thought possible. Both girls were witty, intelligent people, both divorced, and both had jobs as "models." Neither girl was anything except vague about their work, preferring to talk about what the men did. This, in spite of the fact it was obvious that Ralph was on intimate terms with Linda. Howard had an awful suspicion just how intimate, too. The drinks came, Howard sampled the "laughing widow" and promptly handed it back, and then there was another round... and another... "Gee," Linda said at one point, "I'm sure glad you could take care of my friend Bonnie, tonight, Ralph. Like I said, since she's new in town, we had to come together or not at all. Sure nice you had a dream-boat of a friend like Howie-baby." Howard reacted with pure horror. Even in his now liquor fogged mind he was able to see clearly that this had all been a trap, a gigantic plot by Ralph right from the very first to suck him down here, get him drunk, and palm off this Bonnie so that he could make time with Linda. Yet, as he looked at the flashing eyes and enticing young all-woman next to him, he suddenly wasn't mad at his boss. What the hell; everybody was having a good time, weren't they? No harm done... There was another round, and then Linda said, "Well, let's get the show on the road, fellows. We've got to get our beauty sleep." At first Howard thought that was the signal to break up the evening and say good-night to the girls. But he was wrong. Oh, so wrong. He found himself linked arm-in-arm with Bonnie, walking out of The Arabian Knight, across the lobby and into the elevator. He looked around confusedly. "What?" he said when Bonnie said something to him. "I said, the party's going to move to my room now, Howie-baby. Just a private party, for us two!" "But... but what about Ralph?" She giggled. "They'll be right next door if Howie-baby needs help. I heard that this was your first time, but..." and here she paused, breathing hotly and wetly into his ear,"... but I don't think that you're going to need any help at all. I can tell you want me." Wild-eyed he looked at Ralph for help, but Ralph was pressing Linda against the otherwise deserted elevator car, kissing her hotly... and Linda was kissing back with the same ardor! Numb, he staggered from the car and down the hall, his mind screaming for him to stop, but his will to resist was eroded beyond comprehension. As Bonnie put her key in the door lock, he cried out hoarsely, "Ralph! I---! I---!" "Remember what I said downstairs, my boy," came the dark almost ominous reply. "Remember about sticking with me and going places, and about the fun which can be had. I paid for both of them, my boy... now don't let me down. Show her---and me---that you're a real man!" With that, Howard was propelled inside the room and the door shut by Bonnie. He was alone... in a strange hotel room with... with a whore! But as he sat on the bed, staring weakly up at this beautiful prostitute, Howard had to admit that she was one hell of a woman, bought for or not. She exuded pure animal sex, and he had to admit it would be sort of tempting to take her in his arms and kiss her, love her up a bit... oh, nothing more. He wouldn't fuck her or anything, but Lord, it would be nice to kiss those cherry-red lips, caress her breasts to hardness... He felt his cock jerk into instant rigidity as if it were alive and independent of him. He tried to will it limp again, to banish the lewd thoughts swirling in his bourbon-filled head, but it remained throbbingly swollen. Guiltily, he looked away. Bonnie chuckled. "Howie-baby's got a hardon." She was smiling at his bulging pants. "Howie-baby's got a great big hard-on because he knows he's going to fuck me..." Howard had never heard a woman talk in such lascivious language. "Bonnie... cut it out, for Christ's sake!" "You're going to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..." She came to him, and her breath was like a white-hot firebrand on his cheek. She touched his knee lightly, her fingers almost searing the cloth, and then she reached higher, higher... and touched the throbbing protuberance down between his legs! "Ohhh God!" he managed to breathe, almost leaping off the bed in a convulsing reaction. He could feel his testicles ache with a sudden pressure of sperm, and will as he may, he couldn't pull away from her caresses. Her tongue trailed over his cheek, searching for his mouth, and her hand continued to rub his uncomfortably swollen penis. "It's purely physical," she droned on, mesmerically, hypnotically. "You want to get your big cock into my wet pussy, and I want it, too... "I... I love my wife," he protested weakly. "Sure you do, Howie-baby. All of them do. But that doesn't have anything to do with us, with here and now, with fucking." This is wrong! his tortured mind screamed. I'm a married man... what would Cindy say? I can't go through with it...! He wrenched himself off the bed, his heart hammering, and he was aware that his prick was still granite-hard and seeping hot droplets of excited lubrication. He had to compose himself! To somehow make an excuse and leave, Ralph or no Ralph... Bonnie's husky voice whispered, "Howie-baby..." He turned, gathering the courage to reject her, but then the words froze in his throat. His mouth hinged open and his eyes bulged. She stood before him, stripped completely naked! The lovely prostitute had unhooked the one article of clothing, her dress, and it lay puddled at her feet. Neither panties or bra were evident, and as he gazed transfixed at her white sculpted body, he could see she didn't need any artificial supports. She smiled at him, the tip of her wet, pink tongue showing. The hair-lined lips of her cuntal valley were displayed for him like an Aztec sacrifice, the golden down glistening lusciously in the pale glow of the hotel light. Her high, perfectly rounded breasts, startlingly alabaster white against the tan of her other parts, jutted out like ruby-crested mountains, and her long, slender legs seemingly trembled with her desires. "Well, lover? You like what you see? Would you like to kiss me? Here?" Her hands had moved to her golden triangle, and when she said "here," her fingers blazed a trail down through the soft, pink lips of her vagina and spread them slowly, slowly apart, revealing the tiny trembling bud of her erect clitoris. She began to stroke it back and forth, round and round. It was a lust maddening sight to Howard. The thought of kissing, of licking her sweet young pussy set his prick into a wild dance. "Bonnie... please," he moaned, his breath all but stopped. "And I'll kiss your cock, Howie-baby. I want to kiss and suck your cock... I love to suck cock, did you know that?" On and on she went, and the one sure way of building Howard to a point where he couldn't say no, couldn't leave this whore, had been used. He'd been denied oral love by his wife... and he had wanted to feel the soft down of a woman's pussy as it opened to his mouth with lusting desire... if only his wife understood that, wanted his kisses, his tongue, his cock in her mouth... oh, God! he could feel his swollen penis palpitate wildly. He had to have her! He suddenly didn't care about his Cindy, about his adulterousness with a whore, about anything! The only important thing was the billowing heat in his genitals, and the desire to suck and be sucked! Yes, he had to have her! Yes! Yes! As if somehow spirit-free from his body he watched himself unfasten his belt and remove his clothing, dumping them wherever they happened to fall. He stood before her as she stood before him, his thick, bursting shaft standing out at right angles. "Oh, it's lovely," Bonnie crooned in ecstasy. "Just as I knew it would be." She walked to the bed, the very motion a sensual experience and lay down on the cover. "Come here, Howie-baby," the voluptuous young whore purred, "let me suck you off!" Howard came to her, and the next thing he knew he was writhing beside her, feet-to-head, and Bonnie's fingers scratching lightly over his cock, her expert lips kissing his legs, belly, and inner thighs, building him to still higher a fever pitch. "God! Hurry!" Howard groaned, not sure he could keep the boiling semen inside his testicles another moment. "Hurry!" As if in obeyance, Bonnie plunged her head forward and Howard felt the incredible hot moistness of her lips close butter-like over the sensitive head of his cock, felt her searing tongue licking tiny circles of fire around it. Sighing, completely enraptured in the exquisite manipulations, Howard moved toward her, and buried his face in her cunt. There was a sudden jerk of contracted muscles in the excited prostitute, and she pressed closer to his mouth. The very abandonment, the complete capitulation to sensuality by this whore overwhelmed him and blotted out all thoughts except the delicious debauchery of which he was a willing partner. Bonnie, the practiced professional that she was, tasted the piquancy of his fevered secretions hungrily, twirling her tongue faster and faster. Then she began to suck him rhythmically, with full expertise of a woman in love with her work. Howard looked up once and watched her convoluted, lipstick rimmed lips ripple up and down his hardened shaft, watched the soft skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in as she sawed the full entirety of his penis. Never had he envisioned such an erotic sight! and he was aroused still more and his loins tensed and jerked upwards into her face all the fleshy expanse disappearing with each hard forward thrust so that only a small stretch of it showed white and glistening with the saliva between her lips. He returned to her soft, hair fringed cunt and drew her firm rounded buttocks down over his mouth so that he was sunk nose-deep in the soft- rimmed vagina. He held her tightly with both hands on her buttocks, thrusting his own tongue up teasingly between the tender fleshy folds. He heard her gasp and renew her nibblings with frenzied motion. Her pussy contracted and opened around his mouth, and then he moved his hands down and opened her still wider and began to curl and flick his tongue at the smoothness of her pearl-white back-side. He sucked and licked while she swayed above him, completely out of control, her built flowering open wider and her secretions mingling with his saliva and rivuleting down his cheeks. He could feel her muscles cord as he worked slave-like, and then he plunged to her clitoris, sucking and biting it tenderly, his tongue reaming the sensuous little button while she churned and writhed in a lewd dance of desire above him. Howard sensed she was straining to cum, her mouth and cheeks sucking wildly at his penis as she bucked and arched both her back and head in an uncontrollable quaking of body. Her breasts danced as she sucked voraciously, her pumping mouth making the pressure spiraling to a final, huge release of his building semen. And then--- "UUUUMMMMMMMMM!" came the irrefutable cry of her climax and the warm, pungent milk of her softly pulsating pussy spread hotly across his face. She screamed out her orgasm, though her mouth was still sucking hungrily at his deep-thrusted cock, and she snaked her heels against his shoulders and rubbed her fervently heaving cunt in an uncontrolled, tormented surge. Then--- All at once he too felt the eruption of fire leap along his penis. He gasped as though in agony, and then his cock began a wild, convulsive jerking that flooded without advance warning the vivacious whore's maddenly bobbing mouth with rush after rush of boiling sperm, bloating her cheeks and forcing her to swallow wildly to keep from choking. Then as quickly as it had started, there was one final spurt and he lay back, half unconscious over the power of his release. Still the girl sucked ravenously at his lust juices, milking every last drop of the hot gushing male ambrosia until at last, his penis jerked softly and slowly deflated in the warm, sperm-filled cavern of her mouth. She slid her lips from his cock with one last swallow, and cradled her face to his still throbbing groin. "How was that, lover?" she murmured appreciatively. He could only sigh in contentment for an answer. He knew that he should feel guilty now, but the stirrings of remorse and shame were not forthcoming. He only felt like a satisfied, virile male, one who had satisfied a woman as well. He felt a certain power, a certain pride in the fact that here, now, he had proven that his desire for oral sex had been right, and not something darkly evil as his wife seemed to think. His wife. The thought of Cindy echoed in his mind, and a small part of his brain tried to make the self-depredation come; but he fought the thoughts away and he simply lay there, taking in the musk of the young prostitute's body perfume and the permeating odor of their consummated lust. He felt Bonnie stir then, and suddenly she was on all fours and beside him, smiling down in his face. She said, "I'm going to teach you things you never knew existed, Howie-baby." She leaned down and kissed him tenderly, the taste of his semen still on her mouth. "Would you like that?" He ran his tongue across his lips. Already there were faint stirrings in his limp penis, displacing any fears of not being able to get another erection. "Yes... yes I'd like that!" "Good." She stretched out and snuggled in the protection of his arms. "It'll be wonderful, Howie-baby. I promise!" Howard had the strong, erotic sensation that she was good at keeping her word. He wasn't wrong... Howard slipped his house key into the door lock and quietly stepped into his living room. All the lights were out; good. He had taken his shoes off on the porch and now he padded in his stocking feet across the room and into the hall... no sound came from the bedroom; good. He stopped, waiting in the still, black silence of his home, but there was only the faint and regular pattern of heavy breathing, and Howard took this to mean his wife was asleep. He didn't know that she was feigning slumber, that actually she was very much awake, lost in a troubled, agonizing hell of self-loathing. She lay shivering under the covers, hoping that her husband wouldn't want to make love to her tonight---which was the reason behind the act, for that way Howard wouldn't wake her up---for she felt horribly ashamed, and disgusted at her inability to control her own carnal instincts. No, Howard was unaware of his wife's true condition, but in his own way he was glad that she was "asleep" and hadn't waited up for him, perhaps to have sexual relations, or worse---to berate him for the lewd pictures and paper he'd left behind. Not now, not after three hours of wild, abandoned sexual games with that nymphomaniac whore, Bonnie. He was satiated completely, in a state of absolute contentment, and in no mood either to argue heatedly with a distraught wife nor try and explain why he couldn't get another erection. Christ! After that Bonnie, he'd be lucky to raise another hard-on in a week! He went into the bathroom to undress, closing the door so that the light wouldn't bother Cindy in the bedroom. Quickly he stripped his clothes off, not as fast as he had done for Bonnie and this time hanging them on hooks. He stepped into the shower and let the needle spray wash off the fragrant, tell-tale perfume of his indiscretions, the odors of mutual lovemaking which would be readily identified by his wife. He thought about Bonnie, the lovely, enticing whore, and although the light-headed joy of his repast with her didn't fade, the act of cleansing himself seemed to also add some sense of regret. Howard stepped from the shower, mixed of emotion. No longer was he "Howie the Innocent;" no, he was "Howie the Swinger" now, and he vowed that he was going to continue to play the modern role---like Ralph. Yet, there but a few feet from him was his loving, faithful wife, whom he loved very deeply. He sighed. If only she was more open, more abandoned like Bonnie had been. Well, there was only one thing to do about it. Make her understand too that there was more to sex than just climbing on and climbing off! He toweled himself briskly, his mind made up. Yes, the acquiescent Howard was in the past, and he was going to show her a more forceful, more worldly husband from hereon in. At first she might not like it, he had to admit, but she would soon see that he was right. And Howard knew just how he was going to accomplish this "education" of his lovely, innocent wife--- by following Ralph's advice! He was going to go ahead with the pictures! He was going to use the Polaroid again to take more shots! Wilder ones! Ones with him in them, too, perhaps even showing his cock fucking her! His penis trembled anew and he moaned lightly as he dreamed of all the combinations he was going to do with his wife. But he knew in order to accomplish this task, he would have to handle things diplomatically, to use all of the tricks of his salesmen's trade. Yes, that was it. To wait and bide his time... no more sudden confrontations like last night when he'd lost his cool... he would broach the subject just as if he was selling a car on the lot, only this sale would be far more important! He walked into the bedroom and slid under the sheets. He turned over and placed his arm over his wife's back. Tenderly, with all the emotion of his devotion for her, he vowed to turn her into a completely sexually emancipated woman... like the people in the photos were... like Ralph and his wife, Norma, and all the others of the Camera Club were. The Gandydancer was Morriston's most expensive and most well-known restaurant-night club, catering to those among the population who could afford two dollars per drink during the thrice-nightly shows and boned squab at ten dollars per plate. It was plush and dark, with beautiful young cocktail waitresses in sequined halter-and-panty outfits holding forth in the lounge---and maroon-uniformed waiters hovering quietly and obsequiously in the upstairs dining salon. At nine o'clock the following evening, at a reserved table in the restaurant balcony overlooking the dance floor and performer's dais, Cindy and Howard Jamison sat across from Ralph and Norma Taylor, sipping champagne from cut-crystal glasses. The remnants of four thick Porterhouse steaks smothered in fresh mushrooms, baked potatoes with sour cream sauce, and green beans with pearl onions covered the table in front of them. Ralph, in his usual jovial, expansive mood, raised his glass as he peered down at the performer's dais, where the orchestra was assembling and the prominent female vocalist who was featured at The Gandydancer this week was preparing for her first show of the evening. "Entertainment will be getting underway any minute now," he said. "We have time for another glass of champagne before they start. You want to do the honors, Howie?" "Well, shouldn't we wait for one of the waiters?" Norma asked. "Nonsense," said Ralph, smiling. "Pour the bubbly, Howie, my boy." "Sure," Howard said, extracting the bottle of imported French champagne from the silver ice bucket at his elbow. "Glasses, everybody." He poured the four glasses full, and then Ralph raised his high. "To you and Cindy, Howie," he toasted. "And a long life of happiness---in and out of bed." He chuckled, and Norma laughed musically at his elbow at the comment. Howard grinned, turning to click glasses with his lovely blonde wife. Cindy, as she had been all evening, was silent and seemingly distant; she hadn't spoken five words since they'd arrived at The Gandydancer. In fact, Howard reflected, she hadn't said much of anything all day; she'd been quiet and uncommunicative at breakfast that morning, and the only time she'd really spoken to him was when he'd called from Auto Circus to tell her that Ralph and Norma were taking them out dining and dancing that night at The Gandydancer, a gesture on Ralph's part that was more or less a corollary to the gift of the Polaroid for the Jamison's third wedding anniversary. Cindy had not wanted to go. In fact, she'd been snappish and irritable at the suggestion, saying that she didn't care to go anywhere with Ralph Taylor. Howard had immediately surmised that her reaction was on account of the pictures and the copy of The Camera Club News; she had obviously opened the manila envelope the night before, just as he'd planned, although she was surely not admitting the fact to him. It was only natural, he thought, that she would blame Ralph for the content of the photos---that was to be expected. So he'd carefully set about calming her down, telling her that it was important to his job at Auto Circus that they accept the Taylor's invitation, that the cultivation of Ralph was a vital factor in his plans to advance to Assistant Manager and yes, maybe even to Manager, Ralph's position, when he retired or became a board member of the firm. Cindy had come around finally at his soothing, logical words, just as he'd known she would, and agreed to come tonight. He'd thought everything would be fine, but thus far the evening hadn't worked out the way he'd hoped; she was acting like a child, sitting there and picking at her food and barely touching the expensive champagne and not joining in the conversation--- and studiously avoiding Ralph's eyes across the table. He would have to have a talk with her, first chance he had to get her alone; tell her to open up a little, for God's sake, this was an important affair. Now, he smiled at his sweetly innocent wife and touched his champagne glass to her's. "Happy anniversary, honey---again," he said. "Happy anniversary," she said automatically, taking a very small sip of her champagne and putting the glass down again. Ralph said, "Ahh, that's good stuff, all right. Best they've got here and damned expensive, but what the hell? This is an occasion, eh, Cindy?" "Yes," she said non-committedly, still not looking at him. Norma looked at her concernedly. Her black hair was carefully coiffured tonight, and she looked radiant and sexy sitting next to her husband; to Howard, it seemed as if she somehow radiated pure animal musk, a female animal born for one reason and not complaining at the singularity of her purpose one iota. "Aren't you feeling well tonight, dear?" she asked solicitously. "I'm all right," answered Cindy distantly. "Sure she is," agreed Ralph. "A few more glasses of bubbly and she'll be right in the spirit of things." Anxious to get the subject of the conversation away from his wife, Howard said, "We really do appreciate this evening out on the town, Ralph. I mean, after your generosity towards us the other night..." "The Polaroid, you mean? Why, heh heh, that was nothing at all, my boy." "We're just glad you could make good use of it, Howie," Norma said. "I mean, taking photos of Cindy and all for your private photo album is something no husband should miss out on when he has such a lovely wife." "That's right," enthused Ralph. "What better way to keep the ties that bind tautly bound than to take intimate little snaps of the wife for future enjoyment?" He laughed heartily. Cindy, who had only been half-listening to the conversation going on around her before, jerked her head around to stare across the table at the Taylors. They were both smiling with elaborate innocence, and yet... hadn't she detected an under-current of personal knowledge in their words just now? Why, it was almost as if they knew about... about the risque pictures she had allowed her husband to take of her on their Anniversary! But that couldn't be... she and Howard were the only two people who knew about those pictures, and surely he wouldn't tell anybody, least of all Ralph... Or would he? She looked at her husband, and Howard seemed to be as elaborately innocent as the Taylors, smiling happily. He sensed Cindy's gaze on him, and turned to beam at her, raising his glass slightly. She turned away, feeling a growing sense of anger and shame take hold of her lithe young body. He must have told the Taylors about the photos, she thought wretchedly. But why? What possible purpose could be served in relating such an intimate, and personal fact? Howard seemed somehow different to her since that Polaroid had been given to them, as if he were up to something, as if new and strange thoughts were circulating in his head. She had sensed that this morning, after they had awakened. She had been quiet, filled with guilt, and certainly not open to conversation, that was true; but she hadn't been unobservant. She had looked at Howard over the breakfast table, and it seemed to her that he had changed somehow, in some almost imperceptible way, almost overnight; there seemed to be a firmer set to his jaw, as if with some hidden purpose, and his eyes held a new, oddly flashing light that she had never seen in them before. Oh, God, she thought miserably, it isn't possible that Howard has... has been influenced by Ralph, is it? It isn't possible---or is it?--- that Ralph with his dirty pictures and dirty newspaper has somehow managed to completely corrupt her husband? A week ago she wouldn't have thought so, but now,---with all she had seen and felt and experienced in the past few days she wasn't so sure that such a thing hadn't happened... Sitting there, with her tormented thoughts she had the odd sinking feeling that her perfect well-ordered little world was about to come crashing down around her ears. Everything was too Jovial tonight, for example, too gay and happy---as if it was the proverbial calm before the storm. She hoped against hope that she was wrong, that it was simply her guilt at her actions last night, her masturbation while looking at those filthy photographs, that was making her feel so morbid and depressed. She hadn't had a good day at all, feeling low, morose, and Howard calling to tell her about the party tonight here at The Gandydancer hadn't helped matters any. She was going through an emotional upheaval, and the last thing she wanted to do was go out dining and dancing. But his arguments had seemed so reasonable and sincere that she had at last acquiesced; now, with the Taylors making snide, pointed remarks, she wished to God that she hadn't. The distraught young wife reached out and picked up her champagne glass, an almost reflexive movement for she needed something at the moment to still the torment which raged inside her. She drank the effervescent liquid in a single swallow, amid half-heard comments of encouragement from the others present; the warmth of the wine settled in her stomach, making her feel glowingly flushed for a moment. Then she moistened her lips as Howard poured her another glassful, blinking at the smiling faces of Ralph and Norma. "Now Cindy's joining in, Ralph said to Howard. "Look at her sitting there, pretty as a photograph." "And an intimate one at that," agreed Norma, laughing. Cindy groped for her refilled glass, drained that too. Then she stood abruptly, looking at Norma, at the woman she had considered a good friend. Norma was no better than Ralph. The young wife had no one to turn to, no one who would understand, not even Howard it seemed, not even her husband... She spun on her heel, hurrying off through the tables toward the restroom, her yellow, full-skirted cocktail dress rustling as she moved. Tears stung her flaming cheeks. The other three at the table looked at one another, and Norma stood immediately, straightening her expensive party gown in lime green. "I'll go to her," she said to Howard, smiling, and hurried off after the departing Cindy. When she was gone, Ralph leaned across the table almost conspiratorially. "She'll be all right, Howie boy," he said. "It just takes a little time for a woman to get used to the idea of change. Once she accepts it as inevitable, she'll be just like Norma." "I hope so," said Howard, who had been having a moment of compassion for his beautiful young wife. He felt a little uncertain now about what he was doing, about the effect of his actions on the innocent Cindy; in spite of every thing, he still loved her deeply. In the back of his mind, too, was a small but persistent pang of guilt at his actions with Ralph's high-priced whore, Bonnie, the previous evening, his first excursion into marital infidelity. Ralph, seeming to sense this hesitancy and indecision on his salesman's part, reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket and removed a small envelope. He leaned forward and pressed it into Howard's hand. "Here are those additional pictures you asked me for today, Howie," he said. "Some real good ones showing all kinds of oral love, just like you wanted." Howard looked down at the envelope, then picked up his champagne glass and drank deeply. "T-thanks, Ralph," he managed. "Not at all, my boy," Ralph said. "Anything I can do, you just let me know. Remember, I'm looking out for your happiness, son. Yours and Cindy's." "I know, Ralph, and I appreciate it. It's just that... well, it's not easy doing things this new way. Not at the first, I mean." "Sure, I know, Howie. But it's all worth the momentary upheaval in your life, you'll see." Howard nodded gratefully, sipping from his champagne again. He was becoming a little drunk now. He poured more, drank it down under the approving eye of Ralph. Yes, now he felt a little better. Cindy would come around, just as Ralph said she would; and when she did, they would have happiness neither of them had ever thought existed before. He was doing the right thing, all right, there could be no doubt of that. Cindy---his beautiful, passionate, warm Cindy. He moistened his lips. She was better than that whore, Bonnie, any day of the week. Or she would be, once she learned the art of oral gratification. And she would learn--- soon, soon. Tonight, maybe. Howard's prick gave an excited little dance in his trousers as he thought of what would happen when he got Cindy home later on. Could he talk her into more picture-taking? Well, not in the mood she was in now. But if he could get her a little high---downright drunk would be even better---he could convince her that it would be all right to take more photos. And she would surely be responsive, for even though she hadn't been outwardly excited by the photos he had left for her to see the previous night (that was apparent by her actions today), she had to have had enough curiosity to open that envelope and see what was inside. That meant she had to possess, deep within her, curiosity as to other things as well; hers was an untapped resource, he reasoned, just waiting for the drilling to begin. He giggled inwardly at that image---the drilling---and knew that he was now more than a little bit drunk. But what the hell? He was a new man, wasn't he? He had to celebrate his new-found way of life, didn't he? Sure he did. And he had to celebrate Cindy's soon-to-be- emancipation---perhaps as soon, he told himself again, as tonight. She loved him and she wanted to please him, had always told him that; yes, by God, maybe tonight would be the night after all! In more ways than one... A few moments passed while Howard continued to think of what would transpire later in the evening, how he would talk his lovely young wife into taking pictures with him of an erotic nature, how he would show her these new acquisitions from Ralph, how he would suggest oralism again and again until she submitted to his every whim. He was growing excited thinking about it, and he didn't know that Cindy and Norma had returned to the table until Norma said chidingly, "Aren't you going to let Cindy have her chair back, Howie?" "What?" he said, startled out of his reverie. "Oh. Oh, sure, I'm sorry, honey," he apologized to Cindy, taking her arm and guiding her to her chair. "That's all right, Howie," she said, and she seemed to be composed now. He sat down, smiling at her, his eyes bright. "More champagne, baby?" "Yes," his young wife replied. "Yes, I think I will." As Cindy accepted another glass of the effervescent liquid, she reaffirmed in her mind what she had told herself in the Ladies' Room: even though she felt wretched and miserable, there was no use letting the others see her condition---especially Ralph and Norma. When Norma had come in and asked if she was all right, if she wanted to talk about what was bothering her, Cindy had answered that she was fine now--- drying her eyes with a tissue and forcing a smile and that there wasn't anything to talk about, really. Norma had seemed to understand; they had washed up, chatting about something Cindy couldn't recall now, and then come out to the table again. Determined to affect a calm exterior, not to show the turmoiled nature of her inner self Cindy had decided to have a few more glasses of champagne, just enough so that she became a little high---not so that she got drunk. That way, it would be easier to pretend that everything was all right, that nothing was troubling her; she might even, with a slight tipsiness, be able to join in the conversation that went around the table, might even be able to laugh at Ralph's sly innuendoes and comments and Norma's ready agreements to them. She drained her fresh glass of champagne and extended it to Howard to be filled again, smiling, feeling already a little tight and missing completely the intensity in his dark eyes, the way he began to slur his own words, the smiling all-knowing endorsement of the Taylors as they exchanged glances across the table... The rest of the evening, to Cindy, seemed to be a blur. She had vague remembrances of an endless succession of fresh bottles of champagne being brought to their table; of the four of them moving down to the lounge area; of dancing with Howard and pressing close to him, feeling the hardening bulge of his penis in his pants as he whispered intimate words in her ear; of Howard saying, in a pronounced slur, that it was time "he and the little woman wen' home to bed, yessir, time to take the bull by the horns an' bring her around you unnerstan' Ralph." The next thing she was fully cognizant of, after that, was sitting beside Howard in their car with the cold night air blowing in through the opened windows. Her tongue felt thick and fuzzy and her head light, airy; she licked her lips experimentally, and then leaned against her husband's shoulder. "Howie, where are we going?" He, too, had been sobered considerably by the chill night breeze. He was still nice and tight, though, just tight enough so that he was on edge with anticipation. In spite of its bad beginning, the evening had turned out very well; he had gotten Cindy drunk, as he had planned, and she had loosened up considerably, even to the point of smiling and tacitly forgiving Ralph for the set of photos of the night before, of that he was almost certain. She was warm and cuddly now, sitting next to him, in an obvious loving and permissive mood; it wouldn't take much to convince her of the rightness, the propriety, of allowing him to take more intimate pictures of her with their new Polaroid. He just had to be very careful how he went about it... "We're going home, honey," he whispered. "Home." "Mmm, that's good," she murmured. "I... I think I drank too much tonight, Howie." "No you didn't, baby," he assured her. "I... I'm sorry I was so... so bitchy the first part of the evening," she said softly. "It's just that I was... well, that I was upset about... about a few things." "It's okay, honey, I understand." A few moments later they were pulling into the driveway of their small, middle-class cottage in one of Morriston's older sections. Howard parked the car in the garage, and they got out, arms about one another, and went into the darkened interior. He switched on one of the low-watt lamps on an end table as Cindy took off her coat and put her purse down on one of the chairs. "How about a nightcap, Cindy honey?" he suggested. "Oh Howie, I don't know. I've drunk so much tonight..." "Just a little one," he said quickly. "Well... okay. But a little one, now?" "Sure," Howard said eagerly. "Sure, baby." He mixed two gin-and-tonics in the kitchen, spiking Cindy's liberally with gin and enough fresh lemon juice to conceal the oily taste of the liquor. He carried the glasses into the living room, handed his young wife hers, and then sat down beside her on the divan. She sipped tentatively, smiled at him, and then took a larger swallow. "Mmm, good," she said. She felt safe and secure, now that they were back in their own home, and a little contrite for the way she had behaved tonight. But, as she had told Howard, she'd been upset and everything had seemed to be drawing in on her at the same time, crushing her under its weight. Now, with the liquor to take away the sharp edge of her problems, she wasn't as sure as she had been that things were going to go wrong in their perfect marriage. After all, Howard still loved her--- there was no doubt of that in her mind at all. What, then, could be terrible enough to override that abiding love? Especially since she loved him as deeply as he did her? Still, though, there was one nagging question permeating her mind. If she had been fully sober, she would never have broached it aloud to Howie---but the drinks had loosened her tongue enough so that, now, she did; she had to find out the truth. "Howie," she began, "Howie, did you... well, did you say anything to Ralph about those... those pictures you took of me the other night?" He frowned slightly, looking at her. "Why do you ask that?" "The way he and Norma were talking tonight," she replied. "It was as if they... they knew all about them." Howard moistened his lips. "You're attaching too much significance to those photos, honey," he said. "There's nothing wrong in them, you know. Just some harmless intimacy between a husband and his wife, that's all." "Howie," she insisted, "did you tell Ralph about them?" "All right, if you must know---yes, I told Ralph about them. I couldn't help it; he kept asking me and I... well, I just blurted it out." "Oh Howie, how could you!" Cindy looked as if she were about to cry. "Hey now," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. "There's nothing to get upset about, for God's sake. Here, drink your drink." Obediently, Cindy took a deep swallow from her glass, shuddering a little as the strong liquor raced hotly into her stomach. He had told! She had known he had, of course, but his admission brought a renewed sense of anguish to her. He had no right telling about the photos; they were a private thing between the two of them, something personal, something exciting and... Cindy sat rigid. Exciting? Had she just thought that the photos he had taken of her were exciting? No... no, she couldn't have... and yet, there was no doubt that she had thought that self-same thought. But why? Did she really think they were exciting? Herself lewdly displayed like... like those women in the other photos she had seen last night, Ralph's photos---displayed in an obscene provocative pose before her husband... Exciting? No... no... and yet Howard had obviously been excited by them at the time, just as she herself had been undeniably excited by the lewd carnality displayed in those other snapshots. Oh God, oh God... She drank again, emptying her glass, and when she put it down on the coffee table she felt a terrible rise of guilt once more. And with it came the need to unburden herself, to tell Howard that she had looked at those pictures of Ralph's last night---but not that she had fingered herself while looking at them, never that. Still, she had to tell him that she had seen them, that she had been aroused by them... "Oh Howie," she blurted out unable to hold it back longer. "I opened that envelope you brought home last night, the one from Ralph. That's why I was so upset tonight, because I opened it and I saw those terrible pictures, and I... I was excited by them. I was, Howie, and that's the reason I was so upset. Howie, I actually got turned on looking at those dirty pictures!" She flung herself against his chest, and Howard held her tightly to him. He could scarcely conceal his elation. So she had seen them, just as he had expected---and, as he had hoped, been aroused by them! Good, good; now he had to proceed carefully, carefully, lest he cause more shame and guilt inside her, break the thin shell of sexual freedom which was beginning to construct itself around his lovely young wife's old-fashioned and ingrained moral ethic... "You mustn't feel bad, baby," he soothed, kissing her hair. "There's nothing wrong in wanting to make love after looking at other people doing it; it's a natural reaction. A perfectly natural reaction that almost everyone has." "But the... the people in those photos were doing such... such awful things to one another..." "There's nothing awful about giving pleasure to your husband or wife," said Howard wisely, tenderly. "It's the whole foundation of a marital relationship, honey. If it pleases the one you love, then it can't be wrong. You believe that, don't you?" "I... I guess so." "If, for example, I was pleased taking pictures of you with our Polaroid, pictures of you in the nude, you'd want to do that for me, wouldn't you? You'd want to take off your clothes and let me photograph you, wouldn't you?" "But... but you couldn't be pleased doing such a thing, Howie! You're not that kind of man..." "Honey, I like to look at you, at your naked body. It pleases me, it excites me tremendously. I like to look at you in photographs, look at you there in full-color; any man would, any real man..." "Howie, what a terrible thing to say!" "It's true, honey," Howard said, feeling pressure building in his loins as he spoke, knowing he was going to win, that his strategy was working. "I like to look at you in the nude, and I'd be a liar if I said I didn't like to look at other women in the nude, too. Not to touch or anything," he added quickly, "just to look at and get excited by, that's all. And you're not any different than I am, not really; you're just like other women in that respect, too. You got excited looking at those photos of other couples making love and I did, too. When I saw them, I got so excited I thought I was going to have an orgasm right on the spot. But it wasn't them I was thinking of loving, Cindy; it was you, you my darling. Looking at those photos of other people doing it made me want you even more than I ever did before!" Cindy could hardly believe her ears, hearing her husband's confession. He had felt the same as she last night, as hundreds of other people did every day if what he said was true. Why, then, did she feel so much guilt about her own photos and the ones she'd looked at the previous night? If he was right, then she shouldn't have any guilt at all with her own husband. And yet... Oh, she didn't know what to think now; if only she were sober, if only her brain wasn't spinning, spinning... "I'll prove it to you, sweetheart," Howard was saying in his mellifluous voice. "Ralph gave me some other pictures tonight. I didn't want them, but I took them anyway; how could I say no to my own boss? We'll look at them together, honey, you and I sitting here right now. We'll look at them together, and what will happen is that we'll both become very excited. You'll want me more than you would otherwise, and I'll want you the same way." "Howie, no! We can't!" "Why can't we?" "It's... it's wrong!" "No, it isn't wrong, Cindy. I've told you that. Now trust me, baby, just trust me." "Howie..." But he was already taking the envelope of pictures Ralph had given him in The Gandydancer from his coat pocket, opening it, taking out the richly colored, glossy photographs inside. "Here," he whispered, holding them and pulling her head away from his shoulder, "here, honey, look with me..." Cindy didn't want to look. She was trembling and she didn't want to look, she kept telling herself that---and yet her head turned and her eyes focused on the picture, and a small cry burst from between her moist, pink lips. "Howie, oh God!" "Look at it, Cindy darling. It's exciting, look at it, it's exciting, look at it..." His voice droned on, mesmerically, and Cindy found herself staring at the photo in his hand, staring at the young, fresh- scrubbed-looking, collegiate boy and girl performing a sixty-nine--- her moistened lips locked tightly around his hardened, lust-swollen penis; his lips pressed firmly, tongue extended, to her glistening pink vulva; lips on penis; lips on vulva... A low moan of commingled desire and perplexity burst from the young wife's throat, and she felt the soft, warm area between her tightly pressed thighs flower wide with the building secretions of her arousal. Beneath the cocktail dress, her nipples hardened into turgid buds, the way they had hardened the night before. She could not seem to take her eyes from the photo, and her breath began to become labored. "You like to look at pictures like these, don't you, darling?" Howard's voice droned. "Yes," she heard herself reply in a half whisper, unable to control the mounting flood of passion which threatened to consume her in fiery lust. "Yes, yes yes!" Quickly, Howard shuffled the photos, bringing another into view. The same couple, the same oral love, a somewhat different position. Cindy could see all of the young man's masculinity, his sperm-heavy testicles, the wide girth of his great penis half-buried in his beautiful young companion's ovaled mouth. She gasped, drawing close to her husband, her hand sliding down involuntarily to rub almost spasmodically along his thigh. Howard shuffled the pictures again again----again. The same couple in each, the same pagan rites of fellatio and cunnilingus. But the positions, if such a thing were possible, grew more bold, more provocative---seemingly impossible positions: standing, with the girl turned completely upside down, her legs locked around his neck; sitting, with the man's head buried far up between the wide-spread, alabaster thighs of the girl, his legs locked around her neck and she supporting him with her hands and arms... Cindy was breathing heavily with her intense arousal now, proof positive to her panting husband that she was as acutely excited by these photos of others enjoying sex as he was. "Darling!" she mewled. "That's enough, that's enough! I want you, Howie, honey, I want you to love me, please, please!" But Howard was oblivious to her pleas, for his mind was centered on two main objectives: to get his chaste, enchanting young wife to pose for him for more Polaroid pictures; and to get her to perform the self-same acts of oral love which were depicted in the photographs he held in his hands. He moistened his lips, thinking that his first step would be to get her to undress and pose for him yes, that was it, she was highly inflamed with desire now and she would be slave to his whim; he sensed this beyond any doubt, knowing that, at last, she was going to be his on his terms... "Cindy," he whispered in her ear, his right arm circling her shoulder, his fingers gently kneading her soft, resilient breast, "Cindy, I want to take some pictures of you, darling, some pictures like I took the other night. They excite me, honey, just like these photos excite you. You want to please me don't you, honey, you want to please your husband?" "Yes... yes, I want to please you, Howie, but... but I'm so excited! I want you to make love to me, Howie, please..." "Afterward, baby," he breathed in her ear. "After we take the pictures, afterward..." "Yes... yes, afterward..." Howard was trembling with his own arousal now, partially brought about by the pictures he had just viewed with his wife and partially because of what lay only moments ahead now. His cock was a thick, quivering fence post in his pants as Cindy stroked his thigh, stroked it higher and higher. He began to unbutton her dress, whispering the whole time, "I'm going to make you naked, baby. We'll take some pictures and then we'll make love, slow and easy and then hard and fast. Will you like that, honey?" "Yes! Oh yes!" His fingers worked feverishly, pulling the dress down to her waist, baring her rich, cream white breasts with their ruby-capped nipples and pulsatingly dark areolaes. He squeezed them lightly, his prick jumping now, and then he could stand it no more. He leapt to his feet, picked up what was left of his drink, and pressed it into Cindy's waiting hands. "Drink this, honey," he instructed. "I'll be right back..." He ran into the bedroom, urgency controlling his every movement now, and located the Polaroid camera and all its accessories. As an afterthought, he also removed the copy of the Camera Club News from the envelope on the nightstand. Then he carried everything back into the living room, made sure Cindy was still on the couch, her bare breasts reflecting the pale light from the lamp, checked the camera for film, and then peered through the view finder. Again, his cock leaped as he saw what the completed print of the picture he was about to take would look like. He snapped the shutter with fingers that were almost palsied. Sixty seconds later, he was seated beside his young wife and pulling the finished color print from the back of the Polaroid. His eyes gleamed as he looked at it, at the sharp, defined perfection of the color and detail---the rigidity of Cindy's nipples atop their globular white mountain peaks. "Look, honey," he droned. "Look at yourself almost naked, look, look." And Cindy looked, staring at her half-nudity with moistened lips, her pussy flowering yet wider with more arousal secretions. Her brain was a seething mass of alcohol and sexual need; she was nothing more than a slave now, and Howard her master... With exigent hands, he located the copy of the Polaroid Club News and gave it to his voluptuous wife. "Take your clothes off while I set up the camera," he commanded huskily. "Then read some of the advertisements in here. Read them aloud to me, Cindy. Do you hear me?" "Yes... yes, darling, I hear you..." Howard was trembling almost uncontrollably as he set up the tripod for the Polaroid and prepared the fifteen-second timer, watching Cindy strip the cocktail dress completely off and then, as if in a hypnotic trance, slide her panties down so that she stood naked and lovely before him, the soft, fleecy blond triangle of her pubic hair wet with the seeping juices of her passion. "The paper," he breathed to her. "Read the ads in the paper!" Obediently, the desire-and liquor-drugged young wife picked up the Camera Club News and began to read in a voice that was cracked with the heat that consumed her body: "'Experienced couple with knowledge of the mystic Eastern arts desire exotic photos with non-Western or unique poses. Box L563, Camera Club News, Los Angeles.'" She paused to moisten her swollen pink lips, then read another: "'Want pix you've never dreamed existed? Want poses to stagger the imagination? Send for our special set right away! Replies from couples under thirty only. Hurry! Box N198, Camera Club News, New York.'" Another pause, then: "'The 145th Position---guaranteed! We're not kidding! You've never seen anything like this before! Will exchange for good, erotic poses involving three or more. Box---'" "That's enough!" Howard shouted. "That's enough!" He had the camera ready, and his eyes were blazing with excitement, the front of his trousers bulging hugely with his fully erect cock, the material stained with the beginning droplets of his seminal emission. "Sit down on the floor, Indian fashion, facing the camera!" And as his nude, sculptured young wife obeyed, "That's it! Now lean back a little, so that your breasts are lifted up! Yes! Yes! Open your thighs a little more... oh Jesus, beautiful!" He activated the timer, then began to undress hurriedly, his eyes never leaving his mesmerically-staring wife sitting there so provocatively on the carpeting. At last he was nude, his swollen prick jutting out like a quivering spear from his loins, the head slickly-red and pulsating. The camera clicked off the picture, and as he waited his hand dropped almost reflexively to the trembling girth of his cock, began to stroke it lightly in anticipation. On the floor, Cindy murmured, "Howie... Howie, don't do that! Howie, that's... that's terrible! Come to me, baby..." "Not yet!" he gurgled. "Not yet!" It was time to remove the finished print from the Polaroid, and moments later he held it in his quaking hands. Beautiful! Oh Christ, what an erotic shot! I can see her cunt, spread open and glistening wet... and her clit too, throbbing there... oh, Jesus, Jesus! "Howie," moaned Cindy pleadingly, "Howie, I don't want to do this anymore. Please, Howie I'm on fire and I want you..." "Goddamnit, not yet!" he shouted. He was busy at the camera again, setting the timer, his cock shaking as if with some inner vibratory power and his balls aching with the buildup of a tremendous load of sperm. "Get on your knees, Cindy, side-ways to the camera. That's it, that's it! Move your arm up so I can see your breasts jutting down! Good! Now raise your right knee up closer to your tits, honey! That's it, baby, I can see your pussy now!" "Howie..." "Just hold it like that, just hold it!" He set the timer and then ran over to her. He had to get in this picture, he had to! He knelt behind her, oblivious to her cries of pleading, and held his cock less than an inch from the full soft entrance to her warm, wet cuntal passage, turning his face to the Polaroid, holding