                             "UNSATISFIED"

      A story of a typical American housewife who, when denied the
    necessary physical love by her young husband turns vulnerably to the
    first outlet that presents itself: her fellow guests at a mountain
    ranch where she has gone to relax. If it seems that Julie Crane
    falls into the sexual web too easily or takes her adultery too
    lightly, we must rememder that we are learning her story at a
    relatively late period in time, after she has endured almost two
    years of a painfully unsatisfying marriage with her husband John.

      That Julie and John Crane cannot even talk to each other about
    their problems without the outside help of the people at the ranch,
    bears further witness to the cycle of marital breakdown that is
    occurring all over America. But we are left with a feeling of hope
    as we see this promising young couple ultimately face up to and
    solve their difficulties.

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                              CHAPTER ONE
          
             For Julie Crane, the last night her handsome aviator
          husband John was to spend ashore at San Diego before the
          carrier steamed from North lsland to rejoin the Seventh
          Fleet was developing into a nightmare, an unmitigated
          horror, a thing of revulsion which would never be imagined
          in the small seacoast town in far-off Maine where she had
          grown up and spent most of her twenty years. She had
          expected, until the last minute, that they would spend this
          night alone, in their bungalow at Coronado, where she might
          let down the bars and cast off the inhibitions which had
          been bred into her shapely young body and allow her
          happy-go-lucky mate to make love to her in the ways he had
          tried before, which she had rejected, and even find freedom
          within herself to join him and reciprocate spontaneously.
          
             Young and inexperienced though she was, she knew that
          there were many things a man and woman could do in bed
          together - largely from her talks with other Navy wives -
          and she accepted the fact that, when her husband was ashore
          in the exotic ports of Asia and the Orient, he would join
          his flying buddies in trips to bathhouses and other
          establishments where women existed only to serve men.
          
             She could understand the tensions which would mount flying
          up to a dozen missions a day from the sea-wallowing deck of
          a carrier or from the jungle bases in Thailand or Cambodia,
          being shot at by hostile aircraft and rockets which rose on
          deadly cones of fire from ground stations, knowing that
          death or a capture which could be worse than death waited
          for the men who flew the fighter-bombers in a war nobody
          wanted.
          
             The stresses she could understand, and the need for
          strange women. She could acknowledge the fact that these
          unknown women, with no other way to make even a bare living,
          thought nothing of taking the turgid, blood-engorged penis
          of a man they'd never seen before casually into their months
          and sucking it until the man trembled and cried out and
          spilled the lust-heated sperm of his testicles out into
          their willingly acquiescing throats. Or without hesitation
          roll on their bellies, with a pillow under their naked hips,
          and spread the tautly rounded moons of their buttocks to
          accept the lewdly rampaging cocks.
          
             She could acknowledge that these things happened, and how
          they might happen.
          
             What Julie Crane could not do was accept such behavior as
          normal.
          
             Nor had she been able to accustom herself to the fact
          that most of her fellow Navy wives accepted it as a matter
          of course, something to be expected of their men. Not only
          that, but by their own admission, most of them did the same
          things with their husbands when they returned from the
          Orient, either because they felt it was their duty or
          because they frankly admitted enjoying it.
          
             Even after almost two years of marriage, during which she
          had thoroughly enjoyed sleeping - with John and had
          experienced a persistent itching between her legs during
          their long separations, Julie had never been able to adjust
          to the casual way the other girls discussed what went on in
          their bedrooms. She found herself blushing uncontrollably on
          the golf course or over lunch and a few drinks at the Tennis
          Club when the conversation turned so freely to sex. All
          kinds of sex.
          
             "Jimmy told me last night I'm getting to be the best blow
          job he's found anywhere," one sweet-faced young wife no
          older than Julie had remarked recently with unmistakable
          pride the week before during happy hour at the O-club. "I've
          always been hot to get that ol tool in my wet little mouth
          and work it over like crazy, but there's so much of it. He
          likes to have a girl gulp all of it down, and it just choked
          me no matter how I tried. Then he told me about this Jap
          girl and just how she did it, how she tilted her head and
          really swallowed his cock until she almost had his balls in
          her mouth too. I had to try a few times before I got it
          right, but it slides right past my tonsils and I don't gag a
          bit even when he swells up big and starts cumming, and
          that's like having a fire hose in my mouth."
          
             "Ben lies there and wants me to lick him like an
          ice-cream cone," another contributed. "That's groovy, but it
          gets him so hot that when we start to fuck, he pops before
          I'm there."
          
             "If he doesn't give you head, you damn well have to talk
          with him, honey," a third girl put in. "My old man always
          eats me crazy first, so I've got mine no matter what we do
          after. And by then I'm ready for anything."
          
             "Even in your ass?" the first wife asked.
          
             "That's the grooviest trip of all. `Specially when he
          slips the vibrator in my cunt and then sticks his cock up my
          tall and drills me right." the other replied.
          
             It seemed to Julie that everyone in her restricted circle
          of friends - and being a service wife means moving in a
          tight little group - was oversexed. Not that she herself
          didn't feel a crying need for it when John was gone for
          months at a time, but she had never done anything but try to
          push the urge to the back of her mind. She pretended to
          ignore the veiled offers of discreet servicing which came at
          least once a day from officers both young and not-so-young,
          or civilians who lived on the tight little island of
          Coronado, which was not really an island at all, but a knob
          on the end of a long strip of sand which connected with the
          mainland several miles to the south along San Diego Bay.
          
             Julie had come no closer to yielding to the demands of
          her body than masturbating with her finger - she could not
          bring herself to use a dildo or vibrator or any of the other
          devices which were so readily available in any drugstore and
          the result, while not entirely satisfactory, had at least
          banked the fires.
          
             And now, on this final night before John's squadron was
          to leave, she had hoped for so much and found herself
          instead in a little rathole of a place in Tijuana. It would
          have bean bad enough if John had dragged her there alone,
          but somehow a trio of his fellow pilots had latched onto
          them, vowing to have a last, very memorable night, and John,
          being half-drunk had insisted on going.
          
             So they were in a foul-smelling, dim, noisy place on
          Avenida Benito Juarez, a couple of blocks from the main
          street. It was called the Pink Pussy, and like a dozen or
          two similar joints along the street, was a combination
          nightclub and whorehouse. The nightclub was on the lower
          floor, a comparatively small place in which rows of sagging
          sofas, each faced by a cocktail table, formed a circle
          around a small stage which was raised about two feet from
          the floor. There were bright lights around the stage. The
          entertainment consisted solely of young - and admittedly
          pretty - Mexican girls who came out naked or wearing only
          the top half of nearly transparent baby-doll pajamas and
          whirled their loins more or less to the beat of an erratic
          drummer who was so bad he had to be drunk or stoned on dope
          or both. From the darkness behind the bright ring of light,
          be crooned brokenly into a microphone, repeating over and
          over the same words.
          
             "Hey, hombres! You want to eat some puu-sssy? You want to
          put your tongue in this pretty girl's cunt an' taste her?
          Come on!  She like it! You want to eat her puu-ssy? Nice,
          sweet puu-sssy an' she like to fuck an' suck you cock if you
          take her upstairs. Come you sailor, over there in the
          corner. Get up an' show your buddies how to eat a pretty
          girl . . ."
          
