BB-201  Navy Wife
[aka 'The Professor's Bride' or 'Campus Bride']
(Bella Dietrich)


INTRODUCTION 

It is rare indeed for the author of an overnight bestseller to return just a 
few short months later with another book that is obviously destined for the 
same fate. Pete's Mother by Bella Dietrich won that comparatively young 
authoress immediate fame and the unanimous acclaim of the literary critics. 
Miss Dietrich's extensive knowledge of modern psychiatric methods, added to 
her gifts for characterization and telling a fast-moving story, were eagerly 
welcomed by readers tired of pretentious fakery and turgid prose. Now, in 
The Professor's Bride, Miss Dietrich has done it again, in a novel the 
publishers of Dansk Blue Books sincerely feel is an even more stunning 
accomplishment than her first. 

Even in these days of women's liberation, one does not expect a female 
writer to tackle such a complex and basically masculine subject as the 
changing structure of the United States Navy. Along with everything else, 
however, Miss Dietrich is a painstaking researcher; for several years, in 
fact, she was an award-winning newspaper reporter. Only a woman of her 
background could have gathered the background detail necessary for a work of 
this nature. 

That the U.S. Navy is undergoing major changes will be surprising even to 
some of its own members, let alone the general reading public. But changing 
it is, and that change is far from limited to advances in technology and 
weaponry. Psychology and sociology enter this sphere, too, as they do every 
other area of modern life. While every armed service must preserve to some 
degree an overall caste system in order to continue to operate, even caste 
systems are subject to change and progress. No one would suggest that the 
lowest enlisted man should make major policy decisions, whether in war or 
peace. But the lowest enlisted men are human beings, and the prevailing 
trend is more and more to recognize this and to treat them as such. 

Sexual tensions and frustrations obviously affect the lives of officers and 
enlisted men alike, even those assigned to the comparative tranquility and 
comfort of a Navy postgraudate school like the one which provides the 
setting for this novel. No one could be more aware of this than its hero, 
Carl Crandall, Ph.D., who wants to bring such up-to-date techniques as 
"off-site" encounter groups into general use to improve the psychological 
health of today's Navy. Unfortunately, his awareness is limited to the 
theoretical; and the difficulties of persuading the authorities to accept 
his ideas and plans plus a crushingly heavy work schedule have made him 
virtually blind to the problems and desires of his own wife, Maeve. 

Maeve is an entirely normal, healthy young woman in every respect-except 
that she is totally frustrated by the lack of any attention, particularly 
sexual attention, from her husband. Like most frustrated people, she 
attempts to divert her burning energies into another channel. In this case, 
Maeve develops an interest in art, spends many hours a day painting... and 
thus in her turn begins to neglect her housework and her husband. Thus the 
well-known vicious circle has started to spin, and once it begins, it 
gathers momentum rapidly with every passing day. When other complicating 
factors, such as the Crandalls' nymphomaniacal neighbor, Betty, enter the 
picture, the situation really becomes explosive. 

Into this complex and almost disastrous situation steps Admiral Sam 
Grandfield. Grandfield is a profoundly compelling figure, a man you will 
remember, and a character who could only be portrayed on stage or screen by 
an actor with the skill and authority of a George C. Scott. But, although he 
dominates those around him by his very presence and usually gets his own way 
in everything he does, he does not-as might have been expected -totally 
dominate the book. The structure Miss Dietrich has erected is too complex 
and intricately organized for any one figure to dominate. You will grow to 
know intimately every character in this book. You will admire some, and be 
repelled by others, but you will never for a moment doubt that they are all 
real people, with real passions and real problems. 

But perhaps we, the publishers, have already said too much. Our natural 
pride makes us unusually enthusiastic over The Professor's Bride. Nothing we 
have said, however, can prepare you for the drama of the events that unfold 
on the following pages, and no amount of guessing will tell you exactly what 
to expect in the astonishing, but utterly logical, climax. 

Read The Professor's Bride, and join the ever-expanding ranks of Bella 
Dietrich's loyal fans. 

The Publishers 

 Chapter One 

The late afternoon sun had turned the hills to golden velvet and they 
crouched like tawny sleeping lions, shoulders and haunches interlocked and 
fading away in the distance. Those golden lions, folded in peace, had never 
looked so lovely, Maeve thought as she drove her Volkswagen bus along the 
Carmel Valley road between them, pointed toward home. 

Her euphoria spilled from her lips in a tuneless humming as she glanced at 
the painting she'd finished in art class this afternoon, lying in a bright 
spot of sun on the seat beside her. It was good. Solid work. Dinner was 
going to be late and Carl was going to be furious. Since her art work had 
become her passion that seemed to be his permanent state... fury. But she 
didn't care... at least not right now. 

It was summer. The children had been put on the plane this morning for 
Illinois and Grandma, and Maeve Crandall was free for three whole months to 
do just what she'd done today... paint, paint, paint! 

She glanced at the painting again. The orange and blue thing had worked! The 
splayed female figure under the orange sky like a free and expanding 
goddess. Maybe because she felt like a goddess today... to do what she 
loved... to paint the visions that whirled in her head even when she went 
through the automatic motions of being Mrs. Carl Crandall, proper 
professor's wife and mother of two little girls. 

Her tuneless hum changed to a whistle as she pursed her full red lips and 
beat out a little tattoo on the steering wheel with her small graceful 
paint-stained hands. Amazing how just one day of doing what you truly wanted 
to do could fill you with such joy! She swung the bus expertly into the 
driveway beside Carl's Mercedes, leaped down and ran lightly around to open 
the other door and take out the still-wet painting. 

Maeve held it at arm's length, squinted her large brown pansy eyes, wrinkled 
her pert little nose and cocked her shiny dark brown head. Yes, it was good. 
Really good. It was going to hold up. 

She smiled again happily to herself and went through the carport, across the 
stone patio and into the house through the study, singing softly to herself, 
"Joy to the World!" Who cared if it was June... it was Christmas to her. 

She stopped in the laundry, which hardly had room for the washer and dryer 
anymore with all her painting paraphernalia. She put the painting carefully 
on the easel. Wiping her hands on her paint-splattered jean-clad hips and 
thighs, she backed away and looked at the painting again. Yes. It was going 
to be all right. 

Still not able to tear herself away from her visible, tangible day's work, 
so unlike the housework that had constantly to be redone, she absentmindedly 
pulled her shirttails out of her jeans and began unbuttoning her shirt 
buttons, still staring at the painting... first from one angle... then from 
another. 

"Where the hell have you been?" The words hit Maeve's backbone like ice 
cubes and she whirled to find Carl, cold and tight-lipped, framed in the 
doorway. He was immaculate in a dark suit, pale blue shirt and silver 
cufflinks... a small but well-proportioned man with powerful shoulders and 
lean hips, dark hair, and tanned face that made his ice blue eyes look 
crystalline. Those eyes swept Maeve now in cold fury... from her shiny brown 
hair cut in a silky cap to her big trusting earnest brown eyes, little 
tilted nose and full lips, small slim figure with the amazingly full breasts 
and beautiful legs in the tight jeans. 

"If you had deliberately set out to sabotage me, you couldn't have done a 
better job. But you don't think about me enough to be deliberate, do you?" 

"Oh, Carl... please." Instinctively she went toward him and then stopped as 
those eyes froze her. 

"Admiral Grandfield is here from Washington. He's vitally interested in the 
business management department. Since I hold the only Harvard Ph.D. in the 
department at the moment, there is a chance he might be interested in my 
work, don't you think?" he said coldly. 

"There's a reception for him in forty-five minutes, at the Navy Postgraduate 
School... my employers who pay for all this nonsense," he waved his hand 
contemptuously at her painting, "in case you've forgotten." He looked at his 
watch. "It takes thirty minutes to get there from here. That gives you 
exactly fifteen minutes to get ready." He spun on his heel and stalked off 
to the living room. 

Oh God! She'd completely forgotten! Damn. Damn. Damn. How could she have 
forgotten? Today, it had been easy. It got easier all the time... to forget 
all the structured, boring ritualistic Navy School academia that was Carl's 
work. Work he wouldn't share with her, so all she knew was the boring 
surface. 

"I'll be right there," she called. 

Maeve raced through to their bedroom, stripping her clothes off as she went. 
Things were going from bad to worse. The happier she was with her painting, 
the unhappier Carl seemed to get. As she soaped quickly in the shower, she 
wondered about that. She'd always been so happy for Carl when he had a 
triumph... so why did her small victories with paint infuriate him so? It 
wasn't just that she was late tonight. There was so much more to it than 
that. 

She dressed with shaking fingers. The beige silk linen, so plain that her 
figure and her face were the focus of attention... the strip sandals, pearl 
and crystal rope. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. The white silk bag, earrings. Thank 
God she had no worry about hair or makeup except for eye makeup. She 
carefully emphasized those huge expressive brown eyes with liner and 
mascara. A powder puff touched briefly to her nose was all her creamy 
poreless skin needed. Lipstick she'd do in the car. A quick brushing and her 
hair fell in the short shining cap that curled around her face and showed 
the good bones of her head and jaw. 

A brief touch of perfume at the cleavage of her breasts that swelled in the 
deep "V" of the dress. Gloves to cover her unpolished nails that she'd 
forgotten to manicure, and she was ready. The mirror showed only a shining, 
beautiful young woman who looked more like twenty than thirty. Her stomach 
that was beginning to knot and her head that ached were completely 
invisible. 

Maeve walked into the living room just in time to hear Carl say, "I'll call 
you later," surreptitiously into the phone. She didn't need to be told who 
was on the other end of the phone. Betty Lunsford, the perennial 
clinging-vine southern belle, the helpless neighbor across the road, the 
wife of one of Carl's young Navy lieutenant students... who called on Carl 
more and more for "help." 

Betty Lunsford's subterfuges didn't fool Maeve for an instant. She was after 
Carl or any other man she thought would improve her position. Maeve felt 
certain that Betty would only stay married to naive young George until she 
found someone richer and more prestigious. 

"Who was that?" She knew full well but she couldn't stop herself asking. 

"Betty," Carl admitted coolly... not even bothering to lie. He finished the 
drink in his hand with one gulp. 

"Could I have one of those in a paper cup?" 

"We're late already." 

"You start the car and I'll make it. I need it about now, I think." 

The ride into town was miserable. Carl took the Los Laureles grade, and 
Maeve had the ghastly feeling every time he took one of the long turns 
winding over the ridge of mountains to the Salinas highway that he was going 
to plunge them over the edge and they'd go rolling down a high sage-covered 
hill. She could see it in slow motion, the car turning over and over, 
crashing silently down the mountain with them inside like a movie with no 
sound track. She lit a cigarette, trying to shake the vision, but it kept 
recurring over and over. 

How had they gotten to this armed camp, this closed vacuum where they went 
through the motions of living like... robots, as though someone wound them 
up every morning and they went through motions? She didn't really know... 
but dear lord, it had to stop somewhere, sometime. 

It was like watching a play, Maeve thought- the correct Navy officers, the 
frumpy wives, the civilian professors all going through the fawning social 
maneuverings considered correct at receptions for visiting brass. All of it 
boiled down to elaborate constructions of little empires with each man the 
uncrowned emperor of his own. All of them were after power and prestige and 
recognition. From the lowliest lieutenant student studying for his master's 
degree to the boy-wonder visiting admiral. Maeve didn't think any of them 
really loved their work or wanted to do it for its own sake. Not the way she 
loved her painting. 

Carl was putting on his charm act for the admiral... and Carl had charm when 
he wanted to. Tenacious charm. She watched him across the room. The 
brilliant smile, the easy manner, the deference. He'd fooled her with it. 
Convinced her he was a genius and needed only her for a wife to change the 
whole world for the better. Well, he hadn't changed anything except her. 
Taken her paint brushes out of her hands and her good salaried job at Lassie 
Magazine and put her to work scrubbing floors and caring for two babies that 
came too soon. Later she'd even had to take a job as well, as a secretary, 
to see him through his doctorate at Harvard. Now, she was jolly well not 
going to give up her painting. She'd earned it... the hard way. 

"You need a drink. You're dry." She turned to find Harry Neil taking her 
empty glass from her. Funny old Harry that Carl was so wary of and jealous 
of since Harry made full professor. 

"Not for long, Harry. I feel so lousy tonight I may cry." She laughed, 
looking up at his skinny homely face that went with his long narrow body. 

"Then by all means let's cry in our booze together. The only way I can get 
through one of these receptions is to get bombed." It was the longest speech 
she'd ever heard him make, and she wondered if he was already bombed as she 
watched him make his way across the polished floor with their drinks, 
dodging people artfully, but never taking his eyes from her. Certainly, he'd 
never looked at her that way before. Maeve felt absolutely naked by the time 
he handed her the drink. She clutched her handbag and gloves and juggled her 
drink so as to pull her stole higher across her breasts that tingled as 
though his eyes had been lips. My God, what was the matter with Harry? What 
was the matter with her? 

Partly it was Carl, who hadn't touched her for three months now. She'd 
pretended it didn't matter. After that last big fight over how Carl liked 
it, he hadn't touched her at all. That was fine, she told herself. She would 
not be treated like a whore, a hired whore. But... for the first time she 
realized she also didn't like being a nun. Harry's eyes slid over her like 
hands and made her feel desirable, voluptuous. 

"Coming down to Bendemeer's Stream this weekend?" Harry asked huskily. Maeve 
looked away from him into the crowd, not daring to meet his eyes now. She 
shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. 

"I'm not sure, Harry." 

"We could commiserate with each other." His hand slid under her upper arm 
and it was just as though his warm hand were a brand against her bare skin. 
She jumped as though burned, and part of her drink spilled down the front of 
her dress. It was icy where it dribbled down between her breasts. She was 
confused and angry and hurt and upset... and felt as though she really might 
cry any minute. 

"Oh... oh, here, Harry." She handed him her drink, clutched her stole even 
higher and tighter and swept blindly across the floor to the ladies' room. 
She didn't know what she'd do when she got there, but she rushed 
determinedly toward it. God, what was happening to her? Poor Harry who 
wouldn't hurt a fly suddenly made her feel like rape was imminent. He asked 
if they were going down to the trailer camp for the weekend... as they often 
did during the summer... and she acted as though he'd made a lewd 
suggestion. What the hell was the matter with her? 

Well, for one thing Carl had dashed all her lovely feelings about her 
painting. She'd felt guilty about forgetting the damn reception... and not 
only that, she was pretty sure Betty Lunsford was making time with Carl. She 
felt used and abused and unlovely... and her own husband hated her. Hated 
her. She knew he did. What had happened? What in heaven's name had happened? 

Stop this, she told herself. Stop it right now. But her eyes filled with 
tears of self-pity and she looked down at the polished floor so no one could 
see... praying she was close to the ladies' room. 

Suddenly two strong hands caught her shoulders as she almost collided with a 
uniformed man. 

"Whoa, there, young lady." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she mumbled and lifted her tear-filled eyes to a very 
tall handsome man in Navy uniform. Lean hawk face with steel-gray eyes and 
an amused quirk at the corner of a sensuous mouth. He looked like a 
Hollywood version of the stalwart Navy officer. He was using those 
penetrating gray eyes to probe her face acutely... he was... oh my God... he 
was the Admiral. Admiral Grandfield. Oh, no! Carl would never forgive her if 
she did something stupid now. 

"You're the loveliest little live thing I've seen all evening in this 
mausoleum," he smiled down at her. 

"You're very kind... thank you... I... so good of you, Admiral," she mumbled 
incoherently, breaking away and walking swiftly through the ladies' room 
door. She found an empty booth, locked the door and leaned gratefully 
against it, letting the tears flow silently down her face. Oh, God. Oh, God 
damn! 

Her stole really wasn't warm enough on the way home, but Maeve didn't want 
to interrupt Carl's sudden spate of chatter to ask him to turn the heater 
on. His mood seemed to have changed for the better, and he was talking 
grandiosely about the Admiral's interest in his work. 

"He was amazed I had done my thesis on Introducing Change in an Established 
Hierarchy. You see that's just what he's interested in doing for the Navy. 
He understands the absolute futility of the authoritarian structure in the 
world we live in today." 

"Did you tell him about the book you're writing?" she asked, wondering what 
had changed his mood so abruptly. 

"Well, no. Right now he wants techniques, actions, blueprints. Can you 
imagine? He'd never even heard of an off-site?" 

"Neither have I. What's an off-site?" She huddled down on the leather seat 
and shivered. 

"Hey, baby. You're cold. Here." Carl flipped the heater and reached over to 
pull her crossed thighs closer to him. "Slide over here." His hand began 
sliding up and down her silken thigh. 

"An off-site is where people get away from their usual environment and 
explore with each other how they really feel." Maeve stiffened 
involuntarily. It had been so long since he'd touched her... and after the 
last few months she just didn't know how to react... or even how she wanted 
to react. His hand had come around her shoulder and slid inside the neck of 
her dress. Her skin crawled as his fingers inched down and insinuated inside 
her bra. What was he going to expect? His hand curled around her breast, and 
she felt an electric charge jolt through her. 

"Right now, for instance, I feel like having you unzip my pants and skin my 
prick down." 

Why did he have to talk that way? He made her feel dirty, unclean, and 
degraded. She wriggled uneasily. 

"But you used the word 'off-site' as though it were a technical term... sort 
of jargon pertaining to your work." 

"It is. Normally means a group of executives who have a kind of encounter in 
a place removed from office or home... usually a motel." 

"Oh, I see. The Admiral wants to use this for officers or something?" 

"Come on. Where's your hand?" Her distraction tactics hadn't worked after 
all. She heard him unzip his pants himself. Then Maeve felt him grab her 
hand and wrap it around his hot hard penis that jutted into her hand like a 
thick, throbbing cable. Oh, God, she'd forgotten how huge his penis was. She 
had had no real means of comparison, but she felt it must be 
disproportionately large for a man of his stature. Her old Negro nurse at 
home had warned her. "Miss Maeve, you ain't goin' to marry that little bitty 
Mr. Carl, is you? 'Cause, I can tell you from my own 'sperience... those 
little bitty men'll kill you. I knows. I got six kids." 

Maeve shuddered, holding Carl's huge penis gingerly, as though it could 
impregnate her through her hand. He had almost killed her, too. She'd have 
six kids now herself if it weren't for the pill. As it was she had two-too 
soon and too close together. He'd been at her day and night it seemed for 
years until about a year or two ago. When his promotions didn't come 
through... when he'd been passed over... and had gotten shrill and obstinate 
with the other professors... and mean and contrary and demanding with her. 
Demanding impossible, sick sexual acts from her and flying into furies about 
her art as he had tonight. 

"Hold it like you like it, baby. Skin it for me." Obediently she tightened 
her grip, though she was beginning to feel sick. Oh, God, what was the 
matter with him? What was the matter with her? This was her husband. She was 
supposed to love him... but he made her feel like a... thing... an object... 
a chattel... a whore. 

Maeve felt the car climb the steep drive, and the headlights illuminated 
their carport. As the car engine died she could hear Carl's heavy breathing. 
He grabbed her and crushed his mouth on hers, stabbing his tongue into her 
mouth fiercely. When he started this way she just wanted to run. There was 
no tenderness, no preamble, no nothing. Just naked sex. He tore his mouth 
away finally as she fought for breath and before she could protest had 
shoved her face over his naked penis... putting her mouth on his throbbing, 
sticky member. "Suck my cock, baby. I'm going to teach you to suck cock 
yet." Oh, God, she was going to be sick. She knew it. The tip of his huge 
rod in her mouth made her want to gag. It was sick and depraved and unclean. 
She could feel the sticky ooze, and it tasted faintly sweet and pungent and 
nauseating. His hands held her head and forced her head lower till his huge 
thing was ramming the back of her throat and she was gagging. She twisted 
her head and wriggled and fought till she was free of it. "In the house," 
she gasped, and was out the door of the car before he could catch her. 

Maeve flew into the house, so glad of the momentary reprieve that the nausea 
even left. Shaking, she tore into the bathroom and locked the door. For the 
second time in one evening she found herself crying in a locked bathroom. 
What was happening to her life? Finally she brushed her teeth three times 
and gargled and gargled. What was she going to do? You couldn't yell for 
help or call the police and say, "My husband is about to rape me." What did 
you do? 

She was aware to her shame that even amid her nausea and her tears and real 
fright and disgust there was also an eerie, ethereal excitement that was 
skimming just under the surface of her mind somewhere. Carl hadn't touched 
her in so long now and she hadn't really realized that she was taut and 
strung to a strange thin-strung wire of need and anticipation until Harry 
had looked at her and touched her arm tonight. She knew men built up an 
unbearable sexual need when deprived, but she had never thought that women 
might too until tonight. It wasn't the incredible urgency that screamed for 
relief in a man, but perhaps it only waited for the moment when opportunity 
presented itself. 

Her mind raced and her heart pounded and somehow her tears dried and she 
became calmer. Even a kind of plan half formed. She might avoid the dirty 
sex she feared if she could somehow seduce him into the normal kind that she 
was used to and could at least partially enjoy. 

Maeve unlocked the bathroom door and flew to lock the bedroom door before he 
came in. She heard him locking the kitchen door, she thought, so she called 
out, "I'm making myself beautiful. I'll let you in... in just a minute." 

There was no answer, but she assumed that was assent. 

A sudden thought stopped her cold. How could you seduce your own husband 
when you didn't even own a naughty nighty... or any kind, for that matter. 
Only prim simple pajamas lay folded in her bureau. She'd always felt black 
nightgowns were so obvious and so somehow insulting to a man's intelligence. 
She'd never wanted him to be swayed by her flesh alone. She'd wanted Carl to 
love her for herself... and to show that love for her body only as an 
expression of what he felt for her... soul? 

She rummaged frantically through her drawers, trying to think of something. 
There was that old piece of lace that had been her wedding veil, but it was 
just a piece of lace. Her hand touched a roll of pink. What was that? Her 
old pink leotard from ballet exercise classes she'd gone to last fall. Well, 
it would have to do. Frantically she undressed and pulled it on. 

The bathroom full-length mirror showed her a very beautiful woman. The 
leotard was cut high on the thigh so that her legs looked incredibly long 
and perfectly formed. Her buttocks were just barely covered by the thin 
nylon, and the "V" where her legs joined in front was emphasized. Her pubic 
mound plainly showed. The stretchy nylon fabric showed every curve and 
enhanced it. But the neck. Sexy things were supposed to have low necks. 
Well, she'd fix that! She grabbed the bathroom scissors and cut. When she'd 
finished, the neck was split in a long V that ended at her navel and her 
ripe breasts threatened to spill completely out of the opening. Yes, that 
was better. Inspired now, she pulled the peony out of the vase on the 
bathroom counter and pinned it right at the end of the "V" over her navel. 
Yes. That was what it needed. 

Maeve crept out, heart hammering now. Where was he? The dining room was 
dark, but a faint light showed from the living room. 

"Carl?" Now that she'd dressed in this damn thing she felt foolish. Would he 
laugh or be sarcastic? 

"Well, milady of the manor has decided to come out of her ivory tower?" She 
whirled to find Carl sunk in a deep easy chair with a drink in his hand. He 
sounded funny... and he was devouring her with his eyes, but strangely. Oh, 
God, he sounded mean again. Was he drunk? 

She'd have to brave it out. "I... I was only dressing... for you, darling." 
She tried to laugh. Hell, how did you seduce men anyhow? 

"Or rather undressing." She whirled in a pirouette as she'd learned in 
ballet class. "Isn't it grand to have the whole house to ourselves? I could 
never dress like this with the children here." 

"You wire mother," he spat at her. "You don't care any more for the kids 
than you do for me." She stood clutching her arms around her waist as though 
he'd wounded her literally. How could he be such a beast sometimes? Wire 
mother, he'd called her. She knew full well what he meant... surrogate 
mother... dummy mother... like those cloth and wire things the scientists 
devised to put with baby monkeys as mother substitutes... and the poor 
little monkeys loved them even though the wire couldn't love them back. 
Suddenly she was furious... blindly, hotly furious. 

"How dare you talk to me that way! I've had all I can take from you for one 
day." She turned and fled, humiliated, hurt and shaking with anger. He 
caught her before she'd gone three steps... grabbing her by the arms from 
behind and shaking her. 

"Oh, no you don't, bitch! I know you better than you know yourself! You 
thought you'd get it your way as usual... a little bit of ladylike 
submission to a little bit of ladylike fucking! Well, not this time! This 
time, it's going to be my way!" Maeve felt and heard Carl through a maze of 
pain that was clutching at her abdomen... the pain of humiliation and anger 
and fright... and terror that he'd seen through her. But why should he force 
her to have to try to seduce him? Why couldn't he be a normal husband 
instead of a sick, depraved frustrated failure? Yes. Failure. She'd never 
admitted the word even to herself before, but she did now. 

She felt his arm catch her knees and carry her through to the bedroom. She 
struggled and tried to slap his face, but he was too strong. The tears were 
pouring down her cheeks now, and she sobbed out her anger and pain and 
hopelessness. 

He threw her on the bed and she curled up in a ball, shaking with sobs and 
hiding her head in the pillow. Never in all the ten years they'd been 
married had he ever been such a maniac, and she was terrified... physically 
terrified. If he pulled out a gun or a knife to kill her she wouldn't be 
surprised. 

"You god damned self-sacrificing bitch... punching my buttons till I'm a 
frustrated bundle of nerves." He was tearing his clothes off and flinging 
them away. "Well, this is one night, baby, we're going to do things my 
way... how I want it, when I want it, and for as long as I want it." 

A sharp stinging pain struck her right buttock as he slapped her hard, 
yelling, "Turn over, bitch!" He grabbed her and turned her himself, then 
grasped her leotard and shredded it from neck to crotch. 

"Oh, Carl, please," she sobbed! "Please don't do this." She wasn't 
frightened now, she just lay sobbing as he cursed and yanked and ripped her 
pathetic attempt to look sexy for him... till she was lying naked and 
defenseless in ribboned shreds of pink leotard. He rolled her from side to 
side, pulling the last of the shreds away till she was completely, utterly, 
totally naked. 

"Now." She opened her eyes to see him straddle her body, holding the long 
heavy-veined thickness of his rigid thrusting penis that he waved like a 
huge knobbed weapon. It jutted from his hairy powerful loins in obscene 
enormity. She shuddered involuntarily... and the shudder rippled over her 
creamy skin, making goose bumps mar its satiny surface as she stared at him 
in horror. He clutched that thrusting stalk of hard, hot flesh and began to 
lewdly stroke the foreskin over the mammoth glistening head... his eyes 
boring into her like hot pokers as she watched him do it. He was enjoying 
masturbating... but more he was enjoying masturbating with her eyes 
seemingly frozen on him in repellent fascination. Oh, no! This couldn't be 
real. It was a nightmare that couldn't be really happening. 

In terror she watched him reach out with the other hand and open the 
brown-haired lips of her vulva, and she felt him move the head of that huge 
bloated rod and insert it at the upper end till it rested right on her 
clitoris with a heavy pressure that sent sparks of pleasure coursing through 
her despite her fear. 

"That's where you want it, baby. That's where it could do you some good." He 
moved the head across her clitoris in a tiny circular massaging motion that 
caused her pelvis to arch up closer without her permission. "But you're not 
going to get it there. You're going to suck my cock, baby. For the first 
time in ten lousy years of marriage... you're going to suck it dry and 
swallow my seed till you drown in my boiling juices." 

"Please... please, Carl... don't do this to us." She held her hands out 
helplessly to him in a futile gesture of implorement... but he was tracing 
her belly with the sticky head now... sliding it up her body in lascivious 
tracings. Then he jammed the sticky glistening head right into one pink 
nipple, pushing it into the lush fullness of her white breast. Unbidden, her 
nipple hardened immediately beneath his cock ramming it. It budded to a 
closed little rock of desire. Then he hardened the other soft pink nipple 
the same way. 

A rising wave of hate for him rose up in her... hate for him and an 
engulfing self-pity. She thought frantically of fighting like a tigress, at 
least clawing him good before he used her like a street whore.... but the 
lusting, brutal, vicious contortions of his face let her know it was 
useless. He would kill her. She knew it. Some strange mechanism was at 
work... as though her body opted for survival at any price... not caring how 
horrible or how degrading. 

"Now open your mouth and take it." He shoved the huge thing right to her 
chin, his legs straddling her fully lush breasts. She could see every vein 
of the pulsing blunt-nosed instrument of his cock, every wet glistening 
detail of the rutting, weeping, eyed head. "No... no... I won't," she cried 
through clenched teeth as her stomach heaved again in nausea. 

"Oh, yes, bitch! You'll suck it... every drop! Goddamn you! Pretend it's a 
work of art!" His hand tangled in her hair to jerk her head upright, and his 
knees cruelly pinioned her arms. "I'm going to make you the best little 
cocksucker in town! You're going to give your undivided attention to sucking 
my cock! Take it, you bitch," he snarled savagely. 

It would be better to die, she thought wildly. Insanely she fought then, 
writhing in fury and humiliation beneath him, tears of degradation streaming 
down her cheeks and her breath coming in the tortured sobs of terror and 
pain. Even as she fought him she knew it was in vain, that the unbelievable 
lurid madness of their obscene struggle could only end in one way... his 
way. 

He let go of his rod and slapped her hard... first one cheek and then the 
other. "Take it in your mouth, you goddamn bitch!" he screamed, jerking her 
head by the hair and slapping her with his other punishing hand. Suddenly 
she went limp beneath him. She couldn't struggle any longer. 

Maeve heard his breath coming in heaving rasps as her arms numbed painfully 
under his knees, while his lean, hard buttocks flattened her soft breasts 
and his mammoth cock rested again on her chin. Slowly, with closed wet eyes, 
she raised her tear-streaked face and opened her mouth receptively. 

