The Naive Newlywed
[aka 'The Hungry Bride']
by Taylor Collins


FOREWORD Man's inhumanity to man is an adage and truism as old as time 
itself. It has proven itself to be true in every sense of the word many 
times over and unfortunately the greatest example of its truth lies in the 
relationship of brother to brother or husband to wife. In fact, the closer 
the relationship, the more volatile and self-perpetuating the adage seems to 
become. Today's modern promiscuous society bears this out more than 
seemingly any other time in history. We are extremely proud to present this 
story of a young typical American housewife who, when denied the necessary 
physical love by her young husband, turns to her only other available 
outlet: that of her neighbor. This is a cycle that has occurred over and 
over in America's rapidly growing suburban society, and we feel it is a 
phenomenon that deserves the degree of attention that a book of this caliber 
is capable of lavishing upon it. -The Publishers 


PROLOGUE 

"Well, how about that... the old bitch is finally leaving... " Grace Newly 
exclaimed. "Thank God!" 

She half rose from her chair. Leaning far across the breakfast table, she 
peered nearsightedly out of the big bay window. She refused to wear glasses 
or even contacts, not only for vanity's sake, but because the slight touch 
of myopia lent a childlike look of guileless innocence, a naivete, to her 
china blue eyes. Grace was about as harmless as a female cobra. 

Not bothering to follow the direction of his wife's inquisitive squint at 
the activities of their new neighbors, Wayne Newly continued to sip his 
coffee. Instead, over the rim of his cup, Wayne's eyes tunneled into the 
more interesting cleavage between her peach-round breasts. As she leaned 
forward, the already plunging neckline of a black silk robe gaped wide, 
fully exposing her nakedness. Lush twin mounds crested by caramel-colored 
circles diffusing into hard rosy buds which seemed in a constant state of 
arousal, thrust out at him enticingly. He was thinking that the firm yet 
resilient flesh of his wife's cream-satin breasts looked especially sexy in 
their black frame. 

He sat relaxed: not only in the well-fed contentment of an excellent 
breakfast but in a post orgiastic glow. For Grace had perfected the art of 
satisfying the entire spectrum of the male appetite. This morning, no alarm 
clock _" a malevolent monster able to send adrenalin shooting into the 
bloodstream, to tie the belly tendons into knots of apprehension _" had 
exploded on his consciousness in the dark womb of sleep. He had been 
awakened by the gentle insistence of his wife's mouth on his cock, a muted, 
erotic clamor that could convert limp muscle and tissue into a human tuning 
fork vibrating with desire. 

Such a delightful way to begin a new day. Mind still fuzzy with sleep, at 
first he lay passively, pretending sleep in one of their contrived delays, 
enjoying the prurient sensations her brushing lips sent spiraling up the 
ever-growing length of his titillated organ. She knew damn well he was 
awake, but she teased softly with her saliva-wet lips lightly at its 
burgeoning head, grazing its corneal ridge, sticky and protruding from the 
thick foreskin; then she slit the tiny hole in his smooth bloated glans with 
the tip of her tongue until he could no longer stifle his groan of pleasure. 
With this admission of aroused awareness she withdrew the expert stimulation 
of her lips and tongue and took his upthrust cock in both hands, rubbing the 
loose skin between her palms then stroking its pulsating hardness with long 
sure strokes, alternating the manipulation from one hand to the other. His 
hips thrust upward, his prick endeavoring to meet the mouth breathing hotly 
on its now gasping semen-soaked glans tip. 

He had reached out and entangled his hands tightly in her hair, trying to 
guide her head down, to force the red, wet circle of her mouth around his 
forward-lunging manhood. 

"Goddamn it, hurry up! Suck it, baby, suck it," he groaned, lifting his head 
from the bed so he could watch her lust-contorted face poised above his 
loins, and the sight whipped a mental image in his brain of the mushrooming 
head and shaft pummeling in and out of her ovaled lips; it sent the sperm 
boiling in his scrotum until her teasing went too far, forcing him to twist 
his fingers into a cruel, hair-pulling grip on her head. 

In sudden, almost slavish obedience, she gave in to his demands. Plunging 
her mouth down over his loins, she drove the length of his massive cock deep 
between the soft warm folds of her lips until the blood-inflated head 
thumped dully against the back of her throat. 

Then she began to suck him in a swift hungry rhythm, employing the practiced 
expertise of a complete dedicated sensualist. 

She twirled her tongue in circles of liquid fire around its bloated tip and 
nibbled along the thick bulk of his shaft with sharp little teeth, 
convoluting her lips into a tight lewd elastic band as they wormed up its 
erect rigidity. All the while, her mouth worked lasciviously on his cock, 
devouring it like a succulent banana, her caressing fingers beating a 
maddening tattoo on his swollen balls. 

A man of truly remarkable sexual control, ordinarily Wayne Newly would have 
prolonged the enjoyment of his wife sucking so assiduously on his prick. For 
he never ceased to marvel at the exquisite sensations of arousal her deft 
oral manipulations could invoke. On this particular morning, however, he had 
a business appointment he couldn't afford to miss no matter how sweet the 
provocation. He allowed his fast approaching orgasm to build unchecked in 
his balls, shoving his loins hard against her face as he fucked into her 
mouth in a fast and furious tempo, heedless of her mumbled protest. Within 
scant minutes, he felt the first stream of white-hot liquid plummeting 
through the passage of his bursting cock. 

Body stiffened to a taut arch, he rammed her head down hard, into the 
passion-dampened mat of his pubic hair, almost smothering her, and his cock 
began a wild convulsive jerking, spewing wave after wave of burning semen 
into her furiously gulping throat. 

Bucking helplessly, he cried, "Keep sucking, doll... aaaagghh! Keep 
suckiinnggg!" His hands tangled tighter in her hair, shoving his cock 
farther and farther down her gullet. She went on sucking wildly, swallowing 
hard to keep from choking _" mewling and purring at his thrusting loins as 
he continued shooting his load deep, deep into her defensively contracting 
throat. 

With one final earth-shattering groan, he emptied the last of his sperm into 
the warm wet oval of her mouth, but she went on nibbling gently, milking his 
testicles with loving hands, vacuuming every last drop from the spending 
gland. Gradually, the satiated penis deflated in' her mouth. Wayne threw his 
arms out to the side in exhaustion, a deflating sigh of relief escaping from 
his lips. She lay for a long moment with her head nestled on his thighs, 
still nibbling gently at the flaccid cock settled down into the cradle of 
his balls, and then she crawled up over his belly and _" smearing his own 
orgasm there _" kissed him hard on the lips. 

Now do me, lover," she whispered against his mouth. "Eat my pussy and give 
me as much pleasure as I gave you, Hmmm?" Gossamer-like threads of his white 
sticky cum were trickling down in thin rivulets from the corners of her 
glistening lips. 

And he did. And of course, that led to another erection with him fucking her 
again in a quite prosaic but even more exciting manner. 

Yet in spite of the fact that Wayne Newly had been twice screwed thoroughly 
and most satisfactorily by his wife Grace but a scant hour ago, looking 
across the breakfast table at her exposed breasts, he felt a familiar 
hardening in his groin. And as he reached out his hand to roll one blushing 
nipple between thumb and forefinger, his cock jerked eagerly in his pants. 

"Jesus," he told her, "the way you've been carrying on all week about that 
woman, anybody would think the old bitch staying with her was your mother! 

He felt the nipple stiffen and surge into his tweaking fingertips, quivering 
there in its hard erectness like a hunter fixed on the scent of its quarry; 
but aside from that she kept her vigil, staring out the window. 

Catching sight of his watch on the outstretched wrist, he realized there 
wasn't time to start anything now and withdrew his hand with a considerable 
reluctance. 

"God forbid! It's just that every time I set foot out of the house, she 
looks at me like... like we were living in sin! Or as if she thinks I'm some 
kind of Parisian cocotte!" Grace said. 

"Well, aren't you?" he asked calmly. That got her attention, all right... 

"Why you bastard!" And then she realized he was putting her on, and she 
smiled. Grace's smile, a low-keyed pout that was knowingly sensuous, quickly 
dispelled any illusion of innocence in her eyes. "Oh, you know what I mean. 
It's been like living next door to a morals censor." 

"Come off it, doll... I know damn good and well what you mean. Ever since 
the Filberts moved next door, you've been itching to get Martin's cock into 
that hungry little pussy of yours! But that may not be so easy." 

"Thanks a whole bunch, sweetie," Grace said. Her voice was soft and remote. 
Her eyes narrowed just a bit, the pale irises suddenly darkened until they 
were almost as black as a cat's going out into a dense night: eyes that 
would swallow you whole. She preened the pink gold strawberry fluff of her 
hair, and then in the same slow sinuous motion her hands went to her 
breasts. Cupping their rosy-tipped fullness, she held the voluptuous mounds 
out to him in a suggestive offering, undulating the resilient flesh with her 
palms, somehow more dramatic than life. 

