Getting Their Kicks
(Mm/Ff, inc, anal, blackmail)

by Kysa Braswell
www.kysaonline.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"George," Dara groaned, her voice provocative and husky. "George, don't get dressed... please, not yet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daddy was home!

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

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

Jennifer was a lot like her mother mentally and emotionally as well as physically. She heard the shower go on then, and smiled to herself. Daddy was taking a shower; she couldn't go in the bedroom now. But she would in a little while, and run up and give him a big kiss. Maybe he'd be in his bathrobe and naked underneath and she'd accidentally brush against him and feel his thing against her leg. She liked doing that. Not that she'd ever seen him naked. She hadn't seen any boy naked, except for the few little babies she'd changed while babysitting. All they had were little worms between their legs which wouldn't get hard no matter how much she diddled them. She'd heard that a man's thing... his penis! - was large and could get like stone. She'd been told that by her best girlfriend, Katie Jennings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, George. Please take me... take me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She centered her gaze on the muscles straining out on her mother's inner thighs as Dara Clair struggled like a drug-crazed nymphomaniac to get her husband deeper inside her hungrily sucking pussy. Jennifer's father was cupping her naked asscheeks with a savage strength that cut red, bloodless lines into the full, uplifted moons. He squeezed her asscheeks together, forcing the walls of her pussy tighter around the thickness of his rigid pelvis, and Jennifer studied the thin, moistly glistening lips of her mother's pussy as they strove to milk the giant shaft of its strength. The teenager could see the thinly parted pubic hairs grazing teasingly against the narrow ridge which ran the full length of the underside of her father's enormous penis. My god, she thought, her father was hung like a horse! His prick... must have been at least twelve inches long and extremely... painfully thick!

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

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

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

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

Jennifer wanted to scream to wail as she became delirious with her own maddening passions, straining to hold back the explosion which was threatening to inundate her like a tidal wave. She nearly went out of her mind as she heard her mother moan:

"Please... not yet, not yet wait for me, wait for me... please!" And then after a few more moments: "Now... harder!"

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

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

Dara Clair screamed, "AAhhhhh!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Wasn't it worth it?"

"Sure, but..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Spend more time with me!"

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

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

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

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

"You're late," she said timorously.

"I know. Everybody in the board room?"

"Yes, Mr. Clair. Including Mr. Quarran. He said!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jennings was bemused; he had one luscious babe for a wife, as Clair knew. Dara had told him that Maria had the same problem as she had when Paul went out of town.

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

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

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

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

"Excellent" Korcklin said, beaming.

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

Clair replied: "I also told you that with the aluminum companies on strike, I couldn't guarantee it. All we're waiting for is the extruded panels, which have to be made up special. If the president puts a Taft- Hartley injunction against the strikers and there's the 90-day cooling of period, we'll get the paneling and..." he paused to shrug slightly, "and then it's only a matter of putting one ; together. While I was down at Kirsten we tested one that was in sections, and it works fine, but you know 0 how the government is - they have to see shiny new boxes, not a mess of wires."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Dupuis miniskopos was worth a fortune.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But I just got backs!"

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

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

"I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This afternoon?" he cried.

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

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

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

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

"Hello, baby," George said. "I, uh... that is...

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

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

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

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

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

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

"When?" she repeated more firmly.

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

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

"Now, baby."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Suck me, Maria," Jennings urged. "Suck, suck, suck my cock!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," came the whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure. Fine." Jennifer remained unmoved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, well if she's busy..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow!" Jennifer breathed with envious excitement.

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

"Yeah, well I can understand."

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

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

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

"How?"

"That is... if you really want to go."

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

"It might get a little... rough."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aw, Mom! Please!

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

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

"Yes, but!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Excellent!" from Maria.

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

"I'll call Vic," from Katie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jennifer hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about going out for dinner now?" she asked. 87

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

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

"I know what you mean," Dara moaned.

"Without... without George I feel positively barren."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something else. Go on."

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

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

"He... fucks me," she stammered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ohhh, God, Dara, I'm excited," Maria mewled. "I... I don't think I can stand it!"

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

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

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

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

"Ahhhh," Maria moaned uncontrollably. "Ahhh, it feed so good..."

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

"Stop it," Dara pleaded. "Please... please stop it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, Maria, I couldn't!" Dara wailed.

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

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

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

Dara nodded numbly and started for her bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dave's only reply was to rip off her panties with one swift yank, growling, "God-damned little prick teaser!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Louder!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck me, Dave... You can fuck me any time you like!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You... mean I'm your girl?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's Maria, remember?" she grinned back, and then added, "We came here for dinner. Oh - I'd like you to meet my very best friend, Dara Clair. Dara - Garrett Stoerner. A dear old friend of the family."

"How... how do you do, Mr. Stoerner," Dara said hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, I don't think!" began Dara.

'Sounds delightful," Maria said strongly. "Of course we will."

"It's an expensive gesture, Maria," Dara protested. "I don't think it's fair to make Mr. Stoerner - Garrett - pay for us."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nothing, nothing at all," Maria said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why," Stoerner chuckled throatily, lewdly, "the dog's going to fuck her, Dara."

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

"Fuck her," Maria Jennings cut in eagerly. "Fuck her just like Garrett here is going to fuck you while I watch!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Paul," Clair said. "About what?"

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

"Well, if you don't want to tell me."

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

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

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

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

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

"Me?"

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

"Running ar..." Clair's eyes bulged. "You mean, having an affair? Maria? Are you sure?"

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

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

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

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

"I'm afraid so."

"What... what did you do?" George gasped.

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

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

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

"Paul, you poor man," Clair sympathized.

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

"Paul, " Clair soothed. "Get hold of yourself."

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

"How? What more could he do?"

"He's..." And here Jennings paused dramatically. "He's seduced another man's wife. One... oh, shit, George, he may be fucking Dara, too."

"Dara?" Clair staggered under the impact. "My wife?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then a surging heat inundated her pussy and expanded her breasts, and her brain revolved as Maria unbuttoned the see-through blouse, leaving Dara without even the last vestige of decency, and somewhere in the haze of her mind, she heard her girlfriend say:

"She's a hot piece of ass, Garrett. I've had her once today, and she's about ready for you to fuck. But let me get her really primed first. Help me if you want; she can take anything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn it, Dara, tell me!" Maria hissed urgently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ram it to her, Garrett, ram it to her!" Maria grunted.

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

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

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

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

Spurred on by the double sight of dog in girl and Dara on Maria, Stoerner dug deeper, forcing Dara's legs farther back, his cock fucking into her like a pile-driving machine gone mad. Then Maria, the sucking lips driving her to raw, naked insanity, rocked back and forth and she screamed out:

"I'm cuuummmiiinnngggg!" She jerked and twisted crazily beneath the oral drubbings of the wife. "Suck me harder, you bitch! Suck me harder!" And her whole cunt spilled out with the juices of her orgasm. "Ahhhh!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Impossible!" Stoerner said, grinning.

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

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

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

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

Saturday morning arrived all too soon.

Jennifer Clair, the day before an innocent virgin teenagedr, stared at the blinds on the windows. Her skin was pale, as if the ice-water she felt in her veins was actually flowing in place of her blood. She was as confused as any little girl could have been and she tried to sort her ambivalent feelings as she lay under the covers of her bed.

She curled her legs up, letting the blankets fall away so that she could hug her knees protectively, and would have probably run to her parent if she had any to go to. Father was out of town. Father was not there to be the father she had needed before last night, and she knew that his upright morals wouldn't have allowed him to be the father on which she could rely on for judgment and understanding. Mother - hell, she hadn't gotten home until after Jennifer had, and the noise she'd made, whooping and hollering and... well, it had sounded like crying, but the young girl was too fogged with sleep and the effects of the marijuana, liquor, and the sex she'd seen and done to be completely cognizant. Mother was still asleep, and she wouldn't have under stood anyway. No, Jennifer felt that she was alone, with no one to turn to for guidance.

Mentally she was enmeshed in the guilt of having succumbed to temptation and allowed herself to display her sweet, tender pussy and taut breasts in front of all those kids - even though they were doing the same - and writhe abandonly in naked intercourse with Dave Casey on the floor of that cabin. She swallowed, her shame-parched throat and looked down at her nubile, firm body with its snowy crests of rounded breasts and flat stomach and the black triangular silk of her sparse young pubic mound. As she looked down at herself, she miserably realized that although her dream had been shattered hopelessly and she had given up her virginity and her dignity all in one wild night, she wasn't entirely filled with self-abomination. Oh, there were the long- standing agonies to contend with, the morals and ethics which she'd been weaned on since birth, but for all of the warnings she'd received about allowing "advances" from a boy, she had to admit, if only privately to herself, that she hadn't broken out in warts or become wretchedly ill or really changed her basic nature much.

She had had a dream of a large, soft double-bed with white, frilly sheets and a husband lying tenderly between her open legs. She kept thinking about Dave Casey buffeting her tender throbbing young cunt last night with his lust-filled cock, her breasts swollen and hurting from his trembling hands, and the way she willingly allowed him to do it to her over and over... until she was ready to promise him anything for the pleasure of having more. Now she had no dream, no bed, no tender patience, no husband... The dream hadn't become a nightmare but it hadn't left her totally at ease, the way her girl-friend Katie certainly would be this morning. Of course, Katie was experienced at letting guys fuck her - the salacious way she'd been with her boyfriend, Vic, last night, and then let one of the other football team members fuck her too was an indelible imprint on Jennifer's mind.

Physically she felt all right. Her head was thick and stuffy like muslin, but Katie had told her afterwards, on the way home, that was to be expected until she got used to marijuana. The little teenagedr tentatively explored her breasts and loins, found them sensitive, but in a delightful, tingling way. Her still moist pussy was a little redder than usual - about the way the pink, hair-lined little slit looked after she had fingered it and made herself cum - and while her wet, tantalizing cunt hole was perhaps a little larger than before, it was more alive and healthy than she could ever recall. She let one finger slowly draw its way up from the puckered sphincter ring of her ass to her trembling red nub of her clit. Dave's white semen is still lying deep in my stomach, she thought, trying desperately to feel the overwhelming, inundating sordidness and dirty anguish that she had believed she should feel. But the more she dwelled on the episode, the more her whirling mind replayed the dizzy climb - starting from when Dave had put his arm around her in Vic's car. The drinking, the new sensation of marijuana, the heavy musk in the air as the other couples sank into their world of writhing, naked, pagan passion, up... up to where she was watching her girl-friend abandonly making love with her boyfriend while Dave kissed her firm, hard-nippled breasts and let his hand tease its way into her vaginal slit, her pink lips and clitoral bud and moist, quivering cunt mouth... and the lewd sight of his huge, blood-swollen penis moving into her virginal pussy, the shock of immediate pain... and then the breaking of her hymen and his merciless sawing back and forth while the pleasure drove her nearly insane.

How could she lie here now and even admit that she had liked it? But she had! The revelation that she had liked it, had liked the attention from Dave, had liked the comradeship from the others - all this bothered her more than the smaller amounts of guilt her upbringing still made her feel. Yes, I... like it, and... and Oh God, I want it again. I want to cum with Dave's cock in me. She must be sick, must be a juvenile delinquent and pervert for having no true shame for her actions, but only an emptiness inside her belly which was crying for more. Her body had not only betrayed her, but was forcing her to search out for further indecencies. Tears of humiliation cascaded down her cheeks in a tiny waterfall of self-incrimination.

Slowly, like an automaton, she rose and began to dress. Heaped in one corner were her soiled, even ripped clothes; souvenirs of last night's debauched party. She averted her wet, puffed eyes from them, a shiver of apprehension rippling through her as she zipped up a pair of stretch pants. They reminded her that Dave Casey had made her promise to... to have more than himself, to let some of his friends take turns gang- fucking her, and he'd mentioned other... things he wanted to do to her too. And it was all going to start that very day. He was going to pick her up at the house, and as he'd threatened, she'd better be waiting and ready. Or else.

Garrett Stoerner sat in his luxurious appointed office and toyed with a miniature Spanish dagger he used as a letter opener. His swarthy face was lit by the glare of his desk lamp, making the evil smirk which crossed his mouth that much more devilish. He leaned back in his leather chair, pricking his thumb with the opener absently. Yeah, Jennings and his wife had cooked up a wild scheme, and whether it worked or not, he had been getting a lot of fun out of it. He laid his head against the chair and shut his eyes and once more he dreamed of the salacious evening he'd shared with that innocent young wife of George Clair, the black-haired Dara, and the insatiable Mrs. Maria Jennings. It had all taken place up one floor, in his "show-room" - and peripherally he made a mental note to himself to raise the girl performer's salary by a hundred a week. His lips curled into a slightly wider smile as he thought of the performer's near hysterical submission to Fang, his German Shepherd in front of all of his special customers. She never been fucked by a dog before, and certainly wasn't aware that it was going to happen to her last night; but the best shows are the spontaneous types when the girl is truly terrified and not just acting - just like she hadn't been acting when Fang had slipped his huge animal cock inside her pussy and made her writhe her naked young body around in lewd ecstasy.

The girl had enjoyed it, Fang had enjoyed it - the wild young wife, Dara, had enjoyed it, getting heated up from that and Maria's hot lashing of pink tongue against her raven-crested, clenching vaginal slit until she'd have been willing to let the whole Club Sarbonne staff fuck her... which was an idea to file away for the future. Stoerner could still see in his mind's eye how the once-proud Dara Clair had looked when he had finished fucking her silly, sprawled nakedly open on the couch, quivering, her satin legs wide-stretched on either side and her arms dangling doll-like over the edges. Her belly had been filled to the bursting point with his hot, sticky cum, and her wet matted pubic hair had glistened lewdly in the room's dim light, the insides of her creamy thighs smeared with his white semen, which trickled together with her own co-mingling climatic lubricants and Maria's saliva between her soft, yielding crevice and puddled on the couch fabric below.

The lewd, evilly erotic memories stirred the heat in his blood, making his throbbing cock jerk in his pants. God, he wasn't sure he could hold off fucking that hot bitch of a wife again while Maria Jennings set up the deal for later on tonight. He wanted to have her stretched out again, her tight little cunt lips sliding smoothly around his hardened penis like a greased oval ring... He groaned and placed his hand down, trying to stop the building pressures in his testicles from making his now painful erection from bulging his trousers any worse than they were already.

But on second thought, why couldn't he have the luscious Mrs. Clair again? Right now, if he wanted to - which he did. It couldn't hurt the Jennings plan; all he had to make sure was that Dara was at the Club later. Come to think of it, what difference did it make whether it hurt the plans or not? Stoerner had already started his own machination going, one independent of the Olisses for the simple reason he had no intention of sharing the money Clair's invention would bring to them. If the Jennings plan worked, all well and fine he'd ease them out after they handed over the goods. If his own plan worked, then he wouldn't even have to put up with a scene of recriminations and threats which would be sure to follow the realization by the Olisses that they'd been taken. Besides, two ways were better than one - Stoerner like to hedge his bets; or, like so many of the underworld executives, he didn't gamble unless it was on a sure thing.

Along with the recruitment of the Olisses some months back, Garrett Stoerner had also hired a call- girl that he knew. She had been a private secretary before turning to the profession of prostitution for the simplest of reasons: she liked the money and liked the work. What the hell, as she had said, she'd been going to bed with men for years; she might as well start getting money for what she'd always given away. Stoerner, spotting the combination of beauty - for Donna Mitchell was one of the cutest girls he'd ever met - and talent in and out of the bed, told her to go to Kirsten and get a job at the Pickford manufacturing plant. She was to be a ringer, and one way or the other see if she could get information on the device Clair was making.

Donna hated the small town; only the fat bonus Stoerner paid her every week made up for the dust and dumb characters and no action. She couldn't ply her trade without jeopardizing her job - which she had she had finally gotten - so Stoerner had to fork over her average weekly take on top of his bonus, and added to her paycheck at Pickford, she was able to salt away a sizable amount. But the only position which had occurred at Pickford had been secretary to the personnel manager and the result was that she had learned very little about the miniscopos, even in spite of the love affair she had instigated with the assistant chief of production. It seemed that all the important information was stored in George Clair's head, and others only knew inconsequential bits and pieces of the whole jig-saw, and had no access to his files.

Paul Jennings had always considered George Clair of such upstanding character that the man would never dream of having an extra-marital affair. Stoerner had gone along with the opinion just in case he could somehow use his "ace-in-the hole," Donna Mitchell, but the gangster was shrewder than Jennings, and knew that just because a man is honest, doesn't mean that he can't be blinded momentarily and lose control of himself. Jennings, Stoerner concluded, confused an accidental fall from grace with a planned consideration by a person to be dishonest, for obviously Jennings had never done anything evil or lewd without a thorough review of exactly what he was doing. And even if George Clair did reject the advances of a pro like Donna Mitchell, it was worth a try.

Donna Mitchell had been phoned that morning; Stoerner had just hung up the phone from talking to her. She had been enthusiastic about the assignment, and knew just the partner to get for the taking of the pictures while she and Clair were in her home, fucking like hell on her bed. She'd used the man many times before when she was running a blackmail racket, and since the squeeze on Clair was different only because there was going to be information handed over instead of money, she was on familiar turf and could handle herself and Clair with practiced ease. After all, she'd told Stoerner, Clair is just another man. A damned fine-looking one, she'd added, and she was getting tired of the production assistant anyway.

Stoerner laughed softly to himself. Sometime today or tonight, George Clair was going to end up fucking Donna Mitchell - and that called for a little celebration. Like fuck George Clair's beautiful, naive little wife again. He reached for the phone-book to look up the Clair number. Then he put the book aside and picked up the telephone. Knowing that he had fucked her silly for over three hours last night only made him desire her more, and he lewdly hoped that she would tease him again with her defensively resisting protests. All in vain, all in vain, he mused, and whistled as he dialed her number.

A sudden blast from a car horn awoke Dara Clair. Then there was the fuzzy, distant, only half-jointed sound of the pattering of shoes and the slamming of a door... the roar of an engine, and the squeal of tires. Dara lay still for a time, listening. The house was now silent, strangely so, and the softness of her drowsiness was slow to dissipate, like fog on a cold, wet morning.

Dara moved at last, only to feel excruciating pain. "Ohhh," she groaned aloud, "what happened to me?" Her head was like a block of molten lead, and her muscles were tied in spasming knots which made her want to jump - but then the pain in her skull would begin and she had to lie still until it passed. She had a hard time thinking - remembering what had happened to her.

The drinking - the capitulation of her aroused, frustrated body to the blandishments, hands, mouth, and blonde-haired pussy of Maria Jennings - the obscene show with that nubile little girl and that monster beast of a German Shepherd dog - Garrett Stoerner, naked and plunging his fiery cock deep, deep into her feverish, wide-splayed pussy... a pussy that had only been touched by her husband before.

The total impact of what she had allowed to happen to her hit hard and the traces of her sleepiness vanished. She shot upright, impervious to the pain. "My God!" Questions began to run through her head faster than her muddled brain could answer them. How did I get home? Who dressed me? Why did it happen at all? Why? Why?

She stumbled from her bed and lurched against the bureau, staring at herself in the mirror. "Oh no," she moaned thickly, "I must be dreaming it. I must be. I just must be."

Yet heavy lines marred her fresh, young skin, and her eyes were sunk deeply in their black rimmed sockets as though she'd aged ten years overnight. She looked down at her naked, curvaceous nude body and saw the mass of burnished marks and rose-colored bruises around her breasts and inner thighs. Her rich, full dark-tipped breasts were nearly raw, and light exploration of her pubic area with her fingers proved to be exceedingly painful. She tried to tentatively feel between her black soft hair and down between the swollen, inflamed lips of her well- fucked cunt, but she couldn't; she had to grip the edge of the bureau from the sharp spasm of ache which lanced from her pussy up through her belly.

"Oh, God, oh God, oh God," she chanted, and then forcing back tears and a wracking sob, she opened the closet next to her and took out a chenille robe George had given her the previous Christmas. She slipped it over her lithe, trembling nakedness and buttoned it part way down, then holding the bottom portion with her hand, she stepped out into the hallway, almost fearful that her innocent daughter would see her like this.

In the kitchen, after plugging in the percolator, Dara glimpsed a sheet of ruled notepaper on the table. She crossed and picked it up and saw that it was a message from Jennifer in her neat, round handwriting.

Mom, it read, Have gone for the day with Dave. Hope you don't mind. Will be back tonight. Love Jennifer.

Dara crumpled the note and flung it from her. Poor, naive Jennifer. Her daughter was with this Casey boy - did her day also include being with Katie Ollis and her boyfriend, Vic Cain? Dara shuddered and sunk to one of the chairs, miserably placing her chin in her palms. Maria Jennings, how that "friend" had fooled her! Was her daughter the same way? Was Jennifer safe with Dave and Vic and Katie... or were they all as depraved as Katie's mother, and were trying to lead little Jennifer into the same kind of wild, salacious life as Maria had introduced Dara to? The horror of having her young teenaged offspring having her tender mind and body warped by the corruption that Maria represented made her almost want to vomit.

Dara thought for a crazy moment of phoning the police, and reporting that her daughter was in danger... then the bubbling of the coffee brought her back to reality, and as she poured herself a cup and walked back in the bedroom, her shoulders slumped and her head bowed with the knowledge that such a panicked move would be disastrous. For one thing, she had no way of knowing that Katie was like her mother, or that even if she was, that Jennifer was with her or in danger. After all, it was daylight out there, and Jennifer knew enough not to drink or let boys get too fresh with her - heaven knows Dara had told her about saving herself for her husband enough times - and tonight she would have the chance for a real heart-to-heart, mother-daughter chat. Then, in the privacy and calmness of their own home, she could make Jennifer understand how important it would be to end her friendship with Katie.

To go to the police, hysterical and obviously overcome with fear, would force Dara to admit her own wretched part in the affair... and then everybody would know what kind of woman she'd allowed herself to become. Everybody - including her husband, George. George would be repulsed, brand her a whore, and rightly so; he would divorce her, and she would be like so much excrement in his eyes. And Jennifer could ever be taken away from her! Dear God, what a nightmare she was living!

Dara managed to climb back into bed and stretch out, the coffee steaming on the table alongside her. Some of the beginning hysteria with which she had awakened passed as she sipped the brew, and now her mind could reply to some of her questions. She remembered the almost dreamlike trance she had fallen into after cumming... cumming how many times? That was lost, the count not taken at the time. Maria and Stoerner must have dressed her and carried her to the car after they'd had their way with her; there was the dim recollection of watching Maria Jennings and the gangster obscenely fucking together on one of the couches after she was unable to spread her exhausted thighs again. They must have taken her home and seen to it that she was in bed...

Maria. Her girl-friend's name was like a cancer in Dara's mind. The thought of that bisexual bitch and the flagrantly lewd acts she had performed on Dara's body, of her willingness to have that Garrett Stoerner seduce the heretofore faithful wife, her constant desire for further perversions... What had possessed Maria to do such things? What did the lovely blonde woman have against Dara? Dara had trusted her, accepted her as a friend and protector, and for her to lead Dara into perversion and participate while her helplessly drugged body was subjected to the most depraved indignities - was there some thing in her nature which enjoyed seeing the humiliation of others?

Then, with an anguished groan of realization, Dara remembered that she herself had been drawn by the ravishment of the young girl by the monstrous German Shepherd. She had been repulsed at first, but then she had watched with fascination, her own unleashed passions, permitting Stoerner and Maria to take possession of her hungry body. She was no better than they were, merely newer at the games; hadn't her own body bucked and twisted in its own lustful fulfillment beneath her attackers? And hadn't she actually instigated some of the perverse forms of sexual delight? God, yes... she had, she had!

She unbuttoned her bathrobe and once more inspected her radiant, shining white body, this time not looking for outward signs of damage, but traces of dissipation. Strange, she admitted, no body would know that I had been Bucked and sucked half-crazy by both a man and a woman last night...

She concentrated on her breasts, and thought of how Garrett Stoerner and Maria had taken their taut, puckish uplift and made them come alive. Yes, made her come alive, she was forced to confess, come alive and beg for Stoerner's huge, throbbing penis to salve her tortured, palpitating cunt. Dara squeezed her eyes shut as the erotic remembrances flooded through her... she had never felt so alone, so helpless in all her life. Going to her husband would be tantamount to ending her marriage, which was now her one support; going to the authorities was out for the same reasons she couldn't go to them with her fears about Jennifer; going to her daughter never occurred to her.

The torment which boiled through Dara Clair's mind was worse than the agonies Jennifer suffered, for the black-haired young wife and mother had had nearly twice as many years to be come infused with the mores and guilts of her parents and society. That, and she was of an older, less permissive age, and the strictures against what she had done were much stronger than the ones Jennifer faced. Yet Dara also had many more years of sexual experience with her husband, and her body was not beginning to be awakened but already the product of fire and lust. It had been channeled into a higher plane of awareness by the Jennings' - and that meant that Dara was that much more demanding and conscious of her requirements. Even as she thought of the night before and the depraved way she and her girl-friend and Stoerner had been with each other, her hands brushed her bruised, violated body, reliving the feelings

Her fingertips cooled her hot flesh and in spite of herself, Dara touched one tender nipple. The little rosebud flowered into a hardened chip, and then in shock Dara sat up. Oh God, I mustn't! Her breath shuddered, ragged and pulsating. Control yourself. Stop this... this carnal thinking! She gazed down at her naked loins, seeing them outwardly calm but feeling that they were already a seething mass of sensual desire. Her pink-rimmed cunt lips seemed to twitch and spasm through the covering of her dark curling pubic hair, and as sore as her pussy was, she spread her legs, drawing the lips apart so that the blood colored skin and her clit were visible, and the darker, more wet and sensitive opening gaped, tingling from the rush of cool air. Groaning she lay back, the blood rising in her cheeks as more vividly than ever the memories of Stoerner's virile body, his thick pulsing cock and heavy testicles swaying beneath his hirsute loins... and of Maria Jennings, taut-breasted and desire hot in her eyes, her blonde pubic hair a fleecy, moist blanket around her thin, pink pussy and her creamy, satin-soft inner thighs.

Her hips dug back on their own volition and before she could gather the strength to resist the compelling flame in her belly, she began to rub her palms around her hair-fringed cuntal valley, her fingers gently moving back and forth over her moistening, coral-tinged vaginal lips, and the tide of her passion began to flow over her once again. I must be sick... I can't allow tats... I must stop myself... I...

And then the phone rang.

Dara pulled her hand away from her moist, tingling pussy, and not bothering with the robe walked rapidly to the hall desk. She stopped the phone's insistent clamor on its third ring. George... maybe it's George... "Yes?" she asked hesitantly, hoping to hear her husband's reassuring and familiar voice.

Instead she heard a voice that sounded like coal rattling down a chute, a voice which was all too familiar and anything but reassuring. "Dara?"

A cold, clammy creepiness stole along her spine, as if a snake was crawling up her backsides. "What... what do you want?"

"You know who this is?"