"You goddamned whore!" Carl spat out viciously, drawing his knees back off 
her painfully numbed arms. "Hold it and lick it! Lick all of it, cock, 
balls, everything... and don't stop till I tell you to or I'll beat hell out 
of you! We're going to find out... once and for all... if you give a damn... 
if we've got a marriage at all! Now... start licking!" 

Carl's good-looking face was a mask of grotesque, enraged lust as he watched 
the naked, subservient loveliness of his terrified wife slowly extend her 
trembling little hands toward her jerking, heavy cock. A hot sensation of 
feeling jolted through the fleshy rod, echoing in his throat in a choking 
grunt as her slender fingers touched it and then encircled it. Damn her! 
Damn her to hell! He'd show her once and for all. It was either make it or 
break it... he was going to be her husband or he wasn't. Christ! The feel of 
her hand on his hot long prick, against her will, incited jagged flashes of 
carnality to surge through him, blinding him to everything but the 
chastising degradation he was determined to carry out. 

The near-overwhelming bitterness and dejection, the sudden fear, that had 
driven her to defend herself against his depraved attack were changing to 
lurid fermentations bubbling through her loins and belly at the feel of his 
steel-hard, warm throbbing shaft in her grasping hand. She didn't want to 
feel any of that, and she whimpered aloud at the thought. The sight and 
presence of his long rigid cock in her hand only inches from her face was 
blotting out other conscious feelings. 

"Lick it, damn you!" Carl snarled, jerking her lips closer to his swollen 
cock. "All the puking and begging you can do isn't going to get you off this 
time. I'm your husband, baby, and you're going to give my cock your 
undivided attention. Lick it!" 

"Ohhh... God... Carl." Maeve sobbed. For a brief moment, panic swept her as 
she realized there was no escape. He was going to make her perform the 
perverted act, but she sought to prolong the terrible moment of atonement as 
she continued to stroke the thick prick, feeling him groan and writhe as she 
drew back the foreskin from the wet head, exposing the throbbing glans, then 
pulling the thick outer flesh up and down, her mind narrowing on the 
lewdness of her forced participation... until finally there was nothing else 
except the huge, thrusting cock in her tiny hand, her fingers hardly going 
around it. Then... she moved her almost-hypnotized face toward it. 

Maeve heard Carl choke in carnal anticipation. She reached out her tiny 
tongue and hesitantly touched the tip, and he moaned and shuddered. Then she 
twirled her tongue around it experimentally, and he moaned again and 
clutched both her ripe breasts in his hands. She held her breath and touched 
her tongue-tip to the little damp slit in the end of his cock, and the 
pungent taste of his seminal fluid miraculously didn't make her sick this 
time. A strange sense of excitement washed through her. Her hands stroked 
downward as her tongue tasted and twirled around the tip, and she found the 
soft sac of his balls, bloated and heavy with semen she knew she would have 
to drink and swallow. She didn't know if she could, but the thought did not 
make her gag as it had before. She licked along the soft underside of his 
rigid cock and then slowly back to the rim, down to the velvety base and 
back again, down and then over the full sac of his testicles... as he'd 
commanded. His groans of pleasure told her she was doing it right. 

Her hands caressed in her tongue's wake in a strange slavelike devotion now, 
and she drew the foreskin back with both hands... pulled her head away 
briefly to look at the ponderous head standing up so huge and sleekly 
naked... and then she took it in her mouth... wholly within her soft eager 
mouth, letting the hot shaft slide the length of her tongue as her mouth 
absorbed more and more of it. 

Carl groaned above her, watching in rapt fascination as Maeve's beautiful 
mouth sucked and licked his long aching prick. He took a perverse pleasure 
in watching her suck him after ten long years of waiting and hoping and 
praying and even begging. Still suspicious of her motives despite the 
incredible slavelike labor she was performing for him in the pagan ritual of 
fellatio he'd longed for... he couldn't stop the sensation of joy that was 
spreading through him from cock to belly to heart and head. She was eating 
him! That luscious angel was trying to get all his great throbbing cock in 
her mouth at once! A wave of unbidden tenderness swept through him, and he 
reached down to stuff pillows behind her and take her beautiful face in his 
hands. 

Slowly he undulated his hips, sliding his long wet pulsing cock, wet from 
her warm tender-skinned mouth, in and out of that lovely mouth in a lustful 
rocking rhythm and a damp sucking sound. Her hand still clung to his lewdly 
swollen hard cock, and he guided it in and out of that cavern of delight by 
thrusting forward with his hips and pulling her even deeper onto his massive 
prick by holding her head in his hands and pulling it to him so that her 
ovalled mouth puffed obscenely with the burden. As she toiled in meek 
subservience with fervent bobbing motions, he couldn't resist shoving his 
throbbing cock between her soft lips with mounting fury... nor could he 
contain the almost evil smile of dominating lust with each thrust into her 
sucking receptive mouth. 

Maeve's cheeks still burned from the violent face slapping Carl had 
administered, and her breasts still felt bruised and her arms ached where he 
had knelt. She couldn't remember ever feeling so completely and utterly 
punished... so ashamed and sordidly humbled... but there were strange 
sensations of intemperate lasciviousness growing in her soft little belly 
and loins. These strange sensations shamed her even more, for they suggested 
she might be enjoying this lewd labor that had been forced on her. 

She hung possessively to his prick and balls with her small hands, and the 
tears still trickled down her cheeks, but an unfathomable joy began to race 
insanely through her. Amazingly her vagina and her vulva began to grow moist 
and excited between her squeezing thighs as she explored every ridge and 
wrinkle with her tongue licking ferally at the blood-filled head of his 
cock. 

Carl stared at the elastic sucking of his beautiful wife's lips on his 
throbbing prick as he thrust his loins back and forth, fucking her tender 
mouth with a building mania. Her ripe lips contorted, clinging to his 
thickened shaft with rapt attention. He watched the tiny ridges of pink 
flesh pull out as he withdrew, then disappear when he shoved forward, 
sinking the head of his cock almost into her throat, the wiry hairs of his 
pelvis almost touching her pert little nose. Christ! She was sucking him 
with feeling, eating his prick like it was sugar and she was starving! Oh 
God, she'd be satiated with the load he could feel damming up in his 
balls... a meal that would fill her for a week. 

"Eat your fill, baby. All you want... suck it good!" 

Obediently Maeve sucked on the massive bloated penis harder than ever, 
instinctively making her mouth as small as possible to increase the pressure 
that was driving him insane with the lascivious bliss that she'd denied him 
so long. In her unbridled desire, she sucked it so deeply into the hot 
saliva-filled cavity of her mouth that it nearly choked her, but she caught 
her breath and ran her tongue feverishly up and down the soft sensitive 
underside, feeling it throb and pulse to her touch and tasting the tangy 
spice of its heady fluid. 

She massaged his heavy balls with subservient affection as he moved up and 
down... in and out of her sucking mouth in a lashing, building rhythm... and 
she could hear his moaning ragged breath coming now almost in sobs. As he 
built higher and higher, she found her own desire catching in a zigzag of 
flaming little sensations that raced along her veins in a lustful minor key. 
Oh God. She did love him! Her hips writhed on the bed and her legs 
alternately spread and squeezed together and she was aware of an aching void 
that needed filling. 

In this maddening lusting sucking nirvana that was her beautiful mouth on 
his hard aching blood-filled prick, Carl sensed that she was beginning to 
need him as much as he needed her. He stroked and caressed her ripened 
breasts, kneading and squeezing them, pinching the nipples to red little 
berries of erotic flame. Then with one hand still full of her heavy breast, 
he reached behind him and found her hair-covered pubic mound and insinuated 
a finger down the slit to find that she was moist and slippery with the 
flowing of her delicious juices readying her passage for him. The thought of 
her passionate flowing that had happened as she sucked voraciously on his 
near-bursting heavy cock stalk sent a salacious message of incredible lust 
surging through his brain and gut. He slipped his finger in and out of her 
silky slippery wanting vagina, and she arched and moaned in responsive 
appreciation, cunt up to finger and mouth on cock. 

Maeve couldn't believe that she could ever enjoy a degraded act, but she 
knew now it was because she'd been so ignorant. Eagerly now and hungrily she 
sucked and licked Carl's beautiful erect wet and pulsing cock that throbbed 
in her mouth and jerked with the joy she was bringing him. Then she felt his 
finger delicately part her vulva lips and slide down and into her aching 
wanting passage. Pleasure flooded her in waves and ripples along her skin, 
her veins and through the depths of her soft little belly. Her breasts felt 
as though they were visibly swelling from inside out like fruit bursting 
with a ripening sun. It was beautiful... oh God... so good! She sucked 
harder on his wonderful throbbing delicious cock, and her pelvis arched up 
to his finger. 

Suddenly Carl began to ease his cock from Maeve's working mouth. "Oh... no, 
darling, please... please, I want it. I want to suck you till you cum in my 
mouth. Please, darling," she begged. 

"You'll get it back in a minute, baby. I've got to have your sweet little 
pussy." Carl kissed and nibbled her face, slithering down to lie on her, 
then plunged his tongue in her mouth and tasted his own cock there, and then 
he worked his way down her white and naked soft loveliness, stopping to 
individually lick and nibble and suck her beautiful swelling breasts, then 
burying his face against the silklike flesh of her warm little bowl of 
belly, stabbing hotly with his tongue into her navel. 

Then Maeve sensed what he was going to do, and her brain reeled at the 
thought in erotic anticipation. Suddenly she felt his hands, the strong 
palms pressing against the softness of her inner thighs, moving them wider 
apart, and her breath caught in her chest as she waited with overwhelming 
desire and an ambiguous fear of what was about to happen. 

Maeve lurched and groaned and shuddered as his hot moist lips closed over 
the mound at the base of her belly. She felt him lavish taunting kisses on 
the hair-lined edges of her pussy... tender and gentle kisses all around the 
lips of her cunt... until his tongue parted the soft brown hair and began to 
snake out at the delicate opening. 

"OOOOOHHHHHH... ooooohhhhh, Carl, darling! Oh, yessssss, love me... forgive 
me...!" Every muscle in Maeve's body tightened uncontrollably to the wildly 
pleasurable licking of her cunt and choking moans of incredible delight 
poured from her quivering mouth. GOD! GOD! GOD! I'll go mad with the ecstasy 
of it... the unbelievable lovely enchanting ecstasy of his mouth licking me 
there... where I never wanted him before. I'll never get enough of this 
ultimate, this apex of sexual love. Oh Carl! Forgive me for the bitch I've 
been... to deny you... to deny me. Oh, why haven't I done this... why did I 
ever stop him before...? Oh, I want his cock in my mouth again. OhHHHHH! 

Her mind was blank to all else. There was nothing else but the whirling 
vortex of sensation that was setting her whole body aglow as it had never 
been before. Her hands slid down her breasts and satiny belly to his head 
and she caressed the hair. She could feel his panting hot breath against her 
pubic hair, and then she felt his fingers part the still-closed lips and 
lewdly spread her entrance till the whole quivering pink slit of her cunt 
was open to him. She heard him grunt deep in his throat lustfully, and then 
he dropped his head and drew his wet tongue up through the sensitive and 
exposed coral flesh of her flowing, flowering cunt. 

"OH... OOOOOHHHHHHHH... darling... Carl, my darling... yessssssssss... oh 
God!" 

Christ! Carl choked in his head. He still couldn't believe what was 
happening... the sudden impassioned abandon of Maeve... she was seized as he 
had never even dared hope she would be... it was beautiful! Whatever the 
combination was, he had to find it again and again. This was it... really 
it! He raised his head and looked his fill at the soft pink jewel of her 
cunt, open to him, so eager and quivering. Greedily he absorbed the 
breath-taking sight with the ravenous hunger of lust-filled eyes, spasms of 
delight swinging in him, and he ground his cock fitfully against the covers. 

As though she could read his mind she gasped, "Oh, darling. I want your... I 
want you in my mouth again. Please." Yes. Yes... he wanted it, too. 

"Come here, baby... come to daddy... you're my woman no matter what... a 
real woman now. Come here to daddy, baby." He turned her and drew her over 
him till he was lying on his back and her breasts were cradled against his 
belly and her beautiful head had access to his cock that jutted up like a 
knife in the dim light. He caught her rounded ass cheeks in his hands and 
pulled her over his face, then spread her wide and open till her cunt was 
just over his face and he had only to use his mouth. If anybody had told him 
that today could ever end like this he'd have told them they were mad. Oh 
Christ! He couldn't wait. He pulled her ass down to his face so her cunt was 
on his mouth, and he plunged his tongue, stabbing deeply into her sweet wet 
palpitating pussy just as her mouth slid onto his cock and dived over it, 
encasing the whole throbbing length in her warm eager mouth that took him 
like a heady draught of ambrosia. 

"Agh... ummmm... oo... ggg... mmmmmm!" Maeve moaned around his great 
pulsating cock, and she sucked it fiercely and deeply into her throat as his 
tongue stabbed into the warm depths of her vitals. It was a sensation of 
such ecstatic shock that scintillating explosions of rapture shot through 
her. His tongue swirled and laved and ravished, thrusting deeply into the 
clinging walls of her soft, sucking, needing vagina. What a fool she'd been! 
Ten years of marriage, and she'd denied them both this heavenly, beautiful 
loving! How stupid and immature she'd been, and how patient and 
long-suffering of Carl to have put up with her this long. But now it was 
finished. It would be his way... for his way was opening a whole rapturous, 
enchanting world of luxurious, vibrant lovemaking for her. 

"Mmmmmmm... oh, baby... you taste so good," Carl moaned tenderly, drawing 
his tongue from the top of her moist, juicy slit all the way to her asshole, 
slicing her with delight. His hips arched up to her greedy, voracious mouth 
that sucked more and more of his thick, throbbing mighty trunk, and he could 
feel the unbearable bloating of his balls, readying. Clutching her warm 
round little ass in his hands, he pulled her open flowing slick cunt deeper 
over his face, and he sucked and licked and plunged deeply with his hot 
hardened tongue. Tenderly he caught the tiny almond clitoris in his teeth 
and titillated it with his tongue in maddening little circles, and she 
ground down on his face in wild rotations of insane delight. 

Lifting her head briefly, she screamed softly, "OOOOO... my darling... don't 
ever stop... soo... lovely... dearest... ohhhhhh!" What she was feeling was 
so unbelievable that her brain could not contain and digest and sort all of 
the myriad, sybaritic emotions that swamped her soul and gut. It was beyond 
her experience... so far beyond that she felt she had entered the edges of a 
new universe... and like all frontiers, it was overwhelming. 

Carl could feel that she was straining to a climax that was going to shake 
her to her very depths. Never had she been so wanton and free and 
unfettered. Her ass rotated wildly, pushing her wet and pulsing cunt deeply 
on his gluttonous mouth while she ate his swollen rock prick in a fevered 
frenzy as though she was going to ingest his entire genitals, cock, balls 
and all! She was delicious and delectable and the most wonderful wife in the 
world! He could scream with the joy of knowing that he had a real woman! For 
the first time since they'd been married he felt like a real man. He was 
never going to get enough! The whole damn world was going to blast apart 
with their cumming! 

She could feel her rising climax, and she slaved even harder on Carl's 
thick, blood-gorged stalk, for he must cum with her. He must! She wanted him 
to cum with a mighty roar in her mouth, and she wanted to suck him dry. His 
tongue was fucking her in a passionate, wild abandon and she felt his arms 
and hands clutch her whole naked ass in a vise that crushed her writhing 
cunt on his mouth and nose. Her belly lurched, and her nerves were drawn to 
an exquisite fine edge that was rising to a point of infinity. There! It was 
almost there! She couldn't stand much more! The agony was so acute and 
exquisite that she didn't think she'd be able to bear it! 

"MMMMM... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm... ummmmmm!" Carl bobbed his nose and tongue 
frantically deep in her juicy cunt that was shuddering in spasms, and he 
could feel every muscle of her body ridge and cord. She was going to cum! 
He'd brought her off before, but never like this! She was losing her mind in 
the throes of a passion she'd never even known existed. The thought excited 
his own lust to a feverish pitch, and he bucked and arched to her mouth as 
wildly as she ground and pitched on his mouth. She was never going to forget 
this night. He'd make her cum... and cum... and... cum! 

Maeve half screamed for her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and 
her throat, and she gagged and choked on his cock as the explosion in her 
loins hit her with the force of a tidal wave. The thunderous cataclysm 
crashed over her, and she shook and clung and quaked with the spasms of 
seismic pleasure! Carl's tongue never stopped its insane manipulations... 
sucking her more greedily than ever... and miraculously... she was cumming 
again! Oh Christ! How could it be? His wild tongue played skillfully around 
the outer portions of her pulsating clitoris, and she never wanted him to 
stop! 

"Oh darling! Lover!... lover! Keep doing it! Don't stop! I'm cumming... and 
cumming and cumming! Oh hurry, darling. Now! Cum with me!" 

Carl felt the intricate organs of his inner manhood ferment at the peaking 
lewdness of her words, and her licentious plea was too much for him. It had 
to end soon... though he wanted it to go on forever! 

Maeve had no conception of time or space. He series of climaxes had 
destroyed all other considerations... everything...! Her body felt as though 
it had been impregnated with a hundred million needles of pleasure! Her cunt 
drifted on a cloud of rapture! She felt she could cum again and again... and 
then she felt Carl's loins jerk up to her, the massive cock swelling in her 
voracious mouth... and suddenly he was cumming!... cumming with her! She was 
cumming again with him. Again! 

Abruptly, wild spurts of creamy, teeming liquid, hot sweet, male fluid, gush 
after gush which she wasn't quite ready for shot into the back of her 
throat. Again and again, he spewed jets of his masculine cum deep in her 
throat, and she groaned as her own convulsive tremors erupted in a splendid 
burst of blinding, satisfying bliss! Fiendishly, she swallowed and sucked, 
her Adam's apple bobbing as she swallowed the flood of boiling hot semen 
squirting into her warm receptive throat. 

"Goooooooooo... odddddddddd!" Carl gasped against her naked crotch, and his 
breath coming out with the expletive on her flesh sent fresh spasms through 
her body. Her head fell against the hard inside of his thigh, and her hips 
collapsed to one side so her thigh lay across his throat. His cock was still 
partly in her mouth, and it still pulsed faintly in twinges as it deflated 
slowly. 

He could feel his rod shrinking, yet he wished vainly he could go after her 
again immediately. He pulled her thigh from his throat wearily and reached 
for her, and she turned around to come into his arms to be held like a 
child. 

"Oh... my God," she said finally. "Carl, my darling... I... didn't know... 
my God..." 

"Good for you, baby?... pretty good... yeh?" 

"Oh, darling. I've been such a fool... can you forgive me?" 

"Never mind that. Was it good?" 

"... Good? Oh, darling... oh darling!" Maeve pressed her face tighter 
against his hairy chest and tightened her arm across him. He smiled in utter 
satisfaction and patted her bottom with his hand. They lay for a long time 
listening to their hearts pound in their chests and slowly ease back to 
normal speed. 

Chapter Two 

Carl paced up and down his study, so lost in thought he didn't even notice 
the children's toys that had been left lying around. If he got this proposal 
in while the Admiral was here, there was a possibility he just might get his 
attention enough to be able to get that research grant. 

He lit a cigarette and glanced back at the typewriter. If only he knew more 
about what Sam Grandfield was really after. No one knew much about the 
Admiral who had suddenly shot to prominence with the reforms for enlisted 
men. There had been a lot of criticism of the "boy wonder" Admiral too. The 
old guard didn't like the idea of all the freedoms... go-go girls at base 
canteens, private rooms for the enlisted men to decorate as they chose... 
and the suspicion that even pot wouldn't be frowned on. The news media had 
played it to the hilt, of course... hailing it The New Navy and crediting 
Admiral Grandfield with most of the changes. 

Carl sat down at his desk and picked up a pen. He doodled idly. It stood to 
reason that if Grand-field pushed through eased conditions for enlisted 
men... then he probably was interested in easing things for the officers, 
too. So... Carl bit the end of the pen. Damn. He needed a social situation 
more relaxed than the reception last night where he could feel Grandfield 
out. 

He'd like to have the Admiral out for dinner... but it wouldn't be exactly 
protocol for a civilian professor to invite the Admiral for dinner. Even if 
he could maneuver it gracefully, Carl was aware that his house wasn't really 
made for that kind of entertaining. It wasn't big enough or luxurious 
enough... and he knew that what really worried him was that Maeve tended to 
get too involved in men's conversations instead of looking after the ladies. 

He started pacing again. His foot hit a doll and he almost fell. Damn! Maeve 
hadn't even cleaned the damn house up! He kicked the doll under the couch. 
His attention caught by the doll, he began to look around. There were piles 
of old newspapers on a table... and toys strewn where the kids had left 
them. There was even his coffee cup from yesterday morning, and the carpet 
looked as though it had dandruff. Hell! Where was Maeve, anyway? 

That old feeling of frustration began gnawing him again. If Maeve cared 
enough to stick around and look after him, maybe he'd be able to come up 
with something for Grandfield. God damn it! He knew he'd been passed over 
for promotion because he felt so pushed and uncertain at home. Christ! He 
couldn't even talk to Maeve about his work. She argued with him and acted as 
though she knew more about it than he did. Well, god damn it... he'd settled 
a few things last night sexually. He guessed he'd better try and settle a 
few things around the house. Flitting around with her god damn painting 
class when she needed to be home... making a home for him! 

The phone cut into his thoughts with a loud ring that made him jump. "Yes?" 

"It's the pest again. Y'all didn't call me last night. Oh, I know how busy 
you are. But that's why I called. I could see you pacing up and down over 
there through the window, and I said to myself... I'll bet that poor man 
could sure use a little break... and seeing's how I just took some home-made 
cookies out of the oven... they're so good when they're warm with a glass of 
cold milk... don't y'all think? Well, I thought you might like to come over 
and have some. After all, you're always doing such nice things for me. It's 
about time I did a little something in return." 

"Gee, sounds great, Betty... but I'm kind of busy." 

"I know that. I never saw a man work so hard. Maeve's a lucky girl to have a 
man who takes such pride in his work. But when you get a chance... you just 
mosey on over. Sorry I bothered you, Carl." 

"Well, maybe for just a few minutes." 

"Oh, you've just made me so happy! Y'all come right on over!" Betty always 
made him feel he was doing her the greatest favor in the world just to let 
her be near him. Maeve ought to take lessons from that girl. She made a man 
feel wanted... and strong... and capable... and, well, like a man. 

Carl walked across the road and went in the back door of the Lunsford house. 
George seemed never to be home. Betty explained that he'd rather do his 
studying in the library at the Navy Postgraduate School. Carl had only had 
him as a student in one course and found him to be stolid and unimaginative, 
but conscientious. 

He never failed to be impressed with the Lunsford house. It was so spotless 
and shining and cosy. You knew right away it had a woman in it who cared 
about making a home. How could George stay away from this? The blue and 
white kitchen was fragrant with the smell of fresh-baked cookies. 

He'd knocked briefly at the kitchen door but had gone on in when there was 
no answer, knowing Betty was probably in the back of the house. 

"Betty...?" He called again. Just then she came in from the dining room. Her 
face broke into a smile that carried as much punch as a kiss. Like those TV 
commercials where the girl blew a smile your way and it ended up a kiss on 
the cheek. Betty was always attractive, but he'd never seen her like this. 
She came toward him wearing little more than that smile. WOW! 

Betty was one of those blondes that tan beautifully to a sleek golden color. 
Her skin set off her slanted green cat eyes and pale hair that she wore in a 
long ponytail. Most of her tan showed just now, for she wore white linen 
short-shorts so tight that her pubic mound showed clearly. Carl couldn't 
take his eyes from her long bronzed legs, bare up to her crotch. Her waist 
was just as bronzed above the shorts, for she wore only a narrow strip 
halter in white linen, which was much too small for the twin mounds of her 
breasts which threatened to tumble out at every move. He could almost see 
the nipples under the cloth. God damn it! She shouldn't run around like that 
in front of a married man. 

"I was just bringing the lounge in from the back. I been out sunbathing. I 
just set the timer and run in to take the cookies out when they're ready. 
I'm so glad y'all could come over! I was feeling downright lonesome." She 
bustled around, setting out a plate of warm cookies on the spotless white 
table, complete with a large tumbler of milk and a blue and white checked 
napkin. 

"I was feeling kind of lonesome myself," he teased, mimicking her Southern 
drawl. 

"Maeve's out painting again?" She bent over to wipe some crumbs from the 
shining blue tile floor. Carl tried to tear his eyes away from her round 
white linen buttocks, the linen deeply creased in the crack of her ass. 
Betty had always been friendly, but, Christ! A guy'd have to be retarded not 
to see that she was throwing out more than friendliness. Hell, maybe he was 
just imagining things after the hot session with Maeve last night. 

"I wish I could be creative like Maeve. That girl can just make anything 
look beautiful. But I'm just too dense to understand all that modern 
painting stuff. I guess I'm just a homebody at heart." 

Carl stuffed another warm cookie in his mouth... and looked up. "George is a 
very lucky guy." 

She came and sat down at the round table and leaned her chin on her hand, 
which deepened the cleavage between her breasts. Carl forced himself to look 
down at his cookies. He could feel himself getting a half hard-on just 
looking at her. 

"George doesn't think so," she said ruefully. "He says I smother him too 
much. Spoil him rotten. But, I just can't help spoiling men. A girl just 
sort of takes that in with her mother's milk down South." 

"You even spoil me." Carl waved a cookie before popping it in his mouth. 

"Well, who could help spoiling you, Carl Crandall! I'd never have gotten 
this house in shape if it hadn't been for you. George won't fix anything. 
Doesn't take an interest like you do. Mercy me, I could spoil you so bad 
you'd just be rotten," she said softly, her green cat eyes narrowing and her 
pink tongue licking her lips as she laughed. 

Carl jumped up, spilling half a glass of milk on the table. They'd 
tease-talked before, ever since the Lunsfords had moved in six months ago; 
he'd never taken it seriously in the past, but he knew he couldn't take much 
more. Betty sitting there, tanly half naked and oozing sex from every pore 
of that bronzed skin. The tease-talk didn't seem like teasing now. 

"Why, what's the matter?" She moved to wipe up the milk with the napkin. 
Carl grabbed her by the shoulders and looked sternly into her eyes. "I'm 
leaving. If I don't I'm going to fuck you silly... that's what's the 
matter!" 

Her mouth came the few short inches to his, and he crushed the whole bronzed 
length of her to him, capturing that proffered mouth in a fierce kiss. His 
arms were vises, one hand clenching her round buttock through the linen and 
the other crushing her across the back where her halter tied. God damn! 
Three months of abstinence and his fling with Maeve couldn't begin to fill 
his need. That was last night. This was today, and Betty had practically 
thrown herself at him. So, what the hell. He'd warned her, and now she could 
jolly well take the consequences. Jesus! Her tongue responded to his deep 
probing, and he could feel his prick fully hard and throbbing against the 
softness of her linen-sheathed belly, her soft breasts flattened against his 
chest with the nipples popping out to rocky little chips of desire. 

She pulled away, gasping, "Oh, Carl!" But his greedy mouth kissed along her 
jaw and inner ear, his tongue poking like a hot little penis seeking 
shelter. His hands were cupping and stroking and caressing all up and down 
her back, and she could feel his prick throb against her belly. It felt so 
much bigger than George's, though Carl was a much smaller man. Was it 
possible for a smaller man to have a bigger cock? Not smaller, really. 
Shorter. Standing like this, Carl was only an inch or two taller than she 
was, but his shoulders and chest were thick and hard and powerful, his hips 
lean and hard, and they pushed into her deliciously. Her head was swimming, 
but she thought triumphantly that she had him now. Six months it had taken 
to get him panting and clutching her like a madman... and that's the way she 
liked her men. Wanting. Needing. Badly! 

She could feel one of his hands close on her breast, and she let a little 
moan escape her lips. God, it was so good to have a man for the first time. 
His gestures were different, his arms were different, his mouth, his chest, 
his cock! Above all, his cock! And Carl's felt huge and solid and jerking 
with need. She ground her loins up to him, and he lifted her almost off the 
floor by the buttocks in an effort to push her cunt through his own loins to 
his backbone. Yes. He was going to be good. She could feel it. He was going 
to be very good! 

Carl squeezed her fully ripened breast that was like a very large, softly 
squishy fruit in his hand, his mouth digging again at hers till she had to 
breathe harshly through her nose. His other hand was full of round white ass 
globe, and he slipped one thigh between her legs and pressed hard as he 
squeezed her to him. Jesus! She was a hot little piece! He'd told her he was 
going to fuck her silly, and he was. Right now! She smelled of soap and 
sunshine and faintly of oranges and violets. 

Her hand found the top button of his shirt and unbuttoned it, her hand 
sliding inside to smooth the hair on his muscular chest. Her other hand 
wedged between them to find his cock making a huge bulge out the front of 
his trousers, bound by his shorts and pants. She smoothed and squeezed the 
great bulge, and it throbbed agonizingly under her hand. 

"God, baby," he grunted into her mouth, and he wormed one hand inside the 
tight shorts to knead her buttock. "I need you. Sweet Jesus, do I ever need 
you," he panted between kissing her throat and ears and eyelids and cheeks. 
He fumbled with the neck strap of her halter, and it knotted with his 
feverish jerking. The feel of her bare warm tanned skin under his hands only 
made the cloth seem even more offensive. He pulled away long enough to grasp 
the flimsy halter and shred it right down the front so that both breasts 
popped free, plump and tanned except for triangular patches over the lower 
part of them where her halter sheltered her from the sun. Her nipples stood 
out like little guards, stiff little sentinels, peaked to points of 
perfection and surrounded by pale pink-coral areolas. His hands threw the 
halter away and then came up to weigh the heavy globes that filled his hands 
with lushness. 

"Oh, Carl, you've torn..." 