"You think not?" she asked throatily. "You want to lay any bets... say that 
scrumptious little ocelot coat at Wilson's against those golf clubs at the 
pro-shop?" 

"All right, all right!" Wayne lifted his hand, silencing her, and grinned 
broadly. "You don't have to convince me, my darling sexpot... but Martin and 
Flo are, after all, just married and haven't had a chance to be alone 
together. But more power to you, hon. I'll have to admit he'd always been a 
sexy-looking bastard... if you go for that big, burly type!" he laughed. 

Actually, he wasn't even thinking of Martin Filbert, a man with whom he'd 
already had more than a passing acquaintance long before Martin rented the 
house next door; both had attended N.Y.U. at the same time, although too 
dissimilar to have been really close friends. While contemplating his own 
wife's display of inviting breast-flesh, a quick image of Filbert's young 
puritanical wife flashed through Wayne's mind. He hadn't been able to get 
next to her yet, but what he'd seen so far seemed like pretty hot stuff. 

Damn, he rhapsodized to himself, that one is something else! That kid is 
built, really built! 

Marvelous breasts and good legs, sleek thighs... always did go for that long 
leggy kind . 

. . and her high round bottom with one helluva sweet little bounce. High 
rounded mound in front too... at the base of her flat little tummy... I'm 
going to be the first one in the neighborhood to throw a fuck into that... 
and that's for damn sure! And before the other tomcats in the Club get wind 
of a new pussy in their midst... Now that her old lady was out of the way, 
they'd have to work fast... but with Grace hot for Martin, who'd been such a 
damn supercilious square in college, it would serve him right if she ate him 
alive, between the two of them they shouldn't have much difficulty thinking 
something up. 

Wayne Newly usually let his wife take the initiative indoctrinating or 
enticing new members into what their intimate _" and intimate in the 
ultimate sense _" circle of friends referred to loosely as The Club. 
Because of his physical presence, this stratagem was almost a necessity. He 
was quite tall but so very slender _" fine-boned and with long sensitive 
fingers _" that he seemed deceptively frail, almost sexless unless seen in 
the nude; then a steel-muscled tautness in his thin frame and the abnormally 
large bulk of his genitals, even in sexual repose, gave a lie to any 
illusion of delicacy. And although Newly was about as saintly as a stall-fed 
stallion and a hedonist beneath his outward facade, his countenance was that 
of an aging choir boy; a face so aesthetically pure as to make a sensual 
woman either shy away or want to be a mother rather than a lover to him. 

The Club itself was quite simple: a group of married couples whose 
philosophy of sex had coalesced them into a tight-knit battleground of 
sexual freedom, freedom to love (or make physical love to) each other's 
mates, to satisfy all of their sexual desires without guilt, fear of marital 
misunderstanding or restraint. They considered themselves a part of the now 
generation and went all-out, everyone participating in the action, and a 
hell of a good time was had by all. 

Grace Newly caught the lecherous, faraway expression of her husband's face, 
and as she covered her lush bosom rather sketchily, she started to laugh. 

"Oh, lover... I wish you could see yourself!" she told him between gasps. 
"What are you doing... sucking her or fucking her?" 

"Why, I can't imagine who you mean," he said with a mock innocence. 

These two knew each other so well that words were hardly necessary. But they 
kept up a parrying banter, one of the games that people play with modern 
variations on sexual tribalism, until she was helping him on with his jacket 
at the door. 

"Don't worry darling, I promised I'd help you get Flo Filbert on her back 
the day they rented the house," Grace reassured him. "Besides, as you said 
yourself, Martin is a sexy bastard, and I'm going to enjoy some of that 
action with him just as much as you will with his new bride. Maybe more!" 
she teased. "Anyway you know you can depend on little ol' me." 

"That's my oversexed angel... but the way things are over there it could 
take quite a while to get really personal." 

"Like this, you mean?" 

Grace had been giving soft wifely pats to his coat, fingering the buttons 
when suddenly she thrust one hand into his crotch, squeezing his balls hard. 
Wayne let out a yelp and sprung back. 

"You little vixen! You're always hot after it!" His accusation was made with 
a certain pride. 

"We're two of a kind, honey," she giggled, pushing him out the door. And 
then as he started down the steps she let go with her parting shot, the coup 
de grace she had saved up for now to send him off in a really good mood. One 
of the White's youngsters cutting across the back yard on the way to school 
forced her to tender the news in a rather cryptic manner. 

Lowering the tone of her voice, Grace called out to Wayne's retreating back, 
"That little party may be sooner than you think, dear. She left in the cab, 
too. So the new groom is deserted already... and when the cat's away! By 
now, dear... see you later... " Wayne looked back over his shoulder, and 
with a little wave she shut the door on his winner's grin. 

Her husband got the message. He started the car and waited a moment for the 
motor to warm up, thinking how lucky he was to have such a wonderful wife. 
In over four years of marriage her ability to bring new excitement, new 
enthusiasm and added variety to their relationship never ceased to amaze 
him. Like that business of waking him up this morning... with the delightful 
clarion call of her lips, hungry and moist on his prick. He felt the hugely 
potent organ pulse with memory and almost felt like saying to hell with the 
business deal and going back into the house. Of all the women he had known 
and made love to, and their number was prodigious both before and since his 
marriage, she had to be the most desirable, the most consummate _" 
completely attuned to his deepest desires. 

But by now Wayne had automatically backed the milk chocolate Mark III out of 
the garage, his deceptively delicate hands maneuvering the elegant nose of 
the big car to the crest of the steep driveway: a sharp business acumen 
getting the better part of sex. For there was always tonight, and as he 
drove into town, a keen anticipation salved his immediate desire. Grace had 
put a special emphasis on the word "later," a subtle innuendo that he wasn't 
to hurry home, to give her time to get Martin in a compromising situation. 
Newly enjoyed watching his wife's skillful arousal of another man, getting 
all worked up himself in a way that was strangely exciting and taking a few 
pictures for future erotic stimulation. He also got a tremendous kick out of 
fucking into her tight little pussy, still hotly flooded and wet with some 
other man's semen, experienced a weird sense of heightened sexuality in its 
warm glutinous envelopment of his cock. 

"Oh for Christ's sake! Shit! Goddamn it all...!" For several seconds the air 
inside of the sleek sedan was blue. Wayne's lusting pleasure in Martin 
Filbert's imminent seduction suddenly evaporated like a middle-aged 
spinster's dream. The departure of Flo's mother was no surprise to him since 
Martin had mentioned it the day before. But he had just remembered an 
offhand remark... something about Flo's quick round trip to Long Island . 

.. that she would be back home in time for dinner. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

To come back from the honeymoon and find your mother making herself 
comfortable in your new home is hardly an auspicious way to start married 
life. The fact she hasn't met the bridegroom is not going to make things any 
easier. Not when you know for a certainty she would be disapproving even if 
he turned out to be every woman's perfect man. (And you're not sure yourself 
but what you've married a bastard.) Such a situation may be the stuff of 
which farcical comedies are made, but to Flo Filbert it had been a very real 
tragedy. 

Ten days later she settled down in the impersonal sanctuary of a jet 
commuter and fastened her seat belt. Feeling really at ease for the first 
time since that night, she sat there with her head empty. The red "No 
Smoking" admonition blinking off before her eyes made her suddenly conscious 
of the fixed blankness of her stare. She shut her eyes, and as the red 
flashes danced reflexively across the inner surface of the lids, she could 
almost hear the cogs of her brain mesh back into high gear. For a moment, 
she prayed for sleep then her attention was forced to the man seated on her 
left. 

" _" you find it a bore?" he was saying, punctuating the question with a 
fleeting pressure of his hand on her arm. 

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I didn't catch-" Flo's muttered apology was coolly 
polite. She was aware of a rather massive bulk of gray sharkskin and the not 
unpleasant aroma of a blend of masculine cologne and good bourbon. A covert 
glance told her the man was somewhat elderly (to Flo almost any male over 
forty-five with silvering hair fell in that category) tiredly handsome and 
obviously affluent. Her quick appraisal was impressed primarily by the gray 
suit, hand tailored and expensive. 

"Traveling alone, I mean," the man repeated. "A pretty young thing like 
yourself. Naturally, I've become accustomed to it. Had to, y'know. In my 
business_"" Gray suit left the bait dangling in the air. This opening 
gambit usually aroused a mild curiosity, at least enough to elicit some 
response. He turned the upper half of his body sideways towards Flo, and at 
the same time managed to shift his hips so one thigh rested firmly against 
hers. It was quite a tricky business of contortion, but it worked. Although 
he was surprised at the instantaneous withdrawal of that shapely leg. He had 
looked her over before choosing his seat in the half-empty cabin and could 
have sworn she was a hot little bitch. 

