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Subject: {ASSM} Repost: The Blackmailed Mother - Book One
Date: Sun, 29 Jun 2003 04:10:09 -0400
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LLP-218: The Blackmailed Mother - Book One
By: Peter Jensen

http://whiteshadow.pornopartners.com

WARNING: This story is fiction, and should be treated as such. The 
following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains 
descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex 
stories upset you, do not read any further.

Copyright remains with the author and any copyright notices along with 
last known contact information for the author is included if available. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Chapter 1

A light drizzle and a leaded sky with scudding clouds greeted Lonnie 
Cannel 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, Roger, was gone on another trip. 
Business, always business, him and his new job at Skopos, 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.

Lonnie Cannel 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 breasts and made a contrast to her 
blush-red nipples and aureole. Her breasts were still firm and taut, 
even though she was the mother of a fifteen-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.

Lonnie 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 Roger 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, Cylvia Oliss - who also happened to be the 
wife of Skopos' vice-president in charge of marketing - well, if it 
hadn't been for Cylvia to help take her mind off things, Laurie didn't 
know what she would have done, how she could have managed this long ...

When Lonnie 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, Roger," she moaned aloud to herself. "Hurry up and get 
home." Roger 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 Roger. 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 Roger 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 Lonnie 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 
buttocks, 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 
clitoris 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 cunt- hole. 
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.

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

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 mid-stroke, still in her cunt. 
Is it Roger? 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 ... Roger, Roger, 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, honey!" 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."

Roger 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?"

"Lonnie, you know better to that," Roger 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, Roger?" 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!

Roger Carmel 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.

"... Lonnie ..." 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, honey. Tonight we'll make love. I'd, 
I'd like to now ... but there's not enough time."

Lonnie 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 vagina, 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, Roger reappeared, rubbing the drops of water away with a 
large bath towel.

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

Roger 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, Roger. 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 Lonnie, 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, Martin Oliss, 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, 
Roger darling?"

Roger 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 Roger reached 
for Lonnie, 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.

Lonnie 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.

Roger 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. Lonnie lay back against the sheets obediently, her 
arms wide and her legs slightly spread ...

"Yes, Roger," 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.

Lonnie 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, Roger, 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. Roger 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!"

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

The strange obscenity of her passion-filled pleas excited Roger 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 vagina

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

Lonnie groaned. Her body tightened into an arch of hardened passion at 
the initial entry split the walls of her vagina. 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 
Lonnie's face contorted with passion and her nostrils flared open as 
her breath burned her lungs.

Roger 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 vagina 
with each thrust of his buttocks. 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 
Roger 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.

Lonnie 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 Lonnie, 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 Carmel 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 up-
thrust 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 
buttocks 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, Tamera Oliss.

Jennifer sat down on the edge of the bed and passed the time while her 
father was in tile shower by thinking briefly of Tamera. 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 
Tamera 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 Tamera 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 Tamera 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 Tamera! 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. Tamera was 
moaning and her eyes were clenched; thinking she was in pain, Jennifer 
had rushed over and asked what she could do. Tamera had told her, after 
she'd gotten the innocent girl to lie down beside her and spread her 
own legs wide ...

The thought of Tamera'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. Tamera 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, Roger. 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, Roger, 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 buttocks, 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 Lonnie Carmel struggled like a drug-crazed nymphomaniac 
to get her husband deeper inside her hungrily sucking vagina. 
Jennifer's father was cupping her naked buttocks with a savage strength 
that cut red, bloodless lines into the full, uplifted moons. He 
squeezed her buttocks together, forcing the walls of her vagina 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 penis.

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 clitoris, 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 vagina, 
pumping in rhythm to the fucking on the bed while her thumb toyed with 
her erect little clitoris.

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.

Roger Carmel 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 buttocks, 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 clitoris, her cunt, her buttocks 
and anus 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, Roger!" Jennifer could almost imagine 
herself saying that instead of her mother. She ground harder and 
deeper, quivering under the pressure, gasping for imminent release.

Lonnie Carmel 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 buttocks began 
small, spasmodic jerkings up tight against her father's penis. At the 
same time, Roger Carmel groaned above his wife and his thick, fleshy 
cock throbbed out milky white semen, leaping bursts of his cum which 
inundated her vagina 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 buttocks 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, honey, 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 vagina, 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 buttocks 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 buttocks 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 vagina ... 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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

The offices of Skopos, Incorporated were on the fifth floor of the old 
Antler Building, along Second Avenue in downtown Rapier City. Roger 
Carmel parked his Ford station wagon 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 Skopos 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 Carmel family would be able to retire 
with ease, and he could start making up the lost time.

Roger frowned as he thought of his beautiful young wife, Lonnie, 
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. Roger 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.

Roger 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 Lonnie and Jennifer, 
that his suit was of armor, his attaché case a sword, and Skopos, 
Incorporated the arena. In a way, his vision wasn't too wrong, if a bit 
romantic. Lonnie 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. Carmel. It was he 
who shouldered the responsibilities to see that both hats were worn 
skillfully.

Lonnie 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. Roger was being pulled by the requirements of his 
career just as hard as he was being called upon to be with Lonnie. She 
wanted him home all the time - Skopos 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 Lonnie had done, with the same 
cry:

"Spend more time with me!"

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

"Nothing," Roger 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 ...

Skopos'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. Roger, 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. Roger 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, Agnes Goodfall, was all 
but wringing her hands.

"You're late," she said timorously.

"I know. Everybody in the board room?"

"Yes, Mr. Carmel. Including Mr. Quarran. He said --"

"I'm sure he did, Agnes," Roger 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 Skopos 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 Skopos 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 Carmel 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 Carmel. 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 Martin Oliss, 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.

Roger was sometimes piqued by Oliss; that supercilious air rasped his 
nerves after a while, and the ever-present preening of the fashion-
plate image made Roger wonder if Oliss wasn't a near egomaniac. If 
anything personified Martin Oliss in Roger'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 Roger little more than a milk stain on Oliss's upper 
lip, the blondness being hardly visible. Nevertheless, Oliss was 
invaluable, a long-term employee who grasped what Quarran wanted, and 
did it. He was to the others at Skopos the epitome of dedication and 
hard work. So Carmel took what he considered Oliss's personality quirks 
in stride, saying nothing.

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

"No," Roger 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."