             And as this spiel was going on, with the girl writhing
          and parting heir legs and reaching down to open the dark
          fringed, glistening lips of her cunt and beckoning with her
          other hand, young senoritas circulated through the crowded
          room, whispering to men, taking their hands and bringing
          them up to their thinly clad cunts, whispering invitations,
          sitting to join them whether they seemed to be welcome or
          not.
          
             Julie realized she was feeling the tequila she had
          consumed. Otherwise, she would have pulled away from the
          grasping hand of her husband and left as soon as the show
          started, taking a cab back to the border where she could get
          a bus to Coronado if he refused to come with her. But the
          fiery liquor with the taste of kerosene had loosened her up,
          and she realized that if she walked out, she would have to
          do so alone, leaving her John to the lewd women who were
          waiting to pounce on him the minute she vacated her seat. So
          she drank and sat sullenly, trying to push his hand away
          from the juncture of her thighs, glad she'd worn slacks
          instead of a miniskirt as she had originally planned. It was
          a bad scene, and all she could do was make the best of it,
          try to get her man home sober enough so that he could still
          make love to her before the ship sailed, and in a shape to
          remember it the next day.
          
             She tried to ignore the fact that his three buddies were
          running their hands lasciviously over the nearly naked
          breasts and thighs of the girls who had succeeded in
          attaching themselves, but it was almost an impossibility.
          Resolutely she took her eyes away from what was going on
          right beside her, close enough to reach out and touch. While
          she didn't have much of a choice, at least the little whore
          on the stage was farther away and so she could detach her
          mind from the depraved exhibition which was just beginning.
          
             The girl had managed to entice a young man from the front
          row. He looked to be no more than twenty, and Julie guessed
          he was either a sailor not long out of boot camp or possibly
          a college student who had come across the border to find out
          first-hand about the Tijuana action which was talked about
          around the world. He was tall and unusually muscular, and
          the front of his tight jeans bulged obviously with a massive
          erection.
          
             A long-haired Mexican youth stepped onto the platform,
          carrying a tall barstool with a backrest. The dancing girl
          swirled her short blouse around her hips, flashing the tawny
          moons of her naked buttocks enticingly at the audience as
          she climbed onto the stool and leaned seductively back. She
          was smiling widely, licking her crimsoned lips as she
          reached down with both hands to part the glistening pink
          slit of her moist young cunt, baring the coral-hued inner
          flesh to the hungry gaze of all who were not too busy to
          watch. She spread her legs wide in lewd invitation as the
          young man reached her. He pulled her flimsy blouse open and
          his grasping hands closed greedily on the rosy-tipped mounds
          of her voluptuously wide-set breasts, kneading arid stroking
          the softly trembling flesh. She laughed and squirmed and
          with one hand slid the zipper of his jeans down and fished
          out his rigidly erected cock. She laughed and waved it
          around for the audience to see, played with it for a moment
          with deft fingers and then, with a quick snap of her thumb,
          hit the nerve just below the huge bulbous tip-end which made
          it deflate like a pierced balloon in a matter of seconds.
          The audience howled and cheered and the young man flushed.
          
             "Eat her puss-sy!" the drummer shouted.
          
             The girl caught his head in her hands and pulled it
          downward. The boy dropped eagerly to his knees and allowed
          her to draw his face up between her legs. She spread them
          wider for him, thrusting her pelvis forward and bringing her
          pinkly pulsing cuntal lips hard up against his mouth. He
          began to lick her, his tongue probing lewdly into the soft
          triangle of curly dark pubic hair, his head bobbing as he
          thrust his tongue deeply into her widespread pussy slit.
          
             "Oooh . . . he eats me so nice!" the girl cried,
          lustfully grinding her hips up at him.

             His big hands grasped the softly trembling handles of her
          hips as he burrowed his face even deeper into her rapidly
          moistening pussy-flesh. The drummer put down his sticks and
          the club was suddenly quiet. Julie could hear the obscene
          wet slurping sounds, could see the pink spear of the young
          man's tongue licking and plunging into the widespread depths
          of the Mexican girl's cunt, and the slick gleam of her
          love-juices on his mouth and cheeks. The audience began to
          cheer him on as the girl leaned back on the barstool and
          suddenly threw her legs high up over his shoulders,
          scissoring her shapely thighs out around his head.
          
             Julie couldn't take her gaze away. She was revolted, but
          even more fascinated by the lewd sight taking place right
          before her. The girl's eyes met her own and she sensed that,
          even though this sort of thing probably happened to the
          little slut twenty times a day, she was turning on, getting
          really hot even with a couple of hundred people watching.
          Beside her, John put his hand on her knee and quickly ran it
          up the length of her thigh to the juncture of her thighs.
          For the first time, Julie realized she was wet down there.
          She tried to pull his obscenely pressing fingers away from
          her swelling cunt that was pressing against the thin fabric
          of her slacks. But it was too much trouble, so she let his
          fingers have their way, but at the same time tried to ignore
          the insane tickling sensations be was causing up between her
          legs.
          
             "I could show that punk kid something about eating pussy,
          her husband breathed heavily in her ear.
          
             Julie wanted to snap back, "If that's what yon want, I'm
          sure she'd love to have you ", but she forced herself to
          remain silent and pretend she hadn't heard.
          
             Then the little slut was thrashing around and
          half-screaming and grabbing the boy's ears, either cumming
          hard or making a good pretense of it. Her entire body
          trembled and her mouth contorted as the cords of her neck
          stood out rigid against the skin, and then she slumped back
          on the stool, her hands now slowly running through the young
          man's tousled hair. Finally she reached down and pulled him
          to his feet. His fly was still open and his cock, now
          gleaming a dull red in the bright stage light, was standing
          up hard and erect again. She slipped off the stool and took
          it in her hand and said something to him which was lost in
          the continuing whistles and clapping and shouts of "Ole!
          Ole!" And then she led him away, out of the bright lights to
          a flight of stairs which led to the rooms upstairs.
          
             "Goddamn! if she's going to suck him off, I'd like to
          watch it," John muttered.
          
             "You like to see pretty girl suck cock?"
          
             The question came from a startlingly-beautiful
          raven-haired girl who had attached herself to John's buddy
          Marty, who was sitting beside Julie. She was naked except
          fur a long wispy scarf casually draped over her shoulders
          and falling free so that it barely touched her impudent
          young breasts. She was olive-skinned, with a full, sensuous
          mouth that was open wide now, to show a set of perfect white
          teeth. Her black eyes challenged John. Julie thought she
          couldn't be more than sixteen. Her tongue slithered slowly
          and suggestively across her full, soft underlip, wetting it
          until it glistened. As she moved, the ripely swelling mounds
          of her breasts swayed provocatively. One leg was drawn up on
          the couch, artfully turned to show its fine contours to best
          advantage. Her buttocks were firm and richly-curved. With
          skilled fingers she pulled the front of Marty's pants open
          and drew his rigid cock out, pumping the turgid shaft all
          the while with her hand.
          