His close-up inspection now did nothing to change his mind. Pretty faces, 
even beautiful ones like this weren't his prime obsession. After a cursory 
tally of fair skin taut over fine-chiseled bones, a winged sweep of dark 
brow and lashes and the mane of jet swept simply to her shoulders, his bold 
gaze lingered with brief satisfaction to admire a definitely sensual 
underlip then plunged downward. 

Nope, he hadn't been wrong. This was one sexy bird! Jesus, just look at 
those tits! It must have been a man's idea to start the new trend to soft 
bras. And about time, it was getting so a fellow grabbing a quick feel never 
knew when he'd wind up with a handful of sponge rubber. But there's nothing 
phony about this kid, he told himself. He could almost see the pointy 
nipples holding out that sweater _" sticking out like two little baby 
cocks, just begging to be sucked! 

His tongue darted out and flicked over his lips. He prided himself on being 
a breast man. 

Some guys went ape over long swinging legs, a bouncing ass or even a plump 
belly or certain faces, but not him, he'd boast. He was strictly for big 
bosoms, a real connoisseur of ripe breast-flesh. And right now he could 
taste these, the up-lifted sphere of yielding flesh warm and smooth as satin 
against his lips, its budding nipple erect and swelling, quivering eagerly 
in the moist cup of his hot tongue. Man! He felt a surge in his groin and 
spread his legs a trifle to ease the involuntary swift jerk of his cock. 

But this time gray suit carefully avoided physical contact with Flo. His 
lewd inventory dropped to her crotch, and although he saw only a blonde 
Viking selling cigarettes on the back cover of the magazine in her lap, he 
was visualizing a dark-haired juicy pussy. And he was trying to decide what 
action to pursue. Whether to let his charm come across by exuding a fatherly 
interest or to plunge right into an all out pitch. 

The dim seclusion of a cocktail lounge, his normal habitat, was a 
made-to-order setting for a guy trying to snow a broad. Upon arriving at 
just how to get her and how quickly to get her to bed, it boiled down to his 
or hers _" no problem there. But not much chance of a quick fuck in a 
public air-carrier, he figured. Much _" hell _" it was nil! But this was a 
short trip. In thirty minutes... His buttocks bunched on the seat, and he 
crossed his legs to relieve the pressure in his balls. 

It never occurred to him that the living essence of provocative sex here at 
his side might not be interested. Coming on with a captive audience was 
tantamount to breathing to his species of predatory male. He completely 
forgot he'd asked Flo a question. 

Her first impulse was to ignore the man, for the one thing she wanted right 
now was to be left alone. Being incapable of out-and-out rudeness, she 
finally murmured some noncommittal reply, striving to sound pleasant but not 
encouraging. Sleep was impossible anyway, not only because of this unwelcome 
stranger, but because of her troubled thoughts. Presuming the press of his 
thigh accidental, she angled herself between the window and back of her 
chair. By this time, the man in the gray suit had made up his mind and 
leaned toward her. 

"I'd like to fuck you," he said distinctly. 

Flo could hardly believe her ears. She turned the full force of her 
incredible blue eyes on him and saw instead of a friendly old man, an aging 
voluptuary in graying sideburns on the make. From beneath the hooded lids of 
a snake glittering eyes were stripping her bare, and she had a horrible 
vision of fangs sprouting from between the lascivious grin that curled his 
lips tight under against his gums. He wasn't the first man to read 
invitation into the voluptuous rigging of Flo's natural endowments, but 
since the cocktail sex game was one she'd never played, his blunt obscenity 
filled the girl with momentary panic. 

Dear God, she thought, what should I do? What makes him think he can talk to 
me like that! 

She looked away in absolute terror, receding color leaving her face an 
alabaster mask. 

Then a swift boiling anger came to her rescue. Who does he think he is to 
dare say such a thing to me! Twisting around to face him, she knifed through 
his lecherous gaze with a blazing ice blue stare. 

"If you don't get out of that seat and away from me this instant I'll scream 
bloody murder! 

You - You - You nasty old man!" 

Flo kept her voice low but spat out each word with a clear deliberate 
precision. They came at him like a slow but devastating barrage of lethal 
darts barbed with poison, and the man in the gray suit got the message. The 
unkind adjective deflated his ego like a pricked balloon, and suddenly the 
handsome suit seemed two sizes too large. His mouth opened and closed like a 
fish out of water. In the second ft took him to gather his shattered wits, 
Flo's anger encompassed him in a rising tide, and he could almost hear the 
air gathering in her lungs. He catapulted to his feet and stumbled down the 
aisle. 

She expelled her breath with a heartfelt sigh, and the quick fury drained in 
a rush, leaving her spent and trembling. What a lewd, nasty, dirty person! 
Why that vulgar man was old enough to be her father! 

Old enough to be her father... that dirty old man... her father... old... 
nasty... man! 

Ohhhh no! 

The words twisted and turned round and round in her brain like wild horsed 
on a merry-go-round suddenly gone berserk. She leaned back, closing her 
eyes, and a feeling of apprehension swept over her like an arctic blast. 
Memory came crashing through the years to fill her mind. She fought against 
it, but then almost as if she were doing penance, she let it come and take 
her back. 

It was the morning of her thirteenth birthday, and the alarm in her brain 
jangled sharply. 

She was halfway out of bed before the cause of an immediate glow of 
excitement dawned on her. Father was home for her birthday! John Mason's job 
took him away so much of the time she could never be sure whether he'd be 
home, even for special occasions like this one. 

Flo remembered the day well because she had thought birthdays the most 
special day of all, more so than Christmas despite all of its presents. A 
birthday was a day belonging to you alone; one small portion of each year 
when you could pick and choose, do anything you wished to do with this, your 
very own allotment of time. It hadn't mattered that she'd never had this 
luxury. Someday she would _" when she grew up. And this birthday was 
extra-special, a lucky thirteen _" the first teenage year. Although she was 
more excited over her dad's presence, for being "grown-up" was still a very 
nebulous accomplishment of the distant future. 

In the here and now of that distant future Flo could almost take a grim 
amusement in that foolish girl and her "lucky" thirteen. 

But the young Florence (she was never Flo at home) was thrilled to reach 
that milestone and so eager to share it with her father it seemed he'd never 
get up. John had been relegated to a bed-divan in what his wife called the 
back parlor some months before their daughter was born. She hadn't yet 
realized this arrangement was out of the ordinary and could remember 
hovering impatiently between the old-fashioned, closed sliding doors and the 
wain-scotted hallway to the kitchen. Evidently such eager vigilance had 
irritated her mother, for she'd been dispatched to the store for some 
trifling thing. 

Which had seemed pretty silly to her then. Because she'd come home to find 
her mother gone to do the weekly marketing. Mary, their part-time maid, was 
in the kitchen, taking advantage of this over a cup of coffee and a 
cigarette. Florence was rather enviously admiring of the girl, only a few 
years older than herself and boldly pretty in a blondined, made-up way, but 
paid scant attention to her now. For the sliding doors were miraculously 
open, and her father's bathroom tenor echoed down the stairwell. Her day was 
finally starting! 

She'd gone into the parlor, not necessarily with any intention of surprising 
him, merely to wait. But a filigreed screen, cumbersome and ornate, caught 
her eye. (Mrs. Mason had also relegated to this room a miscellany of objects 
d'art and overstuffed horrors, things she really didn't want but felt too 
good to give or throw away.) Florence told herself the time for these 
childish pranks was past, but the temptation was too great to resist. 
Sliding behind the screen, she stifled a giggle and stood listening 
intently. 

Before long she heard a chair scrape on the hardwood floor. She was about to 
dash out from her hiding place when she became aware that almost directly 
overhead the shower was still running. Peering cautiously through an opening 
in the intricately latticed grill-work, she saw Mary making the bed. 

At least she'd taken it for granted that's what the older girl was doing, 
and she jerked back impatiently. But when she looked again, willing her to 
hurry, she was astonished to see Mary stretched full length on the rumpled 
sheets! 

Sprawled flat on her back with her legs slightly parted, she lay there 
completely relaxed. 

Her hands cradled her head, spilling the coarse yellow of bleached hair over 
the pillow. 

The uplifted pull of her arms stretched the thin fabric of her dress so 
tautly across the full pointed swells of her breasts that the nipples jutted 
sharply ceilingward. The twin peaks rose and fell with the gentle rhythm of 
her breathing, looking for all the world like she'd settled down for a 
comfortable nap. 

What on earth! Florence's first thought was to get the lazy girl out of 
there before her father came down and caught her loafing in his bed. Since 
Mary was one of the few bright pretty things in a muted existence, she'd 
hate to see her fired. She stood there in an agony of startled indecision, 
but before her initial impulse could motivate her limbs it was too late. She 
heard the coupling thud of sliding doors and then her father's voice. 

"Is that what you call ready? Goddamn! Seems to me you could do better than 
that when I've been gone a whole month!" 