Oliss was bemused; he had one luscious babe for a wife, as Carmel knew. 
Lonnie had told him that Cylvia had the same problem as she had when 
Martin went out of town.

Quarran made a noise in his throat like coal rattling down a chute. He 
was married to a dread naught of a wife, and while Roger 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, R-roger?" Krocklin stuttered. He was 
referring to the invention which had made Carmel the vice-president. 
"W-we're most anxious about it-t."

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

Carmel opened his attaché 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 Carmel. He was never pleased.

Carmel 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, Roger."

"That's --" Oliss 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, Roger, but you're going to have to come 
up with something!" Quarran twisted into something of a smile, and 
looked levelly at Carmel over his glasses. "We can't afford to wait 
another year."

Carmel groaned and sat back in his chair. He was afraid of this. 
Skopos, 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 Roger Carmel had approached Quarran with 
nothing more than an idea down on paper. Out of the discussions and 
negotiations, Carmel became vice-president with a hefty increase in 
salary, plus a percentage of the profits. In return he gave Skopos 
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 Carmel, for he alone understood what it was all about.

Oliss, 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 Cannel miniskopos was worth a fortune.

But the time hadn't arrived when Carmel 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 Martin Oliss's turn to work his tail off from the 
marketing end.

"I hate doing it," Carmel 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 alright to me," Krocklin agreed.

Carmel 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."

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

"I'm sorry."

Under the circumstances Carmel 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 Lonnie. 
There were times when he wished he was still a bachelor.

 Martin Oliss 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 mini-scope was exciting the 
public. In less than two weeks, any chance that he had to steal the 
mini-scope for his own use would be gone. In less than two weeks ...

 Oliss 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 Royale and its 
private shows and still more private "rooms" for viewing and fucking 
which had allowed him to become acquainted with Sam Zeigler, Club 
Royale's owner and operator.

That goddamned gangster Zeigler. Oliss 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 Cylvia 
Oliss 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 Martin Oliss go after and lay Zeigler's ex-chorus girl 
playmate; the only one who had balls enough to try, Zeigler had said 
afterwards.

And greed had made Oliss an enthusiastic partner when Zeigler had 
outlined his plan to take the secret of the mini-scope and let one of 
the syndicate fronts - the outwardly legitimate Vantage Electronics 
Corporation - have it. The promise of a cut which would put Oliss 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 mini-scope was in Kirsten, and Oliss was 
stuck in Rapier City. He'd approached Carmel with under-played, implied 
suggestions that there were greater riches to be made if Carmel "sold 
out" on the sly, but it had failed dismally.

"I bet you've been approached secretly by other companies, eh, Roger?" 
had been met with open, naive shock. Carmel 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, Roger," 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 Carmel himself.

Oliss had finally come to the conclusion that Carmel 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.

Oliss 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 Martin Oliss! The meek inherited dirt after the good stuff was 
grabbed by the ruthless.

Well, then damn it, start thinking of a way to grab! Oliss's brain 
churned with nefarious plots. He thought about blackmailing Carmel 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. Carmel? Oliss 
suddenly grinned. Sure ... there might be the answer. It might work ... 
he recalled what Cylvia had told him a couple of times as she'd laughed 
over the weepings of Roger's sexually starved wife. "She's too much 
like me, Martin," 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, Oliss expanded his original idea to mull over the Carmel 
daughter. She was about due to get hers, or at least that's what Tamera 
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, Tamera had let him screw her on the floor of 
the living room, which was a different way than they usually did. Cylvia 
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, Oliss figured, or the plan for 
Lonnie Carmel 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 Tamera 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 Carmel's life bowing to Oliss'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! Lonnie and Jennifer Carmel, a mother-
daughter combination in the swap group - at the Club Royale, 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 Roger 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 Skopos as much as this particular product, 
aren't we?"

"Damned fine thinking, Martin," 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, Martin," Carmel said, almost smiling as if 
relieved. He was; this way it would be easier to tell Lonnie this way. 
The two wives could console one another.

The meeting droned on, covering affairs which, as vice-president, 
Carmel 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. Carmel. 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. "Agnes, get my wife on 
the phone, will you, please?"

*  *  *

 Lonnie 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 Roger 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 Agnes' voice on the line, asking 
her to hold on for Mr. Carmel, a dread settled with cold hands across 
the saddle of her back.

"Hello, honey," Roger 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 Martin's having to 
accompany me, too. Maybe you and Cylvia 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, honey. 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. Carmel? 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, honey ..."

"Don't honey 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 Roger 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 Roger 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 Roger suggested she guessed. See a lot of Martin's wife. It 
certainly was a God-send having such a close, warm, understanding 
friend like Cylvia. She was almost more of a husband to Lonnie than 
Roger was.

*  *  *

"Oh god, Martin, I want to suck you," Cylvia Oliss 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 vagina.

Cylvia 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, Martin," 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! Oliss thought as he selected a suit out of the closet. Cylvia 
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.

Cylvia 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."

Cylvia 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 bulbous head and 
the wrinkled sac of his testicles. "Please, Martin," 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," Oliss 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 Lonnie Carmel well enough so 
she trusts you. Well, get her drunk tonight or something, and into bed 
with somebody."

"Who?" Cylvia 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 Sam Zeigler to be 
the straight man for Lonnie. 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," Cylvia 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 buttocks 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, Cylvia, I'm trying to tell you what you've got to do before 
my plane leaves. I --" Oliss 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. Oliss 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 anus ...

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

Cylvia smiled wryly as she looked up for a moment with half-lidded 
eyes. "Don't worry about a thing, lover. I'll speak to Tamera 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."

Oliss 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 ...

Cylvia 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, Oliss 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 ..."

Oliss lay back and shut his eyes and pretended that it was the pretty 
Lonnie Carmel sucking his penis. That it was Lonnie'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 Roger Carmel's wife and 
daughter, first one and then the other of the females ... and they'd 
love it ...

"Suck me, Cylvia," Oliss 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 buttocks 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 --

Oliss 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 Cylvia'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, Oliss 
emptied the last of his cum, and his penis started to deflate.

Cylvia 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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3

Lonnie Carmel 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, Lonnie 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 Roger, 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," Lonnie said woodenly.

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

"N-nothing," Lonnie 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."

Lonnie 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.

Roger Carmel 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," Lonnie 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."

Lonnie 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 Oliss women standing on the porch. "Why ... Tamera! And Mrs. 
Oliss!"