"Y-yes," the hapless young mother moaned. "You're Garrett. Garrett Stoerner."

The voice on the other end chuckled confidently. "That's right, Dara- baby, Garrett Stoerner. And I wanted to tell you what a pleasant time I had last night. I enjoyed fucking you greatly, I did." Again the lewd snicker, and Dara's body chilled as if suddenly plunged in ice. She wanted to hang up and then dress in something big and bulky and warm. "I've been thinking about what fun we had, and I'd like to see you again."

"No... never!" she gasped, the blood rushing to her face in an uncontrollable blush, the shock of his words and their implications striking her with deathly horror. "I'm never going to allow such... things to happen like that again! Never, you hear, Mr. Stoerner?"

"Oh, I hear you, Dara, but now you hear me," Stoerner snapped back, his tone rasping and menacing. "If you think your escapade last night is upsetting to you now, how would you like your husband to find out what you did? How you wanted me to fuck you over and over and how you licked that sweet pussy of your friend, Mrs. Maria Jennings, until she was cumming along with you and me. Huh, Mrs. Pure-heart? What would happen to your marriage and family then?"

"You - you wouldn't!" Dara groaned, stumbling against the table and almost dropping the receiver from her nerve-shattered hand.

"Not if we come to some kind of... arrangement, Dara, baby. We're both adults, aren't we? I'm sure that if you try hard you can think of ways to keep me happy and quiet."

"Blackmail!" the horrified wife cried out. "You're sick! A sick, degenerate blackmailer!"

"Don't call me names, Mrs. Clair," Stoerner snapped back harshly. "I mean, you are the Mrs. Dara Clair the adulteress, aren't you? You are married to George Clair, but let me and Maria Jennings fuck you silly at my club last night, aren't you?" He barked out a caustic, lewd laugh at his rhetorical, if vulgar, question. "Of course you are. And I'll be at your house in a little while, Mrs. Clair. Dara, baby."

"What - what for?"

"To see just how much my silence is really worth," came the smooth, assured reply. "Be there, and be ready to please me."

"But!"

"Oh, and another thing. I like thin black undies. You got any? Sure, you do. All women have. Well, wear them, bra and panties." With that last demand, the gangster hung up.

Dara shook desperately, gaping at the dead instrument. It took a long moment for her to get hold of herself, and then her mind was a seething torrent of agony and despair. He wanted her again. He wanted to debase and humiliate her again as he had last night, and what could she do to stop it? She had to think... but it was no use. To hide, to deny what she had done with him and Maria would be foolish. Stoerner was just the kind of slimy man who would do as he threatened. She was trapped, and she would have to submit or somehow muster the courage and fight him when he arrived. Thank God, at least, her daughter wasn't here.

Before going to the bedroom she poured herself a quick glass of scotch, and though the taste was harsh and the liquid molten fire in her throat and stomach, she downed the glass - and had an other for courage. Then she went and found the black bra and panties given to her on a past birthday, which because of their sheerness were impractical and embarrassing to wear normally. Over these she slipped a white cotton sheath with a gold chain belt, and then spent considerable time in front of the vanity putting on her makeup and combing her hair.

She wanted to be as alluring as she could when Garrett Stoerner arrived in hopes of convincing him to give her the silence she needed without compromising herself too deeply. But she had the forelorn knowledge that if Stoerner insisted, she would not be able to resist.

George Clair slumped dejectedly at his desk. The papers in front of him were all a blur to him, their words and diagrams so much confused jumbles of print before his weary, agonized eyes. He hadn't slept well the previous night; hadn't really been to sleep at all, in fact, for too much preyed on his mind, too much kept eating at him, and his infrequent dozings had been more light, dream-filled slumbers between his tossing and turnings.

Paul Jennings had implanted a bomb in Clair's brain, a ticking time- bomb of dread and agony and suspicion which Clair would have almost preferred having it explode and get it over with. As it was, he was tortured by the passage of time before Jennings' private detective either confirmed or denied whether Clair's wife, Dara, had fallen into the clutches of this blackmailing Lothario Jennings' own wife had become prey to this evil perverter, whoever he was, and it had taken Paul a great deal of courage to admit the defiliation of his home and marriage - and Clair was sure that the only reason he had finally broken down in the El Mecca lounge last night and told him anything was because Paul Jennings held the terrible secret that more than just Maria was involved, that now Dara was also part of the vile plot to corrupt and destroy George Clair.

And George had absolutely no idea how he was going to handle the threat if and when the blackmailer came to see him, as he had Jennings. No plan of action, negative or positive, in defiance or in acceptance, had come to the miserable vice-president all of last night or this morning. He was stymied, thoroughly confused and wretched, unable to fathom the situation, much less how to handle it. The whole affair was so damned alien to him - so utterly foreign to anything that he'd ever had to encounter before in his entire life! All his whirling mind could dwell upon was the sordid, despicable picture of his wife, his lovely, black- haired loving wife and mother of his beautiful child, in the arms and bed of another man.

His brain had continually swirled with lewd pictures of Dara and the animal-like unknown lover... his wife's curvaceous and alabaster naked body displayed abandonedly before him, her svelte, tapered legs spread and her rich, warm, moist thighs pulsing, her once sacrosanct pussy and breasts maddened and demanding, the unquenchable fires of her lust making her cunt spasm with excitement as her lover hovered over her... the pagan debaucher was a faceless lover, for all that Clair envisioned was his hard, erect, blood pounding cock standing out from his loins, his sac of sperm bloated testicles swinging down between his once faithful wife's open thighs as she ground her squirming asscheeks up and reached out to grasp his great throbbing penis and lead it to ward her soft pink-rimmed pussylips... and then the wet sluicing sound as the no-name man wormed his virile cock inside the quivering bearded mouth between her widespread legs, her cuntal tunnel clasping it with its own volition... The deep throbbing... the incoherent babblings as his desire-convulsed body reached for the magical apex of her climax... and then the lewd cascading of their subsequent orgasms... and the pool of the man's white hot semen pooling in his wife's belly, mingling with her own sexual secretions.

With a piteous moan, George Clair sunk his head to the desk, once more overcome by his lurid, treacherous vision, more vivid in his imagination than if he was actually there, seeing it all... and the horrible part, the thing that really made him feel sick, was that he wasn't sure he had reason to think such depravities. Jennings had emphasized last night and this morning over breakfast, that he could be wrong. The detective could have made a mistake... it was too soon to tell... wait and the phone call will tell all. So George, unable to stop the suspicions running rampant through his mind, was doubly damned for he could be doing his sweet young wife an injustice, a terrible slap against her purity.

But the thoughts just wouldn't go away - as Jennings well knew and had counted on. Clair fought back the waves of nausea, ashamed at him self for being so weak of character to allow himself to fall apart this way, of condemning his wife in his dreams before he had the evidence. He wanted a drink, two drinks, perhaps a whole bottle to help him forget. He'd become quite drunk last night, but not drunk enough... and today it was plain impossible to do any work. Not until this matter was cleared up one way or another. Thankfully, today was Saturday, and the factory was only open until noon. He would spend the afternoon by himself and get thoroughly drunk, so damned drunk that the lashing, whip-like images in his mind would go away.

A knock on the open door of his office brought him upright. He saw a girl standing in the door way, the secretary to Larson, the personnel manager. He didn't know the girl's name, wasn't especially interested at that particularly moment, and said in a brusque manner, "Yes? What do you want?"

Donna Mitchell smiled tentatively. Demurely she clasped her hands in front of her clinging blue shift, and in a small, hesitant voice, she said, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Clair, but..."

"Well? I'm very busy," Clair snapped.

You son of a bitch, you're going to pay for this. Donna's brain looked at the muscular, handsome man who was frowning at her, and she felt the blood boil in her. Donna knew the best way of worming her way into the soft underbelly of a naive and preoccupied man like George Clair, and long practice she judged that this was not the time to be seductive, bewitching, alluring; that was for later, after he had become friendly with her and his guard was down, and perhaps a couple of drinks was warming his stomach and dulling his thoughts. Now she had to be all sweetness and angelic helplessness, and although inside her beat the heart of a carnivorous feline, outwardly she trembled like the mousiest of retiring people.

As shy as she seemed to George, she still couldn't hide the fact that she was a beautiful sensual woman. She was proud of the thick coils of burnished copper hair, her soft, small hands and smooth white shoulders, of her ripe, up-lifted breasts and her large, round green eyes with their luminescent flecks of gold.

"Gee, Mr. Clair, I didn't mean to..." She blinked her eyes sadly.

Clair felt sudden pangs of guilt. For Christ's sake, pull yourself together! No reason to jump all over this nice, lovely girl... My problems don't have anything to do with her, and she's only trying to do her job. George had no way of knowing that her attitude and his reaction was exactly that - part of her job, the job that she was doing for Stoerner. He said in a contrite voice, "I'm sorry, miss... ah."

"Mitchell," she replied eagerly and stepped into his office. "Everybody calls me Donna, though. That's short for Kimberly."

Clair managed to smile. "All right, Donna, what can I do for you?"

Hooked. The sucker is as gaffed as a salmon... "I came to tell you that your friend, Mr. Jennings, has already left the plant. He asked me to tell you that he won't be able to see you this afternoon." True enough... after I called that silly fool and told him Clair was unable to meet with him. Donna rubbed her hands nervously. "I... I could have called you on the intercom to tell you but, well..." She lowered her eyes, as if afraid to continue.

Now I've frightened the wits out of her. Look at her shake! "Come on, Donna," George said softly. "But what? Don't worry, I won't bite."

"It was just that... that my car broke down, and... and if, if you were going to your motel in a little while..." She let the suggestion dangle.

"You want a ride home, is that it?"

"Oh, could you, Mr. Clair? I'd be so grateful. It isn't far from the El Mecca, and otherwise, I'd have to take a taxi, and they're so expensive, and...."

Rower held up his hand, cutting off her explanations. "Of course I can, Donna. I'd be glad to." Least I call do to make up for the bastard way I first treated her. "Let's see," he said, "It's nearly eleven-thirty now. Do you get off at twelve?"

"Well, to be honest," she said, smoothing her dress front, seemingly unconscious of the way the thin material clung to her rounded thighs and dipped into the hollow of her pussy, "I can leave anytime you're ready, Mr. Clair. My work is finished and Mr. Larson didn't even come in today."

"In that case, get your coat and your purse, and we'll go right now." Clair was glad for the excuse to leave.

He stood, smiling. "And for heaven's sake, if I'm going to call you Donna, then you should call me George. Okay?"

"You know the rules about being too familiar with executives, Mr. Clair - George," Donna said coyly, a small smile dimpling her cheeks. "I wouldn't want anybody to hear me call you by your first name."

"Nonsense," George said expansively. "I'll take full responsibility. Besides, as of right now, we're both off work. Right?"

"Right!" And Donna Mitchell left with a swirl of her dress and a brief flash of her lovely, slim legs.

The Chevrolet which George had rented at the airport was a large, two- door business Impala which almost steered itself as George cruised through the downtown Kirsten traffic. For a small town, it sure had enough people, he thought as a car cut him off, making him swerve into the next lane, but then this was Saturday and all the locals would be shopping, he supposed. Donna Mitchell was thrown against him, and she gasped with a startled cry as the softness of her breasts brushed against George's shoulder. Her touch made him acutely aware of her presence, more than all of the laughing and pleasant conversation they'd indulged in since leaving the Pickford plant. Donna, he had found, was a smart, sparkling woman, and the rapport between him and her was easily established. He realized in that sudden moment of physical contact that she had allowed him to forget his deep-set troubles, and for those few minutes of grace, he was eternally grateful to her. The lurid green-with-jealousy mental picture of his wife being fucked senseless by another man became more remote as the miles passed, and by the time he parked in front of her apartment house, he was almost sad to see her leave him.

Nothing sexual, he hurriedly told himself. Nothing like that at all. Just because Dara was - he snapped the sick reverie as a hot coal began to burn once more in his belly. He turned to the stunning beauty of Donna Mitchell and felt the tingle of her provocative physical aura and the relief from his bitter depression. He said: "Well, this is it, Donna. Glad I could be of service."

"Won't you come up for a cup of coffee?" she asked, her wide eyes dispelling any salacious intentions such an invitation might arouse. George felt torn between the natural hesitation of a married man to be alone with so alluring a female as Donna and the reluctance to once more be alone. She purred through her slightly moistened lips, "Or a drink? It's a little of that old Indian Summer today, and sort of hot. I could use a gin-and tonic, and I don't like drinking alone."

She placed a friendly, warm hand on his leg - not too low, nor so high as to warn him, scare him off, just at the place mid-leg where a hand might touch innocently. But George felt her electric contact, and his mouth went dry. "I... I really don't know if I should."

"Do you have anything planned for right now?"

"Well, no, not really. I..." he looked at her, weakening, and bit his lip. "I don't know if it would be right, that's all.

Donna laughed lightly, like a spring nymph enjoying the morning dew. "Oh, you men, always thinking about your wives!" She chuckled again with a lilting, teasing manner. She moved like a lithe cat, her breasts pushing against the fabric of her dress. "As you told me, George, I won't bite."

The reference to his wife, if only in a passing, allegorical way, made George jerk on the car seat. His heart trip-hammered. "What about my wife?" he said in a halting voice.

"Nothing, George," Donna said innocently. "It's just that so many nice men like you place their wives in ivory towers, and stop considering them flesh and blood. Sometimes," she added with a rueful almost ironic smirk, "it can be a rude awakening."

How true. How God-damned true, George glumly thought. Donna hit the nail on the head. And what the devil, why shouldn't he go up and have a drink with this delightful, young woman? Surely no harm would be done... certainly nothing like the harm his own black-haired bitch of a wife was doing to him. If she was, he had to keep reminding himself, if she was...

"All right, you convinced me, Donna," he said, and his heart suddenly felt free, for in the sixteen years of marriage he hadn't so much as looked at another woman much less been with one alone and socially.

It was just like Donna said, he had placed his wife in the realm of the gods, and she wasn't. His entire concentration on Dara had been unrealistic, and now that there was the possibility that she didn't consider her husband as the be-all and end-all of creation, and was unfaithful to his dream-like image of her. His ivory tower of devotion was crumbling rapidly now that its inherently impractical, sand-like foundation had been cracked by Jennings' lewd and evil lies. And Donna Mitchell, amoral whore that she was, had been tipped to this by Stoerner, and with callous disregard or sympathy, started the final razing of George Clair's idyllic world, coldly and calculatingly using her feminine and lurid wiles with all the effectiveness of a master game player. George Clair never really had a chance.

Her apartment was facing the rear garden on the third floor, and was a spacious and attractive one-bedroom flat. George was a little surprised that a secretary could afford the obviously fine quality of Danish modern furniture and hand-rubbed walnut lamps and fine prints on the walls. There was a heady scent of musky perfume in the air - not unusual for a woman's apartment, but it nevertheless tickled George's nostrils, making him quiver with unexplained lightheadedness. He grinned as he sat down on the comfortable couch, thinking of candle- light and old crystal decanters and violins. Hell, there was no use denying it, for all of Donna's apparent shyness, she was a very sensual, very passionate woman. Her modesty was all the more appealing to him, for that meant she wasn't just a promiscuous bitch in heat, but considered the men in her life as important and desirable for their minds and affections as their prowess in bed.

May God! Stop thus kind of lewd thinking! George felt ashamed as Donna talked innocently from the kitchen while making the drinks. How wrong he was about her character never entered his head; the setting, the actions the whole web she had designed to lure and capture were too cleverly done; the stage backdrop was authentic, only the woman who starred in the leading role wasn't. George chastised himself for harboring lewd thoughts about Donna Mitchell's love life - for all he knew she was a virgin. Hell, the next thing he knew, he'd be getting half-way romantic intentions about her, and just because she invited him up for a drink certainly didn't give him the right to entertain overheated and wicked notions. The shock of realizing that he was contemplating what she would be like in bed was enough to scare him...

"I see you made yourself comfortable, George," Donna said, walking in from the kitchen with two full glasses. "Slip off your shoes if you want."

"Oh... no, no this is fine," he replied and took the proffered glass. "Mmmm," he said after tasting the gin and tonic.

"You like? I make them strong, because that's the way I like them."

"Excellent, Donna." He looked around the apartment in obvious appreciation. "You certainly have a fine place here."

"Thanks to my husband," she said with a touch of girlish sarcasm. "He left me flat, with no money and no warning. All I had after he skipped was what you see here." A complete fabrication - she'd never married any of the men she'd lived with.

"You were married?" he asked inanely.

"Too long," she replied. "And never again. Couples lie to each other more than strangers do, I think."

Her comment raised the intangible devil of Dara again, sweetly cooing her affection for her husband, while George was kept blissfully unaware of her adulterous relations while he was gone. He shook his head and drank heavily. Well, one thing was clear; Donna was no virgin, not having been married, and George bet mentally that this sweet young secretary- divorcee was one holy terror in bed. Just watching how she walked and smiled and smelled was irrefutable testimony to that.

"Excuse me, will you, George?" Donna asked, jumping up. "I want to get cleaned up and out of this old stuffy work dress. Do you mind!"

"No... no, of course not..." George blinked, for her "old work dress" was anything but stuffy - not with that second skin look it had as it clung to her voluptuous young body, and the way it stretched around her firm pointed breasts and ripe thighs. But he knew how women love to get rid of the reminders that they have to work; when Dara had been a salesgirl in a local department store during their first, poverty- stricken years of marriage, she'd been the same way.

Donna kept the door of her bedroom open so that she could continue to talk to George as she changed. He could hear the zip as she took her dress off, and he quickly drowned his imagination of her standing naked in there, a few feet away, by swallowing his gin and tonic. He looked down at his glass again, embarrassed. How stupid he'd feel if the lovely girl in the next room knew he was thinking such things? He drained his glass, and as the gin swirled in his stomach and fused through his blood, a strange confidence that he'd never possessed before seeped through him. He was a man, wasn't he? Why shouldn't he be excited by the lascivious thoughts of a pretty young girl naked?

Across from him, between the living room and the bedroom, was a narrow door, which George subconsciously assumed was for a closet. It was - in a way. A special closet in which a man sat in darkness, between two windows, both two-way mirrors. On the living room side the mirror was an ornate framed decorative piece which matched a credenza and small table next to it. The man, named Harry Saunders, was not looking out into the living room through the two-way glass; he was busily watching through the other mirror, into the bedroom. On the bedroom side the glass was the dresser mirror, canted at a slight angle so that it overlooked the full expanse of the double bed. The man was moistening his parched lips and trying to stop the heavy sound of his breathing, for in the clear glass was the lovely and lust-enticing sight of Donna Mitchell dropping her simple blue sheath on the floor. He felt a jerk in his pants as his cock began to throb with desire, and kept his beady eyes leveled on her beautiful body as she moved slowly around the bedroom, fully aware he was there, for she had hired him and put him in the closet and told him to be ready with his camera for another job of blackmail. He'd done this kind of work for her and some of her other whore friends before, and did it well - his fee was moderate, and all he asked was the added bonus of fucking them when the sucker left. His testicles ached with the lewd thought that in a couple of hours he was going to possess that desirable, soft young cunt as he had many times in the past. She was one piece of ass he had never grown tired of!

Saunders felt another slight jump under his pants, his prick hardening as Donna turned from the mirror and bent over to pick up her dress from the floor. The full rounded moons of her asscheeks came into tantalizing view, and she couldn't have been more than three feet from him, and she gave the camera man a full, unimpeded view of the narrow nylon strip of her panties between her firm full thighs as they tightened into her pussy as she bent over. He watched her with bated breath as then she stripped them off along with her bra and stood running her hands up and down her satiny smooth skin, cupping her firm, molded breasts for a moment, then dropping down to rub her soft pubic hair and tease her pink-edged vaginal slit before opening a dresser drawer and selecting a pair of sun shorts and halter. He almost groaned as she slipped the tight clothing on, looked around once, winked directly at him, and stepped freshly into the living room.

Saunders quickly moved around in his stool, saliva forming at the corners of his pudgy mouth. Old Stoerner was going to get a set of photos, by damned; one hell of a hot set - for Donna was in rare form today, and when she got like this she could fuck a man to death! Saunders didn't know why Stoerner wanted the pictures, or who the sucker in the living room was but he knew that when they got down to nakedly writhing on the couch or in bed, he was going to have his hands full snapping the shutter of his camera.

George Clair was stunned by Donna Mitchell's change into "something more comfortable." She wore short-shorts of bright red, so tight that her pubic mound and its teasing little cuntal cleft was impressed on the cloth between her white thighs. Her long, statuesque legs, bronzed from the sun of Nevada, were bare and curvaceous, and her belly was just as tanned and nude between the band of her shorts and her strained halter. Her breasts quivered, barely concealed by the thin halter, and George could almost make out her nipples. Her sparkling green eyes sparkled vivaciously and with a hint of fire.

She moved panther-like to the couch. "You finished your drink. I'll make you another." She seemed to catch his wide-eyed stare for the first time. "What's the matter, George? I plan to go out and suntan after you leave. I hope this isn't too much for you." She smiled slyly as she undulated toward the kitchen. "Don't forget, I won't eat you."

She didn't add the word she was thinking: "Yet."

Before he could protest, Donna she was back out of the kitchen, gin bottle in hand, glasses full of ice and tonic. "I thought it would be better if we made them out here from now on, don't you?" She didn't wait for his strangled reply, but sat down very close to him and crossed one slim, tanned leg over the other, tightening the material of her shorts until the pulsating slit of her pussy was sharply defined, and as she mixed his drink and handed it back to him, she leaned forward so that a good deal of her creamy, globular breasts were exposed to him - with just the bare hint of her ruby colored and rock hard nipples. He felt a flush creep up his neck. Yet he was unable to take his eyes off her provocative lushness. Like it had a life of its own, his cock gave a tentative spasm against his underpants, and his testicles contracted with a lewd spark of excitement. Quickly he took a long pull on his gin and tonic.

Donna chuckled to herself, knowing the effect that George Clair's emotional upheaval was having on his normally cautious, unassailable character as well as the liquor. Drinking when under the mental anguish which was wracking George, always hit the mind harder and faster than at other times, when a person was relaxed, as Donna knew from her experiences with married men with marital problems. She drank from her glass, savoring the juniper taste of the gin and the bitterness of the tonic; alcohol increased her own sexual fervor, too, though she could control herself if she was so inclined; now that she was with George Clair.

Yes, she mused, Mr. George Clair was hers, no mistake about that, even if he didn't know about it yet. She felt the initial droplets of her lubricants begin to flow from the sensitive walls of her pussy as she considered what would be taking place within the next hour. Brother, was she going to have this guy fuck her... it would be one fuck he'd never forget!

George felt a warm lethargy overtake him as he drank his third gin and tonic. The quickly swallowed drinks were doing exactly what he had hoped the liquor would do - help him forget his troubles, and if he got drunk, all the better as far as he was concerned. And of course it wasn't every day that a man had the opportunity to get looped with a young vivacious girl as lovely and sensual as Donna Mitchell. She was really some thing, he thought admiringly. How could any husband ever leave her? She exuded pure animal sex dressed in that tiny halter and shorts; a sudden change from the demure secretary to a teasing, alluring woman of the flesh, with a miasma of sexual fire encompassing her as she walked, talked, breathed.

What he'd like to do right now, right this very minute if he wasn't married, was to take Donna in his arms and kiss her, touch her firm, proud breasts... oh, nothing more than that, he hastily added to his thoughts; he wouldn't fuck her or anything - but God she was so damned desirable, so... so damned hot-looking! He moistened his lips with the cool liquid of his drink, already mentally kissing her soft, coral lips, caressing her vibrating white breasts and tweaking the pink rimmed nipples he could almost see...

George's lust-provoked cock spasmed with hunger and strained for release against his restraining band of cloth. He tried to banish the lecherous thoughts which were overheating his mind, but in spite of his anguish, his rigid penis remained hard and blood swollen. His eyes went to Donna's face... In turn, the provocative, lurid little prostitute lowered her eyes and focused on the bulge at George's loins. She grinned again, this time more forcefully. "You like me," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. "I can tell."

"I... well, that is..." George stammered, knowing instantly what she was referring to: the unquenchable erection burning his pants.

Donna laughed throatily. Now it was time to be the feline, now was the time to cast aside her chaffing role of the modest secretary and become the uncontrolled hedonist, the lover of passion and sex. "Don't be ashamed of your hard-on, George. I've been married, remember? I know how it is with a man."

"Donna, I'm sorry. Really I am. I better leave."

"No! Don't!" she demanded in a husky voice, her mouth and eyes so close to George's face. "You think that just because we girls don't have penises, we don't get excited? We show it differently, and maybe not so obviously as your stiff cock."

"Donna!" George gasped, shocked at the lewd words.

"Cock, George. You have a big hard cock, and it's because you want to fuck me, isn't it? That's why you're breathing as hard as I am and squirming in your seat and are all red in the face. You want to take your clothes off and fuck me!"

"Oh, God!" George groaned, gasping for air like a stranded fish. His penis was palpitating wildly, and his brain reeled with the heady combination of gin and sex. Had he heard her correctly? Had this sweet, publicly modest secretary been telling him that he was wanting to fuck her with his cock? And what was the matter with him? He was thinking the same filthy words! Lord, his testicles were aching with the pressure of his sperm as if he really was that crude and debased as to take advantage of her. Didn't she know what her obscene use of the words were doing to him? He took another swallow of his never-empty drink and found that he could hardly hold the glass in his trembling hand. He must leave... get out before they were both sorry for what he might do in a sudden impulsive move. But he was rooted to the couch.

Donna leaned closer, her breath a white-hot fire brand on his cheeks and she touched his thigh lightly, her fingertips seething with desire, searing the cloth. "I can tell you're married, George. What's your wife like?"

George was taken aback for a moment. What was there to say about himself and Dara? What could he tell this teasing vixen about how he suspected his wife of cheating on him, of letting another man fuck her. Before he could gather the semblance of a reply, Donna went on. "It doesn't matter, George," she said, "but I can tell by the way you reacted that you've got problems at home. It your wife untrue to you or just no good in bed?"

"Dara's a very capable sex partner," George said, stiffly."

"Then it must be my first guess. She's being very capable with somebody else." Donna shrugged, her breasts in marvelous profile. "Join my club George, baby. My husband was fucking around on me all the time, too." She was almost nuzzling his cheek now, and her voice was sugar in his fevered ears. "We've both been lashed by the same whip. So let's lash back and have a little fun in the bargain."

"Donna... for God's sake!"

"You want to fuck me... and I want you to, only I don't have a big cock to get hard to show you. I just have to show you anyway I can!" Her breasts pressed hotly, softly against his arm and her lips found his jaw line and traced a pattern upward along his cheek, leaving a trail of molten fire along his skin. She let her hand on his thigh slide up higher...

Until she touched the throbbing bulge of his penis.