Florence frowned. The words sounded cross and made no sense at all, but she 
was quick to recognize the kidding intonation of his voice. It was exactly 
the way he'd tease her when she ran to meet him with a welcoming hug. Even 
Mary's answering giggle was reminiscent of her own response. 

"But you can't say I'm not ready, baby. Take a look at what I've got for 
you," he was saying. 

A quick stab of jealousy shot through Florence's bewilderment. Flattening 
her nose against the screen, she peeked through the open work to see what 
sort of present her father was giving the hired girl. She hadn't the 
faintest notion what she expected to see and momentarily the sight which 
confronted her only complicated the puzzling scene. 

Her father was standing at the foot of the bed, fingers working at a towel 
knotted around his middle. Florence had never before seen him not fully 
clothed, for her mother was adamant about what was proper, "decent" attire, 
which precluded even a robe at breakfast or shirtsleeves at the dinner 
table. Until shock overcame all else, she was dazzled by the sheer beauty of 
his shower-fresh maleness. Not a big man and with skin coloring almost as 
fair and delicate as her own, he looked like a finely sculpted statue she'd 
once seen in a museum. It was her first glimpse of sensual man and it 
excited her. 

But the swift thrill was gone in the flicker of an eye, and all she felt was 
disbelieving shock as her father unwound the terrycloth swathe and tossed it 
aside with a dramatic flourish. 

Sticking out from between his legs was a blunt cudgel of flesh looking like 
a thick white snake. Almost at a forty-five degree angle with his body, the 
long swollen member was bobbing around in tiny circles in the air, and its 
scarlet slippery-looking head seemed to glow from within like a lighted 
bulb. 

Florence was fully aware that boy's and girl's genitals were nothing alike, 
but the only time she'd seen a boy's penis was when she was six. A 
neighbor's son about the same age offered to show her his pecker if she 
would show him where she peed. Since her mother had given her a severe 
whipping for even inspecting that curious phenomenon herself, she'd 
declined. But he had generously shown it to her anyway. In the ensuing 
years, the mother had put the fear of God into her daughter about the sins 
of the flesh and the evil of sex. She had instilled feelings of guilt and 
fear of retribution that forced the maturing girl to ignore the natural 
fevers of pubescence as immoral temptations of the devil. Recalling that 
childhood scene, sometimes Florence secretly wondered what all the fuss was 
about, what in the world a male organ, tiny and limp, had to do with carnal 
sin. 

So she stared, unbelievably bewildered, at this huge contradiction. Her 
popping eyes, watched her father spread his legs wide. Feet splayed, the 
lower half of his body began a slow, almost imperceptible rocking. It swayed 
back and forth with the sinuous motion of a balancing seaman who 
accommodates his weight to the rhythm of a gently rolling deck. 

And then, as if they were too heavy for his slight frame to bear, he lifted 
the bulk of his genitals in a forward offering. One hand cupped the 
distended testicles realized what it was, and she knew this was balls looked 
to Florence like two giant hickory nuts encased in an outer shell of fuzzed, 
wrinkled skin. With his free hand he was fondling the rigid staff protruding 
from the dense pubic hair at their base, rippling the skin up and down along 
its hard core. 

Before her astonished eyes she saw the immense shaft growing even larger 
under the manipulation of his hands, swelling in size as if inflated with 
air pumped from the bellows of the furry sac. Its paleness diffused in color 
to a blush of pink, its blunt end to a cap of ripe-plum purple as his 
fingers curled and massaged along the taut, blue-veined skin. In response to 
his milking rhythm tiny droplets of whitish dew began to cluster in the 
small mouth gasping at its tip. 

Without warning a bolt of vibrancy prickled through her body; starting deep 
down in her stomach it turned her legs to jelly and she felt the screen 
cutting into her fingers as they clawed for support. She chilled then 
flushed feverishly hot. She was conscious of a warm wetness down below in 
the region of her pussy. For a terrified moment she wondered if she'd wet 
her panties. What was happening to her? And then she realized what it was, 
and she knew this was horribly wrong, for her to be watching her father's 
penis grow big and fat, to be waiting eagerly for what would happen next. 
But she was trapped. There was no way of escape without being seen even if 
her legs weren't suddenly too weak to carry her. 

And she heard her father saying, "Baby, I'm going to fuck the living hell 
outta you. My cock's so hot... " 

Florence felt her heart give a bounding leap and her head felt thick. Mary's 
answer seemed filtered through layers of cotton batting wadding her ears. 
Mesmerized, she watched and listened in a limbo of fascination and shame. 

"Why Mr. Mason, whatever would your wife say if she caught us like this?" 
Mary asked throatily. 

"Fuck her." He laughed, "She wouldn't touch me if she had a ten foot pole!" 

"Oh, my, but what a big pole you have, grandpa! So nice and hard. Mmmmmm... 
that's lovely," the young maid breathed heavily. 

They appeared to be playing some lewd, oft-repeated childish game. He braced 
his legs against the foot of the bed and his hips sagged forward, his 
massive penis thrusting. She pushed herself up on her elbows and studied his 
cock with a lidded, lascivious gaze, her red lips hanging open. Raising one 
leg she ran the high arch of her bare foot along the hardness of his swollen 
member. It reached out for her as if it had a life of its own as she teased 
its black, curling roots with the tip of her toes. She lay back, continuing 
to stroke him with the curved hollow of her foot, her knees up and wide 
apart, the hem of her dress rucked up around her hips. Since she wore 
nothing beneath, Florence could see the hair where her legs met, a startling 
contrast to the brassy bleach job. The lips of her hot vagina slashed down 
the length of the dusky furrow like a raw, pink wound, glistening and wet 
between her spread legs. 

She stopped her slow stroking and rotated the ball of her big toe on the 
seeping gland of his penis, smoothing its sticky secretion over the rubbery, 
sensitive flesh until he cried out. 

"That's enough, you little prick teaser!" he protested hoarsely. "Suck it, 
baby... Suck my cock!" 

As though she'd been just waiting for the invitation, in a flash Mary 
twisted around on the bed and brought her plump body to a crouched 
supplication at his loins. Her hands flew to his cock and as her head dipped 
Florence saw its bloated head being pulled avidly into the hungry recesses 
of her mouth. It disappeared into the hungry ovalled cavity with a wet, 
suctioning noise. Mouth working, cords knotting in her neck, inhaling in 
impassioned frenzy, she devoured the thick, sinewy limb almost in its 
entirety into her throat. 

Florence watched the lipsticked oval of Mary's mouth stretch to a thin red 
circle of elasticity around the enormous shaft, looking as if her contorted 
face would be split wide open by its huge girth. She saw her cheeks 
hollowing in and out, her throat gulping convulsively, and had the horrified 
thought that the girl would surely choke to death. But even as fright 
squeezed her lungs, parching her own throat, her father's long penis began 
to glide in and out of the tortured opening. Erratically at first and then 
with a smooth fluid rhythm as he snapped his loins forward and back in a 
rapidly quickening tempo. The flexing cheeks of his lean, sinewed buttocks 
clenched and cupped with each forward thrust and the firm flesh of his 
thighs corrugated with the ripple of straining muscle. 

Mary's mouth snaked hungrily along the length of his cock, and in the 
convolutions of her swollen lips the expanded flesh glistened with its own 
lubricity and the hot wetness of her saliva. The clear liquid flowed down, 
matting his pubic hair and slicking her kneading fingers on the sperm-laden 
pulsation of his balls. He groaned and stiffened, grinding his pelvis hard 
against her face as a rummaging finger found his anus and wormed teasingly 
into the tight, rubbery passage. 

"Aaaahhhhh... Christ! That feels good!" 

Eyes riveted on her father's hot, lust-hardened cock sawing into Mary's 
mouth, Florence was half-weakened from an almost hypnotic trance by his 
harsh cry. She squirmed in shamed agony at the prurient gnawings of desire 
wracking her aroused body. A wealth of moist sensitivity between her thighs 
was driving her wild with a fierce, aching demand and the budding nipples of 
her young breasts throbbed unbearably. It took every ounce of willpower she 
could command from her thundering senses to keep her fingers locked in the 
screen's biting curlicues, to keep from plunging them recklessly and 
sinfully into her aching cunt. Pressed tight against the heavy wooden 
support, of its own volition her burning flesh began to undulate in a slow, 
erotic emulation of the oral fucking as she continued to watch through 
glazed eyes. 

Her father was muttering incoherently through clenched teeth as the 
tinsel-bright hair coruscating over his cock bobbed faster and faster with a 
frenetic fury. Until at last, breathing heavily, he choked out, "Oh! 
Oooohhh... God! I'm going to cum!" 

No sooner had the words exploded from his gasping lips than Mary rocked back 
on her haunches. She glared at him, stormy-eyed, and her big breasts heaved 
as though trying to batter free of her dress. White fluid seeped from the 
corners of her mouth in thin, crystalline dribbles, the salacious lips still 
ovaled in the expanding image of his cock. 