"It's all right. I'll buy you another one, baby," he whispered, his eyes 
laving the hot breasts, overflowing in his hands. Her hands worked behind 
her to unzip the tight little shorts while he held those two fleshily 
beautiful breasts. He leaned down to take one reddened, hard nipple in his 
mouth, and he sank his teeth into the satin flesh around it. 

"Ohhhhh!" Her hips snaked as she wriggled the shorts down in a frantic 
effort to bare the rest of her skin to the sucking mouth that worked on her 
breast. Finally the shorts fell to the floor, and she was left standing 
there shaking in only her thin white nylon bikini pants that showed the 
blond pubic hairs mashed in delectable detail. 

Carl reached down with both hands, down her silky sides to the fragile 
little panties, a wisp of cloth covering her pubic mound with its curled 
mass of blond hair. He slipped the panties down over her round white 
buttocks till the sliver of cloth fell to the floor around her ankles. His 
tongue traced from her gorged nipple down to her navel, and then he knelt to 
press his face right in her fleecy crotch and kiss her where she "lived." 

"Ohhhhhh," she moaned as she stepped out of the panties and caught his head 
in her hands to press his face into her pubic bone. Her thighs spread lewdly 
as she splayed her legs to give Carl better access to her pulsing cunt. She 
felt his hands cup her buttocks with hot eager palms that felt slightly 
sweaty from excitement... and almost without her volition her hips and 
pelvis ground to him in an instinctive effort to quench the fire that was 
raging through her loins. Her fingers twined in his hair, and she pulled him 
close to her crotch as she rotated her hips in a slow grinding movement. 

Carl clutched her firm rounded buttocks in his hands, orbs that quivered at 
his touch, which sent shivers up his spine as he realized she wanted him as 
much as he wanted her. His mouth was full of pale curled pubic hair, and he 
opened his mouth wider to kiss her yearning crotch. Then he slid his mouth 
lower and parted the blond hair with his tongue, and then slid it lower 
still till it touched the top of her slit. She was delicious! He teased the 
slit with his tongue, sliding up and down, and she was groaning and grinding 
her crotch up to his questing tongue, and her legs splayed out to let him 
get at her private parts. Carl sent his tongue shooting into her, stiff and 
hard as a little penis. She was slippery, silky and wet with the love juice 
her body was making as preparation for his entrance. His brain was seething 
with the thought of her lavish lubrications welcoming him, and he sucked 
hard at her vaginal lips at the same time his tongue was plundering her 
deeply inside. 

"AH-HH-HH-HH-HH!" she moaned, pressing his head even deeper into her vitals 
as though she was going to devour him, lips and tongue and hair and head 
right up into her. 

Carl's knees were paining and numbing from kneeling on the polished blue and 
white floor, and he needed to stretch this woman out so he could fuck her 
properly. He withdrew his tongue and slid it all the way up her writhing 
body, and she quivered and shook for him as though afflicted with St. Vitus' 
dance. Jesus, she was so hot!... and he felt as though a raging fire had 
been set in his loins. 

He tore at his clothes, and she opened her eyes and saw his frantic 
movements and held out shaking hands to help him. 

"Yes, hurry, lover! Let me see that great big old cock of yours. I want to 
look at you." She was tugging at his pants as he jerked on his shirt. 
Finally she had them down, and it seemed as though they were in slow motion 
as she slid his jockey shorts down to free his great bulging rod that sprang 
forward like a fleshy beast of prey that had spotted its quarry. Her breasts 
jiggled as she feverishly worked and pulled, and he wanted to ram both of 
them in his mouth at once. 

"I promised to fuck you silly, baby... and I'm going to do just that... with 
this." He grabbed his aching prick in his hand and used it like a spear to 
stab her soft tan and white belly, and the tip sank slightly into her 
desirable flesh. 

"Oh, yes," she breathed as her hands came down and caressed the rod that 
shoved her belly like a great stabbing weapon. She wanted to be impaled on 
the huge, pulsing, hard thing that rose from his hairy loins in such mammoth 
splendor. She wanted to feel the shove and the filling of her pussy with 
that jerking, purple-headed fleshy rod deep, deep inside her very depths. 
She wreathed it with both hands and felt the blood pulsing inside the fleshy 
shaft, and the thought of taking its immensity inside her sent explosions of 
lust bursting in her brain. She felt drunk, as though she were going to reel 
and stagger at any moment. An enormous lassitude was sweeping over her, and 
she knew she would begin to sway and fall if she didn't get to a bed or 
something. 

Carl pulled her magnificent naked body to him; it was striped delectably 
where the swimsuit had left white patches over her great thrusting breasts 
and the triangular strip around her hips and down over her cunt. His 
throbbing, aching penis buried itself again against her belly, but this time 
it was flesh on flesh, fire on fire. "Quick, baby. Where can we go? I've got 
to lay you out and fuck you. Now!" 

She pushed him away and reached down and grabbed his swelling cock in her 
hand. "Come along, honey." She led him by the cock like a bull to slaughter, 
laughing deep in her throat. 

"Easy, baby. Easy. Don't pull it off or it won't do you any good," he 
laughed with her. God, he hadn't been so fired up since... last night. The 
thought came as he remembered the wild contortions of Maeve. He pushed her 
from his brain rudely. That was last night, and he didn't want to think 
about that when he had this incredibly hot woman all ready to go now. He 
couldn't. He'd think about that when he could afford to feel guilty. Right 
now, screw it! 

Betty led him willingly to the living room. Then, as though she couldn't put 
one foot before the other, she sank down on the wide blue-green flowered 
couch... letting his prick slide out of her hand. Her cat-green eyes fixed 
on his, and slowly she splayed her legs, opening herself to him. Her hands 
came up slowly, the tips of the fingers starting at her thighs and stroking 
upward till she cupped her own beautiful swollen breasts and held them up to 
him like a sacrificial offering. Carl could see the nipples, hard and 
upright and blood-red with carnal desire. Her splayed legs showed him her 
pink-mouthed cunt, so silky-wet and shining with the drops of her moisture. 
The lips of her pussy were gorged and swollen with her seething, heated 
desire, and they opened out like a ripe lascivious flower, the inner layers 
coming into view for his pleasure. 

Christ! He didn't know where to start. This pulsing, giving woman waited for 
him to plunder her, and he had only to begin. He reached down and took her 
arching foot in his hand, stroking it and bending it as though it were a 
sexual organ that had to be caressed. Then he put her slender foot on his 
great throbbing cock and used it like a hand to rub and manipulate his 
prick. She responded immediately... by curling her toes and tangling them in 
the pubic hair at the thick base of his great rod and arching her foot till 
it almost was a hand rubbing him. Jesus! You didn't have to teach this woman 
anything. She knew! He might learn a few things himself! 

His cock was jerking like a wild thing at her caressing foot, and she could 
feel the lurid, erotic, swollen thing respond. Its one eye in the bulbous 
head wept great seeping slips of moisture and the seminal fluid, silky and 
wet like thin syrup on her foot, sent tingles of anticipation running like 
little fine fingernails over her sensitive skin. 

"Oh, God, Carl. You've got the most beautiful thing there I've ever seen. I 
want it in me. Fuck me soon, honey. Fuck me soon," she whispered huskily. 

"It's all for you, baby. Can you take it all?" He began sliding it up her 
leg, leaving a trail of sticky liquid, a calling card of his own devising. 
Before his eyes, his cock did seem to swell even bigger with the contact on 
her smooth tanned skin, and it jerked and throbbed pitifully with the feel 
of her on the head. Her body quivered as she strove to reach up to him... as 
though he were running a red-hot wire over her skin, and it clove to his rod 
wherever it went in a frantic quaking. He trailed that great, enormous, 
pulsing penis over her skin, ever upward till it rested between her breasts 
like a thick knife about to split her asunder. 

Betty reached down and clasped the beautiful big pulsating shaft in her 
hands, and she lifted her head and enclosed the head in her lips, making her 
mouth a funnel. She sucked eagerly. 

"Go-od-od-od-od-oooooood!" He screamed as though pinioned. The flames were 
whipping up from the end of his prick in great enveloping licking whirls as 
her mouth closed and sucked on him, hard and wet. She was an artist. God 
knew where and who she'd learned on, but he knew she'd been doing this for a 
long time and he suspected with many different partners. Jesus! So what? All 
he cared about was fucking and sucking her to exhaustion. Silly? He was 
going to fuck her crazy! Fuck her till she raved and fell unconscious! 

In spite of the fact that her sucking was practiced and expert, he needed to 
plunge into her very depths... to dive and hit the bottom and never come up 
for air. Suddenly he pulled back and stood fully erect. 

"Don't," she pleaded with closed eyes, her breath coming in fitful pants. 
"Please don't take it away from me," she begged. "Let me suck your beautiful 
great cock. I want to suck you dry, Carl, honey." Her breasts were heaving 
with her breathing, and they rose and fell in naked majesty. Her arms 
reached up to him. 

It was too much. Too fucking much! God damn! This woman was driving him 
right out of his skull! He fell between her legs then as though he were 
diving into a warm comforting bed. As he dove he aimed right at her warm 
waiting pulsing little blond-haired pussy. And he made it! His face buried 
in her neck, and the tip of his prick touched home right on her wet waiting 
cunt. Rising on his knees, he shoved with his butt and plunged the dagger of 
his flesh right up to the hilt on one zooming dive. She arched and screamed 
a high wail. 

"OHHHHHHHHHHHH... ahhhhhh... ak... aiiiiiiiiiieeeeeee!" Betty felt the knife 
of him go into her, but it was not a knife. It was a tree... a trunk... a 
hot searing three-inch diameter axe that notched her cunt in a blazing cut 
that felt as though she were split irreparably asunder! Mother of all! She 
knew he was big... far bigger than George... but God in heaven! He'd split 
her in two by shoving so hard in that one emblazoned spearing. He was 
killing her! Her head thrashed! Jesus! Was she bleeding like a virgin, which 
she hadn't been since fifteen, when her uncle had caught her in her mother's 
sewing room after grandpa's funeral? 

Unable to weep for a grandfather who'd been a remote old man that she hardly 
knew, much less cared about, Betty had sneaked upstairs when all the weeping 
had started again after the return from the graveyard. She threw herself on 
the daybed and picked up a fashion magazine. Soon she was lost in imagining 
herself in all the smart clothes that were pictured in the slick pages of 
Vogue. 

She didn't even hear the door open, she was so immersed in the bright 
pages... swearing to herself that she would have all the beautiful things 
she wanted someday. She didn't care what she had to do to get them either. 
Her mother's lot was not for her. 

The floor squeaked, and she looked up, startled to find her Uncle Joe almost 
right beside her. Then he was sitting on the edge of the daybed. 

He was a man of medium height and medium age, with fawn-colored hair and 
eyes as though he'd been dipped in tan dye. Even his skin looked tanned and 
almost the same color as his eyes and hair. He must have been forty at 
least, and old to her. Not even her uncle, really... just married to Aunt 
May. A good catch, everyone said, for he owned a small dry goods store and 
was getting up in the world. He'd always been extra nice to Betty and seemed 
to enjoy his uncle role. 

"I saw you come up here, honey. I don't blame you. All that weeping 
downstairs can't do the old man any good now. Here. I brought you a glass of 
sherry." 

She sat up against the pillows and stared at him. "But I'm not allowed to 
have liquor." 

"Well, my folks are Polish, and everyone is allowed liquor at funerals and 
weddings... even the little kids. Helps to get people through things like 
this. Go on. It's all right. I'm having some, too." 

She sipped tentatively. It tasted funny and was hot going down her throat, 
but when it got to her stomach it spread out to a lovely warmth that felt 
wonderful. He talked to her soothingly, and she didn't feel guilty any more 
about not being able to grieve even a little for her grandfather. 

The next thing she knew he was patting her and hugging her and giving her 
more sherry. Then his hand had slid up her dress, and before she could 
protest he'd snaked it inside her panties and prodded her privates in an 
indescribably delicious way. It felt so good, and a warmth spread through 
her like she had never known before. She knew it was wicked and sinful, but 
she couldn't stop once he'd really touched her. 

The whole world had whirled and turned later when he'd locked the door and 
threatened to tell terrible lies about her if she didn't submit. He also 
tantalizingly held out the offer of some pretty dresses from the store if 
she kept quiet and let him "love" her. His fevered hands and hot mouth on 
her breast had turned the tide, and she couldn't have stopped him if she'd 
wanted to. His hands and mouth did strange things to her body that she 
didn't really understand, since she had only dimly heard whispered 
discussions of the facts of life. She only knew that she'd never felt so 
alive and marvelous and powerful, for he was almost weeping with joy and 
kept making extravagant promises. 

Everything was wonderful until he'd actually entered her body with that huge 
thing that jutted from his hairy body. It had hurt so terribly, and he had 
held his hand across her mouth so her cries were muffled to grunting and 
groanings. 

She'd struggled and twisted, her eyes bugged out in terror and pain, and the 
tears had poured from her in what seemed like rivers down her cheeks. She 
would have been even more terrified had she known her hymen had been 
ruptured by his great prick and that she was bleeding. Later it had gotten 
wonderful, and the pain miraculously had disappeared, but it had taken a 
long time. 

Since that day she had never felt a cock as big or painful as Carl's, which 
filled her now and stretched her elasticized pussy to the tearing point... 
and she had felt several cocks in her young life. The cocks had taken her 
out of that grimy little southern town to Memphis and then to Houston, where 
she had met and married the first bright young lieutenant who asked her. 
George's folks were more than comfortable, and she was very mindful of that. 
It just hadn't occurred to her that George's father could have a heart 
attack and lose his automobile agency, his insurance agency, and his motel 
all in the space of three years. 

Carl moved his mouth up to hers and sank his tongue deeply inside the hot 
cave of hers, bruising her there as painfully as he bruised her tight little 
pussy. He always had had trouble with small girls, and since he was short 
for a man he always seemed to be attracted to the little dolls. His cock was 
truly outsize for a guy of normal height, and it was always a shock the 
first time he rammed it into a woman. Once they adjusted to it... they loved 
it. 

He eased out just a fraction and then slid it back to the dark resting place 
hard against her womb. She moaned and gasped around his tongue, but her 
pelvis tilted up to him slightly. He sucked her tongue voraciously and then 
rammed his tongue back in her mouth in mock fucking. Again he eased out and 
then slid back, and her pelvis responded a little more this time. That was 
it. Oh, God, yes, baby. 

Then Betty felt Carl ease further out, and his mouth left hers to find one 
of her breasts. He nibbled it very gently with his lips and teeth till the 
tingling spread from the focal point of her nipple all over her body and 
washed her like a million licking little tongues. "Ohhhh... yesss... 
honey... suck my tit for me!" His whole mouth came around her breast as far 
as he could reach, as though he were trying to get the entire thing in his 
mouth, which he couldn't. She could feel her nipple against the roof of his 
mouth. Then he sucked the rigid gorged little nipple as though he were going 
to actually get the nourishment from her that he needed... as though milk or 
honey were actually flowing into his mouth. "Oh, yes," she sighed, and she 
could feel it flowing out of her into his hot sucking mouth, and his hand 
was pinching her other nipple in the pain that was ecstasy. 

Carl moved his mouth to the other breast and bit it none too gently, and she 
arched under him and screamed epithets of encouragement that made him jockey 
in and out of her viselike cunt in a funny short little rhythm. 

"Oh, God, yessssss. Darling. OOOOOOOOOO, honey! Fuck me! Easy first. 
You're... so huge. Don't hurt me... promise. Just fuck... me... ohhh!" 

Carl rocked in and out easily. Nice and easy in little short strokes to get 
her used to him. Gradually he lengthened and stretched it out till he could 
feel his whole cock sliding in the tight warm tunnel of her. When he pulled 
his prick up from the hot vacuum of her vagina that was beginning to milk 
him with walls of hot rubbery, clinging flesh, he pulled it all the way so 
only the very tip was still barely embedded in her. She whimpered faintly 
and caught his ass in her hands and pulled him into her till he could feel 
the head of his throbbing, bulging cock hit the bottom and ram into the 
yielding cervix. She wanted him inside her, filling her now. She wasn't 
hurting so now. It was hurting good! The working over he'd given her breasts 
had flowed even more lubricants deep inside her to ease his hard prick that 
was all but pounding now! Oh, Christ, it had been so long since he'd had a 
really good fuck! 

Betty ran her hands from his lean, muscle-hardened ass up his back to his 
powerful shoulders. She ran her tongue along his thick neck and up to his 
ear and around the orifice. "God, baby!" He moaned and buried his face 
against her shoulder... and she could feel his heated breath coming in rasps 
now. Oh, God, she thought, I've never been so filled... so fucked... so well 
fucked! She could feel that enormous prick jerk inside her, and it sent 
ripples of overlapping rapture radiating through her body. And she was 
arching up to meet his deepening thrusts so bone met bone and she could get 
no closer. She tried anyway. She wanted that giant prick to stab even 
farther, and she slid her legs around his hairy calves in a frantic opening 
of her thighs even wider. 

Carl felt her arch and buck under him as her body took him in ever-rising 
urgency. "That's it, baby. Fuck back! Fuck... fuck till we spin off the 
whole fucking planet!" 

"Yesss," she answered, her legs wrapping higher onto his hips so his 
pounding pole could get even deeper into her churning vagina and her whole 
cunt would be even more open and receptive to him. She began to climb his 
pole now! Climb it to ride high so her clitoris could contact his 
pleasure-giving shaft that stroked in and out of her now in a long easy 
rhythm. 

"Come on... buck, you beautiful bitch," he panted. "Come on, baby." He felt 
her nails begin to dig his back like ten little sharp needles that stabbed a 
pleasure-pain message to his fevered head. Jesus, she was good! Jesus 
Christ! He rammed her harder and harder... deep up into her belly, and he 
could feel the sweat trickle from his forehead and it felt as though even 
his brain was tearing joyfully and the tears came out sweat in drops that 
dribbled down his skin. 

Her hands moved to his face, and she caught his jaws and kissed his mouth. 
Carl rammed his tongue between her white teeth and fucked her mouth as hard 
as he fucked her voracious little cunt. The pressure in his balls was 
unbearable, and he could feel that the dam was not going to hold much longer 
now. 

She tore her mouth away to gasp raggedly, "Ohhh... God! Soo good... oh... 
Carl, honey... it's soooooo good!" She clutched him even tighter around the 
waist with her legs, fighting to keep him as deeply sunk in her belly as she 
could, for every sawing of that great cock in and out of her brought her 
ever closer to a rising plateau of pleasure that drew her irresistibly. 
Betty felt his hands slide under her buttocks and draw her pelvis even 
higher, and he draped her legs across his shoulders until her whole naked, 
wet, dripping cunt was open to his onslaught. God! He went in even deeper... 
so deep she felt his cock would ram right through her body and come out the 
back of her neck. 

Carl felt the tremors run through her body as she strained up to him in 
frantic archings and groanings. His balls were slapping hard against her ass 
now, and the scent of fucking, her smell mixed with his own, hit his nose 
and sent shudders of heightened lust through his laboring body. He reached 
underneath and felt the moisture trickling down the crack of her round ass 
cheeks. He moved his finger till he found the crinkled little bud of her 
asshole, all wet with her love dew. He stabbed his finger into her resisting 
little hole, and she arched even higher, screaming, "Goddddddddddddd!" He 
pushed further into the tight, clenching hole, and the flesh, tender as it 
was, ridged on his finger as though it were a lock and would never let him 
go. He timed his plunging finger to his pillaging cock and buried them both 
in her sensitive flesh in dual thrusts. Every flailing of her thrashing body 
impaled her even deeper on either his cock or his finger, since both 
openings were filled with him, and he pounded like a maniacal bull gone 
completely berserk. 

"That's it... baby... fuuuuuuuk! I'm going... to fill... fill you up... with 
cum... till it comes out your ears! Oh, fuck... baby!" 

"Yesssssss," she hissed, her head beginning to thrash and roll from side to 
side. "Yesss... fuck me gooooood! Hard... hard... fuck harder!" 

Her lewd words ricocheted in his head and bounced off his consciousness like 
snaking whips that cracked his body to extra effort when he thought he'd 
used up all he had. Crazy, gorgeous, fucking woman! God damn... it was so 
great to have strange tail! Jesus Christ... he was never going to spend 
another ten years with only the familiar, comfortable ass. He had to have 
this strange stuff! It was too god damned mind-blowingly-good! 

The pain in her virginal ass had eased to a strange exotic sensation that 
heightened as she felt him plunge her... cunt and ass in complete abandon, 
fucking her in wild thrusts with the mindless intensity of a bull! Oh sweet 
Jesus! He was the best cock she'd had in years. Maybe the very best ever! 
She never wanted him to stop thrusting her, impaling her, stabbing her, but 
she knew her time was close. The fire was building in her loins to a white 
heat that licked higher and higher with every plunge of that great throbbing 
prick and every stab of that long invading finger up her ass. No one had 
ever told her that pain could turn to so much pleasure. The thin wall of 
membrane separating his prick and his finger felt so fragile and quaking, as 
though the two invaders into the depths of her body might meet at the peak 
of her climax that was building to a high pinnacle left standing in a wide 
plain. 

Carl's study was empty. Some papers were strewn around on his desk, and his 
morning coffee cup was still there. The kids' toys from yesterday were still 
lying about, too, Maeve noted ruefully. She bent down and gathered them up 
in her arms and marched through to the other end of the house to deposit 
them on the pink shelves in the girls' bedrooms. 

She made herself a drink and took it into the bathroom. The gin and tonic 
tasted cold and crisp, and she was parched after the long class and the 
drive home in the hot sun. She stripped her paint-stained jeans and shirt 
off, stepped out of her white bikini panties, and let her breasts fall free 
when she unhooked the white nylon bra. She picked up her drink and sipped 
it, looking at her naked white body in the mirror. Her body looked better 
than it had yesterday... her breasts fuller and higher, the waist narrower 
and the slope of her carved marble hips more sculptured. She blushed at her 
own image in the mirror, remembering last night. A woman needed to be 
loved... and she had never been so thoroughly loved as she had last night. 
So today even her own body looked more beautiful to her. 

She was going to make it more so. She had to shower and smooth on cologne 
and powder to make herself sweet-smelling for Carl. After last night, how 
could she do anything else? She shivered in the warm bathroom, wondering 
what delights he would initiate tonight. 

Maeve sang in the shower, and she soaped and scrubbed and rinsed every inch 
of herself, including her hair. A rough buffeting with the thick blue towels 
and she was dry and satiny. Fortunately her hair only needed toweling too, 
and then a good brushing to fall into the shiny cap of mahogany brown. She 
pulled on orange tights and a short camel suede miniskirt that wrapped and 
tied at the waist and an orange turtleneck. In the middle of dressing, she 
began to wonder where Carl was. It suddenly hit her that his car had been in 
the driveway when she came in. She'd assumed he might have been around the 
other side of the house, watering or checking the garden, but she hadn't 
seen or heard any sign of him. 

A stop in the kitchen to make herself another drink, and then she wandered 
out to the garden. The willow tree he was so proud of waved languidly in the 
breeze, but there was no Carl anywhere. That's funny, she thought. Could he 
have gone up to see the Adelmans who lived up the hill? Not likely. They 
didn't know them too well. Gone for a walk? Carl's outdoor activities were 
usually confined to gardening. A little knot appeared between her smooth 
brows. She tried to relax, but she couldn't. Something was really bothering 
her about Carl's being gone. As she walked back around the house and onto 
the deck that overlooked the undulating valley below and the rising hills, 
she saw the roof of the Lunsford house across the street. She admitted to 
herself then that that was it. 

She was afraid Carl might be there as he had been so many times before. 
Maeve smiled ruefully to herself. After last night, she'd assumed he 
wouldn't want to go visiting Betty Lunsford... and she still didn't know if 
he was there. 

Sipping her drink, she went thoughtfully into the house. A flick of the 
button, and the hi-fi filled the house with soft music. She'd start dinner, 
she told herself, and he'd be along. 

The two big steaks that she'd thawed lay on the refrigerator shelf. They 
took so little time that it would be silly to start them now. A celebration. 
That's what she'd planned. A celebration of their being really together 
again... after last night. The long-necked bottle of champagne leaned 
against the milk cartons, too tall to go in upright. 

She refused to let herself speculate on Carl's being at Betty's... if he 
was. Instead she flew into a quick fury of straightening and cleaning the 
house. When she went into high gear she could get it presentable in about an 
hour. 

Maeve vacuumed hurriedly, running the whining machine quickly from room to 
room. When she got to the study the sight of the Lunsford house through the 
window hit like a blow in the belly. If he was there... after last night! It 
would be too much to have him fawning around that babe who oozed sex from 
every pore. Don't be a fool, one part of her argued. Find out for sure, 
another threw in. Get the house clean for him. It's important to him, chimed 
in another. 

Her hand shook on the vacuum cleaner handle. The clock told her she'd been 
home almost an hour. The warring parts of her mind went at it in fierce 
battle. Suddenly she couldn't stand it any longer. The machine died with a 
snarl as her finger switched it off. As if in a trance, she slid back the 
sliding glass door and walked purposefully down the graveled driveway. 

Chapter Three 

Maeve knocked lightly at the kitchen door of the Lunsford house. When there 
was no answer, she opened it and went in, for she could see through the 
glass-paned door that there was no one in the kitchen. Uncertainly she 
stepped across the shining blue-tiled floor. Wistfully she wished her own 
kitchen could look so neat all the time... but then she'd have to give up 
her art if it did. 

Suddenly she stopped. A glass lay overturned on the white table, and there 
were crumbs around a small plate and a crumpled blue-checked napkin was 
soggy with spilled milk. It was as though it were a sign. No use crying over 
spilled milk, the old saying went. 

Betty had never left even a little mess like that in her life, Maeve was 
willing to bet. Something was going on. Should she call or go back outside 
and walk around to the patio? But she had no time to do anything, for she 
froze where she stood, one hand on the back of a white bentwood chair. 

"Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-od-d-d-d!... fuck me... fuck me-e-e-e-e-e!" Maeve just 
stood, dumb at the sound of Betty's voice screaming out the obscene words. 
She didn't know where they came from, but they came to her unbelieving ears 
like a pain. Somehow she knew that Carl was the cause of those words. 

"Tha-a-a-a-at's itttttt... baby... Oh, God... hurrrrrrry!" Carl's voice had 
the same screaming urgency. Maeve didn't have to see to know what they were 
doing. FUCKING! That's what they were doing. FUCKING! Carl and that slut 
were FUCKING! 

Without her volition, Maeve's body became operable and started moving toward 
the sound of the voices that stabbed through her eardrums straight to her 
heart. When she got to the doorway she could look across the dining room to 
the living room, and she recognized the flailing naked bodies. 

Like writhing white muscular worms, they contorted and curled and backed. 
She could hear the slap of Carl's balls as he pounded his great prick in and 
out of Betty's wet pussy. The sucking wet obscene noises were audible as the 
organs labored on each other. Their ragged breathing hung in the stillness 
like smoke. 

Maeve hung onto the door frame with both hands, afraid of falling in horror, 
but she could not tear her eyes away from their lurid and wild contortions. 
Carl. Bitterly she remembered last night. His way, he'd said... and she had 
given it to him his way. And here he was fucking this cheap little slut when 
he hadn't wanted to touch his own wife for three months. Her whole world was 
shattering into the crystal fragments that her tears made of her vision. 
Carl was FUCKING that woman... that cheap bitch! Oh, God! 

They were so enmeshed now and the pitch increased so that Maeve knew they 
were close to their climaxes. Then she saw Carl's buttocks clench and the 
muscles in his back ridge and cord as he lunged, throwing himself deep into 
Betty's body with the force of a maddened engine. "CUMMMMMMMMMMMMM! CUM 
W-I-I-ITHH ME-e-e-e-e-e-e-!" he screamed. Maeve heard Betty answer in an 
agonized cry. "YESSSSSSSSS! GODDDD... I'm cummmmmmm... innngggg!" 

The tears were pouring unheeded now down Maeve's face, and the sobs came out 
silently in tiny chokes. Blindly she made her way back through the kitchen 
and out the door. She would be blind to everything now but the branding 
scene she had just witnessed... it was burned into her soul with red-hot 
iron in a scar that would never heal, she knew. Oh, God! What would she do? 
Where would she go? 

She ran across the road and up the driveway and into the house, clutching 
her abdomen as though holding in guts that threatened to spill out of her in 
gore. The bastard had killed her! He'd killed her! 



Sirens went off in screaming wails that were red explosions of sound and 
color inside Betty's head as the raging spasms of her climax convulsed 
through every atom of her straining body. Oh, God! This was an Everest above 
the little mountain peaks she'd reached before. The sirens screamed red, and 
she was impaled on the very tip of a rapture so exquisite that it was pain 
and agony of incredible, blinding beauty that threatened to take her very 
breath right out of her heaving lungs. It went on and on and on! The jerking 
spasms went on, and she felt as if she could cum forever! 

Carl gasped, the breath coming out of his open mouth in spurts with the jets 
that spewed from the head of his cock in great streams deep inside the 
grotto of her hot cunt... the altar of her womb washed with his offerings. 
Jesus Christ! He'd never felt anything so god damned good! As his whole load 
of thick creamy sperm-laden semen pumped out of him in blinding gushes of 
lascivious pleasure, he could feel in the back of his mind the signalling 
little thought that he was going to fuck again... and again and again! He 
wanted to start before he'd even finished! This was one hot woman he was 
going to fuck and fuck and fuck... no matter what. 

"You're the goddamnedest hottest woman I've ever had in my life," he 
muttered against her neck, his breath still chopping his words into little 
short gasps. 

Her hands ran down over him tenderly, caressing the furrows her nails had 
made like thin stripes down his back. "I told you I'd spoil you rotten. You 
are rotten, Carl darling... rotten." She sighed, rotating her pelvis and 
then grinding it up in a jerk that sent another shooting stream of his 
decreasing cum into her. 