himself still in spite of the oscillations which coursed through his entire being. The camera clicked off the shot, and he jumped up and ran to it. The picture was every bit as erotic to him as the previous one, more so because he was in it now! He was kneeling there with his great prick almost touching his kneeling young wife's cunt! Oh Christ, never had anything been this exciting before! Again the timer was set, and again he joined Cindy on the floor. She was just kneeling there now, with her head hanging down, and she was whimpering softly. He went to his own knees again behind her, his hands on her waist. "This is going to be a good one, baby! I'm going to put it inside you on this one now!" He guided his swollen cock to the warm, butter-soft opening of her vagina, inserted the head inside. Cindy moaned, trying to drive her buttocks back against his rod, to impale herself and still the crescendoing passion inside her, but Howard restrained her with his hands hard at her waist. "No, no," he told her. "We have to wait for the camera, goddamnit! Now raise your leg a little so the full sight of my cock in your cunt will be exposed to the camera. Goddamn you, Cindy, do what I tell you... ah, that's it! Oh Jesus, this is going to be something... now hold it, hold it...!" Click. And then other pictures were taken, more provocative ones, and each time Howard withdrew his cock and ran to the camera again. As the pictures came out, showing Cindy's passion-contorted features and his own, showing his cock pushed into her widespread cuntal passage, he felt his penis leap as if with orgasm. God, oh God, what sights! He was going to blow his wad any minute! But first... yes, it was time to have her do what he had long wanted, and to do what he had long wanted to her; it was time for oral love, for his lips on her pussy and her lips on his prick. Yes, yes! Jesus, what a shot that will make, what a shot, what a shot! He set the timer, ran back to his trembling young wife. "Turn over," he commanded. "Turn over, Cindy! Lay down on your back!" There were tears on her cheeks as she obeyed. "Howie..." He moved quickly up along her body, holding his quivering cock in his hand again, guiding it toward her head. "Kiss me, Cindy! Kiss my cock, Cindy! Hurry, baby, hurry! I want to kiss you, too! Kiss your cunt, Cindy!" She recoiled. Had she heard correctly? Yes, yes, she had... she realized that even through the fog of passion and liquor. He wanted her to perform the same perversions they had seen in those photos, do what the other people had been doing... but she couldn't! Yes, it turned her on to see the others but to take a man's penis between her lips... my God, even Howie's, her husband's... was unthinkable! She couldn't, she just couldn't! "Howie, I can't! Please, please, don't ask me!" "Hurry up, the camera's going to go off!" he shouted, trying to push his moist-headed prick against her lips. But she twisted away, moaning. "No, Howie, I can't, I can't!" "Damnit! Don't you want to please me? You said you wanted to please me!" "Not this way, Howie, not this way!" Click. "Oh Jesus, you ruined the shot! You ruined it!" "Howie... for my sake, please Howie..." "Damn you, what's the matter with you?" "I can't do that, Howie, I just can't do it! Please understand! Whatever else you want, but not that! Don't ask me again, please!" He jumped to his feet, staring down at her. His cock was jerking as if with climax again, and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before his testicles would erupt his building load of sperm. He had been so close, so goddamned close... But there would be other nights, he would see to that. He had to content himself with the fact that he had gotten her to pose for the Polaroid for him, in the nude and... yes, with his cock inside her, too! Tonight was a victory, in that sense, the first victory! The second would come soon enough, he knew that. He just had to be patient with her, patient... "Howie," Cindy moaned, writhing on the floor in both passion and discomfiture brought about by Howard's actions. "Please, love me and make it all right... no more pictures, I beg of you! Love meee!" "All right!" he shouted. But before he did, he ran to the camera one more time and set the timer. Then he went back to his vibrating young wife, knelt behind her, inserted his cock. She buffeted back against it immediately and he didn't restrain her this time; might as well get a good action shot... He drove his swollen, soon-to-bursting cock deep inside her, feeling the head slam off her cervix, hearing her moan loudly in pleasure-pain. His balls slammed resoundingly off the moistened slit of her vagina below as he drubbed into her, and he leaned his upper body low over her back, teeth biting lightly into her shoulder, hands finding and squeezing her swaying breasts. Click. The sound of the camera shattering seemed to act as a trigger for Howard's boiling desires. He imagined in his mind what the finished print would look like, the eroticism of it, and he could hardly wait until he could pull the print from the camera back. But then the swirling heat in his loins became overpowering, became the only thing that mattered, and he heaved and bucked up into the soft, warm cunt of his kneeling wife with insane vigor, striving to empty his testicles of the great load of sperm seething there... Cindy felt Howard's gigantic cock thundering into her cunt, filling it, the head ramming hard off her cervix and she knew she was going to cum any moment. She had never in her life been this excited, and the knowledge that the excitement had come as a direct result of looking at dirty pictures, of partaking in them herself with the man she loved, was like a hot knife of confusion in her brain. She wanted Howard, wanted to please him, and yet it was becoming increasingly apparent that she didn't know how; her vagina alone, so moist now and so filled with his masculinity, apparently wasn't enough any longer to satisfy her man. It would take more and more, she thought dazedly as her orgasm spiraled higher and higher, more and more to please him... more pictures... more eroticism... and, oh God, even sucking him with her mouth. And then all thoughts save for the crescendoing passion vanished from her mind as she buffeted like a rutting animal back against her husband's invading cock, striving for the crest, almost there, almost there, feeling him hard and deep within her, feeling his hands curving down around her back kneading and manipulating her breasts, almost there, and then... and then... "Oh God, Howie Howie darling, I'm cumming! Howie, I'm cumminnnnnnggggg!" But Howard only barely heard her wild cry of release, for his cock in that moment had begun to jerk out of control and torrent after torrent of hot, boiling sperm burst along the full length to thunder into her cunt, commingling with the juices of her own release to form a flood- tide of passion that poured out around his spasming shaft and flowed in thin rivulets down her straining thighs as she murmured mindless, incoherent words of delight and he breathed fire-hot breath against her neck. And then his prick gave one last spurt of his seed and began to deflate almost immediately inside her wet, clasping vagina and they both sank forward on the carpet, spent and in a state of near-unconsciousness. Oh Jesus, that was good! Howard thought satiatedly. One of the best ever, even if it was so quick. And it's going to be better and better, once Cindy starts to come around fully... And Cindy, lying there with the full weight of her husband on top of her, his warm sperm flowing hotly inside her cunt and belly, was thinking different thoughts now in the lulling aftermath of her tremendous orgasm. She was thinking about the pattern of her life, and how it was changing, how she could no longer deny that after what had happened here tonight. But changing for the better, or for the worse? She didn't know yet; she just didn't know yet... After a long time, Howard raised up and lifted his wife in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. They crawled between the sheets on their bed, and Howard went to sleep almost immediately; but he did not cuddle next to her as he usually did, did not speak to her except to say goodnight, and she had the ominous feeling that she had failed to please him tonight, in spite of the fineness of both their orgasms--- failed to please this new Howie who had replaced the quiet, sexually- conservative old one. Cindy lay beneath the comforting warmth of the bedcovers for some time after her husband left for work. She gazed at the square of diffused light which lit the window shade, knowing she should get up and start the housework, but not wanting to. She just wanted to huddle there and think miserably of her troubles. Again and again she played over the events of the previous evening: the evening with the Taylors where it became all too apparent to Cindy that they knew of the photos she had allowed Howard to take of her that first night---knew and snidely made comments, mortifying her to the quick! She moaned involuntarily, momentarily reliving that horrible scene with the Taylors. Were Ralph and Norma as hedonistic as they appeared to be? Was their Polaroid being used for the same immoral purposes? It must be so, for hadn't Ralph given Howard those awful pictures and the newspaper---the ones which had so aroused her own cravings that she had played with herself? The sweet, mentally tortured wife rolled her head back and forth on the pillow. Yes, yes, the answers were all yes. And worse was the way that Ralph, the manager of her husband's job, was now seemingly becoming a manager of his private life as well. His influence seemed to seep more and more into what she and Howard were doing and enjoying, and this was intolerable. Before... before that horrid camera had been given, her husband had been so kind and gentle in his ways of love, had seemed to understand that she wasn't some salacious glutton, but a sensitive, moral wife. But no longer! She seemed to be unable to keep up with his growing needs, to expand into the world of abandoned, licentious sex where nothing mattered except debauched eroticism. Only the liquor, that never-ending torrent of alcohol which she had drunk last night, had loosened her to the point where she too was aroused by lewd pictures---though, she now decided with a shudder, nowhere near as strongly excited as her husband was by them. And the drinking had also made her able to participate with Howard, to actually be naked and be made love to before the camera! The pictures... the pictures... everything seemed to center around them. Howard had been more interested in them last night than he had been in making love to his own wife! His constant running back and forth to set the Polaroid, his snappish answers to her pleas for understanding and patience at her ignorance, of his still more angry response when she refused to take his penis in her mouth... Oh, God! The whole mess was getting completely out of hand! What could she do? How could she once more garner her husband's attention? She dwelled on the subject, lying there in bed, brooding over the loss of his interest in her, over the way he was turned on by the pictures, over the way she was excited by them... She suddenly sat upright, her hand across her mouth. No! I'm not like that! I don't like seeing others in private displays of sex acts... of seeing myself do them... no, it's my husband who's like that now, thanks to Ralph Taylor... not me! No, not me! Yet the more her conscious mind rejected the idea that she was incited by such photos to almost overwhelming passion, the more her subconsciousness admitted it. Deep, deep down, underneath all the excuses and rationales she could muster, beat the emotional heart of a truly pagan woman of lust. All it would take to strip the layers away and bare her soul was the right combination... a combination that her husband and Ralph and Norma Taylor were busily working on, and one which fate would soon take a hand in as well. At the moment, though, Cindy Jamison was in the throes of agony over her inability to please her husband. What could; she do? The pictures... she had the feeling that in them lay the answer. It was no good, she said to herself with a sigh, and got up. She padded to the kitchen after throwing a robe around her, put on the coffee and then idly ambled into the living room. There, strewn before her morose, anguished eyes, were the evidences of last night's crime. The camera... still where her husband had left it, the scattered pictures of them in living color performing like two animals, the other pictures and the newspaper on the coffee table. Guiltily she scooped up the photos, averting her eyes from them lest they be offended in the light of the sober morning after, and wrapping them in the paper. The kettle whistled, and she went back to the kitchen with her bundle. She poured herself a cup of hot coffee and sat on a stool beside the counter and glanced unavoidably at the paper. Inside were the pictures... and outside, staring back at her in black and white, were the little ads she and Howard had read to each other last night. She re-read them, sipping her coffee, and two distinct things happened. One, a growing, almost gnawing tingling started again down between her legs as she cast her thoughts momentarily from her own grief and into the homes of the advertisers. The average Mr.-and-Mrs. Joneses who were posing naked on their beds and rugs, happily cavorting before the film of the camera and anxiously waiting to swap their experiences for others... Her subconscious was at work again, building the fire of prurient desires faster than her consciousness could bank the flames. She tightened her inner thigh muscles, wishing away the featherlike proddings of her sensual nature... and, of course, was unable to. The other thing which happened was the sudden emergence of an idea. The images of the advertisers enjoying themselves in this fashion once more reminded her of Howard. Was not her own husband like the ones in the ads? Didn't he receive a special thrill from exhibiting his sexual passion in front of a lens... and seeing the very same of others? Yes! And in that instant, the perfect answer burst in her mind. The innocent young wife, so less worldly than other supposedly bolder and more swinging people, suddenly considered exchanging photos... of becoming one of the multitude of members of the Camera Club! The thought made her gasp! She couldn't! That would only be going yet deeper into the pit she was now finding herself falling into. But... the situation as it was certainly was unbearable. She had to find a solution... even if it meant lowering herself. She viewed the blatant, shocking step the way a mountain climber might look down into a chasm while dangling at the end of his rope. To her, the exchange of lewd photographs would be like the climber dropping to a ledge where he could find room to breathe and a way back to the top; something he couldn't do while holding onto the rope where he was. Still, the whole concept boggled her imagination. Trembling, she downed the coffee and then poured herself another cup. Could she? No... no! But what other alternative was there? This way she would be pleasing her husband, wouldn't she? Yes, and not only would the pictures themselves make him respond, but she could learn from them as well. She knew that she had much to learn about the techniques of sex-play, that she was inexperienced in the arts of loving a man physically; Howard's reactions were proof of that. She could study the positions---as one would a textbook illustration, of course, she hastily told herself and be a better wife for it. The third reason for "taking the plunge" was actually not a conscious thought at all, but perhaps it was the strongest motivation of all. It was the fact, which she would have hotly denied, that she was excited by the pictures as much, even more, than her husband. She wanted to see others making love, and only the ingrained prudery instilled since birth by her narrow-minded parents prevented her from seeing this and recognizing the emotion for what it was. The more she mulled over the solution, the more firmly convinced she became that it was the best and only way out. Now excited over the idea, she pored over the ads, looking for one which sounded as though written by sensitive, understanding persons who were suitably a long way away. No, no, not that one... nor this one... perhaps... wait, here's one! She read it carefully: "Good looking man, mid 30's, well endowed, and beautiful wife would like to exchange intimate photos with similar couple. Varied poses, all good and detailed. Discretion assured. Box C123, Chicago, Illinois. Yes... about the same age and same background, married and everything, Cindy thought. And they'll keep it a secret, and they're all the way in Chicago... What harm could be done in trying? What could go wrong? Who could get hurt, and it just might be the one thing to wring Howard and myself back together. I've got nothing to lose except a few cents worth of postage! Now fired with seal to carry out her plan, Cindy rapidly dressed in a bright yellow silk blouse with a blue antique design across the front and a pair of matching stretch pants. She hummed, smiling as she combed her hair and applied the little makeup she used. Then she returned to the kitchen and got the photographs of herself and Howard, took them to where the wrapping paper and twine was kept, and in a few minutes had a wrapped and addressed little package to send to Box C123. She didn't put on a return address yet... she didn't know what it would be. Although Cindy was pretty sure that the couple at Box C123 would be trustworthy, she wasn't going to take any chances. That would be disastrous! Instead, she got the idea from the box number to get one of her own. There wasn't time to rent one from the paper... so she'd take out a post office box, right at the main station in downtown Morriston. That way there'd be no chance of anybody finding out where she lived. The main post office was situated on Second and Market Streets, a large graystone mausoleum of a building built back when authority was measured in how thick the walls were and how high the ceilings. Inside were the operating rooms of the post office, as well as rooms for the few state and federal agencies of which Morriston could boast, such as the Marine and Army recruiting offices. The ground floor, though, was all for the post office, one entering a long, ill lit but wide marble corridor through either side of the building. There were windows all along the hall, some for stamps, others for money orders, still others for a combination of things, and most of them closed. In the middle was a large bank of post boxes in three sizes; the small ones running along the top half, then a few rows of medium sized ones, and then a series of large ones at the bottom. Beside the bank was a window which, by its sign, handled parcel post and the post boxes. Sitting on a worn wooden stool, his arms lazily draped on the marble counter, was the window's clerk, Steve Samuels. He was bored, not feeling well from drinking too much the previous night, and his bad leg, two inches shorter and smaller than normal because of a birth defect, ached. Besides which, he had read all of the comic books and men's magazines that were scattered around the back of the post office, and he had nothing to do until quitting time. He sighed and rubbed the leather shoe, alleviating for the moment the heaviness of his extra thick built-up heel and sole. When Cindy Jamison hesitantly approached the window, he suddenly perked up, leering over at her and smacking his thick, rubbery lips. Hey boy! was that owe hell of a woman there... He smirked, noting the twin wedding bands on her finger and knowing full well she'd been fucked and fucked and fucked by her husband. He couldn't keep his beady eyes off her, his brain fermenting with lascivious thoughts. Her slacks were the tightest pair he had ever seen on a woman, highlighting her rich thighs and pert young buttocks as she walked towards him, and for a crazy instant the clerk thought he could make out the narrow line of her cuntal split. Her breasts strained against the thin blouse, moving rhythmically as she came, and again the afflicted postal clerk couldn't help his erotic thoughts. Is she wearing a bra? Is that all her flesh and was that faint ridge the seams of her bra?... or tight, berry nipples, swaying without hindrance? He licked dry lips. That lucky bastard of a husband, sliding into that luscious body every time he wants it... Too bad I ain't fucking it on the side. Cindy Jamison saw the clerk, felt his burning gaze on her body, almost blushing at the blatant way he all but undressed her. She had lost much of her original courage and conviction by the time she had parked her car nearby, and it was only with the desire to do something to save her marriage, even as drastic as this, which kept her going into the post office and to the window. The blatantly leering clerk was almost the last straw, almost sending her running out of the building and back to her home. It was terrible the way he kept staring at her, as though she was some sideshow freak. And him, so small, so ugly, so... so creepy! He wore thick glasses with an odd green tint to the lens which magnified his eyes until they looked frogish and bulging. His skin was the color of oatmeal, yet there was a Mongolian cast to his features like the half- caste Indians of the Amazon or the south-of-the-border mulattos of Tampa's Ybor City. His sparse black hair was greased flat to his narrow skull. "Yes?" the postal clerk said to her, and his voice matched his looks. It was thin, bitter, raspy... and Cindy could only think of the word, dark, to describe its hint of malice. "I..." she faltered, her throat parched and tight. "I... want to open a post office box." "What size do you want?" Samuels asked. So simple a question, yet for the life of her Cindy couldn't think clearly enough to answer. She was tongue-tied, gripped by panic and indecision now that she was faced with actually going through with the operation. The postal clerk leaned forward and repeated the question. Finally she managed, "A small one. Yes, that's it, just a small one, please." "Fill out this card," the postal clerk instructed, bringing out a three-by-five printed card. "Name, address, and---" "Address?" Cindy asked, "but I don't want---" "Have to have the address down, Ma'am. Postal regulations. We're not allowed to rent boxes unless you have a permanent address. We even have one of the mailmen confirm that you live there, too, so don't put down a false one." "Oh, I wouldn't dream of that!" The postal clerk chuckled. "I'm sure you wouldn't." He leaned forward again. "Here, use my pen." He studied the twin globes of her magnificent breasts as they moved while she wrote out the information on the card. He could tell she was nervous, that there was something the matter... and his tricky little brain started considering possible reasons. Cindy handed the card back. The clerk picked it up and squinted carefully at what she had written, memorizing her home address. He grinned intimately and asked, "I see you only want the box for yourself. Don't you want your husband to know?" The unsuspecting wife reeled with the impertinence of the question. It was almost as if this little, gnarled gnome across the counter could read her mind! Could see the obvious state of her confusion and embarrassment and was capitalizing on it for his own sick, perverted amusement! He continued to stare at her from behind his thick lensed glasses, and for one horrid second, Cindy almost blurted out the truth: that she wasn't going to let Howard know what she'd done because he might think ill of her... or other things might happen between now and when Box C123's pictures arrived which would make this whole questionable idea unnecessary. Then she would simply forget she had done this, never return to the post box, let the rent run out on it and the memory fade... She hoped the latter would be the case, that nobody would ever know what depths she had been driven to... and now this smirking postal clerk was prying where he had no business being! "It's a... personal reason," she said, trying to sound curt but knowing that there was a weakness, a dread in her voice. The clerk nodded and took the card away for a moment, then returned with another slip of paper. He handed the slip to Cindy. "You now have Box 34004, near the end. That'll be three dollars and fifty cents for three months." Cindy dug into her purse for the money and paid. The clerk made out a receipt. "The combination for the box is on the first slip I gave you; the second one is for your records." The way he said it made Cindy think that he could tell she wasn't going to keep the receipt, but was going to throw it away at once. "Thank you," she said in a low voice. She stuffed both papers into her purse and then brought out the thin package of pictures. She used the clerk's pen to write her new return address on the wrapping, then handed the parcel to him. "I want to mail this." Samuels didn't reply, but weighed the package, put on the stamps and a first class sticker and threw it on the table behind him. "Forty-three cents, please," he said, turning back to her. She paid, waited for the change, and then with chin held high, she walked away. As she neared the post office entrance, she couldn't help experiencing a sudden, uplifting of the spirit. She'd done it! She'd actually gone through with it, renting a box and mailing the pictures! Elation and giddiness swept through her as she realized that she had found the courage to follow through with her idea. Although still not completely convinced as she had been at home about the wisdom of her move, she was proud of her determination. Steve Samuels, the postal clerk, chuckled to himself as he watched Mrs. Cindy Jamison's trim buttocks pass from his heated view. He rubbed his thin, rough skinned fingers together. Yes sir, he now had an idea what was upsetting that sweet little housewife so much. Now to confirm his suspicions! He got off his stool and limped over to where a large, thick postal directory was kept. He took it down from the shelf, thumbed through its pages until he found what he was looking for. With a triumphant grin across his face, he slammed the book shut and dragged himself back to where he'd put Cindy Jamison's envelope. The postal book, the size of a major city's phone directory, does not exist in the eyes of the federal authorities. It's existence is hotly denied---but it does, covertly, in every post office in America, and every day it's used by postal clerks like Steve Samuels. It lists the names and addresses of whoever the government considers a pornographer or a user of pornography, as well as of other "anti-state" dangers. It was kept secret because it was highly illegal. It served the weaselly postal clerk, Steve Samuel's evil purposes now. For in it was listed the name and address of the Camera Club in Chicago. He slapped the package Cindy had mailed against his thigh and scrambled back on his stool. He fondled it, feeling the hard squares of the pictures, and grinned. Then he slipped the package into his coat pocket and wished it was time to go home. He could have opened the package then and there---the post office has the power, granted by the Congress of course, to open and search any piece of mail it so desires. It can read the most secret letters an American citizen wishes to write; do so, and without fear of legal action against it. Even the police cannot infringe on the private lives and possessions to this extent---they require a search warrant to enter a house, and a damned good reason for doing so beforehand. But the post office can, at will, invade this privacy, for whatever reason they choose to fabricate. But the clerk didn't open the package then. He was going to wait until he got home that night, for he had his own, dark plans for the contents... He didn't bother with dinner that night, but hurried to his dingy, weed-choked clapboard house set in the industrial section of town. He set out food and water for his German Shepherd named Ringo, patting the large animal's head at the thought of what might be in store for the dog as well as for himself, then went inside the house, his thoughts constantly on the package which was burning its way through his pocket. And now he was ready to act. Carefully he slit the paper and withdrew the pictures with palsied, talon-like fingers. Yes, yes... he drooled as he thumbed through them. God yes, they were every bit as obscene, as lust-provoking as he had thought they might be. He snickered loudly to himself. In just a few days, that lovely girl who now writhed in sexual abandon in the pictures he held would be doing the same for him. Yes, yes, he could hardly wait... and he mentally put himself in the place of her husband in the photos, spearing the sweet, tender cunt of Mrs. Cindy Jamison with all his perverted desires. Ohhhhh, his testicles already ached with the steam of wanting to fuck her! To fuck Cindy Jamison... and more! Other, exciting and lascivious things which weren't shown in the pictures! Feverishly, he took the set of photos into the bathroom. He pulled the black colored window shade down, then drew the curtains closed. Then he opened a cupboard near the toilet and took out his photography equipment, set a piece of plywood across the bathtub, turned off the regular light and the small red one on instead, and set to work. He soon had a duplicate set of the pictures. He examined each one meticulously, poring over the details of the naked young Cindy Jamison and her husband fucking until each pose was imprinted on his brain. His bulging eyes followed the contours of her smooth firm buttocks and the soft rounded spheres of her beautiful breasts, their turgid nipples rising high with excitement. He trembled, his thin, venous penis turning to a rock hard rigidity. He could hardly wait to get his hands and mouth on that snooty little bitch who had obviously dismissed him as so much dirt today. He had forced many a woman to be fucked by him, but never anything like her... never anything so pure, so innocent, so sheltered. He groveled at one picture after another, staring at the sweet, unsuspecting wife's nude reclining figure. One photo which held him particularly was where she had drawn one knee up even with her hip, the smooth white flesh of her inner thigh gleaming faintly in contrast to her husband's darker body. The soft blond hairs of her vagina were plainly visible around the outer lips, and he involuntarily drew in a shuddering breath at the lovely sight. The thought of her helplessly mewling under him in the same position goaded his organ into greater throbbings. He silently opened the fly of his pants, easing the pain slightly. He slowly massaged the heavy thick foreskin back and forth over its jerking head, tiny droplets of white seminal fluid already seeping from its tip. The rod he held in his hand was his great equalizer for his shriveled, ugly body and short stump of a leg. He'd soon be seeing if this Mrs. Jamison would treat him like a dog when he rammed deep between her open thighs and buried it far up inside her aristocratic little belly... He stood there, staring at the second set of pictures, stroking himself into a hardness which threatened to explode into streaming torrents of hot spurts at any moment. For a second, he considered it, but then thought of a better idea. He stopped his manipulations, not wanting to risk losing the building load of sperm, and went into the living room and the telephone. He dialed the number of a nearby garage. The head mechanic answered, and the now wildly excited postal clerk asked for Jack Reagan, another of the mechanics. There was a pause, and then a young, firm voice came on the line. "This is Reagan." "Hello, Jack," the clerk replied. "This is Steve Samuels." There was utter silence for a moment. Then: "What do you want?" Reagan said in contemptuous tones. "Now, you shouldn't talk like that, Jack," the clerk said, grinning. "After all, I'm only trying to help you, you know." "The hell you are, you son of a bitch." The clerk suddenly flared up in anger, his face a hot red. "Don't call me names, Jack. You hear me? Never!" He calmed down after the outburst, knowing he controlled the situation. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be fired by now, and that would be terrible, what with a six-month- old baby and everything. Think about it, Jack." "I am," came the trembling response. "You wouldn't find another good job so easy, either, Jack. The postal authorities would see to that... They don't like men like you; men sick and dirty of mind who are helping destroy the moral fibre of our country." "Save the lecture. What do you want?" "Your wife." "No!" came the horrified gasp. "Not Sally, not again!" "Yes. Sally, and again!" "But... but you promised!" "That was before, Jack." "Before what?" "Before the authorities raided a pornographer's house over on the south side of town. Before they found a letter of yours..." "God! no!" Reagan moaned. "I went to bat for you again, Jack. All they had was the envelope actually with your address on it. I told them that it must have been a mistake, that I know you and that you're a good, clean, all-American patriot, the pillar of the community. They aren't going to do anything to you... yet! But if I should say something..." he left the threat of what the postal authorities might do to Reagan unsaid, only snickering triumphantly into the mouthpiece. Reagan's voice was leaden. "So now you want to get paid." "That's right. I want my little, ah... reward and I want it now. I'm waiting at home. Call that sweet little wife of yours and get her over here fast. I won't be waiting long." Again there was a long, deathlike pause. Finally Reagan, his voice indicating the surrender he felt, said, "Okay. I'll do it. I'll send her over in a cab, but please be gentle with her this time. And... this has to be the last time." "Heh, heh," Samuels chuckled. "Of course, Jack. Of course it'll be the last time. And I promise that soon you'll get back those pictures of you and your wonderful wife you tried to send through the mails." He chortled some more, then rang off. Young, titian-haired, angelic-featured Sally Reagan sat apprehensively squeezing a handkerchief between her small hands in the back seat of a taxi cab as it sped across Morriston. Her slender, high- breasted body was rigid with the foreknowledge of what was about to happen, and a nauseous feeling eddied in the pit of her stomach. Oh God, she prayed to herself, please don't let it be as bad as the last time. Please, don't. I... I don't think I could stand it! She twisted the handkerchief convulsively, and an almost inaudible moan of despair burst past her soft, moistly red lips. In her mind's eye she could picture the almost obscenely ugly Postal Clerk, Steve Samuels, with his slobbering, rubbery lips and his claw-like hands and his... his horribly huge penis! She moaned again, loud enough so that the cab driver glanced up into the rear-view mirror, frowned, and asked her if she was okay. She quickly replied that she was and sank lower in the seat, twisting the handkerchief into a twisted rope in her fingers. Why, oh, why, had she consented to come tonight? When Jack had telephoned her from work, and told her of Samuels' call to him and what the weasly blackmailer wanted, she had almost become sick as all the disgusting perversions of that last time flooded instantaneously back into her conscious mind. She couldn't go through the same hell again; she couldn't! And yet she had known that she had to, knew that now as well. If she didn't... submit to Samuels' demands, then the depraved Postal Clerk would have Jack fired, would ruin him completely through some evil stretching of the truth. And Jack's was a specialized job, which would make it very hard for him to get another. Too, there was the baby---little Jimmy--- to think about, and the fact that they'd just bought a small, modest home and had to meet the payments on it promptly or risk losing their equity... No, she was doing the right thing. She could endure another night of horror at the hands of the lust-insane civil servant, if it meant saving her home and her husband's job---and if it meant that those... those photos which Samuels possessed would never be exposed to nationwide gutter distribution. Those damnable photographs! Why had she ever allowed Jack to take them of her, with the Polaroid his brother had let him borrow? She should have known better, but she had done it in a moment of passion, wanting to please the man she loved and that, too, was the reason she had decided to send them off for exchange, with Jack's eager approval, to members of the Camera Club whose newspaper Jack had somehow found. God, if she'd but known Samuels was going to find out about them, get his hands on them, blackmail the unsuspecting Reagans in such a perverted manner... But she hadn't known, and now it was too late; she---and Jack, too, although he didn't have to suffer the indignities she did--- was completely at the mercy of the warped Postal Clerk. Sally, distraught and helpless, looked up then through the window at the black night outside. Let this be the last time, she prayed. Please, God, let this be the last time. She rubbed at her damp eyes with the handkerchief, peering out through the window. The surroundings were now familiar---an old, dingy, run- down section of Morriston and a shudder coursed through the frightened, tormented young wife's warm, vibrant body. They were almost there. Sitting in the front room of his ramshackle house, his wizened hands busily working among the contents of the wooden coffee table before him, Steve Samuels grinned in drooling anticipation of the arrival of the tender young Sally Reagan. Oh, he was going to fuck her good tonight! He was going to subject her to every trick in the book, goddamned right he was! He would do to her, he reflected, the same things he would do to that uppity Mrs. Jamison... sort of a preliminary to the main event. And Mrs. Cindy Jamison was a main event, no doubt about that. His cock throbbed with aching desire as his fingers worked almost independent of his mind, with practiced ease, for his was a task he had performed many times before. On the coffee table were a small cigarette-rolling machine, several packages of wheat-straw papers, a scarred wooden cigarette box, and a large cellophane bag filled with a dark brown, shredded leaf that resembled tobacco but wasn't tobacco at all. It was Acapulco Gold, the best marijuana money could buy. The weaselly postal clerk chuckled lewdly as his dexterous fingers fashioned yet another pot stick. He'd been damned lucky to get grass as good as this, and he'd had to pay a premium for it, too; but it was worth it, every penny. Good stuff like this really turned them on, these young bitches like Mrs. Sally Reagan (and yes, like Mrs. Cindy Jamison as well); it made them forget their inhibitions, their fear and hatred of him, so that they were his complete slaves to subjugate and to do with as he would. They never forgot a session with Steve Samuels, the perverted government employee boasted to himself; and they were never really the same afterwards... His huge German Shepherd, Ringo, came bounding in from the kitchen, where Samuels had put out a large bowl of raw meat. The great animal, sleek and bright-eyed, its long red tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth, sat on its haunches next to its master, tail wagging. The Postal Clerk chuckled again, finished rolling one last cigarette, and then leaned back on the sofa, reaching down to pat Ringo on the head. "So you're eager, too, eh, my friend?" he chortled. "Well, don't worry. You're going to get your share of young Mrs. Sally Reagan tonight- - just like you've gotten your share of the others. And you're going to get plenty of young Mrs. Cindy Jamison, too, of that I promise you. She's going to feel your prick jammed all the way up to her hot little titties, Ringo, don't you worry." The lewd mental image of the beast's speckled red cock buried in the tight, warm, clasping pussy of the haughty Cindy Jamison caused Samuels own prick to leap into erection. Damn, he was horny tonight! He was going to really fuck little miss Sally, all right---but first, there would be games to play. Games he had perfected with a half-dozen other unsuspecting housewives in Morriston, housewives who had foolishly attempted to send lewd, pornographic items through the United States mails. Games which left them slavering and begging for his mammoth cock to rip their cunts wide and fill them with hot boiling cum... The evil clerk began to rub his erect prick through his pants, slowly, tantalizingly, his wizened face split into an animalistic grin of lust. It had been a fine day, The Finest Day, when the government had passed the new Postal regulation allowing the Department to open anyone's mail without them being present, under the guise of checking for obscenity or subversive activities or even upon the slightest suspicion of anything illegal or immoral. And the most beautiful part about that regulation was, he could do it himself, on his whim, without asking permission of his superiors! Oh, it was a grand day, the day of the passage of that regulation! He had complete access to the entire mail input and output of the city of Morriston; he could open letters, packages, registered envelopes at will--- and he had. Intuition and the illegal directory of names had led him to suspect certain ones, and at least half the time he had found some kind of incriminating material. He had several mild photos and some letters that were written by respectable wives in the community that, on the surface, were seemingly innocent; but turned over to the wives' husbands, they would be damning. And, of course, he had found some juicy items as well, like the photos Jack Reagan and his wife, Sally, had taken together. They were really something! But all he needed to open negotiations with the erring wives was one small indiscretion, just enough to use as a threat and as a fulcrum to lever them into his house and his bed. His list of names was ever-growing, too, and his insatiable cock, his perverted, insatiable brain, had at long last began to reap their rewards. Some day, he might have as many as twenty-five or thirty young, beautiful Morriston wives at his beck and call, for as long as the Postal regulation allowing him to indiscriminately open the public's private mail was in effect, he could never be thwarted. He had power, power, POWER! Faster and faster the wickedly-grinning clerk's hand rubbed back and forth over his swollen prick as he gazed into the future, planning impossible orgies with a dozen women and more, planning games and perversions which boggled even his imagination. His glazed eyes sought and found the old wall clock. Hurry up, Mrs. Sally Reagan, he thought. Hurry, hurry, hurry! The taxi cab stopped in front of the dingy, clapboard house---the place which beautiful Sally Reagan, in her own mind, had dubbed The House of Humiliation. She shuddered again, her trembling fingers digging inside her purse. The cab driver turned to look at her over the seat. "You sure this is the place you want to go, lady? Looks like an opium den, or something." He laughed. "Y-yes, this is the place," Sally quavered, convulsing violently at the driver's innocent comment about "an opium den;" if only he knew what went on inside that house! She found a dollar bill, shoved it into the driver's hand, and then got out of the cab. She stood on the cracked sidewalk a moment as the taxi meshed gears and pulled away from the curb, trying to compose herself. How should she behave this time? Not like the last---whining, piteous, obviously fear- wracked, obviously filled with hatred for her tormentor---for that only made things worse, only made Samuels do more foul things to her helpless body. No, this time she would be like ice, like a mannequin; she wouldn't plead with him, curse him, scream at him. She would let him use her as he would, and in that way get it over with as quickly as possible so that she could go home to the safety of her own house, where baby Jimmy slept in his crib under the watchful eye of the babysitter, where Jack would come to comfort her in the night. Straightening to her full height, the long-legged, slim-hipped, black- haired young wife walked quickly up the tangled, jagged path to the front door of the house and rang the bell. It was opened almost immediately, and the evilly-leering countenance of the Postal Clerk, Steve Samuels, materialized only inches from her own face. In spite of herself, Sally gasped and took a faltering half-step backward to see once again, up close, the ugly, twisted features of this mentally deranged man. "Well, well, it's about time, Mrs. Reagan," croaked Samuels, opening the door wider. "My cock has been hard for half an hour, just thinking about you and your fine young body, heh heh. Come in, come in." Sally's eyes inadvertently dropped to the front of his pants, saw the bulge there, the stain on the material, and she shuddered again. But then she composed herself and stepped past him, careful not to touch him, and walked proud and tall into the cluttered living room. Samuels, licking his rubbery lips, followed her and said, "Sit down on the sofa there, Mrs. Reagan. In front of the coffee table there." He laughed obscenely. "As you can see, I've set out a few photos from my album for you to look at. And you're in them. You and your husband, Jack. I know you'll be interested in seeing them again, even if you have seen them before." Sally closed her eyes, blinked them open, and crossed to the couch, sitting down as Samuels had directed her. She didn't look at the pictures displayed on the corroded surface of the table. The wizened clerk crossed to her and stood in front of the table, looming over her, looking down at her silky black hair, at the full swell of her rich, creamy breasts, at the taper of her soft downy thighs. His cock leapt violently, and his balls ached with the buildup of his semen. "Take your dress off, Mrs. Reagan," he husked. "It's warm in here. Make yourself comfortable." Like a marionette, the evil clerk's voice its strings, Sally stood woodenly and pulled the simple cotton shift she wore over her head and tossed it aside. Then, quickly, she sat down again, clad only in a thin, wispy bra and panty briefs. She wouldn't look at Samuels at all. His breath quickened as he saw her half-naked before him, and his eyes traveled like hungry beetles over her firm, resilient flesh. Her breasts were high and proud, good breasts, but not as good and as voluptuous as those of Mrs. Cindy Jamison, he reflected. Still, he wanted to see them in all their splendor, nakedly presented to his lusting eyes. "Take your bra off, Mrs. Reagan," he commanded, his hand dropping down to his bulging pants and stroking lightly. Obediently, the tormented young woman reached behind her and unhooked the fasteners of her gauzy bra. She let it fall away, leaning back a little to pull her firm, pinkish-red-capped breasts up high as she knew he wanted her to; there would be no need for him to tell her lewdly what to do on this night. "You have nice tits, Mrs. Reagan," wheezed Samuels, rubbing his swollen cock. He had unzipped his fly now, and his fingers were traveling eagerly over the surface of his shorts. "Very nice tits. I like them, Mrs. Reagan. I like them very much." Sally stifled the low groan which threatened to escape her throat, and remained sitting there almost like a statue. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. Oh, God, what kind of filthy things its he going to do to me tonight? No... no, I can't think about them, I can't think ahead... have to make my mind a blank, a blank... Samuels came around the coffee table, still massaging his huge prick with his fingers, and sat down next to the beautiful, almost completely naked young wife. His rubbery lips were parted wide, and thin rivulets of saliva coursed out at their corners. His eyes were fever bright. "Won't you have a cigarette, Mrs. Reagan," he said gratingly. "It will relax you while you look through the pictures. These are good cigarettes, Mrs. Reagan; you've had them before, remember?" Pot! Her mind screamed. Oh, no, not more marijuana! She remembered the last time, how he had forced her to smoke one of the little brown cigarettes, and another, how she had become giddy and light-headed, responding to his commands almost eagerly as the fear and disgust left her body under the influence of the drug. But wait... maybe that was the best thing now... yes, for if she allowed herself to become high under the emotion-numbing drug the evening would go quickly and she would not be fully cognizant of the certain perversions he would perform upon her unwilling flesh. Yes, she had to get high, very high... pretend it was Jack touching her body as Samuels would surely touch it, pretend that her loving husband's penis was being thrust inside her when the time came instead of the grotesque monster of this gnome-like fiend... yes, that was what she would do, that was how she would survive this night... Almost eagerly, Sally Reagan's fingers sought the scarred humidor on the table next to the pictures and next to an odd looking, black-cased, slender thing she had never seen before. She opened the box, extracted one of the crude brown cigarettes, and placed it between her soft, moist lips. Beside her, Samuels snapped a lighter into flame with his left hand, his right still stroking his blood-heavy penis, and lit the cigarette. The young wife drew smoke into her lungs, holding it there as he had taught her that first time, releasing it finally. Then she repeated the process, and a third and fourth time. "That's fine, Mrs. Reagan, that's just fine," Samuels croaked. "Now the pictures. Look at the pictures while you smoke. Look at them, now." Already, after the first deep drag, the marijuana cigarette was beginning to have an effect on the tense young woman, relaxing her somewhat, making some of the fear and loathing and hate di ÿsappear, and she reached out and lifted the stack of photos. She held them up to her eyes, drawing on the stick again, then began to shuffle through them. She knew them well, these snapshots. Jack and she had taken them together that night several months ago, with his brother's Polaroid. God, she wished she had never seen them, wished they had never existed! But she had seen them, and they did exist, and she looked at them, at one after another of them... Jack and she, lying on their bed, with her hand circling his huge, erect penis while his middle finger was extended and half-buried in the warm, glistening folds of her wide splayed pussy... Jack with his lips pressed to one of her jutting breasts, while his extended finger tickled her erect, quivering clitoris... Jack with his mouth buried in her pubic hair, and her thumb rubbing across the swollen head of his penis... Jack with his head full between her wide-splayed thighs, his tongue pressed into the tingling flanges of her tenderly excited femininity and her face twisted grotesquely with the joy of the warm, wet contact... her, now, with her lips on his stomach while she stroked his organ and his testicles... her with mouth poised above the red, seminally-lubricated head of his member... her with her mouth closed over the head now, sucking as her fingers tickled his scrotum (God, she remembered the taste of his penis, the bittersweet flavor of his masculinity; she had liked it, because it was her husband and she loved him and wanted to please him, but now it seemed so revolting and obscene)... her with the full length of his great member pressed tight into her ovaled lips, her nose gently tickling his wiry pubic hair... the two of them on the bed, she straddling Jack, her buttocks raised to the camera, knees spread wide on either side of him, his penis inserted into the shimmering, petal-opened expanse of her vagina as she rocked back on it while kissing him full on the mouth... the same photo, only with Jack's middle finger teasing along and partly inserted in the tiny, rubbery opening of her anal passage... "You like them, don't you, Mrs. Reagan?" Samuels intoned next to her, his fingers inside his under pants and wrapped around his trembling cock now. "You like them, and you're getting hot looking at them, aren't you?" "Y-yes," Sally heard herself answer. "Yes, yes." "Then lean back and put your hand down between your legs," commanded the Postal Clerk throatily. "Play with yourself like I'm doing, Mrs. Reagan. Put your fingers in your cunt, Mrs. Reagan. Ah, that's it... no, no, don't pull your panties down. Just pull them aside between your legs, and put your finger in your slit... yes, yes, now you've got it!" Under his droning directions, the young marijuana-drugged housewife had begun to slide her middle finger slowly, slowly, up and down the moistening expanse of her tender young vaginal slit, feeling the juices of her femininity begin to flow in spite of the situation and because of her relaxed state of being. It's Jack's finger, not my own, she told herself over and over, it's Jack's finger, not my own... Samuels, tremendously excited now by the sight of the sweet young woman slowly masturbating before him, removed the swollen, blood-engorged penis from his underpants, letting it jut high into the air as his claw- like fingers stroked it up and down. Goddamn, but this was really living! To have young married sluts like this at his mercy were the finest moments of his life, the things he really lived for... Jesus, Jesus, how he loved to torment the haughty goddamned young bitches for his own pleasure! "Another cigarette," he wheezed. "Here, I'll light it for you... no, no don't take your fingers out of your cunt, Mrs. Reagan! Keep playing with your clit while you smoke... good, good!" The second marijuana joint relaxed the young woman even more, and she felt all her emotions go gently ebbing away, so that she was relaxed to a large degree and no longer apprehensive. And... yes, she was beginning to feel, in spite of her hopeless situation, a gentle tingling in her softly warm cunt. Jack's doing it, Jack's doing it, Jack's getting me excited like he always does, Jack Jack Jack... She finished the second joint, and her head was swimming now, her finger moving with increasing rapidity in her cuntal valley, her eyes glazed over and her breasts heaving. The Postal Clerk, watching her and stroking his own burgeoning genitalia, snickered aloud as he saw the mounting sexuality in the young wife brought about by the marijuana and the pictures and her own manipulations. She was going to be fine tonight, a regular goddamned hellcat; he'd teach her a thing or two, son-of-a-bitch if he wouldn't! "On the table, Mrs. Reagan," he droned. "The vibrator... yes, that. Now take it in your hand... good, good, there's a little button on the bottom... click it forward, now you've got it." Vibrator? What... what did he want her to do with that? Sally thought in her torpor. It was an ugly thing, black-cased, resembling an elongated candle stick with a rounded head---almost phallic-looking, like a slender, ugly penis. It was slippery in her hand, and when she clicked the button forward as he had directed it began a gentle tingling against her palm and she saw that the rounded head was oscillating from side to side with a steady rhythm. Vibrator, vibrating against her hand... what did he expect her to do with...? "Now," Samuels whispered hotly, "put it down between your legs, Mrs. Reagan!" She seemed to stiffen. "B-between my legs?" "You heard me, you little bitch!" he flared. "Do what I tell you, goddamnit, or I ruin that fine young husband of yours! Now put the vibrator down between those hot little thighs of yours... that's it, that's it... pull the band of your panties farther over so that you can get the head of the vibrator up your cunt... now you've got it! Move it up and down, up and down, up and down... ohhh, you're doing fine, Mrs. Reagan, just fine!" The young wife felt the tingling vascillation of the battery-powered vibrator against the moist sensitive flesh of her vaginal region and her entire body began to shudder tremulously. Oh, God, oh, God, it... it feels good! It feels good, up and down, up and down, it's sick and disgusting with him watching me doing it to myself but it feels sooo good... She was excited now, in her drugged state, and her hips began to move back and forth restlessly on the soft material of the sofa. Samuels watched with bated breath as she moved the slender black vibrator up and down between her widely spread thighs, holding the crotchband of her panties away from the glistening wet folds of her tight, hair- fringed young cunt. "Shove it inside now!" he hissed excitedly. "Shove it all the way up your cunt, Mrs. Reagan! Do it, do it now!" Sally's mind seemed to rebel for a moment to reject that totally alien concept of inserting a vibrating instrument, a mechanical creation, into herself. But the marijuana, mixed with her predisposition to obey and thus bring to a hopefully rapid conclusion this night of horror, finally overcame the objection of her morality. She let the oscillating head of the instrument move along each of the tender, softly pink lips of her pussy, back and forth, and then, slowly, she inserted a little more of the head of the vibrator inside, spreading her legs as wide as she could and drawing the band of her panties wide across her open pubic area. The machine tingled inside, tingled, and she felt passion begin to flow through her as the electrical device teased the buttery walls of her vagina. "All the way in, all the way inside your cunt!" Samuels prodded breathlessly, his hand wildly stroking his exposed cock. And she obeyed, thrusting the tingling vibrator deep, deep inside her until she could feel its oscillating head pressing maddeningly against her cervix. The sensations brought low moans from her throat, caused her to flair her head from side to side abandonly. Her high, rounded breasts were sheened with sweat, bobbing excitedly on her chest. The evil civil servant could scarcely stand the excitement of witnessing the subjugated young wife thrusting the vibrator far up into her own belly. He was becoming so hot now that he knew his balls would soon burst. And yet, he had to hold out for just a little while longer... his own pleasure was foremost, of course, but there was one other thing to think about as well, his true and trusted friend to think about. He couldn't cum until his friend had had his fill of this black-haired little married bitch next to him. He turned his head reluctantly from the salacious sight of the young wife masturbating herself with the vibrator, and looked in the direction of the kitchen, his eyes glinting wickedly and his slobbering lips parted wide. "Ringo!" he shouted. "Here, Ringo boy!" At once, the huge, furry form of the Postal Clerk's German Shepherd came bounding in from the kitchen, panting eagerly as if it had been waiting anticipatorily for its master's call. Chuckling, Samuels patted the animal on the head, still rubbing his erect penis. Then he said to the young housewife, "Take the vibrator out of your cunt now, Mrs. Reagan. Rub your breasts with it, make them nice and hard, make your nipples tingle. Hurry now!" Slowly, obediently, and almost hesitantly she withdrew the oscillating device from her trembling vagina, moved it up to her quivering breasts. It was wet with her lubrications and seemed to glisten maniacally in the light from the naked overhead fixture. She pressed it to her breasts, in her drugged state not noticing because of her tightly closed eyes the presence of the great, panting German Shepherd. "Keep the band of your panties pulled over, Mrs. Reagan!" ordered Samuels. "And keep your legs spread wide. All right, good... now, Ringo, now you can go!" The massive dog went directly to the girl, its enormous jowls parted and its long, furled tongue panting wetly, redly. Then its cold snout pressed against one of Sally Reagan's thighs, and she froze, her eyes opening and staring down at the beast which sniffed hungrily between her thighs. My God, my God! her mind protested. Not that dog again! Oh, dear Lord, please not that dog again! But even as she thought this, she knew what was about to happen, knew she was about to be subjected once again to the most horrible of perversions, to the sexual attack of a dog! She wanted to leave, to leap to her feet and run, to get out of that House of Horror and yet she remained immobile, knowing that she must submit, that there were things of more importance than a single night of personal depravity at stake. She pressed the vibrator tight to her swollen breasts, rubbing it back and forth across her already throbbing, hungrily aching nipples as she watched in mesmeric terror the German Shepherd lowering its huge head down between her naked, defenseless thighs. Tail wagging excitedly, Ringo sniffed at the trembling, moist-haired slit exposed beneath the pulled-aside panties. Then its tongue snaked out with a long exploratory lick on the fluted edges of the tender- cunt, causing the young housewife to shudder violently and her hips to begin to move reflexively. The dog ran its tongue wetly the full length of the young wife's exposed slit, up and down her pink vaginal lips from the wetly flowing entrance to her throbbing clit, then back again, then up again, flicking relentlessly the juices of her flaming passion. Mewls of shame and delight, the ambivalent mixture which coursed through Sally Reagan's body, burst from her lips as the German Shepherd continued to plunder her tender pussy with its long, glistening tongue. "Wider!" shouted Samuels' lust-incited voice. "Pull your panties wider so he can get his tongue up inside your pussy! Goddamn you, do what I say, you little bitch! Spread those legs wide so Ringo can put his tongue into your cunt!" She did as he bid, pulling the panties over as far as she could without ripping them, and the immense dog responded immediately by flicking its long tongue into the wetly pink opening of her vagina, its cold snout pressed tightly to her vulva as it eagerly licked at the juices of her desire. She moaned aloud now, tossing her head and her body, her free hand coming down in helpless surrender to convulsively grasp the great furry head buried in her hungrily clasping young cunt. Oh, Jesus, oh, goddamn son of a bitch! the wizened Postal Clerk thought. What a sight! That little bitch with her legs spread and Ringo's tongue flicking into her hot little cant, while she rubs the vibrator over her tits! I can't take much more of this before I blow my wad! Should I keep beating my cock while Ringo licks her pussy, and then cum all over her goddamned sweet little face? That would be good... no, no, wait! A better idea! I'll have Ringo fuck her from behind and shoot his cum into her snobbish little cunt. And at the same time, I'll shove my cock into her mouth and fuck her face and blow my cum down her throat! Yes, yes, oh; God how exciting this is going to be! Sally Reagan was almost insensate with passion now as she felt the fire-hot tongue of the dog licking wildly at her cunt. She was past all- caring, for her mind was controlled completely by the forces of lust and drug. Her pussy was on fire, her breasts were on fire, her brain was on fire... she knew nothing else, cared about nothing else... she was a helpless slave, a tool in the hands of the evil sorcerer who sat next to her, stroking his burgeoning penis and shouting obscenities and encouragements to the German Shepherd. It was time, it was time! thought the lust-crazed clerk. He leapt to his feet, his cock jutting blood-red out in front of him in the palm of his hand, and screamed, "Back, Ringo! Back, boy! You're going to get plenty in a minute, you're going to fuck this little bitch like I know you've been wanting to! Be patient, Ringo! Back!" With apparent reluctance, the huge beast drew back from between the quivering thighs of the young wife, sitting on its haunches with eyes that seemed almost as glazed as its master's. Then Samuels commanded harshly, "Take your panties off, Mrs. Reagan. Make yourself naked, you hot little bitch! Then get down on the floor, by the table there, down on the floor on all fours like the little bitch you are! You're in heat, and we have to see that you're serviced, don't we?" He cackled with almost an insane lust. The beautiful housewife, responding like an automaton, stood up and stripped off her last remaining garment, revealing the dog-saliva soaked expanse of her naked, softly hair-fringed cunt completely to the eager eyes of the Postal Clerk, then, in total surrender, dropped down on all fours on the floor. "Move your knees apart and get your ass higher up in the air!" directed Samuels. "Open that cunt up! Now you're in the right position, aren't you, Mrs. Reagan? Answer me!" "Ye-yes!" "You want to be fucked, don't you?" "Yes, yes!" "You want dog cock inside you, don't you?" "Yes, oooohhhhh yes!" "You heard her, Ringo!" screamed Samuels. "Fuck her, boy! Climb on her ass and fuck her like the bitch in heat she is!" The dog seemed to need no further encouragement. It ran in one graceful jump to the quivering buttocks of the girl, sniffed the moistened expanse of her pubic exposure a single time, and then climbed up on her from behind, its long, shining, wetly red penis coming into view from its concealment in the furry sheath of the animal's loins. The tapered head slid in and out of the wet covering as the German Shepherd fought to bury its cock deep in the waiting, subjugated young wife's cunt. The beast's forepaws sawed rhythmically at her waist, its long tongue lolling out on the smooth, textured surface of her back. "He's ready, Ringo's ready!" Samuels was beside himself with fiery lust now, his hand beating his cock until it seemed to be a blur of motion, standing over the girl and the dog like some evil and perverted film director shouting arrangements for a new scene. "Reach back and take his cock in your hand, Mrs. Reagan! Put it into your cunt! Put my dog's prick in your pussy, Mrs. Reagan! Help him fuck you, put it in, put it in! Sally's hips rotated in mad anticipation and her mind told her it was her husband, not a dog her husband, not a dog. She reached back to grasp the slippery organ pressing against the back of her thigh, its redness contrasting almost ludicrously with her soft pink cunt lips. It slipped from her fingers, but she grasped it again, guiding the huge penis into her soft, hair-fringed slit, spreading the opening wider and wider until it seemed as if she would surely split apart. The animal bucked wildly, driving his immense cudgel deep into the young wife's squirming pussy, slammed home; its monstrous balls bounced against her defenseless pubic mound as she lunged backward reflexively to meet the panting dog's forward thrusts. Her face was contorted mindlessly now, and she buffeted back against the invading prick, thinking it was her husband's cock, Jack fucking her, as the monstrous animal drove its crimson penis faster and faster, deeper and deeper, into her moist, quivering vagina. Got to Muck her face, now, right now, while Ringo is fucking her cunt with his big dog cock! the depraved Postal Clerk thought. Got to shove my prick into that soft, tender mouth of hers and fill it up with cum, choke her with my cum! Feverishly, Samuels lay supine on the threadbare rug, twisting his body so that his loins were beneath the bobbing, jerking head of the young woman. He held his cock up to her, like some obscene offering of wonderment while Ringo, the German Shepherd, continued to thrust his great red cock deep into her cunt. "Suck me!" he screeched. "Suck my cock, Mrs. Reagan! Take it in your mouth! Hurry, do it now!" The young housewife obeyed, screwing her hips back hard on the thundering penis of the great dog mounted upon her, filled with uncontrollable lust and total subjugation. Her sweet, softly warm lips opened over the naked loins of the wizened civil servant, her tongue slipping forward between them so that it was poised less than an inch over the throbbing penile head. One hand came up to grasp his huge, swollen cock tightly, and then her head moved slowly downward, boring teasingly at the dilated opening. Samuels sucked in his breath at the electrifying contact, and he groaned aloud as the young wife opened her mouth wide and enclosed the whole of his smooth, fleshy cock with her hot, damp interior cheeks. Her mouth tightened, and her tongue began to swirl around the crown like some fantastic dervish; he raised his loins high, twisting his body so that he was lying almost parallel with her, his face near her churning hips and his eyes glaring feverishly up at the jerking German Shepherd's cock buried far up into the voraciously clasping channel of the insensate woman. Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn! his warped brain howled as he watched the firm, resilient breasts of the young wife dance tightly beneath her writhing body as the huge dog drove his flailing hot cudgel deep into her cunt. Fuck her good, Ringo boy, Fuck her good! Fuck her Fuck her, oh, Jesus, I'm going to cum any second now her mouth is like warm honey around my cock and I'm Fucking her face like I like to do to all these hot young bitches... oooooohhhhhhh! Young Sally Reagan was now reduced to little more than a quivering mass of flesh between the pounding onslaught of the dog's cock in her pussy, the heaving girth of the sweating Postal Clerk's prick shoved deep between her ovaled lips. Her torso whipped madly from side to side and she rammed her buttocks with abandoned frenzy back against the animal, her mouth working voraciously over and around the palpitating cock of the toady man who bucked his loins into her face, licking and sucking his prick as if it were Jack's, her husband's, as if she were trying to please the man she loved... And then, without advance warning, the panting, thrusting German Shepherd began to spew hot fire-torrents of sticky white animal cum from its flame-red cock, leaping like molten drops of lava into the very core of her body. Thick sperm oozed from her cunt as it clasped the jerking prick of the dog, began to trail down along the backs of her thighs. Samuels saw the animal sperm erupting around Ringo's prick, and the sight triggered his own tremendous orgasm. He screamed high and loud, his eyes rolling in their sockets, bucking and heaving his buttocks upward to drive the full length of his huge penis into the mouth of young Sally Reagan, filling it, threatening to strangle her. Then his balls erupted their great buildup of semen, sent jets of white fire shooting the full length of his spasming prick to flow deep against the larynx of the wildly convulsed young wife, filling her mouth to overflowing so that his cum poured out around his cock locked tightly in her lips to flow down her chin as Ringo's cum was flowing down her thighs. She swallowed spasmodically to keep from choking, her lips and tongue nuzzling and licking the jerking cock of the wizened government employee, swallowing as much of his semen as she could as his testicles seemed to empty forth a never-ending stream of the bittersweet liquid. Then, at last, it was over for the completely enslaved wife. She felt the dog's huge prick slid from her quivering passage to retreat back into its furry crevice, felt the cold snout nuzzle her as if in compliment and then retreat. And, too she felt the now-deflated cock of Steve Samuels slide from between her semen-glistening lips with a soft, gentle plopping sound. She collapsed forward in that moment, falling across Samuels' naked thighs, uncaring of that which pillowed her body, thinking in her drug---hazed mind, It's over now, it's over, Jack has cum, both Jacks have cum in my pussy and my mouth and it's over... But it was not over, not by any stretch of the imagination. Young Sally Reagan had only begun to participate in an evening of such lewd carnality that it would leave her almost witless at its end. For Steve Samuels, with remarkable regenerative powers, had his huge, swollen cock half-hard again even as she lay exhausted over his legs and the dog, Ringo, was sniffing once again at her still throbbing cuntal region. "Suck me again, Mrs. Reagan," commanded the civil servant. "Suck me to full hardness. I want to fuck your cunt next, fuck your cunt like Ringo just did. Come on, Mrs. Reagan, suck me some more with your soft, soft little mouth." And Sally obeyed, mouthing Samuels erect again, so that he could fuck her---submitting to other, incredible injustices involving the perverted clerk and his insatiable German Shepherd on and on into the night, on and on and on... And then, at last, Samuels allowed her to dress and called her a taxi. When it arrived, he led her child-like form to the door, reveling in the knowledge that he had made her this slavish zombie with his great cock and his huge dog. "Go home to your husband, now, you little slut!" he taunted. "You're nothing but a little whore, and you deserve that pimp of a husband of yours. Serves you right, serves you both right, for filling our mails with your lewd pornographic pictures!" He cackled obscenely as she half-ran, half-stumbled down to the waiting taxi. He watched her practically fall inside, watched the cab speed away, and he thought: I did everything to her tonight that I wanted to do---except fuck her in the asshole. But that's all right, because I'm saving that exciting little game for someone else, for someone much more exciting than this little Reagan bitch. I'm saving it for a one Mrs. Cindy Jamison. He cackled again as he shut the door and went back to the living room, the German Shepherd Ringo at his side. Yes, this was only a preliminary, all right. Mrs. Jamison was going to be the main event, the new conquest. He could hardly wait until he saw the expression on her face when he first confronted her with her picture, because that was the one thing that really turned him on, excited him above all else. He went to bed then and slept the sleep of the guileless, dreaming all the while of Cindy Jamison and what he would do to her, how he would fuck her and subject her to his every whim, how he would subjugate her as he had Mrs. Sally Reagan. Oh, it wouldn't be long now, not very long at all. And then Cindy Jamison, that stuck-up little whore-bitch, would be begging him on hands and knees for his mercy... Cindy sat dejectedly on the living room couch staring thoughtfully into a martini glass. Her head whirled from the fifth one she had drunk since arriving with her husband and the Taylors. The talk was lively around her; the other three in a similar, lightheaded condition from drinking, though not saddened. She hadn't wanted to be part of the foursome tonight, feeling worse than she had when Ralph and Norma had taken her and Howard to dinner at The Gandydancer. She had pleaded with Howard when he'd called during the afternoon that she wasn't feeling well, that her head ached from the previous night, that... well, none of her excuses had worked, she thought ruefully. Here she was, once more with her head spinning from too much to drink, surrounded by loud, boisterous, crude talk. Worse, she wasn't even in her own home, where, if things got out of hand or her own emotional breaking point was reached, she could have fled to the sanctity of her bedroom. Or what was left of that sanctity, she concluded harshly. Howard had changed so drastically, especially since that night when she had allowed those nude Polaroid pictures to be taken... for since then, there had been three successive nights when he had wanted to repeat that horrible performance, to once more set up the tripod and camera and writhe in abandon on the rug, or, as the case last night, on the bed. The very sheets seemed now permeated with debauchery, with the sins of carnality, and the remembrance of how he had tried again to push her head down on his penis and the coldness with which he had treated her afterwards when she had refused to do it brought tears brimming to her eyes. She wiped them carefully and took another heavy gulp of the martini, wincing slightly as it burned its way down her throat. And tonight, this party was the crowning blow. Howard had actually threatened her on the phone, caustically overriding her objections with brutal words. "You're coming tonight, Cindy," he grated over the phone. "You're coming and you're going to like it. Understand? It's high time you learned which side of the bread the butter's on, and if my boss wants us to go to his cabin tonight, then we're damned well going up there." "Howie..." she'd wailed, trembling with his angered voice. "Don't Howie me," he'd snapped back. "Get into a pair of slacks and a nice blouse, comb your hair and be ready to leave as soon as I get home at six. And have a smile on your face, too!" And with that, he'd hung up so harshly that the sound had hurt her ears. The distraught young wife, completely confused as to what would now bring her previously idyllic marriage back together, overwhelmed by the forceful way Howard's raucous boss had taken a more than guiding influence, terrified at the prospect of a total breakdown of her life, whimpered softly on the couch of the Taylor's mountain cabin. She finished the last drop of the martini and reached forward for the pitcher on the coffee table and poured herself another. The liquor dulled the anguish which pained her, at least, and made this nightmare of an evening a tolerable thing. The trip to Ralph's cabin retreat had taken several hours, and had been frequently punctuated by stops at taverns and cocktail lounges along the way. Ralph had also brought along a thermos of daiquiris, which he had passed around as he drove, and all the while he and Howard and Norma had discussed everything under the sun in animated, ever louder voices. The sun had already set and the air was a bit nippy when at last they pulled up in front of the stone and redwood cabin, set at the edge of a fine fishing lake in the Sierra foothills. As befitting Ralph, the interior was masculine and a little on the ostentatious side. The living room was huge with a high oak-beamed ceiling and a large stone fireplace, which Ralph soon had filled with a huge roaring fire. The cabin wasn't so isolated as to not have electricity, but the men had trouble getting the hot water heater going, partly because it was old and cranky and partly because both of them were more than a little drunk by that time. Cindy hadn't seen the bedrooms yet, but she had the feeling that they would be warm and homey, with great big thick double beds and feather pillows. She'd soon know, she said to herself. She and Howard were going to spend the night here, courtesy of Ralph and Norma. And while her husband hadn't said so, there had been intimations that the weekend might be extended to two nights, the four of them returning late Monday. She hoped not. God, she hoped not, for then Howard would never be away from Ralph's almost evil influence. A small shudder passed through her. What would happen with such concentrated exposure to his manager's suggestions? Her inner torment stopped abruptly as she was suddenly brought back to the present by Norma's thin, smooth-skinned hand on her shoulder. She looked at the woman, who was smiling in a concerned, worried way, and Cindy smiled back as best she could. "Something's the matter, isn't it, Cindy?" the other woman said in a condescending way. "You've been sitting here all evening, your face like a mask of tragedy." "Oh... oh, it's nothing, Norma. Really it isn't." "Of course it is, Cindy. A woman can tell, just like I could tell the other night when we talked in The Gandydancer. Do you want to confide in me now, Cindy? Before you explode with whatever's bothering you?" The hapless wife hesitated, opened her mouth to say something, then caught herself and stopped. It was too embarrassing. Just how could she go about confiding to this woman that her husband had influenced Howard to the point where their whole life was nearly crumbling? Norma, the wife that she was, would certainly go to the defense of her husband, and rightly so, for what proof had Cindy? And Ralph, big-hearted and no doubt thinking he was doing the right thing, would be crushed and hurt- --perhaps to the point of damaging Howard's career. No, Cindy couldn't tell Norma that. But still, she was so low and miserable that she had to confide in someone. The martinis had helped in loosening her soul, in making her want to confess her innermost agony, and as she looked at Norma, her eyes once more filled with salty tears and two droplets began to course down her cheeks. Perhaps it would be a mistake, but if she chose her words and skirted the problem with Ralph, she could tell Norma. She looked around to make sure that she would not be overheard by her husband or Ralph, saw them in a heated discussion on the merits of spoon fishing over live bait, and then turned back to Norma. "It's... it's Howard," she whispered. "I thought it might be," Norma said with pursed lips. "He's been acting almost as strangely as you have, Cindy." She stood up, glancing at the men as she did. "Let's step into the kitchen where we can be alone, all right?" Nodding, Cindy followed Norma into the kitchen. She leaned against the old cast-iron wood cook stove, her hands clasped in front of her, not sure where to begin. Finally she blurted, "I... can't seem to make him happy anymore, Norma." If Cindy had been a little more sober, a little less upset with her own problems, she might have noticed the sudden gleam in Ralph's wife's eyes. The spark which was almost a gloat, for in Norma's mind an entirely different set of thoughts were going on, thoughts which if Cindy had known would have sent her screaming from the cabin. You better believe he's not happy with you, Norma thought. And he won't be... ever... until you learn what I had to learn. Your lessons are already started, only you don't know it, my sweet little innocent... and tonight is going to be a real test... when Ralph throws his wonderfully huge and talented cock into your tight, clasping cunt... or even better, between those red lips of yours... Outwardly, the calculating wife of Howard's boss smiled with assurance and said, "I'm sure that he loves you, though." "I don't know," moaned Cindy. "Not anymore. He... he's demanding... things of me which I... I just can't do!" "You mean... sexually?" Her face a livid color of scarlet, Cindy nodded. "I try to be a good wife for him. I want to please him so very much. I cook him good meals and clean the house every day and try to show him I love him in everything I do, but lately it doesn't seem to be pleasing him like it used to." Norma took the nearly crying little wife by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye, knowing that this was when she could really set the stage for Ralph... as well as herself and that strong hunk of man, Howard. Her pussy tingled at the thought of getting fucked by that handsome, young salesman. She said, "Now I'm going to give you some advice, Cindy. I'll be blunt and truthful, and I hope you'll understand. If you do, then I'm sure that your marriage will be saved." "Yes?" There was a ray of hope in Cindy's voice. "You really think so, Norma?" "I wouldn't be telling you this if I didn't. I had to go through the same thing with Ralph, and you can see that after ten years we are still very happily together. The same can be true of you and Howard. Now first of all, a man loves a woman sexually, not by the food she cooks. He can go to a restaurant for that, and a maid can be brought in to clean the house, and a laundry can do his clothes just fine. But his wife can do something which no other woman can do---satisfy him sexually. After all, he married her because he loved her, which makes their relations much closer than he could get with say, some girl he could meet in a bar. Right?" "Oh, yes!" "And let me tell you this: no man is going to leave his wife if he knows he's got the best bed-partner right there at home. That's not to say that sex for its own sake is wrong, mind you; it's just not as good as with the one you love." Damned right, Norma thought, feeling another man's cock deep in my warm pussy is a thrill, and l love it, but it only makes me appreciate the heart and love I have for Ralph later, when we're making love... and the same goes for him! Norma continued in earnest appeal. "So it's up to you to do everything and I mean everything---that you can to make your husband happy in bed. When I married Ralph, I was so inexperienced that I thought the only way to make love was flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. No wonder I never really enjoyed it! I was too uptight, too worried that I would do something wrong, but Ralph was insistent and forced me to follow his lead, to join in En all sorts of wild and wonderful games. At first I hated it, but after I learned to let myself go, once I saw that what people do in the privacy of their lives can't be wrong as long as it gives pleasure to them both, I really started enjoying sex. Now," and here Norma chuckled, "now I'm as insatiable as my husband!" "You... think that's what's the matter with Howie and me?" "I know it, Cindy. A man likes variety and not the same old thing. It's the spice of life after all, and keeps him interested in you..." Norma talked on, lecturing Cindy, and as she did so the sweet, innocent housewife avidly drank in her words. It was true what she said. Norma and Ralph were happy after all these years. Howard had been bitter when she refused to do things to him---with him---of a sexual nature; things like posing with him in the picture taking, things like kissing his penis and letting him kiss her between the legs. As the other woman talked, Cindy saw that it wasn't Howard or Ralph who was at fault for her misery, but herself. Her selfish attitude, one born of ignorance and timidity, and yes, even of prudery. She was a prude, just as Howard had accused! Well, things were going to change, and change fast. She made up her mind to that. Tonight they were going to change, she vowed. Tonight she would try to kiss Howard's penis, even if it killed her. When fifteen minutes later she walked back out to the living room, she was firmly convinced this was the way to Howard's heart, and she sat back down and poured herself another martini. I've got to have strength to go through with tats, she said to herself, gritting her teeth. Some more liquor will help... She downed the strong drink and poured another. Just then there was the large shadow of Howard's boss hovering over her, and she looked up, startled. He grinned down at her expansively. "Care to dance, my dear?" he asked. "No... no, thank you, Ralph." "Oh, come on. Norma asked your husband to, and they're having fun. See?" He indicated the couple who were dancing on the rug, and it was only then that Cindy realized that the living room had changed in the brief time she'd been in the kitchen. She had no idea that Ralph had been busily at work, having seen his lovely wife take her into the kitchen, that he had been waiting for the chance to start his work... Low, slow-rhythmed music filtered from the large radio-phonograph combination in one corner, filling the room with almost a fog of violins and muted woodwinds. The fire had been banked, and now only the glowing embers lit the room, making deep, dancing shadows against the walls and ceiling. And there, in the middle of the room were Norma and Howard, dancing. Dancing? Cindy couldn't believe her eyes. That wasn't dancing they were doing. They were far too close together, embracing each other passionately as though they were lovers and not just friends. And Norma was with each beat grinding her hips into the pelvis of her husband! Thrusting her breasts into his chest! Resting her sweetly smiling face on his shoulder! Ralph caught on to what Cindy was looking at. He chortled. "Oh, ho, ho, don't get so upset, Cindy. That's just her way of dancing." He held out his hand. "C'mon, let's do the same." Cindy found it difficult to stand after drinking so heavily, and she swayed noticeably. Ralph calmly enveloped her in his strong arms and held her close, and she in turn found it easier to hold onto him with her arms around his waist and lean against him for support. The music flowed like soft wine around her ears and she shut her eyes, dreaming that this was Howard she was with. Ralph found that his cock was beginning to expand, to grow into a swelling, rigid pole in his pants as he held the alcoholically relaxed young wife. He slowly began to stroke her back, much as one would a cat to make it purr and with the same effects. Cindy snuggled closer, nuzzling his shirt. Yes, yes, this is working perfectly. Both of them drunk, both beginning to be whipped into a fever-pitch. Norma must have really talked to her, all right; really explained that sex is something to be experienced to the fullest, and not rejected. And while Norma had been in the kitchen with Cindy, Ralph had taken the opportunity to begin on Howard. He'd told him that not only was he, Ralph, proud to have him as a friend, but that Norma really liked him too. "I mean, really likes you, my boy. She's always talking about how good- looking you are, how masculine you are, how virile you must be in bed. Heh, heh. I've been kidding her that she'd probably like you to make love to her... and you know what, Howie-boy? I bet she would. I bet she would." Howard had flushed, murmuring his thanks for such compliments, but Ralph had known it had gone deeper than that. He knew---it always did. After all, Norma was one hell of a sexy dish, and when she wanted to turn on the heat, it burned through all opposition. And as he looked over at his seductive wife now, as he held the charming Mrs. Jamison close to his ever expanding penis, he could tell that all of her burners were on. She was after Howard, and Howard is what she'd get! And when she got him... Ralph would get that sweet, tender cunt of Howard's pretty wife! He groaned and shoved his buttocks closer, rubbing them against Cindy's thighs, easing one leg between her legs so that he pressed against her pubic area. How right he was! Ralph knew how to motivate people, whether it was to sell a car or fuck his wife. As he talked to the stupifiedly drunk young husband, Howard began to conjure up the image of himself fucking Norma rather than Ralph---of replacing Ralph in that set of intimate photos his boss had shown him yesterday, the ones showing Norma, buff naked, and Ralph writhing on their bed, doing all the perversions and positions imaginable. It had cost Howard the price of showing Ralph a set he had taken of himself and Cindy the night before, but it had been worth it! Goddamn, his boss's wife looked like a fine piece! She is obviously one hell of a lay! By those pictures she is like Bonnie: a cock-sucking, wild-fucking woman! But then a modicum of sobriety returned to Howard. The tingling in his cock at the thought of entering that wild pussy of Norma's wouldn't go away, though, not after the seed had been planted by his boss. Oh Christ, calm down. This its your manager's wife you're talking about. Ease of, and ease off on the booze, too, before you foul things up. But then Norma had headed straight for him after coming out of the kitchen. He hadn't even noticed that Ralph had put on records and there was music until she'd asked him to dance with her. Impulsively, rashly, he'd agreed, and suddenly he was holding her closer than he'd ever danced with Cindy! It was all but a rape on the floor with clothes on! On and on her belly and hips ground into him, brushing teasingly against the outline of his cock. Her muscles seemed to linger there, massaging gently, slowly in time to the music, sending burning ripples of passion flooding through him... "Having a good time, Howie?" she breathed into his ear. "Y... yes," he answered. His voice sounded strangely hoarse. "I'm having a fine time." "Mmmmm, good. I love dancing with you like this. Feeling you getting hard because of me..." What? What was this? Howard couldn't believe his ears. Was this his boss's wife talking like this? Talking like that beautiful whore, Bonnie, had? What was the matter with her? Norma's nimble, lithe body continued to caress him, and she ground her soft tits against his chest. Her lips were parted and she kept running her hot tongue back and forth along his neck and shoulder where her head touched; her breath fervid and sweet in his ear, her eyes lidded with her own sensual appetites. Howard knew he should pull back from her before Cindy or her husband saw them like this, but the salacious pleasure of her expert ministrations rendered him incapable of doing that. All he could do was hold her tighter and slowly turn with the beat of the music and feel his penis grow and grow and grow, just like she said it was. "I want you to make love to me, Howie," she purred. "Real love, a man's love, deep, deep inside me." "God, Norma---" he panted. "I saw you and I wanted you to put your cock inside me." "But, but your husband! My wife!" She chuckled. "Don't worry, Howie. Things will work out, you'll see. I just want to know whether you want me or not." The alcohol, the desire to fuck this woman; all combined to break down the layers of restraint. He choked, he fought with himself, but there was no denying the ache, the almost inhuman torture which was making his penis and testicles throb with wildness. "Norma, I---" "I want you," she whispered. "Now tell me, Howie..." "Yes, yes I want you!" "How, Howie-baby?" "I... I want to fuck you silly!" he whispered back. She moaned incoherently and smooth velvety legs rubbed against his pants, and her hips churned against his, and at that moment there wasn't anything in the world for Howard Jamison except the now voiced desire to commit adultery with this vixen, this siren wife of his boss. Meanwhile, Ralph was continuing his own evil plans of seduction. He kissed Cindy's earlobe slightly, making sure that it wasn't so much of a kiss as to make her draw away, and then he breathed, "Those were some fine pictures of you and Howie making love." Cindy froze. "W-what?" Ralph comforted her. "Now, now, don't get upset. I showed Howie some of Norma and myself going at it, and they got him excited and---" "Excited?" Cindy gasped. "You mean that you and Norma... and then you showed them to my husband?" She couldn't comprehend this! Howard and Ralph exchanging pictures of their most intimate moments! It was unthinkable! "And... he showed you ours?" "Of course! Everybody does that these days. Really, it's very modern and thrilling, don't you think? I mean, don't you get excited looking at pictures of people making love?" "No... I..." Ralph shrugged. "All right, you don't have to admit it to me. But be truthful with yourself at least." Truthful with myself. Yes, yes I do like to see such pictures. I hate to admit it, hate to think what it makes me, but the thought of seeing others, and even myself, in the photos, does make me hot! "It does Norma, you know," Ralph continued blandly. "In fact, she's the one who suggested that I show them to your husband. She thinks that sex is wonderful, and of course anything goes! Heh. Heh." Yes, Norma said that in the kitchen. The lovely young wife thought again of Norma's wise words and realized that her horror and repulsion were resultant from the same orthodox, Puritan sterility of her soul that caused her to repudiate her husband's sexual needs. She winced, shaking with her abject sorrow at her inability, and revowed her commitment to be everything her husband wanted. "In fact, I even brought along another set of pictures of me and Norma," Ralph said. "Would you like to see them?" This time Cindy didn't reject either her own desires or the desires of her husband. "Yes," she whispered, downcast, her eyes on the floor. "Yes, Ralph, I would like to see them." "Good!" he grinned triumphantly. The record ended at this point, and the two dancing couples slowly drifted apart. They all sat back down on the couch, and since the martini pitcher was now empty, thanks mostly to the thirst of Cindy, Ralph proposed switching to the other liquor they had brought: rum and Coke. What he didn't bother to add was that the rum was 151 proof purple Cuban rum, a rum of high potency, known for its aphrodisiac qualities. He laced the Jamison's drinks liberally with the dark liquor, even adding a slight touch of forbidden absinthe which he had imported illegally from Spain. He served the drinks and then settled back against the cushions. "Well," he said, raising his glass. "Here's to us, everybody. Here's to us." Everybody drank heartily at that, and then he said: "Howie, my boy, your sweet wife has evinced interest in seeing a set of snapshots Norma and I took the other day. Want to see them, too?" Howard, the burning liquid steaming new paths of sensuality through his entrails, was at first shocked at what to him was a complete reversal of her previous position, looked questioningly at Cindy. She smiled back, nodding in agreement. "Okay," he replied, "I---I'd love to see them." Already his lower body was on fire, his already semi-hardened cock leaping at the thought of once more viewing his boss's wife, who had promised her fair, exciting body to him but seconds before, in lascivious, breathtaking poses with her husband. His breath caught in his throat, and a clammy, trembling quality possessed his limbs. His whole being trembled with tingling anticipation as Ralph took out the envelope containing the photos, his eyes glued to the glossy evidence of their matings as his manager slowly took one after another of the pictures out and passed them around. They were more enticing, more stimulating, more arousing than the ones he'd seen at Auto Circus yesterday! He hadn't thought it possible, but his cock shot to its fullest extremity, filling his underpants to the bursting point, making him all but leap from the couch and attack his wife with utter abandonment on the spot! And all the while, as he passed one after the other of the lewd, carnal snaps to first Cindy and then Howard, Ralph gave a running commentary. "We made these like a progressive story, just for some added interest. See? This first one just shows Norma with her underpants down. Her dress is still on and everything. God! I had a hell of a time not ripping off everything right then and there! Isn't that a nice rear end she has, Howie? Tight, warm-makes you want to grab it with your hands!" Howie did-but somehow he controlled himself. Ralph continued. "Here, this one. Norma's got her sweater up over her breasts. You can see her nipples are hard; a sure sign she wants to get laid. She has fine breasts, doesn't she? And look at her, isn't she enjoying sucking my cock? Brother, did I have a hard-on that night." He smiled at Cindy, who sat staring at the photo, amazed at the size of his cock as he stood beside his squatting wife, who had hold of the base of his instrument, her eyes closed, and her tongue out and licking the head of his mammoth, red penis. Cindy groaned inwardly, and involuntarily the secretions of her vagina began to flow, making her close her thighs tightly together It only seemed to spur on the hot tendrils of quickening sex-passion which were beginning to surge through her. "Here I took Norma while she was lying on a table. Her legs are in the air, and you can see her cunt lips stretching around it as I put my cock into her. One of my better shots, if I do say so." He passed that picture, and then told about the next: "And here is a full length view, taken while she was spread out, her legs wide, and the camera aimed up her legs, past her cunt, and to where she was sucking me off again. Notice how her pussy is all wet with excitement, and how her fingers are on her little clit and one in her cunt. She likes to beat off; finds it relaxing. This one was taken on the table also. She's putting my cock in her cunt with her hand. You can really see how nice and sweet her asshole is. It's not in this set, I'm afraid, but in another one, there's a great shot of me sticking my prick in her anus. Boy, does she love that! "This one is one of my personal favorites," Ralph went on to explain. "I'm licking her cunt, spreading the lips of her cunt with my fingers and really digging in. You can make out her hole clearly in this one, the whole beautiful cavern where I stick my cock. I'm sorry that she didn't have her legs wider, or you could make out her asshole in this one, too." Howard was overwhelmed, lost in the wild frenzy of seeing his boss's wife in full color, more intimately displayed in naked, close-up detail than he would have been able to see even as a casual lover. His hands quivered as he viewed the shot of her widened cunt, his breath drawing in sharply. He hardly noted his wife's own heavy, palpitating reaction to seeing Ralph's great and magnificent rod sliding in and being sucked in by Norma. "... and this is the last one, folks. I came, shooting my cum all over Norma. She held her mouth open, and I aimed for it but you know how those things can go. I missed, and so the camera got her with my cum all over her face. You can see the droplets of sperm on her hair and eyelids, heh, heh. Some even got on her nose. Too bad; she loves the taste, too." The last picture was indeed the crowning shot. She was crouched by his thigh, obviously anticipating the flow of his orgasm, and again, her eyes were shut. But just as obvious as her desire was the way Ralph had spewed forth his climax, covering her with a thick film of his cum. Howard trembled, dreaming of cumming the same way over Norma; Cindy moaned, a bundle of excitement and trepidation at knowing the same was in store for her tonight. She had to please her husband. She just had to! The lovely young wife, totally oblivious to all that lay in store for her at the hands of the Taylors, was first shocked incomprehensibly by the appearance of the pictures. But she forced herself to look at them, to drink in Ralph's lewd words, and willed her mind to forget its training and become as the others: emancipated. She waited in anticipation and nervous fear of her own emotions to see how she would react, and she snuggled against her husband, determined to follow through with her new- found commitment. She became fascinated almost immediately, captivated by the salacious scenes of her host's giant penis and her hostess's quivering, pink rimmed vagina. Shivers of revulsive curiosity tingled through her and goose pimples erupted on her sensitive skin and she felt strangely cold. She took repeatedly large swallows of her cuba libre in between handling the photographs, shuddering from the building sexual stimulation that indulging in something forbidden gives. Cindy's breath came in tight gasps and the burning sensation which bubbled in her stomach grew in maddening intensity with each moment she watched the salacious depictions of lovemaking. Her body began to perspire and her forehead was covered with tiny beads of sweat. Beside her, Howard was breathing heavily, squirming down on the couch. He moved closer to his wife and dropped one hand to her leg, slipping it up toward the fullness of her thigh. Cindy froze from the unexpected contact, then placed her own hand on his, stopping further advance, gradually forcing his hand away from her tightly clenched pussy... but then another picture seemed to excite him to the point where he overcame her hand and he dipped between her legs, his fingers rubbing openly the vee of her smooth silky panties. Cindy hesitated, not knowing what to do. If she moved to push him away, to once more gain her composure and modesty in front of the Taylors, the struggle would only attract attention, and anything she might say would be overheard. Slowly she dropped her free hand to cover his; Howard continued to tease her vaginal area, probing her moist slit through the thin, unprotesting layers of cloth. She blushed and gasped as sudden waves of indecent pleasure washed over her, overcoming her desire to resist. Howard's hand became bolder as he sensed her tacit surrender. Cindy bit her lip and glanced at Norma and then Ralph to see if they showed signs of awareness, but they did not. Her husband's fingers moved in tiny teasing circles and up and down, titillating addition to the depraved pictures, and she didn't think she could stand another moment! Cindy was ready to crawl the wall to quench the fire raging through her involuntarily contracting vagina! Something had to give! It did. Ralph collected the pictures, saying, "Well, that's all there are, kiddies. I hope you enjoyed them. I know we did---both while making them and seeing them again." "Boy," Howard said, removing his hand from Cindy's pants, "those were some hot shots. Did you see the way Ralph was pumping Norma in that one on the table? Did you Cindy? Wow!" "Y---yes," the wife replied. She looked guiltily at Norma as though she had been spying on the other woman, but Ralph's wife looked back with pride beaming on her face. Then Cindy glanced at her husband and at Ralph, and by their expressions she realized that she was the only one out of step, that everybody else openly and without shame had enjoyed the pictures. Swaying from the effects of the snapshots, Cindy got to her feet. She could feel the moistness generated by Howard's fingers in her vaginal area, and before things went any further, she wanted a chance to calm down, to sort things out. So much had been happening tonight, so many new things to absorb---it was too much! "I... I want to go to the bathroom," she said, smiling shyly. "Please excuse me." She started off for the toilet, and after she'd left the room, Ralph turned to Howard and said: "Norma here says you want to fuck her." Howard, his eyes like saucers, fell back against the cushions, his heart hammering in his throat. "Well, I... that is..." he stammered. "Good for you, Howie my boy. She'll give you a fine ride." "You mean---?" "Like I said in The Arabian Knight, Howie, sex is good, clean fun, and if you fuck