"Don't you dare, you bastard!" she shrilled. "Fuck me... damn you... fuck 
me!" 

Her lips had left his near bursting penis jerking madly in the air, its 
pulsating head an angry purple from the lashing titillation of her tongue. 
The fleshy bone was ridged with a narrow white trail scraped by her nibbling 
teeth. A shudder of frustrated desire shook his lean frame and for a split 
second he swayed drunkenly, helpless on the brink of orgasm. 

Gaining control he made a grab for her, emitting the bellow of an enraged 
bull. 

"Whoring little bitch!" he shouted. 

Momentarily the young girl looking on trembled like an aspen leaf in the 
first blast of a winter storm. Mary had eluded his grasp, rolling away with 
a squealing shriek, and suddenly the bed was a roiling sea of flailing arms 
and legs. Florence caught flashes of his penis jabbing blindly into the 
mattress, stabbing the soft resilience of bouncing breasts and buttocks; a 
dimpled knee knifing vainly at his pendulous balls; strong legs scissored 
around his neck and his nose forcefully pulled into a steaming furrow of 
pink, hair-lined flesh. 

The thrashing turmoil had frightened her but now she realized that the 
sounds Mary was making weren't sounds of protest... they were groans of 
pleasure. She writhed and wriggled on the bed gasping out half-words and 
moans. 

"Don't stop! Aaah! Do it... do it! Oooohhh, don't stop! That's it," she 
crooned. "Oh, yesss . 

. . lick my clit!" 

He struggled to raise his head against the pull of her legs, managing to 
draw back slightly from the humid, smothering sheath as Florence watched 
with depraved tingles racing through her belly and loins. She was beyond all 
rationality now, transfixed by the sight and sounds of her father's 
slobbering tongue. As he mouthed the open, throbbing cunt-lips the 
tantalizing friction of her own pubic mound rotating heatedly against the 
screen aroused her to an excitement she could no longer control. Her fingers 
relinquished their deathlike grip and her right hand began to slide down her 
body, down along the smooth plane of her sides and across her stomach to 
rest on the trembling mound, to press there and then to begin to rub back 
and forth, back and forth, through the static material. Hand flat against 
the maddening area, knowing what she was doing was wrong but powerless to 
stop herself, rubbing with an ever-increasing rhythm her middle finger 
insinuated itself between the soft, tender lips of her quivering pussy. 
Through the thin silk of her skirt the moist, fleshy folds enveloped the 
probing finger with a sweet urgency, a delicious pleasure-pain unlike 
anything she had ever known before in all of her young life. 

She could feel the wetness flowing freely now from her stimulated pussy and 
her left hand went to one burgeoning breast, cupping the swelling globe in 
her palm while her fingers strummed wantonly at the tumescent nipple. 

The sounds coming from the bed filled the room with a mixture of hot, 
gushing pants and breathless squeals and moans. Like a snake, the long, 
pointed tongue would dart in and out, in and out of Mary's steaming cunt, 
pausing briefly from time to time to lick around the ragged edges in lewd, 
sensuous circles and to dart probingly into the furled brown bud of her 
anus. She was pumping her desire-drenched loins in utter frenzy against his 
skewering tongue, fucking it wildly, her thrusting hips lifting her body far 
up off the mattress. Every muscle surging to meet the frantic inquiry 
between her thighs, suddenly she wailed, "Fuck me! For God's sake, fuck me 
now! I want to feel your cock inside of me . 

. . filling my cunt! Sweet Jesus, hurry! I... I'm almost... ready... to... 
cum!" 

As John Mason withdrew his slavering tongue from the wet, greedy cuntal 
mouth his daughter's untutored brain reeled with a swift comprehension of 
what was about to transpire. At least she knew what was going to happen _" 
although she had no precise conception of exactly how it would happen and 
she watched with growing, shocked enlightenment as he straightened to a 
kneeling position. His body in the parentheses of Mary's legs, his engorged 
prick swung up, bringing its blunt head, pulsing angrily, to poise directly 
above the pink, gaping hole which nestled so tightly that it looked ripe to 
the bursting point. A dark vein running heavily across the ridge of muscle 
lengthwise on the underside of his shaft throbbed ominously. 

A tremor of fear passed through Florence's befuddled mind. Oh, no, she 
thought, he isn't going to put that... that monstrous, that huge... thing! 
in the soft tiny opening beneath its hot, dripping mouth! It would never 
fit! Why, the thick, powerful rod would tear the narrow tunnel into a 
million shreds of raw, bleeding flesh! Her stroking finger came to startled 
halt in the untried youth of her own vaginal slit and, probing gingerly into 
its lush, moist outer depths, encountered a swift cringing of tight 
resistance. Trying to imagine the impossible bulk of her father's penis 
invading such a tender, vulnerable passage, to envision his wickedly hard 
and immense, stiff, long male member supplanting the tentative emissary of 
her slim finger filled her with sudden terror. 

Overwhelmed by the enormity of such impossibly excessive violation of her 
virginal pussy, all sensual entrancement deserted her completely, leaving 
only a void of frightened horror. 

She tossed her head, breathing deeply, as if trying to dispel the erotic 
images sinuously twisting through her brain, but her transfixed gaze held 
her unwillingly captive to the lewd spectacle. It seemed like some evil 
demon was determined to subject her to the strangely ecstatic truth of that 
which was unbelievable and wicked, compelling her to watch in abject, shamed 
fascination. 

Her father was again crouched low, moving up over Mary's wildly gyrating 
body. His tongue trailed upward along her belly into her navel and again 
slithered upward, leaving a hot, wet path as he swarmed over her until he 
reached the erected nipple of one breast, and then the other, sucking and 
inciting the coral tips to visible, aching delight. And when he brought his 
lips, open and shining with the girl's own cuntal juices, to her mouth, 
Florence was dumbfounded by the expression on her face. Head rolled back 
above the filmy muffler of the dress bunched at her chin, eyes closed and 
lips open and drooling, despite the ruined make-up smearing her 
passion-bloated features Mary looked incredibly, almost beatifically, 
overjoyed. The younger girl couldn't begin to understand what she was 
seeing; she just knew an impossible pleasure was there before her. 

She saw the hungry mouth, tongue thrusting greedily, grind itself into her 
father's hot, open kiss, slavering and sucking at his imbedded tongue. And 
then saw her hands reached down between their sweating bodies to encircle 
his massive, pulsating shaft and guide it to the ready wetness of her cunt, 
parting the fleece-lined lips with its bulbous, blood-inflated head. 

The pressure of the moist, glossy opening against his bursting cock had been 
all he could stand. He rammed forward unmercifully, smashing his full weight 
onto her as she drove her hips upward at the same time, and his long, thick 
cock plunged into the receptive depths of her womb with the savage 
propulsion of a battering ram. And Florence's little choking scream was lost 
in the loud smack of his sperm-bloated balls into the damp crevice between 
the cheeks of Mary's ass, in her shrill lusting cry of triumph and his mad, 
rutting grunt. 

Crumpling to a pitiful heap on the floor, the last sight the thirteen year 
old remembered was the maid's hands digging into her father's driving 
buttocks, pulling him deeper and deeper between her flailing legs. And she 
heard the thick voice of passion pleading, "Oh, yesssss... oooohhhhh... fuck 
me hard... harder!" 

Flo found herself automatically thanking the stewardess for a cup of coffee 
that seemed to appear from out of thin air into her hands. A quick glance at 
her watch verified that the flight was only half over _" that memories, 
like dreams, can be infinite but fleeting. For several minutes she sat there 
sipping the aromatic, invigorating liquid, feeling suddenly as if a heavy 
load had been lifted from her shoulders. How she had ever allowed herself to 
think of her father as belonging to the same class as that gray-suited 
lecher was something she couldn't understand. 

What was wrong with her? she asked herself impatiently, Just because some 
crude stranger had made a pass at her, however obnoxious, was no reason to 
come unglued. 

How stupid to dredge up a childhood incident that she'd had no business 
witnessing in the first place. 

Catching a glimpse of her would-be seducer, looking rather glum and somehow 
not quite so insouciant, anger seethed over her as she remembered his lewd 
approach, but in spite of herself she felt a swift twinge of pity. Or 
perhaps the feeling was merely a projection of how Flo had come to feel 
towards her father. 

Due to one of her mother's convenient asthma attacks, with which Flo was all 
too familiar, Mrs. Mason's surprise visit for a day or so, ostensibly to 
help her little girl "settle-in" the new house, had stretched out to over a 
week. And then she'd insisted that she was too ill to make the return trip 
to Long Island alone. Flo, who hadn't been home in three years, had been 
shocked yesterday when she saw the change in her dad. He seemed to have 
aged, was suddenly almost frail. He asked her so many questions about 
herself and Martin, and was so glad to see her, she'd been immediately aware 
that taking the next flight back to New York would be impossibly cruel. 