"Yeh, baby. Spoil me... just keep spoiling me." 

She couldn't be here when he finally pulled himself up off that slut's 
rutting body. She couldn't look at him. She didn't think she could ever look 
at him again. Away... just away. Anywhere. 

Maeve sat on the couch in the living room, rocking and holding her arms 
around her waist in an effort to still the pain in her gut. Pounding hammers 
beat in her head, and she felt slightly nauseous. She had to get away. But 
where? Where? 

In the reeling screenplay that rolled in scenes through her head she plucked 
out a phrase... "Are you going down to Bendemeer's Stream for the weekend?" 
The trailer, of course. She could go to the trailer parked down at 
Bendemeer's Stream Campground in Big Sur. Harry had asked her about going 
down for the weekend. The Neil trailer was right next to theirs... but she 
could just shut herself in and paint. She didn't have to see the Neils. 
She'd just paint and paint and paint until she forgot. She'd drink while she 
painted... anything until she could forget. 

Oh, God, quick! She couldn't be here when Carl came back across the street 
with the sticky orgasm of that slut still on his cock under his pants. Maeve 
flew through the house... gathering her painting paraphernalia, a few jeans 
and turtle-necks, and underclothes and boots. Sweaters and an old polo coat. 
It got cold in Big Sur sometimes in the summer. Bathroom stuff. Food. She 
jerked open the refrigerator and grimly gathered up the steaks, the 
champagne, cheeses and part of a baked ham. Her celebration dinner she'd 
planned for Carl! The tears flowed again as she packed the things in a huge 
grocery bag. 

In frantic haste she carried everything to her little VW bus, knowing she 
was probably forgetting half the things she'd need. But time was running 
out. At last she had it all in, and she slammed the door of the bus, leaving 
the house wide open. 

She backed out of the driveway in a burst of gravel and swung the bus down 
the winding hill, not daring to even look at the Lunsford house. The weight 
in her chest was unbearable... like a load of cement that was crushing the 
life out of her. She opened the window of the bus and tried to breathe 
deeply to relieve her heavy chest. 

It was as though an automatic pilot had been turned on in the little bus, 
and it found its way down the valley road to Highway I and turned left, 
heading for the wild, craggy Big Sur country. The Meadows were soon left 
behind and then the Highlands, and she was in open country that spread out 
in wide grassy slopes where a few cattle grazed high above the lapping 
Pacific. 



Carl walked up the graveled driveway, feeling the first twinges of guilt, 
until he saw that his car was still alone in the double carport. Maeve 
wasn't home yet? He looked at his watch. Six-twenty. She'd never been that 
late from a class before. Maybe the car broke down and she'd tried to call 
him. That thought brought another more chilling one. Maybe it was a hospital 
or the Highway Patrol that had tried to call. 

He began to feel bad. Very bad. Christ! Supposing she had had a wreck while 
he'd been diddling Betty! He half ran into the house. "Maeve. Maeve?" He 
called even though he knew she wasn't there. 

The vacuum cleaner stood silent in his study, still plugged into the wall 
socket, and all the toys had been cleared away. Well, that meant she'd been 
here. He was positive the vacuum hadn't been out. 

He walked on through the house. Drawers were open and clothes hung like limp 
tongues out of her dresser drawers as though someone had jerked them open in 
haste and left them. There were hangers lying in a maze of tangled wire on 
the pale carpet. Even the bathroom looked different. Her toothbrush was 
missing! 

Carl rushed back into the bedroom and looked through her closet. He couldn't 
really tell what was missing, but it didn't seem as full as it usually did. 
In the living room he found her empty glass, the ice cubes just frail little 
slivers in the bottom now. 

He sat down heavily. She hadn't had a wreck. She'd been home and now she was 
gone, he thought dully. Gone with a few clothes, at least. Wearily he went 
into the laundry, pretty sure by now that her painting stuff would be 
missing, and it was. There were a few stubby old brushes and twisted old 
paint tubes, half-empty bottles of turpentine, and the huge old easel. The 
portable easel was gone, the paintbox, the stool and the huge jar that had 
held all her good brushes. 

She was gone. For how long he didn't know. He just knew she was gone without 
a word. Rubbing his forehead, he went into the kitchen and looked around in 
a daze. He opened the refrigerator door and stared into its cold depths 
stupidly, not really knowing what he was looking for. It looked pretty 
empty, too... but he couldn't be sure. He closed it and leaned against it. 

He poured a stiff Scotch and slugged some down. It would have to be 
something very unusual for Maeve to just take off like this. She wasn't a 
sneaky girl at all. Still nursing his Scotch, he stretched out in the big 
chair and put his feet up on the ottoman. 

When the jolt of the Scotch began to take effect, he tried to sort all the 
possibilities in his mind. It was as though he'd had to have the drink 
before he could face the possibilities... and he knew even before he started 
what the only logical explanation could be. He'd known but couldn't face it. 
She had seen him with Betty! It couldn't be anything else. Not Maeve. It had 
to be something she would find that earth-shaking for her to just take off 
like this. 

He didn't want to believe it. God! The thought of Maeve watching him shag 
Betty Lunsford in that hot little session was too much! It had been too much 
for Maeve, too. Christ! Why had he been such a fool? 



When Maeve saw the cluster of buildings to the right of the highway she came 
out of the almost hypnotic trance that had held her for the long drive. The 
lights were still on at the small grocery store, but the garage was closed 
and the wrecker stood parked in front of it like a huge medieval mythical 
beast. 

She slowed down for the campground which was just around the curve. Even 
though she'd slowed, Maeve hit the high old bridge across the river a little 
too fast. It creaked under the bus. There was a huge stop sign at the end of 
the bridge, for the Campground office was there. Farleigh Flynn, who managed 
the place with the discipline of a Prussian officer and the humor of his 
wild Irish ancestors, insisted incoming campers all sign in with him, even 
the permanent tenants who used their trailers for summer homes. 

God, she didn't want to talk to Farleigh now. Maeve drove straight through 
and on around the curving dirt road. The music was blaring from the outdoor 
jukebox, and the kids were shuffling and shaking in their weird rock music 
dances that didn't look like dancing at all. 

Wearily she parked in front of the rough high redwood fence that stretched 
across their lot to enclose the trailer. She unpacked the food and toilet 
articles and clothes, leaving the painting equipment for tomorrow. She 
locked the bus and lugged the things inside the trailer. It smelled musty 
from being shut up. 

Maeve had always loved the trailer, but now it looked bleak and depressing. 
The wide sofa-bed lounge with its paisley cover and deep pillows looked 
somehow shabby... the gay Mexican paper flowers forlorn. Stop it, she told 
herself. She had to hang on to herself. 

Keep busy. She lifted the large grocery bag and went into the tiny kitchen 
and dining area to put the food away. Suddenly the door banged open and the 
trailer seemed to shrink to Lilliputian proportions, for Farleigh Flynn 
edged his burly shoulder and big head in. 

"Why the hell didn't you-stop and sign in, Maeve?" he shouted. He was a huge 
man with a big head of unruly wavy auburn hair and fierce blue eyes under 
shaggy brows that made gloomy eaves when he frowned. In his rough denim 
jacket and jeans, he looked like the hero's buddy in a Western, gruff, tough 
and masculine, but with a heart of gold under all that bluster. 

"God damn it. I've told you a million times I can't keep track of the people 
here at the Stream if you don't let me know when you come and go." 

Maeve just stood in the kitchen looking at him with big wounded eyes, her 
shoulders sagging. His disapproving, shouts brought the tears again. That 
was all it took. Helplessly, she just stood there, feeling her throat 
tighten and close. 

"Hey...?" He came in and grabbed her by the shoulders with his big meaty 
hands. "God, honey, I didn't mean to make you cry." His arms came around 
her, and he patted her awkwardly... just as though she were five years old 
and her doll had broken. 

Sympathy wasn't what she needed, either. "Oh, Farleigh," she sobbed against 
his big chest. "It's not you." He just held her a minute and let her cry it 
out. 

"What's the matter, honey?" He called everybody "honey" when his great big 
sentimental slobby heart came through his rough exterior. 

She shook her head, still choking with sobs. Finally they eased a little, 
with Farleigh's great rough hands smoothing her shoulder blades and 
squeezing her waist and holding her tightly against his huge hard body. 
Shudders still racked her, but the comfort of being held by this great big, 
burly man wrapping her so close in sympathy began to slow the tears. 

He tilted her face up to his, and one huge paw pulled a handkerchief from 
his back pocket and carefully, gently, wiped her wet cheeks. "If it wasn't 
me made you cry so, who was it? What is it, honey? Spill your troubles to 
old Farleigh." 

Looking up at his big kind face with the forbidding eyebrows, concerned blue 
eyes and wide humorous mouth, she realized he always referred to himself as 
old. She'd always taken his own evaluation of his age and thought of him as 
old, too, but he wasn't old at all! His skin was fair and un-lined. Why he 
couldn't be more than thirty-five at the most. She looked up at him, amazed. 

He bent his head and kissed her forehead as naturally as if she'd been a 
sister in trouble. Then she felt his lips touch her damp cheeks gently. He 
was so good to her, and if she had ever needed kindness, she needed it now. 

"What is it, honey? You don't have to talk about it, mind you, but if it'll 
help you just tell me all about it." 

"It's... Carl," she whispered. "He...'I saw him with... the neighbor. 
They... they were...!" Her breath refused to push out more words, and her 
chest had that excruciating weight again, for she could see them! In her 
head she could see their lewd thrashings and screams of lust. 

"You don't need to say any more. I get the picture, honey. That's a pretty 
rough thing for a little thing like you to take. Guess you must love him an 
awful lot to be this cut up." 

She pulled away from Farleigh's arms to look him in the eye. "I hate him!" 
she blazed. "I never want to see him again!" 

"Course you do, honey. But I'd sure be mighty proud to have a woman like you 
hurt that bad over me." 

"I'm not hurting over him. I'm..." But it was no use lying to Farleigh. 

"Look, honey." He led her over to the sofa bed and made her lie down. He sat 
down on the edge and removed her camel boots, rubbing her feet and flexing 
them. "I'm going to make you a cup of tea with a big slug of rum in it. My 
grandma always used to do that. I don't know why it makes the world so much 
brighter, but it does." He drew the coverlet over her, and his big hands 
patted it around her, over her breasts in the orange jersey, around her 
suede-covered hips. 

"But I don't have any rum here." 

"Don't you worry about that. I'm going to put the kettle on and run over to 
the office and get my rum. I'll be back in a jiffy." 

"You're very sweet, Farleigh... but I'm all right now. Really." 

He turned from the tiny stove where the flame licked high around the kettle. 
"No, it's not all right. Not yet. You just lay right there and I'll be back 
in no time. Close your eyes and rest a little." 

She was too tired to do anything else. Her eyes closed obediently, and she 
heard him leave, the trailer door banging a little as he maneuvered his big 
body through it. 

Farleigh ran at a dogtrot over to the office. He had to hurry before Maeve 
Crandall got over her mood. It wouldn't take much in the state she was in to 
convince her she needed vengeance more than anything else. And he was just 
the guy who could give it to her. Give it to her! God, would he give it to 
her! 

He could feel his prick hardening already in his pants. Jesus, she had the 
biggest tits he'd ever seen on such a little gal. They had to be at least a 
36-C or D... and no sag at all. She didn't even have a bra on under that 
jersey. He wondered about that, since he'd never seen her without one 
before. He could still feel those globes in his palms when he'd pulled the 
covers around her. 

"Bob." Farleigh burst into the tiny office. The young man looked up from the 
map of the campground. He was trying to find a vacant campsite for the 
transients in the camper outside the big window. 

"Yeah?" His serious young college boy face looked up. 

"Take over for a while. I'm running out of steam. See you in three or four 
hours." The young man looked amazed and then proud. Farleigh had never 
trusted him alone in the office that long before. 

When Maeve stirred and opened her eyes, Farleigh was bending over her with a 
cup of steaming tea. She'd vaguely heard him come in, but she'd needed the 
little doze so much that she hadn't bothered to even open her eyes. 

Farleigh looked down at her with deep concern in his eyes. He took in 
everything about her, nevertheless. The big brown eyes and pert nose and 
slender long neck that made her look a little like Audrey Hepburn. But there 
was where the resemblance stopped. The coverlet had slid away, and her 
breasts thrust against the orange turtle-neck, the two big mounds completely 
outlined under the clinging nylon. The nipples showed plainly, and he was 
going to be biting those little knobs of sensation soon. He could feel his 
cock straining hard inside his tight jeans. 

"Here." He set the cup down on the bench and sat down on the edge of the 
wide sofa bed again. He caught her around the rib cage with his big hands 
and lifted her to a half-sitting position, stuffing pillows behind her back. 
He understood that a man had to have a little strange stuff now and then, 
but Carl Crandall didn't have to be so goddamned careless. 

Maeve felt his hands lift her up, hands that almost spanned her rib cage. 
The lower curves of her breasts were spilling onto the backs of his hands, 
and the feel of those hands made her remember she hadn't even bothered with 
a bra when she'd dressed for Carl. She'd been happily looking forward to 
their lovemaking. God! What a fool she'd been. 

The tea Farleigh handed her tasted so good. She sipped it gratefully. It was 
good Darjeeling that had been liberally laced with dark rum. It hit her 
stomach and spread out in fingers of warmth that seeped through her in 
relaxing paths. She smiled up at him. 

"Thanks, Farleigh. I guess I needed that." 

He nodded his shaggy head, putting his own cup down. "Good for what ails 
you. I reckon you're gonna need another thing, too, if I know women." His 
big hand engulfed her free hand and warmed it in friendly fashion. "You're 
gonna need vengeance. A little old-fashioned tit for tat." 

Maeve stopped the cup to her lips in mid-air. The thought hadn't occurred to 
her, but the minute he mentioned it she felt a grim and satisfying need to 
dally with it. Give him some of his own medicine. Go to bed with one of his 
friends, for instance. There was Harry. The sudden vision that leaped into 
her head of Harry Neil naked made her shudder. No. He was too unattractive. 

She shook her head to clear it. What was she doing? Thinking of lowering 
herself to Carl's level just to get even. It was ridiculous. It would serve 
him right, but she couldn't do it. No. 

"I couldn't do that, Farleigh. I just couldn't. It would be like... well... 
lowering myself. Do you know what I mean?" 

He nodded again. "Yeah. I do. But it's kind of a hollow victory, isn't it? I 
mean... he's having all the fun... and you're having all the heartache." His 
hand smoothed up her inner arm, as gentle and quiet as his voice. 

Maeve felt all the tension flowing out of her. The rum and hot tea were 
doing their work, aided by Farleigh's quiet voice and his gentle hand on her 
arm. The warmth of his hand warmed her whole side, and she remembered the 
feel of his big hands just under her breasts as he'd lifted her. Suddenly 
the thought occurred to her that, of course, he could feel that she had no 
bra on, and she blushed. What must he think of her? 

But Farleigh had probably seen just about everything, considering some of 
the people who came here to camp. Rumors flew about Farleigh's women. People 
snickered over drinks on trailer patios about Farleigh's reputation as a 
stud, but she'd never ever heard him say anything about his supposed 
conquests. She'd heard the talk, but she had always assumed it was just 
gossip... idle cocktail party talk. Feeling his hand on her sensitive inner 
arm and the warmth that flowed from it... she wondered and speculated. Then 
she chided herself. He'd been so sweet to her. 

"Yeah," he repeated. "You're having all the heartache and none of the fun. 
And that kinda riles me. Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be 
miserable." 

Maeve handed him her cup, empty now. "I'll get over it, I guess, but right 
now... it seems like I won't. It was such a shock. I... you must have work 
to do, Farleigh. You're always so busy... and here I am keeping you. You 
shouldn't have to be nursing silly women." 

His hand tightened on her arm, and he bent his head to her. "You're not 
silly women," he whispered, looking right into her eyes vehemently. "I've 
watched you for a long time. You're a good, sweet, tender woman, and I don't 
know how any man could go chasing around if he had you. Why, I'd..." He 
grabbed her then, and his arms came around her in parentheses that closed in 
an unbreakable lock. 

Maeve cried a little involuntary, "Oh," before his mouth closed on hers in a 
strongly tender kiss. She tried to pull away. This was wrong. Just because 
Carl and that slut... didn't mean that she should, too. He held her fast, 
his mouth locked on hers and his arms crushing her close. She pushed vainly 
at his shoulders with little clenched fists which he didn't even notice. 

Farleigh held the little wriggling thing and refused to let go, knowing 
she'd stop jittering in a minute. She was as soft as he'd known she would 
be. He could feel the swell of those big rounded mounds of tits against his 
chest, knowing they were naked under the thin orange jersey. He'd have them 
naked in his mouth in a minute. 

Maeve pushed and pushed on his shoulders, but he was an immovable rock. She 
felt his great muscular arm that was behind her back capture both arms in a 
brutal hold, and his free hand found her heaving breast and covered it 
tenderly as though he'd captured a fluttering little frightened bird. Her 
breath came even faster and in rasps through her nose. She could smell the 
clean denim and tobacco and leather smell of this great man who held her as 
easily as he could hold a child. Against her will her breast snuggled into 
his hand, the nipple popping out in a quivering button against his palm that 
so tenderly covered it. No... no... she cried out in her own head, and then 
she was still, knowing it was useless. If he wanted to rape her, he could. 
There was nothing she could do about it. He was too strong and too big. She 
went limp in his arms, hoping he'd take pity on her. He'd been so kind 
before. 

That was better, Farleigh thought, as she went limp in his arms, her breast 
swelling in his palm with the nipple turgid and stiffened to a point. He 
forced his tongue between her little white teeth and probed deeply in her 
mouth, and she tasted like the good rum. He tugged at the jersey tucked into 
her suede skirt, seeing her great white mounds of breasts in his mind's eye. 
Both her arms were still pinned to her sides by his arm and steel hand. She 
was limp now, but he had to heat her up a little more before he could ease 
up. He didn't like scars on his face... not even fingernail scars. Jesus! 
She was a little thing, but wild! He'd always known, from the first, when 
the Crandalls had bought the trailer from the Taylors, that this little 
thing was going to be his one way or another. That had been two years ago, 
but then Farleigh Flynn was a patient man. He was very patient when it came 
to quality tail. There was plenty of ordinary tail around and available and 
panting when you managed a campground. 

Her brain was a magpie's nest of bits and pieces, flotsam of all her years 
of living, and the thoughts tangled in a maze of uncertainty. Mentally she 
held her breath as the big man pulled her jersey out of her skirt and his 
hand touched the tender, naked skin of her waist and slid slowly up to claim 
her swollen breast. It was an alien hand, but it talked a body language her 
breast understood and responded to no matter how many times she told herself 
it was wrong. She could feel the blood rush to it and a pervading warmth and 
a tingling that spread from the nipple in radiating waves that reached to 
her toes and her scalp. Maeve sensed a point of no return was rapidly being 
reached. She must stop him NOW. With a superhuman effort she tore her mouth 
away from his. 

"No... please... no!" she gasped. His hand came up to grasp her jaw. His 
deep blue eyes were inches from her own, and they spoke a language too that 
she not only understood but could not help responding to. 

"Be still, little girl," he whispered fiercely but gently. 

She stared back at him, captive and still frightened, but tingling with the 
excitement of playing this out. His wide generous mouth began to softly kiss 
her face and throat in quick little kisses. 

"Oh... please... Farleigh," she begged, a lassitude sweeping her now that 
turned her limbs to jelly. She could feel her moisture now dampening her 
tights, the shameful moisture that meant she was truly responsive to this 
great, gentle man. 

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to take away the hurt," he explained, 
sliding his tongue down her throat while his hand roved over both naked 
breasts that quivered up to his touch involuntarily. He could feel her 
breath quickening as he kissed his way over the lovely contours of her face 
and ears. This was going to be worth having waited two years for. Her big 
beautiful breasts that rose like mountains from her narrow rib cage were 
heaving now and swelling, the nipples reddening from rose to coral-red, 
little stiffened ingots poking out in fiery desire. Farleigh could feel his 
own interior furnace blazing with a bright flame, his prick stiff as a 
crowbar, hammering in pulses inside the painful prison of his tight jeans. 

"Oh... hhhhh... hhhhh," she breathed as she felt his mouth close damply 
around her nipple. His tongue washed it in circles, swirling round and round 
the quivering nub. Her eyes were closed to shut out everything but the hot 
mouth working on her breast, his hand holding it up like a cup that he drank 
greedily from. Some life-giving elixir seemed to be pouring from her out 
that tap of her nipple and into his voracious mouth. Her hand patted feebly 
although it was still imprisoned at the elbow, but he seemed to sense he 
could ease his hold now. She was prisoner of her own responding body, a 
better jailer than his strong arms. With the release of her arm, her hand 
came out and ran fingers through his thick shaggy hair to urge his head even 
closer on her aching breast. She held him to her, mashing his face into the 
soft mounds of her. 

"Ah-hhh-hhh-agh," she moaned as his teeth sank into one red-hot, rock-hard 
nipple. Farleigh could feel her spine stiffen and arch, her head thrown back 
in passion. He knew from his hiding place at her breasts without even 
looking that her eyes were closed and that she held her blind face up in a 
supplicating plea for more. More he had plenty of. His hands moved up to 
ease her arms out of the jersey till it lay in folds around her neck. Slow, 
now. Don't spook her just when you've got her going. His hands found a short 
zipper at the back of the tight turtleneck, and he unzipped it. Reluctantly 
he pulled his mouth away from her heaving swollen breasts to ease the 
turtleneck over her head. She opened her eyes to look at him. Those big hurt 
brown eyes were glazing with the heating up he was administering. 

"Come here, honey," he whispered, catching her to him and kissing her 
further into the trance he'd started. He explored the soft membranes of her 
mouth and the sharp little points of her white teeth, then plunged his 
tongue clear to her tonsils in mock fucking. She received him eagerly, 
sucking his tongue greedily and panting hard through her nose. Mentally he 
was beating down the raging animal cock that was banging the bars of his 
jeans like a maddened beast. There's plenty of time. Take your time. 

His hands worked at the tie at her waist where her suede skirt fastened. 
Still fucking her mouth in a long French kiss, he pulled at the suede 
strings, seeing in his head those beautiful orange-covered legs under the 
short scrap of suede skirt. Finally he had the damn thing open. One big hand 
slid up her thigh and underneath to cup her buttock and lift her up enough 
so that he could slide the skirt out from under her. He pulled away then and 
looked his fill at her naked white loveliness. Slender, fragile white arms 
and softly rounded shoulders that led his eye down to the great swelling 
masses of her globular, thrusting breasts, tipped with ruddied red areolas 
and nipples. Those rising breasts were supported on the narrow white column 
of her rib cage that looked too fragile for their great weight... and the 
ribs narrowed even farther to a tiny little waist he could span easily with 
his hands. Her hips swelled out gradually in a divinely restrained curve 
that went in one long sweep down her thighs and calves. He could see the 
dark patch of her pubic hair mashed inside the brilliant orange pantyhose 
that still encased her from the waist down. A line from an old movie on TV 
came into his head. "There ain't much meat on her... but what's there is 
choice"... only Spencer Tracy had pronounced it "cherce." Well, the meat on 
his little thing was absolutely choice... and he was going to eat his fill. 

Maeve lay still, not sure if she was resigned or hypnotized, watching 
Farleigh fling his denim jacket away, his eyes laving her body like a hungry 
tongue. Without her volition, her thighs were stretching like a cat and her 
breath came in quickened shudders. An interior voice was urging her on to 
greater indiscretion, telling her she deserved more than one man in this 
life... and Carl was all she'd ever known. 

Still another voice was scorning her and calling her slut and bitch-in-heat 
and whore. But she didn't feel like a whore. She felt beautiful and 
desirable and voluptuous and tender and good under Farleigh's expert eyes 
and hands. She felt exalted and drawing to an awesome experience that she 
must have, at all costs. 

Farleigh could see her huge eyes widen with amazement as he tore off his 
shirt and his powerful chest with the curling mat of auburn hair was 
revealed. He jerked the buckle on the wide leather belt and skinned off his 
jeans, freeing that snarling, voracious penis that leaped out in a wild 
spring to stand out from his lean loins in a great thickened shaft of 
attention. She was attending its huge size and shape and color with 
unbelieving eyes, not missing the vein-laced surface of its skin or the 
darkening head that wept slowly from its one eye or the eager jerking of its 
length. She looked terrified by his massive instrument that jutted up from 
his body like an estrous stallion... but she'd soon be begging it to slice 
her again and again. 

Maeve couldn't take her eyes off this huge naked man who stripped his body 
of clothes in quick ease and complete assurance. He looked even more 
enormous without clothes, the great shoulders and arms and chest bulging 
with muscle, his belly flat and hard as a dancer's, his great thighs 
bursting with powerful long muscle tissue. As for that thing, that huge, 
gigantic thing that jutted up from the auburn pubic hair! It would split a 
woman in two! 

He knelt by the bed, never taking his eyes from hers, which watched him in 
snakelike fascination. His hands spanned her waist easily as he bent his 
unruly-haired head to kiss both nipples lightly. Easing the elasticized 
waistband of her pantyhose with his fingers, he stripped the thin nylon down 
her belly and hips... off her thighs and calves and off her feet in a long 
easy movement. 

"I always knew you were beautiful, but..." His eyes finished the sentence as 
he took in the strangely long, perfectly shaped thighs and calves so unusual 
in such a small girl... the silky brown hair triangle covering her mound of 
Venus, the hollow little bowl of her white belly. No wonder the world was 
filled with statues and paintings of naked women. There was nothing more 
beautiful than a beautiful naked woman... naked tits and naked cunt, made 
for the delights that only a man could bring her. 

He stood up then, and Maeve could feel those powerful arms catch her under 
the knees and back, and he lifted her up and moved her farther into the wide 
bed. Swiftly he was beside her, gathering her to him so her whole body was 
pressed against his huge bulk. Every soft hollow and swell of her fitted his 
hard leanness, and she turned her face up eagerly for his mouth that came 
down more fierce than ever. She felt one great hand clench her little white 
bottom and press her against him, right over his huge throbbing penis. It 
throbbed in pulses that her own vagina echoed by tightening inward 
deliciously. 

Not caring any more and shutting her mind resolutely to all the puritanical 
admonitions and threats her conscience could devise, Maeve gave herself up 
utterly to the indescribable ecstasy of the naked, lusting man beside her. 
She wanted him inside her! She wanted him to do what he was going to do! 

Her hand came down between them, and she wrapped her little white fingers 
around his mammoth bull cock, loving the feel of the blood coursing through 
it and the wild appreciative jerks it made against her palm. She shuddered 
again at the thought of the pain it could inflict, but her body kept 
responding and urging her ever closer to the huge instrument that looked 
more suitable for mounting a mare than a woman. 

"Oh-h-h-h... woman... oh-h-h," he groaned deep in his throat when she slid 
her hand up and down, pulling the thick foreskin in a rapturous rhythm. His 
fingers pinched her nipple till it felt the blood was going to come out in 
droplets to stain his hand. She could feel the incredible heat of his skin 
against her, warming her to a fevered state, and she reached with her toes 
but could only reach as far as his ankle, her head cradled under his arm on 
his hot chest. She looked down the length of their pressed bodies in wonder 
at the disparity in size... for she looked like a white doll or a child 
against his hairy massive body. 

Suddenly he pulled her over him until she lay full length on top of him, her 
breasts mashed sensuously against the prickly auburn hair on his huge chest 
and his enormous cock pulsating wildly against her little belly. 

He gathered the small globes of her ass in his big hands and squeezed her to 
him, burying his maddened prick deeply between their bodies, sandwiched like 
an enormous sausage that threatened to split its skin. Their tongues sucked 
and fucked in salivating fury, and their hearts beat a twin-hammered beat 
that was building unbearably. Oh, God! He had to taste that pussy! 

"Oh-h-h-hhhhhhh... Farleigh," she moaned piteously as he let her mouth go, 
pulling her by the buttocks so she straddled him. He bent her knees and 
cushioned them on his heavy shoulders so she was jackknifed with her cunt 
open and splayed right over his face. He could see the delectable pink flesh 
of her vulva, the lips swollen so that she was opening like petals, soaked 
with the juice that flowed from deep within her. The glistening lips shone 
in the dim light, and he wanted to lick up that sweet juice so more would 
flow. He bent his head forward and sent his tongue questing over the 
slippery, shiny swollen skin in a long swiping lick. 

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she screamed softly, arching her pelvis to him in 
abject surrender. The touch of his tongue sent slivers of red-hot crystal 
shattering through her nerve ends, nicking her in a thousand delicious 
places. Her brain had slipped down between her legs and sent out its 
messages in flashes of ecstasy. Maddeningly his tongue was licking her 
entire cuntal mouth, the gates to her womanhood widening and opening to his 
onslaught. 

Farleigh licked the sweet musky womanly fluid from her pussy lips, relishing 
the taste and smell of this beautiful hot luscious female. Ambrosia could 
not taste better, he decided. The fleshy portals opened wider and wider to 
receive him, and as he licked more fluid flowed to bathe her again. She 
quivered and moaned against his mouth, and he could feel her tailbone 
stiffen where he held her ass in his hand. He increased the lashing of his 
tongue on her wet cunt, and she was shuddering and moaning her appreciation. 
He pulled away momentarily to look at the lasciviously moistened open and 
quivering pussy, outlined with the soft brown hair that was matting around 
the edges, and then he kissed the vulva lips as he would her mouth and 
plunged his tongue deep into her vagina. 

"AGH-GH-GH-GH-GH-ghaghhhhhhhhH!" she screamed and jerked her loins, clamping 
her knees around his ears. The red-hot poker of his tongue had impaled her 
very vitals, sending searing flames through her weakened veins. She bent 
forward, doubled over his head like a primitive maiden on a marriage stick, 
only it was his wild pillaging, ravishing tongue that was the stick. She 
caught his auburn-haired head in her hands, tangling her fingers in the 
hair, to push him inside her. It was as though she had to have his whole 
head in her, deeper and deeper inside her till she had ingested him with her 
female organs. 