             Julie tried to look away as Marty laughed nervously and
          half-heartedly tried to draw the girl's hand away. But she
          couldn't take her eyes away from the thickly bulging shaft
          of his cock. it looked so big, and the tip glistened with
          the moisture which had seeped from the tiny hole in the
          blood-engorged knob while Marty had watched the girl on the
          stage get sucked. Julie wondered why the sheer size of a
          man's cock frightened her when she saw it. She knew from
          experience that they weren't as big as they looked - or at
          least, they didn't hurt and even felt wonderful when they
          were buried in the hotly trembling sheath of her wet young
          cunt. Or at least John's felt wonderful. She hadn't had
          actual experience with any others.
          
             "I suck you like you never forget," she said to Marty.
          "Right here where your friends can see. Ten dollars. Or if
          you're bashful, we can go to my room, but the room is two
          dollars more and your friends won't see."
          
             "I-I don't know . . . " Marty blurted, flushing.
          
             "Here I can suck you real slow and nice," the girl urged.
          "If we go to the room, I can only take ten, fifteen minutes.
          Come on, big boy!" Suddenly she bent and kissed the bulging
          head, running her tongue rapidly around it. "It feel a lot
          better for you to come in my mouth than in your pants."
          
             "Hell, it'll be worth ten bucks to see him pop," John
          said, pulling a bill from his wallet and pressing it on the
          whore. "Eat him up, baby."
          
             "I need room to stretch out a little," she said,
          wriggling her buttocks back at John as she opened Marty's
          pants wider, pulled his shorts down and cupping his
          sperm-laden bails in her hand. "I won't make you come too
          quick."
          
             Fascinated, Julie was unable to take her eyes away as the
          girl drew back the foreskin of Marty's pulsatingly turgid
          penis and squeezed just below the head, making the deep
          purplish-red knob even bigger than it had been. Her pink
          tongue came out and began to slowly circle it, sliding,
          flickering like a snake's tongue through her moist, parted
          lips. She held the huge swollen shaft by its base, rubbing
          it against her mouth and cheeks, pausing to blow gently on
          it. Then her mouth covered the outside with wet little
          kisses, down the full length of the trembling spear of flesh
          until it reached his lust-swollen, semen-bloated balls. One
          at a time she sucked them into her mouth and Julie could see
          her tongue moving over and around them. She could hear
          Marty's ragged panting and feel the trembling of his body
          where he was pressed back against her to give the girl room
          to work on him.
          
             The naked brown girl turned her face up and grinned at
          Julie and then began working her tongue deftly along the
          underside of Marty's cock until she reached the blood-filled
          head again. She licked it until it glistened, then wet her
          lips again and parted her jaws wide. Julie couldn't see how
          the massively swollen instrument could pass all the way into
          the young girl's fully sex-trained mouth, but in a moment
          the knob had disappeared and inch by inch the
          desire-thickened cock was absorbed by her lips. Down and
          down and down went her head until she had swallowed all of
          the young airman's penis. Her cheeks drew in as she began to
          suck. Then, in slow, steady rhythm, her head rose and fell
          in his lap, and she moved around so they could all see the
          length of his turgid rod of flesh as it probed the hot, wet
          cavern of her month. Julie realized that the little Mexican
          whore was humming to herself and seemed to be enjoying this
          outrageous thing. And with a start, she found herself
          wondering just what it would be like to be in the girl's
          place, have her mouth and throat filled with the hot,
          trembling energy of a man's cock. John's, of course. She did
          not want to try it, but couldn't help the thought which came
          to her mind and refused to leave.
          
             From the silly-happy look on Marty's face, Julie realized
          the girl was just as good with her mouth as she had claimed,
          and that Marty was completely unaware of any of them, of
          anything but the sucking lips that turned outward like the
          mouth of a feeding fish with every upward stroke of the
          dark-tressed head. Then she suddenly realized that Marty had
          reached over and taken her hand and was holding it tight
          while the girl sucked him. She could feel him tremble and
          knew the girl could feel it too, because gradually she
          increased the speed of her bobbing head and the wildness
          with which her mouth twisted around its willing prisoner.

             Something else came to her - the girl was getting a kick
          out of doing this just a foot or so from her eyes. She met
          the dark eyes as the girl's head came up and they stayed
          locked as she dipped down again, sucking noisily now.
          Marty's rigidly thrusting cock seemed to be going to its
          full depth without causing the girl any discomfort and Julie
          wondered how it could be like that. Half as much in her own
          mouth and she'd choke to death. She was sure of that. Then
          Marty was beginning to squirm and his hips were moving up to
          meet the frantic sucking strokes and Julie knew he was going
          to cum soon, jerk and splash his thick lewd semen in wild,
          hot jets deep into the whore's throat and she wondered what
          that would taste like, without conscious thought, she leaned
          low, her face almost on Marty's trembling shoulder, watching
          the slick red mouth devour the man. Then Marty was suddenly
          going rigid and she knew the moment had come, that he was
          going to empty his lust-bloated bails in a searing torrent
          of cum.
          
             She had the wild sensation that she was part of this,
          that it was almost her mouth that was bringing him so lewdly
          to orgasm - and then she was part of it!
          
             Without missing a stroke of the frenzy that made her
          mouth rise and fall voraciously, the girl, with no sign of
          warning, grabbed Julie's hand before she could draw back,
          pulled it to the saliva-slick shaft of Marty's hotly
          throbbing cock, clamped Julie's fingers around the awesome
          thickness of it and held them there tightly as her cheeks
          drew in with the power of her oral sucking.
          
             Marty cried out and jerked wildly. Julie felt the surge
          of semen through the thick ridge on the underside of his
          cock, spurt after insane spurt, as the girl drew deeply on
          it and, holding Julie's hand tight in hers, jerked the
          wildly erupting cock deep into her mouth.
          
             Julie, stunned, made no movement to free her hand until
          long seconds after the pulsing had ceased, realized with
          shock that she was squeezing the exploding rod of male flesh
          instinctively, milking it into the still warmly sucking
          mouth of the voluptuous young whore. Thick, whitish strings
          of cum escaped from the corners of the girl's mouth as she
          slowly-raised her head, and Julie felt the hot stickiness
          spreading over her fingers and palm.
          
             Only then did she cry out softly in alarm and pull her
          hand away, frantically wiping it on the paper napkin which
          was under her glass of tequila.
          
             She had never felt so mortified in her life. She could
          feel the blood rushing to her face, turning it beet-red. And
          it became worse when she realized John was laughing
          drunkenly, and telling her it was the damnedest thing he'd
          ever seen.
          
             "Oh, wow!" he chortled. "Baby, you were turning on! I'll
          bet if the chick had pulled her head out of the way and
          pointed that thing at you, you'd have copped Marty's joint
          like it was the last one you'd ever see! I think we're gonna
          have us a session tonight that'll last me all the way to Nam
          and back!"
          
             "You-you slime!" she hissed at him as she gathered up her
          purse. She was unable to look at Marty or the others. She
          elbowed her husband out of the way and half-ran through the
          grinning crowd toward the exit, pausing at the door just
          long enough to scream bitter parting words. "You can stay
          here and get your cock sucked until it falls off, you
          bastard!"
          
             Then she was out the door, leaping into one of the
          battered Tijuana taxis which waited, spitting a curt order
          to drive to the border at the surprised driver.
          