"Mind if we visit, Jennifer?" Mrs. Oliss 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, Cylvia," Lonnie 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. Carmel?" Tam said, the picture of adolescent 
respectability. If only Lonnie 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, Lonnie 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 Tamera went into the teenager's room, and within seconds 
the house reverberated with the sounds of rock music, the latest "top 
ten" singles.

Tamera, 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 Tamera's nerves, making her breasts 
electric and her pubescent vagina 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 
Carmel! 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," Tamera 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 Tamera'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," Tamera 
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 Tamera'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."

Tamera'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, Tamera knew 
Jennifer well enough to know that the younger teen-ager'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.'

"Stan 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 
Stan '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 
Stan?"

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

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

We'll see," Tamera 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."

Lonnie Carmel 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. Oliss offered. "If I had 
any doubts, I'd never allow Tamera to go. But Vic's a good boy, and 
from the little I've met of Stan Lubin, he's been very polite and well 
mannered." She had a very hard time keeping a straight face, saying 
that garbage. Cylvia Oliss had first hand knowledge that Stan Lubin 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 Stan Lubin 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. Carmel," Tamera sad. Damned right I 
will. I love watching The Slam' in action.

"Yes, but --"

"Tell you what," Mrs. Oliss 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 Martin and Roger deserted 
us."

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

Lonnie 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 Martin, he's lounging in the cocktail bar right now, lapping 
up martinis and ogling the girls," Cylvia 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," Lonnie said, already half 
convinced that she should go out and it would be entirely innocent. 
That nothing would happen. That Roger would approve if he knew what she 
was considering. That made her think of Roger, and the insidiously 
implanted suggestion of Cylvia's made her imagine Roger sitting beside 
Martin at the cocktail bar. Well, she would go, and damn the 
consequences - of which she was, sure there would be none. She and 
Cylvia 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. Oliss, will have the pleasure of escorting Mrs. 
Carmel to a steak dinner and drinks a little later on."

"Excellent!" from Cylvia.

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

 "I'll call Vic," from Tamera.

The phone call was pure fraud. A bald-faced con to convince the Carmel 
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 Tamera 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 Carmel was one grand joke.

The result was that Tamera 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.

Cylvia got up, and as a long-time and trusted friend of the Carmel 
family, made herself and Lonnie another drink. She liberally laced 
Lonnie's with scotch, and added some vodka for good measure. What she 
had in store for Mrs. Carmel 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 Tamera 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: "Stan says he'll 
take you."

*  *  *

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

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

"Hell, that's a half hour's drive away yet," Stan 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."

Tamera 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 wove erratically for a moment, throwing 
Jennifer off balance, and against Stan. The rugged football player put 
one arm around her so that she couldn't regain her position, and when 
Tamera took the bottle from Vic and handed it to Stan, 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?" Stan 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 Tamera 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 fifteen-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 Stan. She drank again ...

Stan Lubin 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. Stan 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.

Stan 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 Stan and she were in the back seat 
cuddling!

Stan 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, Stan 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," Stan 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 Stan 
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.

Stan Lubin 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 crotch band of her 
panties down between her legs.

She blushed furiously and tried to pull her skirt down. Stan 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 Tamera and a furious blushing 
from Jennifer. The young girl felt hot, but not wanting to let Stan 
think she was square, she didn't move her skirt. She leaned against 
Stan and nuzzled his chest affectionately

Yeah, Stan 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; Tamera 
was mellow and giggly, but Jennifer was half stumbling from the 
unaccustomed potion, and she allowed Stan 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 Stan 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 Stan, followed by Vic and Tamera, 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 Stan and Vic, and yes, on everybody else. 
She knew that Tamera 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.

Tamera 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 Stan will be right back; relax and enjoy the evening." Tamera 
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 Stan Lubin, 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 Stan had returned, and she 
settled back, warm and snug and heavy with sedation from the powerful 
drinks. Stan 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," Stan 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 Tamera for guidance, for 
help. Tamera was already lighting up her cigarette, her eyes shut, 
oblivious to her girlfriend's plight.

What's the matter," Stan 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," Tamera 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," Stan 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," Tamera 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.

Stan 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," Tamera 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 Tamera 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 
Tamera Oliss 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 
Stan, 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 Stan 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 vagina. 
Tiny throbs of secret pleasure pulsed in the bud of her clitoris 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 vagina. 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 Stan knew she wouldn't.

Just as Tamera 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 Carmel 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 ...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4

"I could use another drink, Lonnie," Cylvia Oliss 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," Lonnie 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 

Cylvia Oliss stood up, smoothing her short dress. She shrugged as the 
picked up her glass - and Lonnie'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 Lonnie'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 Lonnie Carmel 
had gotten the bulk of the bottle.

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

"I know what you mean," Lonnie moaned.

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

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

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

Cylvia 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," Lonnie said, shaken by the overt praise, and a little 
unsure how to accept it. It must be the liquor talking in Cylvia, 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 Cylvia 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 Cylvia caught her gaze, and 
drank nervously from her full drink. Cylvia leaned over her to get a 
cigarette from the canister on the table, and her breast swung heavily 
against Lonnie's arm. The heady musk of her perfume filled her 
nostrils, and with deliberate provocation Cylvia 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."

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

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

Lonnie 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," Cylvia wheedled. "Say something like cock."

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

Something else. Go on."

Screw ..." Lonnie 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 vagina. She 
giggled slightly, and averted her eyes. "Screw," she said louder.

"Screw," Cylvia said disparagingly. "What kind of dirty word is that? 
Screw! What does Roger do when he wants to empty his cock and balls 
into your cunt, Lonnie? 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 Oliss wife ... which they were, but her reaction only 
helped feed the rising thrill in Lonnie Carmel's loins. Cylvia licked 
her lips, her pink tongue circling them and leaving them glistening. 
"Where does Roger 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. Cylvia 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 Cylvia ... and more important, with 
Martin and Roger 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: "Roger ... fucks me ... in the ... cunt! In my cunt!"

 "Sure he does," Cylvia said. "Just like Martin fucks me in my cunt." 
She leaned back in her seat and stretched out her legs and to Lonnie'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, Lonnie, sometimes when Martin'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?" Lonnie gulped her drink, the brazen confessions forging 
new and evil images on her brain. Cylvia ... pantiless, going about the 
house naked between her legs ... but why not?

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

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

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

Cylvia 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. "Martin 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."