my wife it won't take away any of my love for her." He smiled warmly at the still aghast salesman. "Besides, that wife of yours looks awful attractive to me!" "You mean you want to do it to Cindy, too?" Howard choked. "What's the matter, Howie boy? Double standard? You covet my wife, but I can't covet yours?" His voice was quiet yet slashing. "You and Norma will have a good time together; she's one hell of a lay, let me tell you. But I have the same drives, the same interest in a good pussy other than her, and so has she for other cock. We're honest enough to admit it and enjoy it." "But I---" "But nothing. You're the same way. You were one happy bastard with Bonnie as I recall. That didn't make you give up your wife did it? No, it didn't," Ralph said emphatically. "And neither will your fucking Norma make any difference to your marriage." "Cindy will never agree," Howard gasped. It was the last of his defenses, and he knew it. Ralph spoke the truth; he did want to fuck his boss's wife, and he had had one fine time with that beautiful young prostitute, Bonnie. How could he argue that Ralph shouldn't have Cindy if he, Howard took Norma? Oh, God, it was enough to make his head spin! He had to stop this! But the filthy pictures and the erotic dancing and the overabundance of alcohol had fuddled and aroused him to a place where he couldn't say no. The carnal sights of Norma mewling silently under the strong, rock- like penis of her husband tormented him, her cooing pleas while she molded her tight body to his while dancing---Christ he wanted her! But there was still the torment of giving his own wife to another man in repayment, as if Cindy would ever accept such a suggestion! "No," he repeated, "I'm not going to force her, and I know she'll never go along. Never." "Don't worry about that, my boy. I'll take my chances along those lines. You just go to bed with Cindy tonight, make love to her, be the good husband that you are. I'll come in later and take your place. She'll never know!" Horrified, Howard was only able to cry, "No!" Norma leaned over, smiling with sultriness. "Yes, Howie-baby. Yes, you'll do it. You want me tonight, want me very much. You'll leave your wife and come to me, and then we'll fuck. And I'll suck you, too." She kissed him on the cheek tenderly. "Consider that it'll be good for your wife, too. A way to emancipate her, to make her into a completely free woman of the flesh. Well, this way will do it, believe me. I went through it." His brain screaming, Howard buried his face in his hands. Could he? Could he really go through with it? He had to... for his career, for his release he wanted with Norma... and as she had said, for Cindy's own welfare. "All right," he whispered. "But maybe she'll catch on, maybe she'll turn on the light and see it's you..." "Heh, heh. Don't worry, my boy, with all those drinks in her, she'll never even know she's been had." "Howie!" came a drunken voice from out of the living room. "Will you come here, honey?" Howard stared down the hall, recognizing that his wife wanted him in the bedroom. "There, you see? She's primed and ready, Howie. Go get her!" Ralph chortled heartily as Howard staggered off in the direction of the call. "Don't forget," he called after his salesman, "I'll be in later on, but don't wait for me! Get her all hot and bothered yourself!" Cindy had gone to the bathroom, but the tremendous, biting sensations which gripped her hungrily tingling body weren't relieved. If anything, in the privacy of the bathroom she was able to go over in her mind the set of photos, and their remembrance only inflamed her trembling loins all the more. She was being consumed by the alcohol and lust, slowly, slowly---and she wanted her husband, wanted his throbbing penis buried to its hilt in her teasingly convulsing pussy. Her cunt spasmed as though it was already in the throes of orgasm, and as she walked unsteadily out of the bathroom and started back to the living room, she knew that she couldn't go in there, go in and just sit down and act normal. No, she had to have Howard NOW! She quickly crossed to the bedroom where Howard had placed their overnight bag, and shedding her clothes, she was soon wearing a long, filmy nightie, her blond hair cascading down her back. She stripped the covers back and lay down on the bed without even a sheet to cover her and waited for her husband. When he didn't appear within a few minutes, she called out for him, and she heard him walk toward the room. When he opened the door, she said drunkenly; "Quick! Close it, Howie." "Cindy..." he said, again captivated by the sight of his tender young wife spread out waiting for him. "Cindy, I want you..." He all but slammed the door, and then he came to the bed, on which she had stopped lying and had now risen into a kneeling position. "I want you to fuck me..." she breathed, unbuckling his pants. "Fuck me, Howie, fuck me..." "What?" He could hardly believe his ears! "Did you say what I thought you said?" "Yes, Howie!" she slurred as her hand lowered his pants until they pooled down around his shoes. She moved to the waistband of his shorts, sliding under it. She felt the soft tendrils of his curly pubic hair and the touch of his skin sent ripples of sheer lust surging through her. Her hand went still lower, contacting the head of his prick and she ran a fingernail over it. Blood pounded through Howard's loins, causing his cock to leap into erection and palpitate excitedly under her careres. "Howie..." she moaned, pulling his underpants down. She was abandoning herself to lust, to the newly awakened fires within her; and she finally realized that she could admit her enjoyment, her arousal from the pictures without shame. "Howie, don't you want to fuck me?" "Yes! Christ, yes!" All thought of his boss and his plans for the night were lost now as Howard began to squirm his hips. She stroked his cock and testicles, her fingers burning. He could barely contain himself to take the time to remove his clothes, and then he leapt naked on the bed to embrace his wildly hot wife. He entwined his fingers in her hair and jerked her head up, grinding his mouth down on hers, and her tongue flashed into his mouth like a purveyor of molten fire. His hand went to her nightie, feeling her trembling body through the thin material. "Make me naked," she whispered against his mouth. "Rip my gown off, Howie, and make me naked!" His hands bunched the garment and savagely he ripped it downward from her neck, shredding it from her taut, hard-nippled breasts and from around her pink, blond-crested pussy. She helped him by twisting and undulating, her hand still vibrantly fused to his genitals. He moved his hands down over her bare stomach, through the soft golden fleece of her pubic hair, finally touching the pulsating shaft of her erect clitoris. Her loins ground in uncontrolled counterpoint to his massaging fingers and she whimpered in unrestrained pleasure, her long blond hair flailing from side to side. Cindy continued to enfold her husband's granite-hard cock, feeling every ridge, every muscle of its hardened expanse. She suddenly wanted to know it better, to learn about every inch of it; she was completely lost in the torrent of passion the pictures, the alcohol, and perhaps most of all, her own mind had allowed her to experience. "I'm going to kiss your penis tonight, Howie," she groaned. "I'm going to let you kiss me, too... down there. I want that now, Howie, I want that very much! I'm going to do that, but I've got to have you inside me first... to fuck me until I explode!" "Yes!" he crooned, "oh, God yes, baby, yes!" Tremors of lewd desire ran rampant through Howard's flesh. This was what he had been dreaming of! This was what he had been trying to have his wife do to him for three years, and what he had thought he'd never achieve! And now she actually wanted to suck him off! Had literally begged to be allowed to do it! And all because of those pictures! How could he ever thank Ralph for giving him the Polaroid? In that maddening moment, his rhetorical question went unanswered, for Howard's mind had blanked off all thought of what he had agreed to do, the swapping of his wife for Norma, his boss's wife... yes, that thought and any other thought except the burning, surging, electrifying compulsion to fuck his wife. Yes, fuck her, just as she'd said; first her tender cunt and then later, her sensitive lips... But Ralph Taylor had answered that question. The manager grinned with wild-eyed lust at his wife, and Norma returned the insidious look. Then they turned their attention back to the little square loudspeaker box mounted over the head of their bed; the master unit of a three-station intercom system, especially installed so that they could monitor either of the two guest bedrooms. It was on, and the moaning, panting sounds of Howard and Cindy Jamison filled the bedroom, whipping the Taylors into further sex fever. "Man, listen to them, lover," Ralph gloated. "She's going to go down on him, going to suck his cock for the first time. Well maybe her plans are going to be changed a bit." His wife, whom he was fucking dog-fashion so that they could both face the intercom, turned her head around again, her features contorted with passion and urgency. "Yes, yes, you bastard, make her eat you instead. Take her then... oohhhh... but not before I cum, Ralph... not before I cum!" And with that, Norma angled her cunt up backwards, impaling her wide-stretched buttocks on the erect, thrusting spear of her husband's great, swollen penis. "More, Ralph," she whimpered. "More cock!" And from the speaker the Taylors heard Cindy chanting mindlessly, "You're wonderful, you're wonderful, you're wonderful... and her rampaging husband's chorus of: "Baby... baby... I love to fuck you... love to fuck you..." The two couples, one very aware of the other's mating and the other so lost in their actions as to be oblivious to any outside interference, raced with demoniacal force to their respective orgasms. Howard rocked above his lovely wife, speaking obscenely into her ear, and that in turn made her rotate her buttocks still more insanely. Cindy reacted with chills of excitement and rapture spiraling the full length of her spine as she felt the tempo of her husband's burgeoning cock burrow deeper and deeper into her throbbing cunt. "Fuck me... Howie, fuck me..." she responded, not knowing that her words were being picked up by the microphone overhead. "I'm... almost there, darling!" She began to toss her head in frenzied, abandoned ecstasy, rapturous little moans escaping from his lips. She was so wild she was going out of her mind! This is what Norma had meant, about being free! How right she'd been! Oh! Oh! She'd never known anything this good existed! Howard increased his pace and the length of his stroke, knowing that he couldn't last much longer, feeling the volcano of his sperm-filled balls ready to erupt. Cindy raised her widespread loins up to him in simultaneous rhythm to his downward thrusts, gurgling her encouragement, her every moan and word being transmitted to the adjoining bedroom and the greedy ears of her husband's boss and his wife. Howard pounded his pile- driving cock harder and harder into her eagerly sucking cunt, pressing his hands behind her knees and thrusting them back hard against her breasts until her head was framed between them, bringing the tableau of her soft, innocent pussy open yet wider to his lashing plunges. "Ohhhhh, ohhhhhh, oooohhhhhh!" she chanted under him as she felt her orgasm reach its pinnacle and soar into the heavens. And then she convulsed beneath him, her mouth wide, and a cry of animal delight, of pure pagan rapture, tore from the core of her being. "AAAAAHHHHHH!" Never had she dreamed sex could be this wonderful! "She's cum, she's cum!" wailed Ralph Taylor, and hammered deeper into his wife's warm, wet cavern. "Oh, Jesus, and... and I'm going to cum, too!" He felt his insatiable young wife spasm wildly beneath him, the mouth of her bearded young pussy sucking his cock feverishly, her breath spewing raggedly, and his hot, churning-sperm raced through his prick and spurted deep, deep into her voraciously contracting belly... it was a never-ending flow which caused her to cry out in indecipherable delight. And as he overheard the banshee howls of his star salesman's climactic release, imagined the vast bursting of Howard's cum flooding his gorgeous young wife's rapidly undulating belly with surge after surge of hot semen, Ralph smiled cat-like and smug. "It's time now," he whispered to Norma. "It's time now that I change places with Howie." As the torrent ended and Howard relaxed upon his supine wife, she in turn sighed and stretched out her legs, her heart still roaring and pounding like a mightily crashing surf. She felt Howard's penis grow limp inside her, and then he slowly slipped off of her and lay against her trembling, perspiring nakedness. He whispered in her ear, "Cindy... oh, God, darling, that was wonderful. It was beyond belief." She kissed his cheek. "You've been right all this time, Howie. I should have let myself go a long time ago, and I sure fought it up to now... but tonight, after those pictures of Norma and Ralph, and all we had to drink, I... well, I found all the wonderful desires awakened which I'd kept repressed for so long." Howard considered Cindy's still slurred words for a minute and then said, "I'm glad we came here." "I am, too." She lovingly rubbed the palm of her hand up and down his stomach and side. "It's saved us, saved our marriage. Oh, Howie, I'm so sorry for what I've put you through for three years. I kept blaming you for being too demanding, and all the while it was my silly puritanical ways." Howard was about to reply, when he suddenly felt a cold, strange hand on one buttock. He turned, unable to make out detail in the pitch-black bedroom, but the inky outline beside the bed needed no features. Howard instantly knew it was his boss, Ralph! His heart sunk in sudden shock. Ralph must have snuck in here on tiptoe---he was naked, standing there ready to take his place! A moan of abject pity broke from Howard's throat and he clenched his eyes shut in lewd remembrance of the horrible bargain he had made earlier in the evening. "Howie? Is something the matter?" Cindy asked, her voice thick from the alcohol they had drunk. What could he tell her? Terror seized his throat. If he blurted out the truth, that his boss was beside him, eagerly wanting to trade wives, the tremendous advances Cindy had taken tonight would be for nil. If she didn't leave him, she'd never make love with the same abandonment again. He knew it, knew how she would react to such faithless treachery. And Ralph would never forgive him either... besides, maybe Ralph was right. Maybe with all the drinks they had had she wouldn't know the difference. "Howie?" Cindy's head was to one side, one arm covering her eyes in a sign of limp contentment. "Howie?" "No---nothing's the matter, honey," he managed. He looked up with pleading eyes at Ralph, knowing that his boss couldn't see his expression. Ralph nudged him on the rear end again, indicating his impatience. His brain reeled, searching for answers, but instead and with instant revulsion he realized that in his helpless position his cock was beginning to stir with life again... the lewd thought of fucking Ralph's wife coming back, a betraying and prurient desire. "I... I have to go to the bathroom, that's all," he said in a leaden voice. He knew there was no way out, that he would have to play along with Ralph, and gritting his teeth he rolled from his wife and stood up. He looked down at her, splayed with satiated abandonment upon the bed, blessed darkness hiding the full splendor of her tender, passionate body from him. A tear began to form in his eye and he numbly nodded to Ralph beside him. "I'll only be a minute," he mumbled. "Hurry back, lover," his wife crooned. "You know what I want to do next..." No! Howard stumbled to the door and the well of blackness which was the hall. No, she can't! She promised she'd suck my cock. Oh, if I'd only known, I'd never have gotten myself into this! He leaned against the hallway wall, choking back a sob of self-pity, anger, and frustration. It isn't fair! Then the bedroom door was closed by Ralph, the well-oiled hinges making hardly a sound, plunging Howard into absolute silence. But only for a second, and then tender, soft hands found his chest, and a cool voice breathed in the murkiness: "Come on, Howie-baby. You've got a date with me!" His boss's wife curled him to her heaving breasts, and Howard could instantly tell she was as naked as he was. He tried to stop himself from reacting, from wrapping his arms around her in response... but it was useless. After one frigid minute, his cock found a life of its own in reply to her rubbing stomach and thighs and lifted its head in the air... "That's it, Howie-baby. Get big and hard for little Norma." Her words were hungry and passionsated. "We're going to have a fine time together, you and me..." She led him into her bedroom, closed the door and by the dim light of a red-bulbed bedside lamp, crossed to the rumpled, still warm bed where she and her husband had just been fucking and listening on the intercom to the young couple wrapped in the throes of passion. "Please..." Howard moaned. "My wife... I must..." Norma chuckled. "Don't worry about her. I bet she's already flat on her back, being fucked silly in that hot little pussy of hers." "No! Never!" "Want to bet?" "Cindy wouldn't allow another man near her!" he groaned in vain hope. "I know it! She's going to realize it's not me and scream! I know it!" "No, she isn't. She's past that point, past all caring who it is now. After all that liquor and absinthe, and then the pictures..." Norma chuckled again. "No, Howie-baby, all she wants to do is have a man... any man. Of course," she added to placate the distraught young man, "of course, she thinks it's you in there... just like we planned." "No! she'll know the difference right away!" he objected hotly. "I'll prove it to you. Here, lie down on the bed." Gently she pushed him down so that he was lying on his back, staring upwards, his face evident of the mixture of horror, disbelief, and strange attraction for the beautiful, sensual woman hovering without any clothes on over him. "That's it, Howie-baby. Now listen..." She reached up and turned the volume control on the speaker. Howard held his breath, straining his ears. What was she talking about? Listen to what? Then he began to hear small sounds, barely audible, but they were unmistakable sounds. Soft, wet sucking noises that he had heard for the first time in his life while in the hotel room with that lascivious whore, Bonnie. He heard the noise again and he frowned at Norma. Norma only smiled back and teasingly lowered her raven-haired head down... down to where his cock was standing straight up. He jerked his loins at the electric contact of her lips upon his swollen penis. For a moment his thoughts of his wife and the strange sucking noises were lost in an explosion of idyllic feeling. Then, from the intercom came the words: "Oh God, keep sucking, Howie... lick it! lick it!" It whispered through the room, and Howard recoiled with its blatant meaning. His breath caught in his lungs and he struggled to his elbows, wide-eyed. He tried to speak, to shout in anger... but he couldn't. Instead he listened to the sounds of movement as though someone was struggling to pull someone else back to them... and then... the wet sucking sounds again but quieter this time. Ralph was sucking Cindy's cunt! "That's right, Howie baby. That bedroom's wired for sound. Now you believe me?" Norma plunged back to her task, finding no interference from the frozen, horrified young husband. She slaved over his cock, enjoying listening to the words herself. Howard moaned as if in some fever, thrashing his head back and forth and unconsciously thrusting his loins upwards to meet Norma's wildly milking mouth. Oh, God. how could Cindy be allowing that to happen to her, allow another man to suck her cunt? He wished he could see them. Was his wife straddling his boss with her legs open? Was she lying on her back spread-eagled with her legs open out wide? His tortured mind painted a thousand lewd scenes of Cindy with her legs splayed obscenely out over the sides of the bed while Ralph Taylor, that bastard, plundered her soft defenseless cunt with his hands and mouth... Cindy had waited with tingling anticipation for Howard's return, and when the bed lowered with the weight of a man's body, she assumed it was her husband. Her head was swimming, a whirlpool of blurred thoughts and emotions, fired by the lust-provoking pictures, the aphrodisiac rum and absinthe, and her newfound sexual freedom. "Oooooh, God," she suddenly groaned, for there was the feel of wet, moist lips gently nibbling one tender nipple. She quivered from the unexpected sensation and dropped her hand down the smooth skin of the man beside her, rubbed the palpitating belly for a moment, and then plunged to her goal. Ralph fastened tighter on his salesman's wife's breast, beginning a gentle sucking pressure against it. His hands lightly coursed over the soft firmness of her belly and thighs, and then his tongue trailed down over her now quivering belly, his penis sliding from her hand as his body moved away. He ground his tongue for a moment into her navel, bringing soft mewls of pleasure from Howie's wife, and then he moved lower, maddening patterns of indecent sensation trailing after his gently nipping teeth. Cindy felt her thighs being pressed gently open and she made no resistance as he haunched down between them. She sucked her breath as his fingers spread the soft hair-covered lips of her vagina and the coolness of the mountain air touched her there. His tongue flicked forward, the tip tossing the tiny bud of her clitoris, and then he spread the opening of her cunt wide with his fingertips and dropped his tongue from her clitoris and thrust it deep into the pink, moist flesh of her pussy. "OOOhhhhhh," she moaned, and he held his tongue still for a moment, teasingly. She rotated her buttocks, and he began to nibble again. She held her breath with her mouth wide open, her lips drawn back over her teeth; then, after an eternity, she began to breathe again. Ralph started to lick and suck in earnest now, twisting his tongue and mouth so that every little detail of her vaginal orifice was brought under his searing wet touch. She began to thrust mindlessly as the powerful pleasures coursing through her pussy took hold of her. Her husband's friend and boss slid his free hands under her white buttocks and pressed them tight to his face, locking her to him in a wet connection of tongue and vagina, her soft curly pubic hair graced tantalizingly against his cheeks. She had feared this; thought it disgraceful and sinful in the cold sober light of logical day---but now, now that she had allowed herself to submit to it, to see if she could please her husband and herself by letting him kiss her down between the legs, a strange and masochistic wildness enveloped her. Nothing mattered but the lovely swirling sensations rippling over every inch of her naked flesh. She writhed and bucked beneath his lingual impalement, gasping and screaming all the lewd words that came to her tortured mind. Ralph thrust his tongue deeper, triumphantly hearing her cries. By God, he'd struck the nail on the head this time! Howard's wife was one hot little piece of tail, he thought through the haze of passion he was experiencing as he brought this tender young beauty to orgasm. He had waited his chance and planned well; now, by damned, he was going to reap all the reward he could get! "Oh... keep sucking, Howie! Lick it! Lick it!" she cried, her thighs pressed tighter into the sides of his head, jerking with the thrustings of his tongue. She was on the brink of climax, she knew... not quite there... but hanging on the verge. Her breasts heaved and danced on her chest wildly, her fingers twisting crazily in her husband's boss's hair. She arched her back, the cords of her neck standing out like steel cords, her face contorted and a low guttural scream rumbling deep in her throat, choked off at the last moment by a soulful gasp reminiscent of a dying animal. "AAAAAHHHHH!" and then again: "AHHHHH!" Cindy felt as if she were losing her insides as the cascading fluids of her orgasm gushed out around her supposed husband's still-thrashing mouth. She could feel it running down the crevice of her buttocks and to the sheet below. She gave one last gasp and collapsed, dropping her legs like heavy weights of lead to each side of Ralph's heaving body. She could not move. The world had ended and she had been consumed in the last great cataclysm. She lay absolutely immobile, useless as a rag doll. "Rest for a moment, darling," Ralph panted in whispered tones from below. "And then... then I want you to do me." "Yes, darling. Anything." Cindy knew that this should be the moment she dreaded, but now it seemed like such a small thing to do for her husband who had given her such wild, delicious feelings, had made her respond so. Now she actually wanted to kiss his penis, she wanted to with all her loving heart to repay the man beside her for the ultimate sign of love he had just bestowed on her... All the while, Howard had been hearing his wife's obscene words, words he didn't know she knew, broken and slurred, mixed with the animal mewlings of passion from deep within her. Cindy groaned incessantly and he could hear the rustlings of her naked skin against the bed as she twisted and turned in response to his boss's hot licking tongue. He could picture his wife as in one of those Polaroid snapshots, her legs bent back nearly double, her whole young pussy presented lewdly up in defenseless sacrifice to his voraciously sucking mouth. And it was exciting. He was excited, he had to admit it; excited from the wet sucking noises coming from the intercom, and excited from his boss's wife sucking his wildly throbbing prick. All the time he'd been listening to his wife being sucked by the manager, Norma had been sawing her mouth around his cock, and the sight of her ovaled lips caused him to tense and jerk until it seemed to him that he was sinking the full length of it all the way down her throat. Her tongue, with a nerve-tingling lick on the outstroke, was making the head throb as though his heart was beating inside it, and he watched hypnotically, fascinated by the sounds of the lewd debauch of his wife and the sight of Norma's fleshy lips clinging as she sucked hungrily. Her breasts danced below her pumping torso, adding to the lust-inciting scene presented to him. He dropped his head to the pillow and pretended that it was his wife, Cindy, who was sucking him off. Cindy how he wanted to shove his cock in her mouth like he was doing to his boss's wife, how he wanted to shoot his own white hot semen down her throat and into that little belly of hers... Cindy... And then he heard his wife clearly through the intercom as she emitted a sudden unearthly squeal that sounded as though his boss was killing her, although Howard knew he wasn't. She had reached her climax, and their bed groaned and creaked beneath her wild heavings. The wet sucking sounds coming from his wife's widespread cunt trailed off as she whimpered out her completion. Howard's body was tense, and Norma's furious sucking couldn't kill the aching desire in his heart to be with Cindy now, to cradle her and comfort her as he always did after making love---and especially now, after hearing his wife being debauched as she'd never been debauched before. He wanted to run to her and bring out the same responses from his wife's lips that Ralph had, he wanted to show her---and himself--- that he could do it too and just as well. There was a rustle of bedspread and the soft sounds of naked bodies twisting around on it. Soft whispers that he couldn't make out drifted to his straining ears. Then there was the audible sound of heavy, course male breathing becoming more and more excited by the second. His boss was whispering things which by their tone were lewd and forbidden. Suddenly there was a gasping from Ralph as though he'd been knifed, and through the darkness came the unmistakable words: "Oohhhh, God! Your mouth is like warm butter!" Howard groaned and clenched his eyes shut, wishing to blot out the horrible image forming in his mind of his wife's sweet, virginal lips slipping obscenely down over Ralph's glistening, thick cock. This was the ultimate humiliation, lying here with his own penis pressed tightly between another woman's, lips while his own beautiful, innocent wife sucked that very same woman's husband in the next room! "Tighten your lips and suck harder," he heard the manager groan out in a muffled whisper, and Howard jerked his head up off the pillow. He could see nothing except Norma's ever increasing passion for sucking cock, but his imagination ran amok, the low, dim form of his wife hunched on all fours over Ralph's grinding loins with his prick buried deep in her mouth emerged clearly to mind. She was not fighting it and low soft mewls of pleasure filled Howard's pain-wracked ears from her cock-filled mouth... Cindy was surprised that the thought of kissing her husband's penis no longer repelled her as her own loins were still moist and warm from the pleasures he had just conferred upon her. Anything which made her feel that good could not be the degrading act she had imagined it to be. When Ralph, still under the guise of her husband, had asked her, "Are you ready, dear?" she had promptly answered, "Yes, Howie." Cindy began as slowly as he had done with her, working her way down his chest, licking his small male nipples and hearing him gasp, slowly lowering her tongue as she wetly licked his flesh. One hand grasped his hardened cock, teasing the shaft with her fingers that brought louder moans from his lips. The position became uncomfortable for her, so she crawled over him, pushing his legs apart and kneeling on all fours between his thighs, her feet hanging over the edge of the bed. Her face was at his loins now and she continued the gentle skinning back and forth of his ever hardening cock. Her lips were a bare inch away from the tip and she opened her mouth and breathed softly against it, then she flicked out her tongue, circling the head as he groaned and twisted beneath her. The tip of her tongue found the tiny opening at the head's end and darted into it; the sharp, pungent taste of his seminal fluid caused her mouth to salivate and her nostrils to flare slightly from the pungent male odor. Her hands dropped to the base of the huge erection and she cupped his soft testicles, grazing her nails over the skin and curly pubic hair. She played longer than she should have, not being able to just yet bring herself to take the naked head and shaft in her soft mouth. But Ralph could stand no more teasing. With a gurgle deep in his throat he reached down with his hands and tangling them in her hair, thrust his loins up. Cindy resisted by clenching her lips and teeth together for a moment, last-minute doubts racing through her mind, but was too late. His thick, spongy head rammed inside, crushing through her moist, now yielding lips and between the whiteness of her teeth and into the wet saliva of her mouth. She could feel the stiff shaft rub the full length of her tongue and bury itself deeply. She closed her eyes to keep from choking. "Ooohhhh, God! Your mouth is like warm butter!" she heard him cry as he began a slow, rhythmic undulation of his hips up into her face. "Tighten your lips and suck harder," Ralph hissed from above, his voice coarse and thick from passion. Cindy did his bidding, feeling at the same time the excitement growing again in her own body from the hardened, excitedly throbbing cock she wax sucking. She worked slavelike, swishing her tongue around and around the head, sliding it in and out of her ovaled lips... Howard could stand no more. Yet, as the sounds of her sucking flowed from the speaker, and his own quivering penis was being expertly sucked by his boss's wife, he forgot that it was his wife in the next room with his boss, forgot that Ralph was bringing cries of newfound lust that he, her own husband, had never from his wife. It was just a woman, a hot passion- crazed woman in the throes of an act as old as time itself. He felt his cock throbbing and aching in the tender mouth of Norma Taylor, and he moaned in masochistic self-torture as he screwed his loins upwards and listened helplessly to his wife slavishly sucking at his own boss's lust- hardened penis. The wet sucking noises Cindy and Norma were both making with their ovaled lips and tongues and the grunts of pleasure coming from Ralph's mouth as Howard's wife labored over him were too much for his reeling confused brain to accept. Forgotten were the circumstances, the horror and guilt Howard felt. He was now a wild, uncontrolled animal, wanting nothing more than to ram his aching penis into the woman hovering over him. He wanted to punish his wife emphatically, just as she was punishing him by her mistaken submission to the man in the next room. Howard locked his eyes on Norma's full, sensual lips locked tightly around his long white cock, and he moved up a bit so that she could suck in still more of his hardened length. She started using her tongue, surrounding him in a hot wet bath of saliva and tender inner flesh of her cheeks. Moaning, he pressed his hands on either side of her hollowing mouth and surged upwards. She nibbled and all her hunger burning deep in her vagina was now concentrated in one great gust of sensation in her mouth. Howard groaned incoherently and flexed his loins in and out of the open hole formed by her lips and watched wild- eyed as his full glistening cock disappeared into her voraciously clasping mouth. He could feel all of himself, every nerve he possessed pulsing and throbbing between her lips. He wanted to cum... to make her swallow his sperm so that she would know later that he had dominated her as she would never be dominated again... just as his own wife was being subjected to the domination of his own boss! In the other room Cindy continued to manipulate Ralph Taylor's prick as her whole mouth opened wide and hungrily encompassed the smooth, rubbery head, letting it sink full length in her throat. I love it... I love his penis in my mouth... it tastes so good... how stupid I've been before! The sweet young housewife went crazy with the frenzy of new emotions, thrilling to the effect it was having on the man she supposed was her husband. Her head bobbed up and down as Ralph fucked upwards beneath her. He slammed repeatedly in her mouth, over and over, and Cindy realized that she wasn't sucking his cock---he was actually fucking her in the face! And that knowledge only instigated more uncontrolled tremors through her. Yes! Yes! He was about to cum! He was about to shoot hot, sticky sperm in her mouth! Crazily she sucked her husband's boas, her tongue swirling voraciously as his blood-filled prick pumped into her slavering mouth. Her cunt began to quiver and pulsate and then... Ralph's cock began to suddenly spasm and he yelled: "I'm cumming! Oh, suck harder! Milk my balllllsssss!" He grabbed Cindy's head and held it to him as his giant penis spewed hot jets of sperm deep in her throat. Cindy continued to suck, swallowing the gushing orgasm, her Adam's apple bobbing in rapid sequence to keep from choking. She swirled her tongue to lick him dry as she heard his groans of pleasure simmer to sighs of contentment, his hands no longer pressing against her head. The lovely debauched wife sighed and let the now limp prick of Ralph Taylor fall from her lips. Lovingly, with the caresses saved for her husband, Cindy cuddled the base of his penis, licking where the tiny tufts of hair were matted with the cum which had escaped her tightly closed mouth. A dreamlike, almost comatose lethargy possessed her, and she sank into a blissful semi-sleep of satiation... When Howard heard his manager, Ralph, suddenly scream, "I'm cumming! Oh, suck me harder! Milk my balls!" he was past any point where the knowledge that another man was fucking his wife in the mouth would have caused anger or hurt. It only spurred on his own intense pressure which was building in his testicles as they slapped hard up against Norma's chin. This hedonistic wife of the man who was with Cindy worked, in turn, with unbearable and excruciating passion, and Howard's cock seemed to inflate and lengthen beyond anything it had ever done before. And then, as the lewd image of his wife accepting greedily the semen from Ralph's organ whirled madly in his brain, Howard's cock jerked and a liquid flow rushed like a waterfall up from his aching balls and out the tip of his jerking penis. Norma groaned as the first needle of fiery cum flooded the back of her mouth, filling her warm cavity and bloating her cheeks to the bursting point. Her throat worked gluttonously, swallowing and sputtering to keep up with the tide of cum as Howard emptied his balls relentlessly into the hungrily accepting depths of her gullet. Howard's body quivered as he felt the lust of his masculinity drained from his rapidly deflated penis. He was momentarily exhausted and had to brace himself with his hands tangled in her hair to keep from falling off the side of the bed. He started to rise from her, but she would not let his cock go, continuing to suck gently, undulating her buttocks behind him and rubbing her legs together as he watched with disbelief the thin tiny trails of white cum running down the corners of her mouth. He had never felt anything like it and it seemed as though he had been completely drained of all the strength and desire he had ever possessed. He was like that when, a few minutes later, the door opened and the naked, sweat-glistening form of his boss, Ralph, entered. "Howie-boy," Ralph said, coming over to him, "Howie, that's some fine little piece of tail you've got in there." Howard jerked his loins, acutely aware that Ralph's wife still was nibbling and licking his penis... and in front of her own husband! He grinned awkwardly, unable to say anything except a feeble: "Yes... I heard you both." "That's quite a gadget, isn't it? Had the intercom put in just for that reason. Really turns you on, listening to other folks banging away." Norma finally let loose of Howard's limp and slippery cock, and sitting up, she threw her arms around her husband's neck and murmured, "Good to see you, lover. Got any more for me?" Ralph chuckled, and to Howard's amazement, the manager's penis began to rejuvenate, restoring itself to rigid hardness. "Always," he said. "There's always some left for you..." "Good... then fuck me, lover..." Howard scrambled from the bed as Ralph and Norma lowered their now tightly clenched bodies to the sheet. "Howie," Ralph said as he fingered his wife's cunt, "you can stay here if you want and watch... but I left a very lonely little wife in the next room," he chuckled obscenely. "I think she belongs to you." The salesman staggered from the bedroom and back to his own, where he saw the blurred, black outline of his wife on the bed. He went to her and slipped in beside her, cradling her in his arms. Somehow, as he felt her breathing and contented cuddling to his chest, Howard couldn't resent what had happened. In the aftermath of the carnal exchange of mates, the guilt and anger he had feared he would experience didn't materialize, but only warm, deep, complete love for his wife. Perhaps Ralph was right, he thought dreamily... perhaps when he said that making love to another woman is only a healthy, natural sport and increased one's devotion for one's mate, he really knew of what he was speaking... "Oh, Howie," murmured his wife, nestling closer, "oh, Howie, wasn't that wonderful?" Quite truthfully, he replied, "Yes, Cindy my love, yes it was..." He choked. "You don't know how good it was." "And I'm going to do that to you all the time from now on." "Good, Cindy. I'd like that." "Goodnight, Howie," she whispered. "I love you." "I love you too, Cindy," he replied tenderly and kissed her full on the lips, not caring that they were still moist from the warm gushing sperm his boss had flooded into her mouth a few short moments before... On the Friday afternoon following that wild, orgiastic weekend at the Taylor's mountain retreat, Cindy was reading a woman's magazine in the living room of their small cottage and thinking about Howard. She wished he were home now, wished he had not gone to Los Angeles with Ralph for a three-day automobile dealer's convention. But Ralph had insisted Howard accompany him as representatives of Auto Circus, to meet certain important people and see how the administrative end of the automobile business was handled, and he had eagerly agreed; it was what he had hoped for, he'd told Cindy, the break that meant Ralph and the powers- that-be at Auto Circus were considering him for loftier positions than the head salesman's job he now held. Cindy, of course, had been excited for her husband and had wanted him to go to Los Angeles for the convention. But still, she harbored faint misgivings about Ralph's influence on Howard; she didn't want the Taylors to implant any more ideas in his head, ideas that went beyond the Camera Club and her emancipation into oral love with the man she had married. She was grateful to Ralph and Norma for what they had been strongly responsible in promoting, for she felt a new and freer woman, a more fulfilled woman, now that she had been initiated into sexual games she had always previously thought were degrading and sinful. And, too, she was grateful for them having assisted her in pleasing Howard to the very best of her abilities, giving him all that he wanted from their relationship--- and, she hoped, even more than he expected. The young wife sighed, smiling secretly, as she remembered that night in the darkened bedroom when she had first allowed Howard to kiss her between her widely spread thighs, when she had first tasted his hard, bittersweet masculinity. A ripple of pleasure coursed through her body at the recollection of that moment---and of the recalled joys she bad experienced the remainder of their stay at the mountain cabin and the nights which had followed it in hers and Howard's marital bed. Oh, things were so wonderful now! They were making love two and three times a night, every night, and finding new and exciting and wild pleasures each and every time. Why, only last night they had lain in the classic sixty-nine position for over an hour, their lips and tongues giving spiraling joy rides to the other as they made oral love. Howard's tongue had sent her whirling to incalculable orgasms during that time, while she had sucked and milked his prick of sticky, hot, delicious loads of sperm twice, never allowing that marvelous penis of his to escape her lips... even when it had deflated, she continued to nibble and suckle it until it once more grew to its monstrous proportions in the soft cushiony folds of her mouth... And the pictures, too, had been an aphrodisiac for both of them. She had allowed Howard to set up the Polaroid and the timer on more than one occasion, and had posed in lewd positions before its all-seeing eye; had posed with Howard's penis inserted in her vagina astraddle him, alongside him, beneath him... but she had not allowed him to take photos of them enjoying oral love. No, that was a private thing, too private for the camera, and it was there she had gently refused Howard's insisting pleas; she just wasn't ready for that, yet, she had said (if she ever would be ready for it). At first, he had been a little put-out, but after she had showed him in every other way how much she loved him and wanted to please him, he had no longer been angry. They had looked at their pictures together, of them making love- --and they had looked at the pictures of Ralph and Norma, which the Taylors had let them keep; then, when both were highly, erotically aroused, they had inverted their positions on the bed and licked and sucked one another to climax after wonderful climax... Cindy shifted slightly on the couch as spirals of passion began to flow through her, and she could feel her nipples harden beneath the plain cotton housedress she wore. Lord, but she wished Howard would be home tonight! She had never known she possessed such strong sex drives until now; she couldn't seem to get enough of her husband and his mouth, tongue, and penis. The beautiful young wife sighed again, resignedly, and turned another page of her magazine. Well, she would just have to wait until Howard got home to satisfy her desires (no more masturbation for her! not with what she and her husband had together!). Boy, she giggled inwardly, would she give him a homecoming reception when he got home on Sunday night... The telephone rang. Now who can that be? Cindy wondered, rising. She went into the hallway where the telephone was located, picked up the instrument, and said, "Hello?" "Mrs. Jamison?" a thick voice asked. "Mrs. Cindy Jamison?" The young wife frowned, for the voice seemed vaguely familiar to her. And yet, it was not the most pleasant she had ever heard, with its raspy quality. "Yes?" she finally answered hesitantly. "This is she." "Steve Samuels here, from the post office. You remember me, Mrs. Jamison. I was the man who waited on you when you rented your post office box about ten days ago." A little shiver of apprehension raced along Cindy's spine as the image of the wizened, gnome-like little postal clerk flashed into her mind. What did he want, calling her at home like this? Oh, God, had... had something happened with those pictures she'd sent...? "Y-yes," she quavered. "I... I remember you, Mr. Samuels." "Good, good." A pause, during which Cindy had the impression the man on the other end was smiling. "The reason I called, Mrs. Jamison, "is that I have a large envelop here, addressed to you, from a certain couple in Chicago..." The young blonde wife stifled a fearful gasp. "Chicago?" "That's right, Mrs. Jamison," the grating voice told her. "This couple is on the department's watch list as possible purveyors of pornographic material through our mails, and consequently the envelope must be opened in front of one of the post office personnel before delivery can be completed." Cindy closed her eyes, feeling terror creep through her breast. The exchange photos from the couple in Chicago to whom she had sent the snapshots of her and Howard! She knew that was what was in that envelope the ugly postal clerk had, knew it beyond any doubt at all. Dear God, what was she going to do! "Mrs. Jamison? Are you still there?" "Yes, I... I'm still here." "Would you like to take care of this matter personally, Mrs. Jamison, or shall I"---a meaningful pause---"contact your husband?" "No!" blurted Cindy. "No, I'll... I'll take care of it." She swallowed deeply. "Should I come down to the post office now?" "That won't be necessary," crooned Samuels smoothly. "Tell you what I'll do, Mrs. Jamison. I'll bring the envelope out to your house tonight, on my way home. That should be around eight or so, since I have quite a bit of work to take care of first. All right?" "I... I guess so, yes." "Fine," the wizened postal clerk husked. "And don't worry, Mrs. Jamison. This might not be anything of a serious nature at all. For your sake, I hope not." Abruptly, he rang off. The upset young wife stood holding the dead receiver in her hand, her eyes staring glassily at nothing. What would happen when that dirty- eyed little clerk brought the envelope to her tonight? When he opened it and found photographs similar to those she had sent of her and Howie, Polaroid Club photographs? Would he arrest her? Did postal clerks have that power? She didn't know, and confusion reigned strong in her lithe body--- confusion and a growing fear of discovery and exposure, of newspaper headlines linking her with a nationwide pornographic picture organization, of Howard losing his job and everything he had worked so hard to build... Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God! Why had she done it, why, why? She should have known better than to send those lewd snapshots of her and her husband through the mails. She should have, but she hadn't; and now, she was going to have to pay the devil his due... She flung the receiver down in its cradle and ran into the kitchen. She needed a drink, badly! In the cupboard under the drainboard, she found a half full bottle of vodka and in the refrigerator some quinine water. She mixed herself a strong vodka-and-tonic, without ice, and drank it down in two swallows. The fiery warmth of the liquor raced through her bloodstream, causing her face to flush. Another, mostly vodka this time, and she returned to the living room, aware only when she sat down on the sofa that she had brought the vodka bottle with her. The rest of the afternoon, and the early part of the evening, was a torment for young Cindy Jamison. She finished all of the vodka in the bottle, becoming very high but seemingly not high enough to take the edge off her fear and apprehension. She kept glancing nervously at the clock; time appeared to crawl. She chain-smoked the nonfilter cigarettes she had been smoking since high school. Finally, eight o'clock approached and Cindy began to pace the living room like a sleek, lithe panther, her head swimming from the vodka and the imagined possibilities of what was to come. The doorbell rang at four minutes past eight. The sudden sound startled the distraught young wife so much that she seemed to stagger forward, in danger of falling. Her heart hammered crazily in her chest. Have to compose myself, she thought blurrily, stubbing out her latest cigarette. She took a deep, shuddering breath and then went into the foyer and opened the door. Steve Samuels stood on the porch outside, smiling his wicked, leering smile. He held a large manila envelope in his right hand. "Good evening, Mrs. Jamison," he breathed. Cindy repressed a tremor of dread at the sight of the postal clerk. She had not liked him that day in the post office, feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable under his beady stare, and now that she had seen him again face to face her discomfiture grew by leaps and bounds. She was completely repelled by this gnome-like man, and afraid of him in the bargain. But there was nothing she could do now, under the circumstances, except admit him to her home. She managed, "Won't... won't you come in, Mr. Samuels?" "Thank you," he said, and stepped past her, his right arm brushing casually over the swelling bosom of her housedress, feeling to Cindy like a reptile's touch on her clothed flesh. She almost gasped with revulsion. Had the contact been accidental? Or had he...? She shook her head, trying to clear away some of the vodka swirl, and closed the door. No use thinking such thoughts, she told herself, no use at all... She led the way into the living room, uncomfortably conscious of the clerk's eyes on the swaying motion of her voluptuous young buttocks. She turned abruptly once in the room and said, "Please sit down, Mr. Samuels." Samuels nodded, grinning, and sat in the middle of the couch, his eyes moving restlessly over the nubile flesh of the young wife as she seated herself in the armchair some feet away. They feasted on the soft, warm satin of her exposed thighs where the housedress had pulled up. Goddamn! he thought. Oh, Jesus, but she's a hot looking little piece! Oh, this little Mrs. Cindy Jamison is going to be the best one yet... the best of all of them! I can't wait to put my cock in that sweet tender mouth of hers... in her clasping little asshole, too! I can't wait to fill her up with loads and loads of my hot sticky cum... Cindy became aware of the direction of the civil servant's eyes and hurriedly tugged her dress down low on her knees, pressing her columnar legs tightly together. She said tremulously, trying to pretend as if she was totally sober and in complete command of the situation, "You said something about this envelope for me being from a couple in Chicago who were on the postal department's watch list. What exactly does that mean, Mr. Samuels?" "It means," Samuels explained with a gap-toothed smile, "that we at the post office have a book which contains the names and addresses of known pornographers and subversives. This box number is on that list... as the senders of dirty, lewd photographs through our mails in the past." "But... but such a book is illegal!" protested Cindy. "Not as far as we're concerned," said the wizened clerk. "We have to look after the interests of the American public, and preventing the wanton use of our mails for filth is in those best interests. A new postal regulation has been passed recently, allowing us to open mail at will if we suspect it contains harmful or subversive material." "How can there be a law like that?" Cindy found herself becoming righteously angry. "It's unconstitutional! It's... almost Communistic! This is a democracy, not some... some dictatorship!" Samuels drew himself up indignantly, his eyes flashing. "That's right, Mrs. Jamison. This is a democracy. And it's our job, as public servants, to see that it remains a democracy! If we allow filth and disgusting Fifth Column propaganda to be freely distributed throughout this great land of ours, what will happen to the foundations upon which our government is built? They will collapse, that's what! Filthy Commies will take over, as they're trying to do right now all over the country. They've got a toehold in our colleges and universities already, trying to subvert our education system, but they won't succeed in the government agencies, mark my words! We'll stop them, dedicated men like myself, empowered by our great Congress with the authority to crush subversion and drug shipping and yes, pornography, for garbage such as that is rotting the minds of our clear-thinking youth. It's all a Communist plot, Mrs. Jamison, every last bit of it!" His eyes glittered almost maniacally, and the young housewife drew back in fear and trepidation. What kind of man was this Steve Samuels? Spouting rightist-extreme policy and belief, and yet having a position of authority in the post office. And, most terrifying of all, he seemed to possess an evil expression that forewarned her of the presence in his brain of the self-same lewdness against which he spoke so vehemently. She trembled violently as a possibility entered her mind: what if this little, ugly man who sat across from her was... insane? "So don't talk to me about illegality and Communism, Mrs. Jamison," Samuels continued. "This country is at last coming to its senses, and none too soon, let me tell you." He paused, swinging the manila envelope out in his hand, extending it to her. "Now then, let's see what this little parcel contains, shall we? Let's see if there is any sickness and evil inside that must be crushed." Cindy took the envelope with trembling fingers, handling it as though it were a bomb which might explode in her hands. "If... if what you say is true," she managed to quaver, "if you can open the public's mail at will without their knowledge, then why did you call me and tell me this had to be opened in front of a postal employee?" "A good question, Mrs. Jamison," chuckled the civil servant. "And the answer is simply that I find myself feeling benevolent at times, when I suspect that something demeaning is being sent to a person who might deserve a second chance. In other words, Mrs. Jamison, a person who is not a leftist Commie or a sick perverted soul; a person who has made one mistake, and should, because that person is basically good and honest, be given a second chance. I think you're the kind of person, Mrs. Jamison, and I want to help you. I wouldn't want to see you exposed as a Commie, or a sex degenerate." The lovely wife shuddered, for there was an oily, frightening quality to Samuels's voice that contained the consideration of things unspeakable. And his eyes... his terrible eyes... they seemed to be stripping her of her clothes, boring through her naked flesh underneath... "Now then, Mrs. Jamison," Samuels said. "Let's open that envelope, shall we? Right now. I want to see what's inside." Cindy willed her quaking fingers still, and managed to tear the top off the manila envelope. She reached inside, withdrew the contents partially. As she did so, Samuels suddenly leaped up and took two long strides across to her and jerked the contents out of her hands, causing her to gasp and draw back in fear against the cushions of the chair. Samuels limped back to the sofa and sat down with the material which had been in the envelope. His fingers rifled through it, and his smile grew wider, more venereous. "Aha!" he cried. "Just as I expected!" And it was: photos, six of them, bound together with a paper clip---and if the top one was any indication, they were some of the best he had ever seen in sharpness and detail. There was also a typewritten letter, and another typed sheet. Samuels's fingers were palsied with excitement. He had known intuitively that these were what was in the envelope when it had come into the post office this afternoon, and he had had to resist an immediate impulse to open the envelope. Better, he finally decided, to bring it out here to this young bitch Mrs. Cindy Jamison, have her open it; it was the chance he had been waiting for! But he had to make sure her husband wouldn't be home, so he could have her all to herself, and thus he had called the automobile agency were he had learned Howard Jamison worked--- Auto Circus---and asked to speak to him, thinking to find out surreptitiously what time Jamison quit work for the evening so as to plan his attack accordingly. His elation had been huge when he learned that Howard Jamison was out of town for three days, in Los Angeles for some kind of convention. He had immediately, then, called this haughty bitch and made his appointment for tonight; as he had hoped, she had become nervous and frightened by his call, and had been partaking of more than one glass of liquor. She was nice and high now-- -and he had something in his pocket which would make her even higher. Oh, everything was working beautifully! He was really going to fuck this beautiful young wife tonight! Fuck her like he had never fucked anyone before in his life! His cock throbbed with anticipation and excitement. He tore the paper clip off the pictures, and looked through them. Lewd, disgusting... good, good, just what he had hoped for! He glanced through the letter, his mouth salivating slightly, and then looked up at the fear-immobilized young wife. "Mrs. Jamison, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, allowing yourself to be duped by these filth peddlers. You're very lucky I've decided to take pity on you and want to help you; very lucky. Listen to this: 'Dear friends,'" he quoted from the letter, "'Many thanks for your photos, which we've just received. They weren't bad, although some of them were lacking in detail; the camera angle seems to be wrong. You might try using closeups more often. We've discussed them at length, my wife and I, and have decided you're probably new at this so if there's any help we can give you, don't hesitate to ask us. We've been exchanging photos with other couples for some time, and have quite a bit of experience. Enclosed are some of our best shots, to give you an idea of what we mean. Hope you like them, and will be sending us others in the future of yourselves. Welcome to the Club. All best. Signed, Tom C.'" Grinning obscenely, the postal clerk cast the letter from him. "Filthy, isn't it, Mrs. Jamison? Disgusting!" Cindy could only nod her head numbly, staring out of rounded eyes at the man who sat on her sofa. The vodka was causing her temples to throb, and she tried to will her mind clear, so that she could think what to do, what to say. But it was useless; she had drunk too much, and the forceful, depraved nature of Steve Samuels appeared to have put her into an almost trance-like state. Samuels picked up the second typed sheet from his lap, and read through it salaciously. It was a description of each of the return pictures, with side comments of a lascivious quality; the comments were numbered, and the venereous government employee saw that a corresponding number had been inked into the upper right hand corner of each photo. He glanced up, licking his lips, his eyes fixing on the fear-whitened face of Cindy Jamison. "Come over here, Mrs. Jamison," he commanded harshly. "Come over here and sit next to me on the couch and look at these photos. That's part of your lesson Mrs. Jamison. You must look at them and listen while I read these lewd, filthy descriptions to you. Do you hear me, Mrs. Jamison?" "No!" she heard herself cry out. "No, I... I won't! Oh, God, I can't!" "The hell you can't!" Samuels's wizened face turned more ugly. "You'll goddamned do what I tell you to do! That is, if you want me to go on being kind, Mrs. Jamison. If not, then I'll take these to my superiors, I'll report you, I'll make out like you've been sending these dirty things for months and months now. I'll ruin you, Mrs. Jamison, maybe even have you put in prison for violating our postal laws! I can do that, don't think I can't!" Cindy stared in abject horror at this... this monster who sat across from her. Could he... could he actually do what he had threatened? Could he have her put in jail? Well, why not? He was in a position of authority, and if he lied and perjured himself, they would still take his word over hers---especially with that letter and these photographs. Oh, God, then she was completely at his mercy! Completely at the mercy of a man who was surely insane! Quaveringly, the fearful and tormented young housewife stumbled to her feet and groped blindly to the couch, sitting next to Samuels fighting down the dread which rose in her throat at his nearness. His eyes feasted on her flesh, and he repressed a desire to grab her, throw her down, rape her right here and now; slowly, must go slowly, better that way, he told himself, oh, am I going to fuck you tonight, you snooty young bitch, I've thought of nothing else for the past week... Cindy's hands would not remain still, and she didn't want him to know the extent of her fear. Something to occupy her fingers, yes that wax it. She reached out for the package of her cigarettes on the coffee table. Samuels put out his hand, claw-like fingers touching the back of her soft wrist and causing her to pull back as if she had come in contact with a snake. The venereous postal clerk smiled. "Won't you have one of mine, Mrs. Jamison? They're very good, a special blend..." As he spoke, he removed a slender brown, crudely formed cigarette from the inside pocket of his sports coat and handed it to her. She took it automatically, perhaps suspecting in her liquor---and fear---fogged mind that it was more than just a plain cigarette but beyond any rational consideration of the fact at that moment. She placed it between her lips, allowed him to light it for her with a battered Zippo. She inhaled deeply, tasting harsh, acrid smoke and coughed instantly, even though her lungs were accustomed to unfiltered cigarettes. "Draw slowly on it, Mrs. Jamison," Samuels's voice intoned authoritatively. "Then hold the smoke in your lungs awhile before releasing it... yes, that's it. Now you've got it. Again, Mrs. Jamison. It will relax you," he intoned hypnotically. "Again, again... yes, and again..." The smoke no longer burned her throat and lungs, and Cindy began to experience a subtle relaxing of her muscles, of the edge of fear and near- hysteria which the vodka she had consumed had only brought into sharper focus. From somewhere in her subconscious a single word fought its way into her drugged conscious: Marijuana. And, in that moment, she knew what the brown cigarette was, knew fully and completely. And yet, instead of frightening her, she felt only gathering relaxation, as if it didn't matter that she was smoking pot. It was the liquor combined with the narcotic effects of the marijuana and the mind-numbing fear of the weaselly little civil servant which brought about this state of mind; young Cindy Jamison, as she finished the joint, was in a state of almost hypnotic submittal. Samuels, realizing this, smiled salaciously. "Here," he commanded as Cindy put the roach butt out in the ashtray. "Here's another." She accepted it, almost gratefully, and he lit it for her; this one would really do the trick, he thought exultantly, she won't have an ounce of resistance left in her when she's smoked this joint down. He watched with salivating lips as she inhaled the sweetish marijuana smoke and finished the second reefer. Then, his cock ever-hardening in his pants now as the moment of his conquest, his subjugation, of this proud, snooty young bitch drew near, he thrust the set of photographs into the young wife's hand. "Now look at these pictures while I read what it says about them to you, Mrs. Jamison. That's it. Look at the top one now, number one. Good, good..." On and on his voice droned mesmerically. Perspiration blurred Cindy Jamison's vision as she focused on the first photo. Full color... sharp and clear detail... extreme closeup... Samuels's soporific voice, reading from the typed sheet of paper in his hand: "'Here is one of our favorites, my wife and I in action. Note how she's lying on that waist-high table, with her legs raised up and ankles locked around my neck. You can see my cock half-buried in her cunt, the way she likes it. This is a good position, because it allows the camera to see all, even the pussy hairs, and at the same time gives the woman plenty of pleasure.'" Cindy gasped at the look of sheer abandoned lust on the face of the young, full-breasted, brown-haired woman in the photo... at the intense, passion-sweating face of the tall, shaggy-haired man fucking into her with his immense penis. Then, at Samuels's direction, she flipped to the second picture. The wizened postal clerk read: "'This one shows my wife and I sixty-nining. She's licking my balls, the way she likes to do, while I have my tongue shoved all the way up her cunt. If you look closely, you can see that I have my finger in her asshole...'" Another picture... another lewd, provocative pose... another detailed, salacious description read aloud by the sweating, salivating government employee, Steve Samuels. And as Cindy looked at the photos, heard the words ringing louder and louder in the room around her, she began to experience a rippling of excitement, of passion in her stomach and loins. She tried to will it away, tried to tell herself it was wrong, this wasn't the time, this wasn't the place... but the sight of the photos was too much for her. She had learned, with her husband Howard, the new stimulation of erotic photographs, had been conditioned now to them so that they brought about the same sexual upheaval inside her each time. She was powerless to prevent the flowering of her cuntal passage to secrete forth the juices of her passion; she had been excited earlier in the day, thinking about the previous night with her husband, wishing he were home so that they could make love, and some of that excitement had still remained in her body even with the apprehension at Samuels's call and subsequent arrival. The vodka and the marijuana had only served to heighten it, and the photos had brought it bubbling forth now. The young wife squirmed restlessly on the couch as she stared at yet another photograph---this one of the handsome couple on a huge armchair, the girl with her legs spread wide over both arms and the man kneeling on the cushion between them, his cock pressed into the wide- splayed pinkness of his voluptuous wife's pussy. Cindy's nipples were hard now, under the housedress, and she began clenching and unclenching her thighs as Samuels's voice intoned hypnotically in her ear, repeating lascivious words over and over until they were the only ones she heard: cock... cunt... fucking... sucking... Her dress had ridden far up on her thighs now with her convulsive movements on the couch, exposing the panty-covered mound of her slowly moistening womanhood. Further words caught in the depraved postal clerk's throat as he saw the tremendously enticing sight of the "V" between the beautiful young woman's thighs being exposed to his lusting eyes. His prick seemed to be throbbing madly in his pants, and he could feel drop lets of seminal fluid emanating from its unseeing eye. He had to fuck her---and soon now, before he blew his great buildup of semen into his underpants instead of into the alluring flesh of the passionate young wife next to him! Samuels's hand trembled as he reached out with his claw-like fingers and settled his sweaty touch on one of her smooth, alabaster thighs, the digits clenching like talons as he squeezed the soft, resilient flesh. The sensation of his reptilian-like touch penetrated the liquor and drug haze of Cindy Jamison's mind. Her eyes widened, pulled away from the picture and down to where the wizened clerk's hand now slid along her smooth inner thigh, climbing higher toward the target it sought... She emitted a low cry of terror, the spell of her desire momentarily broken, and threw the photo graphs down on the floor as she jumped convulsively to her feet. She stood there, trembling with anger and fear, the emotions which had been erased by the marijuana and the stimulating effect of the photos, but which had been brought back to the fore by the touch of this gnome-like man. "Don't you touch me!" she screamed at him, her voice slurred and tremulous. "Don't you ever touch me again, you... you pervert!" A fiery flush of anger turned Samuels's face the color of eggplant. He jumped to his feet, his own body shaking with anger and with desire, the front of his pants bulging obscenely with the girth of his immense penis. "You goddamn fucking little bitch!" he screeched. "You can't talk to me like that! You'll do what I say, and you'll like it, or I'll see to it you go to jail for ten years! I can do that, I told you! You bitch, you bitch, what right have you got to call me names? You little whore, you've been sending lewd, filthy pictures of yourself through the mail, and don't think I don't know it! I saw you fucking like a mink with your husband, legs spread out with his cock up your cunt, so who are you to act so high and mighty around me! I'm a public servant, a man watching out for the best interests of the people, and you're nothing but a lawbreaking little bitch exhibiting your hot little pussy to anyone who advertises they want to see it!" Cindy recoiled as if struck. She stared at him, confusion returning to her mind to reign supreme. "You... you saw the... the pictures I sent?" she faltered. "Goddamn right I did! I made copies of them, too!" screamed the half- crazed Samuels. "I have those copies in a safe place, Mrs. Jamison, and I promise you if you don't cooperate with me I'll take them and these here to the postal authorities! I'll fix you good if you don't play ball with me!" Oh, God, oh, God! Cindy Jamison's tortured mind cried. For in that moment she knew that there was no recourse for her, that this ugly, toady little man had her completely at his mercy. And she knew what he wanted of her, what he meant by "cooperation"---and she would have to submit to his whim. If not, he would make good his threat to ruin her, ruin Howard, send her and possibly even her husband to jail just for using their privacy as they saw fit; she had no doubt at all that he would do as he threatened. She was backed into an impossible corner, and the knowledge was like choking bile in her throat in spite of the liquor and the drug to deaden the impact. She was trapped, trapped... there was no one in the whole world to whom she could turn for help! Samuels was advancing toward her now, saliva running out of the corners of his cruel mouth, his face flushed and sweating, the front of his pants still bulging hugely. He extended his hand, and then he said, "I'm going to fuck you, Mrs. Jamison. I'm going to fuck you now, here, right in your own husband's bed. And you're going to let me do it; you're even going to join in. You don't have any other choice, Mrs. Jamison. If you don't let me fuck you, fuck you in any way I want you to, then I'll do what I said I would. Well, Mrs. Jamison? What's your answer?" Cindy almost collapsed to the carpet under the staggering weight of his ultimatum. No place to turn, no place to run... trapped... at the mercy of this insane man... her mind chanted confusedly. I have to obey him, I have to save Howard... yes, and selfishly to save myself and our future... "Please," she implored, her face going slack with her conviction and her eyes looking at nothing, lifeless. "Please, I'll do whatever you ask. But out here... not in the bedroom, not in my husband's bed. Please, you can't ask that of me..." Samuels's laugh was ugly and obscene. "Can't I? Well, I am, Mrs. Jamison. I am. Now take me to the bedroom, or I'll pick you up and carry you. The bedroom, Mrs. Jamison, and be quick about it! My cock is about ready to explode with my cum, and I want to save every last drop for you!" A cry of utter and complete helplessness tore from young Cindy Jamison's throat, and she spun on her heel and ran blindly down the short hallway at the other end of the living room. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she was sobbing uncontrollably as she flung open the bedroom door and threw herself on the bed. She lay there, moaning piteously for a moment, then she heard footsteps, heard the door close, and she swung around. Samuels stood there, and he had the fly of his trousers open, had his underpants drawn aside and the thick expanse of his penis was in the palm of his right hand, its huge, bulbous head seeming to point like a finger of doom at her. "Take off your clothes!" he hissed. "Now, damn you, right now! Can't you see how my prick just aches for those soft little lips of yours to close around it?" Cindy moaned again, a torture-wracked sound, but she obeyed with spasmodic fingers. She removed the housedress, pulling it over her head, then shrugged out of her bra and panties. She sat huddled like a defenseless child, naked and afraid, on the edge of the bed. Samuels's breath quickened to a harsh, nasal wheezing as he viewed for the first time in actuality the vibrant, bronze and white body of the beautiful young wife. Son of a bitch, this was going to be fine! Oh, he was going to ravage the shit out of that soft, tender flesh of hers... make her scream for him and his huge, quivering prick... His palsied fingers tore at his clothing, ripping the garments from his thin body. At last he stood before her, naked, his huge venous cock oscillating like an arrow outward from his loins. He stroked it hungrily for a moment, then commanded in a wheezing voice, "Get up on all fours on the bed. I want you to suck my cock. Do you hear me, Mrs. Jamison? I want that soft, sweet mouth of yours licking all around my cock!" "No-nooo!" wailed Cindy miserably. "No, please...!" "Do what I tell you, Mrs. Jamison!" The wizened postal clerk flung himself onto the bed, spreading his legs wide, his great prick jutting upward and throbbing redly. "Now crawl like the bitch you are between my legs, Mrs. Jamison! Do it, and do it now! I'm not going to tell you again!" I can't, I can't! the tortured young wife's mind protested. But she had no choice, no other alternative, and so her body obeyed his harsh instructions. She crawled between Samuels's open thighs like a whipped puppy submitting itself to further degradations at the hands of an inhuman master, and lowered her head almost to the tip of his upthrust cock. Tears filled her eyes, and her tongue came out several times to moisten her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears, not daring to look, and then told herself she was doing this for Howard, for their marriage, for all that the future now promised. And then, with one last moaning, piteous cry, she reached out and grasped his swollen rod between the fingers of her right hand and began to stroke the palpitating flesh lightly, further arousing the already lust-bubbling Samuels until groans of joy rendered from his lips. "Goddamn you, hurry up and suck it! Suck my cock, suck it, suck it!" His hips thrust upward, but she pulled back her head, out of reach in a reflexive abhorrence of the act she was being forced to perform. Samuels reached down and entangled his hands tightly in her soft blond hair, trying desperately to guide her head down to meet his forward- leaping manhood. His own head was lifted off the bed, so that he could watch the helplessly contorted features of her beautiful face, poised there above his loins, and his brain reeled with the mental image of his thick, pulsating cock burrowing in and out of her ovaled lips; he was excited beyond all recall now, he had to have her suck him off now! He could feel the semen boiling in his testicles, and he knew it wouldn't be long before it would come spewing out of his shaft like a flow of hot lava. "Hurry, hurry!" he grated. "Suck it, bitch, suck it!" Suddenly, Cindy, realizing the complete hopelessness of her position, was seized with a tremendous need to perform the obscene task he demanded of her and get it over with as quickly as possible. She did not like the implications of the tingling, rippling passion which was once more seething in her genitals at the prospect of again taking a male member between her lips, even such a member as the one belonging to the blackmailing postal clerk. She was becoming aroused herself--- the liquor and the marijuana were responsible, she prayed to herself--- and she had to get this finished and over with before she became so excited that she began to enjoy her subjugation. Her head plunged forward and down. Samuels felt the incredible, hot moist softness of her young lips close over the sensitive head of his cock, felt her firebrand tongue lick circles of liquid fire around and around it, flicking into the glans opening, drinking up the lubricating fluid seeping there. His hands in her hair tightened, and he thrust his loins upward, driving the length of his massive prick deep into the soft, warm folds of her mouth, feeling it slam hard against the back of her throat. "Uuuuhhhhhhh!" mewled Cindy around the hardened, invading rod of flesh. "Oooooooooooooooooaaaaahhhhhh!" Samuels cried in lust-crazed fervor. Cindy twirled her tongue maddeningly faster around the blood-inflated head of his cock. Then she began to suck him rhythmically, with all the practiced expertise she had acquired over the past week. He watched her convoluted lipstick-rimmed lips working on his cock, watched the soft wet skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in again as she sawed her mouth the full length of his rigid penis. The sight of her sucking him increased his arousal higher and higher, and his loins tensed and jerked upward into her face, all the fleshy expanse disappearing with each hard forward thrust, so that only a small stretch of it showed white and glistening with saliva wetness between her lips. Her tongue, with a nerve-shattering lick on the outstroke, was like a separate entity, a thing gone wild with the desire to end this terrible subjugation, make him cum in her mouth and thus write finish to the whole sordid business. She sucked hungrily, making the cockhead jerk and convulse as though it, too, were a thing alive and with a mind of its own. Her rich, firm breasts danced wildly below her pumping head, adding to the lust-inciting view the wizened civil servant was viewing. "Suck it, suck it, baby, suck it!" he urged her on, dropping his head back on the bed heavily. And still the young housewife slaved on, her body glistening from the tiny droplets of perspiration forming from her labor. The pressure grew and grew in Samuels's balls, and he shoved his loins up hard against her face, hearing her protesting mumble, not heeding it all as he neared the pinnacle of his release... And then, suddenly, he did not want to cum just yet... did not want to eject his maddening buildup of semen into her mouth. No, he had a better idea, something he had wanted to do to her from the very first time he had seen her, something he had thought of several times since then. Now he was going to have his chance! He was going to fuck her in the asshole! He was going to shoot his fiery hot seed deep, deep into the depths of her virginal young bowels! His hands entangled in her hair now pushed upward instead of forced downward, drawing his saliva-soaked cock from the young wife's soft, still sucking mouth with a smooth wet sound. Her eyes blinked open uncomprehendingly, her face glistening with sweat, her lipstick wet and shining with her spittle and the beginning droplets of the wizened gnome's semen. "W-what is it?" she gasped dimly. "Turn around and lean forward! Hurry, goddamnit, I'm ready to cum any second now!" "What... what are you going to do?" "You bitch!" He grabbed her roughly, twisted her around so that her softly rounded buttocks were trembling before his gaze, then raised up on his knees behind her. His eager fingers reached out, fitted themselves into the smooth crevice between the twin white globes and slowly drew them apart, reveling in the wet, lubricious feel of her feminine emissions. His throbbing cock was pressed to the satiny soft surface of one of the defensively quivering moons. Cindy tried to cry out as she suddenly realized what the man wanted to do to her, but he removed one hand from her buttocks and shoved her head down hard against the rumpled bedspread. Ripples of horror flooded through her. Oh, God, oh, God, not that! No, I won't let him, I won't, I could never forgive myself... She tried to twist away, but his thumbs were like steel talons, imprisoning her, spreading wide the tiny puckered ring of her unused rectal passage. "Going to fuck your asshole, going to fuck your asshole, Mrs. Jamison, oh, shit, oh, goddamn it!" he drooled, raising his loins, bringing the hard, rubbery head of his immense cock upward so that it teased along her naked rectal opening, poised at the tiny wrinkled ring. "No!" she screamed in agonized protest. "No, no, you can't!" "Just watch me, you bitch! I'll teach you to send filth and Communistic garbage through our mails! I'll teach you!" And then, with a brutal, sadistic lust, the venereous postal clerk suddenly rammed forward, his cock soaring into her tightly virginal passage with savage, unmerciful force, never stopping as it tore through the membranous canal like some terrible instrument of exquisite torture. "AAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Cindy in helpless pain and subjugation, and then the cry changed to strangled gasps as Samuels again flexed his buttocks to drive his invading cock deeper into the softness of her anal channel. He clutched hard at her hips, flexing yet again as he thrust still deeper into her rectum, into the warm forbidden depths of her anal passage. The pressure pushed her forward, pushing her head down harder on the mattress. Oh, God, Howard's mattress! Samuels began heaving forward with long, sawing strokes now, the rubbery walls of Cindy's asshole expanding before his invading cock until, finally, with one last savage lunge he buried the last throbbing inch of his tremendously expanded penis into her warm, tight anus. "Aaarrrrggghhhhhhhhhh!" the hopelessly impaled young wife wailed. "Oooohh, God, it hurts! It hurrrttttsssss! Oh, I can't take it, it hurts too much!" You'll take it, and you'll scream for more! the postal clerk thought triumphantly. Before I'm through, you'll beg me to fill you up with my hot sticky seed, you damned aloof bitch! He flexed again, and again, and again... And suddenly, in order to alleviate the terrible pressure in her rectum, to force him to cum there as she had tried vainly to force him to cum with his cock in her mouth, Cindy Jamison began to grind her buttocks back hard against his penetrating cock. Her anal passage was becoming accustomed to the great weapon imbedded there, and there were renewed tinglings of a horribly rising desire in her loins! It was impossible--- how could she feel desire at a moment of degradation such as this? But it was true; her relaxing of her defensively clenched anal muscles in order to bring him to climax had unleashed a new torrent of unwanted passion in her body. As much as the thought appalled her, she was beginning to enjoy this lewd, bestial sodomizing of her private secret passage! She was sobbing in a commingled mixture of frustration and self- loathing and desire as she fucked in ever increasing rhythm back against the salacious invasion of Steve Samuels. She involuntarily rolled and flung her buttocks back against the forward-driving shaft, feeling it worming deep around in her belly, feeling his testicles slam resoundingly with each forward lunge down against her naked, well- lubricated vaginal lips. She 's gone wild, she 's gone wild! Samuels thought exultantly. She's mine, all mine, I've conquered another of these haughty young bitches for my own private amusement! The pressure in his loins was intense now, and he knew his orgasm was only seconds away now, only seconds... He heaved and bucked like a rutting animal, emitting snorting, drooling sounds of sheer lust as he fucked long and hard and deep into her, his fingers digging cruelly into the soft, tender flesh of her buttocks, drawing blood there. And then--- He was there, oh, Jesus he was there! The wizened clerk began to chant crazily, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" and his cock began to jerk out of control sunk deep in the warm softness of the young wife's bowels. Cindy felt the fire-hot semen erupt along his urethra tube from the swinging cauldrons of his testicles and fill her anus to overflowing, felt the searing liquid run down along the crevice of her churning buttocks, along the backs of her thighs, and pool on the bedspread beneath her flailing body. It was over. At long last, it was over... Or so she thought in that single, terrible moment of the climax of the rutting, wheezing man sodomizing her. She collapsed forward finally, pulling his rapidly deflating cock from her anal passage with a painful wrench, and lay panting and sobbing, totally subjugated, totally enslaved, totally sick at soul. Samuels fell across her, cradling his head in the soft hollow of her back, his wet rubbery lips kissing the sweat from her smooth, satiny skin... It was not long before the postal clerk's penis grew once more into erection, before he turned the limply yielding young wife over on her back and spread her legs wide and proceeded to fuck into her open cunt with long, hard, brutal strokes until he filled her aching cavity with more torrents of cum. He fucked her again, after that, first making her suck him to hardness once more while he probed her already widely stretched rectum with his middle finger. He performed other and still wilder atrocities on her flesh until Cindy, in her wildly churning mind, thought she would surely go insane with the knowledge of what he was doing to her, of her own enslavement to this evil, depraved man. And yes, she thought she would go insane, too, from the fact that she had almost reached climax three times during this long, orgiastic night! For she was aroused by his ministrations, by his lewd teasing, by his ravaging penis, aroused and joining willingly in. At the beginning, she had tried to convince herself, as she had while he was sodomizing her, that she was only doing it to make him cum, to end this as quickly as possible. But then doubts began to linger, and she wasn't sure. Had she somehow become so completely subjugated that she was now a lover of the same sick acts as he? Oh, God, oh, God... Finally, as the first rays of dawn drifted through the bedroom window, Cindy Jamison slept... slept with the terrible fear that she had lost something on this night, something good and innocent... and had gained something indefinable which would completely reshape her future life. Her dreams were nightmares, and she awoke groaning helplessly when the sun was up full later on and she was alone... As he was about to leave, just past dawn, Steve Samuels had stood fully clothed over the naked, sleeping form of the naive young housewife he had just conquered and leered down at her. Look at her sleeping there, curled into a fetal position, he thought. She thinks it's over, that tonight is the end of me, that she's paid her price. He laughed triumphantly. But she hasn't, not by a long shot. There are plenty of things I can and will do to her---I and my faithful friend, Ringo. No, Mrs. Jamison, this isn't the end at all. It's just the beginning for you... The darkened room with the drawn blinds looked strangely unfamiliar to Cindy when she awoke. It was her own bedroom, no question about that; there was her dresser, her white ruffle-lined vanity, the cane-backed chair next to the full-length mirror... She stretched her hand along the bedcovers, feeling the soft material with her fingertips. Yes, it was her bed in her own bedroom in her own house---but in another sense, it wasn't. It wasn't because the love, the marital bond which had united this lovely young wife with her husband had been broken here, right here on this bed. It wasn't because no longer did these four walls enclose a sanctuary of wedded harmony, no longer was there the presence of emotional ties. Her bedroom had become just another bedroom; her bed just one of many. She might just as well have been in a third class hotel. Cindy moved and felt an excruciating pain just over her left eye. She sunk back, groaning aloud. Her head felt oddly thick and it was difficult to think. Every muscle in her body seemed to be tied in tiny knots. She lay still, then recalled the horrible dream she had had last night. The obscene, sickening debauch of her mind and being by some lewdly grinning man the piteous wife could still picture the bullet-shaped, microcephalic head and the little, beady, blood-shot eyes gleaming lasciviously, and his croaking voice demanding... demanding that she... that she... The impact suddenly hit her. "My God, it had actually happened!" In spite of the pain, Cindy sat up quickly. She stumbled from the bed and lurched heavily to the bathroom mirror, looking into it quickly. "My God," she moaned, "it did happen. It wasn't a nightmare!" Heavy lines marred her fresh, young skin. Her eyes were sunk deeply into her head as though she had aged years since yesterday. She sagged against the washbasin for a long minute, literally torn apart now with her inner torment magnified tenfold, feeling as if millions of tiny, invisible, execrable creatures were slithering across her skin, dirtying it, defiling her body so that she would never be able to make herself clean again. She stood naked on the throw rug next to the shower stall and looked down at her breasts, at the fresh bruises which centered around the nipples. Then she looked down her smooth curve of stomach to her raised pubic mound, at the dried and alien sperm matting the soft triangle of hair, at the still- inflamed cunt lips which that man---that beast---had so abandonly manipulated into desire with his hot, hard penis and later with his thin, swirling tongue. She thought how the postal clerk had fucked her, sodomized her (as she thought of his probing cock buried in her anal channel, she automatically tightened her sphincter muscles, causing her to moan, for her whole backside and anus were sore beyond belief)---how he had forced her to participate in every lewd act imaginable. And worse, far worse, was the indelible, terrifying suspicion that she had enjoyed it! That the drug, the liquor, the intense sexual frenzy of the government employee had eventually made her respond with wild abandon, as though she was with her own husband, her loving Howard, and not that evil-incarnate and his blackmailing threats. She thought about all of this as she stood and looked down at her nubile nakedness, and the filthy, unseen organisms seemed to scurry faster and faster along every conceivable inch of her velvety surface. A low, barely audible moan escaped from Cindy's lips. Frantically she twisted the lucite handles on the shower unit built into the tile wall of the stall, bringing forth a thick stream of water. She adjusted the shower head until the spray became needlepoints of water, cool at first, then hotter and hotter until clouds of vapor began to billow upwards, making the bathroom seem like a hazy, humid sauna. Cindy stepped into the stall, gasping as the scalding water beat against her skin and turned it to a bright crimson hue. But she made no move to leave, to escape the burning cascade; instead she stood fast, her mouth open and her eyes shut, enduring the pain as if it were some divine punishment, some taste of hell, for her transgressions. For five minutes Cindy withstood the torrent, blanking the pain from her mind, soaping her abdomen and her rectum and her vagina in a desperate attempt to rid herself of the crawling things. Only when the water heater emptied and the spray became cool again did she step from the stall. She stood once more on the circular throw rug, this time dripping wet. Wet--- but not clean. Oh, God, would she ever be able to feel wholesome again? Briskly, almost as if she were heaping further punishment upon herself, the agonized young wife dried herself with a large fluffy jacquard towel. Her body, tingling from the abuse of water and cloth, glowed a burnished red. She padded naked back to the bedroom and dressed quickly, choosing a light green blouse which buttoned at the throat, and a full, wide skirt which her husband had once described as "innocent- looking" and "totally lacking in sex appeal." Still her head throbbed. Rubbing her forehead, she went to the kitchen to make some coffee and try to think. Think... and as she concentrated on her guilt, shame, and of the reasons causing her remorseful actions, her head ached still more. It was impossible, she realized. The situation was beyond her ability to handle. She couldn't cope with the postal clerk and his demands, couldn't fathom her own aroused nature, couldn't untangle the spiraling whirlpool of events which had been happening since the gift of the Polaroid. She became dizzy as her brain spun around, casting before her mind's eye quick glimpses of all that had taken place lately, much as a carrousel parades a kaleidoscope of ever changing animals as it turns before an uninvolved bystander. She had to do something, that she knew. She couldn't let it be forgotten; neither her own mind nor her conscience would allow that. She had to talk to someone, to purge her sickened soul, to seek advice and comfort. Her husband? Yes, yes, he must be told, Cindy thought. Howard is strong, he would understand... Her hand reached for the kitchen telephone extension, then paused. What could she say? He was in the middle of a convention, talking business and his mind totally filled with facts and figures and automobiles. So say she was able to locate him, to get him on the phone long distance. So then? She tried to compose her words in her mind, becoming almost ill as the bitter memories stirred within her. Each time she thought of things to say to him, she realized that what she truly wanted to tell still would not come. Howard would never understand, she finally had to admit ruefully. She was incapable of properly explaining long-distance that her desire to help their marriage had resulted in her renting the post office box and sending for the Polaroid Club pictures. How her actions had betrayed her, how the postal clerk had forced her to do his bidding... and how her own body had betrayed her. No, it wasn't fair to her husband to suffer a moment because of her failings. She still loved him as before, perhaps more now, with the burned-in knowledge that she, alone, should suffer for her transgressions. As she lowered her hand, she was determined to protect Howard, no matter how it might hurt her. She knew that never again could she curl up in his lap and playfully nip at his ear with girlish innocence without thoughts of the horrible previous night. This would be her penance alone to bear and the scar would last as long as she lived. Time might dim the memory but could never erase it. That much was settled. Howard, her unsuspecting, trusting husband would never know her secret. But she was still faced with the torturous problem of what to do about her predicament. Who could she turn to? Who among her friends and acquaintances could she trust to understand? Understand and have the experience to be able to guide her through these troubled paths? Marsha? Pauline? Gladys? No... they were good at bridge and gossiping, but not at advice of this nature. There was no one. Wait there was one woman, a woman who outwardly was more brazen than Cindy cared to think about... but who upon many occasions had shown friendship and sympathetic, earnest support. Norma! Norma Taylor, her husband's boss's wife. Yes, after that get-together weekend at the mountain cabin retreat, Cindy was positive that the lovely woman was interested in her, in spite of the fact that Ralph's different social sphere prevented them from being close friends. She would know what to do, Cindy knew. If anybody would know what to do, Norma Taylor would. Quickly Cindy thumbed through the little phone number book beside the regular directory, locating the Taylor number and address Howard had penciled in when first he had been hired by Auto Circus. She feverishly dialed the number, impatiently waited as the phone on the other end rang... and rang... and rang. Wasn't Norma home? Oh, God, she had to be! Please, she had to--- "Hello?" "Norma? This is Cindy Jamison." "Cindy?" The voice was low and gentle, obviously full of warmth. "Good to hear from you. I was just thinking of calling you and inviting you over for lunch some time this week." "You were?" "Certainly. Our husbands being away and all..." "Could... could you make that luncheon date for today?" Cindy asked hopefully. "It... it would be appreciated. I have... something to talk to you about." "Of course. I have some leftover roast beef, and I'll make some sandwiches and we'll have a nice chat. How does that sound?" "Wonderful!" Cindy said, breathing almost with relief. "What time?" "Mmm, in about an hour. Say at eleven." "I'll be there!" Cindy promised, and hung up. The Taylor home was in another section of town. It wasn't in the finest area, but neither was it in a tract development as was the Jamison residence. It was in the lush, green hills bordering the western edge of Morriston, catching the morning and noon sun, but having a cooler late afternoon and evening than the majority of flat, fertile land around it. Cindy drove her car---a Volkswagen Variant 1600--- ÿthrough Morriston and up the winding, narrow streets, pulling the sun visor down as the sparkling rays blinded her eyes. The Taylor home was an older one, built around the middle twenties when the national economy was booming and no end was in sight. The chicken was in every pot, optimism that the world was without further war and the country was forever prosperous overshadowing the gathering dark clouds of the future. As a result, the original owner had gone all out to build a house sturdy enough to last long after he was gone--- prophetic enough, for he committed suicide a few years later, on that Black Tuesday in October, 1929. The house weathered the Depression with a succession of owners, and then later the Second World War, Truman, the Korean conflict... and as designed, it looked as warm and comfortable as when new. Oh, the kitchen had been remodeled twice, and the cellar redone and paneled into a game room, and the backyard gazebo removed and a swimming pool installed, but basically it was the same sturdy home it had always been. The Taylors had bought it shortly after they'd been married. It was then far out of their price range, but Ralph had gambled on his ability and as a result he was happily ensconced in an ever growing real estate investment. He had no desire to move. It had all the things he wanted of a house. It was in a fashionable, well-kept neighborhood; it was surrounded by well-grown trees and shrubs which provided privacy; the people on his block were of the kind without children and with connections; and it gave him and his wife an aura of being respectable, settled citizens of the community. Cindy drove up the circular drive and parked in front of the wide verandah. The scarlet bougainvillea entwined around the latticework, and a yellow and black butterfly flitted among the green shrubs, finally landing on the head of a metal statue. The statue was of a small, brightly clad Negro jockey, forever offering a ring to tie one's horse's reins to. The butterfly took to the air as Cindy passed the statue and stepped to the front door. Norma answered the door. She was dressed in a striped silk sheath with a white leather belt around her slender waist. She was barefoot and held a cooling drink in her hand. She said, smiling, "Come in, Cindy. So good of you to come." "Thank you, Norma." Cindy stepped in the house. "I was out on the back patio," Norma continued, walking down the hall. Cindy followed, clutching her purse nervously. They went from the hall through a sitting room filled with furniture of the Empire period, then through a pantry and out into the backyard. The screen door gently closed behind them, the pump brake on top of it hissing slightly. The backyard was mottled with shafts of sunshine intermingling with areas of shade. The patio was covered with more lattice, hardy grape and honeysuckle vines growing around and through the slats. Norma sat down in a metal lawn chair and waved her hand to the one next to it, indicating for Cindy to sit down as well. The glass-topped table before them had a platter of sandwiches on it, a condiment dish piled with pickles and olives, and an earthenware pitcher filled with wine. Cindy first looked at the food. She wasn't hungry, not at all, but she knew that she would have to eat so as to not offend Norma. Then she looked out on the broad expanse of lawn and thought how peaceful, how serene and healthy it was. Not at all like the sickness which pervaded her inner being at that moment, made her quiver and want to die. She was suddenly brought back to reality by a gentle touch of fingers on her shoulder. Startled, she looked around at Norma, who was frowning slightly with concern. The wife of her husband's boss was saying, "... haven't heard a word I've been saying, have you?" Miserably, Cindy shook her head. "I'm... sorry, Norma." "You haven't been yourself since you arrived. Aren't you feeling well? The flu perhaps?" "No... no," came the choked response. "I'm fine. Really." "No, you're not. I can tell, Cindy." There was a long pause, then, a silence which was louder than shouted words. Cindy didn't know what to say, how to begin... if she dared. She had had the courage to call, and she knew that Norma was indeed the friend she had hoped she would be, but now, confronted with the awful confession, she wasn't sure she had the strength. Norma was obviously baffled and unsure of what to say, but finally, the woman leaned forward and placed her manicured fingers over Cindy's and said, "You told me on the phone that you had something you wanted to talk to me about. It's weighing heavily on you, Cindy. Tell me. Get it off your chest. It'll do you good." "I... I," stammered Cindy, "I've been with another man." "Really?" Norma sat back. "Another man, hmm?" Was that a smile Cindy saw forming on Norma's lips? No, it couldn't be... but even if it was such an unexpected response, Cindy couldn't have stopped the torrent of words which now tumbled from her throat. The dam had been broken, and from her tortured soul came all of the gruesome details about her seduction. She left little out as she poured forth her agony to the other woman, and wept copious tears openly as she confessed. "... The clerk was the one I rented the post box from... I sent away for some pictures... arrived, and he brought them over... the clerk threatened me with exposure, with jail even... Howie would lose his job... the clerk... the clerk..." Cindy could only refer to Samuels as 'the clerk,' unable to speak his name much as ancient Jews were not allowed to utter the name of their god the Nameless One. It was as if to name the man would bring him forth in the slanting light of the backyard sun. Nor could Cindy detail what perverted acts she had been forced to do for the government employee, glossing over the lewd acts quickly. Above all, she was completely silent on the subject of her own arousal, of her apparent enjoyment of the systematic rape of her sanctity. But everything else she placed before Norma Taylor, like a horribly sculpted gargoyle complete of substance and shadow. The marijuana... the liquor... the pictures. Especially the pictures. Everything kept revolving, kept returning to the uses---the abuses---of the Polaroid camera. When she was done, she sunk her head in a symbolic act of begging for mercy, of awaiting judgment. Her blouse and skirt were wet with her tears, and her voice was almost hoarse with her wracking sobs. The first thing Norma did was to pour Cindy a glass of wine. "Here, drink this," she commanded, and even though the distraught young wife refused, she persevered and finally Cindy haltingly swallowed some of the ruby liquid. It did make her feel better, she had to admit, as she sat the glass down. Then Norma looked Cindy in the eye and said, "One thing more. Did you enjoy it?" "Norma!" Cindy was taken full aback, her eyes wide with horror. "I must know in order to get a full, clear perspective of the situation, Cindy. Forgive me for being so blunt, but it's only between us girls." She leaned forward. "Now... did you? Even a little bit?" Blushing a color as scarlet as the bougainvillea out front, Cindy Jamison first stared with frozen shock. Then, trembling and biting her lower lip, she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded affirmatively. There was no use trying to cover it up, no way in which she could bury the awful truth about herself- and