             Julie Crane was so furious that when she reached the
          international gate, she decided to take an American taxi all
          the way to Coronedo rather than the bus which was already
          loading. It was a twenty-dollar ride, but what was twenty
          dollars to a girl who'd just been mesmerized into jacking
          off one of her husband's buddies into the mouth of a Mexican
          whore?

             Once home, Julie let herself into the darkened, silent
          house. It was nearly two a.m., and although she was tired,
          she had to make an attempt to feel clean again. She
          undressed and stepped into a steaming shower, her dark
          blonde hair rolled into a bun on top of her head. For a long
          time she soaped the exquisite curves of her body, the firm
          young breasts, rich swelling of hips and buttocks and
          thighs, and then the softly-tufted pubic mound. She spread
          her legs wide, thrusting her pelvis forward and slid her
          well soaped fingers in between the pouting lips of her
          cuntal slit, thrilling to the rising of her tiny clitoris.
          The picture of the dancing girl being so lewdly licked and
          sucked in the tawdry Mexican nightclub filled her mind, and
          in spite of herself she couldn't help moving her fingers
          faster and faster, harder and harder until she was gasping
          as the tingle of an orgasm began deep in her naked belly and
          led her hips into thrusting coital motions as she stood
          there in the shower. She wished she had a dildo or vibrator
          to ram deep into her desperately pulsing cunt at that very
          moment.
          
             And then the moment was past and she shut off the
          streaming water and stepped weak-kneed from the shower
          stall, feeling shame for having given in to finger-fucking
          herself in such an obscene way. She avoided her image in the
          fogged mirror as she quickly dried her golden body with a
          fluffy towel. Not bothering to perfume herself, she went
          directly into the bedroom, got one of John's shirts from a
          drawer and pulled it over her head before letting the soft
          mass of her hair fall far down her back and slipping into
          the bed in darkness. Belatedly she realized she had not
          brushed her teeth, so she got up, scrubbed them vigorously
          and gargled with a strong solution to take the tequila taste
          from her mouth.
          
             Julie wondered if her husband and his carousing buddies
          would be back before the sun was up, and hoped fervently
          that they decided to spend the entire night south of the
          border. She did not want John touching her. He was an
          inadequate lover even when sober, and a slobbering animal
          when he'd been drinking. It had not taken her long after
          their marriage to realize he was accustomed to the foreign
          women who did it for money of gifts and didn't expect him to
          spend any time arousing them or trying to satisfy them once
          he got his big cock sunk in their pussies. She didn't think
          she was cold. She liked the feel of his lust-heated penis
          fucking into her young, tender cuntal flesh. But it didn't
          last long enough for her and he just didn't seem to know how
          to use it right.
          
             The drinks had made her sleepy, and in spite of her
          discontent, she was soon asleep, with the sheet and a thin
          coverlet drawn up over her in the double bed. She had no
          idea how much time went by before the light came on and John
          was in the room with her, weaving, staring at her owl-eyed
          as he stripped his clothes off end dropped  them at random
          on the floor. She rolled over and turned her back to him as
          he climbed into bed, grimacing to herself at the sight of
          his nearly-erect penis.
          
             She tried to pretend a drunken sleep, but it was impossible
          as his powerful hands grabbed her by breast and buttocks and
          roughly turned her toward him. His mouth came down wetly on
          hers and his tongue rammed in between her half-clenched
          teeth, deep into her throat. She made no response and was
          repelled by the whorehouse stink of him as he squeezed her
          breast roughly with one hand and ran the other swiftly down
          over the smooth swell of her belly to the triangular "vee"
          of pubic hair, and his fingers began to thrust lewdly at her
          nakedly unprotected cunt.
          
             "Julie baby - come on," he mumbled against her mouth as
          his middle finger invaded her cringing cuntal opening and
          rotated around as he thrust it in and out. "Today's the day
          I go back to the wars. Gotta let me have a little of this
          prime pussy."
          
             "I thought you'd get all you could use in Tijuana," she
          protested weakly. Then, her voice tart, she added, "Why
          didn't you get the girl who did Marty to suck you off?
          That's what you want, isn't it? Put your cock in a poor
          girl's mouth?"
          
             "Hey, baby - not any girl. You."
          
             "No!" She squirmed away. "I'd go sleep on the couch, but
          I know you'd be all over me there too."
          
             "Oh, Julie .. . make you a deal. I'll do it to you if
          you'll do it to me."
          
             "What?"
          
             "I'll go down on you. Eat you out. Put you got to give me
          head too."
          
             "John, please! You're drunk. Go to sleep."
          
             "Sleep, shit! I'm going to eat you. And fuck you if you
          won't eat me. One way or another, baby, you're going to get
          cock!"
          
             Julie had never let her husband lick and suck her down
          there. She had thought at times of letting him do it, but
          his approach had never been right. His language was as crude
          and inept as the way he manhandled her body. She was sure
          she could respond to any kind of lovemaking if her husband
          could raise it up from the level of an animal thing, but he
          had never even tried. She struggled now to escape him, but
          it was useless. John was too big and too strong. He quickly
          had her pinned flat on the mattress, held down by his
          weight. As his body pressed heavily on hers, she could feel
          that his cock was only half-hard, and briefly she held the
          hope that he would pass out before he could do anything. His
          mouth was on her breasts, sucking and licking them wetly.
          Having her breasts kissed usually excited her, but there was
          nothing hut rejection inside her now. Her normally sensitive
          nipples refused to rise and. harden, and she lay passive
          beneath him.
          
             Then he was sliding down on the bed, gripping her
          determinedly clamped thighs, relentlessly pulling them apart
          until he could get his big shoulders between them. She
          closed her eyes end felt his thumbs parting the moistly
          trembling lips of her pantiless cunt. She felt his heated
          breath on the sensitive inner surfaces of her nakedly
          exposed pussy flesh and then his mouth came down hard on
          her. The flat of his tongue slid around and around. the
          wide-stretched slit of her softly tensed pussy, and she
          gritted her teeth against the lewd invasion. Then the tip of
          his tongue thrust wetly up inside her cuntal passage and
          then out again, to find the tiny pleasure-bud of her
          clitoris. Even this usually-sensitive organ failed to
          respond. She surrendered and let him wallow up between her
          thighs like a rooting hog, and alter a few minutes she was
          able to detach herself from what was happening. She opened
          her eyes and watched the vigorous bobbing of his heal as he
          licked and sucked at her thumb-spread cuntal flesh, wishing
          she could feel something. But there was nothing there.
          Nothing at all. She wondered how long it would go on, what
          he could possibly be getting out of this, kissing a piece of
          warm but otherwise unresponsive female flesh. She couldn't
          even feel her vagina moistening, and she was sure he knew
          this. Finally his head came up and he stared at her hard
          with liquor-reddened eyes.
          
             "I should stick my cock in your mouth," he said harshly.
          "See if you could ignore that."
          
             "I'll bite it," she whispered. "I swear, I'll bite it as
          hard as I can."
          
             "You bitch, you would," he replied, his wet mouth set in
          a grim line. "All right, you're getting fucked. Now!"
          