Lonnie 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. Lonnie and Cylvia sat in 
silence for a moment, as Lonnie took a deep swallow of her drink 
feeling some composure returning to her stomach.

"Turn the page, Lonnie. 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 vagina slits were visible, and on the 
opposing page were close-ups of each tonguing the soft flesh and rich 
thighs of the other.

Lonnie 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 Cylvia was now slouched in her 
seat, her legs wide apart. Her skirt was even higher than before! "They 
make me excited," Cylvia 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!" Lonnie gaped.

"I do," Cylvia 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, Lonnie. 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."

"Cylvia," Lonnie 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 Cylvia was admitting having done 
to herself! She felt she should stop this perverted talking before it 
got any worse ... but the drinks and Cylvia's salacious confessions and 
the pictures before her were a melange too strong to counter-act. She 
felt wicked churnings in her body, the prickles of arousal stirring in 
her blood and marrow.

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

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

Lonnie 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. Lonnie 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 Roger! And whenever she did conjure up images 
during the billowing heat waves of her arousal, it was always of Roger 
....

"God, all I can think of is my cunt being kissed," Cylvia 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 
Lonnie's shoulder, preventing her friend from leaving the couch. "Just 
like those girls are doing to each other ... see, Lonnie? Their kisses, 
their tongues, their finger-fucking each other. Ooohhhhh ..."

Lonnie tried to avert her eyes from the licentious sight of Cylvia 
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 Cylvia's soft 
pubic triangle, for there was a strange attraction for the woman's hair 
and flesh which made Lonnie cringe and want to pull away and yet lean 
closer at the same time.

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

The Oliss 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 Lonnie's rigid shoulder 
and clenched her teeth. "Uuhhhh," she sighed through her mouth.

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

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

Her moist, glistening vagina was splayed wide for Lonnie's view, and 
the shocked young wife could smell its perfumed female secretions. As 
much as she wanted Cylvia to stop, she was too close in spirit and 
desires to the Oliss 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, Lonnie realized that her own hips were 
unconsciously starting to grind with helpless excitement, and that her 
breasts and vagina were actually hurting in response to Cylvia's 
immoral teasing of her own loins.

Cylvia Oliss 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 
Lonnie's shoulder and cupped one of the large, round globes of Roger 
Carmel's wife. Lonnie 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. Cylvia waited until Lonnie had 
capitulated to the fingers, then she moved her arm and edged up inside 
Lonnie'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 clitoris and vagina with abandonment.

Cylvia Oliss mewled again as she slid the bra up over the quivering 
mounds of Lonnie Carmel'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 Lonnie Carmel, who had to be awakened to the 
full, until now hidden depths of her sexuality. It made it all the more 
exciting this way.

Lonnie shuddered and almost wept with the tensions which tore through 
her soul. Cylvia'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 Cylvia 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 cauldron 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 Cylvia's unrestrained 
actions and her inner inabilities to control the heathen arousals?

And then Cylvia let her fingers slowly worm their way down the rippling 
flesh of Lonnie'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 Lonnie 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, Cylvia ... you mustn't." 
But Cylvia 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 Cylvia tighten her fingers around Lonnie's 
unconsciously parting legs.

"Please, Cylvia ..." Lonnie 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," Cylvia 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."

Lonnie 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 
Lonnie'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, carnivorous 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 
pussy lips are twitching. Just the same way they twitch when you 
finger fuck yourself when Roger's not around."

Lonnie's face grew crimson red. It's true, she thought in utter 
mortification. Too damned true. Miserably she trembled with the ecstasy 
from Cylvia'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 Cylvia, 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.

Cylvia Oliss smiled triumphantly to herself and kissed Lonnie'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 Royale she'd make Lonnie Carmel so hot that 
she'd offer no resistance to Sam Zeigler 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, Lonnie," she whispered enticingly. "Take 
your clothes off and we'll both be naked."

Lonnie's mind spiraled with panic. She wasn't being asked - Cylvia 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 Cylvia 
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 vagina from 
the other hand of her friend softened the already swollen lips of her 
throbbing cunt.

Cylvia pressed her hand deeper against Lonnie'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 Lonnie'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.

Lonnie 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 Cylvia 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 Lonnie's breasts were fantastically sensitive to stimulation, 
and had homed in on them with unerring accuracy, assured that the young 
wife of Roger Carmel would capitulate once they were conquered.

Lonnie 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, Cylvia's hand was 
on the mount of her vaginal split, eagerly spreading the inflamed and 
rounded lips apart. Lonnie sighed from the intense stabs of desire 
which cascaded from the tingling pink flesh of her inner thighs as 
Cylvia's fingers rubbed up and down the wide valley and grazed the 
throbbing clitoris 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 vagina, sliding with slippery sucking 
sounds while Lonnie 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 Lonnie opened her eyes 
wide, wild for more.

Cylvia was stripping her dress off, and Lonnie 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 Cylvia 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," 
Cylvia whispered seductively, her head leaning over and her nostrils 
breathing heavy, hot air on Lonnie. "Kiss me ..."

Lonnie stiffened as the warm lips of Mrs. Martin Oliss 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 Cylvia 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; Lonnie 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, 
Cylvia ... 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 Lonnie realized that Cylvia had moved. She 
groaned as the woman's soft hands feathered her skin, and her whole 
torso quivered as Cylvia sucked and kissed her breasts with her hot 
lips. Then the couch sagged again, and the long, slender, beautiful 
body of Mrs. Martin Oliss was stretched out full beside Lonnie, forcing 
her to move against the back cushions and bend slightly. And worse - 
Cylvia 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 Lonnie Carmel! It ... it was just 
like the picture! No, no! ...

But even as the sordid thoughts raced through the agonized Mrs. Carmel, 
Cylvia was once more planting long, fevered kisses on her burning flesh 
down around her belly and upper thighs. Her passionate vagina was 
tingling with roaring heat, swelling and expanding the inner walls and 
outer lips. Lonnie'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 Roger 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, Lonnie," the woman said softly, urgently. Without 
further hesitation, then she did as was bid, moaning slightly as Cylvia 
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, Cylvia raised her upper leg, bending it so that the full 
majesty of her vaginal slit was paraded for Lonnie.