George almost leapt off the couch in convulsive reaction. Donna stroked his encased but sensitive penis, and though he tried to pull back, she was sliding closer, increasing the rhythm of her strokings. Guilt welled up in George, engulfed him in a wave of nausea at what was about to transpire, and he tore himself free, standing up and trying to control his trembling, nerve-blistered emotions.

"What's the matter, George?" Donna asked casually, standing beside him, slipping her hands over him and running freely over his lithe, rippling flesh. "Attack of the conscience? Thinking of your wife?"

"Yes - yes," George managed, averting his eyes from her lustful figure. "What we were going to do is wrong, Donna. It was crazy, and... all wrong."

"I don't think so," she purred. "If your wife is fucking around on you, why can't you fuck a girl if you want to? And she's willing? Like I'm willing to let you. Willing? Christ, I've got to have you! I want your big, hard cock fucking up inside my cunt, George." Her lewd salaciousness seared a path of lust across George's mind.

"I love my wife," he moaned.

"Sure you do. And you'll go home to her and be very happy. But that doesn't have anything to do with her, with now, with fucking."

George's heart hammered violently in his chest and his prick was granite hard and seeping hot smears of his male seminal fluids. In gathering panic he told himself that he had to get control of the situation, that he couldn't bear to hear any more. That no matter what, he couldn't do it! No matter what Dara was doing, he wasn't justified in fucking this woman, as hot and lustful and desiring as Donna was...

Donna's voice whispered huskily from behind him. "George, baby."

He turned, gathering his courage to say what had to be said, but when he saw her the words froze in his throat. She stood before him, completely nude. She had unhooked her halter and stepped out of her brief shorts, and the clothing made a brilliant puddle at her bare feet. She stood with her legs spread apart, her head and shoulders pulled back, and her hands knuckled provocatively on her proud, bronzed hips. She was smiling at his shocked expression, her teeth slightly bared and the pink, wet tip of her tongue showing. The moist, petal- like lips of her now naked pussy were presented in all their pink- tinged loveliness, and the soft light of the apartment splashed across the perfectly round, white breasts which jutted from her like inviting, ruby-crested mountain peaks.

"Well, lover? What do you have to say now?"

He couldn't speak, only stare at her lewd, wanton pose - and his cock returned to its maddening pulsations in his pants. He was transfixed, captured totally by the strange, fascinating allure of this purely sex- oriented female in front of him and the absolutely lustful sensuality of the scene he was part of.

Donna slid her fingers, slowly, teasingly, down from her hips, her hand grazing her soft resilient pubic hair and the wet, glistening slit between her thighs. She began to stroke her thin, young vaginal slit, baring her writhing clit, and stroked her whole helplessly contracting cuntal channel, sending rivulets of her sexually aroused lubrications to dampen her white inner thighs.

"I want you to fuck me George," she crooned in cadence to her rubbing fingers. "I want you to put that wonderful male cock in my pussy and fuck me until I scream... and then I'll suck your cock if you want... I'll milk your balls dry of all the delicious white cum you've got building in them. I want..." On and on she intoned and her words were perverted obscenities which made George more frenzied than ever. Her fingers in the gaping crevice of her wet, pink cunt excited him to a peak he'd never known existed. As much as Dara loved sex, loved to have him fuck her... she never once allowed herself to be so completely abandoned, so void of modesty or shyness. She never said such things, never stood before him in depraved splendor and played with her female genitals. Never!

"I can't help myself," Donna moaned objectly. "You're too much a man for me... and it's been so long, so damned long..." She trembled and her eyes clenched shut and hot breath hissed through her clenched teeth. "Ohhhh, how can you stand there and not want me? What more do I have to do? Please... tell me you want to fuck me."

Her last appeal, couched in the kind of girlish innocence which drove him wild, was far more exciting than a blatant, crude splash of sex from an over-experienced harridan. He saw Donna without a husband to soothe her inner cravings, as being driven to embarrassing and almost hysterical actions, and not realizing that he was the victim of a finely-tuned act on her part to use all of his emotional aspect, put out his heart to the girl and cried: "Yes, Donna, yes I want to fuck you!"

"How!" she mewled, almost staggering from the whipping of her hand in her open, lust spasming, wet cunt. "Tell me how!"

"Deep! Deep and hard like you've never been fucked before!"

"Oh, God, George," she moaned. "Let's go in the bedroom and you get naked too before I die!"

A self-consciousness stole over George as he dropped his pants and shirt, removed his shoes and socks and then slowly drew down his under pants while all the time Donna Mitchell lay on her double bed, her eyes riveted on his loins. As his rigid, frenzied penis stood out, she watched the blood-filled head for a moment and moaned: "I love your cock, George. I know it's going to feel good fucking up inside me and twisting deep in my cunt. Oh, God, hurry! Hurry!"

He lay down on the bed beside her, dragging her over him with his arms, and moved one hand down to cup one smooth, white, quivering buttock. Her body was warm and soft against him, and as she raised her face to his and they kissed, their lips locked together tightly and her hand searched down between their bellies and closed around his rigid, swollen cock, making George gasp. Donna crushed the whole length of her naked flesh against him and her lips were yielding and yet at the same time demanding, and she ground her pelvis into him until spasmodic chills were racing up and down his spine. Then she twisted and pulled him over her, opening her lovely, glistening white thighs wide so that he could plunge his penis between them and take her.

Harry Samuels sat behind the mirror and clicked his expensive German camera, catching breasts and cock and balls and the splayed wet pink slit in a series of color stills. He felt a slight twinge of jealously as he sighted on their passion wracked faces, and groaned with the desire to be there, on top of her, instead of that man. His own cock burgeoned with hardness and blood-lust as the two naked bodies struggled on the bed, and small beads of sweat broke out on Samuel's forehead as he watched another man about to fuck the beautiful insatiably lascivious young girl...

Donna's hand was still around George's throbbing penis, and she guided it between the lips of her hot, desire-moistened pussy while he undulated his loins against her thighs in a slowly teasing rhythm. She moved his cock up and down between the pink lips of her pulsing cunt, parting her soft, wet pussy with his blood-filled, searching cock-head, and her pubic hairs grazed lightly against his sensitive skin, forcing the shaft to greater hardness until it ached excruciatingly. He couldn't hold back any longer; he'd been tantalized to the limit of his endurance - he flicked his hips forward and with a cruel thrust drove his erect penis into the gaping mouth of her defensively clenching pussy, and plummeted his thick, tender shaft up her cunt to the full depth of her quivering belly. Her spasming vaginal orifice was warm and tight around his rigid member, and then as he stroked in and out with powerful surges, lubricating wetness of the passage surrounded it, and his balls slapped hard against the rounded cheeks of her ass when finally he hit bottom.

"Oh, George... baby, you feel sooo gooood!" Donna whispered, then smashed her lips against him and writhed the flatness of her belly up against him. Her nails trailed across his back, leaving small red welts in their path, and he in turn pushed his hands back and cupped her resilient, full asscheeks in his palms and pulled her open crotch tighter to his expanding cock. He moved harder and faster, insinuating the hardness of his total length inside her widespread slit, sensing her increasing excitement and voluntary response with each passing second. Her hips and thighs rotated desperately against his loins, and she raised her slender legs and locked them tightly around his body, her calves pulling him inside her still more.

Goddamn, he's fucking the hot little bitch good! Harry Saunders grinned as he snapped more pictures as George Clair's lust-hardened cock disappeared to its hilt between the lovely young girl's widespread thighs. An obscene thrill coursed through the photographer, and a half- cruel smile crossed his face as he wondered just what Garrett Stoerner's price was going to be, what amount he was going to extract from that writhing, heaving man who was fucking Donna so maddeningly. Stoerner always got his pound of flesh, one way or another, and he must have had a real fine reason behind all of this elaborate set-up. He hoped the man appreciated the truly talented screwing he was getting, because Saunders knew intuitively that it was going to cost him plenty in the near future.

George Clair was no longer the chief engineer and vice-president of Pickford, or the inventor of the miniscopos VTR, or the husband of his lovely wife, Dara. He was a wild, untamed beast, tasting sex for its own pure sake for the first time in his married life, the prurience of this immoral, lewd affair was driving him out of his mind, and his body strove to superhuman efforts as he worked to bring him and this animal of woman under him to magical crests of orgasm. He ground his loins into the squirming mass of flesh as Donna strained back, arching her back up and lifting her asscheeks inches off the squeaking mattress. She moaned incoherently beneath his pounding cock, chanting the song of intercourse as old as the world itself, and her legs opened and closed convulsively around his strongly pumping thighs, her mouth gaped open, and her head flailed from side to side. Nobody ever accused Donna Mitchell of not enjoying her work.

"Oh, God, yes! Yes! Make me scream, baby! Shove your finger in my ass! Damnit it, do it, do it! Make me scream!"

George reached between her rhythmically pumping asscheeks as he drove his cock into the wetness of her smoothly grinding cunt and stretched the crevice of her ass wider, searching for the tiny puckered ring of her ass with his middle finder. He found it - and a small trickle of warm moisture running from the clasping warm fleshy glove of her pussy lubricating the sphincter muscle making his probe easier. He pushed against Donna's ass, felt it resist elastically, then with a little pop the nether ring opened, and he wormed his middle finger up to its first joint. Donna jumped forward, almost crawling on her back across the bed from the sudden impalement.

"AAAaaaahhhh! It hurts! Yes! That's it! Ohhh, it's so damned good!" She screwed her asscheeks back on his finger in spite of the pain until his palm was flat against her mildly jiggling asscheeks. He rotated his finger inside her ass, and could feel through the thin wall of flesh separating her two passages the underside of his cock as he fucked in and out of her. She opened her legs wider to give him still more access to her ravished cunt and ass.

George could feel his penis expand inside her until he was sure his throbbing hard rod was going to burst from the exquisite pleasure billowing in his testicles. He began ramming her with longer, harder strokes, his finger skewering her ass to excite her more, and he could tell that she was near her climax as she gripped him tightly and gurgled deep in her throat from her abandoned spiraling to orgasm, and he continued to mercilessly thrust with all his might.

Jesus, look at her go, Harry Saunders thought in lascivious fascination as he watched the lithely beautiful girl racing for her climax under the wildly fucking body of the stranger - look at that hot little bitch go! No wonder she's popular with so many guys! And she was going to let him ride her that same way in a little while, and at the thought of himself ramming his cock between those long, slim legs, he wished that they would hurry up and cum.

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming," Donna coughed suddenly, and mumbled incoherently until the sounds bubbling from her mouth were a mass of unintelligible syllables whose meaning was only known to herself. A low banshee wail pierced through the sounds of the squeaking springs and the two panting bodies slapping sweatily together, the young girl's nostrils flared, and she pulled back her thighs until the whole of her pink, cock stretched vaginal slit was presented to George to batter and crush, while her stomach and breasts jerked spasmodically against his bells and chest. Then she held her breath for an interminable moment and expelled it as though hit in the gut, and her body collapsed limply onto the mattress, still save for uncontrolled quivering of her insatiable pussy which was still locked tightly around George's surging prick. He saw that she had reached her release and he pushed deep inside her and then lay quiet, allowing her to rest for a moment.

It was all he could do to keep from screwing her more. God, he'd never seen anything like it, never felt anything like it, before in his life! The muscles of his prick throbbed and ached deep in her belly, hoping to bring her to life again, but after long moments passed, a semblance of sanity returned as the first furious moments of sexual frenzy abated, and he knew that he should begin to feel waves of remorse and shame. But they weren't forthcoming, and strangely, he felt only like a full-blooded, virile male who had satisfied a true, sensual woman and who was still lusting for more. He felt a certain power and a much needed bolstering of masculine pride, his ego having taken a beating with lewd, horrid news that Paul Jennings had told him.

Dara... his lovely wife's name echoed in his mind and a small portion of George tried again to make the guilt of this sensual orgy with a strange girl appear, but still nothing happened, for his faith in his wife had been torn asunder by the night and morning of devilish suspicions about her potential adultery. Perhaps it would come later, he thought, after he had time to think things out, but right now, all he could do was feel the warm heat of Donna's body, smell the musk of her perfume, and soak in the permeations of their lusts.

"God," Donna said, smiling sweetly, her voice drugged with momentary satiation, "I came but you haven't yet, lover."

"I will," he breathed hard. "Another fuck like that and I'll burst my balls." The ache of his testicles throbbed hotly.

"Roll over, and I'll suck your cock instead. Would you like that?"

"Yes... oh, yes!" He pulled back, sliding both his finger and his hardened cock out of her ass and pussy. He hated to, for he was so near to shooting his load of white, hot sperm up into her belly that he didn't want to stop, but he had to let her have her way. He rolled on his back, thin trails of their sexual secretions following his rigid shaft across her lower thigh, and then he lay tense and expecting, his blood-swollen penis pointing straight up toward the ceiling. As Donna Mitchell climbed up on her all-fours and bent her head over his cock and balls, her tongue moistening lips which were wide and trembling, George knew that this was going to be an afternoon he would not soon forget.

And behind the two-way mirror, Harry Saunders cursed the additional time before he could sink his own angry aching prick into that hot young whore on the bed, and put more film into the camera. He started clicking away as Donna's mouth slowly closed over the turgid, moist expanse of George Clair's helplessly expanding horse-sized cock.

Dave Casey came from one of the better sections of Rapier City. Some distance from either Jennifer Clair's home or the cabin in which last night the fullback football star had taken her virginity, his father, Reginald Casey, had leased a mansion in the shelter of a vast pine forest, a mile off the main highway leading south. Reginald and his wife, Elmira, had left the house in care of their son, Dave, while they went off skiing to a chalet in Switzerland. Mr. Casey was a wealthy man, dabbling in a collection of businesses, all loosely controlled by his one, main holding company with its address in Switzerland, chosen for its tax laws, and the Swiss skiing trip was actually being paid for by the company, as was his house and new Aston-Paul. Mr. Casey put everything he could in his company's name; his income tax showed that he made about two hundred dollars a month personal income, and naturally he enjoyed the benefits of the tax law's loopholes.

The house itself was spacious, built in a Spanish style of white stucco and wrought iron. Wide, well-landscaped grounds bordered it, the two tennis courts, the emerald-green swimming pool and twin cabanas, and a magnificent waterfall which cascaded from a small mountain of rocks and ferns, bubbling away into a stream which meandered among the many thick bushes and exotic plants growing in profusion. It gave the appearance of a deserted island paradise if it hadn't been for the collection of hot rod cars and flashy customed autos which lined the driveway, a full volume blast of a raucous electric guitar band from the sunken living room's stereo, and the wild yells and shrieks from the eight young teenagers inside.

Eight adolescents: seven boys and one girl. The seven were the "swinging" members of the high school football team. The one girl was the lovely, radiant young Jennifer Clair.

The sweet, near-virginal teenagedr had been happy and excited when Dave Casey had picked her up in the Aston-Paul his father had left be hind. As she had climbed in and sat against the tan leather upholstery, her pulse had quickened, for Dave had grinned at her, his face glittering with excitement. She had still not been overwhelmingly sorry about what had happened to her the night before, and actually wanted to have Dave's penis back inside her tiny, already expectantly quivering pussy again, spewing its cum into her belly. She had remembered the conversation of babbling, lust encited words she and Dave had had between them while she was being so wonderfully fucked by his hard, slamming cock, but those words were said in the heat of passion, weren't they? Certainly nobody would really mean for her to do all those things that Dave had said to her... letting the football team fuck her, forcing her to suck his cock... no, of course not. She was his girl... he had so much as said so last night!

And Dave had been so nice. He'd talked about all sorts of things to the pretty daughter of George Clair as they drove to his parent's house. And he'd given her a marijuana cigarette to smoke, and even another after she'd finished it. By the time she'd arrived, the car swinging around the crushed oyster shell semicircular drive and stopping in front of the front door, she was carefree and lightheaded and laughing at everything. She was having a wonderful time! She was part of the "In" crowd now, and she had found it so much fun to be part of the group, that she'd have done anything to keep in it. Anything - she didn't reckon on how prophetic her thoughts would later become.

It was only when she saw the grinning, expectant faces of the other six boys, including that of Lance Retliff, the huge Negro tackle, that she began to feel the pangs of doubt, and terror began to creep between the fuzzy layers of wool which the marijuana drug had swaddled her brain in. "Dave..." she whimpered, clutching his sleeve.

"Relax, sweetheart," Dave grinned lewdly at the petrified young girl. "This is sort of your initiation into the group, you might say. Do well, and..." he shrugged, "we'll let you continue paling around with us."

"But!" the words of protest clung to her throat as she looked around the cluster of eager, virile young teenaged males. "I can't..."

"Just like I always thought," snarled Vic, Katie Jennings' boyfriend. "She's chicken. She's just a baby."

Tears of agony and tormenting confusion welled in the girl's eyes as she saw that unless she submitted to whatever depraved games Dave wished to have her play, she would be ostracized, and although she had the desire to go home to cast aside the threats, she stayed, whimpering, hoping that she could plead for mercy. Dave lit an other cigarette and ordered her to smoke it, deeply and quickly. She obeyed almost without thinking, seizing on the brown-colored cigarette as a salvation, as a filming haze to cover her mind from making the decision whether to save her body from their lascivious abuses or whether to submit.

Jennifer's black-haired head began to swim and she found herself weaving slowly. Some of the mortal fear and misery left her mind, being replaced by more floating, suspended calmness, and though she was still afraid of what this all male group might deign to mete out to her fresh young body, her courage was tripled. Then Dave said, "It's up to you, baby. Make up that sweet little mind of yours, and decide whether you're going to be a chicken like Vic thinks or a big girl like I think. I wouldn't have brought you along if I'd thought you'd balk like this. No girl of mine does that to me."

"What - what do you want me to do?" the fifteen year-old girl said, gulping bravely. "Tell me, and I'll try to... do it." She steeled her mind, thinking only of belonging, of the one chance she had been given to be a part of the school scene, of being Dave's new girl... and having Dave all to herself later. Afterwards.

"Strip," he commanded harshly.

"In front... of ev-everybody?" she answered in a frightened whisper.

"I don't mean out in the street, you stupid slut! Now peel those pants off and let us see that beautiful little body of yours." Dave's stone- like command broke through her resistance, and like a marionette, the drugged and subjugated young girl unclipped her blouse and unzipped her pants, letting both garments fall to the living room carpet.

"All of them," Vic Cain added nastily, "including your bra and panties."

Stifling a sob of utter shame, she reached behind her and then her white, firm, quivering breasts were naked, in full view of the seven boys. The team members sucked in their collective breaths, for her breasts were perfect twin orbs of purity, capped with tiny, trembling nubs of burgundy-colored nipples. Then she slipped her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and slid them down over her full rounded hips. Her black triangle of sparse young pubic hair was projected to their lustful, leering eyes, bringing another round of excited gasps.

"Hot damn," groaned Greg Mothra. "I can see her cunt lips and everything. Jesus, she's a fine piece of fucking tail, Dave."

"You're going to see a lot more of her than just this," the fullback son of the rich Reginald Casey sneered. "All right, baby, now lie down on the floor. Lie down, I said. That's it. Spread your legs. We want to see all of your pretty pussy. Ahhhh..."

Jennifer Clair did as she was ordered, sinking to the wool carpet and lying trembling flat on her back, her firm, unblemished skin glossy in the indirect lighting, her full breasts pooling provocatively on her palpitating chest, her flat, hardly touched stomach rippling with queer sensations of fear and excitement. There was some thing so terrible, so wretched about exposing her young, vainly resisting naked body before all these boys that it was almost exciting.

"Open those thighs wider," Dave continued. "Now put your finger in your little cunt and play with yourself. I bet you do that all the time at home, anyway," he snickered, and the truth of his dirty jibe made Jennifer blush profusely, right to the roots of her hair. "Make your tender cunt all nice and hot while we watch you."

Mortified, Jennifer looked down between her legs at the exposed, hair- lined lips of her pussy, the cool air of the day wafting gently over them and making them tingle erotically. She swallowed hard and with her middle finger extended and her face shining with sweat and intense embarrassment, she slowly started to run her finger up and down the moist, wet, little valley between her wide splayed thighs, all the way from the gently quivering crevice where her tiny puckered ass nestled, up to the tightly ovalled mouth of her pussy, and above, where she touched the exposed, hard bud of her clit. A shock of sexual arousal passed through her as her fingernail grazed the tender bud, and she spasmed with a momentarily uncontrollable throb of desire.

The hapless, broken little teenaged girl realized then that she had been trapped in a depraved circus of evil lewdness, that her initiation was only an excuse for these tormenting teenagedr boys to wreak their licentious passions on her innocent body without any regard for her except the most callous of attitudes toward on object to use and abuse. She trembled with renewed fear, and wished that she could smoke still another of the dream-inducing marijuana cigarettes. But she continued to masturbate, her legs bent wide, and as her pink little cunt lips became used to her finger, they glistened with dewdrops of lubrication, and an odd flame of tingling started rising out of her belly, as if her depravity was as exciting to her as it was to the carnal, animalistic group of boys around her.

Dave Casey was breathing heavily, the tantalizing sight of this young teenagedr fucking herself with her fingers driving his cock to wild throbbings. Without a look at the other boys, all of whom had gathered around the girl, he unbuckled his pants and stepped out of his shorts. Jennifer paused in her self-abasements, even though her hot, quivering little pussy was secreting a greater flow of sex fluids now, and her smooth inner thighs were trembling and beginning to buck from her manipulations. She saw through her lust and drug-fogged eyes the giant, blue-veined shaft and rich, blood-heavy head of Dave Casey's cock - the cock which had broken her hymen only the night before and had sent her on a wild rollercoaster of magnificent thrills, and as she recalled the exciting fucking his penis had given her untouched pussy she shuddered with expectant horror. He was going to fuck her in front of all the other! Well, why not? Hadn't he done that last night, up at that cabin, the only difference being that the rest of them were doing the same to each other? A surge of obscene desire rippled through her, and she worked her fingers faster along her moist, pulsating cunt, readying it for his entry, a new salaciousness taking over her dizzy, subjugated brain as she gazed upwards at the boy working his hand up and down his throbbing, ridged shaft, the foreskin of his penis puckering over the engorged cock head, then wrapping itself back again over the straining shaft.

But Dave Casey lowered his muscular body down near her mouth until she could see every grain, every pore of his prick in close-up, and he hissed menacingly at her: "Take my cock in your mouth, Jennifer. Take my cock in your mouth and suck me off."

The young teenagedr let out a mewl of surprised rebellion. She couldn't do that! Not after all of this, she still couldn't force herself to take his penis in her mouth, wrap her tongue around his sperm-loaded rod and... no! The girl reached up her free hand and cupped Casey's young, virile testicle, kneading them tenderly. "Please, Dave. Not that. Fuck me in front of the others, if you want. Fuck me like you did last night. I want you inside me... now." Tears streamed from her eyes, running down her cheeks and soaking into the carpet. A trickle of the warm, clear liquid slowly dribbled between her heaving, hard- nippled breasts. "Fuck me, Dave... don't make me suck your cock."

"You don't hear so good, I guess," came his mocking voice. "I told you last night that I was going to have you suck me next time, and by God, it's next time right now! Goddamn it, you're going to do as you're told, you bitch! Now, put my cock in your mouth!"

She tried to resist, but the football hero wrapped his hands painfully in her black hair and brought her head up to where his cock weaved magically in front of her lips, and he held the moaning young adolescent girl steady, unable to move. "Hurry up, you fucking bitch, hurry up! My balls are ready to explode!"

Jennifer stared at the writhing cock-head of Dave Casey's hot young pick which glistened wetly with its thin sheen of lubrication, and it seemed to her a symbol of everything despicable and sick in the world at that horrid moment. The marijuana dulling her mind was a blanket which thankfully diffused some of the stark terror and made her a meek, quivering slave to the whims of the devilish high-school boy who kneeled naked in front of her, and she knew inside her that she was going to have to obey him without further question, that it was too late. She'd said she would be part of the group no matter what, and now that she was here, if she tried to back out, she knew instinctively that he would stop her. And then in would be worse - far worse for her than if she submitted now.

"Ohhhh," she mewled in abject misery, and bent her head forward.

She kissed the tip of his purplish cock-head hesitantly, and tasted the pungent tang of male secretions for the first time, in her young life, and its distinctive spice instigated wild tremors coursing through her ... But instead of disgust and a feeling of nausea which she had thought she would experience, the rippling spasms of emotion were of delight, for incredibly she had to admit the taste of his cock was actually pleasant to her. It was hard, yet fleshy and resilient, and gave her trembling young lips a peculiar feeling of warmth and desire as if the boy's penis was some delicious stick of candy which she couldn't get enough of. Tentatively, still unsettled and fearful about this new discovery, Jennifer lavished her wet, slippery pink tongue along his whole glans, then brushed and grazed along the palpitating, heated shaft from its wide underside to its coronal ridge, washing and playing and caressing with increased fervor with every lapping stroke.

Then she parted her glistening lips and opened her fevered mouth and slid his penis along the full-length of her tongue, while tiny drops of lubricating fluid seeping from the tip of his cock, filling the warm cavern between her cheeks with its pungent, salty taste. Yes, she had been wrong! She had thought she'd hate to suck on a boy's cock, but now, forced to do it, she was finding the lewd perversion extremely exciting, and with out further hesitation she began to bob her head up and down along his expanding cock shaft, feeling its head hit the back of her throat. She moved so that she could continue to slide the fingers of one hand in the throbbing young curls of her black pubic hair, and beyond, into the open wet slit of her clasping pussy, feeling her vaginal walls squeeze against her hungrily probing finger. Jennifer Clair became increasingly wild with frenzied new sensations churning in her belly and loins, erotic fermentations that she'd never dreamed could exist. The delicious masculine piquancy of the boy's genitals was driving her almost to the point of orgasm, and more and more her mind singled out the one burning craving to suck him until she could taste his sperm. Quickly she trailed her tongue back over his pumping shaft and throbbing head, while Dave commenced a slow undulation with his hips, sliding his thick, wet cock in and out of her tightly ovaled mouth in time to her own movements, his hands still viciously entwined in her hair.

The sight of the now crazed young teenaged girl's naked body slavering to make the groaning boy empty his balls into her mouth was entrancing to his other teammates, and spurred on their own young, insatiable passions. The collection of muscular high-school football players gaped as tingling sensations of lewd, voyeuristic delight coursed through their minds, and they one by one began to undress and strip off their clothes until they were as naked as Jennifer and Dave. Some dropped to lie on their back and massage their engorged, aching pricks with their hands, a couple even helped rub each other cocks in mutual masturbation, but all were drawn with envy as the daughter of George Clair sucked with tight, elastic lips the cock which was fucking her mouth, her cheeks hollowing on the out-stroke and expanding obscenely on the instroke. The child's eyes were glazed with a wild, ecstatic film of animal lust that sent shivers of excitement through them as well as her own naked body, forcing her hand to rub her pink, wet pussy lips with faster and faster abandon and sink two, then three of her fingers into her quivering, lust expanding cunt hole, and she began to gyrate and undulate her hips in total lewd-abandon. Some of the closer boys could even see thick fluid, a combination of saliva and secretions, dripping from the corners of the girl's mouth and run in tiny streams down her cheeks as the little innocent daughter and the others reveled in the cruel humiliation which Dave Casey was subjecting her to. All the boys were able to view through the daze of their own mounting desires Jennifer's soft, wet mouth clasping greedily the growing penis pumping into her face, the thin, tensile rim of her lips clinging to the throbbing shaft as though clamped there by unseen fingers.