             He sprang up over her and she realized that his
          semi-rigid cock had hardened fully while he was down between
          her legs. Now it was long and thick as she had ever seen it,
          a menacing weapon with a huge swollen knob at the tip and a
          hairy pouch of balls at the base. Roughly he grabbed her
          legs and pressed them up over her chest so her knees
          painfully flattened the pointed mounds of her breasts. The
          full naked plane of her pussy was presented up to him, tire
          flesh tight, the glistening slit of her cunt spread open
          wide. He shifted his hips and the blood-engorged head of his
          penis was pressed up tightly against her defenselessly
          trapped pussy. He shoved forward slightly and the thickly
          swollen tip slid partially up into the slippery-mouthed
          opening of her cuntal softness. Then, bracing himself, he
          plunged into her to his full depth with a single stroke. She
          cried out in sudden pain at the cruel intrusion. In her
          distraught emotional state, the natural inner moisture had
          not come and she was dry and tight down there except for the
          soft outer-lips where his obscenely probing tongue had made
          her slick. Brutally impaled now, she was unable to move as
          her angered husband began to fuck wildly in and out of her,
          grunting with each massive forward stroke. He was an
          extremely powerful young man and he meant to punish her.
          Each plunge brought his heavily bloated balls slapping hard
          against the widespread cheeks of her obscenely upthrust
          buttocks, and she grunted out her pain and humiliation. The
          bed rocked and swayed with the relentless assault and she
          tried to respond, at least mechanically, to the rampaging
          penis that was tearing deep into her aching cuntal flesh,
          ramming hard against the tender end of her cervix with each
          brutal stroke. But with the heavy pressure of his body
          against hers, and her legs pushed high up above her head,
          there was little she could do to match his lustful drives.
          She seemed to have lost control of the muscles which could
          so easily make her young cunt a tight, hot sheath for his
          hotly throbbing cock. Julie thought at first that her
          husband would cum quickly as he usually did, and only
          belatedly realized that he'd just-enough to drink so he'd
          stay hard for a long time without cumming. There was nothing
          to do but lie there and take it.
          
             The one alternative, the one way in which to end this
          travesty of love quickly, would be to offer to suck him. She
          was sure the novelty of being able to put his
          desire-engorged penis in between her virginal lips would
          make him so hot he would be unable to hold back and would
          reach an orgasm in a matter of minutes. She tried to tell
          herself it would be a mechanical thing that it would mean
          nothing, really. She was only a receptacle for his lust, so
          what did it really matter in which orifice he spilled its
          final outpouring? And she had admitted to herself that
          sucking a man's cock was really no big thing - didn't the
          other wives talk about it as casually as they would discuss
          the rising price of food at the commissary? Even more
          casually, because the cost of living was something to really
          be alarmed about and sex was a fun thing that cost nothing
          unless you got knocked up, butt nobody did that any more
          except on purpose.
          
             The unhappy young wife put the thought the from her mind.
          If she went down on John - or any man - it would be for
          their mutual pleasure. Not as a means of ending an ordeal.
          
             So  Julie Crane lay inert, accepting the relentless
          pummeling of her husband's blood-engorged cock until with a
          shuddering gasp from John it was suddenly over and he was
          pulling out of her, with a long thin stream of whitish cum
          lewdly linking their bodies until finally it broke and made
          a sticky wet string across the sweat-soaked sheet. She had
          felt nothing, not even the gushing of his cock as he emptied
          himself into the depths of her ravaged young body. He
          trembled for a minute or two, panting hard, not looking at
          her. Then he rolled on his side so his back was toward her
          and in moments was snoring loudly. Julie left the bed, went
          into the bathroom and cleaned herself up. The swollen pink
          lips of her pussy were tender to her touch and she spread
          her legs and sprayed herself with a pain killer from an
          aerosol can before returning to bed. She lay quietly,
          wondering if he would take her again when he awoke, and if
          she should put on a pair of her flimsy panties as a
          deterrent. She decided against it If John wanted to bury
          himself in her cunt again, the panties would come off, in
          shreds if necessary.
          
             When she fell asleep, she felt no bitterness toward her
          husband.
          
             As a matter of fact, she felt nothing whatever for him.
          
             The carrier and its escort vessels sailed on an early
          evening tide. Julie was not on the dock to wave good-bye
          with the other wives and girlfriends. It would have been
          pointless. In the final hours before parting, she and John
          had said no unnecessary words. What talk they had had
          concerned the matter of closing the Coronado house, the
          packing of furniture and changes in financial arrangements.
          These things were necessary because the carrier's home port
          was being changed to San Francisco and, barring an
          unforeseen situation in the Navy Department, would not be
          returning to San Diego for some years. This situation
          pleased Julie. She had never liked Diego, which was almost
          entirely a service town, and thus it was virtually
          impossible to make any female friends who were not somehow
          or another connected  to the defense organization and thus
          all members of one forever-bitching club. There was no
          reason to go immediately to San Francisco. The ship's
          deployment with the Seventh Fleet half a world away would be
          for at least nine months, allowing her plenty of time for
          finding a new place to live.
          
             And possibly finding herself, the young girl thought. She
          knew that she might be lacking in some things, but that John
          fell far shorter of fulfilling her needs than she did his.
          While she did not think consciously of divorcing him, the
          separation would certainly be welcome and of one thing she
          was sure - when he came back, things were going to change.
          There would be an adjustment in their lives, or their lives
          would be separate.
          
             Several days passed, during which furnishings and
          personal possessions which she wouldn't be needing in the
          immediate future were packed and warehoused. She put what
          she wanted to keep handy in her station wagon and finally
          headed north on Interstate 5, her destination a remote spot
          in the Cascade mountain range of Oregon, several hundred
          miles to the north of San Francisco. She had picked her
          destination from a magazine advertisement.
          
             It was called Lamb's Hot Springs Ranch, and if the ad
          could be believed, it sounded like a good place to gain a
          new perspective on life. it covered several thousand acres
          adjoining a national forest. There were riding horses,
          hunting, fishing, boating on two wild rivers, individual
          cottages for guests and a mineral spring which was supposed
          to be both relaxing and beneficial to ailing bodies. The
          price seemed right, and it was certainly well within Julie
          Crane's reach, as in addition to John's allotment, which was
          substantial, she had an ample income of her own from real
          estate investments made by her thrifty New England father
          and his father before him. She was, in fact, a moderately
          wealthy young woman but, with the thrift which she had also
          inherited, had used only a small portion of the interest on
          her holdings and had never touched the principal.
          
             She made a leisurely trip, stopping for several days at
          Carmel and San Francisco before continuing north into
          Oregon, where she found the clear air and cloud-fleeced blue
          skies a welcome change from the never-ending smog and heat
          and traffic of Southern California. The only thing which
          unnerved her at all was the size of the logging trucks which
          seemed to lurk around every bend in the narrow road which
          went deep into timber country to the west of Intrastate 5
          before she found the turnoff to the ranch.
          
             At first the sight of the place, as she guided the
          heavily-laden car around a bend and over a small mountain,
          was disappointing. She saw a big main house of whitewashed
          clapboards and single roof with an immense chimney at one
          end, a sagging barn, several corrals, assorted trucks and
          farm equipment and finally, hidden in seclusion among
          second-growth trees, a number of small cabins. A wide stream
          wandered through the property and the grass was thick and
          incredibly green after what she was accustomed to.
          