Lonnie 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 Cylvia 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 ... Lonnie let her hands play up 
and down her friend's body, circling her thighs and buttocks, 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. Cylvia had kissed her pubic 
hair, just above her vaginal slit! Cylvia snaked out her tongue again 
and heard a muffled sob just before contacting the black-haired wife's 
firey clitoris, and then she licked molten swaths all the way along the 
fleece-lined cuntal lips, right down to the opening of her friend's 
vagina. Lonnie let all thoughts of right or wrong, depravity or passion 
pass in one sudden sweep of ecstasy and she drew her thighs upwards, 
giving Cylvia fuller access to her cunt, and she in turn found that she 
was clutching her friend's tanned buttocks with almost spastic 
strength, and her face was tangled in the golden wisps of pubic hair. 
Ripples of loathing and shame coursed through Lonnie, 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 Cylvia Oliss' 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 Cylvia'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 Cylvia in a muffled voice. "That's it, that's it! 
Faster! Faster!"

Lonnie sucked hungrily, teasing the woman's little clitoris as Cylvia 
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 Cylvia 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 vagina grasped at Cylvia's tongue and her clitoris 
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 Cylvia Oliss as wild orgasmic juices poured 
forth from her hotly pulsating vaginal mouth.

Cylvia felt Lonnie 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 Lonnie's: 
"Ahhhhhhh!" for Lonnie 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.

Lonnie 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 Roger 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 Cylvia's lubrications. She ran her tongue nervously 
over her lips, tasting again the female piquance of her friend's 
vagina, 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 Cylvia, 
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. Lonnie Carmel 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, Lonnie," 
Cylvia 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, Cylvia. 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.

Cylvia, 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, Lonnie." She had 
the urge to laugh then, for Lonnie looked so shamed and yet so very 
hot.

"Listen, Lonnie," 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." Lonnie turned her head away.

Cylvia was too clever to let the reaction of self-incrimination steal 
the pleasure and satisfaction from Lonnie'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 Lonnie 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 Cylvia 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; Zeigler 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. Oliss 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 Lonnie: 
"Y-yes, I did."

"You see? You haven't dulled your love for Roger; all you did was have 
a fulfilling sexual experience, and we became all the closer for it. 
What could be more natural than that?" Cylvia Oliss sat down, her naked 
hips touching the still warm and palpitating stomach of the distraught 
young wife. She stroked Lonnie's side tenderly. "What we did was an 
embellishment, nothing more. I bet that when Roger 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."

Lonnie 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.

Cylvia 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, Cylvia, I couldn't!" Lonnie 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, Lonnie 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," Cylvia 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."

Lonnie nodded numbly and started for her bedroom.

"And for God's sakes take that look off your face," Cylvia 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, Lonnie, just like all the 
others. Trust me."

When Lonnie was in the bedroom and rustling clothes in her closet, the 
Oliss wife crossed quickly to the phone and dialed the number of the 
Club Royale quietly. As she waited for an answer and the chance to tip 
Zeigler that they would soon be on the way to his club, she smiled 
grimly. Trust me, Lonnie, 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?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5

Stan Lubin massaged the young teen-age virgin's breast and knew he was 
getting Jennifer Carmel 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-inciting 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 Tamera 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 Stan'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, Stan," she groaned. 
"Let me sit up. I don't want you to touch me like this."

Stan 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 vagina down against the 
couch cushions and making herself more aroused than ever.

"Oh God, Stan, 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 Tamera 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 Stan had snaked her bra off and 
was freely fondling her breasts.

"No ... no, Stan," 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 Tamera! 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 hers 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 vagina a seeping moisture was increasing.

Stan 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.

"Stan, 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. Stan 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 Tamera, and Jennifer's flesh 
crawled with the impact of so close a scene of carnal abuse. Tamera 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.

Tamera 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 buttocks. As Stan'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. Stan 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 Stan'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 vagina. 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, Tamera Oliss, being buffeted down into 
the couch beside her, was just too much to bear!

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

Stan'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!"

Stan 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 Tamera 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. Tamera'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 Tamera's 
quivering pussy. The large bud of her erect clitoris was clearly in 
view just above the shadowed mouth of her cunt.

Stan, 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 vagina, 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 
Tamera responded with tiny spasms of excitement. Her hips began a slow 
undulation as Tamera 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," Stan Lubin 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. Stan pushed up her buttocks 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 
vagina. 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. Stan 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 cock head.

His fingers crawled into the valley of her maidenhood, wet with her 
emissions. He rubbed her clitoris, listening to the panicky gasps that 
rose from deep in her lungs. "Stan ... 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, Stan 
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, Stan crouched down and spread the lips of her vagina 
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 Tamera 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 Tamera reached out and grasped the quivering 
cock and guided it between her legs to her open vagina. 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 Stan was doing to her own cunt with his middle finger. 
Tamera locked her ankles around Vic's legs, and the tempo began to 
build until her buttocks 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 Stan, 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!

Stan 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 vagina!

"Don't do it to me, Stan," 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," Stan groaned as he levered above her. Her soft 
tender vagina felt as though it were bursting at the seams, the pain 
unbearable. Stan, 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 Stan Lubin 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 buttocks with his 
hands, Stan 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.

Stan reached down around her squirming buttocks with a finger and 
slowly teased into the smooth rubbery walls of her tight, puckered 
anus. 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 rectum 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 Roger Carmel's teenage daughter, 
there was nothing else in the whole wide world except the delicious 
double-fucking of her cunt and anus. 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 buttocks, 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, Stan, and make me cum ..."

Stan 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 Carmel 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, Stan," she gasped back, willing to agree to anything just so he 
wouldn't stop the magnificent fucking of her newly-awakened vagina. "Oh 
God, I'm all yours, Stan." 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, Stan ... You can fuck me any time you like!"

 He continued his assault on her tiny squirming rectum 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!"

Stan 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, Stan! 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, Stan, 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!" Stan gloated in victory. He grabbed her 
hips again, worming his finger even deeper into her tight little anus 
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 Stan "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.

Stan 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 buttocks wider with his hands 
and drove his finger harder into her rectum, 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 ... 
Stan'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, Stan ... 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 vagina, running down over his hands cupping her 
buttocks, and her whole lower body and her breasts heaved and rolled in 
lewd convulsions of animal climax.

Then Jennifer Carmel, 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 rectum with a slight hissing 
sound. His cock deflated rapidly, now trickling out the last of his 
virile sperm into her flooded vagina.

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, Tamera, 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 Stan 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 Stan 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 vagina 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, Stan? 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 ...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 6

Club Royale 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 Royale - 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.