Dave Casey grinned more lewdly than his friends as he fucked this virginal girl, and hungrily watched as her lust-contorted face sucked and licked his relentless shaft. She had taken her hand from his testicles and placed them behind his muscular flexing asscheeks and was pulling him demoniacally to her, and his eyes feasted first on her masturbating fingers revolving in her dilated cunt and her heaving thighs, and then on the thick, pummeling shaft of his cock seemingly disappearing into a lengthened fusion of her face. She sucked his penis like a wanton whore, and as blood seethed in his veins and his cum boiled in his balls, the star halfback of the team drove forward like a pile-driver, sinking his prick so far into the little girl's tender mouth that his pubic hair brushed the tip of her nose and his balls danced with slapping unison against her up tilted chin. He could sense that his orgasm was about ready to explode, and feverishly he sought for his release. "Shit... shit, shit, shit..." he groaned.

And then the gathering of teammates saw some thing that in all their many lewd and perverted orgies, they'd never seen before! Dave suddenly jerked his cock out of Jennifer's hungry, clasping mouth and held his huge, red glans about two inches away from her lips.

"No, no... Dave, please, I want it! I want your cock!" the teenaged girl mewled abjectly, her fingers wildly slipping inside her hair-lined cunt and her mouth gaping wildly. And as if in answer, Dave Casey's penis began to spew hot, sticky white cum directly into the searching cavern of her mouth, and she immediately opened it wider and thrust out her wet lips in an abandoned effort to receive more. The thick, quick spurts streamed from his cock's head hole like milk from a cow's udder, and Jennifer swallowed voraciously to keep up from being overflowed and losing a single precious drop of his hot, lust-incited fluid, her Adam's-apple bobbing rapidly as his wildly ejaculating cock shot its lewd sperm into her face. Dave's prick throbbed out its last remaining stream of seminal fluid and thin strings of his hot, sticky seed ran down the tip of his penis to her glistening wet lips, but the debauched little teenaged girl desperately lifted her head off the carpet still more and took the deflating cock in her mouth, sucking like a starving calf with her lips until she had licked him clean.

Finally she sunk back to the floor, her pussy still a writhing and contracting fury of unquenchable desire which her fingers couldn't control or put out, and piteously she pleaded, "Please, fuck me now, Dave. Put your cock inside me... I must have you... my cunt's on fire, Dave... don't leave me like this... I beg you, fuck me!"

Dave Casey chuckled and rolled to one side and sat up. "In due time I'll fuck you, you bitch... when I feel you've earned it."

Her breathing came in short, hard gasps, making her full, young breasts rise and fall in deep panting motion. Her glazed, pot-drugged brain was filled with her own starved and unsated passion, her belly and loins ached in seething unfilled lust, and she all but crawled along the floor in her quivering state of maddened frustrations. "Ohhhh, Dave... you must, you must give me your cock now..."

"I'll give you a cock if you want," he chuckled lewdly, "but not mine." He grinned at the group of players around him. "Who wants to go first with her, pals?"

"Me - me," stuttered the giant Negro tackle, Lance Retliff. "I - let me go first Gawd!" He gawked wild-eyed at the white little girl.

"You've got such a big cock, Lance, you'll tear her in half and not leave anything for the rest of us. No, you go last. How about you, Vic? You deserve seconds, I'd say; you and Tam were the ones who set this thing up."

Jennifer shuddered uncontrollably as her drug maddened mind deciphered the lewd, carnal words of Dave Casey and the others. They... they were all going to gangfuck her, and there was nothing she could do about it, for her body was one seething mass of raw naked passions. She was crying out for release, cowering on the rug as seven boys gleefully watched her shamefully writhe on the floor, her fingers still working desperately up in her unsatiated, wet, young cunt, and she knew that she would submit to any of their demands, no matter how depraved, to keep the fevered devil of her sexual fire from eating away her belly and loins and tearing at the innards of her body.

The blanket of the marijuana drug was not enough. The torture of knowing that first Vic and then sit others including the lewd thrustings of Dave's hard, blood-swollen cock would make her nothing more than a lewd receptacle into which their vile sperm would spew, and that she would allow their great shafts of hardened young flesh to drub her helpless pussy with or without the deadening smoke, sent tears of wretched humiliation from her tortured eyes, for she was at that point where she had to have cock. Cock, with a capital C... Cock deep, deep inside her innocent young womb... She moaned in fatalistic anguish at Katie's boyfriend, Vic Cain, the thick muscled, leering halfback and Dave's closest buddy, stood and came over to her.

The Squirming teenaged girl looked up, hoping that he might have taken some small pity on her hopeless condition, but the boy's eyes flickered in appreciation as he saw the delicious nubile feast spread defenselessly before him, undisguised racioustess glittering from his pupils. His long, hardened cock jerked from the shadows of his muscular belly, and for one agonizing instant, Jennifer wondered how Katie could take all of that in her tender girlish cunt. Then Vic sank to his knees and leaned gleefully over her and began running his rough, calloused hands over the adolescent, girl's smooth, cringing flesh.

Jennifer's reaction was violent!

A deep, indescribable electric shock shot through the frayed nerves of her body like a thousand sharp needles, dancing wickedly along the inner softness of her moist thighs, her asscheeks ground desperately into the carpet to quench the seating hot flames licking hungrily at her naked cunt and rising bud of her exposed clit. The path of the high-school boy's coarse fingers rippled in her now quivering belly and out into the black-berry-like nipples of her throbbing breasts, drowning out the debasing humiliation of his strange roaming of her flesh, and her ivory breasts rose and fell heavily with her labored breathing.

Vic Cain couldn't wait - only a fool would have. He pushed her unresisting thighs wide with the rough palms of his hands and crawled eagerly over between their lush fullness. Desire-ridden flames rose higher around the pink, wet edges of Jennifer's naked cunt as she felt the boy's weight on top of her nakedness, and she dizzily thought of herself as one hot, moist tunnel which had to be filled. Her eyes locked greedily on the hardened cock quivering from his kneeling body, hovering between the slimness of her wide-stretched thighs, and uncontrollably, she kicked out her legs and curled her heels around his hips, pulling him toward her writhing body. He guided his thick, hardened penis straight into her throbbing cunt, his full weight smashing her to the floor with a deep moan, and then he rammed his pulsing rod as deep as it could go in her hungry, clasping pussy. His balls smacked heavily against her upturned, churning asscheeks as he bored hotly into the yielding softness of her belly.

Jennifer had only one maddened thought at that moment: she wanted him deeper, wanted him to burrow further into her hot, quivering cunt, and she groaned and splayed her legs wide out on the carpet to give the football player greater access. "Fuck me deeper! Fuck me deeper!"

As if in apology, Vic rammed his tongue in her mouth, and Jennifer sucked thirstily at his drooling saliva in wild frenzy, her body caught up in a whirlpool of raw lust as his jerking cock pistoned into her mercilessly, the brutal thuds of his pelvis smacking her resounding noisily, and she felt her climax beginning... she was so close.

And then as she bucked uncontrollably against Vic Cain, she felt his plunging cock stiffen without warning and spurt its white-hot liquid far into the hidden recesses of her tortured womb. Jennifer moaned in frustration, for he had cum too soon, leaving her a second away from her own magical apex, and she strained against his rapidly deflating cock and cried out with anguish when he rolled away from her with a happy, satiated smile.

The fire burned on in Jennifer's churning thighs, and she waited impatiently for the next boy Dave would chose, "Oh God," she sobbed hysterically, "I'm going crazy! Someone! Anyone! Fuck me!"

Greg Mothra threw himself over the girl's squirming body without ceremony, straddling her stomach heavily, the soft whiteness of her writhing skin as it brushed against his dangling testicles causing his long, slender prick to jerk in anticipation. To the insatiable little girl, he was only a boy, a boy with a cock that could slice her burning pussy, and that was all that mattered, but Mothra had other indecent, perverted plans for his schoolmate's girl; he moved forward and lay his hard, wet penis between the valley of her full, fleshy young breasts and cupped his hands around their quivering mounds, pushing them together and trapping his pulsating cock softly between them Jennifer looked down her nose and watched the red bulbous head growing between her tightly held breasts, and could feel it throb against the sensitive tissue of her skin, sending further sheets of hotlicking flame down to the quivering slit of her palpitating cunt.

"No! Fuck me, fuck me, please, please! Not there! Not there!"

Mothra slid his blue-veined cock faster and faster between her straining breasts, ignoring her anguished pleas, saliva trickling from his puffing lips moistening the narrow valley and making the passage easier for his rampaging shaft. Desperately he pumped, faster and faster, and then before the teenaged girl's horrified eyes, his lust- built cum spurted out in hot sticky streams over her heaving young breasts, ran across her creamy white shoulders, splashed against her neck and chin, and sent droplets clinging to her cheeks, forehead, and flaying hair.

"Goddamn you!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, and cursed the boy with all the foul words that came to her lewdly deranged mind. "I want a man in me! I want a cock up my cunt! Now!" Her pussy was a steaming hot cavern that twitched like a nerve out of control, and her body was going to explode if someone didn't stuff his penis in her soon. She sobbed hysterically crying out for deliverance.

Dave Casey grinned with cruel, salacious satisfaction as he saw the lovely little daughter of George Clair writhing out of control on the floor. The teenagedr was beyond objecting to anything now, and she would probably welcome it, he thought gleefully. But he couldn't go too far, he knew; he had his orders from Katie to do so much to this surging young female child and no more - and one didn't cross the orders of Garrett Stoerner, even those given indirectly through Katie and Vic - not if one wanted to keep a steady supply of passion-inducing marijuana coming. Anyway, what the hell; there'd be other times, other days... He turned to another of his teammates, who was stroking his own turgid penis, by the way he was moaning and whipping his hand over his shaft, he was about ready to shoot his cum straight into the air, and it would be a shame to waste it when there was Jennifer ready and willing to accept the load. "Ken, go get her, boy!" he said to King, one of the team's receivers. "Fuck her like she wants!"

Jennifer's eyes were glazed in uncontrollable lust, and all she wanted was to feel the deliciousness of a man fucking her. The young girl wanted her belly filled with great swirling pools of white hot semen and feel it shaking around wetly inside her.

The heavy body of Ken King flowed over her and once more she was lost in the sea of perversion and unquenchable desire. She fitted his oversized cock-head incautiously into the entrance of her pink-lipped, wet cunt, and frenziedly she locked her legs tightly around his back and jerked her hips up, gyrating wildly, holding the boy deep in her gripping pussy. King came quickly, his hot juice splashing her womb, and then she felt the cool rush of air against her fevered genitals as he left her. Before she could protest and beg for more or Dave could call out to the next boy, George Slade leaped up and grabbed her slim, tapered, wriggling ankles and thrust them up until her knees were hard against her swollen, still sperm-drenched breasts. As she lay so totally exposed, her hair-lined pussy splayed wide and her tender ass puckering in full view, the teenagedd boy rammed his trembling cock deep into her cum-filled cunt with a violent thrust.

"Ahhh!" Jennifer wailed as she felt the school boy squeeze his penis along the full length of her tightly clenching cunt, his body quivering from his delicious fucking, his hips surging against the soft flesh of her raised wide-splayed cervice and moon-shaped asscheeks. His swollen cock-head hit the top of her burning channel, mashing her cervix, making her writhe hot and delirious. "Yes, oh yes... fuck faster... fuck faster!"

The little, once-naive, once virginal teenagedr, strained desperately against his ramming prick and bucked crazily, arching and rearing her white, wide-stretched ass like the bitch in heat that she was, while George Slade groaned and whined with a torrent of insensible words and rotated his thighs, splitting the walls of her milking hot pussy with each pounding stroke. Then he gave a hoarse cry and the glans hole at the peak of his blood-swollen penis opened like the gates of a dam and wildly lashed hot, thick semen into her writhing belly, just as the others had, sending shivering geysers of hungry tension flooding through her loins, the wash of sudden excitement mixing obscenely with his molten cum juice spurting from his cock buried in her churning, still unsatisfied cunt. And then through the dulled screen of her drugged and orgiastic-maddened mind, Jennifer opened her eyes as the boy removed his limp cock and another boy took his place almost without a pause.

"That's it, Gene!" Dave urged the teenaged teammate whose nickname was 'Cowboy."

"Yeah, man, she's one wild ride today!" And then he laughed with a barking, sinister laugh of utter contempt and lewd delight, as he added in reference to George's love of horses and horseback riding, "Too bad you don't have spurs, Cowboy, you could really make her buck!"

"Cowboy" Rogers giggled shrilly and pulled the unprotesting almost incoherent little girl on top of him, his prick slipping into Jennifer's overflowing, hot young pussy as he did; then holding her white, slippery thigh, he bounced her harder and harder on his length of shaft, while she arched over his pumping body and spread her legs wide on either side, giving all the boys a different, more provocative view of her now up-tilted ass and crevice of her pussy slit, which was wetly pink and nibbling at the virile penis sawing upwards into her tender hair-fringed cunt. She was moaning and groaning now, for although she was incapable of either controlling the boys or her own wild, spawning need to find final release from her spiralling excitement, the previous series of pummelling, cruel fucks had rubbed her thin, unaccustomed walls of her lubricious, tiny vaginal tunnel absolutely flooded, and the new and different cock slamming into her made loud wet sluicing noises in the other boys' cum as it plunged rhythmically in and out of her. When finally Rogers screamed out his bursting orgasm, and her womb was once more filled with alien, strange seed that hit her inner belly with savage, boiling cream, she dropped off of the boy and lay panting on the rug, her loins and thighs still twitching and jerking with unrequited lusts. But she gripped her small, young hands into fists and clenched her eyes shut and cried out in defensive agony:

"No more... let me rest, please let me rest... my pussy is so filled ... it hurts now... I must have a rest..." Her feeble pleas were directed as much to herself as to the ring of panting, lecherous young males, all naked and glassy-eyed with lewdness around her, for she knew that her body was crying out for more, ever for more... and she had to stop herself from demanding an other cock, or else she'd never be able to walk again.

"N - now me, Dave," groaned Lance Retliff in a stammer of lusting head. "You - you promised I could have her too, after the others... I gotta have her or, or I'll cum all over your rug, I will!"

"Sure, Lance," Dave Casey said to the great, hulking Negro team member. "You can have her, and right now."

Jennifer opened her eyes, and her shocked gaze fell on the black boy's monstrously thick thirteen-inch penis pointing directly at her. She gasped in abject, astonished fear. She couldn't take his huge cock even if she wasn't so wretchedly, painfully exhausted!" He'd split her open from ass to navel, she knew it! And... and he was a nigger! Frantically, with visions of her ripped and torn body bleeding on the carpet flickering wildly through her cringing mind, Jennifer looked around the room. They couldn't allow this to happen! They couldn't!

But all she saw were horribly excited young faces and eager sweaty bodies, and heavy, excited breathing. All of the young football team members were wide-eyed and eager for Lance Retliff to cruelly ravish her white quivering body with his burnished black penis. The Negro stepped to the tortured girl, his ebony penis rearing out from his muscular dark stomach like a third leg, his two great, sperm-laden testicles swinging below. Jennifer, through wide-splayed thighs, watched in frozen awe as the black-skinned torso descended over her like night across the sands of a bleached desert, and a shock rippled through her as her straining, defenseless cunt felt the trembling, wet head of his mammoth thirteen-inch prick graze her already sperm-drenched pussylips, the shock of which traveled from the base of her loins to the top of her skull, where it shattered in a cascade of licentious abandonment. Her pussy jerked involuntarily forward to nibble hungrily at it, and nothing else existed in the world except that huge, fiery sword of black, hard flesh. She had to be filled in spite of what the Negro might do to her, and gone were her natural prejudices against his race, her principles, her humiliation; there was only the teasing reality of his probing cock crawling between her hot, steaming vaginal furrow, tracing lines of tiny wet circles of anticipatory secretions as it searched for her pulsating, bearded little cunt mouth. The alien cock jostled for a moment against her pink ragged edges of flesh, insinuating itself gently between them - and then Lance Retliff flicked his hips and forced his blood filled cock brutally into the open lips of her thick flesh. She could not imagine the thought of having a black baby growing inside her, but left up to these rapists, that's exactly what they'd love to see.

Jennifer threw her head wildly from side to side. Aggggg!" she screamed and desperately kicked her legs, trying to free her impaled little cunt. In her wild passion she'd overestimated herself, and she'd been right with her first, fearful reaction: his negroid cock was too big! But Lance Retliff grinned lewdly down on the white young teenaged girl and levered his hands into a push-up position and slid another inch of his relentless monster into her excruciatingly painful pussy. Jennifer screamed again - another inch burrowed painfully inside her.

"Nooo... nooo," she sobbed hysterically, tears gushing from her swollen eyes, but her struggling protests and resistance only brought more crushing thrusts from the Negro boy until his black cock plowed through her rippling pink soft flesh and smashed her inner organs into tight tiny balls that could not breathe or move. His penis was coming out her throat, out her mouth, curling around her brain...

Suddenly it stopped with an earth-shattering jolt as Lance thudded heavily against her white, upturned asscheeks, his inflated, sperm- bloated balls smacking heavily into the widespread crevice, and his huge ebony cock was imbedded to its hilt. The boy lay still for a moment while the bereaved pale-skinned daughter of George and Dara Clair became adjusted to the presence of his huge shaft, and he lewdly savored the way her pain-contorted face slowly relaxed, her gnashing teeth opening with a soft sigh. Then, unable to control himself further he began a slow revolving motion with his hips, a slight sawing motion as he ground his cock in and out of Jennifer's moist, wide-stretched pussy, thrusting forward mercilessly from the apex of his withdrawal and battering her pain-wracked body hard against the floor, expanding her still cringing walls of her pussy until she fit around his instrument like a well tailored glove of flesh.

The rapined, drugged little teenagedr was dimly aware through the haze of pain and desire that the rest of the boys were closing in, peering unbelievingly within inches of Lance Retliff's huge buried member, amazed that the tight, slender cunt they had seen before was capable of swallowing the whole of his black shaft. From both sides hands came out and began to rub lewdly over her moon-shaped asscheeks, pulling and teasing the fleshy hair-covered lips locked so tightly around the pumping Negro boy's penis, and more hands clawed over every part of her skin until she thought she was covered with a thousand tiny insects. The living room became a giant octopus of grasping tentacles reaching out to help the obscene crushing of her moral and physical being. Weird sensations tingled through her helpless body as the outrageous debasement and subjugation brought strange masochistic pleasures seeping through her every sinew and marrow, and her hips started an unconscious response to the black cock fucking her and the thousand fingers groping at her and the mass of leering faces surrounding her.

"Ohhhh, yes, yes..." she crooned. "Oh God yes, fuck me like this..." She squirmed lewdly among the myriad hands teasing her flesh. Cocks were everywhere, the boys of the football team stroking them over her in time to the lewd black and white flesh smacking together before them - long ones, short ones, fat ones; she was a prisoner of them and the great ebony piston fucking into her deliciously wet and expanding cunt.

"Oh, don't stop, don't ever stop!" she grunted and she gyrated her thighs and asscheeks faster in a vain attempt to match the poles of hardened flesh above her and in her, and then she felt her hands uncontrollably grasp a couple of the wavering penises and she started to stroke them visciously and hard in communal rhythm to the shaft of anthracite-like penis pummeling her throbbing pussy. She was no longer a little, despoiled youngster, but a great morass of flaccid female flesh, unable to think or breathe.

Then all of a sudden, the Negro boy's cock inflated momentarily and he too grunted out his release of alien semen, shooting the hot, torrential flood of sperm deep up inside her, the load ricocheting wildly back against her battered cervix and flowing obscenely down from her matted hair-lined cuntal lips to drip down between the white crevice of her still uncontrollably convulsing asscheeks and stain the rug. Other penises similarly exploded, bathing her in a shower of mixed semen as the lustful, virile young boys from her high school drenched her already sticky, wet flesh, her proud, darkly-nipple breasts, her passion lined face with surges of hot, white, gushing seed.

And Jennifer's long-sought wish came true, for the utter lewdness, the total rage of unhindered salaciousness had finally been enough to trigger her own impending climax simultaneously with the boys' urgent releases. She screwed her tight, young asscheeks up hard against Lance Retliff's still squirting penis in her cunt and with a scream between her wide open, sperm glistening mouth, she felt her newborn tender young body burst into a Roman-candle of colors and stars, orgasmic juices swirling from the depths of her womb and churning obscenely together with the black boy's alien seed. She screamed, her legs flailing the carpet on either side of his rampaging thighs and the cock fucking her, and then her strength was suddenly gone and she collapsed as Lance slowly removed his limp penis from her semen-drenched pussy.

Dave Casey stared in awe at the quivering, quietly moaning young girl on the floor, as thunderstruck with the overwhelming perversion based actions she had be a party to as the others were. She was the most fantastic, most insatiable girl he'd ever encountered. Great God, you couldn't wear her cunt out! One or a thousand fuckings were all the same to her, spurring her on to wilder uncontrollable frenzies of lust. He took a deep, trembling sigh, and even though he'd cum twice already the very prurience of this virginal looking, innocent-acting little girl enticed his prick to give a little jerk of renewed interest.

"We'll take her on again, fellows," he said to the panting, excited group of teammates. "We'll fuck her all day if you like, because she doesn't have to be at the Club Sarbonne until this evening."

"Can we... can we go to the Club, too?" Ken King asked. "I hear tell they've got some wild shows in the upstairs rooms, and... and if this little sweetheart is going to be an attraction there, oh God, I'd love to see her then!"

Dave Casey shook his head sadly. "Naw, not even I can go. You know how strict the state is about under-age drinking, and Stoerner won't let us in because of our age. We'll have to make-do with her until he comes to pick her up." He grinned lewdly. "What are you worried about, Ken? You fuck her enough here and now, and you won't be able to move a muscle tonight anyway."

"Yeah..." King responded, licking his thick, wide lips.

Time, after that, became a meaningless and blurred merging of cocks and more cocks to the hapless, sex-drugged young daughter of George and Dara Clair. She was beyond emotion, her body still reacting with orgasm to several of the boys' fuckings, but her strength was gone and she followed mechanically. Many long hours later, she was dressed and cleaned up by Dave and a couple of the other teenagedrs, her limbs too weak and satiated to be able to perform for herself, and only dimly she heard the gravelly voice of an older man directing Dave to take her to his car. Slowly putting one thick leg before the other, she leaned on the boy and allowed him to take her outside and to a large, gold- colored Cadillac parked near the door. Exhausted, soiled, but pleasantly satisfied with a euphoria of drugged unawareness of what she had done, she tottered as he opened the back door of the large limousine and almost fell inside, lowering herself to the soft cushions and unconsciously feeling the warm, heavily breathing body of a woman next to her. She looked up, and then her eyes flew open with startled, abject bewilderment. Torment surged like a stimulant through her, sending all of her previous torpor from her in one split second of comprehension as she recognized the woman, but she still didn't understand why she was there, why she was in the back of this strange man's luxurious car.

"Mother!" she gasped, and collapsed in a dead faint.

Garrett Stoerner, for all of his aching desire to once more delve into the hot, tingling pussy of Mrs. Dara Clair, wasn't able to drive to her house until the early afternoon. Business before pleasure, he ruefully had to admit, and there were many things to take care of at the Club Sarbonne before he could break free.

The girl performer from last night, for instance. She had been due for a bonus, after letting Fang, the German Shepherd, fuck her with his long animal penis during the show, but Stoerner had discovered that the girl was still moaningly delirious, almost insane from the perverted act, and he'd had to arrange for sanatarium care for her instead. Which was too bad, because she was a star attraction on his second-floor theater-of-the-lewd. They couldn't get over the different way different women reacted to Fang - the lascivious, totally debauched wife of Paul Jennings, luscious blond-haired Maria, had nearly gone mad when she had let Fang fuck her, but in the opposite way; she couldn't get enough of the dog's immense wet shaft, and cried out for more, more! Idly, Stoerner wondered how Dara Clair was going to react, when she met the carnally trained German Shepherd for the first time.

And then there was an order of broken glasses to take care of and an explanation to his superior in Los Angeles why the weekly take wasn't its usual high figure... little things, but what with one thing and another, he didn't park his Cadillac Escalade in the tract-house driveway of the George Clair home until after one o'clock.

Dara, black-haired and eyes swollen with fear and regret, tremblingly answered the door. She meekly let him in and the gangster had a hard time controlling his cock from leaping into full erection just at the clothed sight of the lovely wife. She was as delicate as an orchid, and her eyes were half-lidded and sensually downcast, and it was obvious that she'd spent the torturous hours while she agonizingly had been waiting by drinking... Good, good.

Dara was in a disparaging, irrational state of panic; the frozen kind, in which the body is too confused and terrified to really plan out a course of action, and now facing the gruff, not unhandsome but craggily ruthless face of the sneering gangster she was ready to bolt and run past him, out into the quiet Saturday afternoon suburban street, screaming at the top of her lungs for help... but then her desire to protect herself, her marriage, her family occurred to her and she stifled her first impulse. "Come in," she said softly, with a choking catch to her normally smooth, warm voice, "come in, Mr. Stoerner. I - I expected you before now."

"Business, Dara," he said, grinning and entering the foyer. "And call me Garrett. After all, we're good friends. Intimate friends," he added with a snicker. He threw his hat on the hall table and rubbed his hands together, eager to get down to business.

The trembling, misery-and-guilt-laden wife of George Clair felt unsteady, and the room swayed as she stepped with him into the living room. She'd had too much to drink, she knew that, but she'd hope that the headiness the scotch gave her would act as a blessed covering over her naked shame, and she felt naked under his lascivious gaze, naked and dirty, even though she had showered twice and was wearing a dress. Perhaps it was the black brassiere and panties. The very thought of what he had so pruriently demanded her to wear, had made abundantly obvious on the phone this morning would excite him to see, was the implied filth crawling over her white, satin smooth skin...

She took a seat on the low couch, aware that her shapely legs were provocatively exposed to his gleaming, salacious vision, and as she looked up at his reddening face and saw how hard he was breathing, there was no more doubt in her mind as to his intentions. Garrett Stoerner was after only one thing: her body. The gangster walked slowly around her and sat down close to her thigh, leering at her ripe, quaking form, his lips glistening with saliva and his left eye ticked slightly from his obvious anticipation.

"Now, Dara, let's consider you and me," he said softly. "I want something you've got, and you want me to give you something in return. I think a straight trade can be arranged very easily. Don't you?"