Farleigh caught his breath, feeling his lonely cock down below jerking like 
a puppet pulled by the string of his lusting mouth on the soaking, 
desire-quivering pussy. Then he plunged his hardened tongue again, feeling 
her vagina walls, muscular and ridged, suck on his probing, invading member. 
As he brought it out he slid it up to ravish her pulsating little clitoris, 
erect as a little penis. Swirling his tongue in circular motions, he began 
to suck too. He sucked on the little organ as though it were a hard candy 
that had a particularly delicious soft center. She went mad, above him, 
trying to shove his whole head up her pussy. 

"OHHHHHHHHH... GOOODDDDDDDDD!" she shrieked, her body swaying and jerking in 
wild contortions, her hands almost pulling out his hair in her convulsive 
spasms as her fingers clenched and unclenched in his hair. Jesus! She was 
the hottest little piece he'd ever had! He sucked harder, and her juices 
flowed copiously over his mouth and nose and tongue, and his saliva mixed 
with it and ran down to moisten the crack between her little white buttocks. 

Maeve felt the waves of sensation wash her, and she knew she was reduced to 
an unreasoning animal, jerking to the lascivious oral manipulations, with no 
thought in her head other than to get closer and closer to the source of all 
her incredible and exquisite pleasure. She was as instinctive as a salmon 
swimming upstream against all reason or sense, propelled by dark forces 
within her that answered to no authority but sensations of pleasure. 

She did not even protest when she felt his finger working at her puckered 
little asshole. He could do with her as he willed. His finger stabbed into 
her tight virginal little orifice till the whole first knuckle was inside 
the muscular walls. It hurt! She shrank from it by jerking her pelvis 
forward, but he held her and kept stabbing, forcing his finger farther and 
farther into her very bowels! Suddenly something gave, and she could feel 
his long finger deep inside her asshole while his tongue still fucked far 
into her pussy in front. She was invaded-Both orifices filled with the giant 
man who'd reduced her to a whimpering mass of shuddering feeling! He was 
fucking her in two places at once. Oh, God! What dirty thing was he doing? 
Fucking her rectum with his finger! Fucking her cunt with his tongue! 

"NO-O-O-O-OOOOOOOOOO!" she wailed at the unnatural pain in her tight, 
shrinking little asshole. She could feel his big palm slap against her round 
buttock as his huge finger drove up into her. But his tongue never let up, 
sucking and licking and scouring her whole vulva and vibrating vagina. 

"No... no..." she sobbed, the tears beginning to flow down her cheeks at the 
pain in her back end and at the maddening tongue that brought her such 
delicious, sensuous sensation in front. She was stretched to a taut, 
wailing, writhing creature desperately seeking release. 

Suddenly the pain began to lessen, and a creeping pleasure began to climb 
her shattered nerves. She eased back on his finger, riding it, and the 
pleasure increased! Her lust-soaked pussy got its lick on the rise, and she 
began to pump up and down. Oh... she was getting close... close. A golden 
carrot of fulfillment was being dangled just out of her reach. 

Farleigh could feel her arching and writhing, pounding on his finger now in 
a lust-maddened dance. She was getting close. His prick was jerking wildly 
and his balls felt as though they had been blown up to monstrous proportions 
like balloons on the point of breaking. Suddenly he withdrew his finger and 
his mouth and caught her little quaking body just under the breasts. 
Straightening his thick long arms, he held her up and off him. 

"Oh... Farleigh... darling... lover... please," she was babbling and 
moaning, hanging from his hands. 

"Tell me what you want, baby," he crooned. "Tell Farleigh what you want." 

"You-u-u-u-u-u-u," she wept. 

"Well, you're gonna have me, baby," he grunted. "Now, what part of me do you 
want?" he asked, like a teacher instructing a particularly stupid child. 

"Cock... co-o-o-o-o-c-c-k-k," she wailed. 

"That's right, honey," he congratulated her, pulling her down to kiss her in 
reward. Then he half sat, spreading her legs even wider over his belly. He 
lifted her again by her rib cage and set her down on his upthrusting prick, 
feeling her twist down over his shaft like a beautiful butterfly impaled on 
a sharp pin. Jesus Christ! She encased him tighter than a thin kid glove. 
But she was such a little girl, he remembered, and he was a big man by 
anybody's standards. 

"GO-O-O-O-OD-D-D... baby... ohhhhhhh!" he gritted through his teeth. He 
could feel his rod jerk deep inside her, jerk her very flesh, for there was 
no room for a prick as big as his. Even his forehead felt the pressure like 
a band just around his temples, and he could feel the blood beating and 
swelling out his veins to bulges. Damn! This little thing was like a 
twelve-year-old virgin despite the fact she had two children. He'd never 
felt a cunt so tight in his life. It was almost too much, and he wondered 
dimly if he really was injuring her. 

His hands moved up her satiny ivory sides to her big tits, which shook as 
his hands closed over them, and then she ground her hips in a belly dancer's 
grind, moaning, "Darling," and he knew it was all right. 

Experimentally Maeve moved her hips a little, wondering if she were bleeding 
from the huge knife of his penis that cut her so deeply that she felt the 
tip of his thing must be coming up through her, all the way to her throat. 
She was so filled that even her lungs felt constrained and tight as though 
being pressed aside by that enormous prick that impaled her. Timidly she 
moved her hips again, and felt him jerk inside her like an enormous bell 
clapper, sounding and reverberating through the hollow bell of her body. She 
shook with the vibrations that sounded on and on and on. 

Farleigh laughed and squeezed on her breasts, raising his hips up to dagger 
her even deeper on his happily pulsing prick. "Ride a cock horse to Banbury 
Cross," he sang lustily, bucking her up and down, "See a fine lady upon a 
white horse!" She clung to his hairy arms with her little hands, and her 
creamy mounded breasts jiggled like soft pillows in his hands. "With rings 
on her fingers and bells on her toes," he went on. "She shall have music 
wherever she goes!" 

"Oh, Farleigh," she laughed, falling forward on his chest, and he held her 
close, wrapping his great arms around her body and shoving upward with his 
loins, sending his readying cock up even higher into her tight, constricted 
little cunt. He kissed her greedily and began to rotate his hips in a 
grinding motion that set her pussy afire with the fevered sensations of a 
building bonfire. 

"God... baby... oh Jesus." Scintillating spasms of lust were emanating from 
his cock, and he could feel the great Niagara damming up in his balls to a 
steaming, explosive force that would send them skyrocketing! She sat up, and 
he held her breasts as she began to pound his pole like a merry-go-round! Up 
and down, up and down, grinding it round, up and down. His breath was 
rasping out his nose in steaming gusts. Bucking like a wild bronco, he 
heaved her up from underneath with a mighty thrust, and he could feel her 
vaginal walls clenching him even harder as she pounded back, skewering 
herself on his massive, blood-gorged shaft. 

Maeve didn't know when or where. She only knew she was about to reach the 
zenith of her existence as a great tide pounded closer and closer, rising 
ever higher and higher. Farleigh was grunting and groaning unintelligible 
sounds, and his great hands clutched her in huge bruises that would only 
appear later. Every stab of his gigantic, lusting penis sent her nearer 
heaven, slicing into her very vitals with a rapture she had never known! Her 
senses had left her, stranded on this shore of pure feeling where nothing 
mattered but the thundering raging rod she rode to heaven! 

"AH-H-H-hhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she breathed, her hands digging into his steel-hard 
arms. She could feel the ridges of muscle that stood up in hard hills and 
hollows. 

"Come...on... honey... come... on...." he panted, begging her to join him in 
a fevered quest for Nirvana. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer... and 
any second he was going to blow higher than the sky... straight up to 
heaven. 

God damn! He distracted himself. He'd had a lot of women in his thirty-three 
years... about two hundred and fifty, he reckoned, since he was fifteen... 
but he couldn't recall any as good as this little puny, brown-haired thing 
who rode him now. That guy Carl had to be nuts! 

Maeve's head was rolling from side to side, and her fingernails were digging 
his forearms in stripes that would leave him clawed as if a wildcat had 
mauled him. It was beginning! She could feel the exquisite, unexplainable, 
incredible, never-to-be-forgotten orgasm about to happen. 

"Hon-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-y-y-y-y-y-yy!" Farleigh screamed, his rock-hard hips 
lifting so high off the bed that she was raised on his raping rod, his huge 
hands clenching her hips like claw hammers! She could feel the teaming, 
boiling spurt hit her cervix like a blazing firehose, searing her and 
triggering her own orgasm. 

"Nowwwwwwwww!... Cum with... meeeeeee!" he begged as he bucked and bounced 
and strained beneath her. 

"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!... AH-E-E-E-E-I-I-I-I-I-I-E-E-E-E-E!" she screamed in 
the agony of ecstasy, stuck on his blasting cock like a victim. The fiery 
shots sprayed through her as her body erupted from the pit of her cunt and 
showered outward to make even her fingernails pulse in the mighty shaking 
quake! 

Farleigh held her hips as if they were a life raft and he would drift 
forever if he lost his grip. Great hoses of creamy sperm-laden semen were 
bursting inside the hot hollow of her beautiful little clenching pussy. She 
was milking him with the muscles that clasped like hands, squeezing him... 
squeezing him... dry. But on it came, gush after gush after gush. It seemed 
that gallons of his seed were shooting up into the hot cavern of her vagina. 
"Go-o-o-o-d-d-d-d-d!" he grunted, throwing his hips up to plunder her 
milking pussy in a bliss that seemed never ending. 

"Fuck, baby... FUCK!" But Maeve needed no urging. Her hips were caught in 
the vise of his hands, and he pounded her up and down on his hot pole. She 
could feel her vagina suck him ever tighter into her depths, her orgasm 
going on and on in exquisite waves of pleasure. Her ears were roaring like 
the sea in a cave, and the world was worlds away and she was only an 
erupting, pulsing, convulsing record of joy and unattainable bliss! 

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" The breath came out of her body in a great racking sigh, 
and she fell forward onto him, limp and spent in an exhaustion so complete 
she might have been rags instead of satiated flesh. 

He could hold her like this forever. He knew his cock was deflating slowly, 
but it still twitched and jerked, spewing the last drops of his cum deep in 
her belly, and her legs still twitched as her pussy still worked rubbery 
muscles, sucking him dry! 

"Hot damn!" he whispered against her hair, cradling her against his chest. 
She was one tired little girl and the best fuck he'd had in many a year. 
Yes, sir... the very best. 

Chapter Four 

Farleigh shifted Maeve's legs until they were on top of his, knowing that 
they'd be cramping her soon from being spread so long. She was absolutely 
limp, letting him move her as he wanted, so tired and utterly satisfied that 
she was in a trance and all but unconscious. 

Suddenly there was a great banging on the door that sent them both clutching 
and searching for clothes. "Mrs. Crandall! Mrs. Crandall!" The knocking and 
the calling continued... louder than ever. Maeve's heart was pounding in her 
chest as she crawled over Farleigh to grab an old robe from the tiny closet. 

"Just a minute," she called shakily, suddenly feeling ashamed and degraded, 
caught dallying with the Campground manager. She didn't recognize the voice. 
Farleigh lost no time grabbing his clothes and easing his bulk through the 
long narrow trailer to the tiny bedroom in the rear. 

Finally Maeve had covered herself and opened the door a crack, feeling the 
sticky cum oozing down her legs underneath the robe. "Yes?" 

A boy of about twelve stood on the trailer step. "Mrs. Crandall?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, Bob sent me down from the office. There's a phone call for you... and 
the party's waiting on the line, he says. He said you was to hurry." 

"Oh... well... thanks. I'll be along in just a minute." The boy just stood 
there looking at her. 

"Just a second," she added, closing the door and finding her purse. She came 
back to tip him a quarter. He went whistling off, satisfied. 

When she heard the gate of the redwood fence close, she breathed a sigh of 
relief. She looked up to find Farleigh dressed and smiling. 

"I heard. You go along and get your phone call. When you leave I'll mosey on 
out quietly." 

"All right," she said dully. The boy's appearance had shocked her back to 
reality. The grim reality of what she had done. She was no better than Carl. 
Lowering herself to his level. To the level of that slut he'd been with. 
She'd been betrayed by her own body that had been denied too long... but 
that was Carl's fault, too, she reasoned. 

"Don't look so sad." Farleigh caught her shoulders and looked at her. "It 
was the best. You just pull yourself together, honey. I'll look in on you 
later." 

"No. Don't look in on me later. You'd better leave now. I have to dress." 
Her voice sounded as flat and dejected as she felt. 

"Okay, honey." He leaned down to brush his lips against her cheek, and then 
he was gone. She found a pair of jeans and a shirt and a big old bulky 
sweater which she pulled on quickly... while her mind raced painfully. She 
never wanted to see Farleigh again, for every time she did she'd be 
reminded. He was right. It had been the best while it was happening... but 
not now. It seemed cheap and vulgar and humiliating. 

She ran her fingers through her hair, grabbed her purse, locked the trailer 
behind her, and went out the redwood gate. Supposing something had happened 
to the children when she'd been lying in there doing what she'd been doing? 
Oh, no... please God... no. She began to run then, dodging the kids and the 
dogs and the campers. 



Sam Grandfield planned to spend some social time with all the professors in 
the management department. Hell, that was the only way to really find out 
about people. He'd found out so many goof-offs and lamebrains just by being 
with them in relaxed situations... when they had no idea they were giving 
themselves away. Already he'd found out... just by driving leisurely down 
the coast with him... that Harry Neil was impotent. 

The Admiral glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye as the professor 
told still another interminable smutty story. Sam Grandfield didn't have to 
listen. After twenty-seven years in the Navy, there wasn't a single 
variation he hadn't already heard. 

He laughed appreciatively when Harry had finished, so heartily that no one 
would have known he hadn't heard a word. 

"Terribly kind of you to have me down for the weekend, Harry." 

"Not at all. We're delighted, Admiral." 

"I need to unwind a bit... get in some fishing... think about all the things 
you fellows have fed me about your work to see how it fits in with what I 
want to do for the Navy..." Sam didn't finish what else he was thinking. No 
point in asking an impotent man where he could get a choice piece of tail. 
He'd have to find that on his own. 

"Well, I think you'll find Bendemeer's Stream conducive to that, sir." 

"Cut the sir, Harry, when we're away from the brass-bound portals. We're 
just about the same age, anyway." 

"Makes things a lot more comfortable. I'll agree to that!" Harry grinned 
enthusiastically. 

"Bendemeer's Stream." The Admiral mused. He loosened his tie and leaned back 
in the leather bucket seat. "Oh, yes! 'There's a bower of roses by 
Bendemeer's Stream, and the nightingale sings round it all the day long.' 
Irish folk song. I remember now." 

Harry looked at him respectfully. "That's a new one on me... but it would 
make sense. The owner and manager of the trailer park and campground is of 
Irish extraction. Goes over to Ireland every year on his vacation." 

They had turned off the highway and drove across a high bridge over a river 
that bubbled and rippled clearly over a rocky bottom. Harry stopped at the 
end of the bridge and checked in. He also explained that he'd checked with 
George Lunsford and it was fine for the Admiral to use his little trailer 
for bunking. Farleigh seemed particularly agreeable... but then most people 
were impressed when you had an Admiral for a guest. 

Harry was feeling pretty pleased with himself, too. Carl was going to shit 
green when he found out! Harry was pretty sure that this invitation was 
going to assure him of getting that research money everybody knew the 
Admiral had come out to award. 

As they rounded a curve in the winding dirt road, Harry saw that Maeve's VW 
bus was parked in front of the redwood fence. His hands tightened on the 
steering wheel. It had never seemed fair that Carl had the Harvard Ph.D. and 
Maeve. Well, it looked as though he wouldn't get that research money, he 
thought smugly. 

Maeve. God, he'd almost had a full hard-on at the reception just looking at 
her. She was everything Jo was not. And he was absolutely sure Jo was the 
real reason he just couldn't get it up any more. 



Maeve yanked her sweater down over her bottom and picked up the phone. She 
still felt dirty, soiled and ashamed, wanting to hide... to scrub herself 
clean and hide. 

"Hello?" 

"Maeve? It's Betty Lunsford." 

No one had to tell her who that syrupy southern voice belonged to. How dare 
that woman call her! How did she even know she was here? Maeve was shaking 
inside, her guts churning with white-hot fury at the slut's audacity. She 
struggled for control. 

"Yes?" 

"I just wanted to let you know that we'll be down later in the weekend. Oh, 
not to stay. Just Sunday. You see, Harry Neil called, and he took the 
Admiral down there as his guest and we've lent our little trailer for the 
Admiral to use. So, I thought, since the Neils and you and... well, I 
thought we ought to decide about food. I'll do a southern baked ham, and 
maybe you and Jo could barbecue a turkey. Oh... and I'll bring my usual 
watermelon filled with the fruit in sauterne. Then, if you and Jo could just 
add salads and rolls... why, that's all we could possibly need," she ended 
brightly. 

Her ears took it in, and intellectually she understood the words... but 
Maeve felt incapable of dealing with the content. Did that bitch think their 
relationship was going to stay the same? Did she imagine that they'd have 
weekend trailer parties casually as they had done in the past? How did you 
cope with a slut so brazen that she could fuck your husband and then 
casually call you up and arrange a little party for the Admiral... just a 
few hours later. Maeve could still see Betty's tanned legs wrapped around 
Carl's hips and her heels spurring him. The visions also triggered her own 
guilt over Farleigh, to come rushing into her aching head. But she mustn't 
let go now. She licked her parched lips and tried to be casual. 

"Yes... I guess that would be all right. I haven't seen Jo... and I didn't 
know the Admiral was here. This is all news to me... I just came down to 
paint... I... well... ah... how did you know I was even here?" 

"Oh, I called the house as soon as Harry called and arranged things... and 
Carl said you'd gone down to paint... but I knew you'd want to help 
entertain the Admiral for Carl, of course. Carl's probably trying to get you 
now... and here I am holding the line up. So George and I'll see you all 
Sunday. Goodbye." 

"Goodbye," Maeve answered lamely to the dead receiver that emitted a dial 
tone now in her ear. Slowly she replace it, but hung onto it with her hand. 
For a moment she thought she was going to faint. Her face felt clammy, and a 
wave of nausea hit her, and the cramped phonebooth swayed before her eyes. 
Then it passed, to be replaced by a terrible pain in her belly that twisted 
her insides. Oh God, how did she ever get inside such a nightmare? 

Somehow she got back to the trailer. She scrubbed herself all over in the 
tiny tub till she felt raw as a lobster... but she would never feel really 
clean again. Finally wrapped in the old robe, she found part of a bottle of 
brandy in the cupboard. 

When most of it was gone and the pain had eased in her stomach, she crawled 
into bed in the cramped little bedroom and closed her eyes, wishing hazily 
she'd had some sleeping pills so she'd never have to open them again. 



Sam Grandfield moved on farther upstream through the underbrush that was no 
longer trampled. He was away from the campers and trailers and any sign of 
people except for the occasional beer can. The river sparkled in the light 
that was beginning to strengthen and brighten the early morning. 

Jo Neil had given him some beef heart for bait. From the look of her last 
night, she'd have given him a lot more than that. But with an almost surely 
impotent husband, he didn't blame her for that. She was not atypical, 
actually. Among Navy couples he'd found it a fairly common situation... and 
he was convinced that the whole tradition-bound rigid service structure was 
the cause... as it was of almost all social problems that plagued commanding 
officers. Now that he was in a position to do something about it, he damn 
well was going to. The press was mostly with him on the reforms he'd done 
for the enlisted men and now, while they still considered him the 
fair-haired boy, he wanted to get something done for the officers... all the 
officers from the lowliest ensign to captains and admirals. 

He circled around a huge mass of boulders, and as he came around the other 
side of the granite outcrop, he almost stumbled over a girl painting at an 
easel. She looked up when he was almost on top of her. Why, it was the 
little live thing! The one he'd almost collided with at the reception. 

"Oh... oh." Her great brown eyes looked frightened as a doe's. 

"Sorry... I..." His foot slipped, and he slid, stumbling and grabbing at her 
as he went. His fishing gear clattered dully as it hit, and her paintbrush 
flew out of her hand into the water. 

"Oh... dear..." She gasped, trying to keep her balance with the descending 
force of the Admiral, his hands grabbling her arms. Finally he straightened 
and had his feet on solid rock that didn't slope. By this time they were 
almost in the water, teetering and hanging on to each other. 

Sam did exactly what he'd wanted to do that night at the reception. He 
scooped her into his arms and kissed hell out of her. She was a little live 
thing! She squirmed and wriggled and fought like a little wildcat. When he 
thought she'd had enough, he let her go. She backed away from him, her 
breath rushing through her lungs so hard and fast that her breasts heaved up 
and down deliciously under her thin white cotton shirt. Tears were streaming 
down her face, which was twisted with fury. 

"You! You!" she spluttered with rage and fright, and then she walked right 
up to him and slapped his face with all she had. His face really stung, too. 
God, he loved a woman who fought a little! No, Harry could never have done 
this well for him. 

"Don't you know you can be court-martialed for striking a superior officer?" 
Sam grinned, seizing her and pinning her against him, twisting both her 
little arms behind her and holding them with one arm. With his other hand he 
caught her jaw and held her face still, crushing his mouth down again on 
hers and forcing his tongue so hard into her mouth that she was almost 
gagging. 

Maeve knew there was no one around. She'd purposely come this far this early 
so there wouldn't be anyone around... and by so doing she'd trapped herself 
with this maniac of an Admiral. She knew that lie must know there was no one 
this far upstream, either. 

No matter what happened or how she tried to avoid it... it seemed as though 
this ghastly nightmare she'd been in since last night kept going on and on. 
Like a Shakespearean tragedy that must be played to the inevitable end. 

She could feel her pulse beating wildly in her throat where the heel of his 
hand rested as his fingers bit into her jaw and held her. His tongue was 
hitting her tonsils, and his lips were bruising her mouth from the pressure 
of his gleaming white teeth. Her arms were hurting where he held them in a 
steel grip behind her. Her mind was screaming in her skull... No... No... 
No... but no one heard, and it echoed and echoed inside her own head. 

Miraculously, he pulled his mouth away, but Maeve could feel his breath 
whistle through his nostrils for his tanned hawk face was still only inches 
from hers where he held her. He forced her to look up into his steely gray 
eyes through the blur of her tears. 

"You are the loveliest little thing I've ever seen. The more you fight, the 
better I like it!" 

Dear God, she had been captured by a beast! There was nothing of the 
gentleness of Farleigh. She knew, standing there, without any doubt, that 
he'd rape her as casually as he'd give an order to an aide. How could a man 
like this be an Admiral? Not just an Admiral... the wonder-boy Admiral who 
could do no wrong. The world was coming apart... and her with it. 

Sam felt her breasts, thrusting and mashed delectably against his chest, and 
the "V" of her jean-clad legs and mound against his hard thigh. His cock had 
sprung as smartly to attention as was possible inside his skivvy shorts and 
dungarees and was beeping out a pulse that decoded to FUCK... FUCK... FUCK! 
It was beating this message through his clothes and hers right into her soft 
little belly. 

His hand slid down her throat and inside her shirt and bra, burrowing to 
reach the nipple. The soft, tender, silky-skinned nipple hardened instantly 
at his touch, shrinking to a tight little bud of desire. He knew she 
wouldn't fight so, now that he'd told her how much he liked her to fight. 
She didn't. She just looked at him with those huge wet brown eyes as he 
thumbed and pinched her tit. But it registered. Those eyes widened to deep 
pools that glazed a little at his touch. He was reaching her, all right! 

Maeve shuddered as his hand found her breast,. and she could feel her nipple 
fold into a rigid little knob of carnal anticipation. That was the trouble! 
Her whole body kept betraying her, acting independently of her wishes! If 
you couldn't trust your own body any more...! 

She could feel his mouth begin to explore her face... the cheek, then her 
ear where he bored inside the tender orifice with his burning tongue that 
sent sparks of electricity shooting up her spine. 

Nothing in her whole past life had prepared her for these last two days. 
Nothing. What did you do when you found your own body was a black traitor? 
What did you do? Was any man able to arouse her? Was she nothing but a whore 
who'd missed her calling? What was Maeve Crandall? 

She had no thought now of Carl or how furious he'd be if she antagonized the 
Admiral. She only knew she had to regain some measure of respect for herself 
before she slid down a bottomless pit of wanton behavior. 

"Admiral." She said as calmly as she could. But that didn't stop him. He was 
kissing her eyebrows and temples, and his hand had left her breast to caress 
her shoulderblades that poked out like singed wings. 

"Please don't do this." She tried so hard to be dignified, but her voice 
came out breathy and her shoulderblades were tingling from his hand. 

"You'll love it," he said against her mouth before he caught her quivering 
lips in a long kiss. 

His free hand then reached between them and unbuttoned her blouse, pulling 
it down over her shoulders till it did the work of his bruising arm that had 
held her. Swiftly he tied the tails back around her arms that were pinned 
behind her back. Both his hands were then free to cup and squeeze her lushly 
full breasts that spilled over the top of her thin, transparent net bra. 

Maeve backed away, her arms pinned to her sides and almost bare to the 
waist. It took a supreme effort to back away from those questing hands that 
had hardened her nipples to rosy, passionate and pointed peaks of quivering 
anticipation. Her breath was rushing through her laboring lungs, and she 
could feel moisture wetting her bikini panties. 

She stood there, trembling, her breasts heaving and quivering and her eyes 
wet above tear-streaked cheeks, arms bound like a victim, but nevertheless 
there was a blazing defiance in her eyes. Sam assessed the fully ripe lush 
breasts straining at the net bra that could not hide their coral-red areolas 
and stiff nipples, the tiny thin-skinned waist indented by the waistband of 
her tight white jeans and the slow curve of hip and thigh. His prick was 
pounding a maddening, futile beat now inside his pants. 

"We'll now proceed, Mrs. Crandall," he said formally. 

"How... how did you know...?" 

"We were introduced. The receiving line at the reception." 

"But... but how could you possibly remember all those names?" 

"The first prerequisite to becoming an Admiral is a good memory." He stepped 
up to her then. "And I can even repeat my exact thought at the time we were 
introduced... check on this one, she's going to be a good fuck!" He grinned 
engagingly. "And so you are." 

"You're... you're despicable," Maeve spat at him. 

"In a little while you'll think otherwise." He picked her up easily and 
carried her the few yards to a grassy meadow. Maeve wriggled and struggled, 
but he held her with no apparent effort and set her down on her feet in the 
thick grass. She felt him reach behind her and untie the shirt that bound 
her. Quickly she shrugged it back on her shoulders and covered herself. 

"Take your clothes off," he ordered, "Or I'll have to rip them off and 
you'll have to get back to the campground naked." He then calmly proceeded 
to pull off his old white turtleneck to reveal his hairy, beautifully 
muscled chest and strongly biceped arms. 

Maeve stood as if in shock, watching him pull the white dungarees down and 
stand, stork-legged, first on one foot and then the other, to remove them. 
His thighs swelled with muscle and his calves looked like gnarled oaks, but 
her eyes were fastened on the great bulge in his brief shorts. It looked 
like a codpiece on one of the figures in a Breugel painting from the middle 
ages... a tacked-on, padded thing to make a man look as though he had a 
permanent hard-on. The codpieces men wore then had always been so 
exaggerated that they looked laughable to Twentieth Century eyes. You knew 
that no man ever had an erection that big. But he did! Maeve caught her 
breath and waited for the unveiling, the freeing of that huge thing, bundled 
so painfully in the tight shorts. 

He looked up to see Maeve still standing frozen as a statue, staring at him. 
She'd made no move to take off the clothes. "I said, take off your clothes!" 

She jumped, startled, and met his hard gray eyes. For a brief second she 
thought of running. She had the advantage, for he'd have to get his clothes 
back on, but she knew he was not a man to tangle with. He'd run her to 
ground if it took years. With shaking fingers she pulled off her still 
unbuttoned shirt and reached behind her for the hooks of her bra, her eyes 
locked by his in a duel she was losing. 

Slowly she slid the straps down her shoulders and let her breasts flop free, 
white satin fruits tipped with ripe red nipples he bit with his eyes. She 
began to enjoy the effect her strip was having on him... and she stretched 
it out tantalizingly. Her eyes never left his lusting face as she popped the 
snap of her waistband and slowly unzipped the front zipper of her jeans. She 
wriggled her hips as she slid the jeans very slowly down, pushing them with 
her hands. They were so tight she had to push down each leg individually. 
When they were finally down to her ankles, and she stretched it out as long 
as possible, she kicked off her sneakers and stepped out of the jeans. 

Sam stood with his hands on his hips, knuckles under so she couldn't see the 
shaking of his hands. God, what a luscious little thing, standing there like 
a miniature Diana with the woods behind her... white as marble but dipped 
with rose. He half expected to see her pull an arrow from an unseen quiver. 
Her naked body was a breathing statue, shoulders thrown back, and her 
needle-nippled, thrusting, beautiful breasts pointing at him as she stood 
with her weight on one leg so that the curve of her hips down to her knees 
made a triangle and her pubic hair another and her thighs joining her crotch 
still another. The curve of her delicate rib cage narrowing to her very tiny 
waist was repeated perfectly by the curve from waist down to hip. She still 
wore the thin wisp of bikini panties, and he watched, holding his breath, as 
her hands slid down over her sculptured hips to slide fingertips inside the 
edge of the cloth and slip them down till they fell to her feet. He could 
see that she was moist between her legs, for there was a faint sheen high on 
the inside of her upper thighs... and the panties that fell to her feet had 
circles of wet on the crotch. 

"Dance for me," he commanded imperiously. 