Sam Zeigler 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.

Zeigler 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 Royale. 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.

Zeigler 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.

Zeigler 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 in between 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. Zeigler glanced at his watch and sipped his martini and hoped 
that this Mrs. Oliss 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 Oliss 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. Zeigler 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 Carmel 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 Carmel lived in Rapier City and that Skopos 
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. Zeigler 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. Martin Oliss had proved to be a well worth-while 
aquaintanceship. Oliss-Skopos' sales veep! What a stroke of luck! 
Nothing like selling a salesman, he'd found; Oliss had been putty in 
his hands, for if the man had been enough of an opportunist, and he 
had, to fuck his, Zeigler'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 
Zeigler dangled in front of him. All he had to do was get the plans or 
a mock-up of the invention, and Zeigler would handle the rest. And 
Oliss' 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. Zeigler couldn't 
tolerate excuses, yet that's all he'd gotten from Oliss. 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 Zeigler didn't - that is, Zeigler laughed 
silently to himself, too bad for Oliss. Oliss 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 Carmel's plans and models were in 
Kirsten, Nevada, and Oliss 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 Skopos' control before the 
unveiling.

Zeigler 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 Oliss. 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 Oliss'.

To fuck some woman he'd never seen before! And a woman who never had 
laid for any man except her dippy husband! God, Zeigler could just 
imagine what Mrs. Carmel was like if she didn't like to fool around 
much. A sexless, horse-faced old prune, not withstanding Oliss' 
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? Zeigler 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 Zeigler 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, Sam," 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. Oliss," he said with honeyed tones. "What on earth are you doing 
here?"

"It's Cylvia, remember?" she grinned back, and then added, "We came 
here for dinner. Oh - I'd like you to meet my very best friend, Lonnie 
Carmel. Lonnie - Sam Zeigler. A dear old friend of the family."

"How ... how do you do, Mr. Zeigler," Lonnie said hesitantly.

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

Lonnie stood and slightly blushed under the brazen gaze of Sam Zeigler. 
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 Cylvia had disapproved of her clothes 
and taken Lonnie 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 Cylvia 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 buttocks. 
And instead of her usual panties, the other woman had given her a tiny 
G-string which covered her actual vagina, but left her cunt lips 
exposed. The string rubbed against her still aroused clitoris, 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 Cylvia had dressed 
similarity, and the blonde-haired woman's influence was still too 
strong to deny. They'd used the Oliss' flashy new Buick and before 
she'd realized it, they were parking in the large macadam lot of the 
Club Royale. She'd been here a couple of times before, on special 
occasions like her anniversary and Roger's birthday. After a few 
timorous hesitations, Lonnie 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 Royale 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 Lonnie and Cylvia had "bumped into" the 
Oliss' 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.

Lonnie 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, Lonnie found that 
she was looking back at Sam Zeigler 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. Sam 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," Zeigler 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 Lonnie.

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

"It's an expensive gesture, Cylvia," Lonnie protested. "I don't think 
it's fair to make Mr. Zeigler - Sam - pay for us."

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

Cylvia Oliss laughed at the harmless deception; her inner mirth came 
from the more evil joke that Zeigler 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. Oliss. Hungry for the show upstairs and the fun to 
begin. Zeigler 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! Zeigler 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," Lonnie whispered urgently to her friend. "We're 
married women! What if somebody sees us?"

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

Zeigler 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.

Lonnie Carmel, 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 Zeigler 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 Cylvia and Martin. Zeigler 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," Zeigler said, sitting back from his coffee. "What did you 
two lovely ladies have planned now?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Cylvia said.

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

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

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

"Well, I'm all for a little fun," Cylvia said, but Lonnie 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," Zeigler said, as if reconsidering a hasty offer. 
"It's a strip show, and I wouldn't want to scare you."

Now Lonnie 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," Cylvia said, adding 
insult to injury. "I didn't think you approved of them."

"I think they're lots of fun," Lonnie retorted, stung. She had seen 
one, in San Diego, with Roger 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. Zeigler 
might not know her, but Cylvia should! Hadn't she given her friend her 
body just a couple of hours ago?

Zeigler signed the back of the bill with a flourish, not even bothering 
to see how much it was. Lonnie was impressed; Sam 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.

Lonnie was startled by the richness all around her. As Zeigler opened 
one of the doors to the converted rooms and held it open for her and 
Cylvia, 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 Lonnie 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?" Zeigler grinned 
and went behind the bar. "Brandy, Benedictine, Scotch, more Grand 
Marnier perhaps?"

The Grand Marnier had been delicious; Lonnie had another of the sweet 
liqueur, while Zeigler and Cylvia both had Black Russians. When Zeigler 
served Lonnie he let his hand slide down and half cup her right breast, 
but Lonnie 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," Zeigler toasted.

Lonnie 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 buttocks after slipping her shoes off. Modestly she pressed 
her thighs and knees together so that Zeigler 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.

Zeigler and Cylvia sat down on the same couch with Lonnie, 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 
Zeigler's stories and the banter which passed between him and Mrs. 
Oliss. Then Zeigler 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. Zeigler crossed to Roger Carmel's 
young wife and added: "You don't mind, do you, Lonnie?"

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

With a premonition of dread, Lonnie Carmel allowed herself to be pulled 
from her sitting position and into the stranger's arms. Their bodies 
met and Zeigler 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 Zeigler had 
slipped his leg between her thighs she could sense a light dampness 
ease its way from her vagina 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 buttocks were visible to not only Cylvia, but to 
Zeigler, 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 Sam was actually fucking her!

The lewd word, which had suddenly popped into her dizzy mind made 
Lonnie gasp. What was she thinking! She was thinking of being 
unfaithful to Roger ... 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 Sam 
Zeigler would look like naked, his penis slipping inside her vagina - 
was he bigger than Roger? She opened her legs wider and bent backwards, 
jerking her body to the music beat, not wanting to stop now. Zeigler 
placed his hands on her all but naked buttocks 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. Lonnie awoke from her stupor and shamed, she pulled 
out of Zeigler's arms and sat down hurriedly. The man said: "Your 
friend has a beautiful body, Cylvia."

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

Lonnie 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 Zeigler. "No more Grand Marnier, I'm afraid, Lonnie. 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 
Lonnie 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. Lonnie 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 ... Lonnie 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 Lonnie 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. Lonnie gaped stupefied at the young black pubic 
triangle. She'd never expected this! In the show she and Roger 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!