it was harder to admit it to herself than to Norma. "Yes," she moaned. "At... at first I loathed his... attentions. But... but in all honesty, I have to confess I... began to sort of like it." She twisted in her chair, then looked at Norma, wetness blurring her vision. "But only a little bit, Norma. Only a little bit, and when it was over and I'd collected my senses, I was sick about it!" "Yes, yes, I understand," Norma said in a soothing voice. She then poured herself a little more wine and sighed. She thought of the best way of handling the matter, of trying to calm the near hysterical girl so that a greater crisis would be averted. She could almost picture the scandal it would cause if it was publicly known, and she had the inherent knowledge of a shrewd woman that such publicity could easily spread to herself and Ralph, for Cindy being in the frame of mind that she was in, would break apart and tell everything. Everything, including the business about the Polaroid Club and their own involvement. Howard wouldn't be the only one whose job would be in jeopardy... "Listen to me, Cindy," she started to say, then sipped the wine as she thought carefully of her next words. "I'll be frank, for I'm sure that's what you want me to be. Why you came to me." "Yes, yes, that's right, Norma." "First of all, you were forced into what you did. You had no other choice, just as this... clerk said. You were forced, and no matter what you may think of what you did, you had no other way out. You did the right thing." "But my---" Norma held up her hand. "Your feelings, right? What's really bothering you is that you became excited, right?" Cindy again nodded, mute, and twisted the little napkin in her lap. "Well, pardon me for saying so, but I don't think any woman could have avoided becoming excited. Any full, loving, responsive woman, that is. Now neither one of us is frigid, Cindy; both of us make love to our husbands with every cell in our body, and we like to. That's the key in understanding what happened to you, Cindy---the fact that we naturally, physically like sex. How could you help not to get hot when his hands were caressing you, his... penis was hard inside you? Hell, I couldn't have, I know that." "I know, but---" "What it boils down to is this: you're a woman first, biologically. Half your body, and mine, is tied in with sex and procreation. Our feelings, emotions, and physiology are regulated by its rhythmic chemistry, and no matter how you try to, you can't deny that fact. You're a wife second, which is an artificial social discipline which is learned, not instinctive. You did what was natural, what your body was intended to do---and while most of our country would not approve nor condone it, you must chalk it up to an unpleasant happening. A mistake, at the most, but never as a sick, warped evil thing." "But what am I going to do?" wailed Cindy. "Do? Why, you're going to do nothing, Cindy. Nothing at all. I doubt that this clerk is ever going to call you again. He got what he wanted, a fresh conquest. I'm sure that's what excited him---the battering down of your defenses---and now that he has done that, he has no reason to bother you again. So I'd suggest that you dry your tears, have a sandwich, and start forgetting the whole matter. Go downtown and buy a dress or a new hat. I always do when I'm blue." "Howard---" "Howard shouldn't be told. Men don't understand about such things, Cindy, and might do something rash." She shook her head. "No, best to let things lie as they are. You still love your husband, I'm sure, and while it's been a mental shock, it hasn't hurt you physically. You can respond to your husband and his love just as well as before, and of course, that's what counts in situations such as these." "You... you really think so?" "Trust me, Cindy," Norma said. She went on for a little while longer, soothingly and with confidence, instilling some reassurance back in the shattered wife, pouring a little more wine, and finally getting Cindy to have a sandwich. By one thirty, Cindy Jamison was perked up as much as possible. The heavy weight of her sin was like lead between her shoulders, but at least she was able to carry the load now, and not collapse as she was in danger of doing before. Yes, Cindy thought as she drove away from the Taylor home, yes, I was right in coming to see Norma. She certainly was a great help, being forthright and blunt, and at the same time showing me that she really was concerned. She was correct in what she had to say, and I will follow her advice. I'll maybe even go shopping, as she suggested... a new summer frock might help me for get a little bit. Yet, for all her buoyancy, there was a nagging, ever-present dread in the back of her mind. Like a black wad of some malignant evil, it kept repeating over and over that perhaps she hadn't heard the last of the matter. That maybe tomorrow or the next day, or the next week, she would hear the phone ring or a knock on the door, and it would be Samuels, the ever leering postal clerk, come to collect again... The dinner was long over, the dishes were washed, and now it was time for bed. Norma had on nothing but a thin transparent nightgown, knowing that the hint of her fine, lithe body underneath excited Ralph as she walked around. It had, too... Ralph Taylor had come back from the convention bushed, his face and manners showing how dog-tired he was. But after a couple of drinks and the fine food she'd prepared and the semi-nude parading all evening--- especially the latter---it was obvious to her that her husband was bubbling with life. His pants were tightly bulged, and as she bent over him to kiss his lips and interrupt the movie on TV, his hand came up underneath her gown, pushing the hem abruptly up her thighs before she could resist. "Oh, you beast!" she jumped forward trying to escape the playful fingers coursing their way along the sensitive parts of her legs. "Stop, it, Ralph, please!" She giggled, knocking the cup of coffee she was serving him. "Ooohhhhh, God, Ralph!" Ralph grinned and continued his rummaging between his wife's legs, laughing aloud at the same time. "Hell, it's been almost a week since I last laid you, my pet. Heh, heh, they had some fine pieces of ass at that convention, but nothing like you!" "Ralph," she crooned softly, "be careful. We've got to plan out what we're going to do about the Jamisons, remember?" Ralph grinned his broad grin again and placed his hand on her buttocks, massaging the soft, tender flesh. She looked at him coyly as he continued the teasing ministrations. Norma gritted her teeth as she felt the old feeling drifting slowly through the tips of her nerves. She was lucky to have Ralph as a husband and he took good care of her, in spite of his flamboyant crudeness and periodic streaks of cruelty in his sometimes overzealous sexual demands. Not that she minded the latter, she mused; she was almost as bad as he was. He didn't mind at all what she did as long as she didn't hide it from him and was there when he wanted her. But, by the same token, he did whatever he liked in the same way. In fact, it had made their marriage more exciting and brought them closer together. Yes, by common consent they had their little affairs but had never let them get beyond the physical stage. It was kind of like having your cake and eating it too, and she never wanted it any other way. "Oooohhhh," she moaned again as her mind returned to reality. Ralph's hand was running the full length of her soft, white vaginal crevice, sending chills of sensation rippling across her skin. "Are you crazy, man? You want to be eaten alive?" "Eaten, yes, baby, but not alive," the manager joked, twitching his finger again into the slightly squirming slit. "But don't get impatient. We'll come to that." "Well, you just stop it then and tell me what you're planning. I told you everything about that postal clerk and that racket he was working on Cindy. You said it gave you ideas." She smiled with sparkling eyes at her husband. "I'm always interested in your ideas, lover. Especially about the ones for bridging the social gap between us and your star salesman." "And his wife, don't forget her," chuckled Ralph lewdly. "You bastard. You can't wait to get that mouth of hers around your fat cock another time, can you?" "No more than you want to show your maternal instincts on Howard's prick again." He laughed. "But don't you worry, my little pet. I've got it all worked out. Been thinking about how to do it since that night at the cabin. Christ! I'd give a month's commission to get a set of photos with that luscious blonde doing all the tricks. And preferably with me on the receiving end. Well, your little story about that clerk answered my prayers, Norma. It's as good as being in the bag." "Ralph," Norma smiled demurely, now almost panting from her pent-up excitement, "let's talk about it in the bedroom, shall we?" "Why, you little whore!" Ralph grinned, but rose and followed his wife down the hallway. "You're about the most selfish thing alive. You always come first." He knew it was a game she was playing, this first- no- then-yes coyness, and they played it often. He was ready now but knew she liked to be coaxed a little before the action started. "But I have to tell you my plans first, remember?" "Mmmm," she replied, letting the long gown fall and stepping out of it seductively. "I'm all ears." "The hell you are," he leered at her. He went toward her, figuring the plan could wait. There were more pressing matters to take care of. He said, "Fuck it, Norma, you can wait to hear the goddamn details. All I want to know is can you find out the name of this clerk?" "Sure, baby," she cooed. "Anything you want." She made a mental note to start on finding out the identity of the postal clerk who had caused such distress to Cindy Jamison the first thing tomorrow. But as she reached her hand down and touched the swollen bulge in her husband's pants, she knew that there was going to be a long, delicious night ahead of her, and she wasn't going to be sidetracked from enjoying it to the fullest. Cindy Jamison wore her new summer dress to the company party the following Tuesday evening. It was a pretty thing, a frilly pale-blue sheath with no sleeves or belt, but a matching jacket for evening wear- -- which she now had on. The hemline was daringly high for her, just below the current "mini" style, allowing her to show off her slim, wonderfully tanned legs. At first she had been uncomfortable in the dress, for she didn't have a slip she could wear with it and her only underclothing was her bra and panties, but when she saw herself in the mirror at the clothing store, saw how childlike and innocent it made her look, she couldn't resist it. Norma Taylor had been right, Cindy once more reminded herself. She said buying a dress would help, and it certainly had. All through the rest of the days before Howard had returned from the convention, the lovely young housewife had never really felt her usual vivacious nature. At best she had been moody, going through the motions of cleaning and shopping only half aware of what she was doing. At worst, she fell into terrible fits of depression, oftentimes crying until the salt dried on her cheeks. These low moments usually came toward bedtime, around the time that the hated postal clerk, Samuels, had first forced his sinister intentions upon her defenseless body, and they lasted long after she had retired, keeping her awake and moaning fitfully as sleep evaded her. Then she would switch on the light and go to the closet and take the new dress out. She would hold it up on its hanger and admire it, press it to her breasts and swing around with it, and as she would do this, the comforting words of Norma Taylor would replay in her mind. You were forced... you did the right thing... no woman could have avoided becoming excited... do nothing... do nothing... the clerk will never come back... The dress was a tangible, real symbol of what Cindy so desperately wanted to believe---needed to believe in order to save her sanity. But nothing ever helped the cold stab of utter terror which would slice through Cindy when the doorbell rang, or the phone jingled, or somebody would hail her name... For in that instant before she heard or saw who it was, she had the instinctive dread that it was the postal clerk again... Thank God Howard finally returned, she sighed. Thank God there's his warm, protective form next to mine at night... And with the loving thoughts swirling through her mind, she turned to her husband. "I love you Howie!" she said, and reaching over, she placed her hand on his leg. Howard grinned. He wasn't sure what had prompted that sudden exclamation; was only glad to hear it. The Lord knew that his wife had been acting strangely enough since he had come home. It was as if there was something wrong---but not wrong; as if Cindy was deeply disturbed about something---yet at the same time overjoyed. Hadn't she bought a new dress? A reckless little gesture, denting their budget but giving a tremendous amount of happiness to her, he thought. Hadn't she all but raped him the minute they'd gotten back from the airport, making so passionate a bedpartner it was almost as if she was trying to prove something to him--- or herself? Yes... But there was the other side, the side which worried him. Hadn't he glanced at her a number of times when she wasn't aware of him looking and seen a grim, almost painful cast to her features? Hadn't she blanched a more pale white---a white more like translucent china than pearl---when one of the neighbors had phoned? Hadn't she been going around with a preoccupied air, at times not even hearing him? Yes... So Howard Jamison had been disturbed, but wasn't sure where or how to direct his uneasiness. This had been the first time he'd been away from his wife in their three years of marriage, and for want of a better reason, he merely assumed that his absence to go to the convention was the cause of her peculiar behavior. Certainly she had kept insisting that nothing was the matter when he'd asked her... He returned to the task of driving. The Volkswagen was a little small after driving the big Buick he usually had, but the Buick was at Auto Circus, waiting to be delivered tomorrow to a customer. Moreover, as he had had to stay later and close up the lot---early, thank heavens; at nine instead of midnight because of the party---it was simpler from a time standpoint for Cindy to drive the little station wagon into town and pick him up rather than having him drive another of the lot cars home. Traffic was light and a full moon was casting almost as much light upon the earth as the sun had earlier. Howard Jamison steered the little car through the late evening, humming along with a little French tune on the radio, feeling more content now that his lovely wife had said those three magical words: l love you. It still didn't displace all of his concern for her erratic behavior, but the successful convention, the warm and loving greetings he had had from Cindy upon returning, and the prospect of a party at Lathrop's combined to shove any worry and doubt to the back of his mind. The world was well and God was in His heavens... The party had been planned on the flight up from Lox Angeles, after the convention. The general manager, Buddy Lathrop, had insisted that one be held at his home to celebrate a successful business deal which had been negotiated: the signing of a national auto lease company to allow Auto Circus to handle the liquidation of their cars in Northern California. It was a tremendous coup, for the lease company would provide a continual stream of a year-to eighteen-month-old cars in top condition and of the most popular makes and models. It was no wonder that Lathrop had been in an expansive mood. All the salesmen, Ralph Taylor, assorted wives and girl friends would be at the Lathrop residence by now, and Howard knew it would be a swinging affair. Good Ol' Buddy, the head man over the whole organization, threw liquor and laughter around in abundant profusion, belying his tall, stoop- shouldered parsimonious appearance. Perhaps if the general manager wore black, he might have passed for an undertaker, but with the wit and smile of a country bumpkin, the shrewd mind of a born salesman, and the wild clothing of a carnival barker, he had risen to be one of the richest, most successful car dealers in the state. Howard was pleased to work for him, just as he wax pleased to work for his immediate superior, Ralph. Both good men, he thought. As befitting his position, Lathrop lived in an expensive area outside of Morriston. There was a section to the south, along Route 34, which wasn't exactly a suburb, but was a planned community for the few who could afford the high cost of the custom built homes and restrictive zoning laws. Lathrop had built a large replica of a southern plantation mansion, complete with widow's walk and white pillars along the broad, wide front. It looked like a set out of Gone With the Wind, right down to the weeping willows and red hibiscus and a carport fashioned to resemble a carriage house. The backyard, about the size of a football field, was more modern: swimming pool and cabana, two tennis courts, and a pond and stream where Mrs. Lathrop raised her prize goldfish. Buddy Lathrop answered the door when the Jamisons arrived. He stood beaming, a tall glass of some red punch in his hand, his face slightly mottled from the liquor. "Come in! Come in!" he greeted, stepping aside. He was attired gloriously in hound's-tooth check trousers, green plaid sports coat, and an orange shirt. And as the yellow light from the hall fell across his cheek when he turned, Cindy saw a smear of lipstick. The shrieks and laughter from behind him were deafening. This, she could tell, was going to be another typical salesmen's party. She smiled and murmured a ritualistic hello-and-how-are-you, while her more enthusiastic husband grinned broadly and pumped Buddy Lathrop's hand heartily. The pretty wife was feeling ambivalence toward the party, although she never mentioned it to her husband. The three of them walked down the great main hall where the staircase swept upwards to the second and third floors and beyond, past the sitting room and the billiard room and the music room where one of the salesmen was pounding out "Chopsticks" on the Steinway baby grand. All the while Cindy was biting her lower lip, the opposites of wanting and yet not wanting to be here surging like cross-currents through her. She wanted to come here tonight because that way she wouldn't be home alone... still itching with the fear of being summoned again by that malicious postal clerk... listening for him and only hearing the miniature grandfather's clock in the hall ticking off the slow and endless seconds before Howard would arrive... And so she had agreed with Howard's request to accompany him tonight, not even uttering one word about how the types of men and their mates she would find here disagreed with her. Usually she did so, for while she loved Howard and admired his boss, the suede-shoe operators at Auto Circus left her cold. They were loud, crude, and drank too much. They smoked the most foul-smelling cigars in the world, and insisted on either blowing the smoke in her face or waving the cigar under her nostrils as they made some asinine point about something they were ignorant about. Their wives and girl friends were little better, spending their whole day reading confession magazines and chewing gum, with even less to say than the men. It never failed to give her a splitting headache, coming to one of these occasions. Christmas, New Year's, assorted birthdays and anniversaries---she would make sure she and Howard came late and left early. Not tonight, though. Tonight Cindy was going to stay until the Lathrops threw them out. Until the last dog is hung, until the last drink is--- "Howdy!" came a booming voice, and Cindy nearly jumped a foot in the air. Gruff hands went around her waist and a wine-heavy breath seared her neck as Art Manacor kissed her. "Haw! Haw! I see you brought your wonderful little woman tonight, Howie!" he guffawed, his laugh reminding Cindy of a bowling ball bouncing down a flight of stairs. She tried to smile and act as though his kiss had been fun... but it hadn't been. His rubbery lips, his sudden grasp had been too vivid a simile to the postal clerk's hated touch... "Yes," Howard grinned, "too big a deal even for her to pass up." He looked around, slapping the backs of some other men, acting as though he hadn't seen them for a coon's age, rather than just a matter of hours. "Say, what's that slop you're drinking, Art?" Howard asked, pointing to the glass the salesman was holding. "Looks like raspberry Kool-aid." "Something called sangria," came the reply. Art blinked, studying the pieces of lemon and orange at the bottom of the glass. "A wine punch Binnie found a recipe for in a Spanish cook-book." Binnie was Mrs. Lathrop's nickname, and what she insisted everybody call her. Manacor drank a little. "Not bad, and that's all what's available." It had obviously gotten him high. "Ah'll get you-all some," cried out Mrs. Manacor. She was a thin, breastless woman with black spit-curls and a vapid expression, except when drunk as she was now and then her eyes had a tendency to cross. She was from Louisiana and had a grating twang which made Cindy think the bowling ball had crashed through a plate glass window. "You-all wait raht heah." Cindy waited impatiently, for she wanted some sangria; wanted a lot of it, in fact, to dull the building pressure in her head. The party was going to be terrible, that she could see---but not as terrible as the silent nightmare shadowing her happy home... Mrs. Manacor---"Jest cahl me Salli-Ann"---delivered two brimming tumblers of the ruby liquid and Cindy drank deeply. The sangria was pleasant tasting, very refreshing, with a combination sweet-tart taste hard to identify. A fruit punch? No... the fruit taste was in the background, Cindy thought as she ran her tongue around her lips. A wine base, plus... what? She finished her glass in three more swallows, excused herself from Howard, who was explaining what was wrong with the Buick he had been driving, and the Manacors who were both listening intently, and walked over to the large cut-crystal punch bowl. Binnie Lathrop was behind the bowl, busily ladling out the sangria. She was an impressive woman, statuesque, with a large figure gained from many years of creamed chicken luncheons at the country club. Her breasts were well buttressed in a corset, standing out like the Continental Shelf, and her whole bearing was one of imperious condescension as she looked over their tops. She was, however, a pleasant and friendly woman, and unlike most of the other females, knew something of the world. Cindy's husband had once said of her: "She must have been one hellion on wheels in her day..." She was most pleased to see the pretty wife of Auto circus's star salesman; her own husband being quite aware of Howard's fine record and coming ability and having mentioned the young man to her. Cindy felt warmly toward the woman, and after getting a refill, they started chatting amiably. Binnie Lathrop was happy to give Cindy the recipe for sangria: "It's a red wine base, a good and hearty wine like Burgundy. Seven parts of it to two parts brandy and one part Cointreau, add a little Vodka if you want---I did---then a bottle of some carbonated ÿ lemon drink, slices of orange and lemon and some cherries, stir like hell and serve. Voila!" The older woman chuckled and winked, though never losing her decorum. "Be careful with it. It's very potent!" Cindy let some more of the fine punch swirl around her taste-buds. She nodded. "It's delicious Binnie." "Well, I thought it might be fun to have something different than the usual bourbon and scotch and gin. I get so tired of them after a bit." "Hello, Cindy," came a familiar, mellow voice, and the young girl turned, startled slightly. Ralph Taylor stood, smiling at the two women, though his attention was mainly focused on Cindy. "A very pretty dress you're wearing tonight. Is it new?" Cindy was flattered that her husband's boss noticed her enough to pick out a new dress---most men wouldn't have bothered. "Why, thank you, Ralph. Yes, I bought it while the convention was on. Sort of a pick-me- up." "After you've been married as long as I have," Binnie Lathrop interjected wryly, "you'll be buying the pick-me-ups when your husband's home, not away." The three of them laughed at that. Binnie was quite devoted to her husband, and everybody knew that. They talked a little more, and then Ralph said to Cindy: "My wife is dancing with Higgins. How about you and I trying a little swing around the floor?" "Well... I... I don't know." Cindy looked around for her husband. She saw him in an animated conversation with another salesman over in one corner, oblivious to everything else. Then she saw Ralph's raven-haired wife in the arms of the head of the body shop, Higgins trying not to step on either her's or his own feet. He was not much of a dancer. The music which was playing on the tape recorder built in to one bookshelf was a fast fox-trot, and Cindy was not in the mood for such a beat. "No, I think not, Ralph. It's a little fast for me." Just as she spoke, the number ended, and was followed almost immediately by Jackie Gleason's orchestra playing "Moonglow." "This better, eh?" Ralph asked. Not waiting for an answer, he took the glass from Cindy's hand and placed it on the table and swept her in his arms. "But---" Cindy protested weakly. "Go ahead," urged Binnie Lathrop. "Ralph is such a good dancer. Relax and enjoy the party..." Her last words were drowned out as Cindy found herself whisked to the middle of the polished wood floor. There was one mole moment of unreasoned resistance, and then she let the strong muscular arms of her husband's boss lead her gently to the beat of the music. The violins and muted horns wafted to her ears, soothing her... The three glasses of sangria, taken as they had been on an empty stomach for Cindy had lost her appetite that evening, began to slowly seep through her blood. She began to smile and, as suggested by Mrs. Lathrop, relax and enjoy herself. The sharp edge of panic melted and she found herself humming, her eyes half closed, as the music changed from "Moonglow" to "The Theme from Picnic." She dropped her head and pressed against Ralph Taylor's rising chest. Hot damn, the scheming manager thought, trying to control his trembling passions, things are better than I thought. After Norma told me about that post office clerk getting into Cindy's pants, I figured I wouldn't be able to score until I found out who the little bastard was and went to see him... talked to him about some certain facts... but the way things are going, maybe l can speed up the action... got to go at it just right, though... just right... He held the slightly high young wife tighter, his total willpower being taxed to stop his penis from becoming hard and pressing against her undulating belly. The dress she had on, or he should say, the lack of a dress, certainly didn't help his control any. When she had walked in with her husband, Ralph had almost creamed in his pants on the spot, ogling the tight buttocks and ripe, jutting breasts, and smooth expanse of thigh and leg... never had so little covered so little. It made him quiver with the desire to really possess this proud little beauty, to bore his cock deep in her vagina as the postal clerk had done---damn that sneaky bastard's hide. Ralph Taylor had immediately set to work trying to find a way of getting his desires answered that night, to seduce the wife of his star salesman at the party and not to wait until Norma was able to quietly find out who the clerk was. His prick and testicles ached with burning fire for the beautiful little wife, stoking his mind to come up with a plan of attack. And he had. He waited until she had consumed enough of the sangria to become slightly wobbly, and then he started in. First this dance... then a short break for another glass of that wine punch. Ralph chuckled secretly to himself. Sangria didn't taste strong, it went down like soda- pop, and women who would normally never indulge heavily soon found themselves drunk out of their minds. Sangria was sneaky... just as he was. The music stopped, and Ralph led the pretty wife back to the punch bowl and her glass. She drank thirstily, finishing it, and Mrs. Lathrop filled the glass again... They talked, the three of them, of general items: the local gossip, opinions on the fools in Washington, D.C., the Middle East and the Indochina war... Ralph sat out two more numbers and then, when another slow dance was played, he took Cindy in his arms again and way they went. Then there was more sangria... After the third dance, Cindy was beginning to stumble a bit, and her tongue was getting tied around words of multisyllable. It was, the manager thought, about time to drop the bombshell. The tape was unwinding "Laura" and as he again danced with her, he leaned down and whispered in her shell-like ear: "Cindy, Norma told me about the postal clerk." The reaction of the little housewife was sudden and cataclysmic. She stopped dead in her tracks, a quivering, shaking statue of agony, her mouth open and her eyes wide as saucers. "No!" she feebly choked. "No, she couldn't have!" The sangria dulled the worst of the terrible pain which coursed through her brain. She had already realized that she had had too much to drink, but as happens when such a point is reached, she really didn't care. At this moment, she was desperately glad, for the dual shock of hearing that Norma had spread her confidential confession and of being reminded of that wretched man and his blackmail would have been too much for her tortured mind to absorb sober. "N-Norma had no... no right!" she moaned, shuddering. "Now take it easy, Cindy," the manager soothed, wrapping his arms around her. "Listen to me. Norma was very concerned about you, and naturally she turned to her husband for advice." Obstinately, the pretty housewife fought back her tears and said bitterly: "She warned me against telling Howie!" "Well, of course she did, Cindy. He would be the wronged husband, wouldn't he? I mean, it isn't as though I was hurt by your ah, indiscretions. But Howie could very well become belligerent, seeing as it's his pretty young wife who was in bed with another man and---" "Stop it! Stop it!" wailed Cindy, putting her hands over her ears. "I can't stand it any longer!" Ralph looked around, feared that her sudden outburst might have attracted attention. No; the others were well inebriated and laughing and shouting louder than her cry had been. Her husband, Howard, was out of the corner now and doing a wild rhumba to the slow music, a lampshade on his head. Others had crowded around and were clapping and hooting him on... there was a crash from another room and a shriek of giggling... "Cindy!" he hissed. "Get hold of yourself! You have to face the situation, no matter how unpleasant. Don't you understand?" "No... no..." the now hysterical young wife pleaded. "I'm your friend, Cindy. Believe me, Norma did the right thing telling me. I can help you." "Help me?" Cindy looked up suddenly. Could he? she thought wildly, groping at straws. "If Howard should find out somehow. Or if that damnable clerk makes good his threat and turns you in. What then?" "I... I don't know," she shuddered, the possibilities too horrible to contemplate. "I don't know what I'd do." "Well, we have to talk these things out, Cindy." He looked around again. "We can't talk here, though. Too many people. Tell you what; let's go outside and discuss this. All right?" "Outside?" "In your car. It'll be nice and private there, and nobody will overhear us." "But... but what about Howie?" "He's fine. He's having a ball. Hasn't missed you yet, has he?" Ralph saw the shake of her head, indicating the negative answer, and he pressed on. "We have to stick together, us Taylors and Jamisons. Now you go on outside. I'll join you in a minute." "Ralph---" she started to say, but Cindy knew that she was going to the car. She had to, for as Ralph Taylor had said, she was in no position to take care of the potentialities if they should occur. She would have never dared to go to her husband's boss, never even would have considered going to another male, friend or no. But now that Norma had done so--- strictly with good intentions, of what Cindy was now assured---and the manager had evinced such strong personal interest in her plight, she was going to lay bare the sordid details again and see what Ralph Taylor could do to alleviate her miserable dilemma. "Now, go on," Ralph prompted. "That's it. I'll be out in a minute. Soon as I go to the bathroom." Nodding numbly, Cindy Jamison, a frail of swirling emotions and agonies, headed for the front door. Binnie Lathrop, coming out of the kitchen with another tureen of sangria, paused and asked her if anything was the matter. Cindy shook her head, saying that no, she just wanted a breath of fresh air. The moment that the pretty young wife of his star salesman was out of sight, Ralph Taylor began the second part of his plan. He hurried over to the general manager, Buddy Lathrop, who was listening with a bored expression to a story about a nude mermaid, a New York executive on a deep-sea fishing trip, and a bag full of lead weights. "Buddy," he said, sidling up to his boss. "Buddy, come over here for a minute, will you?" He indicated a quiet corner with a tilt of his head. Lathrop nodded, wondering why his manager was so all-fired anxious. "Thank heavens you came along when you did. That's one of the oldest dirty jokes I know, and if Murcheson doesn't learn any new ones soon, I'm going to---" "Buddy, listen," Taylor cut in. "You got a pint bottle of something around here?" "Sure, I guess so. Old Tennessee bourbon, I believe, in my study. If Binnie ever found it, it would be my balls, I---" "I want it. Now." Lathrop shrugged and the two of them started across the living room to his study. "Mind telling me why? Binnie's sangria gotten to you?" Taylor grinned, his grin a fiendish look of devilment. "The sangria is great, Buddy. No, this is to help me collect a bet I made with you a while back." "A bet you made with me?" Lathrop still was confused, but went to his desk, a wide and ornate Victorian roll-top. He opened one of the drawers and fished around in the back. "I don't follow. Ah, here it is." He brought out a barely used pint of bourbon and handed it to the manager. "Remember when you bet me a hundred dollars that I'd never make it into Cindy Jamison's pants?" Taylor said. Lathrop laughed heartily. "Sure I did. Why, I'd pay you another hundred if you got me a crack at it, too." "Well, tonight I'm going to collect that first hundred for sure." Lathrop's eyes boggled. "No! I don't believe you. Nobody can get into that naive little bitch." Taylor snickered. "If you're real nice and are serious about that second hundred, I might just arrange for you to grab a little of it, too." "Tell me more," Lathrop said, suddenly very interested. He was almost as much of a swinger as his manager was, going after women whenever he could get a chance of avoiding his steely-eyed wife. Christ, just the idea of nailing that tender little pussy of Howie Jamison's wife made his cock tingle with lewd preparations. "What are you going to do, feed her Spanish fly?" Taylor shook his head and lifted the bourbon bottle. "Nope. Just this... and the old Ralph Taylor touch, heh, heh. Now listen, Buddy. I'm going out to her car, see; she's already there, waiting for me." "My God, I'd have never believed it," Lathrop said in new-found awe of his employee. "Waiting for you, no less." "Right, and I can't keep her waiting for long, heh, heh. In about fifteen minutes, you sneak out very quietly. I think you might get a little view well worth your trouble, heh, heh." "Yeah, but what about my---" "Your turn? Have to play that by ear." Taylor turned to leave the book- lined, walnut paneled room. "But I damn well want to have that hundred bucks for winning the bet we made first, and at least I'll prove that much to you." "Ralph---" Lathrop was licking his thin lips, a gleam in his eyes. Taylor was by the door. "Yes?" "You set it up so that I can fuck that Cindy Jamison, and I'll raise your salary." A rash statement, the general manager thought as soon as he said it---but on second consideration, he was ready to raise the ante still more. That young beauty with all her wide-eyed aura of virginity had been on his mind a long time. And now... if Taylor could, well by God no price was too high. "Hear me? I'll raise it, Ralph." Taylor chuckled obscenely. "Worry about raising that cock of yours, then. Cindy Jamison is going to get screwed like she's never been screwed before!" He walked briskly to the front door, eagerness already swelling his testicles, bloating them with the sperm he was going to pour into that tight, hardly touched cunt of his star salesman's young wife. This was going to be great he gloated to himself, a piece of the finest tail in Morriston, a bet that will put a hundred dollars in my pocket, and a raise besides. Now all he had to do was to play his cards right... Cindy Jamison slumped against the door, shuddering as she sat in the passenger side of the Volkswagen Variant, her face buried in her hands. She cried plaintively, weeping her tortured emotions into her palms as one might wash an infected wound. The sangria she had consumed to dull her sensitivities had, if anything, only loosened the barriers holding them back, and now, fully surrendered to the alcohol, she allowed her pent-up emotions release. She had purged her soul once, to Norma Taylor... but the intervening days when she had been forced to act the part of a carefree, loving housewife to Howard, her husband, had once more built the raging storm of her torment to cyclone proportions. It had forced her to this party, had been the leading cause of her not eating and then of drinking heavily---and was, with the help of the potent sangria, completely controlling her mind. She was nearly delirious, almost psychotically hysterical, and there wasn't even the sanity of sobriety to fall back upon. Her only prayer, her only hope was Ralph Taylor; or so her benumbed mind thought. The one thing that had kept her from dashing out of the house and fleeing to where? Anywhere---so long as it was far, far away- -- was the comforting words that Ralph Taylor would help her. Perhaps if she hadn't partaken of the sangria so heavily, if she didn't have a head spinning so madly, she might have considered that it had been the sales manager's opening words: Norma told me about the postal clerk which had sent her into such a mental tailspin. As it was, when her husband's boss opened the other side of the car and climbed in beside her, she looked upon him almost as a savior, an angel who could save her from the depredations of her actions. "Thank God, Ralph," the pretty young housewife moaned. "I was afraid you weren't going to come." She started crying again. "Everything will be all right, Cindy," the manager said, and he put his arm around her, as a father might his errant daughter. "Of course I was going to come. You don't think I'd let you be like this, do you? So upset and everything..." She leaned against him, clutching to him for dear life. "It... it was terrible, Ralph," she blurted. "I... I sent for some pictures from the Polaroid Club... like the ones you gave to Howie... only wanted to surprise him..." and she went on to pour forth the total story of her humiliation by the postal clerk, breaking into sobs of agony frequently. As she talked, Ralph was only half listening. He knew the story already, had Norma repeat it to him until he knew every detail. Instead, he looked around and saw that the back of the station wagon was empty, and that the rear seat had been folded down. Good, good. Plenty of room back there to fuck... can't do it here, not with these bucket seats and gear shift... Now to figure out a way of getting her back there... He pulled out the pint of Old Tennessee, uncapped it and gave her the bottle. "Here, Cindy. Take a swallow. It'll help." She took it gratefully and drank heavily. The liquor burned a path to her stomach, but she was too wrought up and too drunk to notice... she drank again, came up for air and continued telling her story... "Then... he made me get up on my knees and he... he did it to me from behind... I've never done that even with my husband before... he... he even did it to me in my mouth... Oh, God, Ralph, it was just awful," she sobbed. He interrupted her with an urging to take another swallow, which she did, and then he said: "Would you like to lie down, take a rest? Wouldn't that be better?" "Yes..." The combination of the sangria, Old Tennessee, and her now purged soul had made her lethargic, dazed, and she had to fight to keep her eyes open. Her muscles seemed to be plastic and her bones like sawdust. "But I don't want to go back inside yet, Ralph, not until you talk to me about what you can do for me... I need your help..." Her voice was slurred and thick, as though her mouth was full of pebbles---or she had taken too much liquor and was very, very drunk. The auto executive smiled and said, "You can crawl over the seat and stretch out in back if you like." Cindy looked up from Ralph's chest. "That would be nice," she replied dreamily. "Help me..." Ralph Taylor did, his cock hardening into a throbbing beast as he carefully helped his salesman's wife to semi-stand and squeeze between the two seats. Her motions were jerky and fumbling; she wouldn't have been able to stand, he thought, not now after all that booze. But she sprawled on the rubber matting of the back section, not minding or even being aware that her short dress had slipped up around her panties. Taylor sucked in his breath as he saw the thinly covered pubic mound become exposed... then he squeezed back there with her, and the two of them lay side by side in the cramped quarters, and he placed his hands around her and held her to him. Taylor stroked the very inebriated young wife's golden hair lightly, gently, comfortingly. And in a smooth, rich tone of voice he intoned, "Don't think about it, Cindy. Don't think about that strange man and you and how you looked on your bed, about the passion you two were experiencing, don't think about it at all..." In the tortured, stupefied confusion of her mind, Cindy Jamison couldn't help thinking about what she and Samuels had done---and why. She remained in her husband's boss's gently pressing embrace, stretched out in the back of the station wagon, a dreamy torpor making her lightheaded and giddy. His words flowed like honey, soothing and hypnotic... and although she didn't want to think about what she had done with the postal clerk, his soporific voice dredged still more from her subconscious mind. She sobbed into the thin material of Taylor's shirt, finding security in his masculine nearness and the gentle stroking of his hand on her bare arm. And horribly, perversely, the images in her drunken brain started to have a certain physical effect on her dazed mind as well. She could feel an odd twitching in her belly, and for some crazy reason she sensed that her nipples were hardening in her bra cups. She tried to will her body to cease its evil awakening and her mind to stop the vivid remembrances---but nothing she tried to do would work. And what was Ralph Taylor saying? The same as his wife Norma, had told her? "... You're all woman, Cindy. Of course you couldn't help but enjoy his penis inside you. Of course you liked his tongue on your lips and between your legs. You couldn't help not liking it, Cindy. You're a real woman... a sexually alive woman..." He continued to stroke her shoulder, letting his hand slide slowly down. Cindy had stopped crying now, though her face was still pressed to his shirt, and he sensed that his caress had quickened her breath. He teased the ridge of her spine, pressing his horizontal body closer to hers, and he whispered into her hair bolder and bolder words: "You and the clerk were making love, Cindy. No, you were fucking, Cindy. But you mustn't think badly of yourself for your actions. Everyone likes to fuck..." Cindy was breathing faster now, and the manager could hear this drunken little wife of his salesman trembling with her reactions. Well, if there was ever a moment to give it everything, this was it! Taylor brought his hand casually from her shoulder to the swelling mound of her breast. He began to rub the pliant globe tenderly through the thin dress and bra, and there was a sharp intake of breath from the beautiful wife and a sudden stiffening of her body and a convulsive kneading of his shirt. But she made no move to pull away! The sales manager grinned eagerly, knowing he had won, that she would be his, and he ran his thumb over her rock-hard nipples, his heart pounding in his chest and his cock leaping in the cage that was his shorts and pants. A warning scream tried to penetrate the fogged, drugged lethargy which inundated Cindy Jamison's mind, tried to warn her that something was going to happen if she didn't pull away. And yet, unexplainably, his hand on her breast felt good... and his voice, so far away to her ears, made everything sound right. It was as if the sangria and the bourbon had been some liquid cement, gluing her to this position, making her unable to move at all... and the pinwheel thoughts in her mind made her not really want to move... not yet... And then the manager's hand slid down from her breasts and went to her bare thigh, sliding up along the hot skin under her new dress. Higher and higher---until his fingers were touching the silk-encased mound of her vagina. He slipped up and down the now moist furrow from the outside, then pushed the secreting crotchband of her panties aside and slipped his middle finger into the wet, trembling passage of Cindy's suddenly hotly burning young cunt. The distraught, nearly comatose from alcohol, wife squirmed up tighter against the sales manager with the contact of his finger against her naked flesh. Her whole being began to oscillate and she moaned in staccato cadence. The warning voice of before tolled again through the swamp which was her fevered mind: Wrong... wrong... I love Howie, I must be faithful to him... not Ralph... not with Ralph... stop it... stop it... But she couldn't stop it. She was incapable of pulling away, and she could only lie there in the back of the station wagon and let her husband's boss continue to work his hand down between her legs, to tease the hard bud of her clitoris and revel in her soft, elastic vaginal opening. Christ, Taylor thought, she really turns on, just like I hoped she would, damn well knew she would after that night she unknowingly sucked my cock... She's all fired up for a good fuck, and when a woman like her gets that way, nothing else matters. He whispered in her ear: "Cindy, baby, help me... help me take your panties off..." "No..." came the feeble answer. "Oh, God, no, Ralph!" "Yes..." he hissed back, and he moved around so that he hovered over her limply splayed legs, removing his finger from her wet, trembling pussy. He bunched her dress around her waist and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and slid them down slowly over her full rounded young thighs and hips. Cindy tried to stop him, to yell out to leave her alone... but her body was controlled by other forces and, in spite of her hesitation, she found herself raising her hips obediently. And then her softly hair-lined cunt came into moonlit view, and Taylor gazed salaciously at it, his mouth watering at the beautiful sight. The sales manager drove his head savagely downward, unable to control his lusting emotions, and his lips mashed onto her vaginal lips, his tongue parting the softly curling pubic hair and slipping teasingly down the pink-rimmed valley. Cindy shuddered and involuntarily her legs spread a little wider, allowing him further room. She whined sharply and convulsed into lurches as his long, hot tongue speared her quaking flesh. And as he flicked his mouth and tongue around the velvety soft interior of her vagina, he unbuckled his pants and pushed them with his shorts down, allowing them to tangle around his ankles. Now that he had the little bitch so hot and ready, he did not want to take the time to fully undress. He was afraid she might suddenly come to her senses and all would be lost. Cindy's mind was in complete turmoil now, the blood fever of his touch and then his mouth filling her with animal wantonness---yet the other part, the portion so satiated with alcohol as to render it nothing more than a protest in vain, cried out that this was wrong... all wrong and must stop! And suddenly, Taylor stopped. He raised his head and grinned triumphantly down at her, his lips and chin wet with her sexual secretions. "Ralph... Ralph... Ralph..." was all that the crazed young housewife was able to chant to the manager. "I'm going to fuck you now, my sweet little friend. I'm going to put my long, hard cock inside your pussy and cum in it." And with those words, the lasciviously grinning sales manager moved across the unresisting body of his salesman's wife. He held his long lust-hardened cock at the open mouth of her moist palpitating cunt, and then he levered forward, sending his sensitive, hungry cock sliding hotly, deliciously far up into her quivering young belly. Oh, God, he's inside me... he's inside me...! Cindy thought vaguely, her mind and soul shattered by the liquor and the wretchedness of her emotions, and her body one huge sensation of pagan desire. He can't be doing this... he can't, and I can't be letting him, but he is. Oh, he is... and, oh, God, it feels so good... I must stop him... but how can I when I can't stop myself? Ralph Taylor's long, hard penis flashed up and down in her tight cuntal passage, his body heaving in demoniacal force as he drew his sperm- heavy cock nearly out of the clasping sheath of the mesmerized young Cindy's pussy, then plunging down again until his aching, bloated testicles slapped ruthlessly against her naked inner thighs. He was so intent on the release of his nearly bursting orgasm, that he never noticed the shadow which pressed against the rear window, or the disbelieving face which gaped in on them... The general manager of Auto Circus had no trouble finding the Volkswagen. He knew, as Ralph Taylor had known, that the Buick young Howard Jamison usually drove had been sold, so that meant the second car, the one the Jamisons owned, would be out in the broad gravel parking area. He made a couple of excuses after his watch told him fifteen minutes had passed, and snuck out of the large French doors at the side of the house, and worked his way around to the front. The bright moon cast pale, glistening light on the landscape, making his chore easy. The trees and shrubs were as if painted with some ghostly radiance where the shine hit them, and the many lamps illuminating the interior of the house also shone through the windows, helping him as he snuck through the glade. There... just ahead... the outline of the Volkswagen. Buddy Lathrop sucked in his breath sharply and felt a tingle of anticipation surge through his loins and stiffen his penis as he stealthily approached. If Taylor wasn't kidding... But he must have been, the head man thought, frowning. There wasn't anybody in the car that he could see... it was totally empty. Then he heard the soft moan, a woman's throaty purr, and the murmuring of, "RaIph... Ralph... Ralph..." His head nearly dizzy with the anticipatory thoughts of that lovely, naive young wife of one of his best salesman being thoroughly fucked by Taylor... of that luscious Cindy Jamison first succumbing to the sales manager and then to him---Christ! It was enough to send his semen shooting out right then and there! He hurried to the window... peered in, cupping his hands around his face so that he could see clearly. He eyed the couple. Great balls of fire! He was doing it! Old Ralph Taylor was fucking the hell out of sweet, innocent Cindy Jamison! Buddy Lathrop nearly staggered backwards as the full impact of the lewd, licentious coupling blasted his eyes. There was his sales manager pumping up and down on top of the lovely little wife of Jamison, sinking his cock to its hilt between her widespread legs, his huge hairy balls slapping noisily against her buttocks. And there was Jamison's wife undulating her body and buttocks in tiny hungry circles, her face turned sideways so that the general manager could see the effect the fuck being thrown into her was having on her body. Her features were contorted, as if in rapture, and her mouth hinged wide, her tongue licking ever dry lips. The chief of Auto Circus found his breath coming in tight gasps and the burning sensations in his belly growing to maddening proportions with each moment he watched the young naive girl being ravished. His body perspired freely, in spite of the night air, and his forehead was bathed in tiny beads of sweat. His nerves seemed