"But... I..." 

"You've taken ballet. You know how. Ballet should be danced naked. I want to 
see it." 

She moved uncertainly away from him, walking at first and then slowly 
raising her arms and beginning small leaps. This strange brutal man seemed 
to know everything about her, including the fact she had taken ballet. She 
imagined some giant computer feeding out the events of her life to this 
Napoleonic tyrant. But while she danced, she reasoned, he couldn't rape her. 

Maeve began to enjoy the feel of the air on her naked body and the stretch 
and pull of her bones and muscles as she made the exacting steps. She rose 
on her toes, arms over head in the exaggerated stretch that pulled her 
breasts even higher, and then dipped. Soon she was racing around the meadow 
in pirouettes and leaps, faster and faster, losing herself in the dancing. 

She was a nymph racing gracefully through the grass, naked and free. Sam 
felt his erection swell even harder and fuller, painful, for his guts were 
beginning to churn at the sight of this beautiful creature. 

"Enough," he growled, skinning his shorts down and kicking them aside as he 
walked toward her. She bent at the waist, her fingers gracefully brushing 
the toes of one outstretched foot and then sinking down on the knee bent 
behind her till she was seated on that leg and her whole body bent forward 
abjectly and obediently in the classic ballet bow that ended performances. 

Sam reached down and picked up her hands and pulled her up till she was 
standing at arm's length. He pulled her into him sharply, feeling her 
heaving breasts mash into his naked chest. Her skin was like warmed silk, 
and he plunged into her soft mouth, his tongue like a miniature penis 
invading the wet cavern. 

"Mm-mmmm-mmm..." she moaned around his tongue, drinking him into her throat 
with an eager sucking motion, much to her own amazement. The dancing had 
left her breathing hard from the effort and, strangely, the effect of the 
sensuous movements had kept her body heated. The feel of Sam's hard naked 
body had simply sent the inner temperature soaring even higher. His blazing 
hand was stroking her and leaving burns wherever it went. She could feel his 
enormous rod jerking against her quaking belly, and every jerk sent a spasm 
through her own aching, needing pussy. 

She had crossed some invisible, intangible barrier... and was his prisoner 
willingly. The inevitable was coming, and shivers brought goose-bumps to her 
skin and a prickling, wondering excitement. 

Sam pinched her nipples brutally as though quenching red-hot points of 
flame, for they felt that hot between his thumb and forefinger. His hands 
were so hot he felt as though he were leaving handprints wherever he 
caressed her, and the blood was coursing through his thick, rigid shaft in 
an insane treadmill. Pressed against her white belly, it pulsated like an 
engine just waiting for him to pull the throttle... building up a steam that 
was going to blow all by itself if he didn't hurry! 

Her breasts were heavy in his hand, and firm as a young girl's. Hard-soft, 
hot, squishy rocks. He pulled away in order to bend and catch one in his 
mouth... stretching his lips as wide as he could, to take in as much of the 
scented, rosy, sweet silky flesh as possible. Jesus! She tasted like 
sun-warmed rose petals! She must wear some rose-based perfume. 

He sucked on her tit hard and long, leaning her back over his strong arm in 
a back bend. Her head dangled back and her eyes closed, but her hands came 
out to catch his head and mash him ever farther into her naked breast flesh. 

"Oh-h-h-hhh-hhhh," she sighed faintly as his tongue began to whirl and 
titillate her clenched little fiery nipple. He moved to the other breast, 
and she shuddered and shook, pressing him anew till his face was buried in 
the white satin mound. 

Suddenly she stiffened, her spine snapping her upright, and her eyes flew 
open, staring like great brown bruises against her smooth white face. 

"I heard something..." she whispered in an agonized voice. They stood 
listening for a long minute, but the wooded silence was only broken by the 
faint gentle rippling of the water and the sighing of a small breeze through 
the trees. 

She pulled away from him, still straining to her another twig snap as she 
was sure she had a minute ago. But, nothing... so far. There was somebody 
out there somewhere, though. She was sure of it. She hadn't just imagined 
that twig snapping. 

Sam watched her, straining to hear, poised for flight like a startled doe, 
eyes wide and frightened. She was so incredibly beautiful and somehow 
vulnerable he felt almost ashamed of the way he had humiliated her... but 
not enough to let her go. There was no one out there... and if there were he 
couldn't stop now. His cock was jutting out from his aching loins like a 
bull's prick, jerking its unseeing eyes in search of a hot hollow to bury 
itself in. The pressure in his balls was unbearable, and they were swollen 
hard into knots of churning semen. He had to shoot that load soon up deep 
into that smooth belly. 

"Come here," he whispered fiercely... and she ran to him for shelter. He 
caught her by her round little buttocks, lifting her high, and her legs 
wrapped around his back, her arms around his head, and slowly he lowered her 
onto his throbbing upstanding cock. Her seam was wet, and his fingers opened 
its edges from underneath, her little butt sitting on his palms. 

Maeve felt herself lowered very slowly down Sam's hard body, and then his 
great throbbing rock-hard shaft touched her vulva. She jumped as though 
prodded with an electric cattle prod... arching her spine, for the head of 
that hot pulsing shaft sent an electric jolt reverberating through her... 
but slowly, inexorably her body descended! She'd split completely in two on 
that huge lusting depraved instrument! She couldn't take it! Her body would 
split completely apart! 

"No... Sam... no," she begged. 

"Easy, baby... easy," he grunted as he eased her over the head of his prick 
and it slipped through her outer lips as they closed around it hungrily. Her 
body had poured such copious lubrications that it slid in with no pain so 
far... and... dear God, it felt so good! 

He staggered slightly, getting his balance, for her weight was light. He'd 
lifted two hundred pounds at the gym last week, and this little thing 
couldn't weigh more than a hundred. With his legs braced apart slightly, it 
was easier. With her firmly planted on the greedy throbbing head of his 
cock, he let his hands come down suddenly and pushed with his legs as he 
felt the clasping walls of her warm wet vagina close over his thrusting rod 
in one swift slide. 

"Agh-gh-ghhhhhhhh!" Maeve screamed as she felt that great, purple-headed 
thick knife slice up into her and impale her deeply up into her belly. 

"Don't move," he commanded. She couldn't. She was caught on the enormous cob 
of his penis that jerked in her belly like a wild ferocious beast. He so 
filled her that her entire hole felt brutally stretched and on the point of 
tearing and bleeding over his mammoth penile member. 

Sam flexed his buttocks, hardening the muscles, and it sent his pulsing cock 
ramming into her sensitive cervix. It felt like a nose, a rubbery nose 
against the head of his prick that was jerking and throbbing now almost 
uncontrollably. Christ, she was so achingly, beautifully tight around his 
hard shaft, and he could feel the tight walls of her vagina clenching and 
milking him like a million skilled fingers. 

His legs were tiring, but he loved holding her like this... wearing her on 
his manhood. She clung to him as he began to walk around the meadow with her 
impaled on his bold rooster-proud cock. This was a fuck he was never going 
to forget! Every step sent his prick digging up into her wet warm pussy even 
deeper. 

At last Maeve felt him ease her up off that slicing, digging, brutally huge 
penis and lay her gently down on the warm grass. It felt so soft and lovely 
beneath her, and she stretched herself, luxuriating in the feel of it. Her 
legs spread and stretched, opening her pussy to his lascivious, lusting 
gaze. 

"Spread yourself wider," Sam said harshly, his face contorted with the agony 
in his balls and the sight of her naked white softness spread out for him on 
the grass. He could see her hair-fringed lips, swollen and wet, with the 
carnal anticipation of his throbbing entrance and beating ride. He knelt 
between her legs and spread her soft white thighs with his palms even wider 
till her whole burning, wanting, weeping, flowing cunt was open to him. The 
lips were red and glistening, and the hair was matting from her juice that 
poured out from deep inside that hot, vibrating box. 

Maeve felt his fingers gently split her slit at the top and heard the 
guttural groan tear from his throat as her clitoris came into view. Very 
gently he touched it with one finger and began to stroke the erect, 
quivering little organ. She arched up to his stroking finger, her hips 
raising from the grass, for every stroke drove her crazy with the electric 
zigzag of sexual sensation that flashed in crazy paths through her veins. 
Her aching vagina was pulling inward in frantic pulls, and there was nothing 
there to hold and suck into her body. She was starving for that great 
pulsing cock to bite into her and feed her aching void. She wanted to devour 
it... all of it... deep... deep... inside her. 



Harry froze in his steps... wanting to rub his eyes in disbelief but unable 
to move a muscle. There through the thicket on a sunny and dappled meadow 
were two naked white bodies standing mashed together in a long, deliberate 
hungry kiss. He felt his cock twinge. He eased closer through the 
underbrush, trying to watch where he stepped. This was something to see! 

Carefully he eased a branch out of his line of sight. 

Great balls of fire! It was the Admiral and Maeve! Naked as the day they 
were born and a whole lot bigger. Jesus Christ! His balls began to itch, and 
his brain tried to right itself and begin to function properly. 

That little bitch! She'd run away from him at the reception when all he'd 
done was flirt a little and look... and here she was naked in the Admiral's 
arms! 

The sight of her arms clinging to the Admiral's neck and her white rounded 
ass cheeks being clutched by Sam's hand as he pressed her into him, their 
mouths working, tongues dueling, he was sure, in each other's throats, 
almost set Harry clawing the air. His head was racing and his emotions 
churned up a storm in his belly and loins and prick. 

Then he saw the Admiral bend her back and plant his mouth on her beautiful 
big luscious tit. Harry had to choke back a groan. He wanted to be standing 
there biting into that great ripe breast. God damn! She was loving it! She 
was mashing the Admiral's face right into her white flesh. Harry could even 
hear her moan. 

Harry's cock began to rise like the phoenix from its own ashes. It was 
getting really hard! Oh, Jesus. What was he going to do? He only knew he had 
to see this... all of this! He eased forward to a clump of bushes where he 
thought he could see better... and his foot hit a twig that blended so 
perfectly with the dirt and leaves that he hadn't seen it. It snapped with a 
sound that seemed like a cannon to Harry. He looked up to Maeve stiffen and 
then finally move away from Sam. She'd heard it. 

Harry's heart beat so loud in his thin chest that he thought they surely 
would hear it, too. But they mustn't! He had to see... all of it. He had to! 

Very slowly he squatted on his heels and found there was a hole in the 
bushes down at that level. Jesus! He could see everything! Carefully he 
eased himself down until he could sit on the ground and watch without his 
legs cramping. His own private skin flick in comfort! But no skin flick 
could ever match this... not even the best wide-screen color ones in San 
Francisco. This was in the flesh! 

Harry felt his hair rise and his breath inhale hollowly, for Sam was easing 
her down on his cock, standing up. Harry felt his own prick begin to quiver 
and jerk in his pants. Quickly he unzipped his pants and feverishly pulled 
it out where he could hold it. 

The sight of Maeve's naked white loveliness had made it harder than it had 
been in ages. It actually stuck up through the fly in his pants in a decent 
erection. Harry's hand closed around it gratefully. He had to make the most 
of this. He stroked it up and down, up and down. 

Watching the Admiral walk around the meadow with Maeve riding on his cock, 
buried from sight all the way up her pussy, almost drove Harry crazy right 
then. He jerked frantically on his rod, pulling the foreskin back and forth. 

When Sam laid her down on the grass. Harry could see her whole hair-outlined 
cunt glistening in the sunlight. She was hotter than a pistol! Right then he 
promised himself... he didn't know where or when... but one day he'd lie 
down between those beautiful white thighs and bang hell out of her till she 
screamed for more! God damn that prick Carl! Trying to do him out of the 
research money when the bastard had that to crawl on every night. It wasn't 
fair! It just wasn't fair. 

Harry also realized that if he had something that good to fuck all the time, 
he'd go after that research money with a vengeance. That's why Carl was 
rooting for it so. But damnation, Harry needed it worse. He'd never had a 
piece that juicy in his whole life! 

Harry jerked harder on his bursting prick as he saw Sam spread her even 
wider and begin to tickle her clitoris... and she was shoving it up to him 
and loving it! Then Harry had to clamp one hand around his own mouth for 
fear of groaning out loud and spoiling everything. 



Sam looked down at the writhing, beautiful, naked woman as he applied the 
finger to her agitated quivering clitoris. Her love juice was pouring out 
like a damned fountain now, and her hips were arching up to him like a 
gyrating belly dancer afraid of losing her job! Oh God, he had to taste that 
before he fucked her senseless. 

He leaned down suddenly and moved his finger off the button. He put his 
teeth where his finger had been and gently took the erect shuddering 
clitoris between them and bit gently. 

Every muscle in her body ridged and quaked as though she was being 
electrocuted, and her hips lifted completely as she ground that shaking tiny 
center of her slit up to his admiring tongue and teeth. 

Her head flailed as she screamed, "Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-od-d-d!" His tongue 
licked into her juicy split seam, lapping up her musky, womanly fluids, and 
he thought she was going to faint. 

"Take me," she wailed, almost weeping again. "Take me!" "Ta-a-a-ak-k-k-e 
me-e-e-e-e! Fuck me please... fuck...!" The tears were streaming now from 
her eyes, closed and contorted like her lust-crazed face. 

"Don't cry, ba... by..." he panted. "Here it is!" He raised himself on his 
hands and toes in a pushup and looked down the space between their bodies to 
his weeping cock that was just as crazy with the waiting as she was. He 
aimed it and hesitated, hanging poised above her quaking body. And then he 
dived straight for her open wet-petaled pussy that needed him so. 

"Ah-h-hhhhhhhhhhh Godddddddddd!" she screamed as the huge blunted long blade 
cut straight into her very being, filling her to bursting! Her aching, empty 
void was filled, and she felt her muscular walls close around his pulsating 
cock gratefully and hold him hard and close inside her. 

Sam began to stroke into her almost immediately. He'd dragged it out so long 
he felt like he was dying. He could hear the sluicing of his aching rod slip 
into the slippery hot hollow of her vaginal passage... the sound of fucking! 
The sound of fucking coming just after her lewd pleading sent him ramming 
into her like a maniacal jack-hammer. 

"Jesus... J-eeee-s-s-s-u-u-u-us-s-s!" The sounds spewed from Sam's lips as 
he humped and pumped it into her steaming, boiling cunt. He'd never felt a 
pussy so tight and clasping in his life! She was tighter than a friggin' 
virgin! It was like plunging into a vise that sheathed his rocky prick and 
skinned it deliriously close and then clenched it and shook it when the head 
hit her cervix. 

Maeve had forgotten the feel of the grass mashed under her, the warmth of 
the sun where it hit her in patches, the glare coming in dappled spaces to 
hurt her eyes... the scent of the woods or the terror of being seen. She 
could only respond to and sense the stimuli that emanated from this 
straight, hard, lean hawk of a man who fucked her now! Oh God, was he 
fucking her! 

With every thrust of his hard body, sending his gigantic steel penis ramming 
into her very depths, she knew she was being fucked completely out of her 
mind! Her hands caught his narrow granite buttocks as far as she could 
reach, and her nails dug into his flesh with the quakes that were shaking 
her closer and closer. The weight of him pressed on her was so delicious and 
felt so right and good that she found she was weeping now from sheer joy. 
The bliss and ecstasy of lying with him between her legs, his chest mashing 
her breasts, his face buried against her throat so that his breath blew a 
blast furnace of passion on her skin! 

Sam could feel the steaming, churning, swirling vat of semen about to burst 
the seams of his bloated balls as they swung and smacked against her ass 
when he dived his fiery cock into the blazing passage that clutched his so 
lustfully. He'd needed a fuck, and by God, he was sure getting one. 
Damnation! This was one hell of a hot woman! 

Suddenly her legs clutched him higher and higher as she strove mightily to 
grind her twitching clitoris up to harder contact. 

"That's... it... baby... grind it up to me!" he urged, the breath whistling 
through his mouth and lungs in heavy labor. 

"Fuck... harder... fuck hard!" she panted, and her legs were up around his 
body, clenching him like curled scissors, and she rode his pole like it was 
a merry-go-round! And by God, he was going to see she got the brass ring! 



Harry was shucking his cock up and down in a maniacal jacking, his hand as 
slippery as his fluid-soaked prick... his eyes fastened on Sam and Maeve, 
who were fucking like crazed people out in the sun on the grass. With every 
up-and-down move of his hand he could imagine he was sinking his maddened 
rod deep into Maeve's pink-lipped pussy. He was getting so close he was 
going to spill his whole load soon, so he backed off a little, trying to 
time his own orgasm to Maeve's. If he could do that, he could almost imagine 
himself sunk to the hilt in her passionate sucking cunt. 



Maeve's body began to twitch and writhe in time to Sam's ardent fucking so 
they met with a smacking, sucking sound in mid-air and she could feel bone 
grind on bone with the intensity of his thrusts. Her thighs clutched him 
high so that her whole velvety-fleshed wet cunt hole was open for his 
onslaughts, and she could feel him dig deeper and deeper inside her. Her 
nails were digging narrow little stripes down his shoulders and back as 
though a cat were clawing him. She felt his hands slide under her and grip 
the cheeks of her ass up to him even higher. 

Sam lifted his face briefly and stared down past his lean belly as he 
shifted into a longer and even deeper stroke, seeing the glistening cock 
veins stand out as he withdrew till only the head was inside and then 
watching her hairy cunt hungrily gobble him up on the instroke. The noises 
coming from her chest became broken gasps of pleasure, her groin flailing 
and writhing under him insanely and her heels beating and spurring him on. 

He lunged harder than ever, catching her mouth with his, and tongue-fucking 
her in time to his bombarding, rapacious shaft. She groaned deep in her 
throat in anguish, her hands clawing at his back and then catching his 
buttocks and pulling, in an attempt to make his prick pierce her entirely 
through to her very vitals. Suddenly she stiffened, her body rigid, and she 
lifted so high it was as though she hung in mid-air, supported only by the 
hardened length of flesh inside her. 

"Oooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!... I... cummmmmmm! Pleeeeeeeeeeese!" 

The moment her body stiffened and she began to scream, Sam felt his 
hard-driving cock explode his boiling sperm deep into her womb, the spurts 
soaring like a geyser, and his prick sputtered and jerked, spewing the 
long-stored cum deep into her belly. He felt Maeve's legs shoot straight out 
into the air, frozen there as she reached the full intensity of her climax 
and he emptied and emptied his aching balls into her demanding body. 

Finally both bodies went limp and collapsed in a heap, Maeve's teeth pulling 
away from Sam's shoulder, where they had sunk in exaltation. His breath was 
wheezing past her ear, and occasionally they twitched in final spasms 
together. Harry was still sitting on the ground, trying to keep his own 
breath as quiet as possible, and his chest heaved and the last few drops of 
his sperm dribbled out the end of his deflating cock. They pooled on the 
ground between his bony knees. 

Chapter Five 

Harry drove quickly and carefully. He couldn't spoil it now by careening 
over one of those cliffs that plunged straight down to the Pacific below. 
No, his chance had come and he was going to take it. What was the line... 
there comes a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on 
to fortune... or something like that. 

He'd hightailed it out of those woods before Maeve and Sam had recovered 
from their orgasms, had a shower, and told Jo he had some errands in town. 
She'd looked up lazily from her labors over the barbecuing turkey that 
turned on the spit of the cooker. 

"It's all right, love. Just be home by supper if you can." He still cringed 
at her British voice after all these years. It was the high-pitched nasal 
twang of the upper-class British female. She'd never let him forget she was 
upper class, either, or that her father had been a British general. But 
money was all she'd ever had. By his own goddamned selfishness he'd gotten 
hooked. 

If he told Carl just right, he mused, his eyes sweeping the road ahead 
expertly, he could so completely undo him that he'd come all apart and muff 
his chance for that research money. He could imagine Carl's face when he 
told him that the Admiral Carl had to get the money from had just screwed 
his wife! You're a prick, Harry Neil, he told himself smugly... a real 
first-class prick. 



Jo wiped her dark hair back from her face with the back of her hand, and her 
face broke into a smile as she saw Farleigh walk up in his heavy boots. 

"Say... ah... Jo." 

"Yes, love," she smiled cordially, putting down her basting spoon and 
sidling up to him with both hands in the pockets of the bright, gaily 
flowered long muumuu she wore. 

"You know anything about this off-site thing I heard Harry and the Admiral 
talking about last night?" He stood with his hands stuck in the back pockets 
of his jeans, his big face frowning a little. Jo was looking at him like he 
was a cup of cream and she was a hungry cat. She was one hot piece who was 
hurting for it. Harry didn't do a thing for her, he figured. Under his 
eyelashes, he looked her over, wondering if he wanted the information that 
bad. 

She was slightly plumper that the fashionable figure, of medium height, with 
dark medium-length hair that she wore in a flip that was a little too young 
for her and brown eyes set a little too close together. Not beautiful, but 
certainly not all that bad, either. She wore dowdy clothes like every 
British female he'd ever met, but she looked better today in the long 
flowered thing. 

"Yes... I know a lot..." she purred. "Come on inside. I'll make you a 
screwdriver." Her eyes made the drink a vulgar term. Farleigh decided... 
what the hell! He followed her into the big luxurious trailer. 

She bustled about, Grabbing him by the big muscular arms, she pushed him 
into the deep sofa. "Now, you just make yourself comfortable, and I'll only 
be a second." Mentally Farleigh cringed. That was Jo's whole trouble. She 
pushed people around. Poor old Harry sure showed the effects of it, too. 

Jo settled down on the sofa beside Farleigh, a little too close for polite 
conversation. The screwdriver tasted cold and refreshing. He sipped it 
gratefully. 

"This... uh... off-site thing I heard the Admiral and Harry talking about. 
Harry didn't seem too keen on it." 

Jo laughed harshly, "I should think not. The off-site technique is Carl's 
baby. It would be in direct competition to what Harry wants to do in the 
management department. You may as well know. They're both killing themselves 
to get the research money the Admiral's come out to award. Harry thinks he 
has the edge since the Admiral consented to be our guest here for the 
weekend." 

Farleigh scratched his chin thoughtfully, "Power play, huh?" 

"Something like that." 

"The Admiral said something about a permanent off-site location.... sort of 
a resort place to use for these off-sites for officers." 

"And you want them to select Bendemeer's Stream?" she said quickly in her 
precise English voice. 

Farleigh grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. I do. I'm getting kinda tired of trying 
to keep the hippies out of the bushes and coping with... well... you know 
some of the people I have to put up with. I don't know. Maybe I'm getting 
lazy. I just thought... well... if I could get a contract with the Navy..." 

He took a long pull on his drink. Jo looked at the big, shaggy man 
thoughtfully, feeling her pussy tighten at the thought of those huge arms 
around her. Harry'd been no good to her for years now, and her sex came rare 
and makeshift. It wasn't easy to find when you were a proper professor's 
wife and not that good-looking. Laughable, really, when you knew that Jo had 
been kicked out of every good girls' school in England for sexual capers her 
father had paid a great deal of money to hide. Maybe it was retribution for 
being sexually precocious. She'd never really had this kind of opportunity 
before with Farleigh, and she wasn't going to let it go, no matter what it 
did to Harry. The impotent bastard! 

"We are having a sort of party tomorrow for the Admiral," she said slowly so 
it would sink in. "And," her hand patted his thigh, "You're invited, of 
course. Would that help?" Her hand simply stayed on his bulging thigh. 

"It sure would! I really appreciate that, Jo. But, I... well... I hate to 
ask you to help me on this... I mean, it wouldn't do Harry any good." 

He felt himself tighten in the groin, despite the fact she wasn't all that 
good-looking. Her hand on his thigh was inching up. 

"Don't you worry about Harry," she said grimly. 

"Well, I sure would be grateful!" he said boyishly. 

"How grateful, Farleigh?" Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils were flaring. 
She'd deliberately let her low-cut drawstring neckline slip so that part of 
one breast and her shoulder were bare. 

"Well, what would I have to do?" he said slowly, knowing full well what she 
wanted. She was almost panting, and her big breasts were visibly rising and 
falling under the full muumuu. 

"Fuck me," she said flatly, her hand moving onto his prick that was half 
hard in his tight jeans. 

"Why, honey. I'd just be proud to do that," he chuckled. Farleigh leaned 
back on the sofa pillows. Jo leaped up and quickly closed the blinds and 
locked the door, her heart pounding already. It had been four months since 
she'd paid the damn golf pro at the country club, and he couldn't even get 
it up again after one quick lay. The damn dildo was all she'd had since, and 
it was damned unsatisfactory. 

"I'll be right back," she flung over her shoulder, and rushed into the 
bedroom. She flung off her Muumuu and bra and panties. From the bottom 
drawer of her chest she pulled out the "fun" costume. It had been necessary 
through the years to find all sorts of things to help her own masturbations 
along to more sophisticated planes. 

She leaned forward, slipping her arms through the filmy sleeves of a short 
bolero. Still leaning over as though she were adjusting her bounteous 
breasts in a bra, she hooked the red velvet bolero tightly between her 
breasts with two hooks. Then she stood erect, and pulled on the filmy harem 
pants that were set on a red velvet yoke that bared her whole belly and most 
of her hips. In the bathroom she flipped a brush through her hair, showered 
herself with a quick spray of perfume, and reached for one of the new 
lipstick gels. Looking in the full-length mirror she carefully stained both 
areolas and nipples that poked through the holes of the bolero with the deep 
red and then tilted her pelvis to reach her pussy. The filmy pants had no 
crotch at all and simply left her cuntal area bare, covering only her legs 
in a thin film of soft folds of nylon. Watching herself in the mirror, she 
carefully stained her labia with the thin red lipstick stain, too. She had 
to keep dabbing with a kleenex between using the lipstick, for she was 
already flowing freely. 

Standing back a little, she surveyed her handiwork. Her big breasts were 
pulled to cones by the short bolero, for it acted as a support just as a bra 
did and the breasts stood naked and well-formed through the supportive 
holes. She parted the filmy folds, revealing her bare, shaven box, reddened 
with the stain and swollen. She squeezed her thighs together and watched the 
lips of her pussy rub together. God, what was she waiting for? She didn't 
have to manipulate her own body now. She had a great big male, a horse, a 
stud right there in her own living room! 

Farleigh had refilled his drink from the orange juice and vodka on the 
kitchen counter. He didn't really need it, but it couldn't hurt. He nearly 
dropped the glass when he turned around and saw Jo coming through the 
trailer's narrow passageway right toward him. Jesus! She hardly looked like 
the same woman! Her tits were poking out through some kind of red top, 
naked... and the nipples were as red as the cloth. Some kind of filmy pants 
clung precariously to her hips and flowed down and were gathered at the 
ankle. Like in the movies in the harem... except... her snatch was bare... 
no crotch in the pants! Jo's was the barest pussy he'd ever seen in his 
life... not a hair! And red, too! 

He set his drink down and reached for her. He caught both red-tipped, 
cone-shaped tits in his hands and pulled her toward him, "Honey, you're 
gonna get more than you bargained for." 



Maeve couldn't believe that her whole life could have changed so radically 
in so short a time. She'd been unfaithful twice, and her twinges of 
conscience that had stabbed her so painfully were now just that... faint 
twinges. 

After their bout in the grass, Sam had insisted she finish her painting! He 
was the strangest man she'd ever met! He seemed to be a walking library and 
museum. His knowledge of art far exceeded her teacher's. Jim Stein seemed 
like an amateur in comparison. 

They'd talked for hours, and she'd never felt so intellectually alive. Never 
in her life had she ever had such a conversation with a man. He respected 
her opinions and talked to her as an equal. She simply couldn't believe it! 

Back at the trailer he'd criticized all the paintings she had there. He was 
right about them, too. She could feel it. His encouragement set her whole 
being aglow, for she knew that he knew what he was talking about. You got so 
bound up in your work that it was sometimes very difficult to turn on the 
critical part of your mind and survey your own work objectively. 

She even found herself telling him about Carl... about Betty. He looked up 
at her quizzically, his hawk eyes asking questions she didn't know how to 
answer. 

"Maeve, child," he said patiently. "You were simply bound up in the 
middle-class morality that says that you, as an animal, must never behave as 
one. Your husband is a brilliant man, but he is also a functional man. His 
sexual behavior is not a shameful thing that nullifies his intellectual 
excellence or his moral courage. The philosophers have truly led us astray 
about this, you know. If Carl were so hidebound that he couldn't enjoy sex 
with your attractive neighbor when it was available... then he'd never be 
able to enjoy it with you, either. Didn't our experience in the woods teach 
you anything? Because I enjoyed you, I do not suddenly love my wife any 
less... nor do I think you love Carl any less." 

She looked up from where she sat on the carpet, one arm on the narrow bench 
along the wall. "No, that's true," she admitted slowly. "But... I guess it's 
a very new idea for me. I'm afraid I swallowed my conventional upbringing 
rather whole." 

"Most of us did, you know. And that same upbringing and the tradition, for 
instance, of the Navy, has made messes of a lot of people, too. That's why 
Carl's work excites me so. I think he's found some tools... at least for the 
Navy Postgraduate School, that could make a lot of people function more 
happily. That's really what my job is all about. Will Carl be coming down 
today, but the way?" 

"I don't... know. I guess so. I'm a little... well... afraid to see him. 
He'll be so happy, though, that you approve of his work." 

Sam reached down and pulled her to her feet. "I need to talk to him more 
about it. Why don't you call him and make up? Then get him to drive down. 
You can tell him... by the way... that the research money is his... or as 
good as. I can't absolutely promise quite yet... but soon." 

"Oh, Sam!" she laughed... feeling she had somehow facilitated Carl's 
success. She felt as though she'd helped... just a little. 



"Fuck harder!... harder!... fuck!" Jo screamed softly, her long-nailed 
fingers digging Farleigh's naked buttocks, trying to shove his huge, ramming 
prick completely up through her body. She'd never felt such a fantastic 
pistoning cock in her life! It was the best fucking she'd ever known! Oh 
God, she'd waited so long... but it was happening... at last it was 
happening! 