Lonnie shifted uncomfortably on the couch, noticing for the first time 
that Zeigler 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.

Lonnie 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. Lonnie shuddered, fascinated with the dual 
curses of remembering how she had been a little earlier on her 
living room couch, and how the girl was building to similar lusts - and 
taking Lonnie 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 Lonnie 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 clitoris 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. Lonnie could feel 
her own pussy moisten - and now she thought of how Cylvia'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 Zeigler'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 ... 
Zeigler'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 Lonnie 
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.

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

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

Lonnie 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 Zeigler'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 vagina, 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 
Zeigler 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 anus to the fluted little cuntal lips 
surrounding her clitoris. 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.

Lonnie could feel Zeigler become restless, and she heard the short 
panting gasps from her girlfriend and Cylvia twisted her buttocks on 
the couch nearby. She ground her own buttocks 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 
Zeigler'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 Cylvia 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 Zeigler'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 Cylvia, glad to see the blonde wife was 
rapturously intent on the girl and the dog and could not see her.

Zeigler dropped his other hand to her bare knee, slipping it up to the 
hem of her thigh-high skirt. Lonnie 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 up-turned vagina 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 Lonnie, and she was unable to stop Zeigler'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. Lonnie glanced at Cylvia again, but her friend showed every 
indication of not being aware. In fact, her own hand was under her 
skirt; Lonnie 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 Zeigler had 
taken her moment of concentration to work her narrow skirt up over her 
thighs.

Zeigler 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 Zeigler 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 Lonnie 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 buttocks, 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.

Lonnie'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 Cylvia's friend, Sam Zeigler, was far too fast for 
her and this wasn't being true to Roger. 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," Zeigler chuckled throatily, lewdly, "the dog's going to fuck 
her, Lonnie."

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

"Fuck her," Cylvia Oliss cut in eagerly. "Fuck her just like Sam here 
is going to fuck you while I watch !"

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

Chapter 7

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 Royale.

Earlier in the same evening as Roger Carmel's unexpected return to the 
Skopos plant in Kirsten, he and Martin Oliss sat in the small bar, 
drinking a couple of scotch-and-waters and adding their own 
conversation to the murmur of other voices. Roger 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.

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

Oliss had the hunch that both he and Carmel 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 Carmel'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.

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

Carmel looked at his business associate, curious. He was never as close 
to Martin Oliss as his wife was to Cylvia or his daughter was to 
Tamera, but that wasn't through the fault of Martin. In spite of Carmel 
's feeling of uneasiness that he got occasionally when around the sales 
vice-president, it was more a matter that he, Carmel, 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 Oliss' 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" Oliss was now 
intimating. Something was on his mind, something that was troubling him 
greatly.

"Yes, Martin," Carmel said. "About what?"

"I ..." Oliss 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, Roger. 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," Carmel 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, Martin . 
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."

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

"Me?"

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

"Running ar--" Carmel's eyes bulged. "You mean, having an affair? 
Cylvia? Are you sure?"

"Oh, more sure than I care to think about," Oliss said bitterly. "You 
see, her lover came to see me." He saw Carmel's mouth open, and he 
waved his hand. "No, not for a divorce. Worse than that." Oliss leaned 
toward Carmel 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, Martin. Cooperate how?"

Oliss dropped his voice as if utterly ashamed. "By spying on you, 
Roger. 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?" Roger 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?" Carmel 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 Cylvia 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."

"Martin, you poor man," Carmel sympathized.

"Wait, there's more." Oliss shuddered, as if the worst was yet to come 
-- and for Roger Carmel, 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 Cylvia to a string of motels and a couple of times ... in my own 
house." Tears nearly welled in Oliss' eyes as he poured forth his tale 
in choking words. "My ... own house! My ... marital bed, de-defiled by 
this bastard!"

"Martin, " Carmel 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, Roger, 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 Oliss paused dramatically. "He's seduced another 
man's wife. One ... oh, shit, Roger, he may be fucking Lonnie, too."

"Lonnie?" Carmel staggered under the impact. "My wife?"

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

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

"I couldn't believe it about Cylvia, either," Oliss 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 Lonnie."

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

"Ninety percent positive, Roger. 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," Carmel 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."

Carmel's mind whirled disconcertedly. What Oliss was telling him was 
the most wild, inconceivable story he'd ever heard! Lonnie 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 Lonnie; she was strictly a one-man 
female, and she'd never....

"I know what you're thinking, Roger," Oliss 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."

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

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

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

"Yes, your wife and mine," Oliss pressed on, his voice calm and low 
now, well hiding his inner elation, his satisfaction and sadistic 
pleasure at seeing Carmel 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, Roger Carmel swallowed his scotch and ordered 
another one straight and almost dementedly turned to Martin Oliss for 
help. His whole, wonderful world was teetering from extinction by the 
slender thread that what Oliss and the detective said were mistakes, 
and that Lonnie was not letting another man touch her. But Oliss was so 
insistent! So damnably sure!

"Well, there's nothing either of us can do until the detective calls," 
Oliss 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 ..." Carmel 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 Lonnie," Oliss continued, "I imagine I will make the best 
of it ... alone. But if it is --" He let the nameless terror seep 
deeper into Carmel'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 Cylvia and Tamera Oliss in wild and licentious 
abandonment as strange cocks and mouths fucked their wits silly made 
his cock leap. And then the further image of Carmel'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 
Carmel will, too. For the first time in his idyllic marriage, Roger 
Carmel began to question its solidarity, and the values which he and it 
were living by. Had he been so inconsiderate a husband to let Lonnie 
fall prey to this Latin lover Oliss 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 Lonnie 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 
Martin Oliss evinced. He couldn't leave Lonnie ... 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. 
Roger Carmel slumped to the bar, utterly dejected, his brain a cauldron 
of agony and fears. He never noticed as Martin Oliss peered down on him 
with a sadistically triumphant leer twisting his lips and mustache.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 8

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

Languidly, Cylvia Oliss got up from the couch and came to stand over 
Lonnie, 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 Sam 
Zeigler. She placed her hands over Lonnie's breasts and squeezed the 
tender globes. "We're going to show you a new way of life, Lonnie. 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 Zeigler and Cylvia started 
to laugh fiendishly.

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

"I've been a fool," Lonnie 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 
Cylvia'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."