"Mr. Stoerner - Garrett," she said hastily, catching the fire in his eyes, "Garrett, I love my family... I want to forget about what happened between us last night... I've never been with any other man except my husband before... please let me alone."

"You joke," Garrett replied, his voice cool and contemptuous. "A great deal of money was spent on you last night, and I don't like throwing money away. I like to get a return for my investment, and damnit, you're going to work it off, let me tell you."

Dara stared wild-eyed at the sweating, greedy gangster, his beady eyes glowing like burnished wet olives in their sockets as he devoured her full, rich body. "Money... I'll pay you back. I'll give you money," the hapless wife babbled. "How... how much?"

"I don't want your money," Stoerner spat with a cruel smirk. "No, I want you, Mrs. Clair, you and your wildass, swinging body."

"Oh, God," Dara Clair moaned and fell back against the couch, her whole body displayed to this evil underworld leader, her skirt hiking up to expose most of her slim, young, milk-white thighs. "I can't make love to you again, Mr. Stoerner - Garrett, I just can't!"

"Yes, you can," Stoerner coaxed, thick lips shining as he licked them. "And you will. God, you're too beautifully built not to, for Christ's sake. I'm going to really enjoy this little swap."

Dara's mind whirled from the scotch and the humiliation of sitting beside this vile, depraved man while he uttered his degrading monologue of lurid demands, and frantically she attempted one last desperate act of bravado in the faint hope that she could scare him into silence and letting her free from his evil bondage. She looked at him, steeling herself to be cold, her courage spurred by the overdose of liquor and her desperation.

"If you don't leave right now, Garrett, I'm going to call the police. You're trying to blackmail me in the most despicable way imaginable, and that's against the law. You'll be arrested as a sex offender, I bet, on top of blackmail and coercion, and in this state that means even after you serve your prison sentence, you have to always report to the police in every town you live in. You'll lose your license to operate that dirty nightclub of yours and you'll be out of a job and...."

His harsh, biting laughter cut off her threats like an axe through a piece of kindling wood. "Don't be so damned naive, Dara. You think I could operate without the cops knowing about what I do? Do you know that the county deputy sheriffs deliver my bootleg in the trunk of their cruisers at night, and the mayor, two councilmen and the chief of police himself not only take cuts, but were at the performance last night? You think they'd do anything about your accusations, even if they believed you - you, who willingly came to my club and joined in the fun?" Stoerner chortled at the young, tear-streaked wife and dropped his hand down between her clenched, defensively resisting thighs. "Dara, I'm going to fuck you and fuck you good, or otherwise I'll ruin you."

Dara had to face the stark, cold fact that there was no other choice if she wanted him to always keep what she had done a deep secret from her husband and daughter, and if she didn't do as he commanded, she would lose George and be castigated beyond belief. Her hips and rounded asscheeks jumped at his familiar, decadent touch, but she didn't protest as Stoerner's hand slid her dress up her front until his cool, grasping finger tips suddenly came into hot, searing contact with her thinly covered flesh. She squirmed back a little, whimpering helplessly as he slipped one finger under the tight elastic band of her erotic panties and gently teased the narrow, sensitive slit of her pussy, parting her soft raven-hued pubic hair and tickling her throbbing tiny clit. She sucked in her breath tightly, trying to hold back her overwhelming urge to hit and scratch the gangster's gloating, blood-infused face, to pick up a knife and plunge it through the ice-water heart of this insidiously corrupting man. But she couldn't; all she could do was sprawl helplessly while Stoerner roamed his hands over her body at will, building up to the final, most indecent liberty of all, and a cascade of tears once more poured her mortification and sickness down over her trembling cheeks.

"Spread your legs, Dara," Stoerner breathed harshly. "Big Daddy Garrett wants to see those pretty black panties stretched over your pussy."

"Oh God, no, not here. Don't make me do it here," she pleaded softly. "My daughter might come home and catch us."

Garrett Stoerner, well aware that her daughter wouldn't be home, that Jennifer Clair was at the home of Dave Casey getting gang-fucked by some of the boy's friends, didn't tell the distraught woman that lewd fact. Instead, he removed his hands and stood up, pulling her upright and giving the now totally capitulating wife a moment to smooth her dress down. "You're right, Dara baby. We'll fuck in your bedroom."

The full impact of his evilness hit Dara then. He was going to force her to make love on her own marital bed! On the same sheets where she had so often taken the warm and loving embrace of her husband, Rower! Garrett Stoerner couldn't possibly find a more despicable way of debauching her, truly crush her slightest mental resistance, but the wretched young wife allowed Stoerner to lead her down the hall to her sacrosanct bedroom, shocked into surrender by the utter baseness and brutal obscenity of the gangster. How could he do such things? He wasn't human.

"Now, come on, Dara-baby, get that dress off and let's see you in the nude," Stoerner grunted, and before she even had time to react, he was unbuttoning his own clothes. She watched him strip, frozen trancelike in horror as his thick penis stood out from beneath his slight paunch like a heavy, blunt spear, and he grinned lewdly at her and stroked his massive uncircumcised shaft back and forth, taunting her. "Like that, Dara? Remember it from last night?"

Dara tried to speak, but no sound came from her constricted, parched throat. Against her will, her eyes dropped again to his hard, fleshy cock that he was holding in his hand, and she knew that there was no possible escape. The crude gangster was going to ravish her defenseless body no matter what she did or tried, and she was alone and completely at his mercy - and she was well aware now that he had no mercy in him to give. Only lust and sadism.

"Are you going to take that dress off or do I do it for you?" Stoerner snarled, reaching out his thick, meaty hand, and with a sudden jerk he drew her hard against him, his erect and throbbing prick ramming her in the belly painfully. He snaked his hand around her body and in one swift downward motion unzipped her dress; Dara could feel the cool rush of the afternoon air against her naked skin as he slid the garment from her shoulders, and then she heard him mutter in lusty appreciation as the dress fluttered to the carpeted floor. He dropped in front of her, his knees thumping hard against the floor, and while she swayed above him, he hooked his fingers in the elastic band of her black lacy panties and pulled them down slowly over the softness of her round, full asscheeks, letting them drop with her dress in a skimpy pile on the floor.

"Don't... don't take off your brassiere," he ordered in a panting voice, his gasps having a wheezy quality to them as if he was laboring with an asthma attack. "It... it turns me on with you like this!"

She stood before him, humiliatingly naked except for the black cups of thin material surrounding her white, quivering breasts, and she almost lost her balance when she felt the sudden wet contact of his glistening lips pressing tightly into the nude, flesh of her soft, vaginal area. Her soft, dark pubic hair grazed his cheeks and he spread her pink, moist pussylips with his fingers and flicked his lizardlike tongue into the sheath of the softly pulsating slit. The beautiful fear-crazed wife jumped from the electrifying assault on her female genitals, falling backwards, the edge of the double bed catching her behind the knees, and she sprawled with a soul-searing moan on the mattress, flat on her back, her thighs inadvertently wide as she landed.

Stoerner pounced on the bed and caught her by her ankles before she could close her legs; she struggled, but it was a one-sided battle, and then she relaxed, offering all of her pink, hair-fringed cunt to his salacious and greedy eyes, knowing that she would have to give in eventually, and that there was nothing left now but the horrible submission to the gangster's every obscene whim. Her body was a helpless toy to be abused as he wanted, and he would only cease his animalistic quest for satisfaction after he'd exploded his hot liquid sperm inside her soft and resilient belly.

"On... on your knees, Dara-baby," Stoerner groaned, his licentious excitement aroused beyond belief by the mere sight of her voluptuous body. Her inspiring nudity with her erotic, pleasure filled thighs, perfectly formed hips and legs, trembling, begging vaginal lips - never in Stoerner's debauched life had he seen such perfection! "On your knees..." he husked impatiently.

"Why?" the bitterly humiliated young wife mewled. "What... what are you going to do to me?"

"Just a little fun, Dara-baby," Stoerner crooned hoarsely. "Don't you worry none. You're going to get the ride of your life, because Big Daddy Garrett here loves to fuck ass."

Ass! He wants to put his giant penis up my ass, to clam in my ass! Dara had prepared herself a little bit, as much as she could, for any thing he had wanted of her - but this, this sodomy between her asscheeks wasn't human! It wasn't right! He couldn't mean what he said, he was only trying to frighten her further, to make her crawl and plead with him. He wouldn't dare make love to her there, like some rutting animal!

Rough hands suddenly pressed against her firm, hot flesh, Stoerner's massive paws digging into the resilient, protesting skin of her asscheeks and thighs, leaving painful red marks of his clawing fingertips. "I said turn over, bitch!" he snarled impatiently. "Turn over, or by God, I'll break your arms!"

Whimpering, sucking back her desire to cry out in torment and horror, Dara Clair obeyed, rolling over and then kneeling with her head pressed tightly into the sheets, her frail little hands clutching desperately at a pillow for support, the full, white moons of her asscheeks stretching up in sacrificial offering to the lewdly uncontrollable gangster. God! Stoerner heatedly thought, my balls are aching... and he longed to thrust forward, into the narrow teasing slit of the clenched, soft crevice between her quivering cheeks. But he knew that this was the moment for the conquest of her mind, now that the first stage of physical submission had been successfully breeched, and the change of spirit was best accomplished with softness.

He slid to his knees behind her wavering white asscheeks, leaned forward and planted a warm, wet kiss with his thick, slavering lips on the thin, pink folds of flesh which covered her protruding pussy, and he felt her quiver and heard her groan slightly as her body trembled from his moist contact. Then he ran his long, wet tongue slowly and teasingly down the full length of her tightly clenched crevice, and with gleaming eyes, perceived that the submissive wife slowly let the straining muscles of her inner thighs relax and the beginning formation of aroused moisture gleaming on the soft pubic curls lining her cuntal lips as Dara let her buttock cheeks slip wider and wider apart.

Dara had geared her mind to the fighting of pain and subjugation, but not the softness and pleasure she was feeling now as Stoerner pressed his open mouth hard against the pink lips of her vaginal slit and thrust his tongue deep inside the smooth, fleshy folds of her gently throbbing cunt mouth. She squirmed slightly, and he tightened his hands on her asscheeks so she couldn't slide from him, and then he began to work the whole inner crevice, sucking and licking at it crazily as her asscheeks throbbed and swayed around his face. The unexpected switch from brutality to caressing tenderness had, in spite of her vow not to succumb physically to his rapacious demands caught her off guard, and she sensed a great weight being released from around her constricted heart and soul, and unconsciously, the unbelievable relief that follows such lifting of a burden began to allow her body to respond sexually.

"Ahhhh," Jenny Clair's young mother sighed as slowly she found herself being unwillingly but irresistibly drawn into desiring more delicious and lewd sucklings of her loins, and from deep within her belly and flowering, palpitating cunt came strange, magical stirrings of tingling ecstasy. She shivered as the heat of spasming lust first started small and then grew with the impetus caused by Stoerner's curling and flicking wet tongue imbedded up between her thighs until she couldn't help but screw her asscheeks back against his wildly licking face, her taut hip muscles making them hollow and contract around the sides of his cheeks. She was unable to prevent herself from writhing and churning in a lascivious dance of ravishment as the gangster licked and sucked at her with a greedy, untamed lust that threatened to drive both of them crazy.

Her wide-splayed cunt surrendered completely to Stoerner, for in a gasp of dazed, purely emotional reaction, Clair's terror-stricken and humiliated wife no longer even wanted to resist the hot, teasing swirlings of tongue, mouth and lips in her swaying vaginal crevice, and her pussy secreted lubrications which ran in warm trickles down her inner legs and over the oscillating cheeks of Stoerner. The depraved gangland leader lapped up her sexual secretions, adding them to his own saliva as he teasingly bathed her cunt and the tiny puckered sphincter ring of her defenseless, fully exposed ass.

Stoerner sensed from the wild abandoned tempo of her body that she had capitulated mind, body and soul, and knew instinctively that it was time... time to ram his burgeoning cock into her innocent, softly working ass, its tiny, tender opening now well lubricated. He raised up behind her asscheeks on his knees and taunted her cunt with the violently quivering head of his blood raging cock, her helpless little whimpers drifting back to him as he ran its insinuating tip between her wide-splayed pussylips.

She was moaning incessantly as he wormed the first, small portion of his blunt cock-head into her ass with a slight pop as the tiny puckered mouth gave way to his pressure.

"Oooooooh, God!" he heard her groan down into the pillow but still continued his constant penetration of her viscous-coated rectal channel until the entire length of his massive penis was being submerged up inside in slow, tormenting inches. Stoerner doubted whether the lovely, now completely conquered young housewife really was aware that he was going to fully penetrate her asshole and he grinned lewdly to himself and wormed more of his eleven-inch prick into her snugly tight aperture, savoring with pleasure the clenching fist of her burning entrails as they closed over his thick penis like a custom-made fleshy glove. And then, he gave a quick hip-thrusting stab, seething with the knowledge born of experience and intuition that the devastated mind of the wife beneath him could only flash signals that it was all right... that it had to be all right, because she could say nothing else to counteract the rape of her back sides.

Dara thought crazily, it's all right... it's all right... as his passion-inflamed cock ground its way through the vainly resisting barriers of her clutching anal muscles. Then suddenly she felt as if she was filled with a telephone pole, and a warning spasm that her tortured body was being ripped open, her belly painfully bursting at the seams, flooded her brain.

"AAAAAAggggggg!" she cried out deliriously, "God, nooooo... it hurts! It's going to kill me!" She tried to pull away, but she was too fully impaled now by his tremendously throbbing penis, and Stoerner held her fast by the asscheeks and rammed in some more. He grinned excitedly: Of course it hurt her. It was supposed to hurt... at first! His penis moved forward inexorably, and he thrust his thighs forward until she could barely think for the pain.

"Push back!" he commanded. "Push back, you hot little bitch!"

She did, for she knew that every way was agony, and she opened her ass that final inch be cause she had been so ordered and stretched her quivering, tortured asscheeks wider until she thought she would die. Stoerner's vicious prick surged into the full confines of her back passage until his balls slapped harshly against the wetness of her up- turned vaginal slit, and then crooning with delight, the gangster began to fuck rhythmically and mercilessly in and out.

He watched as he kneeled above her white moon-shaped bottom, seeing the reddish skin of her round little ass draw back with his cock, grasping it as if it didn't want him to leave. At first the pressure had been almost unbearable, but now it was just tight and warm, the type of squeeze which always promised to draw his sperm out of his testicles with the ferocity of a sucking whirlpool. He thrust forward again, hearing a howling cry of pain tear from the grimacing lips of the Jenny's mother's wide-open mouth, and his cock tingled with fire. He would cum soon, and he wanted to feel his torrent of semen surging into her beautiful white, once proud asscheeks. That would be the ultimate subjugation!

"My God! My God!" Dara screamed. "You're killing me! My husband will kill you for this!"

Stoerner laughed cruelly. "Are you planning to tell him, Dara-baby? If you do, I'll have to tell him all about last night," he taunted, and stroked more rapidly into her ass hard and fast, battering her defenseless, tormented thighs with his hips. Dara groaned loudly with the agony, and then moaned abjectly as Stoerner added: "Don't forget, bitch, that this is your husband's house, you husband's own bed... and I'm fuckin' you in the ass in it! You think he would ever touch you again, your preciously upright husband?"

Dara dug her nails into her palms and bit her lower lip as the lashing of his words stung her mind insensate. But for all her humiliation and tearful misery over the situation to which she had allowed herself to fall prey, she began to sense that his rape of her anal passage was not as painful as it had been when he first thrust his cock in. There was an odd mixture of stimulation joining in, and the constant plunging was now more a discomfort than torture, and she felt strangely wet between her asscheeks and throbbing vaginal lips below - wet and morbidly ashamed, for she was being sodomized and knew it, and yet the pain was weirdly turning enjoyable. She tried to concentrate on this horrid, perverted response of hers, but Stoerner thrust a buttock- splitting jolt into her just then and astonished, she found that she automatically squirmed back on his fleshy shaft, heaving and undulating her body, moving her asscheeks in tiny, welcoming circles.

George Clair's wife couldn't halt the maddening excitement which was starting to reach her through the torment of muscle and flesh, and a violent shudder rippled through her, and she fell to mumbling unintelligibly, wiggling her thighs salaciously back against his pounding cock, unable to comprehend what was seething through her body. But too dizzyingly numbed by her overwhelming growth of unquenchable lust-fire to question it. She could feel the increasing wetness back in the crevice of her asscheeks and try as she might, she couldn't feel her initial pain any longer - but only the wetness and Stoerner's magnificent cock pummeling her battered ass and smoothly widened ass. Dara dropped her shoulders to the bed, raising her asscheeks and gleaming thighs higher in the air so that the hungrily surging penis could fuck up into her heaving belly more deeply.

Garrett Stoerner, seeing her obscene acceptance to his cruel fucking of her backsides, was drawn on like an infused satyr. He watched her beautiful profile as the wife's complexion flushed to a crimson red and her hair strewed down over her forehead, and Dara Clair unashamedly shook her head from side to side like a mad-woman, her teeth bared, her breasts jiggling. She was his! A slave, submitting at will! He reached down and pulled the soft, pliant cheeks of her thinly perspiring asscheeks wide apart and drove his cock into her with hard, ramming jerks, his aching testicles slapping against her quivering flesh be low with resounding whaps, heavy with the sperm which had to be emptied soon or burst from the excruciatingly delicious pressure.

"Fuck back harder!" he yelled at her. "Fuck back!"

"Oooohhhhh, yes... yes." George Clair's now wanton wife hissed to the gangster sodomizing her. "Fuck me harder tooooo!"

Her sudden lewd response was too much! Garrett Stoerner threw back his head and blurted: "I'm cuuuuummmmiiinnnggggg!" He thrust his cock's full expanded length into her wide stretched, defenseless ass and his body jerked convulsively, his mouth hanging slack, his vision clouded as he clawed at her asscheeks with harsh grasping fingers, pulling her moist, fevered crevice even farther apart to receive the full blast of his orgasm.

Dara felt the first torrents of his hot, white cum splash up into the depths of her open ass, surging through her desire-wrenched belly with the force of a fire-hose stream. The delectable sensation touched off her own climax - a climax which she would have stoutly and angrily denied could happen only short moments before and she creamed out her spiraling pinnacle of release in a vast flow of rising female juices as pleasure ran rampant through her; she shivered from the welcomed congealing of his hot, sticky sperm with her orgiastic secretions as together they pooled around the throbbing crevice of her wide-split asscheeks and the open slit of her still pulsating cunt.

Then Garrett Stoerner withdrew his rapidly shrinking penis from inside her deflowered, sodomized ass and fell over with a deep, satisfied sigh on the bed covers. Dara, unable to support herself, her every muscle trembling from sheer exhaustion, collapsed beside the gangster and lay on her belly, her throbbing body falling into an obscene spread-eagle position, her legs still splayed wide.

Then, a few moments later, her passion-clouded mind cleared in the wake of her played-out sexual ecstasy, shame and revulsion once more inundated her passion-fogged mind, causing tears to once more blur and darken her swollen, guilty eyes and dribble down her cheeks to soak into the sheets. Dear God, forgive me... I must be sick! l had to submit, but there is no excuse for allowing myself to desire him... I actually wanted him to perform that bestial act on me... Oh God, let me die, let me die!

Garrett Stoerner rolled closer and put his arm around her sobbing waist, and through her still partially glazed pupils, the self-loathing wife saw that he was smiling in lewd triumph. "That was fine, Dara-baby. As fine as I've ever had," he complimented, showing his pearly, even teeth. "You mustn't grow morbid or sulky on me; a good fuck in the ass never hurt any girl, and you have to admit you really turned on something fierce by my cock up your asshole. Let me rest for a minute, and then I'll fuck you in the cunt, like I did last night."

The completely crushed wife of George Clair, submissive in her obeisance to the gangster's superiority over her, shut her eyes tightly as his filthy words sent a wave of sickening nausea coursing through her. She was caught in an abominable trap and there was no way out, no where to turn. She had to protect herself, and George must never know how badly she had broken her wifely promise of fidelity.

"Later on, we'll go down to my club, Dara baby," Stoerner continued, his hand now fondling unhampered with her moist, red, quivering pussy. "Yeah, we'll go down there... after we stop by a house and pick up something. I think you'll get a real big surprise at what we're going to pick up too."

The gangster's chuckle was obscene, and Dara trembled at the lurid thought of what that "surprise" might be - but she never even considered in the most dark, forbidden recesses of her trepidations that what Stoerner was going to pick up was Jennifer, her own daughter, who would also be in a somnambulistic state of sexual satiation.

George Clair groaned and lifted his face from the double bed as the entrancing young whore, Donna Mitchell, sucked his stiffened, aching cock. He stared down at her contorted face, and the salacious view of his hard shaft of flesh sunk between her ovaled lips increased his excitement a thousand-fold. His penis was still wet from the juices of her recent orgasm and it glistened like the stump of a rained-upon tree as she bucked over him, a mad demoness of desire. Vast heat built deep in his balls and he arched his back, moaning incessantly, and the muscles of his stomach tensed until he thought his spine would snap.

Suddenly he howled as from the depth of his boiling testicles swirled the mad rush of his hot, sticky sperm up his rigid cock, and before he could warn her of his climax, his cock-head was spewing thin streams of creamy hot semen into her mouth. Donna's cheeks expanded and contracted as she greedily swallowed the warm flood of his surging release, and she held her head to his pulsing shaft as he emptied his molten seed down her throat until the flow ended and Clair collapsed with a groan, to lay still and spent on her bed. She nibbled gently on him for a few moments and then crawled up his body to cradle his head in her heaving breasts, and she bent and kissed him warmly on his quivering lips.

"There," she whispered. "Your cum tasted so good going down my throat."

"Mmmm," was all that George could muster, looking up into her eyes with an appreciative gleam.

"I just love to suck cock," the lascivious girl said with a shudder of delight. "I can't describe the thrill I get running my tongue over a great big prick and tasting the cum when it shoots into my mouth. It's like the finest candy in the world to me!"

In the hidden closet, Harry Saunders couldn't control a groan of anguish, for the prurient sight of the prostitute hired by Garrett Stoerner - and who had, in turn, hired Saunders - performing the lewd, perverted act of fellatio made his own penis nearly ejaculate the load of cum he'd built while snapping pictures of the couple through the two-way mirror. He had been totally absorbed by the passionate and fevered Donna Mitchell burying the straining cock up in her throat until she was nuzzling pubic hair, the lust-producing scene making the photographer nearly throw his camera aside and rush out to join the carnal orgy. He quivered, sweat streaming down his face, and wiped his damp, clammy palms on the thighs of his stained pants. Well, now it was over, and both the lovely girl and the stranger who had been set up by Garrett Stoerner's express and insidious order were resting after their- orgasms. In just a little while he, Harry Saunders, could throw off his clothes and burrow his fat, angry cock in Donna Mitchell's pussy and mouth, and if she was game, her ass-hole too. Another wheezing groan bubbled from his lips as he clenched his thighs closed around his fully erect prick.

George Clair heard that last groan. He furrowed his brow, wondering what the strange, out-of-place, muffled cry had been. He sat up on his elbows and turned to the sensual young woman he thought was merely the secretary to Pickford' personnel manager. "Donna, what was that?"

The Mitchell girl knew full well what it was - Harry steaming in his juices behind the mirror - but she wasn't about to say so; the last thing she wanted was a scene here and now. Let Stoerner have that fun when he showed the pictures to the vice-president; she was only the girl who got Clair in trouble, not sprung what the trouble was on him. She said hesitantly, "I didn't hear anything, George baby. You must be mistaken." She licked her still wet lips, savoring the few droplets of Clair's semen which had stuck to her mouth. "Just relax for a minute, and... and then perhaps you'd better go."

"Go?"

"I mean, if you want." She grinned weakly at him, feeling a tendril of apprehension. She knew that Saunders, as good a photographer as he was - as good a fuck as he was - was one man who couldn't be stalled indefinitely. Most of the times she actually got a little evil enjoyment out of making him suffer as he watched her being fucked by her male "customers" - it helped to arouse her own insatiable desires when finally he came to her, rutting and grunting like some jungle animal. But George Clair had proved one fine cock to satisfy; it was almost as if he hadn't had a piece of cunt in all the time he was married, which his prowess in making her excited and screaming for more belied, and to Donna he was one of the finest men she had ever had make love to her, no question about that. As a result the time had flown by, way past the usual deadline where she had the guy dressed and out the door.

She was a little sorry to have to see Clair leave, to tell the truth, for her pussy was almost seeping new and lustful lubrications of desire again, and not for Harry's prick either but for the muscled, handsome one rooted in the loins of the virile male lying next to her.

Still, she had a job to do, and a girl in her profession could only mix so much pleasure with business. She had to get him out of her apartment before Saunders was unable to control himself and do something stupid like groan again. It wouldn't take much to set George Clair on the scent of what was happening; he wasn't dumb in spite of his lack of extra-marital affairs. Donna rose languidly and walked to the closet beside the bureau, trying to keep her eyes off the bureau's mirror, which was actually the two-way glass behind which Saunders sat with his camera. She opened the closet door and took out a thin nylon robe, and was about to slip it on when Clair said from the bed:

"Don't, Donna. Don't cover that beautiful body of yours. I want to see it, all of it." His eyes were feverish with pure lust for her. "I'm not about to leave, not unless you want me to. I can't explain it, Donna, but you make me so damned hot just standing in the nude like that, your cunt hair glistening and your breasts hard and throbbing, that I'm going to get hard again."

Donna stifled a moan of her own, lewd reawakening, only to hear a soft, course whisper from behind the wall - Saunders again, the damned fool! But as fearfully aware as she was, the excited young prostitute was still shivering from the thrills George's merciless penis had given her. She gazed with enrapturement at his supine form, saw that incredibly his cock was slowly filling out with blood, growing harder... harder... and a hot seething knot of tingling need lashed at her vaginal area... yet she couldn't risk George staying here any longer... She groaned and taking a shuddering breath, said, "Maybe another time. T-tomorrow, perhaps."

"Now," he grinned wickedly at Donna, catching the luster in her eyes and knowing that it would be now if he wanted it, which he did. He stared with rapacious eyes on her beautiful, provocative loveliness as she smiled with a combination of shyness and passion, and unknowing to him with indecision as her lusting mind swirled indecisively between prudence and desire but her body ruled supreme, and with breasts jiggling proudly and thighs matted pubic down flashing enticingly, she began to teasingly parade before him, unable to control her own spasms of lurid ecstasy... and he was tantalizingly brought under her sheer wanton depravity.

He had the sudden urge to kiss her pink-tinged, moist cunt and smell the tang of her perfumed secretions as her cuntal valley opened to his lips and mouth - and he said so unashamedly.

"Come here, Donna, and I'll suck your pussy like you sucked my cock!"

His lewd words brought forth the moan of licentious excitement that Donna had been able to choke down before, and on rubber, trembling legs she started for the bed, running her hot, fevered hands up and down her rich, white and tanned body, cupping her breasts...