             A white picket fence surrounded the main house. A
          sleeping hound raised his head to stare at Julie as she
          parked the station wagon, then decided to ignore her. The
          heavy front door of the house opened and a rangy man in
          well-worn ranch clothes and scuffed boots came out with an
          easy, loping walk. Julie guessed he was in his late
          thirties. He was tall and his broad shoulders strained at
          the faded fabric of his shirt. His waist and hips were
          narrow. A huge silver buckle was on his belt, and he wore a
          battered wide-brimmed hat. He tilted the hat back, slowing a
          shock of black hair tinted with gray at the temples.
          
             "How do" he said. "I reckon you'll he Miz Crane. I'm Bill
          Lamb. This is my place and it's my job to see you enjoy
          yourself."
          
             "Hello," Julie said, getting out of the car. For comfort,
          she had worn short shorts which were a little too snug after
          many washings, and she didn't miss the way his smoke-gray
          eyes immediately inventoried the delicious length of her
          slender, shapely legs, and the way her young braless breasts
          were outlined by the thin shirt she wore. "Yes. I'm Julie
          Crane. I thought I was never going, to get here. It looked a
          lot shorter on the map."
          
             "They leave a lot of the twists and turns off the map,"
          Lamb said. "You come on in. We're about ready to eat. You
          can get cleaned up and have some lunch and then we'll see
          about getting you settled. Give you kind of an idea of what
          the place is like."
          
             "It's lovely country," Julie said, meaning it. The high
          mountains which surrounded the valley were snowcapped, but
          the heat of midsummer was on the place. The air was crisp in
          her lungs and she breathed deeply. "I know I'll love it."
          
             "Stay a couple of months like your letter said you might
          and you'll start thinking up reasons to stick around," he
          said with a wide-mouthed grin. There was a magnetism to him
          that reached Julie immediately, and she felt herself
          beginning to blush. "Come on in and meet the family and the
          other guests."
          
             "Are there many staying here now? " she asked. "Hardly a
          handful." He took her arm and steered her toward the house.
          "Best of the fishing is over, and hunting won't start for a
          couple of months yet."
          
             Then they were in the big living room. It seemed big
          enough to hold a barn dance. The native stone fireplace
          dominated one end. On the walls were the mounted head of
          deer, mountain lions, bear, elk and other animals. The walls
          were of heavy timber, chinked against the cold of winter,
          the ceiling supported by huge hand-hewn beams. Off one end
          was an L-shaped room with a dining table fully fifteen feet
          long, flanked by a variety of aged and scarred wooden
          chairs. The table was set casually for lunch, with steaming
          bowls and platters of food already in place. An attractive
          sandy-haired woman in an apron was slicing a loaf of
          freshly-baked bread. There were several people already at
          the table, and Bill Lamb quickly introduced them.
          
             The woman with the bread was his wife, Marlo. A husky
          teenager whose big wrists hung out of his western shirt was
          their son, Rod. A compact man of indeterminate age who wore
          lightly-tinted glasses was Flip Hatton. Julie thought the
          name was familiar and then recognized him from newspaper
          pictures as one of the top road racing drivers in the world,
          and she wondered what that type of man would be doing and
          out-of-the-way place like this.
          
             The remaining two were contrasting but strikingly
          beautiful females. Irene Howe was a willowy, big-bosomed
          woman with long auburn tresses and hazel eyes. Her friendly
          smile suggested it would not be long before they were good
          friends and that she would welcome the challenge of Julie's
          blonde beauty. The other was younger, obviously a teenager
          who had matured early. A stunning brunette, her name was
          Carole Howland. She studied Julie coolly with dark eyes and
          smiled politely but said nothing.
          
             The meal went quickly and easily, and Julie quickly felt
          at home. It was much more relaxing than the
          stiffly-formulated gatherings of service wives which always
          left her nervously on edge. Bill Lamb made no bones about
          the fact that the only way he could keep his ranch, which
          had been in the family for four generations, was to take
          dudes and hunters and fishermen in season. Some acreage was
          being logged, but the income from timber wasn't enough to
          support such vast acreage. The guests were expected to be
          part of the family, which included helping with cooking and
          the few absolutely necessary chores around the place. And
          they seemed to consider it a privilege. When they were
          finished, Bill got into the station wagon with Julie and
          showed her where she would stay and gave her a crude map of
          the trails and terrain immediately around the main house.
          She thought for a minute that such a thing was pretentious,
          until he explained there were more than forty miles of jeep
          and horse trails through the mountains and it was easy to
          get lost.
          
             He showed her to a rustic cabin which had its own
          fireplace and a small wood-burning stove, a tiny but
          rustically-comfortable sitting room, a somewhat larger
          bedroom and a bathroom. There was also a little porch with
          an ancient wooden rocker. "Roddy'll be along later to show
          you how to work the stove. Even in summer, it can get plenty
          cold in these hills and you'll likely want to get a fire
          going in the morning before you jump out of the sack for
          good," he told her.
          
             It took Julie only a few minutes to pot away the clothes
          she thought she would be needing the first day. She was
          conscious of his eyes moving with every scissoring stride of
          her long, tapering, firm-muscled sun-tanned legs. And there
          was no mistaking the way the front of his tight jeans was
          bulging.
          
             "This is cute," she mid uncertainly.
          
             "Not what I'd call cute, exactly, but comfortable. The
          beds are good."
          
             Although Bill's tone was casual, there was an
          undercurrent to the words which made something tingle deep
          in her belly. Julie had not had any sex since the night her
          husband John had so revoltingly taken her, and her young
          body cried out for attention. Skilled attention from a
          robust man. And there was no mistaking it, Bill Lamb was
          just such a man. She wondered if the naked need showed on
          her face, but there was nothing in his eyes to tell her.
          
             When she was settled, he led her along a woodland path
          which twisted over a low foothill and dropped to the banks
          of a slow-moving stream of incredibly clear water shaded by
          tall fir on either bank. There was a large, rough-timbered
          building along the near side of the stream, and from it, two
          stone paths led down to smaller structures set half on the
          rock-lined shore and half on pilings over the gushing water.
          There was a strange odor of sulphur in the air here,
          something to make Julie twitch her nose in distaste.
          
             "The hot springs," Bill explained. "In the old days,
          Indian tribes used to come a hundred miles to drink the
          water and soak out their aches and pains. It's pretty hot,
          but you get used to it."
          
             He explained the buildings. The largest one was the
          bathhouse. It housed a man-made rock pool about twenty by
          forty feet, where scalding-hot water from the underground
          spring was mixed with the icy-cold water of the mountain
          stream. He promised it was the grandest way in the world to
          boil out a hangover. There were some smaller rooms with
          individual tubs, but they were seldom used. Another room
          held rubbing tables and rudimentary gym exercise equipment.
          He didn't go into detail about who rubbed whom and how, but
          left the mental suggestion that it was something worked out
          by mutual attraction among the guests. The smaller buildings
          set over the creek were vapor houses. Here the steam from
          the springs rose through fissures in the rocks, converting
          each into a sauna. One sat and breathed the noxious fumes
          and sweated until driven to jump directly into the frigid
          river. He assured Julie that after a time in the vapors, she
          could immerse herself in icewater and never feel it.
          
             Then, in the heat of the big plunge room, he casually
          took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him. His
          hands slid down her back, fingers expertly kneading her
          rippling, nervously-tight muscles.
          