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

Together, the gangster and Mrs. Oliss pulled the terrified, but 
emotionally charged young woman down on the couch, and then Zeigler 
started pushing her knees apart and slid his hand once more under her 
mini-skirt. Lonnie 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 Zeigler once more commenced to slowly 
stroke in and out in a make-believe of copulation.

"Go on and make all the noise you want, Lonnie. 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."

Lonnie Carmel 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 buttocks, and the beast was 
mounting her... his huge paws covered in mittens so that his claws 
couldn't scratch. But Lonnie'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 buttocks; the dog jerked and trembled in his attempt to find the 
girl's vagina 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. Lonnie 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.

Lonnie'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 Cylvia'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 
Lonnie'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 
Zeigler lift her buttocks 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 Zeigler 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 Zeigler was 
stripping naked.

Then a surging heat inundated her vagina and expanded her breasts, and 
her brain revolved as Cylvia unbuttoned the see-through blouse, leaving 
Lonnie 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, Sam. 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. Cylvia's lewd suggestion was set into action without a moment's 
hesitation; in unison, the naked bodies of Zeigler and Mrs. Oliss 
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. Cylvia took Lonnie's nipples and massaged them to 
agonizing hardness, and Lonnie 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 vagina steaming. She tried to close her obscenely spread 
legs, but Cylvia's hands forced them apart slightly more.

A gripping lust ripped through Sam Zeigler, 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. Cylvia was forcing the Carmel 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 Cylvia Oliss as with obscene delight they stared at 
Lonnie's tingling upraised clitoris.

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

A hopeless moan fluttered from Lonnie 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 Cylvia lowered her head and sucked 
her vagina, licking her clitoris with her tongue until it was hard and 
throbbing. Velvet lips once more were covering her sensitive pussy lips 
and the hair-fringed edges of her vaginal split until Lonnie's breath 
was matching Cylvia'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, Cylvia!" Her cries filled the room, making Zeigler's 
hardened penis jerk with blood-filled tingling. God! He was having a 
hard time controlling his throbbing cock, waiting until Cylvia was 
ready to let it take the place of her teasing mouth.

Lonnie's mind whirled and she gasped in short, grunting breaths as 
Cylvia 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. Lonnie could feel that pink tongue all the way up her 
belly and to her breasts. But the Oliss wife wasn't satisfied; she 
wanted more than soft moans, she wanted to be begged, to be screamed at 
....

Cylvia raised her face and grinned lewdly up the expanse of undulating 
flesh, past the rose-tipped crests of Lonnie'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, Lonnie!"

Lonnie 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 Cylvia 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 buttocks, the droplets glistening in the stage-lights.

"Damn it, Lonnie, tell me!" Cylvia hissed urgently.

Lonnie Carmel 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 buttocks, and the stage 
slowly revolved so that all of the alien coupling could be seen, Lonnie 
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 Lonnie Carmel 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?" Cylvia teased, and Zeigler grinned down at the two women's 
faces of lust and added: "Yes, Lonnie, tell us what you want me to do 
to you."

"Fuck me! Fuck me! Please ..." Lonnie'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!"

Cylvia 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, Sam. 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 Lonnie 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 Roger. She shuddered as Zeigler crawled 
over her naked body, and parted the lips of her vagina 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 Roger, 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!" Cylvia Oliss 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," Cylvia said. "She's been Mrs. Sweet and Innocent too 
damned long."

The defiling words only came through Lonnie'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, Sam! Fuck me 
hard! Fuck me hard!"

Zeigler slipped his hands beneath her buttocks and raised them to his 
straining cock. Lonnie moaned incoherently and wound her warm, smooth 
legs around his hips, and the velvet walls of her vagina 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!" Cylvia gasped. 
Through crazed, flickering eyes Lonnie saw her best friend lying on the 
floor beside them, the woman's eyes feasting on the close-up of 
Zeigler'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 Lonnie's view. From clitoris to anus, the stretched 
cunt slit was a proud, inflamed pink, and Cylvia 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 vagina but scant inches away.

"Ram it to her, Sam, ram it to her!" Cylvia grunted.

The words lashed at Lonnie, 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 Cylvia lying with her head toward the 
grinding loins of Lonnie and Zeigler. Lonnie 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 Zeigler from above. "She ... she wants to suck you off, 
Cylvia! 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, Lonnie felt the 
overwhelming passion to pay Cylvia back in kind. She wanted to suck her 
open cunt until Cylvia 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 Cylvia removed her 
fingers hurriedly and lifted her buttocks so that Lonnie's entire mouth 
could engulf her throbbing cunt. She wanted the helpless wife of Roger 
Carmel to make her cunt spasm with orgasm, for the young Lonnie 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!

Lonnie'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 vagina gripped around 
Zeigler's plunging cock like a warm, clenched fist, while his balls 
pounded against her buttocks and the soft-haired skin of her wide 
spread loins.

Spurred on by the double sight of dog in girl and Lonnie on Cylvia, 
Zeigler dug deeper, forcing Lonnie's legs farther back, his cock 
fucking into her like a pile-driving machine gone mad. Then Cylvia, 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!"

Zeigler fucked into Lonnie's churning cunt, the cries and moans egging 
him with burning heat. Lonnie cried out from the brutal impalement - 
her voice muffled - but her greedy vagina 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 Lonnie. 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 Cylvia'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 teen-ager 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 vagina, 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 Lonnie'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 
Zeigler's boiling testicles.

He groaned and suddenly Lonnie 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 buttocks 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.

Lonnie 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 finger fucked 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," Cylvia 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," Zeigler panted, 
"but I sure am for a few minutes. God almighty, she's insatiable!"

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

Zeigler groaned at the lurid thought, and incredibly, his cock stirred 
slightly. "No," he decided. "I want Lonnie 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, Sam," Cylvia replied knowingly. "You always have with me, 
anyway, and I'd say that little Mrs. Carmel is as much - if not more 
of a prick-riser than I am."

"Impossible!" Zeigler 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, Cylvia?" Zeigler said with a knowing 
smile. "You always do."

Mrs. Lonnie Carmel could only hear this lewd conversation with the 
infinitesimal 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 Cylvia Oliss' voice droned almost gleefully 
on ..." And when Tamera's friends get through gang-fucking 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. Roger Carmel's mind apart. He should be 
ready for anything we ask him to do after that! ...


The End

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with
all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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