George Clair was completely captivated by this abandoned vamp of a girl, and the guilty self-loathing which he had tried to conjure up earlier in an attempt to assuage his feelings of lust and satisfaction were now entirely blotted out by the absolute free and unhesitating debauchery of which he was a willing partner.

He had tried to tell himself that he should feel shame and remorse for what he was doing, tried to tell himself that the only reason he had allowed himself to become an adulterer was because of anger and hurt and jealousy over his wife's similarly despicable behavior - but he knew that it wasn't true. He didn't know for sure that Dara was unfaithful to him, and what difference did it make anyway? He would have still thirsted for this girl who was slowly and teasingly coming across the bedroom to him... He just plain wanted to suck, fuck Donna Mitchell and God knew how many other willing, depraved girls if he could... Fuck - the word described what he wanted to do perfectly, as in contrast to making love, which was what he and Dara did in the privacy of their marital bed.

And perhaps even more perverse was the consummate love he still had for his black-haired, desirable wife. He still wanted to go home and wrap his arms around Dara and have her wrap her pussy around his cock so he could make love to her, for no longer was he tortured with righteous indignation over whatever lewdness she had gotten involved in. He had the faith and the unquestioned belief that Dara loved him in return - - that she was fucking that man, if she was at all, as he was fucking this girl, in a purely physical gratification of the senses and nothing more. In a way, he had the urge to call her up and tell her this... but he wouldn't. Because Donna Mitchell was placing one knee on the bed now, her eyes wide with hunger and her lips wet with the moisture of her licking pink tongue-tip.

A psychiatrist might have diagnosed George Clair as a man who had an irrational and sub-conscious fear of the basic male characteristic to mate indiscriminately. Perhaps this had stemmed from his Victorian mother who had smothered him from birth with the conviction sex was inherently bad and all men were beasts, and who had sentenced her son to a cocoon of prudery as he reflexively strove to prove that he wasn't such a contemptuous type, that he was a gentleman first, last and always.

Perhaps... but George Clair wasn't a psychiatrist, nor at that moment was interested in pondering why he had kept the lid on his perfectly natural instincts with a blind attitude and stiff-necked disdain, or why this one adulterous fling had not brought the wretched self- incriminations he had assumed he should feel. Time enough to unravel such details later, for his chest was pounding as Donna Mitchell crawled across the sheets to him, the predatory feline that she was, and his semi-hard cock began to flinch with the renewed pressure of arousal...

George Clair had not changed - he had evolved, breaking out of his self-imposed, unhealthy cacoon from a mind-shattering combination of pressures from his work, his turmoil of anguish over his wife's alleged infidelities, and the liquor-fogged plunge into the world of sex for its own hedonistic sake. He had matured into a complete, physically whole man, virile, ripe, and alive, as his unconscious grip on the darker caverns of his soul was wrenched away, and no longer could he - or would he attempt to - return to the shell of his former half-life.

"Yes, lover," Donna breathed in panting harshness, "kiss my cunt and make me cum that way... then we'll fuck some more..."

And Harry Saunders in the closet couldn't repress the tortured moan of frustration as he saw that he was in for another voyeuristic session before he could empty his balls of their overloaded weight of churning seed. His hands trembled and he knew that he couldn't take any more pictures not now. He couldn't hold the camera steady enough, and all he felt was the crazy tide of his own sex-craved passions, the insane jerkings of his thighs and belly and especially of his now stone-hard cock as it fought the imprisonment of his trousers. His breath steamed the two-way glass and he thought he was going to have to take his penis out right there and use his hand to release some of the burgeoning explosions which engulfed his mind and body.

And George Clair heard that groan, too, and recognized it for what it was. He sat upright, the shock of knowing there was a man some where nearby dampening some of his prurient longings for the warm, moist cunt of the girl panting over him. "Damnit," he said, "I heard it that time for sure. There's somebody else in this apartment!"

"No!" Donna Mitchell cried out sharply. "No you must be wrong. It - it must have come from next door."

"Don't be silly, Donna," George said, getting off the bed. "Your bedroom overlooks the back garden; there's no connecting walls with the other apartments." He shook his head, frowning. "I'm going to take a look in the living room."

"No! Please don't!" the luscious, now panicked prostitute tried to grapple George by the arm. "Come back to bed, don't leave me."

Clair eyed her, frowning over her odd resistance. "You sure as hell don't want me to go out there, do you? Why not? You know something I don't?"

"Of - of course not, George. It's just that... that I'm so hot and I want you now... I've got to have you," she pleaded insistently. "What's more important to you? Having me or some imaginary noise?"

"It'll take me just a moment, and then I'll feel more at ease. I want you as bad as you want me, lover, but I just won't feel right until I make sure we're alone. It could mean our jobs if we're caught. I'd think you'd want me to check around."

"No..." Donna whimpered, but it was too late. George opened the door to the living room and padding in baby naked, he looked around. Every thing was as he had left it, glasses on the table, the two thin pieces of Donna's lust-provoking sun suit... Clair went on silent bare feet across the carpet to the kitchen and stuck his head in; nobody there. He turned around, scratching his hair and wondering if his imagination was playing tricks on him, that thinking only peripherally of his wife and her suspected lover hadn't given him an over-impression of plots and blackmail...

Harry Saunders, whipped to a fever pitch of sexual emotions, rashly took that moment to shift positions on his stool. He had heard and seen the man jerk upright and knew that he had heard his groaning. Trembling with the fear of being discovered, Saunders had sat perfectly still while the man went into the living room, but he couldn't see the man while he was looking through the two-way glass into the bedroom; he had to turn around and look through the living room mirror for that, and when he heard the squeaking kitchen door, he assumed in his blind position that the man had stepped inside. If he was going to turn and follow the man's search, he had to do it then... which he did. He was very quiet about it, too.

But his trembling, sweat-slick hands dropped the camera.

George Clair whirled around, hearing the thank of something coming from what he had assumed was the coat-closet door. Anger stirred in him, and with caution and modesty thrown aside, he crossed and wrenched open the door, and the pale light of the living-room fell across the hulking figure of a middle-aged man, his straw-colored hair brushed European style back across his head, his large nose and dilated nostrils quivering, and his two, small, marble-glittering eyes filled with the kind of illogical fear of a cornered rat.

Saunders hurled himself off the stool, panic making him into a single- motivated body in search of escape. He swung at Clair with his camera, unthinking that he was using the one object which he had been hired to use, its metal case hit Clair on the side of the head and inadvertently the catch on its back snapped, and the roll of film flew through the air, unwinding to the light like a spool of yarn a cat plays with. Saunders stumbled toward the front door and freedom...

Stars danced in front of Clair's eyes, but with unleashed fury of a man pressured far more than a mere tight corner, he reached out and caught the fleeing photographer's coat-tail and spun the short, dumpy man around. The camera came up again, Saunder's teeth set in a grimace of frenzy...

Clair blocked the metallic blow with his left forearm, and blood pounded in his temples as he answered with a fist to the belly of the intruder. It was like slugging a bag of sand - wet, hard sand - and then he was catapulted forward as Donna ran from the bedroom screaming and lunged at his naked back. He swiped with his arm, and the lovely young prostitute fell away, sprawling unceremoniously on her delectable asscheeks, her legs splayed wide and showing the full, rich furrow of her cuntal slit, where only moments before both men had been so lustfully engrossed. Her breasts heaved and danced, but the men took no notice now; her attack had sent them down on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs and the foulest collection of swearing George had ever heard in one place before. He caught the photographer's right wrist in his hand and bent it back, squeezing for all his might, and the older, unconditioned, unmuscular Saunders squealed in pain and dropped the camera he'd used as a weapon.

Donna Mitchell was trying to crawl between them and bite Clair's hand or leg or cock... anything to allow her confederate time to escape, but Clair twisted away and then kicked out at her, catching her in the breast. She howled and toppled away, in a somersault which exposed her full white expanse of asscheeks and the deep, pink, and still moist crevice between. Clair, catching Saunder's ear, pulled the man upright in one savage jerk which brought a guttural cry from the man, and then Clair, seething with rage at what he instinctively knew was a plan to compromise him, allowed all of his built-up frustrations to explode and in a purge of his confusion and torment that had collected from yesterday evening, drove his naked knee crashing into the unprotected groin. Saunders yelped and doubled over, and Clair unmercifully brought his knee up again, catching the nose this time, and the blackmailing photographer sagged and dropped, moaning and babbling incoherently, his face chewing bits of the wool tuft, his nostrils gushing red blood on the carpet.

Panting, still livid with all the fury which had driven him on, Clair turned to the cringing whore, Donna. She was slumped against the table, her sensual face pale white and waxy, her mouth a twisted pink slash, and her hands were clamped to her bruised breast where he had hit her.

"All right," he snarled grimly, "Spill."

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Mitchell said sullenly, averting her eyes.

"Yes you do, and you're going to tell me, right now!"

"I never saw that... that man before in my life!" Donna cried out defiantly. "I don't know how he got in here! Honest!"

Enraged by the bald-faced lie, Clair swung the flat of his hand across her face, slapping her with a resounding sound that rocked her over onto her side and left a red imprint on her swollen cheek. "You slut! Who do you think you're trying to snow, anyway? Some half-assed kid out of the hills? You were helping him, not me... or don't you call trying to bite my cock off fighting against someone? You're in this up to your cunt, you filthy bitch, and by God you'll talk or I'll beat the ever- loving shit out of you!" His own lewd threats shocked even him, for never in his life had he allowed himself such full reign of his emotions - but that was the new George Clair. Even the old one would have recognized the situation for what it was, but where before George would have slunk off with his tail between his legs, dejected and a gelatin of confused self-pity, now he was a dervish of cold-blooded intensity as strong as the hot-blooded reaction to Donna Mitchell's salacious, teasing body he had had and expressed.

He glowered at the gasping, terrified young whore, void of any sympathy for her. He had fucked her, not loved her; used her, in a sense, and he was neither in the mood nor the rationale to brook her mercy. He brought his hand back, fully intending to hit her again if she didn't cooperate. "Talk, you hear?"

"Please..." came the whimpering whine, and she brought up one quivering arm to ward off the stinging blow, her eyes horrifyingly darting first from the savage male standing wide-legged and naked over her to her coughing, writhing partner on the rug and then back again to Clair's enraged features. "I... I'm sorry, George... I get my kicks this way, see; yes, that's it. Harry is a friend of mine who likes to take pictures of people fucking, and I... I get turned on by it... just like I do when I suck cock."

She looked up to see if her lame excuse would be brought, but Clair only laughed contemptuously and used his hand to slap her other cheek, sending her tumbling over backwards with moaning wail as if she was dying. And then Clair reached down and grabbed her by one slim, tapered ankle, and with his bare foot holding her other tanned, firm leg down, stretched her in a painfully lewd form of the splits. He bent her one upward-spread leg back, farther, her white asscheeks undulating on the rug as she struggled for balance and surcease, her soft auburn pubic hair parting to show the wide wet expanse of her pussy and ass.

"Bitch," he cursed her through clenched teeth. "Let me help you get on the straight and narrow path," he said, pulling on her wide-stretched legs and bearing down on her cunt with his foot. "I've got an invention everybody wants, but until last night I never had the balls to think that there were scum in the world low enough to use a healthy thing like sex to compromise my career and honor so that they could get their grimy hands on it. Well, last night and today have sure been an eve- opener for me, one hell of an awakening, and I'm not going to sit by and let a bunch of shit-heads roll over me. Clear?"

He yanked viciously for emphasis, and Donna Mitchell squealed out a torture-wracked, "Yes! Oh God, yes! Stop it!"

"Paul Jennings told me how his wife was seduced and he approached, and he said that my wife may have fallen victim to the same slimy man. And I bet that whoever's behind our wives getting fucked planned this little party up as well." Clair indicated the broken camera and the long roll of exposed, grey-backed film on the floor next to the still gibbering, still fetal-curled photographer, whose hands tenderly cupped the ruptured remnants of his manhood. "The set-up's the same, the method's the same - hell, maybe even the bastard taking the picture's the same. Uh-uh, Donna, I know too much not to see the obvious connection."

"You're wrong! You're damned wrong!" Donna spat back in a last-chance blaze of defiance. "You've gone stark raving mad, I tell you."

"No, I've grown up, you little vixen," Clair retorted, jerking her leg again with evil satisfaction. "You see, if everything had been left alone, I'd probably have gone along with the deal. I would have been the usual doting husband wearing horns, afraid of public scandal and feeling sorry for myself. But this attempt to blackmail me directly was one step too many, was the one little shove which has made the worm turn. You and your boss have a tiger by the ass, bitch, not the pussy- cat you had when you started."

Donna Mitchell put the back of one white hand over her sobbing mouth, wild with fear and the impact that what this savage maniac tearing her naked limbs apart was saying was true: the easy push-over of male inadequacy had become a forceful, exerting masculine giant.

"He'll kill me if I talk," she whispered in defeat, in respect to the man who now dominated her. "He'll kill me when he catches me!"

"Tough shit. I'll kill you right now, if you don't talk!"

Donna looked up in horror, and read the cold, glittering eyes in George Clair's stern face, and believed it. Nodding with numbed unresisting capitulation, she whimpered. "It... it was Garrett Stoerner."

"Stoerner? The hairy ape who owns the Club Sarbonne in Rapier City? Is that the man behind all this?"

"Yes, lord yes... now please, let me up! Oaaahhhh," she moaned in abject pain and humiliation. Never in her life had she been so callously treated, so heaped with disregard for her usually effective seductive charms. Her head was spinning, and she was a shriveled husk of her once ice-like scorn of men and their trepiditous, sniveling pursuit of her body and cunt. She had the perverse desire to beg to this male who had her in his power, to try and please him, as the masochistic ambivalence of pain-pleasure ripped from her broken thighs and loins. "Really... I'll tell you everything, only please stop hurting me. Oh, please!"

"Tell me now, and then I'll decide whether to let up or not," Clair said derisively. "Is Stoerner the one fucking around my wife?"

"Yes... yes, he said he was!" Donna said, nodding her head wildly.

Stoerner? Hot wrath boiled through his nerves as Clair pictured the not unfamiliar face of the gangster. Now the image of the lover fucking his wife gained solidarity, the pumping male body gaining a satyr's face but Stoerner wasn't the "Latin Lover" type Jennings had described and the sales vice-president would certainly have recognized him if Stoerner had been the one to approach with the blackmail threat. No... there had to be another man in the woodpile, and maybe the Mitchell girl was lying again. Clair twisted her leg higher. "Bullshit. Who's really behind it all?"

"AAAAggggg! I'm telling you straight! It's Stoerner! He... he called me this morning... ooohhhhhhh..." Clair relaxed his hold for a moment, and blessed relief washed over Donna's writhing groin. She babbled out what she knew in panting, gut-wrenching rackings of air. "He... he said, he wanted to make sure you were hooked, and this other idea to get your wife needed insurance, that maybe you'd be so bloody high- nosed and indignant you'd throw her out and not go along with the scheme."

"He... he happened to say that getting your wife wasn't his idea but this one was, and he wanted the photos to use so he could double-cross the others and get your secret direct.

"What others!"

"I don't know!"

"Come on, you were doing so well," Clair said, tentatively wrenching her leg again. "Don't clam up on me now."

"I doubt know!" the tear-drenched young whore screamed. "I... I think that one of them works for Pickford, but I'm not sure."

"For Pickford!" Clair was struck with shock. Who could such a traitor be? There weren't many who could fit the requirements - He'd have to be high up in the company, and lives in Rapier City so that he could be near Stoerner and the wives... Clair went through a mental index of the executives, but didn't decide on anyone. He turned back to Donna. "You said others. Do all of them work for Pickford?"

"No... just one, if I'm right. The other is... is a woman, by the way Stoerner talked. But honest, George, I could be wrong. I just don't know, Stoerner never told me. I could be wrong..."

"No," Clair said in a hissing sound through his teeth, for the identity of the stab-in-the-back traitor suddenly occurred to him when the Mitchell girl said the other was a woman. "No, you're not wrong, Donna. You're right, and I know who the bastard is who's ruined so much of my life." He kneaded her ankle with his hands as if it was a neck he'd like to wring. "You bet your sweet ass I know."

"Who?"

Clair almost blurted out the name - Paul Jennings - but he held his tongue, shaking his head. "Never mind. The less you know the safer I am." He dropped her leg, now finished and unconcerned about the lovely girl. His blood was a volcano of anger and resentment toward his co- worker; Stoerner was the sewer, to be expected to follow his lifestyle, and Clair couldn't find anywhere near the raging hatred for the gangster as he could for the man he had befriended and worked beside for so long.

And it had to be Jennings. It fit too perfectly not to be. Jennings and his sultry wife, Maria, in the superb position to undermine the Clair family; Jennings in a company position which wouldn't give him access to the miniskopos invention directly, but would allow him to infiltrate to where the plans fell in his lap; Jennings, the egocentrical socializer always living way above his means and always talking about sex, which gave him the motivation and the ideas for this perverted form of insidious blackmail. All of what Jennings had so convincingly told George last night had to be so much crap, therefore - there was no Latin Lover getting into Maria's pants, at least not unwillingly and with the intent to force information from her husband later; there was no private detective, either, it stood to reason. What nefarious idea was behind the long, weepy story was not clear to Clair yet, but that it was total fabrication was evident.

The vice-president and developer of the much sought-after invention churned with thoughts as to proper retribution. Bull his way through? Confront the tricky bastard. Jennings, with what he knew in a display of temper and indignation? No... that didn't befit the crime, and Jennings could merely deny vehemently his role in the defilement of George's wife and... and daughter? Jennifer was a close buddy with Katie Jennings, and would that utterly unprincipled man and wife have the temerity to bring in their teenaged daughter to corrupt his own, innocent fifteen year- old offspring? And Jennings had dropped such a hint last night - with seething flames of tormented loathing, George Clair inwardly had to admit that any abomination who would stoop as low as Jennings had would stop at nothing, not even the despicable corruption of a naive little virgin. That settled it in Clair's blazing mind; he was going to have to be as sneaky and as lacking of scruples as his enemies...

He was whipped back to the present tableau of violence and lewdness as Donna's raw, accursed nude body molded itself to Clair's similarly naked loins. She clasped him around the neck in pleading supplication, tears washing down her blue-rimmed eyes, streaking the light application of mascara and makeup she was wearing. She bent her head haplessly to his throbbing chest, pressing her firm, white, hard-nippled breasts to him in a frenzy of terrified subservience, and uniquely, her writhing body strove to join with his in a one-ness not out of sexual craving but from abject desire for mercy, forgiveness, protection, and affection.

"Please... please," she whimpered in mournful, unabashed forlorness, "please... help me now. I... I told you everything, and if Stoerner ever found out, he will have one of his boys take a knife to me... if he doesn't have me killed, he'll leave me scarred." She gulped with horror. "Have you seen what one-inch of a blade can do to a face or figure? I have..." She shuddered and clenched the body of George Clair with desperation, all thoughts of independence vaporizing. She had changed in the last hour, and now nothing would ever be the same for her again.

Clair's first impulse was to fling her away as a piece of rotten carrion, but then with a bitter smile he looked down on the weeping, shaking head of Donna Mitchell and thought better of his indignation. The idea he was contemplating and the lewd perversions of which he had been a partner with her certainly didn't entitle him to be the holier-than- thou, starched collar prig he'd been when he entered her apartment; she'd been a damned fine fuck and had given him all the lewd enjoyment of sex he could have desired, and she'd loved it as much as he had, and it hadn't taken too much to break her down. What the hell, he owed her something.

Clair patted the frightened young whore on her shoulders and held her quivering body closer to his. "Don't worry, Donna, don't worry. All you've got to do is convince your friend there on the floor that you hadn't been successful in seducing me. The film's no good anyway, so if you told Stoerner anything else, he'd be mad that he didn't have any pictures to show." He grinned reassuringly down at her blotchy, but still delightfully sensual face. "Simple, right?"

"But... but what are YOU going to do?" she stammered. "Aren't you going to the cops or tell Stoerner what you know?"

Clair shook his head. "He may not have the proof of me fucking around, but if he's tricked my wife to spread her lovely legs for him, he still thinks that will work. Him and..." he almost named Jennings again in a burst of profane anger. No, what I want to do is nullify their threat, and besides, if it hadn't been for Stoerner I wouldn't have met you, and if I hadn't met you, I wouldn't be as changed as I am." He put a finger under Donna's chin and smiled warmly at her. "The trick is to use what they unknowingly have given me to my advantage, and lover, what they gave me is priceless."

"You really mean that, George?" Donna mewled, almost unbelieving.

I mean it." He slapped one luscious rounded buttock cheek playfully, and said, "I've got a few minutes of phoning to do. Get that bum on the floor out of here while I work, and then we'll... well, we'll see what happens next. Okay?"

The Mitchell girl nodded, a tender smile crossing her swollen moist lips for the first time in almost an hour. "Anything you say, George. Anything..." she breathed huskily and went over to where Saunders was now wretching on the carpet, and she hunkered down beside him. Clair went into action with a decisiveness which he'd never had before. He checked information, found out the number of the El Mecca, and dialed. He asked for Jennings' room, but there wasn't an answer, so he had the call transferred to the cocktail lounge, and after a short wait, the familiar voice of Jennings said: "Hello?"

"Paul? George here. Heard from your detective?"

"Christ yes, I have," the insidious sales vice-president replied in a show of concern. "It's just as we feared, I'm afraid. Lon... Dara is... is..." He paused as if choking on the news.

"Oh God," Clair moaned, playing his part now, "Oh God, what can I do? My home, my family, my lovely Dara..."

"Do? Why George, I know what I'm going to do," Jennings said. "I'm going back. Tonight, on the supper flight that leaves at five. I've already booked a reservation for myself. I... I didn't know where you were, so I took a chance you might feel the same way I do and want to come along. I have a ticket in your name, too."

"Yes, yes, I want to come along," Clair groaned into the receiver. "I want to... I want to see the detective... and my wife."

"Good, good," Jennings said, hard pressed to temper the gloating in his anxious voice. "But where the hell have you been all afternoon?"

"Drinking," Clair confessed humbly. "Trying to drown my aching heart and soul. One bar after another until I lost track of the time, the number of drinks, even the place I'm in now."

"Well, just make sure you get back here in time to catch the plane, George," Jennings said sympathetically. "I don't blame you for behaving like that; I'm sitting here doing the same, drinking."

"Sure, Jennings. We have to stick together, I can see that. I'll be at the motel in a little while, after another drink."

After hanging up, Clair glanced briefly at Donna, who had gotten Saunders to his wavering feet and was cleaning him off, all the time telling him the story he had to stick to so that Stoerner wouldn't get his boys after him as well. The photographer was nodding, casting balefully malignant eyes at Clair, who couldn't have cared less.

The long-distance operator connected Clair with Pickford' vitriolic and ruthlessly overbearing president, Jerome Quarren. Clair told him after introductions that he was coming back to Rapid City on a personal matter that was most urgent. And may last into the next week.

"If you, your wife, or your daughter aren't dead or dying, it's more important that you stay there in Kirsten and finish the project," Quarren rasped. "I don't pay a man to shirk his duty."

"I'm not asking permission, Jerome," Clair said levelly. "I'm telling you that I am returning."

"That, young man," Quarren said coldly, "smacks of insubordination and a high-handed, un-cooperative attitude. I would reconsider your rash judgment, if I were you."

"Sorry, but my mind is made up." Clair was getting hot under the collar, if he'd been wearing a collar or anything else, and he felt more of his already unleashed anger rising at the misanthropy his employer was showing. He'd never realized how kowtowed, how meekly under Quarren's thumb he'd been in his former all-too trusting and humbly honorable skin. Now he was resenting the blustering domineering as Quarren retorted with a stinging charge of disloyalty and lack of company dedication. He let his superior rant on, fleetingly remembering himself hurrying into the office early yesterday morning, torn between the insistent poles of his wife's needs and his company's demands, and how he had wavered with the woeful rationale that some how he had to serve two masters at the same time and why couldn't either of them take that into consideration. Thanks to the even more selfish taking by Jennings and Stoerner, Clair was no longer their slave; no, by God, from now on he was going to serve only one master, himself, Number One - and they were soon going to realize that, all of them, Quarren included.

"Don't you threaten me with being fired, Jerome," he suddenly snapped into the phone, catching the drift of the president's last few implication-laden sentences. "Believe me, you give me much more static about my returning and I'll quit. And I'll take my invention with me."

"Haw!" Quarren scoffed. "I can see that generous promotion has fattened your head, Clair. You can leave anytime and I could replace you with the floor sweeper, but if you try to take your invention, I'll sue you for breaking the contract you signed with me. Or don't you remember the part about giving me exclusive control?"

Why that dirty son-of-a-bitch, Clair thought. He's no better than Stoerner, only he is working behind a very thin skin of legality. He grinned with cruel satisfaction. We'll see about that. Quarren wasn't aware that the miniskopos was only the forerunner of a whole series of developments which Clair had been envisioning while working on the prototype. Up to this moment he had firmly decided to hand over the developments as he got around to them, but the retiring manner of the previous George Clair had at least been good for one thing: it had provided an indirect veil of secrecy which effectively prevented anyone else from following the trail he was blazing should he leave Pickford. Yeah, he vowed, we'll see about Mr. Jerome Quarren after Jennings and Stoerner are dealt with.

Later... he glanced at his watch and saw that he'd spent too much time arguing with Quarren as it was. Quarren didn't matter right now, and there were other things to do. "Jerome," he said in a perfectly calm tone, "Jerome, go piss up a rope." He slammed the receiver down in the middle of an outraged squawk.

He turned to Donna, who stood in the middle of the room, still downcast and broken, her face tearfully helpless. She said in a quivering voice: "Saunders is gone. He'll... he'll go along with us."

"He has no choice, lover," Clair said, crossing to her. Donna's firm, taut breasts trembled provocatively, and as he let his eyes roam over her hour-glass satin form and down to the enticing triangle of pubic hair with its coyly pink hint of vaginal lips, the newfound virility in his own loins began to stir once more. He stopped and allowed a full, pregnant minute of silence to pass as he salaciously openly admired her soft, white and bronze skin, and he licked his lips with the saliva his regenerating passions had provided. His penis began to perk and pulsate with the blood of his salacious thoughts, and he let it grow unhindered and unashamed until it was stiff and hard in its glistening erectness in front of his now aching scrotum.

Donna gasped, her eyes glued to the excited, lust responsive rigidity of his cock, a tingle of her own lascivious desires began to sweep through her blood, and she suddenly realized she wanted this naked, animal-like man standing spread-legged and proud before her to crush her with the heat and intensity of his lurid, unquenching sexual emotions. She wanted him to fuck her again and again... in any way he wanted to... as she had never wanted any man before.

"There's a couple of hours before I have to get back to my motel," Clair said, now moving to where his prick grazed her rippling belly. "And I think that we were going to do something before we were so crudely interrupted."