She could feel the oozing sop of her last orgasm trickle down the crack in 
her ass, wetting the ivory silk sheets on the king-sized bed. She'd had 
three climaxes so far, and Farleigh was still good for another one or two 
before he blew. She was almost ready for another. She could feel the vaginal 
walls sucking hard and inward on his great, sawing, mammoth penis. Jesus! He 
was a stud. A first-class stud! 

It seemed like all Farleigh had to do was stroke a couple or three times and 
Jo was off again. She must have had at least three orgasms already. This was 
one starving woman, and it didn't take much to set her off. Of course, she 
was probably thirty-eight or thirty-nine. He knew some women went absolutely 
ape in their late thirties and just couldn't get enough. 

He reached down and caught her just under each knee and shoved them back 
till her whole quaking cunt, wet and dripping and bare as a baby's, was open 
to his pumping, laboring shaft. Her legs were bent so her knees touched her 
own shoulders and her whole, soggy, flaming naked crotch was exposed, the 
filmy nylon still falling in folds around her ankles. Farleigh raised 
himself on his knees so he could pound even harder, mashing this wildly 
lusting woman into a ball of carnality. 

"Yesssss... oh, yessssss," she hissed, urging him even farther into her 
clenching, needing hole. This way she could take him even deeper and she 
could reach more of him. Her hands still on his laboring ass, she worked one 
finger into his crack. There she found his asshole, crinkled and 
hair-ringed. She wormed her forefinger into the reluctant opening that 
pushed hard to force her out again, but she persisted. He was slamming that 
huge, swollen horse prick into her now with mounting fury, and she could 
feel the inner furnace working to attain blast level again. She had to make 
his orgasm so overwhelming that he'd come back to fuck her regularly. 

Her finger burrowed farther and farther into him, and he was so 
concentrating on the fucking that he didn't object to the discomfort. 
Finally her finger was in all the way to her palm, and she could feel his 
muscular buttock clenching as he drove his thick, long rigid rod slamming 
into her hot, quivering, simmering pussy. She moved her finger around in his 
asshole, probing and probing carefully. 

"Hey... what... what'd you do, baby? Feels good!" 

Farleigh knew damn well what she was doing, but the only person who'd ever 
done it to him was a doctor when he'd had a checkup. He'd never had a woman 
give him a prostate massage while he was fucking her! God damn! She was 
hotter'n a pistol! He could feel the itching, tingling pleasure in his 
churning gut, and the fuel load building up in his balls was rising to 
blastoff proportions. When he let go, his sperm-laden cum was going to shoot 
out her ears and mouth! He could blast all the way to China! 

Farleigh braced himself by putting both hands on the coned breasts as he 
stroked heavily into Jo's milking, pulling cunt. The breasts were still held 
upright by the bolero, but they were as naked as they needed to be. The 
points of her red-hot nipples burned into his palms. She was an acrobat. Her 
knees must be paining her by now, but she showed no sign of discomfort... 
only the ecstatic contortions of sexual frenzy. 

"How... how... do you like it?" she gasped, the breath laboring through her 
lungs, her finger tickling his prostate through the membrane of his asshole, 
deep in his bowel. 

"Great," he grunted, feeling the boiling sperm swirling faster and faster in 
his aching testes and the head of his hammering cock actually moving her 
womb with each long brutal thrust. The prostate massage was increasing the 
unbearable pressure in his swollen balls as she was skillfully triggering 
his imminent and massive orgasm. 

His hands left her breasts and grasped the upturned globes of her white ass. 
Farleigh suddenly increased his rhythm and drove the aching, blood-gorged 
prong into her slippery, sucking cunt with a blinding fury. He knew a hard 
prick had no conscience, but he knew that a wet cunt didn't have one, 
either. 

Jo's head began to flop back and forth on the pillow like a wounded bird, 
and the pleasure moans coming from her lips were trying to form words to 
communicate her impending climax. Every muscle in her body was straining and 
urging and cording to climb the peak of rapture she was so close to. 
Farleigh knew he couldn't hold out this time. When she went, he'd blow out 
himself. Oh God, it was so close and was going to be so mind-blowing good 
and the explosion might just kill him. But what a way to go! 

"Go-o-o-o-o-d-d-d-d-d-d!" she gasped, pulling her finger from his asshole 
and pushing his buttocks unmercifully with her digging fingers, trying to 
drive him all the way through to her backbone. "Ahh-h-hhhhhhh-hhh," she 
whined, her head twisting and flopping. 

Suddenly she arched up by digging her heels against his shoulders, and as 
Farleigh roared home she screamed, "CUM-M-M-M-M-M! Cummmm 
w-i-i-i-t-t-t-h-h-h meeeeeeeeee!" 

Farleigh felt her lewd scream trigger the great churning load he'd dammed up 
too long. Shoulders hunched, he almost stood on his own prick as he slashed 
it into the flowing hole beneath him, bellowing against her neck like a bull 
as the mighty blastoff roared down the constricted tunnel of his cock. 
"JEEEEEEEEE-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-su-SUSUSUSUS! 

Chapter Six 

"Carl?... Carl?" Harry banged on the door again, but only silence echoed 
through the seemingly empty house. Damn! Not at the office and not at home. 
Where the hell was he? Harry knew he could be a million places, from the 
grocery store to the library. It was just that Harry had things so planned 
out in his head about how to tell Carl about Maeve and the Admiral. Harry 
had to tell him, damn it. It would spoil everything if he didn't. 

He kept banging, knowing it was futile. Wearily he walked back to his car 
and got in, leaving the door open, wondering if he should wait a while and 
see if Carl showed up or whether to just drive back down to Bendemeer's 
Stream and hope he could get Carl alone later. 

A crunching of gravel on the driveway behind him sent Harry's thin neck 
twisting, hoping it was Carl. It wasn't. It was a gorgeous female body, 
tanned and luscious with mouthwatering curves covered only by the briefest 
of yellow bikinis. Harry shaded his eyes against the bright sun as she 
walked up the drive toward him, her hips swinging and her boobs bouncing 
almost out of the bikini bra. She was almost to him when the shade from the 
carport hit her and he could see it was Betty Lunsford. 

"Why, Harry, I didn't know it was you! I just saw somebody over here banging 
on the door for so long... I thought I better come see about it. Maeve's 
down at Bendemeer's Stream... I guess you know. And I guess Carl's just not 
home yet." 

"Yeah, I guess not," Harry grinned halfheartedly, his eyes trying to fix the 
sight of her indelibly in his mind. He and Jo had never seen too much of the 
Lunsfords down at Bendemeer's Stream on weekends. The Lunsford's trailer was 
quite a distance from theirs, and he, unlike Carl, didn't really think it 
too good an idea to mix too much socially with the students. It destroyed 
the teacher-student relationship. 

Looking at Betty's luxuriant curves now, though, all but naked, he wondered 
if he'd done the right thing. He'd never seen her like this, and she was 
delectable! He could feel his cock stir, and he was so grateful. God! Maybe 
it was coming back! First this morning, watching Maeve and the Admiral, and 
now he was coming to life just looking at Betty. 

She posed with her arm along the open car door and looked at him, smiling. 
She was close enough that he could smell her suntan oil. 

"Well, you look right downhearted, Harry," she said lazily, and her voice, 
soft and syrupy and imprecise in her southern drawl, so different from Jo's 
crisp orders, came out and caressed him like a kindly hand. 

"I guess I... am... a little," he stammered. 

"Well, I know how to deal with that. You need a long cool drink and a little 
rest in the shade," she said softly. Her tongue came out to lick her lips 
provocatively. 

Harry swallowed and tried to look away, but her cat-green eyes held his. 
"I... well... I guess I should be getting back." 

"It won't take long... and you'll feel better for the long drive. George and 
I are going down tomorrow. That's why he's working so hard today. But we're 
going down tomorrow, and I'm taking a ham and things... to sort of help 
entertain the Admiral, you know. George's still at the school, doing his 
homework." 

Harry presently found himself ensconced under the roofed patio of the 
Lunsford house with a long cool drink in his hand and his shoes off. He 
couldn't remember ever having agreed to coming over, but Betty had somehow 
taken the decision out of his hands. He was more comfortable than he'd been 
in years, lying propped on a huge lounge with Betty fluttering around to 
anticipate his every wish. He envied George Lunsford more than he'd ever 
envied anybody... except maybe Carl Crandall. 

"You just work too hard, Harry," he heard her say. "You've got to take 
better care of yourself. You must just worry the life out of Jo." Harry 
snorted mentally at the idea of Jo worrying about him... ever. 

Betty sat down on the edge of the lounge, leaning one arm across him. Harry 
had to close his eyes briefly to try and get control of himself. Her big 
beautiful tanned breasts were almost completely out of the bra top, spilling 
in amplitude over the edge of the yellow cloth. He could feel his prick 
practically hard! It was coming up again... just the way it had this 
morning! 

Images were racing through his brain... ridiculous Walter Mitty fantasies 
about what he might do to this lovely creature, and she welcoming it and...! 
But he knew it was no use. He'd never been a ladies' man, and he was too 
middle-aged and beaten down now to ever be. 

"You're awful quiet, Harry." Her hand caught his and patted it. "I just 
plain ramble on too much, I know." 

"Oh, no, you don't," he burst out, squeezing her hand boldly. "I'm just 
not... well, I never know what to say to a beautiful woman... when I have 
the opportunity..." he ended lamely. He could feel his rod coming all the 
way up, and he tried surreptitiously to cross his legs and hide its obvious 
presence. 

"Don't tell me you don't know what to say," she whispered softly, looking 
straight into his eyes. "Well," she amended, "you may be a little unsure of 
yourself here," her fingers came up to touch his mouth gently, "but you sure 
know what to say here." Her hand trailed down to brush his bulging cock in 
the front of his pants. 

Harry almost came off the couch at the touch of her hand on his erect and 
bundled-up penis. He jumped as though shot, and his hips lunged forward to 
keep her hand in contact with him through the cloth. "God, Betty," he 
gritted through his clenched teeth. 

"Feel good to you, Harry?" she inquired in a whisper, crossing her bronzed, 
shapely thighs which only emphasized her V-ed crotch that drew his eyes like 
a magnet. "I've always admired you so, but I've never really had the chance 
to talk to you much before." And her eyes looked down demurely. 

"Betty..." Harry swallowed hard. 

"Yes, Harry," she whispered, leaning toward him and showing both reddish 
nipples peeking from inside the bra. 

"I..." But he never finished. He just closed his eyes and grabbed her by her 
tanned arms and pulled her down on his chest to kiss her. Her mouth 
immediately opened under his, and Harry plunged his tongue in hungrily, 
groaning deep in his throat. Christ! It was so good to kiss a woman again... 
a real woman... soft and sensuous and delicate. He could smell her faint 
perfume. The skin of her tanned back was still warm from the sun, and her 
breasts mashed into his thin chest. His hands roamed down her hips to her 
round buttocks, barely covered with the narrow strip of cloth. 

His cock was throbbing in a stiff erection, just as it had this morning. He 
couldn't believe it! After all this time when he couldn't raise it if his 
life depended on it, and here... twice in one day! Jo. Just as he'd 
suspected all this time. Jo... the domineering bitch! She was the reason! 
She'd castrated him! All he needed was a real woman. That's all! 

The more Harry tongue-fucked Betty, the stiffer his rod rose. He explored 
the whole warm wet inside of her mouth all the way to her tonsils, while his 
hands came around to snake inside the tiny bra and cup the full heavy weight 
of her hot breasts. The nipples popped straight out like hard little 
diamonds in his palms. Mentally he berated himself for not realizing sooner 
that Betty had a "thing" for him. Hell, he'd never even really looked at her 
before... at least not this much of her. 

Betty smoothed her hand over Harry's lumped-up cock that was jumping inside 
his clothes like a horny seventeen-year-old's. So Harry had balls after all! 
Everybody laughed about him behind his back. Henpecked to death and the 
caricature of all the Casper Milquetoasts in literature. But then, she'd 
never known a man yet who was impotent with her. Careful, she warned. He 
could lose that erection at the slightest little thing. Some silly thing in 
his head that had nothing to do with her could turn him completely off. She 
decided then what she'd do. 

Her hands worked gently but quickly as her tongue responded to his. She 
swiftly unzipped his pants and reached her hand inside to find it. The skin 
was smooth and velvety, and she gently disengaged his throbbing prod from 
the jail of his shorts... pulling it out till it rose through the fly 
openings and jutted skyward. 

"Oh... Harry..." she moaned around his tongue to let him know she approved 
of the thick, rigid instrument in her hand. She smoothed it with both hands, 
one after the other, from head to base, and she thought he was going to come 
right off the pad. This poor devil was really in a bad way. 

Well, she was hedging her bets. If she didn't get Carl,' she'd get Harry... 
but one way or the other she was getting up a little higher in the world 
than a lieutenant's wife. 

Betty reached one hand behind her and untied the strings that held up the 
bra of her bikini, pulling it away from her breasts. Harry's hands came up 
to squeeze them feverishly, and the moans coming from deep in his chest were 
turning to pants. 

Her hands on his naked, hardened prick set the breath coming out of him in 
gasps. He'd almost forgotten the feel of a woman's hands... smoothing and 
teasing and skinning his erect and quivering member. Her breasts felt like 
balls of fleshy fire in his hands... they were so hot and heaving. He felt 
like he could juggle them forever... but there was her tanned belly to 
explore with the little tight inward bud of her navel. 

Harry's balls were churning vats of swirling sperm that seemed to increase 
with the feel of her hands and breast and tongue... like the boiling froth 
that rose up in a pot of bubbling jam to spill over the sides. Jacking off 
this morning while watching Maeve and the Admiral was nothing compared to 
what he was going to feel when he spewed his load into Betty's tanned firm 
belly. 

"Harry," she breathed, pulling her mouth away and looking at him with hooded 
eyes, deep and mysterious and full of promise. 

"Oh, Betty..." His hands held her breasts up like chalices, and he bent his 
head forward to suck first one and then the other. 

"O-o-o-o-oooooooooooo!" she squealed, thrusting them farther into his 
frantic mouth that wished it were two, to lick and tongue and bite them both 
at once. Then one of his hands came down her belly like a gliding snake to 
curl inside the top of her bikini bottom, the fingers meshed in her pubic 
hair. 

"Wait..." she sighed, and stood up momentarily to take it off. Harry looked 
up at this vision who'd brought him such a miracle. She was looking at him 
hungrily and yet somehow shyly, too. He pulled her white-patched golden body 
down to lie along his chest, and his hands blazed the silky trails of her 
sensual curves and valleys and hillocks. God! To hold that naked vision and 
feel the warmth of her! 

She pulled away again, but only to smooth her hand inside his sport shirt 
and feel his sparse-haired chest. And then she smiled and pulled back, 
letting her hands capture his naked, lascivious shaft again, poking through 
his clothes like a giant fair-skinned sausage, veined and pulsing. 

Suddenly Harry saw her head dip, and she kissed the bulbous head of his 
jumping cock. 

"Oh-h-h-h-h-h!" he groaned, shoving his hips forward and feeling the 
incredible, glorious, unbelievable sensation of her lips on him. Slowly she 
slid her red mouth down on the quivering head, and he felt he was being 
killed with sheer blissful joy... that he would collapse at any moment. 

"Ohhhh... suck it. SUCK IT!" he yelled, catching her golden head in his 
hands and pushing it farther over the long hard rod. Obediently she opened 
her mouth wider and slid it over his quaking, sensitive prick. She moved her 
mouth downward, taking more and more of it till Harry could feel the head 
mashing against the back of her throat. On the uptake she sucked hard as 
though he had a particularly delicious milkshake between his legs and it was 
so thick she had to suck really hard to get anything. 

"Goddddddddddd!" he grunted out. 

When she got to the tip of the head she ran her lips back down the length of 
it, lipping the rigid probe softly. She returned to the tip then and opened 
her lips again, and let the rubbery tip of his penis slide easily into her 
saliva-filled mouth. Then she rubbed her lips softly against the foreskin, 
and a quick shudder ran through Harry's narrow thighs. 

Betty swallowed more of his cock. Its thickness almost choked her 
momentarily, but she adjusted her mouth to accommodate it better. She moved 
her mouth up and down, swirling her tongue around it in a dervish dance that 
was sending Harry right up the wall. She was a damn good cocksucker and she 
knew it... glorying in her power to turn this thin tied-in-knots man into a 
roaring bull. 

The heavy penis throbbed in her mouth as she struggled for more breath. She 
began to suck again, moving her head more rapidly now up and down the shaft. 
She could feel the flesh of her ovaled lips pulling out each time she slid 
her mouth to the tip. 

Harry was writhing, humping his thin shanks and loins up to her greedy, 
skillful mouth and tongue which played his organ like a concert master. His 
hands were memorizing her naked, body like a poem, going over and over the 
lines. One hand found the wetness between her thighs and lunged into the 
dark, damp recess there. Jesus! She was juicy and sopping with desire. 
Desire for him! He wanted to fuck his whole aching, throbbing cock right 
into that delicious hole, but he couldn't bear to have her take her mouth 
off him. 

As a substitute he slipped his finger in her slippery slit, and she 
immediately arched up to him, giving him even greater access to the swollen, 
opening lips and inner secrets of her pussy. Her mouth and tongue never 
stopped their diligent, loving labor on his shaking, jerking rod. 

As his hand slid in her juicy canal, her tongue whirled and licked and 
sucked. He was in a heaven that he'd forgotten existed and never thought to 
enter, and he still didn't know what he'd done to deserve this temporary 
entrance to indescribable rapture. 

"Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h," he groaned fitfully, lifting his hips now to shove his 
driving, seeking penis even farther into the lewdly erotic hot cave of her 
mouth. His hand was sluicing her narrow slit with two fingers, and her inner 
secret center was pouring out the news of her rising, screaming desire. He 
touched the bell of her clitoris, and the clanging sent reverberations 
shivering through her whole body in ever-widening ripples, for he could feel 
her shake and moan around his prick. 

She tried harder than ever to cram his cock all the way in until her nose 
was touching the upstanding prickly pubic hairs in his groin. She could feel 
his finger sloshing through her cunt, teasing her clit, and then plunging 
into her clutching vagina. She could hear the sucking sounds her mouth made 
on his rigid prong. His finger was sending shivering signals through her 
whole body, and she increased the frantic sucking of her constricted mouth 
on Harry's hard meat. 

He was almost there. She could feel the blood racing in his shaft and the 
fevered lifts and thrusts of his loins as he tried to gag her completely 
with his digging prick. He sensed that she was getting close, too, for he 
dug two fingers harshly into her dripping, clenching, in-sucking, cunt. Her 
head bobbed faster and faster, and she spread her legs as wide as she could 
so he could finger-fuck her to a climax, hopefully in time with his. Old 
Harry was going to come completely unglued when she sucked him dry! 

Harry dug his fingers desperately into her slippery, milking pussy that 
sucked his fingers as if they were the most delicious ramming cock in the 
world. He pressed his thumb on the button of her quivering, erect clit while 
his fingers dug deeper than ever. She ground her pelvis up greedily, as 
though her starving cunt wanted to devour his whole hand. 



Carl leaned back in the hard wooden chair wearily, rubbing the bridge of his 
nose where his reading glasses cut into the flesh. He put his glasses down 
on the polished library table and stretched. His muscles felt cramped, and 
he was bone-tired. But it was a good tiredness. He knew he had all the bugs 
out of his presentation now. It was the best he could give it, and he knew 
it was damn good. If the Admiral didn't buy this,, he'd be very surprised. 
But even if he didn't, Carl felt it was a really solid piece of work, and he 
felt good about it. 

He stood up and gathered his papers and books together in a neat pile. He 
stretched again. God, it felt good to stand up. The damn library chairs were 
never made for long sitting, but he had to get out of the office. Too many 
phone calls... too many people dropping by. 

Driving down the coast road, his tie off and his jacket thrown in the back 
seat on his canvas weekend bag, Carl went over the proposal again in his 
head. He still couldn't find any objection the Admiral could have to it... 
provided Carl had read him right and the guy really was interested in 
reforms for officers. 

Well, he'd find out soon now. His hands gripped the wheel. There were so 
many things he'd find out soon. Whether he still had a wife or not. Whether 
the Admiral was actually going to give him his big chance. How deep Harry 
had plunged that knife in his back by getting first crack at the Admiral. He 
had to admit grudgingly that Harry'd had a stroke of genius in asking the 
Admiral to Bendemeer's Stream for the weekend. Carl cursed himself for not 
thinking of it first. But you can't win 'em all. 

He flipped on the radio, and the soft music flowed out. Some Irish ballad. 
It made him think of Maeve. She loved music like that. And he loved her. 

Some long agonizing soul-searching had finally produced that rather 
pertinent fact. Last night he'd gotten drunk by himself... alone in the 
house... all by himself. 

Betty'd called and told him she'd talked to Maeve and where she was and the 
plans for entertaining the Admiral tomorrow. He'd been pretty goddamned 
short with her. He knew he was guilty as hell, but somehow her nerve, in 
calling Maeve only a few hours after Betty'd been lying screeching under 
him, set his teeth on edge. She seemed to think everything was going to go 
on. Carl hadn't bothered to tell her he thought Maeve had seen them. God, 
why give that bitch any more ammunition? 

He just knew one thing for certain. He loved his wife and he wanted her back 
and Betty Lunsford could go to hell! Let her work her machinations on 
somebody else. She'd only got her hooks in him because he'd been so starved 
for sex for three months. He knew that was his fault now, too. Well, he 
decided grimly, that was never going to happen again, either. 

When the announcer's voice came blasting through, he quickly twirled the 
dial to another station. He settled back again and lit a cigarette. 

So Maeve was an art nut. So what? Big deal. There were a lot worse things 
she could do. Like fucking the neighbors' husbands the way Betty Lunsford 
did. He'd seen suburban wives go through that routine before Betty even, and 
he knew Maeve had never even entertained the thought. He was damned lucky. 
The only difference was... now he knew it. 



There was something extremely salacious about sucking a man's cock when he 
was fully dressed, except for the long, upstanding, naked, blue-veined prick 
poling up from his groin. Betty sucked deeply on the throbbing instrument 
and then pulled her head back till only the knob of the head was in her 
mouth, and her tongue flicked out to burrow into the tiny slit that was 
oozing his fluid copiously. 

Harry had one hand in her ponytail, pushing her down over the huge pulsating 
fleshy stem, and the other sank deeply into her hot sloshing pussy. 

Betty could feel the inching forest fire his digging fingers had set, 
spreading through the plains of her arching body. Above her own moaning she 
could hear the shuddering grunts Harry was making and the tortuous 
breathing. 

"Suu-u-u-u-u-u-c-c-k-k-k," he groaned as he ground his vibrating cock up to 
her voracious, salivating mouth. He was still rock-hard and rigid as steel, 
forged with the strength of knowing he had a huge hard-on that felt as 
though it could go on till hell froze over. If he hadn't been so busy he 
could almost have wept with joy over the first truly successful erection 
he'd had in so long he didn't even want to try to remember. 

Harry didn't know when things began to go wrong with Jo. God knows she had 
always been a hot piece, but it happened not too long after they were 
married when he could see that he could never live up to her holy father, 
whom she worshipped. Bit by bit his own self-confidence had crumbled until 
there was nothing he felt he could do that would be acceptable or 
praiseworthy in her eyes. He'd always known when his interest and desire 
began to really go that his creeping impotence was a vengeance, a 
punishment, a weapon to hurt her as badly as she'd hurt him. It hadn't even 
mattered that logically it hurt him, too. It had almost seemed a worthwhile 
sacrifice. 

But now... now that he had a real erection with a woman slobbering and 
crooning over it in a lewd cock-sucking trance... he knew he could never go 
back to his forced chastity... for punishment or any other reason. He had to 
fuck... hot and hard and often! 

Harry could feel the pressure building up in his testicles. The semen was 
surging back and forth, and seemed to build up a larger and larger volume 
every shattering second. He wondered for one uncertain minute if he should 
try to separate his cock from her searing mouth in order to fuck her, but 
the thought of parting with that greedy suctioning vacuum was unbearable. He 
lifted his hips and cradled her naked shoulders so she was curled across him 
and he could forage even more furiously into her hot, erotically sucking 
cunt. 

The pale blond fleece of her pubic covering was matted and wet with the 
seeping, dripping fluid from deep inside her quaking body. He wanted to lick 
it... all the juicy love dew that proclaimed she wanted him, but, again, he 
could not gather the strength to move her elasticized mouth drawing his own 
cum closer and closer to the gushing point. 

"Mmmmmmm-mmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmm!" she moaned unintelligibly around his prick, 
her mouth so full of near-exploding cock that she couldn't articulate the 
wild raging riotous sensations that centered in her own fiery cunt. She was 
close and edging ever closer, and she guzzled Harry's pole feverishly for 
she wanted him to fill her mouth with his steaming, creamy cum as she 
erupted in the giant quake that was sending warning rumbles through her 
whole body. 

Harry made incredibly lascivious slurping noises in the still air by the 
hard hand-fucking he was giving her wet, wanting pussy. Her hips were 
flailing and rolling and grinding the sopping hair-matted quivering cunt up 
to his pillaging fingers to keep the sensual agitation at the frantic pitch 
of sensation that her too-full mouth tried vainly to communicate. She was 
rising up and down, head bobbing faster and faster on his screaming cock and 
her hips contorting wildly to an increasing tempo. 

Suddenly Harry felt her stiffen, rigid as a corpse, and her mouth clamped 
tighter and her teeth raked painfully. The pain-pleasure of her teeth set 
off the ignition cap and his balls wadded in knots and then... 

"CUMMMMMMM," he bellowed, "CUM...on!" And his groin lifted his buttocks 
completely off the lounge, and his cock spewed a blast of boiling semen in a 
mighty roar down the very back of her sucking throat. 

His hand was clasped by the powerful muscles of her vagina like a vise or a 
bear trap, and he grabbed the pubic bone between his thumb and digging 
fingers, hanging on to the exploding, inward-sucking organ like a life rope. 
Her rigid body shuddered in quaking spasms, her thighs trying to wrap around 
his forearm. Her orgasm was as violent as his, and she shook as hard as he 
did. 

She sucked and swallowed as fast as she could, gagging and spluttering to 
contain the enormous amount of liquid that gushed out of Harry's penis into 
her throat with the force of an engine-propelled jet-stream. The hot carnal 
flow was blazing, and she swallowed rapidly, her Adam's apple working 
furiously. Sucking and swallowing, she felt the flaming lava erupt in her 
opening cavern, and it flowed in hot trails throughout the country of her 
body... searing and destroying the entire countryside to leave her 
devastated and spent... a totally destroyed entity. 

Smaller and smaller quakes still shook them as the rocketing orgasms leveled 
and left them spent and exhausted and a seeping peace chloroformed their 
senses Slowly Betty raised her weary head, a long spittle of semen stringing 
up from Harry's cock to her slack mouth. She looked at him blearily and 
smiled reflectively. 

Chapter Seven 

Maeve began to get uneasy after Sam had gone back to the Lunsford trailer to 
change for dinner. She sighed and picked up the scattered paintings and 
drawings. Never had she felt so good about her work or so sure of where she 
was going with it, but she could not put off any longer the nagging worry 
about Carl. 

Logically he would arrive either tonight or in the morning. She hadn't 
called him as Sam urged her to. She couldn't. She just couldn't! Not after 
what she'd done and felt and been since she'd last seen him. The thought of 
facing him in the flesh soon turned her insides to quaking knots of tension. 

She must have been completely out of her mind! Her guilt was far worse than 
his. She'd... twice... with different men! He'd only been with one scheming 
slut who must have seduced him. And Maeve had given herself to two men... a 
double vengeance for Carl's single transgression. Hell had no wrath like a 
woman scorned! 

Woodenly she showered and pulled on a faded old calico gypsy skirt and a 
fresh white peasant blouse and soft espadrilles with comfortable rope soles. 
She moved slowly, her head beginning to ache and her stomach still tense 
with anxiety. 

Absently she opened the refrigerator door, remembering she'd hardly eaten 
all day. The clock ticked loudly on the shelf, and the sight of its 
old-fashioned face in the round brass frame brought tears to her eyes. The 
children had given it to her on her last birthday. How could she ever look 
at their lovely, trusting little faces again when she wasn't even worthy to 
be Carl's wife any more? 

Savagely she hacked away some ham from the piece she'd brought. She tried to 
remember all the comforting things Sam had said to her... about instincts 
and philosophy and middle-class morality... but they only seemed like rather 
poor justifications now. 

She clung to the central fact of Sam's approval of Carl's work and his 
promise that Carl could have the research money. At least she could be happy 
about that and feel that maybe she'd had a tiny part in making it happen. 

Then her hand stopped spreading the slices of bread. How would Carl take it 
if he found out that his precious research money had been bought with her 
own body. Oh, God! She hadn't thought of that before. Carl would be 
destroyed... completely destroyed... by his stupid, weak and wanton wife. 
She could hear the gossip now. 

Oh, God in heaven, what had she done! She slid onto the bench at the postage 
stamp dining table and put her arms on it and let her head sink down in 
bitter sobs. It was hopeless... completely hopeless. It wasn't Betty who had 
taken her husband. Maeve had killed her own marriage with no help from 
anybody. She'd done it herself. Her husband, her children, her life... gone. 

Finally the racking sobs shuddered to dry heaves and then to long painful 
breaths. She stood up and put the food away. She couldn't eat. It would only 
be regurgitated by her clenched stomach. Her head was splitting now, and the 
guilt and shame were gnawing at her vitals to produce a sharp physical pain 
in her abdomen. 

With her hand on the refrigerator door, she froze to a breathless agony, for 
she heard the redwood gate open and close. Her eyes went to the door and 
watched in terror as it opened and Carl came into the trailer. 