             "Do you good to soak out this afternoon. That ride left
          you with knots in every muscle you got, Julie."
          
             She felt the heat course through her body at his touch
          and had to repress her natural inclination to step into his
          arms and force herself to pull back. But not so abruptly as
          to offend, in case his handling of her had been an innocent
          thing, which she really did not believe for a minute.
          
             "I might," she mid in a small voice. "But not just yet.
          My eyes ache from driving into the sun. I think I may just
          lie down in my cabin and take a nap."
          
             "Sure. Best time at the baths is night, when it's nippy
          cool." He grinned. "By the way, there are a couple of rules
          for them. No soap or cosmetics - they mess up the water. And
          no bathing suits. Having anything next to skin defeats the
          purpose of the mineral water in the first place. And in the
          second place, there's something in it that'll eat up any
          fabric invented."
          
             "You mean you all . . . " Julie began, blushing
          furiously.
          
             "Sure. Nothing indecent about the body God gave you, even
          though a lot of people have made fortunes for centuries
          convincing others that it should be covered. And some folks
          are just naturally uptight. Got to cover one part or
          another. And the way they go about the job just draws
          attention to those parts and gets a man or woman all stirred
          up." He chuckled softly "You don't look like the kind of
          woman who's ashamed of her body - and you shouldn't be. It's
          magnificent. And I could be a lot more casual about it if
          you were baby-naked right now than I am seeing you in those
          tight shorts and a shirt that's thin enough to read a book
          through."
          
             "Yes," Julie smiled and admitted after a moment. "That's
          right. But I think for now I'll keep them on."
          
             "I meant to say we usually do it in groups. Just a man
          and woman together - well, that could lead to other things.
          Not that there's anything wrong with it. It's a great sport,
          as you probably know. Up here on the ranch the attitude is
          do your own thing as long as it isn't hurting anybody."
          
             "That sounds about right," Julie conceded. "Do they get
          along pretty well, those that are here now?"
          
             "Just fine," Bill replied. "If they didn't, they'd have
          left. You want a quick rundown?"
          
             "Why not?"
          
             "Well, you've already figured me, likely as not. I got to
          worry about this place. Marlo and me and Roddy. We work
          hard, and drink some and play hard and we have some scraps
          when one or the other of us plays a little too hard, but we
          slick together."
          
             "Rod's our only child. He was born when Marlo was
          sixteen, and he's fifteen now. A lot of' sap in that boy.
          He'll likely be after you. Marlo's real quiet and easy to
          get along with, but she knows what's going on and when her
          temper does blow, we all just run for the caves' and hide."
          
             "So it's not a good idea for you to get caught" Julie
          said.
          
             "No, it's not a good idea at all." He chuckled. "Flip
          Hatton is going to be paying you his respects too. I swear
          that man lives just to get himself killed., Whether it'll be
          in one of those damn noisy cars of his, or the wrong bed, I
          dunno."
          
             "I was sure I recognized his name. What's he doing in a
          place like this?"
          
             "Gettin' ready to ply the racin' trade," lamb told her.
          "He's building a new design road car. Needs a place to try
          it out, see what works and what doesn't. He says this ranch
          has roads mean as any on the Grand Prix circuit. And back in
          the hills here, nobody's likely to come around stealin' his
          ideas. He'll offer you a ride. Don't take it unless he lets
          you drive. Otherwise you'll come back gray-beaded and thirty
          years older."
          
             "I'll keep that in mind."
          
             "Now the redhead, Irene. She's sort of a special friend
          of Flip's. Travels around and about with him. Not really
          sure she likes him too much, but he's a meal ticket. I don't
          think the bed thing is too big with them. By the time he's
          through wringing out his wheels, he's pretty well pooped.
          Doesn't seem to care if she goes out with one of the cowboys
          or timberjacks around here. Just so long as she's handy when
          he gets the urge."
          
             "Carole Howland's a beautiful thing," Julie said. "But
          she seemed so quiet at lunch."
          
             "Carole's sort of a family project. Her mother sort of
          makes a career of marrying people. People with money.
          Carole's eighteen, and I don't think she's heard from her
          old lady since about last Christmas. Just the check every
          month, maybe a two or three line note with it from smart-ass
          places like Cannes or Acapulco or London, or wherever people
          with money go."
          
             "Poor kid," said Julie, thinking of her own close-knit,
          if stiflingly-conservative Calvinist family. "I can't
          imagine what it would be like to live in a situation like
          that. All kinds of money and no love.
          
             "Worse yet, she's a virgin."
          
             "A girl as beautiful as she? A virgin at eighteen?"
          
             "So I'm told by Roddy. That boy may be fifteen, but he's
          bedded just about everything worthwhile in sight. He swears
          he hasn't scored and she's got him playing with himself."
          
             "I'll try to be friends with her," Julie said, meaning
          it. "Now, I'm really ready for that nap, Bill."
          
             "Sure thing. I'll walk you back."
          
             Julie was not surprised, at dinner that night, by the
          covert glances from the others around the table. One and all
          were obviously wondering if Bill Lamb had managed to score
          so quickly with her. Only Marlo didn't seem interested or
          concerned. Julie sensed that she knew her husband well
          enough that with a single glance she could tell whether he'd
          been with another woman or not. Their interest didn't bother
          Julie in the least. After more than two years as a Navy
          wife, she was accustomed to the unending game of guessing
          who was sleeping in whose bed, and how often.
          
             She helped with the dishes after dinner and quickly found
          herself feeling at home. The interest shown in her by all
          the males didn't distress her. It was something she had
          lived with since she had reached puberty and knew how to
          handle.
          
             But would she be able to handle herself? That was the
          question which led her to beg off from the pinochle game
          which was organized after the meal, pleading that she was
          stuffed and still tired from her drive. She went to her
          cabin while it was still twilight, fully intending to read
          one of the paperback books she had brought until she fell
          asleep.
          
             She had changed to slacks and a soft woolen sweater and
          now she quickly undressed until she was wearing only her
          sheer white panties. She slipped into the cool,
          crisply-starched sheets. piled the pillows behind her and
          began to read It was a 'modem' novel of high living among
          airline pilots and stewardesses and the people they met, and
          the erotic scenes began to excite her, particularly one
          prolonged chapter devoted entirely to the manner in which a
          senior captain gently brought a young and inexperienced
          stewardess to the point where she was overcome with the
          desire to suck his cock and how he taught her to do it
          expertly and go wild at the sweetness of having his penis
          between her lips.
          
             If only John had been like that with me. I would have
          wanted to, Julie thought to herself. But he hadn't, in fact
          he had been so unthinking and cruel that she doubted she
          would ever want to do something her friends either did as a
          matter of course, or really dug to the point they would go
          down on any man they liked, although they might fuck only
          for their lawful husbands. She realized she was secretly
          hoping to meet someone like the airline captain. Discreetly
          of course, in a situation which would let her back out if,
          when the time came, she found she couldn't do it. Then she
          realized that, without thinking, her free hand had slipped
          in beneath the sheets and down under the narrow elastic
          waistband of her sheer panties and was slowly fingering the
          erotically aroused bud of her clitoris.
          
             At that moment there was a knock on tire cabin door. She
          jerked her hand away, shoved the book with its lurid cover
          under tire pillows and quickly drew on her mini-length
          terrycloth robe.
          