shattered and his mind danced at the salacious sight, and his penis sprung to full hardness, leaving a trail of wetness in his underpants as it climbed to erection. Cindy Jamison looked almost inhuman to the general manager as he beadily focused on the wildly writhing couple. She was no longer human to him, but a quivering mass of sweating, lust-deranged flesh that was begging for this subjugation, was reveling in humiliation at being fucked by the near-beast over her. She ground her buttocks lasciviously down into the mat of the car and the perspiration on her body and on the sales manager's skin glittered in the pale moonlight like moving diamonds. Lathrop couldn't stand it much longer. He slowly slid his hands down and stroked his burgeoning cock through his pants. Then, unable to resist the temptation, he unbuckled his pants and let them puddle around his feet. He lifted one leg, his eyes still feasting on the lewd adultery going on before him, and removed one shoe and one pantleg. Then the other... and then his underpants. He moaned, transfixed, his cock jutting forward from his loins and pressing against the rear license plate. The cold metal of the plate against the head of his cock made an odd tingling sensation. He rubbed his thick shaft up and down in time to the rhythmic drubbings of the manager, Taylor, and the salesman's wife, Cindy, as the one screwed into the other mercilessly. Lathrop watched with lust-filled eyes the actions in the bed of the Volkswagen, ready to crawl up the side of the car to quench the fire raging through his penis and testicles. The sight of that virginal girl being buffeted by Taylor without mercy was too much! Something had to give! Something did. The sales manager, Taylor, cried out, "Oh, Jesus! I'm going to cum! I'm going... AAHHHHHHHHHHH!" His body froze in mid-stroke, then hurtled downward again in an insane fury as his climax struck and his white hot semen spewed out of his balls like lava from a volcano, inundating Cindy Jamison's vagina, filling her womb to the overflowing; Buddy Lathrop could see his employee's hot sticky cum flow out around his cock and form a puddle on the black matting beneath their sweating heaving bodies... Then Taylor collapsed forward over the quivering woman, cooing his delight in her ears. Cindy saw the flash of light as the overhead lamp in the back of the Volkswagen went on and clenched her eyes shut tightly to block it out. Through the haze of alcohol and passion she was dully aware of someone standing at the now open tailgate, hunched slightly forward. But nothing mattered except the body of the man breathing hotly over her. "Goddamn," she heard a voice harshly grate. "You were right, Ralph, you certainly were right! Her pussy really was climbing!" "Didn't I tell you I'd nail her? Heh, heh, be patient, if you want a little of her." "Man, is she tender! If you don't fuck her to death, I will!" Ralph Taylor chuckled lewdly and Cindy felt his deflating penis slip from her ravaged vagina and his hands pull at her hips. She could sense the sucking withdrawal between her legs and the cool rush of air to her tortured loins, suddenly freed from the body of the sales manager. The pain that existed in her mind and in her loins was replaced by a different pain... that of unsatisfied desire. She squeezed her buttocks together, almost beside herself, for the end was so near and now so far away. She writhed on the mat, lost in the hedonistic world the liquor and her own betraying flesh had evolved, and one hand strayed to her damp, hair-lined slit. She dug into herself greedily, trying to reach the impossible depths the vanquished cock had a moment before. In the distance she heard the rustle of clothing as the two men changed positions, and she trembled, half in fear and half from impatience. Then... male hands searching over her again, pulling her thighs apart, urgent fingers parting the lips of her throbbing cunt... and a deep voice, a voice she knew but couldn't at the moment identify, rumbling as a storm cloud rumbles thunder from above. "Come on, baby. Big Daddy's gonna show you what fucking is all about!" She gasped at the force of the powerful fingers... and the sudden blunt stab of a fiery pole of flesh. The still unknown male dropped like a sack of concrete, smashing her tightly to the mat. His thick penis plunged into her hungry waiting cunt, pushing the moist unresisting folds of pussy flesh in rippling waves before its smooth, tunneling head. Cindy cried aloud at the quick brutal impalement, surprised by its thickness. Her whole body twitched and writhed uncontrollably as she groaned out in helpless and abandoned welcome to the punishing instrument sinking ever deeper in her cunt. But the pain was only momentary, and then the greedy walls of her vagina clasped around the fleshy cudgel hungrily, slithering up wetly to devour its length to its hilt. She groaned in relief at the filling of her wide-stretched cuntal passage as the general manager, his identity still unknown to the helpless young girl, began a heavy thrusting motion in her hungrily grinding pussy. She hissed her sex-fire between her clenched teeth, the inferno raging in her loins spurred on by the liquor and the obscene position she realized faintly she was in. Through glazed, half-lidded eyes she saw the black form heaving above her. There was somebody else watching them from just outside the station wagon, which she knew instinctively was Ralph Taylor, though she couldn't make out the blurred image... and now it wasn't important. The flames of unfulfilled lust infernoed out of control, and there was nothing else in the world. No today, no tomorrow, no Howard; nothing save her deep hole of lust and flesh, of belly smacking belly, of cock heaving against cunt. "I'm cumming---oh, you little bitch, I'm cumming! Fuck harder! Fuck harder!" came the maniacal voice above her. "Uuuuhhhhhhhhh!" Cindy Jamison, ruled by the pagan instincts of her female biology, responded automatically, not caring who was driving so deeply in her, who was ready to burst his sperm next. Her hands darted behind the man's driving buttocks, pulling him to her, spreading her legs wider and pulling them upwards until the soles of her feet pressed hard up against the roof of the car. Her juices flowed wetly out around his still-pounding prick, trickling down the splayed crevice of her buttocks and mingled with the spent seed of the sales manager's orgasm. "Give it to her," the Ralph-voice goaded excitedly from somewhere in the distance. "Shoot it in her!" Spurred on by the words and Cindy's greedily twisting body below, the general manager, Lathrop, dug yet deeper into the girl, forcing her legs yet farther back, doubling her in half, fucking her like a pile- driving machine out of control. He groaned and Cindy felt the hot waves of his sperm shooting into her dilated cunt, mixing lasciviously with the pool Ralph Taylor had throbbed into her before. Her head whirled in depraved sensuality as the powerful spurts surged wildly in her, filling her to the bursting point with its sticky wetness. The burning walls of her vagina clasped and unclasped desperately like a starving mouth, and she was utterly caught up in the lewd web of ecstasy. She opened her mouth for a soundless scream--- And her own orgasm struck! There, in the back of the Volkswagen, being fucked half to death by a man she could not identify, Cindy Jamison was totally reduced to a churning mass of sensual jelly in that instant. Great flashes of pinwheel light sparkled before her tightly shut eyes, and pleasure so acute that it bordered on pain consumed every fibre of her being. She heard but did not hear the wild sluicing sounds of Buddy Lathrop's ejaculating penis sawing in and out between her legs,---felt but did not feel the fleshy smackings of his sperm-loaded testicles against her flailing thighs---knew only that she was grunting out her climax and was nearly out of her mind with its impending magnificence. She collapsed then, her firm young body drained of everything, her limbs loosely spread on the black floor mat as Lathrop's grip was released. She lay spread-eagled as she felt his heavy weight lift from her and again the night air flowed over her sweat-soaked skin. The Ralph- voice spoke in the distance as she faded to deep, peaceful unconsciousness. "Help me get her panties on now, will you? We'll put her in the front seat and then go back to the party." "Soon as I get my pants on. What about her husband?" Taylor chuckled as he peered in at the comatose young wife of his star salesman. "He'll never know. Take my word for it. She won't ever spill what happened to her tonight. Now, come on. We'll tell old Howie- boy that his little darling had too much to drink and fell asleep. True enough; we just won't add about the part in between the too much to drink and the falling asleep. He'll take her home and that will be that." "You son of a bitch, Ralph," Lathrop said approvingly, reaching for a leg of the piteous little housewife. "You really earned that raise tonight." "And the hundred dollars, too, don't forget." "Don't worry, after fucking that sweet little cunt? I can't forget!" On the Thursday following the party, at eleven-thirty a.m., Ralph Taylor left Auto Circus and drove into downtown Morriston. He parked his year-old Cadillac in front of the large graystone building which housed the Post Office on Second and Market Streets, and stepped out into the brilliant sunshine. He was smiling openly, with smug self- satisfaction and anticipation, as he made his way along the crowded sidewalks, filled with morning shoppers, to enter the mausoleum-like structure. He walked leisurely along the marble interior corridor, his eyes seeking out and locating the window above which a horizontal sign jutted out at right angles, reading: Parcel Post---Post Boxes. He stopped by one of the canted writing desks set against the opposite wall when he noticed the fat woman with a large parcel under her arm step up to the window and begin an earnest conversation with the smallish figure who sat behind the counter. Ralph waited patiently, casually puffing on one of his expensive cigars, until the woman had finished transacting her business and left the window deserted. Then the automobile executive sauntered slowly over to the cubicle and leaned his thick elbows on the countertop. He smiled lazily as the gnome-like clerk looked up at him and said in a gravely voice, "Help you?" "You can," said Ralph, blowing smoke over the clerk's right shoulder with studied disregard, "if your name is Steve Samuels." The government employee frowned, close-set eyes narrowing. "That's my name, all right. What's it to you, mister?" Ralph laughed softly, smoothly. "Oh, nothing much. I'd like to take you to lunch, that's all, Samuels." "Lunch?" The clerk's eyes were almost hidden now beneath their puffy lids, and his rubbery lips were set warily. "That's right." "What for?" "To discuss a certain matter." "What matter?" Again, Ralph Taylor blew a stream of smoke. "Concerning a certain young housewife named Cindy Jamison," he said easily. Fear leapt suddenly in Steve Samuels's eyes, and his claw-like hands clamped hard onto the edge of the counter until the knuckles were white. Sweat popped out in beaded pustules on his forehead and sallow cheeks, and spittle flecked his thick lips. "I... I don't know what you're talking about." "I think you do, Samuels," said Taylor. "No... no. You'd better leave now, or---" Samuels let the sentence trail off as more sweat appeared on his face. "Or what?" Ralph said with a soft chuckle. "You'll call the police, or the building guards? Who're you kidding, Samuels? You don't dare call anybody, and you know it." He lowered his voice even more than he already had. "I doubt if you'd want your superiors to know what kind of little racket you've been running from behind your postal position." "R-racket?" "Don't try to bluff it out," Taylor told him, some of the patience leaving his voice to be replaced by hard, authoritative tones. "I know who and what you are, Samuels, and I know what you've been doing with the mails and with some of Morriston's more nubile young wives. I've got you cold, Samuels." The fear was a living entity on the wizened civil servant's face now, and he looked wildly about him, as if seeking an avenue of escape. His tongue came out like an ugly pink snake to moisten his lips again and again. "What... what do you want?" he managed to quaver. "I told you," Ralph Taylor said, once again letting his voice go casual. "I want to take you to lunch." "Who are you, mister? You're not---" "From the authorities, state or federal? No, I'm just a private citizen, Samuels, with what you might call a personal stake in this matter." Samuels's eyes flickered nervously to the clock overhead. It was almost noon. "I... I get off at twelve, for an hour." "That's fine. We'll go down the street, to Marian's Steak House." The postal clerk's eyes flicked over Taylor's shoulder, and he hissed, "Customer. I... I have to wait on him now." "Sure," said Ralph carelessly. "I'll be waiting out front for you at noon, Samuels. And you'd better be there, if you know what's good for you." The frightened man nodded spasmodically, still sweating, and Ralph Taylor turned away with the smile playing over his mouth once again. He walked slowly down the gloomy marble corridor and passed through the exit door into the bright noonday sunlight. Steve Samuels went through the motions of waiting on the customer who had come up, his hands and mouth working mechanically, to do and say the proper things. But his brain was whirling furiously. Fear lived in him like an animal in a dark cave. Who was that casually grinning man who had come out of nowhere to threaten his very existence? How could he have known about Cindy Jamison? How could he have known about the others as well, about the use he was making of his position and the government regulation allowing him to open public mail at will? And most important, what did he want? What did he intend to do with his knowledge? Blackmail? the clerk thought suddenly, as the customer turned to leave the window. Samuels stared unseeingly at the retreating back. Was that it? Did the big, grinning man intend to blackmail him? Oh, Christ, if that was it, he was completely trapped; he had no bargaining power. He was a poor man, his job at the Post Office paying only a mere pittance, enough to keep him alive and clothed and with a roof over his head. He couldn't pay any blackmail sum, no matter how small... Oh, Jesus, Jesus! What was he going to do? But wait... maybe it wasn't blackmail for money; maybe the stranger was after something else, something he, Samuels, could supply and supply easily. Maybe... But there was no use speculating on it now; he would know soon enough, when he went with the stranger to lunch. Again, his eyes flicked up to the clock, saw that it was three minutes 'til noon. There were no customers in sight, and so Samuels hurriedly closed his window. He began to shrug into his hat and coat and his hands were trembling as he did so... Outside, finishing the last of his cigar with relish, Ralph Taylor waited nonchalantly for the appearance of the postal clerk, watching the lithe young girls in their short skirts and dresses passing by on the street. He felt good, damned good; he felt as if he was on top of the world right now. He had that ugly son of a bitch right where he wanted him, by the short hairs, by the balls. Samuels would do anything he asked him to do; the bastard had no choice but to do it or risk exposure and a probable jail sentence. Ralph had recently sold Morriston's postmaster an almost new Cadillac, and consequently was on pretty good terms with the man; all it would take would be a few well-chosen words, and it would be all over for the clerk. The postmaster would be inclined to believe a man of Ralph Taylor's stature and respectability over a simple rank-and- file postal clerk, that was for sure... As he waited, Ralph let his mind wander back to the night of the party and Cindy Jamison's soft young legs spread out wide under him. He could almost feel the soft, sensitive, wetly warm walls of her sweet young cunt squeezing and clasping his heaving cock as he fucked deep and hard into her, could almost feel her hardened cervix slamming against his bloated prickhead, could almost feel the unleashed torrent of cum which had finally escaped his balls to fill that tender little pussy of hers to overflowing... Goddamn! She was some fine little piece of ass, all right, and the random samplings he had had of her---that fuck two nights ago, the sucking of his cock unbeknownst to her that it was him at their mountain cabin--- had only made him want more of her, want her completely and totally his, want her as his plaything to do with as he bid. That was the way that ugly son of a bitch Samuels had had her, according to the story Norma had said she related; that was the way he, Ralph Taylor, wanted the wife of his best friend and star salesman. And that was the way, with the help of Steve Samuels, he was going to have her... Samuels came down the Post Office steps at five past twelve and stood next to Ralph, his eyes mirroring the fear and hate which were inside him. Taylor smiled, but said nothing; he started off down the street, walking leisurely, and the wizened civil servant came tagging along at his heels like a dog following its master. Elation was strong inside the automobile executive as they made their way through the thickening lunch-hour crowds. Marian's Steak House was jammed with businessmen and secretaries, blue- collar workers and shoppers. The waiter at the door greeted Taylor and Samuels as they entered, gravely informing them there would be a short wait and nodding to the group of people standing about waiting their turn at tables. Ralph slipped him a folded bill, whispering that they were in a hurry, an important business conference, and the waiter miraculously found them an empty spot upstairs on the mezzanine moments later. When they were seated, and Ralph had ordered two rare sirloin steaks with mixed salad and garlic French bread, the postal clerk leaned across the table and said in a voice barely audible above the buzz of lunchtime conversation from the tables around them, "All right, whatever-your-name- is. You've got me to lunch, and I'm willing to listen to what you have to say. I'll listen. Now what's on your mind, mister?" Ralph Taylor smiled complacently. "Cindy Jamison," he said. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Figure it out for yourself, Samuels." The postal clerk licked his rubbery lips wetly. "I'm no good at figuring." "No?" "No." Then Samuels cast a furtive glance about him, and leaned further across the table, his face only inches from Taylor's. His breath was fetid, and Ralph wrinkled his nose distastefully. "You want a piece of the little bitch for yourself, that's it, isn't it?" Taylor laughed. "For somebody who's no good at figuring, you do a damned good job of it." "I thought so." Samuels seemed relieved, as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He relaxed visibly. Ralph Taylor said, "I know the kind of thing you're working, all of it right down the line, and it's a good deal, Samuels. I don't want to fuck it up for you---as long as it's worth my while to keep silent." "How did you find out?" "That's not important, Samuels." "Listen, what's your name? I like to know who I'm talking to." "That's not important, either. What is important is Cindy Jamison." The venereous government employee toyed with his napkin. "She's a snooty little bitch," he said softly. "She deserves what she gets. They all do, every last goddamn one of them." "Sure." "Fouling our mails, sending filth by public conveyance. The dirty bitches." "Never mind the bullshit, Samuels," Taylor said sharply. "You're nothing but a fucking little weasel, a lecher that hasn't got the guts to admit it even to himself. But I don't care about that, any of that. The only thing I care about is Cindy Jamison, and you can help me get her right where I want her." "How?" "By setting up a little session with her." "What kind of session?" "I've got a Polaroid camera, a good one with a timer and a tripod," Ralph said easily. Samuels's beady eyes glittered evilly. "What kind of photos are you planning to take?" "What kind do you suppose? Good ones, hot ones. The kind that you would call 'filthy' and 'degrading.'" The postal clerk's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and his chest rose and fell jerkily with labored breathing. "Just... just with you and Cindy Jamison?" Ralph Taylor laughed sharply, a sound that caused one of the nearby customers to glance curiously at him. Then he smiled, smoothing his napkin on his lap, as the waiter brought their steaks. He began to dig into his immediately, eating hungrily and with obvious relish. Samuels didn't touch his food. His eyes were almost fever-bright as he stared across the table at the automobile executive. "You didn't answer my question," he accused. "You'd like to be there when I nail Cindy Jamison, wouldn't you, Samuels?" Taylor said around a mouthful of blood-rare sirloin. "I... I didn't say that." "You didn't have to. It's written all across that ugly face of yours. Well, I'm a generous man by nature. I wouldn't want to deprive you of any of your warped kicks, Samuels. Providing you do as you're told, and set things up just as I tell you." The venereous civil servant had spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth now as in his mind he pictured Cindy Jamison, being subjugated before him again as he had enslaved her that night ten days ago and not only him this time, but this big, brawny man across from him. Both of them meting out punishment to the brazen, haughty bitch well-deserved punishment for what she had tried to do. Oh, it would be fitting and just! He had not gotten in touch with her in the past ten days because he had wanted her to sweat, to know fear and trepidation every time the telephone or doorbell rang, to expect him back at any time but not to know when or where or what would happen when the time came. He had planned to torment her in this manner for another week or so, then call her up and submit her to a session which would make the last one seem tame in comparison a session involving him and his faithful German Shepherd, Ringo. But now this---this was even better! It would not only be him, Steve Samuels, and Ringo fixing that little bitch's wagon---but this big, evil- grinning man across from him. The wizened clerk no longer feared the big man, for now that the stranger had shown his true colors, shown his playing hand and the cards he held and the wager he wanted to make, it was no threat to Samuels's welfare at all. The big man wanted the same things as he, and as long as the clerk didn't ruffle the man's feathers, as long as he was careful to work closely with him, they could be a team---two men after the same thing, looking for the same pleasures in life. Oh, Christ, this was too good to be true! He couldn't have asked for a better deal if he had arranged it himself! He said, "Don't worry, mister. I'm on your side in this, all the way. You just tell me what you want done, and I'll do it. The only thing I ask is that I can be there when you give it to Cindy Jamison---and that I get the opportunity to give her some myself!" Taylor laughed softly. "You'll get that chance, Samuels, as long as you follow orders." "What do you want me to do?" "Call Cindy Jamison on the phone late Friday afternoon. Her husband won't be home; I... have ways of seeing to that." "What should I tell her?" "Tell her that you want to see her again, that she's to meet you that night. Tell her that she'd better show up, or else you'll tell the postal authorities about those pictures you have, and that you'll tell her husband, too." "She'll come, all right," giggled Samuels. "Where should I tell her to go? My place?" "That's right. Nine o'clock." "And you'll be there then, too?" "I'll be there long before that," Ralph Taylor said, finishing the last of his steak and leaning back contentedly, sipping from the coffee he had ordered with his lunch. "With my Polaroid," he added meaningfully. "Okay!" the venereous government employee said eagerly. "Is there anything else you want me to do?" The automobile executive frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled again, slowly and anticipatorily. "You might have another girl there, too, on Friday night. One of the other Morriston housewives you've been blackmailing into your bed." The evil light in Steve Samuels's eyes grew yet brighter, and more spittle gathered around his thick mouth. Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, Friday night was going to be an evening beyond his wildest dreams! One of the mad, ribald orgies he had often thought of having! His cock was throbbing hard, close to orgasm, in his pants as he thought of the potentialities inherent with two men and two beautiful girls and one huge, hungry dog... "A pretty one, you want a real pretty one, don't you?" he husked to Ralph Taylor. "That's right. A young and pretty one, one with a little experience. One who'll keep her mouth shut." "I know just who I'll get!" Samuels wheezed. "Sally Reagan! I've had her before, a couple of times! Oh, Jesus, she's---" "Keep your goddamn voice down, for Christ's sake!" hissed the automobile executive, looking around him, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to the two of them. Samuels dropped his voice. "She's a good one, the best next to Cindy Jamison. You'll like her! She's got black hair and a nice set of tits, and when she gets turned on she can really fuck, the little bitch! She deserves to be a part of this, she really does! Sending filthy pictures through our mails---" "All right, all right, never mind any more of your goddamned self- righteous speeches." Ralph Taylor looked smug once again. "Have you got it all straight now, Samuels?" "I've got it!" the evil postal clerk assured him. "You don't have to worry none at all!" "I'd better not have to." Taylor stood, found a couple of bills in his pocket, and tossed them on the table. "I've got to be going now, Samuels. Friday night. And if you value your ass, don't foul it up." With that, he walked off through the crowded tables and disappeared down the stairs to the main floor of the steak house. Steve Samuels stared after him for a long moment, his eyes half- glazed with lust and excitement, then turned his head back again. Hot damn! Oh, Christ, he couldn't wait until Friday night! Cindy Jamison was really going to get hers---and so was Sally Reagan---both the little whores were really going to get theirs! He and the stranger and Ringo would see to that... Even though the food was now cold, Steve Samuels finished every last bit on his plate with a ravenous hunger, as if it were the flesh of the two young and beautiful housewives he was consuming with his wet and ugly mouth. Cindy Jamison performed her prosaic household chores like a mechanized robot on Friday, just as she had on each of the other two days since that drunken, hazy party on Tuesday night. Her mind seemed to be in a perpetual state of half-torpor, as if she were filled with some kind of deadening drug to ease the pain of the knowledge she carried within her. She finished the cleaning and sweeping and laundry shortly past four, and made herself a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Then she sat with it in the living room of their cottage, drinking but not really tasting the strong black liquid. It was going to be a long day, an even longer night; at least on the past two days she had had Howard home to talk to her, to comfort her, for he realized she was still in a highly agitated state. He had asked her repeatedly to tell him what was wrong, to confide in him, and she almost had on more than one occasion---but then her guilt and shame, her strong desire to protect him from the terrible consequences of her actions with the Polaroid photographs and from the knowledge of her infidelities, became too strong and she was unable to speak. But tonight, Howard would not be home at all. He had called her from work shortly past noon, to tell her that Ralph had invited him to go to Monterey for some kind of dealers' meeting later that day as Auto Circus's representative. The meeting would last well into the night, so he would be spending the evening in Monterey, to return to Morriston early the next day, Saturday. She hadn't wanted him to go, did not wish to be alone for a single night, but what could she tell him to stop him, short of confessing all that was troubling her? Nothing, nothing at all. And so he was going, probably had already left by this time. Cindy took another sip of her coffee and set the cup down. A small tremor passed through her rigid young body. Dear God, what a nightmare she had been living these past few weeks! Everything had been going so beautifully---and then the evil postal clerk, Steve Samuels, had come into her life and forced her to defile her marital bed and to perform countless perversions with his wizened, deformed body. He had left her after that single, orgiastic night and had not contacted her since... but she knew it was only a matter of time, just as she had known it all along, in spite of what Norma Taylor had told her. He would be back, demanding more from her, more disgusting and lewd acts which made her want to vomit just thinking about them. But that wasn't all; there had been the party... her agitated mental state... all the sangria she had drunk... the foggy moments with Ralph... going out to the Volkswagen Variant... drinking that bourbon... the kaleidoscopic, filmlike flashes after that, moments of lucidity to be followed by moments of complete blankness... Ralph spreading her legs, putting his penis inside her, she powerless to stop him, him heaving and bucking into her, cumming with his burning hot semen; another, shadowy figure replacing him that to this day she couldn't identify, another penis, more heaving and bucking, more torrents of hot sticky cum pouring into her tender, ravaged vagina... what she suspected had been her own crashing, spiraling orgasm, though her mind had since refused to admit such an actuality... A low, involuntary moan escaped the soft, pink lips of the mentally tortured young woman and she put her head in her hands. All the thoughts she had suppressed the past three days came rushing into her conscious mind, bringing with them the terrible humiliation and guilt of her actions. What had happened to her innocent, well-ordered little world? Why had things suddenly seemed to turn completely against her, slowly but inexorably destroying her? What had she done to deserve all of this? She didn't know, had no idea. She felt as if she was on a merry-go- round, forever spinning, which she could never get off of. She had never been so alone, so helpless, in her life---there was no one to whom she could turn, nowhere she could go... Norma? Norma, who had listened and advised her before? No, no, of course not... it had been Norma's husband, Ralph, whom she had allowed in her drunken stupor to claim her body. How could she tell that woman, whose husband she now hated with a full and overwhelming passion, what had happened? No, there was no one, no one at all. What am I going to do? she asked herself silently. I'm so afraid... afraid of that terrible postal clerk, afraid of Ralph Taylor, afraid of what has happened to my own body for I think I enjoy any sexual act--- no matter what kind, and even with another man---completely and totally now. I'm a different woman, a woman I don't understand anymore, and I'm so frightened... The sudden ringing of the telephone completely shattered her reverie and brought her off the couch in a convulsive jump, her heart hammering crazily in her chest. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she identified the abrupt sound, and willed her trembling body still as the bell sounded again. She walked stiffly to where the phone was located and, biting her lip, lifted the receiver. "H-Hello?" she said in a strangely quavering voice. "Hello, Mrs. Jamison," a familiar, terrifying wheeze answered her, and the young wife felt a bolt of sheer terror shoot through her body like an electrical charge. She almost dropped the phone, and her heart threatened to burst through her chest cavity. Her tongue was thick with fear, and she couldn't make words come. "Are you there, Mrs. Jamison?" Steve Samuels asked in his oily, insinuating tone. "Do you hear me?" "Y-y-yes," she finally managed in a strangled whisper. There was a soft, evil laugh from the other end of the wire. "You know who this is, don't you? Of course you do. Have you been thinking about me, Mrs. Jamison? Have you been thinking about what happened between us the other night? About how I put my hot thick cock far up into your asshole and fucked you and fucked you and---" "Stopppp iiitttttt!" Cindy Jamison screamed in a voice fraught with the pinnacle of sheer mortal terror. "Oh, shut up, please shut up, oh, God don't talk to me like that!" More high-pitched laughter, and then the venereous government employee said softly, "I want you again, Mrs. Jamison. I want you again--- tonight!" "Noooo!" wailed Cindy. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Jamison. Tonight, at my place, at nine o'clock." "No! Oh, dear God, no, I can't! I can't!" "You can, and you will," Samuels told her, his voice turning harsh and ugly, as ugly as he was. "You'd better be there, or you know what'll happen to you and that husband of yours. Nine o'clock, Mrs. Jamison. Or else!" And with those sharp, threatening words, Steve Samuels slammed the receiver down in her ear. Cindy flung her own handpiece down and fled into the living room, throwing herself prone on the couch to sob out her fear and torment and helplessness. She couldn't go through another ordeal like the one the depraved clerk had put her through ten days ago---and yet she had to. There was no alternative, short of defying him and thus relegating her and Howard to possible prison sentences. That, and--- Murder. The single word echoed and re-echoed in Cindy Jamison's mind, and she sat up abruptly with the force of it. But, just as quickly as it had come, it vanished. She was not a murderess, could never take the life of another human being---even if that human being was the animalistic Steve Samuels. The torment, the horror, would be magnified tenfold instead of banished by such an act. No, she could not kill Samuels, much as she would like to see him dead, and she could not defy him, either. She would go to him tonight, then, as he had instructed. Go to him in body, but not in spirit or soul. And somehow she would endure the degradation and lasciviousness which was sure to then ensue ---for Howard, for the man she loved... Ralph Taylor arrived at the weed-choked, slumlike house of the postal employee Steve Samuels at eight-thirty that night, carrying a huge case which contained his Polaroid camera, timer, and tripod. The venereous civil servant let him in with an expression of excited anticipation, and led him down the hallway into the living room. Samuels had made an effort to tidy it up somewhat, but the room still had an air of musky staleness, a look of cluttered squalor. He offered the automobile executive a drink, which Taylor promptly refused. Then Ralph said, "Did you make all the arrangements?" "All of them, yes," Samuels answered quickly. "That bitch Cindy Jamison will be here at nine. The other one, Sally Reagan, will be along a little later, around nine-thirty. Oh, Christ, she was really upset about coming here tonight, that one was. She cried and begged and pleaded with me not to make her, but I said---" "I don't give a shit what you said, you little weasel," said Ralph Taylor shortly, obvious distaste for the postal clerk on his normally jovial countenance. "Just as long as she's coming here tonight. And just as long as Cindy Jamison is coming; she's the one I'm really interested in;' "Don't worry, don't worry, they'll be here. Just like I promised they would be." Taylor nodded, set his case down, and-began to take the-photographic equipment out of it. He looked up at Samuels as he was doing so. "Have you got a screen or something I can set this stuff up behind?" he demanded. "Yeah, I think so," retorted the clerk. "But what for?" "Never mind what for, goddamn you! This is my show, and we'll run things my way or not at all! Understand?" "Sure, sure, don't get uptight." "Just do as you're told, Samuels, and everything will be fine." The wizened clerk nodded, licking his lips, and left the room to locate the screen Ralph Taylor had asked him for. The taxicab let Cindy Jamison off in front of the run-down home of Steve Samuels at exactly nine o'clock. She was weaving just slightly as she walked up the path to the front door, her hands tightly clenched around her handbag. She had commenced to drink straight vodka immediately after the call from the postal worker, trying to work herself into a stupor so that, as on the first occasion, she would be too drunk to be totally aware of the horror of her situation. She had succeeded in getting intoxicated only to a point, beyond which she couldn't seem to go, no matter how much she drank. Now, she felt light- headed and nauseous as she rang the bell, trying desperately to blank her mind against what was soon to happen to her. The door opened almost immediately, and the malformed features of the government employee peered leeringly out at her. She shuddered involuntarily with revulsion, averting her eyes from that terrible, sweating face. Her stomach churned sickeningly. "Well, well, right on time I see, Mrs. Jamison. Good, good," said the clerk in his husking voice. He reached out his talon-like fingers to take her arm, and Cindy imagined that it was the touch of something incredibly alien on her coat-covered flesh; but she didn't have the strength or the inclination to resist his hand. She allowed him to lead her down the hallway and into the living room. The room itself was little more than a blur in the mind of the tortured young wife. She was aware of a musty smell, of a jumble of old and ragged furnishings, of a large screen which had been set up on one side of the room---but details escaped her brain completely. It might have been some medieval torture chamber, complete with iron maiden and thumbscrews and the rack, for all she knew. Samuels said, "Sit down on the couch, Mrs. Jamison. Here, let me take your coat. Make yourself comfortable." He snickered evilly. "It's going to be a long wonderful night." Cindy shuddered again at the implications of this depraved postal clerk's words. She hurriedly shed her coat and moved robot-like to the sagging sofa and sat down stiffly, her eyes staring glassily ahead. I have to do this, she thought numbly. I have to do it for Howard, for our future, for Howard, for our future... Samuels hung her coat up in a hallway closet and came back to the living room, sitting down next to but not touching the soul-sick young wife. "Have a cigarette, won't you, Mrs. Jamison?" he invited unctuously. He reached out to the coffee table in front of the couch, to where a wooden cigarette box lay, lifted it and opened it, presenting the contents to the eyes of Cindy Jamison. She knew instantly this time what the brown, crudely made cigarettes were, but instead of being further repulsed, she was almost grateful that he wanted her to have more pot, more marijuana, just as she had had the last time. Commingled with the liquor, the pot would once again put her in that half-netherworld of semirationality and the pain, the degradation, would not be as acute as it could be. Almost eagerly, she reached out and plucked one of the rough brown sticks from the box and placed it between her soft, warm, moist lips. The wizened government employee lit it for her immediately, telling her as he had before to hold the smoke in her lungs as long as she could before releasing it. She obeyed, drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly... drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly... The first roach butt was no more than ash in her fingers, and then Samuels was handing her another, lighting it, and she was repeating the process yet again... drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly... and her head began to swim and she could feel herself weaving slightly on the couch, though she was powerless to cease the movement of her body. The agony was lessening in her mind, she could feel it; it was being replaced now by that same gloating, suspended feeling of the previous encounter. She was ready to take whatever he would mete out, now, as ready as she would ever be... She opened her mouth, forcing thick words Jut with careful enunciation, "Do you want me to take my clothes off now? I'm ready to take my clothes off, if you want me to." "Ah, that's the attitude, Mrs. Jamison!" snickered Samuels. "That's the way to talk, you little bitch. But not yet, not just yet..." "Why...?" "Because we're expecting another visitor shortly." The drugged young wife tried to grasp the significance of that statement, but it seemed to elude her. She frowned, trying to speak again, to ask him what he meant---and in that instant, the doorbell rang. "There we are, she's here," Samuels enthused, jumping up. "And right on time. Don't go away, Mrs. Jamison. I'll be right back." Cindy sat dazed for what seemed like interminable minutes, then Samuels reappeared leading a tall, black-haired young woman whose face was streaked wet with tears. The young woman's eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open in shock as she saw Cindy sitting on the couch. "What...?" she began. "Sally Reagan, meet Cindy Jamison," cackled the government employee, pushing the dark-haired girl forward. Cindy managed to struggle up off the couch, to stand just a few feet from the new arrival; the eyes of the two women locked on one another. And in that moment, complete---if momentary---lucidity returned to the mind of young Cindy Jamison. She knew, just as Sally Reagan knew, that they were both the same, trapped in the terrible web of Steve Samuels's depravity. Cindy's whirling brain instinctively became aware that the dark-haired girl had committed much the same type of transgression as she had, perhaps sending private photographs through the mail which Samuels had intercepted. And her brain became aware, too, that this evening would be worse, much worse, than the other---that what the venereous clerk had planned for tonight was the apex of perversion: an orgy, an impossible flesh circus of which she and Sally Reagan were to be the main performers. She began to tremble with renewed fear and trepidation, seeing that the dark-haired girl had realized the same inevitability as she just had and had begun to tremble as well. And still the two young wives stared at each other, as if each was seeking solace in the eyes of the other, tied together more closely than the best of friends by their mutual subjugation. A mute empathy, a tight bond, was sewn between Cindy Jamison and Sally Reagan and that bond somehow made things a little less terrifying than they might have been. Now, perhaps, both enslaved housewives would be able to keep their sanity during this longest of all nights... The next few minutes were a kaleidoscope of fragmented time for the young mate of Howard Jamison. She was told to sit down on the couch, told to have another marijuana cigarette, and she obeyed. Sally Reagan, rid of her coat, sat beside her on the dirty material of the sofa and took pot herself---one joint, two, three. The room was filled with the sweetish, almost cloying odor of the weed. "Are we ready now?" Samuels called out finally, as if asking permission of someone else to begin, looking in the direction of the screen. Then, nodding, as if he had received his answer though neither Cindy nor Sally heard a spoken word, the evil civil servant moved to the couch, staring down at the two beautiful women who sat with glazed, perspiring faces before him. Oh, Jesus he thought, this is really going to be something! That big bastard really knows what he's doing, all right. I couldn't have mapped out the progression of events for tonight any better myself! Goddamn, my balls are aching with my cum and the big guy is waiting behind the screen and Ringo is waiting in the kitchen... this is going to be the finest night I've ever spent, I know it! You bitches, you're REALLY GOING TO GET YOURS TONIGHT! "Both of you!" he commanded in a panting, wheezing voice. "Take off your clothes! Strip down to your bra and panties. Hurry up, you fucking little sluts!" Like twin marionettes, the drugged and subjugated young women stood in unison and stripped off their outer garments, leaving their underclothes on as Samuels had instructed. They stood there, side by side, staring straight ahead as the small man viewed their vibrant flesh with hungry, almost inhuman eyes. "Now then, Mrs. Reagan," he snapped. "Roll your panties down, slowly, nice and slowly. Let's see that fine, sweet young cunt of yours. You, Mrs. Jamison. Watch her, look at her cunt. Goddamn you, do what I tell you!" Through hazed eyes, young Cindy Jamison watched the automatonical movements of Sally Reagan as the other woman obeyed Samuels's orders, slowly rolling her panties down, down, until the curling dark triangle of her pubic hair came into view. Still lower she rolled the thin garment, down almost to her knees, and then the postal clerk commanded her to stop. "Open your thighs!" gasped Samuels. "Open 'em wide enough to get your hand between them! That's it! Now play with your cunt, Mrs. Reagan! Put your finger on your clit, put it inside you! Get it all nice and hot while we watch, Mrs. Reagan!" In horrified fascination, Cindy watched the black-haired girl move her thighs open, exposing the softly hair-fringed lips of her pussy with its dainty clitoris nestled in the smooth pink folds. Cindy swallowed hard as Sally lowered her hand there, middle finger extended, her face sheened with sweat and torture-racked, and began to slowly masturbate. Her legs bent slightly to allow her massaging fingers more room to slide between her opened thighs, and then she rubbed faster and faster her cuntal valley. "Mrs. Jamison!" grunted Samuels. "Pull Mrs. Reagan's panties all the way down. No, don't stop playing with yourself, Mrs. Reagan! Do what I told you, goddamn you, you bitch Jamison!" Mesmerically, her brain a spinning carrousel, Cindy squatted before the sweating body of the other girl and drew her panties all the way down over slender, perfectly formed legs, letting the garment puddle at Sally Reagan's feet. Then she straightened again, tension rising in her stomach, her eyes glued to the sawing fingers of the blackhaired girl. "Put one leg up on the couch, Mrs. Reagan! Let's see all of that cunt of yours! Let's see you shove your finger all the way up your sweet little pussy!" Sally propped one foot up as directed, and the full expanse of her softly glistening cuntal slit was exposed to Cindy's and Samuels's eyes. The black-haired wife's heaving fingers slithered wetly in and out of the wide-splayed vaginal opening, and she began to secrete heavily in spite of her hopeless subjugation. >From behind Cindy, in the direction of the screen, there came a sudden popping sound and a flash of light. But neither of the young housewives were aware of it, completely lost in the miasma of drug and enslavement. Cindy, watching the masturbating girl, felt an odd tingling begin in her own loins, as if she was becoming excited at the lewd and lascivious sight. But no, no, that couldn't be! And yet, in back of the whirling in her brain, she knew it was true, knew that the words of Norma Taylor had been accurate. She was a passionate woman, and sexuality had its effect on her---even such salaciousness as this. She couldn't fight it, even if she wanted to. She had to submit to the feelings, submit to Samuels, submit to everything or there was no hope... Deep wetness began to stain her panties as she watched Sally Reagan, heard low mewls of unwanted pleasure begin to purl through the black- haired girl's lips. Samuels saw that immediately, and his prick leaped exultantly in his trousers, jerking to its full erectness as he watched the carnal scene taking place right before him. "All right!" he snapped. "Now it's your turn, Mrs. Jamison. Roll your panties down, all the way off, and put your leg up on the sofa like Mrs. Reagan. Face her, and play with your cunt like she's playing with hers! Oh, Jesus, hurry up, hurry up, you bitch!" And Cindy obeyed, beyond all caring now, abandoning herself in her drugged and liquored state to the inevitability of her situation. She rolled her panties down, down and off, raised her leg up on the couch, lowered her hand to her moistened vaginal valley. And then her fingers began moving, began sliding through the wet, warm folds of her pussy, and the ripples of pleasure grew and she was powerless to stop them. Faster and faster her fingers flashed in the sweet softness of her cunt, watching with lidded eyes the black-haired girl doing the same thing directly in front of her. In unison the two young housewives ravaged their genitals, black and blond pubic triangles glistening with the nectar of their passion, faster and faster and faster... Behind the screen on the other side of the room, Ralph Taylor stood naked, his thick, blood-engorged penis quivering with excitement as he watched the two masturbating young women. The Polaroid camera, with which he had just taken one good shot of the Reagan girl, trembled expectantly in his hands. Goddamn, this was working out even better than he had expected! Cindy Jamison, playing with herself like that, before his feasting eyes---Christ, what an enticing sight! He couldn't wait to get his bulging prick inside that fine, tender cunt of his star salesman's wife again! But first, there were the photos... Taylor stepped out, holding the Polaroid up, focusing through the viewfinder on the lascivious sight before him. Both women had their eyes squeezed tightly shut... no problem about seeing him or the flash. Yet. He wanted to wait until just the right moment for his own appearance, and he thought he knew when that would be. He had planned it all out very carefully beforehand with Samuels... He held the Polaroid steady, found the angle and shot he wanted, and clicked the shutter. The flash went off, and he had the picture. He nodded to the venereous postal clerk, who grinned back at him lewdly, and then he stepped behind the screen again. He looked at his watch, began counting off sixty seconds. "All right, stop playing with yourselves now!" ordered Samuels, and the two young housewives ceased their wild masturbationings. They waited, dreading the command which was to come, whatever it may be, rigid as stone statues. The depraved government employee laughed high and shrill, and then he demanded, "Play with one another now, you bitches! Step forward and unhook one another's bra straps. Let's have a look at both your sets of tits! Then rub each other's body, play with your tits and your cunts!" Oooohhhhhh! wailed Cindy's mind at this impossible indignity, but she did as bid. There was no other choice, she knew that and Sally Reagan knew that; this was lesbianism, perversion, but it was not half as bad as touching and being touched by that evil Steve Samuels. At least she and Sally Reagan were drawn close together by mutual need, by mutual pain, and it would not be as terrible as what was surely to come later... Cindy's arms went around the black-haired girl, even as she felt Sally's arms go around her. Palsied fingers fumbled at bra straps, pulling them loose, drawing them over each other's smooth, soft shoulders, baring their twin sets of high, proud breasts, nipples hardened in spite of their subjugation. Then they were touching one another, Cindy sliding her slick palms up and down the fevered flesh of the other girl, feeling in turn the hot tingling movements of Sally's fingers on her own skin. Young Cindy Jamison felt her breath quicken as Sally rubbed and caressed her swollen breasts, passing over the nipples with tantalizing slowness, and her mind cried out futilely with the unwanted pleasure of the contact. She could feel Sally's hot breath on her face, knew that her own was thudding against the black-haired girl's. Sally Reagan was as excited as she! Oh, God, oh, God... Then their hands were sliding down the fevered flesh of one another's smooth, hot torso, over the flat planes of their stomachs, along their quivering flanks, down to the moist fleece between their slightly open legs. Cindy felt the other girl's finger seek out and find her clitoris, felt delicious excitement as it was tweaked again and again, and her extended middle finger located the other young wife's clit and returned the favor. They stood there like that, panting hard, playing with one another, their breasts touching now, the nipples pressed almost against one another as if trying to fuse the two young housewives together in their bondage... Neither of the girls saw or were