Martin hadn't sounded too happy when she called to tell him of her decision 
to stay overnight, but she felt such a guilty relief in just getting her 
mother back home that she figured one more night couldn't really make any 
difference. It so happened that it did, although Flo had no inkling of the 
repercussions her hasty change of plans would bring. 

Back in the pristine frills of her old room, snuggled down in bed, she came 
to the growing realization that her father wasn't the one so greatly 
changed. It was she who had gotten older, who had finally grown up to see 
him as he really was, an ageless leprechaun with an underlying sadness 
beneath his Irish sparkle; a father for whom she can feel a new compassion 
and understanding. She fell asleep thinking, poor dad. 

The next morning as she stared down into the coffee dregs settling in her 
cup, the same sympathy echoed through her mind. 

Why has he stuck by mother all of these years? Flo wondered. What sort of 
man would put up with a woman who is _" might as well face it even if she 
is my mother _" a domineering puritanical shrew and a cold unloving one at 
that? 

And all at once Flo knew. Who else but a loving father trying to make some 
semblance of a normal home for his daughter? And who wouldn't dream of 
hurting her or intentionally destroying that illusion. It had taken her 
mother to do that, starting right after the episode on her birthday when the 
significance of separate sleeping quarters in the dreary back parlor 
snowballed into an endless stream of unspoken questions and uneasy doubts 
along through the years. It flashed through her mind that evil as much as 
beauty, can be in the eye of the beholder. 

So many things seemed suddenly clear to her now. Her father had never been 
the lewd Lothario she'd pictured him but merely a normal male with human 
frailties, wants and needs of his own. She was glad he'd been able to find 
some pleasure, some outlet for a warm sensual nature. Who could blame him, 
married to a frigid wife? 

Good God! An agonizing thought struck her. I've acted so bitchy with Martin, 
is that how he thinks of me? And then Flo knew _" somehow, magically, 
intuitively _" that she was her father's daughter and was thankful. 
Thinking of Martin, she was filled with wonder and hope and terror and 
humility. Suddenly, she couldn't wait to be alone with her husband, free at 
last to prove to him unreservedly _" even wantonly, that she was a 
hot-blooded sensual woman. 

The flame of being alive, of loving and being loved, burned roaring in this 
sleek and superb female animal as the ten fifteen flight from Long Island 
landed smoothly in the Kennedy Airport. In her new mood of spirited abandon, 
Flo's all-encompassing smile radiated benignly over the dirty old man in the 
gray suit, regenerating the poor fellow's ego. Given another chance, his 
vanity assured him, he could have scored. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

All things considered, Florence Mason Filbert certainly had matured during 
that flying trip to Long Island and back. Until then, the wonder is that she 
dared venture into matrimony at all. Incredibly, still a virgin at 
twenty-four, she was a dreamer whose life had been a perplexity of inbred 
inhibition and combatant sensuality, torn apart by that same warring 
combination between her mother and her father until she'd summoned an inner 
courage to strike out on her own. 

If Mabel Mason ever had, or indeed been capable of any physical love for her 
husband, it had been severed at the time of their daughter's birth as 
cleanly as the umbilical cord. 

From that day forward her severe yet cloying attention was lavished on 
Florence. The smothering fixation could hardly be called love, except 
perhaps in the abstract sense of a self-love outwardly channeled in hopes of 
infesting another with itself. Any warmth she possessed had long burned out, 
leaving only a warped, puritanical offering for the girl child; dictates of 
right and wrong which brooked no middle ground, no short cuts, no softening 
grace. 

In nursery school, Florence diffused automatically into "Flo" through the 
osmosis of children's simplified wordage, but to her mother she was forever 
and implacably Florence. 

Mabel Mason's concept of sex, equally rigid, was so distorted as to be 
almost obscenely unhealthy. She laid a blanket of sin over all pleasures of 
the flesh. 

Traumatic though the experience had been at the time, watching her father 
screw the hell out of the sexpot Mary was probably a good thing. For shortly 
afterwards it came back to Flo in a different form, a way that was the small 
beginning of doubt as to her mother's omnipotent wisdom. 

Her class in school had gone on a field excursion to the beach, a rare 
privilege for Flo, for although the ocean was but a few miles from home, 
Mrs. Mason, a ship of a woman with an iron constitution, abhorred salt air 
_" saying it was bad for her asthma. (According to time and place, this 
excuse for denial of pleasure was varied with her "migraine".) Having 
learned very early that making friends caused needless heartbreak since she 
couldn't return their hospitality, Flo wandered along the beach, taking off 
her socks and tennis shoes, feeling the warm sands with her bare toes and 
basking in a sense of infinite peace and solitude. She'd walked on and on, 
until it seemed almost as if she was in another desert, another world, 
perhaps another planet. It was only then, feeling her aloneness, that she 
paused and stood motionless. And then she turned her head as her eyes 
followed a sun-bathing lizard scuttle down from a boulder and cut a pale 
slithering swath through the shimmery sand. Something about the small 
creature, grayishly repulsive and yet conversely beautiful in its sinuous, 
reptilian grace, struck a responsive note. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by 
the sensation it provoked. The awful tearing apart inside of the very young 
who discover a swift beauty in what must surely be evil _" and therefore 
ugly. 

The transcendence into young womanhood, not easy at best, was especially 
painful for Flo, unsure whether she was either fish or fowl. Her mother 
could make her feel guilty _" although she was never quite sure why. 
Cloistered and guilt-bearing, she grew into a real beauty of eye-catching 
physical attributes, which made the opposing demands of sin and sex so hard 
to cope with she resorted to hiding a sensual nature beneath a thin, but 
formidable, veneer of icy reserve. There was much Flo didn't understand 
about herself, and didn't dare probe, she only knew there must be more to 
living than her dull, limited existence. She even dreamed of something 
wonderful, quite naturally in the shape of a man, that would take her out of 
this meaningless void. 

Surprisingly enough, she went to him, although Flo never knew what it cost 
her father to make the way easy for her to leave home and find Martin 
Filbert. In the back of his mind John Mason had planned for years on leaving 
his wife the day his daughter went out on her own, but as the time came, 
forced into the realization that Mabel would go to any devious lengths to 
make it distressing, if not impossible, for her to leave, he sacrificed 
himself. Showing more courage then he knew he had, he stood up to his wife, 
threatening to run off with an attractive widow down the street and 
promising to make damn sure the whole neighborhood knew about it, if she 
wouldn't willingly let go of Flo. Melodramatic, pure corn as it sounds, the 
threat was by no means idle and it worked. As he knew it would, with a 
self-righteous woman who valued her image as a good wife _" not to mention 
the protection of his name and the security he provided. 

Through business connections he even secured a job for his daughter with a 
large corporate law firm in New York, far enough away to insure against any 
further interference by her mother. So at twenty-one, after two years in 
Junior College and then two more in a business school, Flo finally emerged 
from a perennial schoolgirl into a young woman of the big city, expecting 
that something wonderful was going to happen any minute. 

Only it didn't work out quite that way. Oh, she made friends and for the 
first year or so went out on plenty of dates and turned down a good many 
more. But inbred convictions - strict morality and puritanical inhibition 
_" can be even harder to break than they are a long time in forming. Flo 
wasn't a girl for wrestling in back seats with some human octopus whom she 
barely liked, and with the few ardent males she more than liked it was 
harder yet to fight them off. For she discovered a hidden depth of aching 
sensuality she hadn't dreamed she possessed, a response to raw sex, as 
insatiable as a flame, that frightened her. To a girl of Flo's upbringing 
this seemed not only immoral but shameful. Because of this, and her gradual 
awakening to the fact that a healthy, aggressive male's primary objective 
was to eventually get her pants off, she took to dating far less than 
before. And she adhered to double dates with one of her girlfriends, or an 
evening with an innocuous youth with whom she could feel comfortably safe. 

Of course word got around through the inter-office grapevine that the 
sexy-looking dish built like a brick outhouse was so cold she'd freeze your 
balls, that she had hot pants but was a lousy lay, or that she was a real 
square, the most naive thing around _" the stories varied with the teller 
but the invitations dropped appreciably in number. 

So during the next year Flo kept busy, she became secretary to one of the 
senior officers in the firm and liked her job, sharing an apartment with two 
other girls from the office, was never outwardly lonely. If there were 
nights when she felt like she'd been swallowed alive by the brave new world 
that was supposed to have been her oyster _" well, that was between Flo and 
the tears dampening her pillow. 

Until the day Martin Filbert came to work for the firm, she had even managed 
to convince herself that she was reasonably happy. He was a lean, 
bull-shouldered giant with amber eyes and flaming hair _" a close-cropped 
helmet that glowed like embers of red gold under the fluorescent lights; a 
man so physical, so lustfully alive that his animal presence drew Flo to him 
like a magnet. As it did every female in the building. Whenever Martin came 
near her, her sensory receptors went wildly out of control and registered 
tilt. She felt as if something _" an entity in her own body _" were trying 
to remind her of sensations that had long been kept under lock and key. 