             "Who is it?" she called.
          
             "Roddy. The old man sent me up to fill the stove and show
          you how to make it burn."
          
             "Oh, Oh--just a minute." She belted the robe tightly
          about her, making sure it covered the fully down mounds of
          her breasts and was tugged down as far as it could go on her
          sleekly tapering legs. She imagined she could smell the musk
          of her agitated cunt in the air and quickly lit a cigarette
          to disguise the scent before crossing through the living
          room to open the door. The tall, ruggedly-handsome youth
          stood in the glow of the pale yellow porch light, grinning
          self-consciously. "You didn't have to. It's really warm
          enough."
          
             "Maybe now, but not in the morning, Miz Crane," he said,
          elbowing through the door with an armload of split wood. "We
          get frost even this time of year."
          
             His eyes roved appreciatively over her delicious young
          body, just a few years older than his own (and maybe much
          more experienced, he thought) as he carried the wood in and
          set about showing her how to lay a fire in the old potbelly
          stove. First crumpled papers, then thin strips of kindling
          and chunks of bark, finally chunks of wood three or four
          inches which would burn long and hot as soon as they caught
          . The explanation wasn't really necessary. Julie had dealt
          with exactly the same type of stove thousands of times in
          the frigid New England winters, but she didn't want to put
          Rod down by telling him so. A fire had already been laid in
          the sitting-room fireplace, and he showed her how to set the
          damper if she chose to start it.
          
             "I'll try not to smoke myself out," she promised.
          
             "Just yell if it acts up. We can hear you at the house,"
          he said. He dusted his hands together. "I was supposed to
          clean that damned stove yesterday. Don't tell the old man I
          forgot, huh? Okay to use your sink to clean up?"
          
             "Sure. And call me Julie."
          
             He flashed strong white teeth at her and casually
          stripped his work shirt off. She caught herself just before
          drawing a sharp breath at the sight of his torso. He had
          uncommonly wide shoulders for a fifteen year old, long,
          tanned arms with muscles that rippled beneath the skin, and
          a deep, almost hairless chest, His narrow waist seemed even
          more so in contrast with the span of his shoulders.
          Obviously, there wasn't an ounce of anything but hard bone
          and muscle or him, and he was handsome, with a clear,
          unblemished skin unusual in teenagers. There was a faint
          stubble of blondish beard along his jawline. He ran frigid
          water into the sink from the single tap, lathered himself
          with bar soap, splashed like a bear when he rinsed it off,
          and then used his shirt to dry himself. He looked at the
          shirt and at her and grinned, as if to say there was no
          point to putting it on again, soaked through as it was. She
          felt her pulse pound when their eyes met, and she tried to
          think of something to say.
          
             "I-I wonder if you'd like a beer after all that work?"
          
             "No work there, Julie. Split three cords of stubborn logs
          a day - well, that's work. And I like beer anytime. The old
          man and I make our own, if you'd like me to get a couple of
          bottles of home brew from the creek."
          
             "I-I've never had any home brew. I'd like that," she
          managed to say finally. "I'll get some glasses."
          
             "Be right back."
          
             He was gone and she thought furiously that she should
          take advantage of the respite to quickly pull on jeans and a
          loose-fitting sweater. But she did nothing but inspect her
          face and hair in the mirror of her bedroom before he was
          back, carrying two quart bottles which once had contained
          soda pop. They were ice-cold and still dripping water from
          the river. She found tall glasses in a cupboard and he
          pulled the cap of the first bottle and poured.
          
             "This isn't like store beer," Rod said as he handed her a
          foaming glass. "Pop says enough of it'll knock a
          two-hundred-buck mule flat on his ass. Here's to finding
          out."
          
             "Do I remind you of a two-hundred-buck mule?" she said,
          laughing.
          
             "Oh, wow!" he said. "Want to sit on the porch? This is
          the best time of night, with the moon just coming up."
          
             Julie Crane nodded her assent. She had half expected him
          to try maneuvering her into the bedroom, or at least onto
          the sagging sofa in the front room. But what could happen on
          a front porch?
          
             She found out quickly, as they sat on the top step, with
          the bottle of beer conveniently at hand. For one thing, it
          could get very chilly when you wore almost nothing but a
          terrycloth robe that came down just far enough to cover your
          tail. There was nothing contrived in the way she shivered
          and moved against his young, masculine body for warmth and
          into the strong curve of his arm as it slipped across her
          shoulder. She could not understand why there weren't
          goosebumps on his bare chest.
          
             Julie trembled and wriggled more tightly up against the
          young, hot male body, seeking warmth. Tight in the
          strong-muscled curve of his arm, she felt the front of her
          robe falling open. She knew she should draw it closed, but
          the heat of his bare flesh felt so good against the icy-cold
          of her upper breasts that she made no move to cover herself.
          She opened her mouth as he held out the bottle of beer to
          her and let the frigid, tangy fluid sluice down her throat.
          It seemed natural to hold her mouth in the same position,
          full lips slightly parted, when he took the bottle away.
          
             Then his mouth came down on hers, seeking, not hard and
          confident, but gently, almost shyly. She felt her lips swell
          with budding passion and let him feel the fluttering tip of
          her tongue. His tongue found it and led it deftly up into
          his mouth, and then he was sucking sweetly on it. His left
          hand slid under her robe and cupped her throbbing right
          breast, holding it gently but firmly, fingers closing over
          the rising bud of her nipple, kneading it in a tender way.
          She deepened the kiss, drawing his tongue avidly back into
          her own mouth, breathing harshly through flaring nostrils.
          She found her arms closing around his back and neck, drawing
          him close as he shifted his weight to ease her back on the
          bare, weather-beaten boards of the porch. She began to work
          on his tongue, sucking it hard, then driving her own past it
          into his mouth, and she realized she was squirming warmly in
          his strong, capable arms.
          
             Somehow she was lying flat on the porch, and she realized
          her robe had come fully open and the moon was glowing silver
          on the fully exposed length of her trembling body. Her
          thinly clad cunt was chilly in the cold night air.
          
             With a boldness, yet a natural feeling that she had never
          felt with her husband, she freed one arm from around the
          youth, reached for the hand that was cupping the softly
          trembling flesh of her breast and led the fingers slowly
          down to her cunt. Then she clamped her yearning young thighs
          right around them as they closed over the swelling lips of
          her pussy and began to press and massage them gently through
          the thin silken material of her flimsy panties. She felt her
          hips rise instinctively to the rhythm, and she maneuvered
          hungrily until she was lying above him, pressing her
          tantalized young body down against his almost-hairless one,
          and continued to probe lewdly into his mouth with her
          tongue. Her hair fell loose and free over his face and she
          thrilled to the feel of him. The full rigid length of his
          cock pressed hard against her hotly quivering belly and a
          sudden, cold breeze swept over her nearly-naked body.
          Reluctantly, she broke the tight, hot connection of their
          mouths and gasped a few words.
          
             I'm cold. I want to go inside, Rod."
          
             "I'll fuck you if we do."
          
             "I want you to fuck me." She quickly kissed his eyes and
          then brushed her mouth over his. "I don't want to talk about
          it. I want you to fuck me. Take me inside."

                      END OF CHAPTER ONE OF SEVEN

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