"Yesss," she moaned, melting in his engulfing, muscular arms.

"Let's go back in your bedroom and I'll suck that sweet, tender cunt of yours like I promised. Hell, no use wasting a perfectly good opportunity like this."

He placed a hand on her white, smooth asscheeks and together they returned to their carnal arena of unbridled lusts.

The small dressing room above Club Sarbonne's second floor stage was misnomered; it was almost exclusively used for undressing. The haggard miserable wife of George Clair, Dara, and his similarly black-haired young daughter, Jennifer, stood huddled in shivering fear, icy tendrils of horror touching their spines and making their white, firm flesh tremble convulsively...

The ride from Dave Casey's house had been a kaleidoscope of nightmares, and both mother and daughter had sat dazed, unable to speak to each other for the long, interminable minute it had taken to drive to the rear entrance of the club. Garrett Stoerner had sat hunched over the steering wheel, chuckling lewdly from time to time, occasionally taunting the pretty wife and her teenaged child with obscene comments as to what was going to happen to them.

"I guess you're surprised to see your daughter here, aren't you, Dara-baby?" the vicious, immoral gangster had sneered. "Your once virgin little Jennifer? Well, look at her, look at what half the football team of her high-school has just finished gang-fucking!"

Dara had stared in utter disbelief as her shocked mind absorbed his vile words, and when she had looked over the rumpled pants and stained blouse of her innocent naive daughter, had heard the mewlings of satiation and desire bubble from the tender, swollen young lips, and had caught the trembling jerks of Jennifer's still throbbing, still demanding loins and thighs, the wife of George Clair had thought that the earth would open up and hell would swallow her for sure. She had almost screamed with agony, putting her fisted hand to her open mouth and biting her knuckles until they bled, her torture-glazed eyes bulging wider.

She had somehow managed to gasp out around her constricted dry throat: "Why, Garrett? Why, oh God, why my daughter too?"

And Stoerner had laughed low and ugly. "Because it was part of the price. Because your daughter was needed to make sure you would never dare say a word to anybody not in the know, not in the same world of lust and sex that you're in now, and she in turn must save her mother from the same fate by cooperating..."

His corrupt, salacious talking had cut through the dream-like trance of Dara's debauched young daughter for an instant, and little Jennifer had fluttered her eyes open for the first time since she had fainted. "Mo... mo..."

Those had been the only croaked gasps of intelligibility that the girl had been able to mutter throughout the whole ride, though she had tried to work her mouth, her jaw moving up and down soundlessly as she locked her tear-blurred, puffed eyes on her mother's tormented face. Dara, bitterly grieving at this shattering confrontation, had realized that the final point of no return had been reached - then, that never again could she have her baby girl curl up in her lap and cuddle with the warmth of love and security without them both recalling this horrible day and the still more terrifying night that was surely to follow.

And as for the night, the gangster had left no room for hope as he had driven the large Cadillac through the city streets. "This is almost too good to be true," he'd cackled. "I couldn't have asked for a better deal if I'd arranged it myself, but you have your friends and neighbors, the Olisses, to thank for setting this up."

The evil light in Garrett Stoerner's lustful eyes had grown larger as he had glanced at Dara in the rearview mirror and seen how tenderly she cradled her raw, sore, abused child. He had been tempted to stop the car and turn around and watch how the lovely wife of George Clair would react to the lewd confession that the Jennings plot was more than to simply pervert the two Clair females, that the reason was to strip their husband and father of his livelihood, and that the one man they were doing all of their immoral submissions for had betrayed them by fucking the young girl he'd hired, Donna Mitchell. Christ, mother and daughter would probably go mad with that news!

But Garrett Stoerner had plotted the downfall of too many once pure men and women to lose control that much; he had the experience to know that should he spew out the full details of what had been going on since George Clair had first announced the development of his invention might well wreak havoc on the carefully laid machinations of both the Olisses and himself. Dara Clair still adored and worshipped her husband, and as long as she thought she could keep her sinful capitulations from him, she would do any thing to save what little there was left of her marriage and home; to learn that her beloved George was the true target could very well make her change about and warn her husband, sacrificing herself in his interests. On the other side of the coin, allowing Clair's wife to know that he'd been unfaithful, either now or after the pictures of him and the Mitchell whore were developed, might well turn her against her husband in a fury of anger, spite, and jealousy, and she would tell all. That would spell disaster, Stoerner had thought as he drove, for the holds over the Carmels depended that the wife and daughter didn't know what the husband was doing - and vice versa.

Yes, he'd just have to be patient. The day would come for the confrontation - after George Clair handed over his invention - and then there wouldn't be any more reason not to sadistically enjoy spilling the secrets each hoped the other would never learn. Besides, tonight there was going to be a confrontation of sorts, for the Paul Jennings plot required that Clair learn of his wife's and daughter's public depravities in an inducement to cooperate with the man who had enslaved them. At this very moment, Jennings and Clair were flying back to Rapier City after being sent for by Jennings' wife, Maria, who called in the guise of the "detective" earlier that afternoon. Stoerner had smiled with self-satisfaction at the corrupting, degenerate plan, and could almost picture the husband wringing his hands and moaning, a spineless, puritanical milksop who'd capitulate to the insidious terms with insipid whimperings and no more; serve the pretentious Clair right to look out of that window and view his worshipped wife and teen- age daughter as the main performance - with the help of Big Daddy Garrett and his wonderfully trained dog, Fang, as added attractions!

The gangster laughed out loud at that point, and lashed out with further invectives at the helpless mother and daughter cringing together in the back seat. "Everything has been a lead-up for to night, Dara-baby," he'd taunted on, "In a little while the Club Sarbonne is going to offer its special second-floor patrons the delights of a mother-daughter act for the first time in its history, and you'll do it, you hear? You and that hot-assed prick-teaser Jennifer, unless you want your husband to find out about the sordid sex lives of his two sweet girls. Those are my terms."

Dara Clair had been fully cognizant of her and her child's exact position, but she had looked into Jennifer's wooden eyes and had realized that the tremendous pressures the girl had already gone through had snapped her immature mind like a twig, and that the inundation of lewd, savage cocks by innumerable young boys had stopped the girl's brain from coherency the way a computer would throw its circuit breakers to halt unrepairable damage from a short. Perhaps it was better this way, she had thought; perhaps if her sweet, angelic daughter wasn't able to comprehend what tonight's pagan orgy would be like she could be saved the self-loathing and disgust which gripped at Dara's pain-wracked soul, and her barely formed life might still have a chance for a normal, happy and love-filled future.

"Both of you are going to fulfill all the promised delights of your tender bodies," Stoerner had continued to taunt delightedly. "You and little Jennifer are going to get fucked every way I've ever wanted or dreamed about, and you two are going to do it back good and proper."

His words had droned on, even after the Cadillac had been parked and the gangster had escorted Dara and the still mercifully half- conscious Jennifer into the private entrance of his night club. Dara's own helpless mind had come to the brutal conclusion that nothing mattered anymore except to get the night's lewd ordeal over with as fast as possible for her husband and her daughter's sake, and she had taken deep shuddering breaths as she mentally promised what she would do. With each faltering step on the narrow, steep back staircase leading to the room above the stage, the tortured wife of George Clair had set her mind into a single vow that while she would awaken tomorrow permanently scarred with memories she would take to the grave, she would not let it destroy her family; that George must never know the horrors she and Jennifer were going through because the so-called friends they had liked and trusted had sold out her and her daughter to this evil maniac. She would protect her husband and, as little as she could, her child too, with all she had - and all she had left was her body. A body at the mercy of Garrett Stoerner and whomever he chose to share its secret pleasures.

She would show him, she had drummed through her recoiling brain, she would show him that she could please no matter what he would demand. He wanted her to act as a whore, then she would be his whore! She would suck anything if he said suck, fuck anything if he said fuck! Nausea had made her weave and clutch the faded paint door way of the room, but somehow she staggered onward, holding onto her child with determination born of hysterical hopelessness.

The (un)dressing room had been small, like a closet, most of it taken up by the huge, white-covered double bed and gold chains which she knew all too well. Dara's stomach had churned with the lurid remembrances of seeing the young girl only slightly older than her own little girl being cruelly raped by an enormous dog while she... while she... The mental words hadn't come to describe her own inexcusable acts, and for an instant the room had blurred and she had the distinct feeling that she was falling... her eyes faintly staring up at the electrical hoists mounted on the ceiling which lowered the chain-driven bed to the spot-lit stage below. Stoerner's fingers had caught her in time, and his talon-like grip had made her perk back to the real world, for his touch had been something incredibly repulsive to her now; but she had made a promise, and swallowing back the nausea which acidly choked her throat, she had allowed the gangster to lead her beside the large, rectangular bed, and she had breathed deeply of air musty and unclean, with its odor of untamed sex and depravity-induced sweat.

And now the lecherous gangster, Stoerner, was rubbing his hands up and down his pants in anticipatory excitement, and his eyes burned holes through the pretty young wife of George Clair. He said with a hoarse, trembling raucousness, "The show's about to begin. It's time you and your daughter, Jennifer, got ready. Strip, Dara baby, take those clothes off just like you did for me once today, and if that hot-cunted little girl of yours won't do it herself, you undress her, too." He chortled demoniacally. "Just pretend you're home and Jennifer's unable to get into bed herself, and you have to do it for her."

In spite of her admonition to be brave, Dara Clair couldn't help herself from moaning with heart-rending sobs. Tears burst from her dejected eyes, and she cried into her hands with long, weeping sobs. "Oh God help us," she blubbered.

"Goddamnit, I said take off your clothes!" Stoerner roared in uncontained urgency. "There's fifty people down there waiting to see you two perform, and at a hundred bucks a head entrance charge and five dollars a drink, they want their satisfaction!" And so do I, his raving mind continued silently. My balls are as aching as they were before I Sucked this sweet young mother's virgin ass-hole today, and Fang is waiting down there as well! Damn, this is going to be one fine night once I get them going! I know it!

"Hurry up!" he bellowed frantically, taking his own clothes off in a display of frenzied incontinence, "by hell, I'll rip you both naked if you don't!"

"Nooooo!" whimpered Dara, but it was her only defiant gesture. With fingers so distraught that they couldn't unbutton her blouse without intense, frustrating effort, the now nearly mindless wife gritted her teeth, reaffirmed her decision to take the brunt of Stoerner's wantonness, and peeled off her garments for the second time that day. Stoerner commanded that her bra and panties were removed instead of lasciviously allowing her semi-nakedness to distract the gangster; he was already overly aroused, and the customers wouldn't be as appreciative as he would have been - they wanted total nudity.

Dara stood in the cold, impersonal room with out anything on and clenched her eyes tightly shut so she wouldn't have to see Garrett Stoerner's immense, hard and glistening penis again or his lusting leer at her vibrant, shivering flesh.

"Now," the gangster breathed, "now your daughter. Let me see that tender, sweet little cunt of hers that's just been gangfucked by all those teenaged pricks..." And like a robot hearing a master's command, Dara reached out for Jennifer's cherubic body, the miniature twin of her own rich, blossoming, curve of breast and thigh. But her daughter suddenly spoke, the first real words that she'd been able to manage since she'd been shoved into the back of Stoerner's car - and to Dara's incredulous, tortured ears, her tone was low and even and bitter with resignation.

"It's all right, Mother," George Clair's young daughter said quietly, "I can take off my clothes by myself."

"Jennifer..." moaned the tottering, nerve-shattered mother. "Jennifer!"

"Don't worry, Mom," Jennifer replied, her voice now losing some of its original calmness, and breaking slightly as she spoke. "I... I know what this, this man wants us to do." The word man was spat out as if it was a more horrible swear word to the young adolescent than any foul, filthy four-letter guttural. "I heard it all in the car, as if I didn't know about this beforehand." She had her blouse off and was unzipping her pants with unsteady but determined little white fingers. "I'm no better than you, Mother, no better at all. Worse, in fact, because I've just let seven boys fuck me over and over... and, and I liked it." Her bluish lips were quivering with remorse and shame, and her eyes mirrored her parent's in that they were welling with the warm liquid of torment and revulsion.

"You poor child," Dara consoled, her heart wrenching for her daughter's broken innocence. "This is horrible, horrible."

"Yes, but we have no choice," Jennifer said in a whisper. She slid her pants down, stepping out of them to show her firm, young, lithe legs and thighs. Stoerner gasped at the salaciously exciting build of the girl, and his cock throbbed hard and painful in front of him, but Dara's daughter turned to him and curled her lip in disdain. "We've got to do it, Mother, I know it. It would ruin Daddy if we didn't, this horrible man would tell him without a hesitation. I'll go through it with you even if it kills us both."

Through hazed eyes, Dara watched her only child slowly roll her already sperm-drenched panties down until the sparse, young triangle of her still moist pubic hair was visible. Then, when the gangster so commanded, mother and daughter climbed on the bed and lay down side by side, and she beheld all of Jennifer's pubescent, slender and curvaceous body, saw that it was as proudly developed as her own, and realized in a blinding flash of respect for her that no longer was she a baby, but a physically complete woman, one who, as the sickening words returned in haunting reverie, could take on seven boys and like it. Jennifer had become a woman in body if not in mind, and could respond to a man with all the passion and sexuality of her gender. And Dara Clair wept again at the tragic way her daughter was being introduced to the world of physical sex.

The depraved Stoerner stood naked with his pulsating cock pointing straight at them by a large switch mounted on the wall, the control which would automatically lower the bed to the full, lasciviously waiting view of a half-hundred patrons below, and fingering the bloated, sperm heavy sac of his testicles with his other hand, he snapped out: "All right, you hot-ass beauties, let's start the action. Mother and daughter night," he grinned callously, "and mother and daughter will start out the performance by playing with one another's pussy."

Dara gasped in horror and revulsion at the salacious demand. Not only was he desiring lesbianism, a terrible perversion unto itself, but with Jennifer, her own child! She couldn't! With a face shining with anguish-caused sweat, she regarded her daughter once again, gulped with parched, torture-wracked gasps as she studied Jennifer's trembling breasts with their dark rosettes and hard nipples and then lower, to the hair lined lips of her so recently well-fucked pussy and the dainty pink clit nestling in their wet, trembling folds.

"Jennifer... my daughter, my love..." she groaned.

"Mother..." came the responding mewl of undisguised misery.

"Damnit, it's either you two make love, or I go to your simpering prig of a do-gooder you call husband and father! Now, do it, you fucking sluts, do it!"

Dara's arms went around her black-haired, quivering daughter even as she felt Jennifer's arms go around her. They touched one another as they were drawn together by their mutual need, their mutual pain, their mutual goal, their mutual familial love. Their breasts touched and their nipples pressed against the other as if mother and daughter were trying to fuse together in their bondage.

With a spasming cry of exaltation, Stoerner witnessed their defeat, and he threw the switch. Slowly, with creaking and groaning and an odd, weightless vibration, the bed began to descend. Garrett Stoerner leaped on the bed, his eyes slavering at the incredibly lewd and corrupting sight of mother and daughter, Dara and Jennifer Clair, locked tightly in each other's arms.

George Clair descended from the jet, maintaining his pose of shock and moral indignation and the effects of too many drinks as he moaned his plight to Paul Jennings. Jennings had been most sympathetic during the whole trip, buying Clair drinks in his role as comforter and companion in grief until Clair was in fact slightly tipsy. He had a hard time playing the part of an anguished cuckold, for inwardly he glowed with satiation and revengeful pleasure, and he made sure that Jennings, who undoubtedly felt the same mental satisfaction at the thought his evil plot was working perfectly, was run ragged with putting up with a seemingly demoralized and wronged husband. If the traitorous Paul Jennings concluded that he, George, was more of a prig than ever, well so much the better.

"Now... now what, Paul?" he asked in a servile whine as they entered the terminal. "Now what do we do?"

"According to my private detective," Jennings said, licking his thin, taut lips with hardly contained zest, "we can catch our wives with this sonofabitch who's been sleeping with them while they're at the Club Sarbonne. You know of the place?"

"No," Clair lied. "I've never been there."

"It's a sort of roadhouse, not far from here." Jennings made a face as if he disapproved of the club. "Lots of rather, ah, questionable goings on there, I understand. A place that a rat like this blackmailer would be apt to take another man's wife." He curled his lip with disdain, and walked toward the baggage collection point with hurried forcefulness. "I've even heard rumors that decadent entertainment is run for a certain type of low-life that likes that kind of thing."

Clair still wasn't sure exactly what Jennings' final game was, but he was certain that to give the executive enough rope would allow him to find out in time - and then hang him. Donna Mitchell hadn't been told by Stoerner all the details, for she wasn't in a position to need them for her part in the lewd sedition of Clair - a debauchery which had backfired so badly that if the gangster were to have known of its true outcome, it would have sent him fleeing - so Clair was still ignorant that Jennings vitas plotting to show him his wife and daughter on stage and then with the aid of his wife convince Clair that the only way he could rescue his abandoned family was to cooperate with Stoerner.

Jennings watched Clair with a degree of contempt that he didn't know he felt for the vice-president before. It was all he could do to keep from laughing in his silly face right now, but he knew that he had to wait and keep up the facade of outraged decency or he would destroy the confidence Clair had in him. He was caught a little off guard by some of Clair's reactions, and had been careful to not make any rash, loose moves during the whole trip back - and then Clair threw him another curve when the distraught man beside him asked:

"Didn't you say just now that both our wives are at the Club? Isn't that odd that the guy who seduced our wives would be able to escort them together? I mean, that is what you said, Paul, isn't it?"

"Why, er... yes, yes, I said that, George," Jennings stammered. "What I meant was that my detective said your wife was with the man and my wife was... was also there, but alone. That's it. She's alone because... well, I'm not sure why because he never said." He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, damning the way Clair could pounce on every word he uttered even though so high-strung. Never seen him this want before! What a job it turned out to be to maintain a hurt, gentlemanly attitude with this prudish fop.

Clair smirked to himself as he picked up his suitcases. So both olives are going to be there, are they? This should be Interesting... I wonder what they'll be doing? For all of his feeling that he had the situation under control, that he now could pull the strings as he desired, George Clair still wasn't prepared for the totally heinous sybaritic saturnalia which would be thrust before him when he arrived at the Club Sarbonne. If he had, he wouldn't have been in such eager hurry to go there.

Dara Clair and her daughter, Jennifer, stared into each other's pain-flecked eyes and seeked solace in them, and the pained mother knew, as instinctively she was aware that her teenage child knew, that they were both the same, having committed lewd, unspeakable acts of the flesh, and were now caught helplessly in the evil, enslaving web of Garrett Stoerner's depravity. The immoral bonds tied them more closely than the best of friends, for they were of the same blood, and a mute empathy and bond of love was sewn between the two ravishingly beautiful young women, and somehow that knit helped blank out the hot, hard lights which bore down upon their exposed bodies from the circle of spots around the open stage, silenced the hoarse urgings of the naked and lewdly incensed gangster who was on his knees with them on this bed of public display. Things were a little less terrifying for both mother and daughter, and together, they fought to hold their sanity during this longest of all nights.

The warm, comfortable air of the stage area was like a blessed covering, and the lights were bright mirrors which no matter how hard one might try, could not be seen through, but Dara knew what was on the other side of the lights, surrounding the bed like pits of hungry carnivores; she knew because she had been on her back herself getting fucked half senseless the previous night in one of the ringing small rooms, and had gaped in fascinated excitement at the lewd performance transpiring on the bed which now supported her and her own daughter. Now, wanting to protect her Jennifer, she didn't say that a few feet in any direction would bring them face to face with glass-enclosed voyeurs, devoted to the worship of vice and gross sexual immorality. She didn't say anything at all, for the time of talking was past...

Slowly, Jennifer pressed the soft, young curling fleece of her pubic hair into her mother's loins, and arching her back, she moaned in the bitterness of what had to be done for her father's sake, and she kissed her mother, kissed her hard the way she had kissed Dave Casey, and found to her shame that her mother's lips were enticingly agile, pliant and soft. And, in spite of the guilt of knowing that her daughter was kissing her as if she was a lover, Dara stiffened her resolve to show Stoerner that she was cooperating and she fluttered her tongue out, entering the opening of her daughter's hot, moist mouth as an answering tongue invaded her lips; she sucked the pink, trembling tongue and found that she could not help running her hands over the fresh, firm skin of her child, touching her naked, taut breasts and asscheeks. They squirmed on the bed, locked in their lewd, incestual embrace, and the tiny puckered little ass puckered more from her mother's finger as the girl's firm, white, young asscheeks parted inadvertently.

Jennifer, sensing her mother had steeled her mind to continue with this depravity, melted with the deep love which she had for her, plus the sympathy she held for any woman who loved her husband so dearly and with her own similar affection for her father. She gasped as she saw the gangster who had engineered this sinful orgy over her mother's shoulder leering down at them in vile delight, then she shut her eyes, hearing Stoerner's lewd chuckling, and let swiftly flickering tongues and familiar soft hands send out urgent, teasing messages radiating outward along her nerves, and she allowed her own fingers to rub along her mother's rippling satin backsides as she trembled with the strange forbiddeness of her degradation.

"That's it! That's it! More! More!" the gangster hissed down at them.

Spurred on by Stoerner's sex-crazed demands, mother and daughter caressed each other's breasts until they were swollen and throbbing with unwanted sensation and their nipples were four chips of dark rock biting into the other's tormented flesh. Dara could feel Jennifer's hot breath on her face and her mind cried out in a futile gesture of anguish, but her hands were moving of their own volition, down over the hot, fevered hips of her naked child, down, down to the moist covering of hair around Jennifer's quivering pubic region. Oh God... oh God!"

George Clair's teenaged daughter felt her mother's fingers seek out and find her pink, wet vaginal slit, groaned with the lancing, undeniably pleasurable spasm of the contact, and her extended middle finger located her mother's clit and returned the attention, tweaking it as if she was masturbating and she was touching herself.

"Enough! Enough!" Garrett Stoerner shouted, his thick lips drooling uncontrollably as he watched the mutually subjugated mother and daughter fondling each other's female genitals before him and the vast audience on the other side of the klieg lights. His thick, hirsute body was also on display, and he reveled in the exposure, as his blood-sated and pulsing cock stood rigid and his hand stroked it lightly, causing a smear of his male secretion to form on its tip.

"Now you, Jennifer," he panted with obscenity, "you turn upside and kiss your mother's cunt. That's right, get between her legs!"

Jennifer moaned, but began to slide away... down the trembling form of her whimpering mother, giving a shudder of dull abhorrence at the order. Dara raised her head to watch in half-revulsion, half captivation as the nubile voluptuousness of her daughter moved up on all fours... she didn't think that Jennifer could do it, would do it... but the girl was already positioning her lovely young moonshapad asscheeks over her face, and Dara could see the barely mature long pink slit of her daughter's cunt open slightly, and the crevice widen to show the child's hairless, puckered rosette of her anal opening as Jennifer lowered her shoulders down to her mother's open, defenseless thighs.

Jennifer had always considered the act of oral love between two women as incredibly abhorrent, one of those things which, as a little girl, she never allowed herself to think about, but as she sucked in her breath and took a look at the close up, softly hair-lined lips of her mother's pussy and the enticing pink flesh just beyond which was baby-dewed with sparkling droplets of moisture that her own fingers had raised, and then breathed the musky, perfumed scent, she quivered excitedly, flicked out her tongue and teased the fleshy folds. She heard her mother moan and raise her asscheeks up off the bed in involuntary reaction, her body twisting slowly from side to side from the grazing tickle of her daughter's tongue. Jennifer eased her mouth inside the now wet, tingling cleft and found to her humiliation that she got an electrifying stimulation from the delicious contact, and she lashed out everywhere, her pink, wet tongue and lips invading her mother's pussy, forgetting in her excitement where she was, or who was under her, as her mind soaked up the ambrosia of slippery female juices and sensitive flesh which quivered violently under her assaulting mouth.

Her mother groaned from deep within her belly and began to pant explosively from the salacious and unwelcome passions which were flowing out of her convulsed loins. She heard her daughter gasp for air and then with a hungry lurch, bury even her nose back into the wild cavity of her cunt, and she begged the young girl to stop... stop before it was too late... but then she realized that it was too late, that she was no longer just enduring the sweet agony and was enjoying the depraved immersion in her cunt. "Oh, no... no, Jennifer... God, that's enough... oh, no more, please no more..." she begged weakly, and she twisted in the grip of her daughter's increasing voracious tonguing, writhing as Jennifer refused to stop, shamefully aware that she herself was unable to break the open, nibbling mouth which was glued to her insanely responding pussy. Her pleas died in a strangled mixture of a sob and a sigh, and her body convulsed as she wanted and yet didn't want her daughter to stop.

Once more the lust-maddened gangster interrupted. "No more!" Stoerner cried out, and Jennifer withdrew her wet, glistening mouth from her mother's palpitating pussy. "I can't stand it any longer! I've got to have you now!"

"How?" moaned Dara, fearing the worst. "How?"

Stoerner's mind raced with combinations of perversions and lewd acts, keeping in the back of his mind that the dog must still have his animalistic way with the lovely, cringing wife... his heart slamming in his chest, his mind awash with the pleasures that flamed in mental images, his chest a bellows emitting grunting sounds, he paused... then chuckled with a lascivious glee which glazed the hearts of both his victims.

"I think I'll have Jennifer suck my cock... something which if I know the football team, she's already well practiced at." Then he groaned and grimaced with ugly, satanic lust. "But first I'll fuck the girl my favorite way... in the ass. I already reamed yours out today, Dara- baby, and I don't think your daughter should be deprived of the same thrill, do you?"

Dara couldn't believe the absolute pit of depravity she had unwittingly fallen into. Even though her passions had been unnaturally aroused and were coursing through her heated blood in spite of her best efforts to reject the ministrations of her daughter's loving tongue in her cunt, the mother was shocked speechless by the impact of Stoerner's words. God, he was going to sodomize hers and George's daughter! The obscene thought of the ravishment about to take place right here a few inches in front of her horrified face caused her to groan and grind her own heated asscheeks against the bed, and one look at Jennifer told her that the girl was too far gone in her humiliation and shame and determination to save her father to resist.

"Come here, little girl," Stoerner hissed, crooking his finger at Jennifer. He lay on his muscular back, his massive penis jerking with its swollen erection, and as he thought of what was to follow, new sensual spasms of hazy delight taunted his cock to still higher rigidity. "Yes, come here, my sweet one, come to Big Daddy Garrett."

"Yes," sobbed Jennifer mournfully, "yes... but please don't hurt me." She crawled over the well-lit bed, tears stinging her eyes as she gazed stupefied at his immense cock. But the Negro's on the football team had been larger, she told herself, and if she could take his, she could take anything... A phyyric note of vain hope.

"Now, Jennifer," Stoerner commanded, "squat down over me, facing your dear, loving mother. I want her to see just how brave you are when you feel me up inside your ass, and how you love cock there after you get used to it. You're just like your mother I bet, and she almost went crazy when I fucked her in the ass."