And although the attraction between two such vibrant beings couldn't help 
but be mutual, having heard the stories, Martin was wary. Outwardly a 
girl-eating tiger on the prowl, he was far more vulnerable and sensitive, 
also selective, than his appearance had led women to believe. Incongruous as 
it seems, he was not only modest, but, in Flo's case not knowing which story 
to believe, fearful of being either sexually rebuffed or screwed to death! 
Then too, having served his time in the armed forces before going on to 
finish law school, he felt under pressure to make up for lost time in his 
profession. He put in long hours and took his work seriously. He had a few 
casual dates, but held his distance from Flo. 

As for her, with Martin's appearance on the scene she came to the 
realization that her busy life had been a hollow world. For the very first 
time Flo Mason, the untouchable, pursued a man _" and was glad she was 
young and beautiful, grateful for the lovely tilt of her full breasts and 
for the swinging grace of long, firm-fleshed thighs and slender legs. 

Making trivial excuses to herself, she went out of her way to pass Martin's 
office, to arrange accidental encounters at the coffee wagon, in the 
elevator, around the water cooler. She even altered her pattern of arrival 
and departure at the office in an attempt to coincide with his whenever 
possible. Sometimes she thought she detected a look of knowing amusement in 
his eyes, but Flo, quite simply, couldn't help herself. 

Subtly, she hoped, and frequently inadvertently, she chased Martin Filbert. 
And when she finally caught him, which he allowed her to do willingly _" 
oh, ineffably more than that, eagerly! _" Flo Mason was probably the only 
employee of Jones, O'Farrell and Stone who was surprised. 

He asked her to marry him the third time he took her out and being a 
sensible, adult couple, they set the date for the wedding two months hence, 
allowing time to get thoroughly acquainted with each other's personality, 
their likes and dislikes. Quite frankly, Martin wanted her so badly he would 
have preferred finding the closest motel and taking her to bed right then 
and there. But he still wasn't sure which of the office tales were true. 

Not that it mattered or that he gave a damn, he told himself. Although 
secretly hoping Flo was a virgin, Martin knew better than to expect such a 
prize in a girl of her age and sensual beauty. Saint or harlot, he was so 
completely in love with her that he respected her wishes. But not until some 
time later did it occur to him the waiting period had been mostly Flo's 
idea. For ecstatic as she was and almost helplessly in love, the enormity of 
marriage suddenly frightened her, unconsciously prompting her to stall for 
time. Martin spent those two months in an agony of frustrated sex, trying to 
figure out just what kind of girl Flo really was. Each discovered their 
tastes were uncannily well matched, but she blew hot, then cold, with such 
alarming, maddening inconsistency, that the only thing he discovered with 
any sureness was her virginity. And even that was equivocal in the light of 
what happened the one time sexual intercourse was imminent between them. 

They had gone to a football game, along with a gang from the office, 
including Flo's two roommates and their current men. 

It was a gray, lowering afternoon and a brisk wind swirled up from the 
grassy floor of the Coliseum to sweep through the packed tiers in chilling 
spirals. But along with high spirits aroused by the game and the cheering 
crowd, the gay, friendly group was well immunized to fluctuations of autumn 
weather by a steady flow of coffee heavily laced with brandy. 

Caught up in the carefree mood of boisterous turmoil, Flo, who was not much 
of a drinker as a rule, almost unconsciously drained her Thermos cup each 
time it was refilled. Yelling herself hoarse and bouncing up and down along 
with the most zealous rooters, she hadn't realized just how often that was 
until on the way home. 

Packed into the station wagon like sardines in a tin, she felt lightheaded 
and suddenly very warm, and knew she'd had too much to drink. When the gang 
stopped for cocktails at a bar within a few blocks of the apartment she 
begged off, asking Martin if he'd mind walking her home to pick up his car. 

Mind? In the crowded car, Flo had been practically sitting on his lap. With 
his brain whirling with brandy fumes and the heady fragrance of her 
nearness, he'd felt tight. But it had nothing to do with the liquor. The 
sensuous swell of her left breast pressing hotly into the muscles of his 
chest and the exciting expanse of her hip and thigh tight against his leg 
had kindled a peak of desire that was torture. It was also downright 
embarrassing as he'd felt his prick, roused to a hard, rigid ache, stretch 
the material at his crotch to a thrusting protuberance. Wondering how the 
hell he'd get from the wagon into the protective gloom of the bar with an 
obvious hard-on, Martin welcomed the chance to walk if off. 

As they piled out of the car he grabbed Flo's stadium blanket, holding it 
awkwardly at his middle to hide the telltale bulge of his genitals. She 
clung to his arm and he almost dragged her away and up the street in the 
wake of his long, swinging stride. 

Once in the fresh air Flo began to feel more lucid. "Hey, what's the big 
hurry? Are you all that anxious to get rid of me?" she teased, struggling to 
match her steps to his. 

A momentary surge of unreasonable irritation tempted him to blurt out the 
truth, to tell her that it was getting to be plain hell every time she 
touched him; especially as she was doing now, fitting the curves and hollows 
of her body into his side as they marched along in unison. He had the 
devilish impulse to say, "Dammit, Flo, you've got me so hot my cock's 
threatening to burst right out through my pants _" and I want to fuck you 
so badly I can taste it!" 

But as he looked down into her flushed laughing face and saw the azure 
brilliance of her eyes, eyes filled with adoring invitation and yet a young 
trusting innocence, "Looks like it's going to rain any minute," was the 
excuse he uttered lamely. 

Without breaking stride, Martin's flaming head dipped to her dark one and he 
brushed a swift, tender kiss over Flo's parted lips. They'd gone scarcely a 
few steps farther when the first drops of rain began to pattern the 
sidewalk. Then the heavens opened to spew an angry deluge of pelting 
bullets, cold and wet. Although the sudden, torrential downpour cooled his 
ardor, freeing Martin to hoist the blanket over their heads, by the time 
they reached her apartment building the makeshift umbrella was soaked 
through and both he and Flo were drenched to the skin. 

But it had been great fun and they came in out of the storm, laughing and 
shaking their wetness, like a couple of delighted, mischievous kids. Flo 
raced up the stairs to the girls' second floor apartment ahead of him. Once 
inside she went directly to the fireplace. 

"Dump that wet blanket in the tub, will you, hon?" she called back over her 
shoulder. 

She straightened up from lighting the gas log and turned to face Martin as 
he came out of the bathroom. Shrugging out of his wet coat he tossed it over 
the back of a chair and his shoes made a squishing sound as he walked across 
the room. A dripping cascade of curls had tumbled over her eyes when she 
bent down and as she swept it off her forehead, getting a good look at him, 
fresh laughter bubbled up in Flo's throat. 

"I'm glad you find me so amusing," he grinned back at her. "But it's damned 
uncomfortable, believe me." 

Flo sobered, at once contrite. "I'm sorry, darling. I shouldn't have 
laughed, but you _" you squish so! Poor baby, you're puddling all over the 
carpet!" 

"You look pretty much like a sick kitten that my dad had to drown once 
yourself." 

He had taken Flo by the hands and was holding her away at arm's length, 
running a critical eye over her from head to toe. "Mmmmmm. At that, I think 
maybe the kitten looked just a little bit better," Martin said judiciously. 

At that precise moment, Flo became aware of how she must look to him. The 
loose jacket of her two-piece knit suit, which had peeled back in the 
on-rush of the driving rain, was hanging limp at her sides, and abruptly she 
was acutely conscious of the soaked dress beneath. She could feel the soft 
knit molded to her body like a second skin. As his strong hands tightened 
warmly, compulsively, on her slender fingers, sending an electric current 
shooting up her arms and into her breasts, she felt her nipples stiffen to 
instant attention against the clinging fabric. And then she heard Martin's 
swift intake of breath, and Flo became aware of something else. They were 
alone here together... and she wanted him! 

Martin and Flo had been off by themselves before, but since each shared an 
apartment with others from the firm where they worked, real privacy was hard 
to come by. And in the confines of Martin's two-seater sports car, complete 
intimacy was a physical impossibility. 

Feasting his eyes on the perfect proportions of Flo's body, Martin saw the 
urgent swell of her breasts and felt an answering response hardening in his 
groin, felt his prick give a swift, excited leap. He looked her full in the 
face and was immediately convinced that her thoughts were the same as his. 
God, how he wanted her! And as he put his arms around her, aware of the musk 
of her lips and mouth, her breasts flattened against his chest, her pelvis 
thrust forward to fix the body-length bond between them, he hoped for 
gentleness, barely controlling the impulse to grab and fuck. 