She looked so fragile and drained, her little face white as parchment and 
her eyes enormous brown pools of hurt. Carl felt a stab of guilt that 
knotted his very guts. He'd done this to her. Oh God! He rushed in and 
gathered her to him, burying his face in, her soft throat. 

"Oh, baby. Don't look like that. I can't stand it." He squeezed her close in 
his arms, and her beautiful little body had never felt so small and 
defenseless. His hand came up behind her to clutch the small round skull 
through her silky brown hair, and his lips were buried against her slender 
throat. 

Carl's chest was so tight and constricted he thought he was going to make a 
fool of himself and cry. His throat worked, closing and aching. He kissed 
her neck and cheeks and temples and nose. 

"Please, darling. I can't stand it if you won't forgive me. You've got to." 
His arms closed even more fiercely around her. "I've been a goddamned fool 
and a bastard... but I promise you it will never... never happen again." He 
caught her mouth and kissed her passionately. "I love you. I love you so 
damn much... I got roaring drunk last night alone in the house... and I 
realized that when you were gone... there was nothing... nothing.... Oh God, 
baby... say something. Please... please forgive me." 

Maeve stood in his arms as though dead, feeling his lips and his arms and 
listening to him beg for forgiveness, and it all seemed to be happening to 
another woman... one she had been a long time ago. Someone Carl had loved. 
Someone the children loved. 

He was begging for her forgiveness! And she had done so much worse to him... 
and he didn't even know! The tears welled up from the pain that clutched her 
gut, like the sweat from unbearable agony, and they poured from her eyes in 
a cloudburst, and the sobs racked her with choking hysteria that was ripped 
from her lungs like flesh tearing. 

"Oh God, honey. Please don't cry like that... please... I can't stand it... 
I've done this to you... don't... don't!" Carl dropped his head to her neck 
again, and the tears poured from his eyes as they hadn't since he was seven 
years old. 

They stood crying and sobbing, holding onto each other to keep from 
falling... and hoping the flood would somehow wash them clean and fit again. 

The sky was almost dark now, and Harry stood with the Admiral looking at the 
deepening shadows devour the running river. Their drinks made tinkling 
noises as the ice hit the sides of the glasses, and there was a distant 
hootowl questioning the night air. 

"How was the fishing this morning?" Harry asked slowly, for he'd played all 
his other cards and hadn't gotten to first base. The bastard thought Carl's 
work more "exciting" and innovative than his! Oh, he hadn't said so in so 
many words, but the message had come through loud and clear. 

"I think that's a rather irrelevant question, Harry. Certainly unworthy of a 
man in your position as a department head," Sam said casually, sipping on 
his drink and looking at the far shore of the river. 

"But..." The nerve of the guy! He knew! Harry could tell he knew that Harry 
knew about his hay sessions with Maeve in the woods, and he had the 
effrontery to reprimand Harry Neil as a department head! Harry swallowed 
hard and gave it one more try. 

"But, sir... Carl's theories have only been tried with a very few civilian 
corporations with a handful of executives. There's been no test case at all 
for any of the services... such as the Navy." 

"That's true," Sam agreed, and did not ask Harry to drop the "sir" this 
time. 

"Well..." Harry had to press this advantage while he could, and pray that 
Carl would muff it. "Wouldn't it make sense to have such a test case?" 

"There's an element of time, Harry." 

"I realize that, sir. That's why I suggested it. Well, I mean... if this is 
going to revolutionize the interpersonal relationships of community, family 
and officers... well, we've got a pretty good sampling of that right here. 
The Lunsfords... he's a young officer who'll be down with his wife tomorrow. 
The Crandalls, Jo and myself, and Farleigh Flynn, the camp manager to 
represent the community. Why... well, I mean, don't you think it might be 
possible to have a test off-site here tomorrow?" 

"Possible. Yes, I should think it might be." Harry could see him calculating 
the whole thing swiftly in his head to some time schedule and superiors to 
answer to that Harry could only imagine. 

The Admiral drained his drink slowly... and then turned to look at Harry. 
"Good thinking," he congratulated him. "That's why you're a department head 
and a good one." With one hand he knocked him down, Harry thought weakly, 
and with the other he lifted him up. 

Chapter Eight 

It looked like any Sunday afternoon get-together at Bendemeer's Stream. A 
small gathering of eight people clustered around the long picnic table 
outside the Neils' trailer that overlooked the river. The turkey and ham 
were disappearing fast... along with the potato salad and olives and avocado 
mold and pickles and rolls and rye. Harry Neil was presiding over the small 
serving table that had been set up as a bar, and the drinks were vanishing 
even faster than the food. 

The late afternoon sun was slanting low through the redwoods in hazy 
streaks. There was a faint chill coming up from the river, and the hi-fi in 
the Neil trailer sifted faint music out to the air. 

"Your presentation was extremely impressive, Carl. I went through it very 
carefully," the Admiral said, touching his lips fastidiously with a paper 
napkin. "However, before I commit myself finally to awarding the research 
grant to you, I want to see an off-site in action." 

"Well, I'll see about arranging one at your convenience, sir. Just let me 
know your schedule," Carl beamed. 

"The schedule is the rub, I'm afraid. What's wrong with the group we have 
assembled here?" he asked suddenly, catching Carl completely unaware. 

"Are you leaving tomorrow, sir?" Carl asked anxiously. 

"Afraid so. I must get this thing wrapped up before I leave, one way or... 
the other." He let that sink in, and it only deepened Carl's frown. 

Carl turned away to refill his drink, and then thought better of it. The 
Admiral didn't have to spell it out. Either he had to produce an off-site 
right now... this minute... or the money would go for Harry's research, and 
his project did not require a demonstration. Carl could smell Harry's fine 
hand in here somewhere... his damn stinking greedy hand! 

"I'm not sure that would be a fair test case, sir. My project is planned for 
officers, and there is only one officer here... George Lunsford." 

Sam smiled at him blandly. "You're forgetting me." 

Carl recovered quickly. "Oh, yes, of course, sir. I just didn't realize you 
would want to participate." 

"Carl, my boy. The best way for me to convince Washington of anything is to 
have been there myself. I can't really ask them to give you all this money 
unless I know from personal experience that an off-site is beneficial to 
interpersonal relations between officers, family, and community." 

"Yes, I can see that, sir." 

"You've convinced me that it will work... but I have to see it. I've 
observed quite a bit of tension and rather strong feelings among this group 
here today. They are being polite and observing all the amenities, but the 
undercurrents are quite electric... and negative to cooperation and 
efficiency. If you propose to dissipate this sort of thing with off-sites... 
I think we have an excellent group for a test case right here." 

Carl's head was literally whirling as conflicting thoughts raced and 
collided, and he fought to gain control... to come to a quick and right 
solution. 

"I'm going to wander over for another drink. Can I get you a refill?" Sam 
asked solicitously, giving him time. "I'll see you in a bit, then," he added 
as Carl shook his head in a quick smile. 



Maeve looked out of the Neils' trailer window at the group. She'd tried 
valiantly to make small talk with George Lunsford, but he was so stolid and 
uncommunicative. She'd avoided Farleigh as politely as possible for obvious 
reasons. Harry was leering at her again, but a sinister note had been added 
to the flirting that she couldn't put her finger on. She'd managed to avoid 
being alone with Betty so far, and the Admiral had monopolized Carl for 
quite a while. To her relief, Jo had let her take over the fetching and 
carrying of food and things in and out of the trailer. 

Everyone seemed to have plenty of food and drink for the moment, and she sat 
down on the sofa just to avoid having to go out there again. Her nerves were 
still honed to a fine edge of anxiety after last night, and her conscience 
was still giving her a very bad time. She hadn't been able to tell Carl. She 
hadn't been able to tell him anything. Her "sins" hung over her life like a 
guillotine that she knew would surely cut it off the moment she confessed to 
Carl. 

Sam and Farleigh were much better actors. They'd been natural and 
unconcerned. Why, she wondered futilely, did women have to pay so heavily? 
And she knew her payment would be a long-term time contract. 



Jo could see Farleigh leaning against a tree in deep conversation with the 
Admiral. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was getting his chance to 
persuade him to use Bendemeer's Stream. That was really all she'd promised. 

She tucked her legs under her on the yellow lounge and looked at Harry again 
stealthily. There was no explanation yet as to what had happened to him, but 
whatever it was, she could only pray gratefully that it would happen again. 

After a leisurely dinner with the Admiral, who went off to bed early, Harry 
had proceeded to fuck her most of the night. Harry! Impotent Harry! He'd 
been like a bridegroom. She wondered if he'd gone to one of those quack 
doctors who injected cells or something to rejuvenate men. Jo didn't give a 
damn if he'd gone to a witch doctor... as long as it kept working! 



George Lunsford put his paper plate down on the folding table beside his 
deck chair. He wiped his mouth of crumbs that might have clung after four 
turkey sandwiches, his eyes on Betty as she swung her ass exaggeratedly past 
the Admiral for the fifth time. George snorted to himself. It took more than 
round heels to be an Admiral's wife. It took more than that to be a 
lieutenant's wife, as she'd damn well find out as soon as he'd finished his 
master's degree. He was working so damn hard now, though, that he hadn't the 
energy to devote to divorce proceedings. But that degree would be in his 
hand come September. 

Pie rubbed his hand through his short brown hair and looked around, 
wondering idly just how many of these guys Betty had fucked already. Most 
probably Carl and Harry... they were the most accessible. Well, maybe not 
Harry... he was supposed to be impotent or something, one of the students 
had told him. He'd wind up that way himself or worse if he didn't get away 
from that nympho he was married to. Well, come September, he promised 
himself. Come September. 



Farleigh slipped away easily when no one was noticing. He raced back to the 
office to get the huge ring of keys, all energy and efficiency. The Admiral 
was a damn sight smarter than any high-ranking officer he'd ever met before. 

It looked good. There was a damn good chance he'd get a contract if this 
thing went the right way tonight. If it did, he'd hire Bob full time, just 
to be grounds keeper, and he'd retire to Ireland for good. 



Carl found Maeve in the trailer curled up on the couch. He told her briefly 
what the Admiral wanted and what the problems were, and asked her what she 
thought about it. 

"I don't know what to say, Carl. You know, I really don't know enough about 
your work to even be able to offer an opinion." 

He caught her hands and kissed the fingers briefly. "I know, sweetheart, but 
we're going to change all that. Right now, I guess I'm asking... should I go 
for broke... or not? There's a good chance it could fall completely flat... 
in which case I'd be worse off than before." 

"On the other hand," she added, "it's the big break you've been waiting for. 
If you don't try... you'll wonder always." 

"Good girl. I was hoping you'd go along." He patted her arm swiftly and 
leaped up, satisfied. 



Night fell, and the lights twinkled dimly in the darkness all along 
Bendemeer's Stream. The frogs along the river conversed, and the stars came 
out in thick clusters. 

Farleigh had locked the redwood gates to the Neil property as Carl had asked 
him, so the group wouldn't be disturbed. The bank of the river was very high 
here, so the chance of anyone climbing up from the water side was pretty 
slim. 

Farleigh joined the group in the Neil living room. He crammed his big body 
into a small chair, for even in their double trailer there were barely 
enough chairs for everyone. He wasn't quite sure what would be expected of 
him, but he understood quite well that if this came out right, so far as the 
Admiral was concerned, then Farleigh Flynn was as good as on his way to 
Ireland. 

There was lots of giggling and good-natured kidding and scrambling about 
when Carl asked them all to line up according to their importance. He'd 
explained earlier in brief outline what an off-site was all about. 

Carl could feel a trickle of nervous sweat run down his side as he watched 
them shuffle and reshuffle their order in line. They kept lining up behind 
the Admiral, and he kept moving out of line and getting in the middle of the 
line or moving to the tail. Then they'd all regroup and wind up right behind 
him again. The order kept changing constantly except for their mutual 
agreement that the Admiral was the most important, for they simply would not 
allow him to remain anywhere except at the head of the line. 

Maeve didn't want to play these silly games. She knew they were important 
for Carl tonight, but she also knew they had a devastating effect on some 
people... and she had a terrible premonition this would be a disastrous 
evening. 

"Why do you think you're so important, Betty?" Carl asked sharply. "You're 
right behind the Admiral. Does anyone agree or disagree that Betty is second 
in importance to Sam?" 

Maeve found herself adding her voice to the chorus of, "No, she's not." Her 
jealousy and bitterness were still there and had come out abruptly in this 
game. She was both startled and ashamed... was getting frightened now. Was 
this going to be a vicious twenty questions or a verbal battle that would 
generate more hate and suspicion? Oh, why had she told Carl to go ahead? 



Farleigh felt a back rub against him lightly. He rubbed back, moving his 
body up and down and sideways slightly. He couldn't see anything in the 
least scientific about these silly games, but this was better than the last 
one. At least you didn't have to worry about Carl singling you out with 
embarrassing questions concerning your importance. In this one you just sort 
of relaxed and rubbed backs with someone you couldn't see... and tried to 
figure out if you liked them or not. 

Harry knew very well whose back he was rubbing. Maeve was smaller than any 
of the others. Maeve leaned against him obediently, but Harry could tell her 
heart wasn't in this any more than his was. He leaned his head and twisted 
it, whispering, "What a bore. Let's get out of here." 

Maeve rubbed his back from side to side to signal, "No." Harry knew they 
weren't supposed to talk. But then he'd looked funny all evening. Furious 
that Carl was getting the grant, she supposed. She stiffened and stood 
still. The palms of Harry's hands had turned to cup her buttocks. Her cheeks 
flamed with embarrassment. Suppose someone saw? How dare he? The dirty damn 
man anyway! 

Betty rubbed her ass cheeks as invitingly as she could against the Admiral. 
This game was more like it. She didn't give a damn that Carl had embarrassed 
her before the others. An Admiral was worth just about anything. Certainly a 
little humiliation wasn't going to stop her. Suddenly his finger came out to 
surreptitiously rub her crack. She wriggled appreciatively... and ran her 
hand up the back of his thigh. 

Jo felt Farleigh pat her rump as they rubbed backs. He was "thanking" her, 
she guessed, for getting his chance with the Admiral. Farleigh was a good 
slob. And she might need him again. She just couldn't be sure the new Harry 
was going to last. 

The game went on as new partners were found, and the sly feeling around 
became bolder. Carl knew there was always a certain amount of this. It broke 
otherwise impenetrable barriers... for the insights into their behavior and 
relationships that came later. He noted that Harry kept choosing Maeve and 
Betty clung to the Admiral like a barnacle. 



Maeve tried to twist away as Harry caught her, but he was too quick. She'd 
been to the bathroom in the rear of the trailer, and he grabbed her just as 
she came into the bedroom. 

"Don't, Harry, please." 

"That isn't what you said to the Admiral yesterday." The words hit her like 
a blow. She had heard someone! Harry! Oh God! 

He pulled her to him and kissed her, and Maeve jerked away, gasping and 
furious. 

"Get used to it, baby. I'm going to fuck you whenever I feel like it from 
now on... and you're going to let me... to keep me quiet." 

He roughly threw her on the wide king-sized bed. Maeve watched his twisted 
face in horror. He must be blind drunk, the way he staggered... yet he had 
enough coordination and strength to throw her around. She made a run for it. 
She had to get to Carl and stay there... for protection. 

She was almost through the door when Harry caught her, threw her onto the 
bed again, and slammed the door. "I feel like fucking right now!" 

"No, Harry, no. That was a horrible mistake. Truly. You don't understand." 

"I understand, all right. I understand you fucked the Admiral out in the 
grass with your ass up in the air and you loved it! Well, I want a little of 
that free ass right now. Is that how you got the Admiral to give Carl the 
grant?" 

She shook her head dumbly, watching him tear his clothes off like a maniac. 
So that was it. He thought she'd bought the grant... and Carl would think 
the same thing if he ever found out. Her head was pounding, and she prayed 
for release from this nightmare that went on and on. 



"You have rather amazing tits," the Admiral said, reaching out to bounce 
Betty's thrusting mounds in his hands. She stood there frozen, knowing the 
others had heard, and was finally embarrassed now. What did she do now? 
George was watching her with narrowed eyes. 

"They're walleyed," Sam said, unzipping the full-length zipper of her blue 
linen pants suit and exposing her whole front to the waist. She clutched it 
to her. 

"I believe the Admiral has indicated he wishes you to take it off," George 
said with ominously quiet sarcasm. 

Betty's eyes flew from one face to the other. She'd never been in a 
situation that even remotely resembled this one, and she didn't know what to 
do or who to turn to. 

Sam reached out and pulled her unzipped top from her shoulders and let it 
fall to the floor. Then he calmly reached behind her and unhooked her bra... 
letting her breasts fall free and naked. 

"We're playing the truth game tonight, remember. You've let me know every 
way possible that you want to be fucked by me. Since your husband seems to 
have no objections..." Sam turned to George in a small inquiring little bow. 

"Be my guest, Admiral. Since she willingly fucks any man she can use for a 
ladder up in the world... have at it. I'd like to watch," he grinned a 
little drunkenly, flopping on one of the couches. 

"I'll watch with you," Jo slid down beside him, giggling. 



Carl came out of the guest bath and heard sounds of scuffling coming from 
the bedroom. He went to see. There was a muffled scream just as he opened 
the door. His brain couldn't take it in. There on the bed was Maeve, naked 
and thrashing, and Harry was sitting on her trying to shove his limp prick 
in her mouth. 

"Suck it for me, you bitch! Get it hard!" 

Carl was on him like a madman, trying to pull him off. 

"You bastard! You damned jealous bastard!" It wasn't till Carl had pulled 
him off and spun him to the floor and on his feet that he realized Harry was 
crying. His face was wet, and his thin naked chest heaved in sobs. 

"I never get anything... anything..." He sobbed like a child who feels the 
bitterness of injustice for the first time. Carl held him by the arms where 
he'd steadied him so he could knock him flat. How could you hit a man who 
was sobbing his whole aching, painful life out to you in one tear-wet 
sentence? 

Carl had the terrible feeling that he should have lost the grant... not only 
for Harry's sake, but his own. Nothing had gone as he planned. Everybody got 
drunker and drunker, and the viciousness, pettiness, and sexual frustrations 
had come pouring out of them all so violently that he, Carl Crandall, 
behavioral scientist in business management, was frightened. He didn't know 
how to handle it. He just didn't know what to do. None of his previous 
off-sites had ever deteriorated into such naked displays of feelings and 
actions. 

"Y... you got the money... you... got Maeve... the Admiral had Maeve... out 
in the woods... I saw them... you've even got a hard pecker... and I... 
never get anything!" Harry sobbed brokenly. 

Carl clenched Harry's arms and shook him. "Stop it, Harry. Stop it. You 
don't know what you're saying." But Carl had the ghastly feeling that the 
poor devil did know. The alcohol was saying what Harry couldn't say sober. 

Carl dropped his arms and walked the step to the bed, where Maeve cowered as 
best she could with no cover to hide her nakedness. Her eyes had the glazed, 
vacant look of an asylum inmate. Carl knelt over her, grabbing her and 
shaking her like a rag doll, the pain rising like a red haze before his 
eyes. 

"So that's why you wouldn't forgive me last night! There's nothing to 
forgive! How many others have you fucked while you were supposed to be 
painting? You goddamned whoring bitch!" His voice had risen to a hysterical 
pitch, and Harry's sobs subsided as he watched in fascination as Carl 
screamed and shook her. 

Maeve felt the terror rise up to choke her, and the tears flowed unbidden 
down her face and she never noticed them, her eyes cemented to the raging 
maniacal face so contorted that it was hardly recognizable as Carl's. She 
prayed it would be quick... that he'd kill her quickly and mercifully.... 

As he shook her, Carl felt a strange undercurrent of desire stir in his 
loins even as he hated and vilified her. His penis was getting hard as a 
rock, and his groin was tightening. He didn't bother to question it now. He 
only knew he had to humiliate her, scourge her, humble her now! 

"Turn over, bitch! You like to fuck so much! We'll see how you like it up 
your ass!" he snarled, flinging her over on her stomach so her naked white 
buttocks were exposed. He threw off his clothes, tearing them when they 
wouldn't give fast enough. He caught her white ass cheeks in his hands and 
pulled her to her knees so her ass was level with his great blunted weapon 
that stood out like a bull's. His hands spread the round globes so her 
closed little asshole was exposed to his maddened sight. 

He stretched the tiny crimped edges with his thumbs and aimed his huge cock 
and put the head right on the tender-fleshed opening. Holding her hips in 
his bruising hands, he closed his eyes as though diving and shoved. 

"AHHGGGHGH... GGGHHHHHHHH!" she screamed, as though pierced with a sword. 
The pain was so terrible that she almost fainted. Her head fell to the bed, 
but her punished ass still was stuck on his great knife that stabbed her. 
She knew she deserved it. She deserved everything he gave her, but she knew 
the pain alone was going to kill her. 

Forcing himself even closer between her lewdly spread thighs, Carl lunged 
again, knowing the pain was tearing her with only his own seminal fluid to 
wet his way into the ringed tight passage. At least her asshole was 
virginal. No man had fucked her there before. The rectal chamber held him 
tighter than a vise, and he could feel the blood coursing through the 
constricted passages of his throbbing excited cock. 

The agonizing pain at her rectal mouth was unbearable. Her breath wadded in 
her throat as the vicious spasms racked her, and she twisted and half 
screamed, waggling her bottom to get free of the tortuous instrument reaming 
her anus. He was going to split her completely in two, and she was going to 
die right on this bed. 

He was holding the tender flesh of her hips in a bruising grip as his strong 
hands gouged her. Her every attempted move only drove the enormous shaft of 
rock-hard flesh deeper into her cringing channel. 

"Shove it back to me!" Carl grunted, straining his lean hips forward 
obscenely. 

"Ohhhh... noooooo... God!" Maeve choked, unable to restrain the erupting 
sobs of agony and feeling the shame and torment sweeping through her. But 
she had to bear it. She had to! 



Harry watched in mounting excitement. They'd forgotten he existed, but his 
eyes were lapping up this scene like a blotter to be kept permanently in the 
file of his memory. Carl was sodomizing his own wife! His cock was fucking 
her little asshole! Harry's own prick had stirred to full attention, and his 
ever-ready hand was shucking it back and forth. Oh, God, he was ready... 
really ready! 

He had to try! Carl might knock him across the room, but he had to try! 
Deftly he crawled up to the head of the bed and lifted Maeve by the head and 
shoulders till he could slide under her between her spread, raised knees. He 
reached up and cautiously inserted a finger in her cunt that she didn't seem 
to know was flowing from her weeping cries of agony. Her body jerked forward 
to the pleasure of his searching finger. 

"Come here, baby," he whispered, and pulled her down on his upraised cock. 
Carl came with her, glued to her backside by his burgeoning, crazed penis 
that was now fully sunk into her rectum. Harry felt the weight of the bodies 
and her moist pussy slide over his hardened shaft. He lifted and felt the 
jerk of his wonderfully hard cock deep up in her little white belly! 

"Join the party, Harry! You got something now! You got in my wife's pussy. 
But don't you worry. She just loves cock! Let's give it to her!" Carl 
grunted, thrusting his hips forward savagely and sending his balls smacking 
against her nakedness. He could feel the screams pouring from Maeve's throat 
telegraph their muscular messages through her viselike asshole. He'd teach 
her a lesson she'd never forget, and he thrust harder, ignoring her pleas 
and her sobs. 

Harry felt Maeve's pussy milking him lovingly, closing tight and holding him 
inside her rubbery walls. There was so little room with Carl fucking into 
her backside furiously, and Harry could feel how thin the membrane was 
separating the two passages. He'd never participated in any group sex 
before, and he was going quietly mad with the salacious thought of what he 
was actually doing. Fucking a woman who was being sodomized! 

Sam pulled himself wearily off Betty's spread body on the carpet to find 
that Jo was sucking Farleigh's massive cock on the wide couch while George 
was performing cunnilingus on her open, glistening cunt, lying between her 
round white thighs. Even though he was spent and tired, he lay down with 
Betty again to fondle and pinch her tanned white breasts as he watched the 
threesome racing toward their climaxes. 

Farleigh had Jo by the ears and was pumping in and out of her puffed cheeks 
in hard driving lunges, his face contorted obscenely. George was burying 
almost his whole face in her pussy, devouring her dripping swollen cunt with 
a greedy voraciousness, communicated by the moans tearing from his throat. 

Betty roused at the feel of his hands pinching her breasts to excited 
arousal again. She sat up and saw the threesome on the couch. She could 
hardly believe that George, proper, studious George, was eating Jo's pussy 
with such feeling. She could see Jo flailing, her hips writhing and grinding 
up to George's ravishing tongue. Farleigh was groaning and choking Jo to 
death with his mammoth cock ramming the back of her throat. Farleigh and Jo 
were reaching for gigantic orgasms, but poor George had no one to lick his 
stick for him. She could see it hanging down in a huge erection, lying 
almost parallel with his belly. Never had she seen it so huge and obscenely 
jerking. 

She went over to sit by the couch and then kneel, and she turned George's 
hips so she could reach his cock without his having to let go of Jo's 
arching cunt. She took the enormous prick in her hand and eagerly closed her 
mouth on it. George's head snapped up from Jo's box to turn and see who was 
sucking his aching cock. 

"Ohhhh God... baby. Suck it!" His hand came down to hold her ponytailed head 
on it, and he turned his face back to the sopping cunt he was pillaging. 

Sam watched them a minute and then wandered back to the bedroom to see what 
was going on there. He stopped in the doorway at the sight of Maeve 
sandwiched between Carl and Harry. They were heaving and bucking savagely, 
fucking in and out of the little live thing's two orifices... Carl in her 
asshole and Harry up her pussy. They were going mad... all three of them. He 
watched spellbound as his cock began to revive at the lewd sight. He 
wondered just where and how he could join them. 

And then he saw a way. He knelt on the bed by Harry's side and turned 
Maeve's contorted face till her lips could receive his long prick. She took 
it eagerly between her lips and sucked it hard like a banana-shaped 
lollipop. 



Farleigh staggered back to the bathroom to take a leak. When he came out he 
saw the bedroom door had swung open. God damn! Off-site, hell! It was a 
goddamned orgy. The hippies couldn't hold a candle to the squares once they 
got going! 

Maeve could not believe the incredible sensations her tired body was trying 
to register in her brain. The obscene, perverted fucking that Carl was doing 
to her asshole had become pleasurable and only increased the licentious 
feelings Harry's cock was generating in her pussy. Her mouth was full of 
Sam's long lewd member, and she wanted it there! She wanted him to cum in 
her mouth! She wanted them all to cum beautifully! 

She moaned, savoring the male taste of Sam's fluid and feeling the salacious 
sodomy of her backside send a strange rapturous sensation through her 
bowels. Harry was bucking up in her cunt in insane writhings and liftings. 

"Cum on... suck harder," Sam panted... shoving it to her so her gagging 
turned to mewls of joy. 

"Sooooooo... sooooon," Carl crooned behind her. 

"Well, look at the orgy!" she dimly heard someone giggle. She didn't care. 
Nothing mattered now but reaching for that tantalizing nirvana that was so 
close she could almost touch it. The bed was rocking, and she opened her 
eyes to see that the bed was covered with writhing bodies, sucking and 
fucking in linking mouths and cocks and cunts. Squeals and groanings and 
grunts rose in a cacophony of sound, and even her ears felt as though they 
were being fucked! 

Suddenly Harry arched and screamed, "I'MMMMM... CUMMIIINGG!" And he set off 
a chain reaction that fired off the whole bed, body by body. Carl's mighty 
gush flooded her asshole with creamy, teeming cum that overflowed onto the 
bedspread, pumping and pumping and screaming, "Goddddddd!" The shattering 
liquid crash of Harry's semen deep inside her pussy set a thousand rapturous 
spasms convulsing through her body, and Sam drowned her sucking mouth in a 
massive flow of cum that seared her throat with bliss. They collapsed away 
from each other as the other bodies pumped and jigged and diddled and sucked 
and banged and fucked! 

Much later, when she'd lost all count of who or how and her body was 
shorting out of consciousness with multiple orgasms, Maeve was dimly aware 
that she was lying on her back, and she lifted her weary head to see Betty 
contentedly licking her abused wet cunt that twitched feebly under the 
feminine tongue. 

Chapter Nine 

Carl came whistling down the walk to the neat house set back from the 
street. It looked cool in its little grove of trees with the New Mexico sun 
beating down so warmly. 

Maeve met him at the door and kissed him eagerly. As she stepped back, 
smiling, he held up a letter and laughed mysteriously. She could see from 
the letterhead on the envelope that it was from the New York gallery that 
handled her paintings. 

"Oh, Carl, darling, don't tease me. Did they sell another painting?" 

"How would you like to paint in the Greek Islands during my next 
sabbatical?" 

"Oh, I'd love to!" she squealed, grabbing for the envelope he held above his 
head. 

"Well, we're going to!" He laughed as he went through the house to his study 
with Maeve still trying to grab the envelope. He pushed the heavy economics 
books and the stacks of freshman exams he still had to grade aside on his 
desk. When he had a cleared space, he spread out the letter, sat down in his 
big leather chair, and pulled Maeve onto his lap so they could read the 
letter together. 

"Oh, darling," she said at last, a sad but happy sigh escaping her lips. 
"Admiral Grandfield didn't really buy my painting of Bendemeer's Stream for 
twenty thousand dollars. This is really your research grant that you gave to 
Harry when we left there." 

"Probably a little of both, honey," he said, pulling her around to face him. 

"Have you ever been sorry we did leave, darling? That career in that 
particular field meant so much to you." 

"It meant nothing, sweetheart, when it turned you into an off-site wife. I 
just need a plain old ordinary wife who worries about my sniffles, raises my 
kids, and makes twenty thousand dollars for one painting," he exulted, 
pulling her close and kissing her gently. 


End