aware of first one sharp burst of light, and then, sixty seconds later, another. Ralph Taylor had two more pictures for his collection... "That's enough, that's enough!" shouted Steve Samuels. His rubbery lips were drooling uncontrollably now as he watched the two mutually subjugated women playing with one another before him. He had stripped off his clothes in his excitement, and now stood before them completely naked, his small, thin body trembling with his desire, his long, thick, enraged prick standing like a rigid sentinel in his right hand. He stroked it lightly, eyes gleaming, causing the glans eye to emit beginning droplets of his semen. "Mrs. Jamison, get down on the couch. Lean back, and spread your legs wide! Do it now!" Mutely, Cindy obeyed, sitting and leaning back, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her pussy secreting a tiny excited flow now at the manipulations of the other girl. Sally Reagan stood above her, her own cunt wet from the blond wife's strokings, the black triangle slickly moist with her juices. "Get down between her legs, Mrs. Reagan!" husked the venereous postal clerk, still stroking his thick, hardened cock. "Get down there and grovel in Mrs. Jamison's cunt! Lick it! Lap up her cunt like you were a dog, Mrs. Reagan! Like you were Ringo!" "Nooo!" The strangled sound tore from Sally's marijuana-drugged body, a piteous protest against what was being asked of her. Samuels stepped forward and slapped her, hard, across the face. "You fucking bitch! Do what I tell you, or I'll fix your wagon! I'll fix it good, and you know I can do it! Now get down there and eat Mrs. Jamison's cunt!" A tortured sob burst from Sally's young body, but she lowered herself onto her knees between Cindy's wide-splayed thighs. Her hands came up, fingers fanning out on the blond wife's trembling inner thighs. Her head moved forward, and her hot breath blew like searing flame into the opened wet expanse of Cindy Jamison's cuntal passage. Cindy had been shocked into frozen immobility by the lewd instructions of Steve Samuels, unable to move or think in that moment as the knowledge of what he wanted the two girls to do raced like a sick cancer through her body. Then she felt the touch on her inner thighs of Sally Reagan, felt the hot breath blowing against her open vagina, and she wanted to leap up, wanted to run, run, get far away from this place of sin. But she was unable to move, unable to prevent what happened next, could only lie there with tears squeezing past her clamped eyelids to cascade down her pretty, ashen face. With a low mewl of total submission, Sally Reagan began to kiss Cindy's thighs, began to plant hot moist kisses on the smooth warm flesh. Then her tongue was snaking out, and Cindy heard a muffled sob just before she felt the electric contact of the black-haired girl's fiery wet probe against her trembling clitoris, felt it lick molten swaths from the quivering button down through the soft wetness of her fleece-lined cuntal lips to the widespread opening of her vaginal orifice. She cried out in disgust and... something else, passion, the same tremendous excitement she had known from the touch of her husband Howard's lips and tongue on her cunt. She raised her buttocks up off the couch involuntarily, closing her thighs around the tortured Sally Reagan's slavering head. The action only forced the black-haired housewife's tongue to slide deep and hotly into her gently throbbing cuntal passage, firing more intensely the flowing juices of her desire. Her hands came down, as if with a will of their own as with them she spread her own thighs wider apart once again, giving the other young woman more access to her cunt, and entangled her hands spasmodically in the rich, titian strands of hair. "Oh, oh, oh, oh, ohhhh!" chanted Cindy mindlessly, completely lost in the delirious feelings which the other woman's lips and tongue were unleashing through her belly and loins... His cock throbbing with maddening desire at the salacious sight he was witnessing through the chinks in the screen, Ralph Taylor stepped out once again with his Polaroid. He took a quick shot of the Reagan girl ravaging Cindy's widespread pussy, his breath coming faster and faster. He was aware that Samuels was edging closer to the two girls on the couch, his hand beating his turgid prick faster and faster as he stared with unabashed lust naked on his face at the black-haired girl performing cunnilingus on the other, blond-haired young wife. When the picture was ready, after sixty seconds, Taylor moved around so that he could get Samuels in the next shot and quickly snapped the shutter; that ought to be a really wild one, he thought ardently as he stepped back behind the screen once again... The venereous postal clerk beat his swollen penis with practiced fervor as he watched the two naked young girls before him. Oh, shit, I'm going to blow my wad any second now... but I can't, not yet... too much is still to happen, I can't lose a drop of my cum yet... have to save it all for these two bitches, all of it for them... Christ, look at young Mrs. Reagan licking Mrs. Jamison's cunt, she's really going after it now... both of them are liking it, the sluts, the whores... but now it's Mrs. Cindy Jamison's turn to get a taste of some pussy herself! "Stop!" he rapped out. "That's enough, Mrs. Reagan! That's enough! Now it's Mrs. Jamison's turn to lick your cunt!" Even in her aroused, drugged state, Cindy's mind recoiled in horror at Samuels's salacious words. No, she couldn't, she wouldn't! And yet, she had to, there was no other alternative... and she had known from the moment Sally Reagan had been instructed to perform this act of orality on her flesh, that she would be forced to reciprocate... known it and rejected it momentarily in spite of its inevitability. She felt Sally's lips and tongue and head leave her wide-splayed cunt, and her eyes fluttered open, looking directly into the tortured, secretion-sheened face of the other woman. Ripples of disgust, of terror coursed through her as she heard Samuels shouting for the black- haired girl to sit on the couch, to splay her legs wide and reveal all of her cuntal expanse to Cindy's attentions. Then Sally was obeying, sitting next to her, legs opening, and Cindy could see every inch of the dampened, softly fleece-lined pinkness of the other young wife's pussy. She wanted to gag, but she found herself responding to Samuels lewd words and commands, found herself dropping to the floor, into a kneeling position, and then moving over so that she was poised between Sally Reagan's thighs, her face only inches from the throbbing wet flesh of her passion. I can't do this, I can't, oh, God... Cindy thought in mortification, and then, as if in some perverse defiance to her thoughts, her head plunged forward and buried itself in the soft moistness of the black-haired wife's vaginal furrow. The odor of Sally's passion assailed Cindy's nostrils, and she swallowed hard and began to kiss the soft, wet flesh of her inner thighs, as Sally had done to her. Her brain was reeling, reeling, and desire once more leapt like hot fire in her own loins, as if her body was no longer under her own will. She heard Sally moaning deep in her throat, felt the black-haired girl's thighs clenching and unclenching about her head. Then her lips were pressed to the other young wife's vulva, her tongue was darting into the fiery flesh of Sally's cuntal orifice. She moved it swiftly, sucking and licking the engorged cavern, driven on to faster and madder lickings as Sally Reagan's hips began to gyrate with the lust-inciting activity of lips and tongue. Cindy's wet red probe found the other girl's clitoris, nuzzled it, ran tantalizing circles round and round the swollen button, moved downward again to slide deep into the passion-drenched passage as Sally grasped the blond young wife's hair in both hands, as Cindy had grasped hers... Oh, Christ, will you look at Cindy go! thought Ralph Taylor. l never thought I'd live to set a sight like this... Jesus, what would Howie think if he could see his pretty little blonde wife now? Got to get a shot of this, a good closeup... Norma will blow her mind when she sees it... Once more, he stepped out from behind the screen and moved quickly across the threadbare rug, shouldering the panting form of Steve Samuels out of the way. He focused his Polaroid, leaning in close, setting the lens and peering through the viewfinder. Son of a bitch, what a shot! He could see Cindy's tongue flicking all the way up the Reagan girl's cunt! He snapped the shutter, stepped back. But he didn't retreat behind the screen this time. He just stood there, his great cock jutting out like some huge cobra, its head engorged and waiting, its single eye oozing seminal fluid like anticipatory venom. Samuels, still beating his own immense and turgid cock, looked imploringly at the manager, his eyes saying, "For God's sake, I can't take much more of this! When are we going to stop all this playing around and give it to these two little bitches!" Ralph ignored the impatient postal clerk, counting off sixty seconds. Then he peeled the photograph off the negative, looked at it. Perfect! Clear and sharp, every detail discernible! He couldn't have asked for a better snap! He ran behind the screen, put the photo with the others, then brought the tripod out and set it up in the middle of the rug. The two young housewives were completely lost in the lewd act of cunnilingus on the couch, Sally Reagan having jackknifed her legs upward so that Cindy's wildly, crazily bobbing head would move over even more of her flowering, secreting pussy. And Cindy was licking and suckling the moist pink flesh like a madwoman, beyond all caring except for the musky taste of the other girl's genitals in her mouth and the rising floodtide of desire in her own loins and belly. Taylor set the Polaroid on the tripod, adjusted it, rigged the timer so that it was ready to use. Now's the time, he thought. Samuels is going to cum all over himself and the two women any second now if we don't get started, and I don't want that to happen... he's got to join in on this, him and the goddamn big dog of his, and I don't want to have to wait around for him to get another hardon... Jesus, my own balls are ready to burst... now's the time, all right... He moved forward hurriedly to stand over the two naked young wives on the couch. Then, in his booming voice, he commanded, "That's enough, Cindy! Stop it, Cindy, that's enough for right now!" Cindy Jamison froze with her face buried wetly in the throbbing flesh of the black-haired girl's pussy. That voice... it hadn't been Samuels's voice... and yet it was familiar, coming through her delirium of liquor and marijuana and passion, slicing into the very core of her brain... familiar voice, familiar; it was... Oh, God, oh, God! She jerked her head out from between Sally Reagan's wide-splayed thighs, twisted it upward, her eyes blinking open. A look of intense horror, mixed with dismay and disbelief, flashed across her passion- sheened features. She ran her tongue over her secretion-coated lips involuntarily as the shock of recognition all but cleared the swirling fog in her brain. "Oh, God, R-R-Ralph!" she cried in a strangled whisper. Ralph Taylor stood leering down at the hunched, naked, horror-stricken form of his star salesman's lovely young wife. His huge, thickly veined prick jutted towards her in its erection like an accusing finger. Behind him, still beating his own throbbing penis with one hand, his face a flushed, sweating red, stood the thinly built postal clerk, his leer almost as salacious as the Auto Circus manager's. Cindy finally realized the exact dimensions of her position, and scrambled away from the black-haired girl's opened thighs, leaning back against the far end of the couch and putting her fisted hand up to her mouth. She bit her knuckles until they bled, her filmed eyes bulging wide. Ralph laughed softly, easily, off-handedly, as if he were in his office at Auto Circus instead of in the midst of all this carnal abuse. "I guess you're surprised to see me here, aren't you, Cindy?" he asked her, his eyes gleaming. "Damn right you are. Well, I arranged this whole affair, as a matter of fact. I've been planning it ever since Norma told me about you and Samuels here, planning it so I could get you right where you are now and where you will be before long. What do you think of that, Cindy? How does the idea appeal to you?" "W-Why?" Cindy managed to moan around the clenched fist. "Oh, G-God, why...? "Why do you think, baby? To get that hot little body of yours just the way I want it. You've been swinging it in front of me and every other man around ever since Howie married you, teasing us, telling us in effect that we can look but we can't touch. Well, I took it as long as I could and then I knew I had to have you, and on my terms. These are my terms, Cindy, right here and now. The other two times---up at my cabin, and the other night in the car---were just appetizers, previews of the real thing. Now you're going to fulfill all the promises of that body of yours, everything I've dreamed about and wanted; I'm going to fuck you and I'm going to do it good and proper. This is going to be a night neither one of us is ever going to forget, Cindy baby..." The words droned on and on, but it was as if a switch had suddenly been pulled somewhere in the tortured young housewife's swirling brain, completely blotting out the rest of Ralph Taylor's words. The complete and utter shock of turning up from the moist, hot womanhood of Sally Reagan, her face sheened with the black-haired girl's excited cuntal secretions, and seeing the nude form of her husband's hated boss had pushed Cindy dangerously close to the fine line between sanity and insanity. Hearing his lewd words, his revelation that he had planned this entire evening, that he was mixed up with, was as bad, as evil as Steve Samuels, had almost sent her over the edge; if it had not been for the liquor and the marijuana and even the passion which still ebbed through her body, she would surely have gone insane in that moment as she crouched there by the couch, staring up at the two naked men with their huge erect penises. This was the final degradation for Cindy Jamison, the ultimate humiliation in a long string of recent inequities. Nothing which happened after this, nothing which she could learn---no other revelation could affect her in the slightest way... And yet, words spun and tugged at her brain cells, trying to form rational sentences, but she was unable to grasp them through the haze which filled her conscious mind. Something Ralph had said...? What was it... what... And then she knew. "The other two times---up at my cabin, and the other night in the car..." Up at Ralph Taylor's cabin! But nothing had happened between her and Ralph there, nothing at all, she had only been with Howie... "W-What did you mean?" she cried suddenly. "What did you mean?" Taylor stopped talking, his hands on his hips. "About what, baby?" "About... about your cabin. You... you said you and I, up at your cabin... what did you mean!" His laugh was low and ugly. "That's right, you don't know about that, do you? Well, let me tell you then, Cindy. You see, Howie and I planned that whole business... showing you the pictures, getting you excited... Norma talked to you on my orders, putting you in the right frame of mind for your first try at sucking cock... the room was dark after you and Howie had finished fucking that first time and so we just traded places... remember when he got up and went to the bathroom, and then came back? That wasn't him, Cindy, that was me... he went down and Norma sucked him off... it was my cock you sucked that night, baby... my cock was the first one to slide in and out of that sweet, soft little mouth of yours, my cum the first to pour down that graceful virgin throat of yours, mine, Cindy, Ralph Taylor's cock and Ralph Taylor's cum, not Howie's, not your husband's..." Each of his words were like lashing cuts of a whip to Cindy Jamison. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She flung her hands up to her ears, pressing them hard there and rocking back and forth, back and forth. Miraculously, she did not take that final, fatal plunge across the line into madness, though she came within a hair's breadth of it. Tears welled out of her eyes, rolled down over her ashen cheeks, down over her high, quivering, ruby-capped breasts as she rocked there on the floor under the salacious gazes of the two unfeeling, uncaring men who stood over her. There had been one more revelation, after all, and it had been the big one. Howie, her beloved Howie, the man she trusted and believed in above all others, had betrayed her, had plotted with Ralph Taylor to swap her for Norma. He had been unfaithful to her, having sex with Ralph's wife and at the same time abandoning her to the manager. He had taken her great gift, her acquiescence to oral love which she had made for him and only him, and flung it back in her face; he had allowed her unknown in her alcoholic state to lavish her attentions on the lust- incited penis of Ralph Taylor instead of on his own. And what of Norma, the woman who had professed to be a friend and confidante? She, too, had been in on the plot from the beginning. She hadn't told Ralph about Samuels merely as a way of seeking further solace for Cindy; no, she had done it so that Ralph could somehow locate the evil postal clerk and join forces with him for more and greater depravity. Her words to Cindy about the young blonde wife's sexual enjoyment of the perversions at the hands of Steve Samuels, her words about forgetting what had happened and not telling Howie or anyone else, had not been in Cindy's best interests at all---but in Ralph's and hers. Dear God above, her whole world had collapsed completely and irrevocably about her! The people she loved and trusted had sold her out... there was no one left to whom she could turn, no one who cared, no one who was unselfish. She was alone, completely alone, her helpless body a pawn, a toy, a thing to be used at will... And suddenly, then, the tears stopped and the horror and fear and shock left her face to be replaced by a wooden expression showing nothing. Cindy Jamison stopped thinking altogether, and the liquor and the marijuana once more claimed full possession of her mind; it was as if her brain, realizing the danger it was in, the danger of snapping like a small twig under the tremendous pressure of all that Cindy had discovered and been subjected to on this day, had simply shut itself off so as to prevent the blowing of the circuits---the way computers are programmed to do. She was a lump of clay now, to be handled and molded at will. And yet, the stirrings of passion still flowed through her loins... "Listen, how much longer are we going to fuck around here?" Samuels's husking voice suddenly filled the room. "Young Mrs. Jamison looks like she's gonna pass out or something. Let's get on with it, for Christ's sake." Ralph Taylor looked at the suddenly blank-eyed wife of Howard Jamison, then shifted his gaze to where Sally Reagan was still sprawled on the sofa, legs splayed, eyes squeezed tightly shut, fingernails digging blood from her thighs as she waited in her own private hell. "All right," he said finally. "Get that damned dog of yours in here. The camera's all ready to go." Quickly, eagerly, Steve Samuels whistled high and shrill. A moment later, the huge furry form of the postal clerk's great dog, Ringo, bounded into the room, tail wagging. The animal went directly to the couch, sniffing the wide-splayed womanhood of Sally Reagan familiarly. The young black-haired wife gasped, seeming to snap out of her semi- catatonic state, and she turned her hands, palms outward, to the dog, as if to ward off some vicious attack. "No!" she moaned. "Oh, God, no, no, not again! I can't stand that dog again, please, ohhh please...!" "Shut up, Mrs. Reagan," commanded Samuels. "You'll do what we tell you, or else. Now get down on the rug on your knees like the little bitch you are. Get down on all fours. Hurry it up!" The black-haired girl obeyed, body trembling. Ralph Taylor instructed, "The same goes for you, Cindy. On all fours, facing Sally. Leave a little room between you." Mesmerically, the hopeless blonde wife obeyed her husband's lascivious boss. She knelt facing Sally Reagan, both women beyond any help, beyond caring, not looking at one another now. Watching them, Ralph began to tremble with growing excitement. It coursed through his thick body, making his erect penis throb palpitatingly with anticipation. He looked sideways at Samuels. "Take some pictures while I start things off. You know how to work a Polaroid, don't you?" "Sure, but why can't I get down there, too?" whined Samuels. "The camera has a timer..." "Never mind the timer yet. Just take some pictures, a half dozen of them. And they'd better be good." With that, he stepped forward and went to his knees before the crouched figure of Cindy Jamison. He held his hardened cock in his right hand, lifting it up close to her face, moving his knees forward so that the tip of the immense cudgel almost touched the moist red lips of the subjugated young wife. "Open your eyes, Cindy," he commanded. "Look at my cock, look at it, look at what you're going to take in your mouth for the second time!" Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw through her fogged retinas the great girth of Ralph Taylor's weapon, saw every ridge and pore of it as he moved it back and forth in front of her head like a swaying cobra's hood. Her tongue came out involuntarily to moisten her lips as she stared at the unseeing eye dripping fluid in the huge hardened head. "Put your hand on my cock now, Cindy," he told her in a panting voice, his legs widespread before her face, and she obeyed mechanically, wrapping her hand around his masculinity. A shiver passed through her at the touch, unwanted but there nonetheless, and Cindy began to work her hand roughly up and down, watching the foreskin pucker over the engorged head, then wrap itself over the shaft. With increasing rhythm, she stroked Ralph Taylor's cock, staring at it, warmth beginning to seep through her loins again. The automobile executive could take no more of the excruciating pleasure of her moving fingers. "Put it in your mouth now, baby! Put my cock in your mouth. Suck me, Cindy, oh, Jesus, suck my cock!" With a groan of sheer animal lust, Taylor moved forward, flexing his hips, pressing his hard rubbery masculinity against her soft, moist lips, feeling the heavy bloated head resting against them. Cindy tasted the familiar bittersweet flavor, and her mouth parted automatically to accept the offering of lust, guiding it inside her warm wet cavern with her still-stroking hand. She began to suck him then, suck him as she had that first night at the mountain cabin, when she had thought he was her husband, Howard. It didn't matter now---her subjugation, her enslavement---nothing mattered now, nothing at all. Slowly, agonizingly, she ran her tongue wetly around and around the smooth slippery head, easing the tip of her hot probe into the open slit of the glans. Her head pumped abandonedly to and fro, slavishly licking every inch of the thick shaft, sucking harder and harder, her tongue twirling faster and faster, and Taylor's buttocks began to flex forward, adding his own movement to her bobbing head so that mouth and cock were fucking together, working together, like a well-tuned machine. Cindy could feel the seminally flowing shaft batter back against her larynx, but she was unable to halt the intense ramming pressure there, her lips ovaling maddeningly as she attempted to suck the hot white load of sperm from her husband's boss's testicles like an electric milking machine... Focusing through the Polaroid, Steve Samuels snapped off another picture. Goddamn look at the way she's blowing him! he thought wild with passion and wanting desperately to join in this debauching of the young wives himself. She's giving it everything she's got! Oh, Christ, what a night this is going to be! But Mrs. Reagan, the bitch, isn't doing anything, just kneeling there like a sleeping pup... well, I know something she can do, something that'll make a great shot... "Mrs. Reagan!" he called out, and her head jerked up, swiveling toward him. Her face was only inches from Ralph Taylor's heaving buttocks as he drove his cock deep and hard into the soft fleshy folds of Cindy Jamison's mouth. "Mrs. Reagan, lean forward and kiss his ass! You heard me, do it! Kiss his ass, Mrs. Reagan! Lick his asshole with your tongue!" There was no protest, for Sally Reagan was as empty of feeling now as was Cindy Jamison; even this further inequity, this further depravity, failed to faze her. She craned her head forward, her moist lips parted, and began to plant hot fevered kisses on the jerking, hirsute flesh of Ralph Taylor's buttocks. Then her tongue was extending, moving over the fleshy surface, into the pronounced crevice between the heavy globes, down lower, lower, until it found what it sought: the tiny puckered ring of his anal opening. Round and round she licked the nether entrance, flicking over the rubbery flesh, darting inside wetly, licking up and down, up and down, with moist hot fervor... Ralph felt the impossibly exciting contact of tongue and lips at his rectum, and sensations of acute desire caused him to heave and buck harder and harder into the ovaling lips, the now perspiring face, of his star salesman's wife. Her hot, wet tongue seemed wrapped around the thick underside of his cock, from the coronal ridges, sticky and protruding from its foreskin almost to the wire-haired base. It was like fucking into the softest velvet, like having your prick immersed in warm, soft, flowing honey... Click! Click! Click! Steve Samuels took pictures feverishly, taking the Polaroid from the tripod now so that he could get better angles. Sweat poured off him like rainwater. Half-a-dozen, the big bastard named Ralph had said. All right, and maybe a couple more, too! Ones with him, using the timer... ones with Ringo... Ringo! He had all but forgotten his huge German Shepherd in the excitement of the lust-provoking sight of Mrs. Jamison wildly sucking Ralph's prick while Mrs. Reagan slavered between his dancing, heaving buttocks. Ringo had to have his turn, Ringo had to join in... Ringo had to sample little Mrs. Cindy Jamison! Yes, that was it! The dog had never had her before, had never shoved its hot animal cock far up into that young bitch's twitching pussy... but now Ringo was going to have that opportunity! Still clutching the Polaroid, Samuels rushed forward to where the well- trained German Shepherd sat on its haunches by the couch, long red tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth, watching the carnal activities with eyes that, on a human, would have been feverishly excited. The venereous government employee grasped the dog's collar, pulled it around to where the smooth rounded cheeks of Mrs. Cindy Jamison's buttocks beat rhythmically at the air as she sucked voraciously, mindlessly, the cock of her hung husband's boss. "Get her, Ringo! Get her, boy!" he excitedly spat the lewd command. "Lick her cunt! Fuck her, fuck, fuck, fuck! Go, Ringo, fuck her with your big dog cock!" Panting, the great animal moved forward, between the blond-haired young wife's widespread legs. It lowered its head to the helpless Cindy's soft, hair-covered crotch and began to sniff it. Its tail wagged and trembled as though it had found a bitch in heat. Cindy moaned in sudden terror and understanding as the cold nose made contact with her tiny, puckered anus, as the long tongue snaked out and licked wetly up and down the crevice around it, the tip burrowing slightly into the outer fleshy anal ring. Her eyes jerked open again, and she tried to pull Ralph Taylor's penis from her mouth, tried to twist around so that she could confirm her fears, but the manager's hands were wrapped in her soft blond hair, holding her rigid where she was. She tried to squirm her buttocks away from the hot breath, the hot animal contact, but it was useless; a greedy lapping moved up and down the narrow pink slit between her thighs, tongue running wetly the full length of it, from the tight- closed little pucker, up over the fluted, pink edges of her cunt and over the tiny sensation bud buried in her pubic mound, spreading through the soft, hair-covered lips like a knife through soft butter. Noo! her mind cried with brief rationality. No it's that dog, I can feel its cold nose, its huge head, its hot tongue... oh, God, oh, God, no, no, not that, not that animal inside me, noooo! But it was true, it was going to happen, and there was nothing she could do to prevent this bestiality from being vented upon her flesh. This was the final physical indignation, heaped upon the final mental indignation; she was about to be stripped of everything sacred and sacrosanct, everything innocent and clean, in this single night of overwhelming debauchery. Ringo's tongue flicked relentlessly between the young wife's widespread legs, stopping sporadically to curl its way deep into her. She jerked spasmodically as she squirmed under the German Shepherd lapping and sniffing at her loins, her mouth working defensively, feverishly, around Ralph Taylor's bloated prick, giving him a sucking like he had never had before even by his so very-experienced wife, Norma. He heaved and thrust his thundering member into the sweet, soft face of Cindy Jamison, his eyes glassily watching the huge beast rummage its head between the sweet wife's legs. Look at that bastard go! He's going to give her a ride she'll never forget as long as she lives! Oh, Christ, I hope Samuels gets some shots of this... Norma will never believe it otherwise! He moaned and thrust still harder forward, fucking deep into the face of the subjugated young housewife, as the black-haired Sally Reagan flicked her tongue into the warm rubbery sphincter muscles of his clenching asshole, breathing hotly against his quivering buttocks. The venereous postal clerk clicked off another Polaroid photo, getting the wide-angle shot of the two women and Ralph and Ringo moving abandonedly on the threadbare carpet. One more, he thought, one more of Ringo fucking Mrs. Jamison with his long hard cock and then I'll set the timer and join in... I can't take much more of this watching... my balls are damned near set to erupt! "Ringo, up!" he shouted. "Up, Ringo! Fuck her, boy, fuck that sweet little cunt of hers!" The dog lifted its head from the defenseless young wife's wide- splayed crotch, then, and obediently mounted the widespread mounds of Cindy Jamison's buttocks, paws on her back. Its glistening, scarlet penis slipped from its huge sheath, dripping; the tapered point slipped and danced in the hot, wet crevice as the animal trembled and jerked, trying to bury the tapered point and thick shaft in her body. Sobbing now, her belly afire with washes of passion from the lappings of the great beast, and in spite of her tortured thoughts, Cindy Jamison whipped her buttocks back against the sawing motions of the German Shepherd, trying to escape the desperate lunges of the animal. But instead, she succeeded only in finally capturing the lengthening shaft, in sheathing the long, scarlet organ in her voraciously grasping cuntal slit. It missed the first time, sliding up to find her momentarily relaxed anus, and then found its target with a tremendous forward jerk, burying the huge cudgel deep up in the squirming young wife's pink, clasping hole. The beast slithered forward with a wet rush until its cock was sunk to the hilt, its hairy balls swinging below her wet pubic hair. "Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" wailed Cindy in pain around Taylor's spasmodically quivering cock pressed far down her soft, warm throat. Defensively, the pain of the huge member invading her pussy almost too much to bear, Cindy began to move rhythmically backwards to meet the thrust of the panting dog. As the forelegs trapped her waist, Cindy began to undulate her body in total abandonment, unable to elude the brutal thrusting pressure of the bucking Ringo and thus retaliating in the only way possible. Her large, taut breasts danced tightly beneath her writhing torso, moving in time to the skewering cock of the dog as it slid deep into her from behind, a relentless hot poker of glistening flesh burying itself deeper and deeper in her belly---and her mouth sucked and nibbled and enveloped the heavy, bloated penis of Ralph Taylor as he thrust long and hard into her sweating face. The trembling postal clerk, Steve Samuels, snapped off his one final shot with the Polaroid, a lewd full-color shot of the panting, undulating orgy which was being performed right before his lusting eyes. He tore out the negative, waiting, counting, his cock an aching mass of throbbing flesh as he longed to join the wildly performing group on the rug, longed to shove his immense cudgel deep, deep into the quivering, upturned, clasping asshole of young Sally Reagan as she licked and kissed the writhing buttocks of Ralph Taylor. Finally, the picture was ready and he tore it off the negative. Perfect! His spasming fingers fitted the Polaroid onto the tripod, set the timer, clicked it on. Now! Now it was his turn to get some of the delicious fucking and sucking that was going on right in his own living room! He rushed forward, his cock held in his right hand like a battering spear about to be thrust all the way through the body of an advancing enemy. He dropped to his knees behind the swirling, naked form of Sally Reagan, teasing the hard rubbery head of his prick along the warm, grasping anal opening. Then he inserted the head quickly inside, hearing her gasp at the sudden painful invasion. He held himself there for a moment, then hissed to the young black-haired girl, "Reach one of your hands around and play with Ralph's balls while you're licking his asshole. Hurry up, the timer's going off any second now!" Sally obeyed immediately, her right hand sliding up and around to cup the swinging, bloated sac of the automobile executive's testicles, squeezing them gently and causing him to moan in total lustful abandonment as he pile-drove his great cock into the butter-soft mouth of his star salesman's wife. And then there was a sharp click from the Polaroid on its tripod, and the flash went off, capturing the four mouth-and-genital- linked people and the wildly, pantingly bucking German Shepherd. "Great shot, great shot!" moaned Samuels, aching to heave forward to bury his long hard cock deep up into the bowels of the squirming, mewling Sally Reagan. But he had to get that picture, had to, it was the best one of them all and he would want a copy of that one, Jesus yes! He withdrew the head of his cock, went to the camera, pulled the negative out, counting. When the picture was ready, he took one look at it, gloated elatedly, and then rushed back to his former position behind the still pumping buttocks of the young black-haired girl. He fitted his great cock into her rectal opening again, poising the head there, and then he heaved forward with a sharp exultant cry to completely impale her tightly resisting anal passage on his hard jabbing prick. "Uuuuuhhhhhhhh!" she cried out in pain, her hand convulsively squeezing Taylor's bloated testicles, her tongue convulsively sliding deep into his anus. The electric contact caused Ralph to hammer even harder and deeper into Cindy Jamison's convoluting lips, his hands threatening to pull strands of her soft blond hair out by the roots in his paroxysms of passion. Even the great dog, Ringo, seemed to be driven on to new heights by the addition of his master, the evil Steve Samuels, to the orgiastic group, and was fucking long and hard with its slippery, hot cock into the moist flanges of young Cindy's clasping cunt. All thoughts of photographs were gone from the minds of the two men now as they sought to relieve themselves of their great build-up of sperm. Their excitement had reached the pinnacle now, from what they had seen and arranged and slowly become a part of, and now their only considerations were the spewing of their fiery seed deep into the respective bodies of these two nakedly voluptuous young housewives. Cindy Jamison's forehead was covered with thick beads of perspiration as she buffeted back and forth between the two invading penises imbedded in her either end, in her mouth and her anus. There was no escape from either one, for when she heaved forward to alleviate the pressure of the hammering dog's cock sunk far up into her belly, she only succeeded in thrusting Ralph Taylor's huge pulsating penis further down her throat---and when she drew back from the masculine cock filling her mouth, to keep from choking, she only skewered herself harder back on the pistoning rod of the huge furry dog. She had no control of her mind now, no control of her body. And in her belly, hot rivers of excitement were flowing, spiraling through her flesh, causing her to tingle all over as if every one of her nerve ends had suddenly been exposed. l like it, oh, God help me, I like this, I'm excited by it, I'm excited and I want to cum... These were her only thoughts, frightening thoughts, as the fires leapt higher and higher in her body, as the hammering pricks of dog and man in two of her bodily orifices sent her soaring toward an unwanted and yet desperately sought- after orgasm. Her suckling lips tried to shout words, unintelligible words of encouragement to bring about the simultaneous ejaculations of all three of them, and of Sally Reagan and Steve Samuels whom she could see behind Ralph Taylor's rhythmically swaying torso. She wanted to be filled with sperm, animal sperm and human sperm, and in her drugged and hopeless madness that was all that mattered. She was little more than a quivering mass of sweating, lust- deranged female flesh that begged for subjugation so that the subjugation would come to an end, grinding her buttocks back in lewd revelry against the panting beast whose cock was sunk so deep in her warm, clasping channel, trying with her very soul to draw the hot torrents of cum out of Ralph Taylor's long hard cock filling her madly sucking mouth. Steve Samuels could see the incredible gyrations which had now enveloped Cindy Jamison's body, and he thought: Son of a bitch, she actually is enjoying it! She likes Ringo fucking her cunt while Ralph fucks her mouth! She's going to cum, oh, Jesus, I can tell it, she's going to cum...! The salacious realization drove the venereous civil servant to greater hammerings of his great cock deep into the tight, clasping channel of Sally Reagan's rectal passage. She rolled and flung her buttocks back against his forward-driving shaft, feeling it deep up in her belly, and her tongue sunk itself full into the tight rubberiness of Ralph Taylor's anus as Samuels's prick was sunk full into hers. Taylor cried out at the delicious torment of his rectum, at the tickling manipulations of the black-haired girl's fingers on his testicles, and his heaving loins threatened to strangle Cindy Jamison with the expanded girth of palpitating cock sliding almost down to her larynx. And the great German Shepherd Ringo, at the other end of the chain, lolled its long wet hotly panting tongue onto the smooth skin of Cindy's back as it strove to pump its fiery animal seed deep into the blonde young wife's waiting, clasping womb. And the tableau held like that for the next two minutes, the two men and the two women and the grunting, monstrous dog. The room was filled with panting and wheezing sounds, with the moans of the women as their bodily orifices were hammered asunder by the three rampaging cocks, with the harsh, wet slapping sounds of flesh thudding against flesh. Sweat glistened in the overhead lights off the naked, undulating bodies, and the smell of sex was strong and musky in the air. Steve Samuels was the first of them to reach orgasm. He fucked deep and long and hard into the warmly resilient, tightly clenched anus of Sally Reagan, feeling the rubbery expanse wrapped around every inch of his hardened flesh---and then his fingers dug painfully into her hips, the nails drawing blood there, as he was no longer able to control himself, as he felt his balls erupt their great load. "I'm cumming, ohhhhhhh, aaaaahhhhhhhhhh!" he screamed in a high-pitched wail, and then his prick began to jerk out of control and the first hot boiling squirts of semen began to pour out of it to fill the black-haired girl's rectal channel as his ejaculating balls slammed resoundingly off the wet cuntal valley below. The sudden bursting of his fiery cum into her bowels caused Sally Reagan to flash her tongue sensuously in and out, in and out, of Ralph Taylor's ever working rectal mouth as if it, too, were about to cum, as if she were actually fucking him there with the long wet probe. Taylor couldn't hold back after that. He emitted a loud, grunting sigh of release, jamming his hips forward with the full power of his thick body, burying his cock deep into the subjugated and lovely young wife's soft, warm mouth. Her throat tightened and untightened as gusher after gusher of his burning fluid swirled from his wildly jerking rod, swallowing desperately to keep from strangling on the frothing sperm, her cheeks bloating and hollowing as the cavern of her mouth filled and emptied, filled and emptied. "Keep sucking, keep succcckkkiinngggg!" he screamed. "MILK my balls, oooohhhhhhhhhhh!" Her Adam's apple continued to bob in rapid sequence as she fought to suck him empty, swirling her tongue round and round the throbbing glans to wipe him dry, only to be inundated by new flashes of the white hot liquid. Cindy twisted her head madly from side to side, her long blond hair churning, and her own orgasm was near to happening then as she milked the sperm from her husband's boss's cock, at the same time screwing her buttocks greedily back against the heaving German Shepherd like a she- demon gone insane. The giant animal's tongue hanging onto her sweat-slick back dripped saliva as Ringo fucked into the waving buttocks from behind. Then, without warning, the huge beast jerked forward and its cock began spitting its sperm in hard spurts deep into her clasping vagina. Cindy's rounded buttocks contracted uncontrollably, and a scream muffled out around Taylor's insanely jerking cock in her mouth. Still the German Shepherd flowed his fiery load deep into her soft, clasping cunt, and thick white liquid began to ooze from her tight channel squeezing the prick of the dog; thin trails of the sticky seed ran down the ivory columns of her thighs, and her backside glistened, displaying obscenely soaked pubic hair and pink flesh as she heaved forward against Ralph's loins, swallowing his bursting cum the same way her feminine organs were swallowing the giant dog's seed. And then, as if the mutual cummings of the German Shepherd and the automobile executive were the final trigger of her own coming orgasm, Cindy felt the beginnings of wild, rapturous, kaleidoscopic release take hold of her own body. She gurgled mindlessly and squealed around Ralph's spasming prick, still swallowing his seemingly never ending flow of sticky hot sperm, trying not to lose a single drop of the bittersweet seed. She reached a pinnacle of pleasure almost as great as any she had ever experienced with Howard, with the man she loved, as her cum flowed and flowed and ebbed through her trembling, oscillating body... Finally, the rapidly deflating cock of the dog, Ringo, slipped from her mauled cuntal passage with a wet sucking noise that echoed lewdly through the panting silence of the room. Then the great beast, tail wagging thankfully and satiatedly, dropped its head to her widespread crotch in one last act of obscene depravity and licked at the white sticky liquid oozing from her still quivering cunt. Cindy fell backward then, comatose on the floor, Ralph Taylor's already limp prick pulling wetly from her mouth. Taylor, too, collapsed in the aftermath of his tremendous ejaculation, muttering softly, "Oh, Jesus, that was the best ever, oh, Jesus!" And Sally Reagan and Steve Samuels, too, were now lying prone on the carpet as the heaving naked flesh of the four people gradually began to still and relax. But that was not to be the end of the evening, not by any stretch of the imagination. Later, Cindy Jamison could not remember much of what had happened---she did not want to remember, for what she did recollect was too terrible and she immediately blanked it from her mind defensively. More pictures were taken, with groups of three and four and five, with the dog Ringo as the focal point. More cocks were thrust into the palpitating flesh of Cindy and Sally, jerking, ejaculating cocks... and there was pleasure for the young blonde wife too, more pleasure, exciting orgasms that almost but not quite approximated that one with Ringo, the German Shepherd, cumming inside her cunt while Ralph Taylor spewed his fiery seed deep into her hungrily clasping throat. On and on it went, far into the night, almost until dawn, until all the participants in this lewd play were too exhausted to continue, until Ralph Taylor finally told Steve Samuels that they would have to call it a night, though he was sure that they would be seeing one another again... Cindy Jamison, sick at soul, with human and animal seed commingling in her body that had been pumped in through all three of her bodily orifices, satiated with hateful, unwanted sexual gratification, never knew how she got home. She did not feel Ralph Taylor dress her and carry her out to where his car was parked at the rear of the postal clerk's house, and then drive her to her cottage. Nor did she feel Ralph carry her into the house and put her to bed, and then kiss her matted pubic mound once, smilingly, before he left her. She only knew that when she awoke, with the first gray light of dawn filtering through the bedroom curtains, she was alone and in her own bed. Cindy was lying in the darkened bedroom, staring at the ceiling and trying to blank her mind against the recurring images of what had happened in the home of Steve Samuels, when the telephone rang at four o'clock the next afternoon. She lay there, stiffly listening to the incessant ringing sound, not wanting to answer it, not wanting to talk to anyone. But then, with the ingrained instinct of all humans to answer the doorbell or the telephone when it rings finally overcoming her apathy, she swung out of bed and listlessly shrugged into her robe. She moved slowly into the living room, her body aching from bruises in a half-dozen places, her vagina and anal passage still sore and rubbed raw from the merciless drubbing of the lust- hardened penises of Steve Samuels and Ralph Taylor and that impossible German Shepherd. The soul-sick young wife lifted the receiver, cutting the bell off in mid-ring, and said lifelessly, "Hello?" "Cindy? Honey, is that you?" Howard. I don't want to talk to him, she thought. l don't want to ever see or talk to him again, I hate him, I hate him for what he's done to me, what he's made me become. But instead of slamming the receiver down, she pressed it tightly to her ear, as if her physical being was acting in direct disobedience to the demands of her brain. She said, "Yes, Howie, it's me." "You sound funny," Howard's voice came over the wire. "Are you all right?" "I'm fine, just fine," she replied. "Where are you, Howie?" "Still in Monterey." His tone lost its momentary concern, and became edged with excitement and eagerness. "Honey, are you sitting down? I've got some news that's going to shock the pants right off of you." He laughed with boyish verve. I've got some news that will do the same for you, Howie, Cindy thought. But I'll never tell it to you. I hate you, and yet l still love you, too... I love you too much to tell you about your boss Ralph Taylor, and about Steve Samuels, and about that dog... She said only, "What is it, Howie? What news do you have?" "Well, hang onto the telephone," said Howard enthusiastically, his words jumbling together in his excitement. "I met a man here in Monterey, at this meeting I attended. His name is Charley Dawes, and he owns a large auto dealership up in San Francisco. Well, we got to talking and then got to be pretty good friends, and I outlined some ideas I've got for a promotional deal. He liked them, honey; he thought they were really great! He's offered me a job, Cindy, and not just any job either! He wants me to manage his main lot, in South San Francisco, for almost double what I'm making at Auto Circus! What do you think of that!" Cindy was momentarily taken aback. A new job? In San Francisco? But that meant... Howard was talking again, bubbling happily. "Of course, this means we'll have to move up there, leave all our friends down here. And we'll have to go immediately, too, because Charley wants me to start as soon as possible. I hate to have to give such short notice to Ralph and Buddy Lathrop---they've been damned decent to me---but if I want the job I don't have any choice. And it's just too good an opportunity to pass up. What do you think, honey? You don't mind moving up to San Francisco, do you?" Cindy wanted to laugh, to scream hysterically at him that my God, no, she didn't mind! It was an out, an escape from Ralph and Norma Taylor, from her mailing indiscretions with the Postal Department, from the evil, depraved Steve Samuels and his monstrous dog! She was going to have another chance, a chance to start over, to blot these terrible past few weeks from her mind... and yes, a chance to pick up the shattered pieces of her marriage to Howard. She still loved him---there was such a fine line between love and hate---loved him desperately, in spite of what he had done to her. She would never tell him what had happened, that she had learned he was unfaithful to her and that he had willfully given her flesh and her gift of oral love to his boss, Ralph Taylor. They would begin anew in San Francisco, loving only each other, away from the evil influence of the Taylors; all was not lost for her, after all! Cindy felt stirrings of life inside her body once again, where there had been only deadness since she had awakened that morning. She was not happy---no, it would take a long time before that emotion would be a part of her again---but she was alive and she had hope. She had hope... "I don't mind it at all, Howie. I think it's a wonderful idea, a marvelous idea. I want to move to San Francisco, I want to very much. I agree that it's a wonderful opportunity for us." "Fine isn't the word for it!" enthused Howard. "Imagine, baby, your old man a Lot Manager! And that's only the beginning. Why, in a couple of years I could get to be General Manager, and then, if things work out, I might have enough pull and prestige to be able to branch out and open up my own agency... "Howie," Cindy interrupted softly, "Howie, when will you be home? I want to see you, Howie. I want to talk to you face to face." "I'll be leaving here about seven; have to meet Charley for drinks at five to talk contracts and iron out the details. But I wanted to call you before I went, to see if it was all right." "Then you'll be home around nine?" "Should be, uh-huh." "Hurry, won't you?" "You bet I will," Howard said. "I love you." "Yes, Howie," said Cindy, and gently broke the connection. She walked with her head up now, back into the bedroom, and sat down on the edge of the bed. A new life... a return to some semblance of the kind of existence they had had before that awful anniversary gift of the Taylors, the Polaroid camera... a new life, and everything was going to be all right for her and Howard in San Francisco... And then Cindy Jamison's eyes moved inadvertently to the other side of the darkened bedroom, and fell upon the black-cased Polaroid camera which lay on Howard's dresser. She stared at it for a long moment, and as she did, a tingling sensation began in her loins and in her mind there flashed the images of photographs, full-color snapshots of her nude and making love to Howard, to Ralph Taylor, to Steve Samuels, to the dog, Ringo... sharp in detail, these photos in her mind, clear and vivid and exciting, setting her afire, building her desires... Suddenly, Cindy Jamison was afraid again. A new life? Yes, that much was true... but what kind of new life? Was it to be as she had pictured talking to Howie on the telephone, a return to their blissful existence of before? Or was it to be something else, an entirely different kind of new life, one which was founded on emancipation and the fulfillment of sexual desire no matter how depraved and the total abandonment of self to the pleasures of the flesh? A life of photographs, and exchange clubs, of wife swapping and worse? Which one would it be? The first one, the young housewife thought fervently. The first one, just Howie and I together, no dirty pictures and no evil swapping, nothing except each other rebuilding our love and our trust. The End Send Any Comments To ZombieNight@Hotmail.com -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----