Jennifer gave an awful look of sadness to her mother, which Dara could only return with tear-blurred eyes, and then the girl moved over Stoerner's loins and assumed a semi-squatting position, her white, firm asscheeks and the darker shadows of her crevice poised directly above his blunt, aching penis.

Dara moaned involuntarily from the lewd scene as Stoerner ran his hands between the girl's legs, his fingers greedily pinching the firm skin of her inner thighs and the smooth cleft between them, and then he parted her trembling asscheeks with both hands so that the tiny, virginal ass was visible to Dara's gaping eyes. Her own backsides still throbbed from the effects of the gangster's earlier defilement of her ass, and she knew instinctively that he was doing this to her daughter as a special way to break them both.

"Look at it, Dara-baby. Nice and young and hairless." Stoerner taunted the frozen woman. Then he leered up at the quivering back and lower torso of the eleven-year old daughter of George Clair and felt her cower as he drew her firm young buttock cheeks wider apart. Then he levered her down... down... pressing the tip of his cock into the tiny, throbbing hole, wet from her inadvertantly aroused excitement. Arching his loins, he raised up slightly, directing his hard instrument straight into the tightly clenching orifice, and Jennifer screamed: "AAAAaaaggg! Uuugh!" and she twisted her asscheeks above his thighs, trying to throw the slowly invading cock from her, but he held her firmly and with each buck of her body his prick skewered into her defensively resisting ass another cruel and painful inch. Her mother held her breath and then groaned in empathetic response to her daughter as she saw Jennifer's tiny stretched ass clasping desperately at Stoerner's thick, throbbing cock as he sunk his rod halfway to its hilt, and she knew that her daughter had no more chance of resisting than she, herself, had had that same afternoon.

Jennifer flailed her legs on either side of his as she rocked backwards in agony, and that made her sit on his huge cock with no other support - and she grunted helplessly and dropped to his loins as it slipped unimpeded up into the thick depths of her small, child-like ass. She jerked spasmodically and then lay still to ease the pain of the cruel and complete occupation of her asshole, knowing it was impossible to fight it, and movement only served to widen and stretch her tiny, hopelessly clutching little anal cavern to greater and more painful dimensions.

Stoerner ground his teeth together. "Christ, she's tighter than you were, Dara-baby, but damned good!" he hissed, and then he guided her with his massive hands on each outer side of her trembling, young thighs up and down his turgid shaft in long, smooth strokings, bringing groans of pain and humiliation from the teenagedr's tortured lips each time. Dara watched mesmerized, moaning in concert with Jennifer's mewls of agony, her eyes a few scant inches from where the gangster's hardened penis was stretching her daughter's backsides and pile-driving rapaciously into her ass. Dara could see every detail; the moist long cock wet with its own secretions drawing the ragged pink edges of her daughter's pink sphincter muscle out on the outstroke, then disappearing back inside as he rammed it home again deep in her belly, and the mother got up on her all-fours, her vision totally absorbed by the obscene spectacle of this man sodomizing her only daughter on and on, screwing her from behind and beneath as Jennifer rode bravely up and down on his lust-hardened cock.

And as Dara stared in subservient anguish at her helpless child, she began to detect that Jennifer's moaning cries of pain subtly changed to low whines and then to a tone which left no room for doubt! Jennifer was beginning to enjoy it with a strange kind of masochistic pleasure, the same kind that had thrilled her mother to orgasm that afternoon. Perhaps it caused by the very helplessness of her position or from the lewd, obscene thought of being fucked in the ass while being watched by a hundred beady, lust-incensed eyes; but whatever it was, Jennifer was loving it, and her hips started to move of their own volition, meeting the upthrust of Stoerner's cramming prick, her whole, young nubile body undulating in tiny, abandoned circles.

The sight of her daughter, her innocent darling young girl, going stark raving mad the way she was and turning into a sex-crazed female was too much for Dara Clair. She continued to watch the sodomized, ravished Jennifer respond more and more feverishly, and once again she thought of her own reactions this afternoon when she had taken Stoerner's huge cock all the way in her ass and had pushed back in torrential explosions... and in the loving way one person can feel vicariously for another, she sensed an odd wetness in her own ass as if he was screwing her again instead of her daughter.

Then was added further ambivalence of agony and fascination to heat her loins as Dara superimposed the depraved scene she had witnessed the night before on this very same bed, confusing her daughter with the incensed girl of then. It was too much, too damned much for her not to react to, and George Clair's black-haired wife started to mechanically, as if she had no mind of her own, undulate her own body salaciously as weird sensual thoughts grew in her mind, swamping her flesh and fibers; and as she continued to watch the corruption of her daughter, she began to push the fear, the self-guilt, the hatreds out of her head and replace them with desire. Desire - dear God, she was beginning to enjoy the sight of the depraved assault on her young daughter's naked ass! Her belly churned and a tremendous wave of sensual excitement poured over her, inundating all other emotions. Oh God... how could she not enjoy it!

Jennifer Clair was crooning now, her mind filled with the horrible pleasure billowing from her tortured ass. She gyrated her asscheeks down hard against Stoerner's pelvis in an effort to knowledgeably widen her back passage, and she leaned back against the debauching gangster, her arms resting on the bed at the elbow. Her beautiful black hair- covered pussy was wet and glistening with her excitement now, and her mother could see its long, pink furrow trailing from her quivering young clit down to her writhing asscheeks where the gangster was massively splitting them with his hard, pumping cock, his hands holding them apart with his urgent and spasming fingers while he buried all of his thick, sensitive shaft in the girl's wide-splayed ass, his heavy balls pulsing in full, erotic view.

Dara couldn't have contained her own seething sensations any longer had she wanted to. She crawled the remaining few inches and nuzzled her face in the soft, sweet-smelling pussy of her daughter, returning the liquid embrace of Jennifer's mouth on her pussy by starting her tongue from the tip of Stoerner's testicles, taunting the half-inch of exposed penis not yet swallowed by her child's pulsating, open hole, and upward, finally sucking the inner lips and clit of the young excited girl. She reached back between her own legs and massaged her now burning, unquenchably fired cunt, wallowing lewdly in the pleasure of her debasing inability to prevent her wild, desire-maddened body and mind from demanding fulfillment.

The depraved gangster lasciviously watched Dara Clair become subjected to the entrancing sight of the anal fucking he was giving her daughter, and instantly he was spurred on by the absolutely lust- billowing enhancement of Clair's wife licking his balls and her child's tender pussy. He flexed the shaft of his impaling, thick cock and made a tight, half-choking laugh as Jennifer wailed in pleasure/pain and surged downwards with her rectal fist of soft, pliant flesh, and violent spasms of delection whipped through his loins. Jennifer continued to raise her hips and thighs up and down over Stoerner's plundering cock, and simultaneously press her wet flowering pussy against her mother's wildly sucking mouth while furiously Dara lapped her tongue about her daughter's delicious tasting pussy, her own unsated passions building and building until she could hardly breathe.

"You... you want to be fucked, Dara-baby?" Stoerner in his ecstasy stammered out to the young wife and mother. "You want to be fucked?"

The answer tumbled out before Dara could even consider the lewd question rationally. "Oooh... yes, yessss!"

"Then raise up your ass behind you as high as it will go," he ordered, and he waved his hand in a gesture to one of the guards standing to one side of the stage. "Get ready for the best fuck of your life!"

"Yeas! Yes!" Dara cried out, her tongue still buried in her young daughter's now hungrily quivering cunt as she thrust her white, round asscheeks as high as she could.

The guard, seeing the signal, released Stoerner's huge German Shepherd dog, and the great beast surged for the bed, his tail wagging and his thick, long tongue lolling as the specially bred animal salivated with the remembered pleasures his master had trained him to perform. Fang leaped on the bed and headed straight for the provocatively waving asscheeks of the woman.

I don't care... I don't care any longer... as lewd and despicable as this is, I can't help myself... And then the wife of George Clair felt the additional weight on the bed behind her, and she turned, wondering who her lover would be, but not really caring so long as he had a long, hard cock to fill her hungry, seething womb. And then she came back to reality as she saw the dog. Oh God! It's that dog from last night! Dara screamed out in undiluted horror as the great, panting brute growled the same, menacing way he had when he had subdued the young girl to hopeless subjugation. Dara could do nothing except freeze, her hand still deeply impaled in her masturbated cunt as Fang lowered his head to her defenseless, upturned asscheeks.

Oh God, somebody, help me!" the lovely young wife mewled in helpless horror.

"Oh Lord!" George Clair blurted out. "It's Dara! My wife's out there... and Jennifer too! And... and..."

Jennings finished the choked-off sentence. "And Garrett Stoerner, the man who my detective said has been fucking your wife. Look at him, George. Look at what that bastard is doing to your daughter!"

Clair looked wildly out the window of the little second-floor room Jennings had led him to, then around at Paul trying to swallow his obvious lustful and malevolent pleasure at the carnality going on out there, and his depraved wife, Maria, who was sprawled on one of the low couches with a Cheshire cat grin all over her smug face.

"It's just like I told you, George," Jennings's blonde and lovely wife said throatily, "I thought there was something... terrible and hideous about Stoerner, and I followed him tonight. He picked up your wife and daughter and brought them here. I... can't tell you how sorry I am to have been a party to this horror... but Stoerner is a bastard... I couldn't help myself, though I know I'd never have allowed myself to fall so thoroughly under his spell as your wife and child obviously have."

Lying hitch! George Clair's tortured mind screamed. They all set up this circus of perversion! His mind whirled with the total nightmare of what hen and countless other people - were viewing, and all his brain could fathom was that Dara and Jennifer weren't really out on that bed, but they were! Oh Lord, they were! His face grew blue with rage and sickness as he watched first Dara, completely enslaved by a giant German Shepherd, her trembling white body spread face down on the bed while the brute's thick tongue slithered into the exposed crevice between his adored wife's smooth-ivory asscheeks. George gulped aloud, and he stared horror-stricken at his child-like, innocent Jennifer being pummeled by a man older than George, and not even in her tender pussy, either, but in her ass! His own teenage daughter was being sodomized in front of him - and liking it; both wife and daughter were liking it, performing together in the lewdest of debauches... and... before a depraved, lusting audience!

In the back of his blindingly fogged mind George Clair thanked God that at least he had been forewarned of this treachery by Donna Mitchell, and that he had prepared himself a little bit by assuming the worst possible thing that could happen would be catching his wife making love to Stoerner in private... if he had come upon this prurient exhibition cold, the way Paul and his wife had plotted he would, he knew that he would have gone out of his mind in one searing second of comprehension!

And then, if that wasn't enough punishment for the unsuspecting husband and father to witness, Stoerner gnashed his teeth suddenly and jerked Jennifer off his turgid, slick cock, and rolling her around with a sadistic grin implanted on his face, took the young child by the hair brutally and thrust forward to rim his thick, glistening penis deep into her gaping mouth. George held his breath in wretching pain, fearing that his teenage daughter would choke to death from the sheer size of the gangster's cock buried between her lips, but to his amazement, Jennifer not only swallowed the shaft greedily, but began to suck it hungrily while Stoerner fucked into her tightly locked mouth like it was another cunt. And Clair caught the look on his wife's face as she watched in envy as their teenaged daughter slavered with all her vigor on the alien penis fucking her tiny, clasping mouth. The child's eyes were glazed with a wild, ecstatic film of lust that sent a shiver through both her parents, and Dara began to gyrate her own naked body back against the lapping tongue of the German Shepherd behind her.

Maria Jennings said something to George but Clair was too engrossed with the incredible unfolding of the next horrifying act. The dog was mounting his wife from behind now, paws wrapping around her waist as if she was a bitch in heat, and Clair could plainly see the brute's glistening scarlet penis jerked and danced from its furry sheath as it slid along her vaginal slit in search of her pink, clasping cuntal hole. The husband held his breath as did the Olisses beside him and the other spectators in their little rooms as the massive dog bucked at Dara's wide-spread buttock cheeks and bared its jaws and growled in his attempt to skewer her on his hot, still growing animal prick. A groan of abject disbelief came from George Clair as Dara reached back between her wide-spread legs and grasped the dog's slippery rod of beastial flesh and guided its glistening tip to her moist, throbbing cuntal slit... and then the huge animal humped forward and buried its canine penis deep in the lovely wife and mother's squirming pussy mouth until it was interred to its full extent and the hairy testicles swung lewdly below into her wetly matted pubic hair.

"Great Heaven above!" Paul Jennings exclaimed in fascination. "Look at her! You see what I mean now, George? You don't have any choice except to submit to Stoerner. You tell him about your invention and whatever hold he has over your wife and kid will be broken. It's the only thing you can do, George; believe me, you don't have any choice."

Only thing to do... no choice... no choice... George Clair laughed shrilly and hysterically at the revolting words of the traitorous Paul Jennings. No choice? The hell there wasn't! He'd show them! He'd show Paul and Maria and Stoerner, he'd show Jerome Quarren if he was in the audience, he'd show his wife and daughter, he'd show everybody what choice he had, including that damned dog out there!

Clair couldn't stand it any longer. Reeling like a wild, uncontrolled animal, incensed by all of the plotting and lewd seductions of his family, intent on punishing the whole world for what he had become a victim of, he turned from the window and stumbled out the door, into the hallway.

Jennings stared in complete bewilderment at the departing, maniacally laughing man, bewildered by this odd turn of events. He said to his wife: "What the hell is George up to?"

Maria, her gaze still wrapped in the lust-provoking performance on the bed, didn't turn her head but said, "I don't know and right now I don't care! God, would you look at those two girls go! Mother and daughter teams really work the best. Ohhh, I wish Katie was here right now! My cunt is steaming for a good licking and - God, Paul, look! It's... it's George! He's running out on stage! And... and he's naked!"

The lust contorting sight caused Garrett Stoerner to drive his cock farther into the passionate teenaged girl's face, and he stared down at her lips pulling out grotesquely and clinging to his hardened penis as the Clair child sucked it hungrily, while next to them his monster dog, Fang, fucked Dara Clair with a long, animal shaft which sent the woman's asscheeks grinding back in wild tempoed fury. Then his attention was shifted by a slight scurry of muffled shouts, the scuffle of shoes, and a groan which he recognized as having come from the guard at the stage entrance... and then George Clair came dashing into view, naked as the day he was born... and Christ, he had the biggest hard-on that Stoerner had ever seen!

The first thought was one of terror, and for a moment, the gangster missed a beat and staggered, almost pulling his erect cock out of Jennifer's young mouth, but then George Clair was on the bed with him, a leering, crazed grin on his contorted face, a demoniacal laugh coming from his slack-jawed mouth.

"Clair! What the hell!"

"Shut up and fuck, you bastard!" Clair roared. "You don't have a goddamned thing on me or my wife! To hell with you! To hell with everybody!" He stood and pranced around the bed, waving his hard, blood-turgid shaft in all directions, cackling insanely.

Dara Clair's head whirled in terror and humiliation, and she froze in her pumpings against the dog's enormous prick. "George!" she moaned in mortification at her husband seeing her and their daughter like this, naked and shamelessly perverting every sacrament of marriage and decency. She lowered her head to the bed, sobbing, the shame of hers and Jennifer's broken and used bodies blotting out the comprehension of what her husband was doing in his insane, perverted dance of naked exhibition.

"It's all right, baby," George said, coming back to her. "Everything's going to be all right. Stoerner and the Olisses don't have a hold on you or Jennifer or me any longer. Don't you see? We do it as a family, together, and what the hell can they do? Don't you see? It's the perfect answer!"

"Clair, you damned fool, what the hell!"

"Stop your spluttering, Stoerner. You're not getting my invention," the once meek husband spat at him contemptuously. "Now start fucking my daughter in the mouth, if you want, because I'm going to really show you an act tonight. You want a mother-daughter team? Well, Stoerner, you bastard, you're going to get a mother-daughter-father team, and at no extra cost!"

"Yes, father! Fuck me! Fuck me in my cunt!" babbled Jennifer around the huge thick cock in her mouth, and she squirmed her beautiful vibrant, tender asscheeks back and spread them wider, her first impact of shame and humiliation gone in the wanton depravity of the incestual desire. She loved her father, loved him more than ever for what he was doing to salvage their family and she wanted him inside her, to feel his long, hard cock cum, for it was a cock she loved and not one of so many strange, uncaring penises which had visciously violated her innocent body. Her father groaned and slipped his hand in her flowering, wet pussy as he kneeled down behind her, and then his prick made electrical contact with the soft, sparse pubic hair covering the slim folds of her tender, adolescent pussy, and with one hand, the daughter reached under her body and her fingers lovingly guided his thick cock to the warm moist flanges of her now well-educated little cuntal hole.

George felt the softness of his child's curly soft lining of pubic hair tease around his aching penis as it entered her. He had lost all sense of modesty or decency with the driving luridness that Stoerner and the Olisses had unwittingly instigated in him and which had boiled once today with the mad fucking of Donna Mitchell and which now threatened to overflow the very barriers of his sanity with the lewd, ruttish sight of his wife being willingly raped by a vicious animal and his daughter voraciously sucking the hardened cock of the most obscene man in town. Unable to contain himself, the new George Clair erupted in his now- changed emotional and rational being, and he threw back his head and rammed his heavy, pulsating penis into his kneeling daughter like a battering ram, deeper and deeper until he felt the white soft cheeks of Jennifer's wide-split asscheeks flatten out against his belly. He convulsively reached forward and clasped his hands around her narrow, wasp-like young waist and held her tightly to him, relishing the low, dragging moan of ecstasy which came from her lips as he surged into her with long, deep strokes... into the wet, palpitating slit between her thighs which hollowed and shook with the desire to milk her father of his sperm... the sperm which had once created her in her mother's womb.

Dara felt the pit of her stomach hot and moist and the savage force of the doffs brutal cock ramming into her as she heard her husband's wild denial of Stoerner's rapacious, depraved threat to her and her family. With blurry eyes she gazed with fondness and love as George drove his penis deep into the walls of their teenaged daughter's cunt, and she knew then that all was well, that her loved ones would be with her, all together from then on, and breathing a sigh of relief, Dara began to once more move rhythmically backwards to meet the German Shepherd's supreme thrusts, her lust-twisted mouth moaning words of encouragement.

"We're together," she panted, grunting under the animal strokes, "We're really together... oh, I love you... both... yes, yes... and we'll stay a family..." Dara knew that her mouth was open and pouring what she felt at the deepest depths of her soul, but at the same time the rolling thunder of sensation made her disembodied and free, and she undulated her asscheeks in salaciously lewd circles, abandoning herself completely as she watched the lascivious trio next to her to the erotic pleasures of the beastial fucking this wonderful dog was pounding into her from the rear. Now, wantonly delirious with her release from subjugation she could truly revel in the delights of the brutish monster and she heaved her thighs and loins against the dog's hairy, hammering body, feeling as if she was a quivering mass of animal flesh herself, and the mounting pressure in her belly and cunt signaled that her rising, impending orgasm was almost there.

George Clair pumped his cock from behind into his daughter's widely stretched and open cunt, and he saw with gazed eyes the obscene picture of Jennifer being buffeted between himself and the gangster in a subservient kneeling position, and Stoerner's huge, thick rod ramming in and out between her sucking, fish-like lips, while her long, black hair disheveled and flowed down over her head and her firm, young white breasts bobbed below her heaving chest. Her father grinned triumphantly at Stoerner and taunted out at him: "Enjoy this while you can, you bastard, because you aren't going to have any more of it! You fucked up solid, Stoerner, and this is your consolation prize! Hah! My daughter your consolation prize!" He thought that was very funny and he roared with laughter and surged into Jennifer mercilessly, until his daughter could only loll limply between the two carnally incited men, allowing herself to be used as they would, following their increasing tempo by the hungry swirling of her tongue around Stoerner's almost exploding cock.

Beside him, Clair could see his lovely wife, Dara in the salacious scene of her twisting her head from side to side, screwing her asscheeks back greedily against the German Shepherd like a demon-bitch with distemper, and the giant dog's tongue hanging from his mouth as he fucked into the wavering asscheeks, saliva dripping down onto the sweat lining Clair's wife's sweat-shining back.

Then: "Now, dad... oh now, I'm going to cum now!" George heard his writhing daughter moan from beneath him, and the rhythm of his and Stoerner's lewd double-fucking increased with her piteous cries of climax, faster and faster until he tore every last inch of his cock into her cunt. "Fuck back! Oh, Jennifer, fuck your daddy back!" as he felt her buck and moan and tremble with the raging tornado of her young, inexperienced body's release and his own impending orgasm swiftly approaching.

A deep, inhuman cry erupted from the gangster's throat and he locked his hands hard around the back of George's daughter's head, drawing his penis deep down until all George Clair could see was a small bit of Stoerner's pubic base protruding wet and glistening from Jennifer's sucking lips. He gazed in fascinated awe as her throat tightened and untightened in great desperate gulps as she swallowed the hot, sticky flood that Stoerner spewed into her mouth, her cheeks bloating as her throat filled and emptied, filled and emptied in the attempt to rid her mouth of the flooding white sperm pulsating hotly up into it. At the same time he felt the deliriously sensual gush of his child's orgasmic secretions swirl warmly around his own cock in her still-spasming young pussy, and her juices flowed out from around the edges of his deeply imbedded penis and down the softness of her uptilted cuntal split and his sac of swaying, sperm-filled testicles.

Dara screamed suddenly and her husband turned to stare in still more wonderment as his wife's firm rounded asscheeks began contracting uncontrollably with her climactic upheaval. The doff thrust his canine prick deep up into her and jack-hammer lunges pounded her flooding cunt, and then Dara felt the animal's stream of hot alien cum squirting in thin streaming jets, ricocheting against the innersides of her wildly contracting pussy, and its steaming heat setting her off. She screamed again and thrust her ass back toward the animal's expending penis as it continued to empty into her rippling belly with unbelievable force. Her stomach quaked and her thighs trembled, and her brain reeled insanely with the sensual reactions traversing her spine, all reality nothing but a blank, black shroud around her brain.

George Clair saw thick, white ooze burst from around the flowering lips of his beloved wife's lust-clenched cunt as she squeezed and milked the dog's still ramming cock, forming trails of viscid liquid that ran down in lewd rivulets, wetting the ivory columns of her soft, inner thighs. Dara displayed in shameless abandonment all of her semen-soaked pubic hair and pink vaginal flesh as she pitched forward onto her face, exhausted, and the rapidly deflating penis of the animal slipped from her willingly ravaged cunt with a slightly sibilant pop.

George Clair clenched his teeth shut and felt his testicles erupt like firebases, and his hot seed shot into his daughter's hungrily milking little womb, far, far up in her quivering young belly, and her father ground his pelvis into her churning asscheeks and dug his cock-head deeper into the walls of her dilated pussy as he continued to spew his lewd load of incestual cum hard against the inner cavern of Jennifer's child-like cunt. She whimpered, her own orgasm nearing its end, and Stoerner's limp, expunged cock slipped from her tender lips, and her father could see thin, sticky strings of the gangster's hot sperm still connecting the teenagedr's mouth with the bloated, red tip of his penis.

Jennifer Clair groaned and relaxed, and only her father's hands at the juncture of her waist held her upright as he strained to empty the last of his cum inside her. Then he released his child and she slithered forward, his own shrinking penis sliding from her wet, flooded hole of her pussy, and she lay half-comatose across the loins and chest of Garrett Stoerner, her own slim, nubile legs still wide apart, a last tempting view of her young pussy glistering in the overhead lights.

"Jesus, Dara, I love you," he murmured to his satiated, smiling wife, falling on his side and kissing her fondly on one sweat-slick breast.

"Thanks, George," she whispered in return, "thanks for saving me, your daughter... us. You, you seem so different tonight somehow. So much more a human and involved person. I don't understand, I'm just glad this nightmare is over and we're together again."

"Someday I'll tell you what happened," George grinned at her. "For now, let's just say that I saved myself as well. Or, more correctly, I found myself, all of me. And," he added, looking with loving eyes over at his sweet, cherubic daughter, curled up and almost asleep, "and, yes, I found my family."

Stoerner groaned and rolled over and glared balefully at Clair. "I may have been screwed out of my invention," he gasped, "but at least I got the fucking of my life. That's more than I can say for Paul Jennings at this point."

"He's never going to get that fucking, either," Dara Clair promised. "Consider yourself one of the lucky few."

"Correction," her husband said with a lewd smile. "One of the lucky many. You don't think we're ever going to end all this do you?"

The idea to move to New York City had been George's, based on the offer by a large, international electronics company interested in the Clair developments. Ampex and General Electric, and even one of the Japanese corporations, had all bid heavily for George after he terminated his employment with Pickford, but all things considered, he thought a move across the nation and the large amount of money plus generous stock options swayed him for the one he'd chosen.

And so far, after two months in the swank Manhattan apartment house, Dara Clair had really reveled in the luxury of having a maid to clean up and no yard to mow and weed. She stretched out on the chaise lounge, relaxing with a cool drink beside her. The sun lamps hanging from the ceiling were giving her a lasting, all-year tan, and since she was naked, the golden bronze was a full covering over her body, only broken up by the twin projections of her darker colored nipples and the rich blackness of her soft, curly pubic triangle. However, relaxing was one thing; her mind was another. Stoerner and the Olisses were past history for her, George, and their daughter, Jennifer, but the erotic fires they had ignited in the three of them would never die... and last night when mother, father and daughter had all romped together in wild sexual abandon on the large, round, king-sized bed in the master bedroom was proof of that. So fulfilling, the love of a family seeking pleasure and satisfaction as a unit. And the trio readily agreed unanimously that while they were happy together, they would never decline the benefits of variety, their now seemingly insatiable sexual appetites needing a lack of constricture.

Dara's prurient thoughts were interrupted as she looked up and saw George peeking in through the door. "Oh!" she said, startled. "I didn't hear you."

"You weren't supposed to," her husband replied smoothly. He was smiling lewdly and she could read the lustful thoughts on his mind. "Come on and put on your robe and meet our new neighbors, Sandra and Don Marlowe. They were moving in across the hall and I invited them over for a drink."

"How marvelous," Dara exclaimed, and wrapping her robe around her she came out of the sun room to be introduced to a pert, well-endowed little baby blonde girl and a handsome man whose masculinity was so strong she felt a ripple run through her just in shaking his hand.

"We never dreamed that we would meet any one this fast," Sandra Marlowe chattered amiably. "We thought New York was the city where every body were strangers in the same building."

"Not in this building," George said expansively. "Dara, darling, how about a drink?"

"I have some champagne just waiting for a special occasion like this," she said in friendliness. "Don? Do you think you could help me take down the glasses? They're awfully high up in the kitchen cupboard for me to reach." She waited for the eager man to rise from his chair, and then she paused to pat the head of the large German Shepherd which had followed her out of the sun room. "You stay here and get acquainted with Sandra, Fang," she said lovingly to the dog, "I don't need any help this time from you. But maybe later, all right lover?"



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The End
© Kysa Braswell
www.kysaonline.com