When Flo felt him against her, the hard throbbing bulge of his penis probing 
heatedly into the lower regions of her belly warned her that this was 
dangerous ground. It wasn't fair of her to tease him, to lead him on, when 
she had no intentions of going all the way until they were man and wife. But 
dear God! It was so marvelous to be held like this, to know that she was 
loved and needed! It was incredible how the whole of her, embracing the 
whole of him, was instantly and fully engorged. And putting him off wasn't 
really a matter of intent; it was simply some inbred, inner force that 
compelled her to wait, no matter how desperate her own urgency, for the 
sanction of the marriage bed. 

She strained against him for a sweet, abandoned moment, feeling the hardness 
between his legs grow with the pressure of her belly, reveling in the 
delicious, erotic sensations tingling throughout her entire body. It wasn't 
until his hands slipped down her spine to cup her full ovaled buttocks, 
pulling her loins up tight against the swelling demand of his penis, that 
she came to her senses. 

Somehow she managed to twist her lips away from the fervent pressure of his 
hot, thirsty kiss. "Wait, dearest... don't," she gasped. "We better get out 
of these wet things before we catch our death!" 

Under the circumstances the words sounded inanely bold and she was astounded 
by what she'd said. But at least Martin released her. So abruptly, in fact, 
that she stood swaying uncertainly, almost with a feeling of hurt 
bewilderment. 

"Don't move a muscle, I'll be right back." His voice was a husky whisper and 
he turned back to the bath with a deliberately lewd grin lighting his face. 

Her nerves were spindling off somewhere, and she was trying frantically to 
get them back in place. She stood there in the clammy dampness of her 
clothes, shivering, listening as Martin rummaged through the linen closet 
and hearing the hiss of gas flames roaring at her back. All at once she felt 
unendurably hot. The heat seemed to serve as a catalyst to the brandy 
consumed earlier, making her slightly dizzy, tipsy all over again. She had 
kicked off her ruined shoes and was struggling to slip out of the clinging 
wool coat when Martin came through the bathroom door. 

He was stripped down to his jockey shorts, wearing a garish pink towel 
jauntily around his broad shoulders. As he walked toward her, Flo's startled 
gaze took in its much larger mate trailing from one outstretched hand and 
the sodden mass of his shirt and trousers dripping from the other. 

"Martin Filbert! I... I didn't mean -!" 

As if an unseen hand had squeezed the air out of her lungs the sentence died 
in midair. 

Flo's wide-eyed stare locked on the heavy sag in the front of his jockey 
shorts. His penis had risen up taut under the confining material, forming a 
towerlike point that protruded ominously from the general bulge. Eyes 
magnetized on that point, Flo felt her stomach go hollow and then such a 
tremendous rush of longing gathered in a torment between her own thighs that 
she almost cried out in pain. Through the thundering beat of her heart his 
voice sounded miles away. 

"Well, it was your suggestion, honey," Martin was saying. "And the only 
sensible thing to do anyway. So don't look so surprised." She knew he was 
laughing at her, teasing her, but her sense of humor had fled with her 
voice, leaving only this breathless tide of desire. 

Like it was the most natural thing in the world he had drawn a 
straight-backed chair up to the hearth, and was proceeding casually to 
spread his clothes over its surface to dry. Only then, with the hypnotic eye 
of his penis turned away from her sight, did Flo find some of her wits. But 
as she made a desperate grab for the towel now draped over his arm he swung 
around and she found herself once more in his tight embrace. 

"No, please. I'm all wet! Ohhhh, don't she was almost sobbing, trying to 
regain her composure. 

Oh, God, she thought, I've brought this on myself. Acting like a cheap 
pickup! But we are engaged, and he's been so patient... surely giving him 
just a little satisfaction won't hurt me... and we can always stop before 
_" . 

Martin's fingers raced to undress her and he felt the need of more hands, 
preferably non-trembling hands. He had the definite sense that his cock was 
reaching out for her as if it had a life of its own, hurrying him along. The 
material of his shorts, soft though it was, felt harshly abrasive on the 
blood-filled head of his cock rotating wetly against it. He could feel the 
wild pulse in her body now, but knowing she was frightened he tried to be 
gentle, to soothe and excite at one and the same time. As his finger fumbled 
with the long zipper at the nape of her neck and tugged her dress down over 
her shoulders, his tongue moved hotly into the recesses of her ear. 

Flo's body jumped as her full breasts surged free of her bra and she felt a 
rush of air cool on the feverish tips of her swollen nipples. She squirmed 
backwards, away from his distended cock embedding itself into the soft flesh 
of her abdomen, and stared blindly up into his flushed, handsome face. 

"Please don't Martin... we mustn't! Oh, my darling," she pleaded. "The whole 
gang might walk in... and you know I can't let you...!" 

"Oh, God, Flo... just let me feel you, look at your luscious body! Baby, 
baby... You know I wouldn't hurt you, wouldn't do anything you don't want me 
to do... Please, darling!" 

He wanted to mean what he was saying, wanted to believe the reassuring 
words. But even as he uttered them, deep within Martin knew that was all 
they were _" just words. 

For nothing existed now beyond the pounding inside of him that refused to be 
denied, the hot driving urgency of his cock and the maddeningly desirable, 
receptive love in his arms. 

Abandoning himself against any judgment he had, Martin fastened his mouth on 
the bud of a coral pink nipple, completely absorbing it and the hard point 
of Flo's breast within his lips. In one fluid maneuver his hands had 
smoothed bra, dress and panties to a crumpled circle at her feet and Flo 
thought her whole body enveloped in a sheet of flame. Tiny fingers of heat 
darted out from the hearth to sear at her naked spine and buttocks, and his 
hot tongue licking at her breast burned like a spear of liquid fire. 

"Ahhhhh, yes, yes! Martin, please... Oooohhh, no no!" She heard herself 
muttering incoherently, not making any sense at all. She looked down at the 
beloved, coppery head sucking at her breasts, drawing one nipple to taut, 
quivering erection and then the other, feeling the rising tide of passion 
bound joyfully out of control. A momentary sense of shame swept over her 
even as her hands, of their own eager volition, tangled in his hair and 
pulled his face into the deep, moist crevice between her breasts. 

"God, but you're beautiful!" Martin gasped into the soft, fragrant valley. 

He kneeled before her as without knowing, without any conscious will she 
pushed his head downward, urging his mouth to pattern a hot moist trail over 
the flat plain of her tense abdomen. His hands kneaded the flexing cheeks of 
her buttocks, traced over the high, rounded hips swells and brushed slowly 
over her pubic area, pausing a moment to exert a caressing pressure in the 
fine, silken hair, then moved down to stroke the soft inner hollows of her 
thighs. The texture of the glossy flesh was like dew-moistened petals of a 
rose, satin smooth, filmed with the intoxicating essence of her seeping 
vaginal juice. 

Tremors of tactile sensation surged through Flo. Martin's mouth planting 
hot, wet kisses at the base of her belly, along the feathery edge of her 
pubic hair, was an instrument of exquisite torture. Automatically she spread 
her legs, opening her inner thigh to his probing touch. The stroking of his 
magic hands did strange things to her, igniting her flesh into a hot sheet 
of desire, causing the sensitive nerve ends inside her tight, burning vagina 
to tingle maddeningly. As the hot air of the gas flames wafted between her 
open legs to fan the dewdrop moisture gathering there she could feel the 
exposed hair-lined lips begin a slow spasmodic contracting, throbbing wetly 
against each other. 

"Ohhh, Martin, Martin... Noooo, my darling, you mustn't!" Flo groaned aloud 
and squirmed against his tantalizing lips and fingers. 

She felt his mouth inching downward, his tongue teasing hotly into the pubic 
curls, darting avidly into the soft dark hair, so close... Oh, God!... so 
very close to the access of her most secret being. And how she wanted to 
feel the fiery probe licking, sucking _" yes, devouring _" her pussy! But 
this depraved craving was all wrong... she couldn't, daren't let herself 
give in to such wanton desire! Her brain swirled madly. She thought she was 
pushing him away but instead her betraying body was floating down through a 
red black haze. And the insanity of it was that she was reaching out for 
him, clasping his naked vibrancy wildly to her breast as they folded 
downward into the deep, furry rug. 

Stretched out on the floor, Martin pulled her pliant perfection tightly 
against the bearishness of himself as he kissed her with fury. Flattening 
and spreading her lips open, he tasted them with the tip of his tongue, went 
behind them to her teeth, speared into her mouth, inciting her tongue to 
fence eagerly with his while her hot, sweet breath panted into his face. He 
caressed the small of her back, the rounded, ivory moons of her buttocks 
and, hands trembling, split the firm cheeks to run an exploratory finger 
tenderly over her tiny crinkled anus. A husky groan escaping from her 
throat, her body responded convulsively to the alien probe of her rectum, 
jerking forward against his cock and sinking the rigid shaft deep into the 
soft warm flesh of her belly. 

Christ! A new sensation of excitement roared through him. He had never taken 
such intimate liberty with any woman, had never really wanted to, but as the 
cheeks of her ass writhed licentiously in his palms, he felt wild to plunge 
his finger into the tight hot resistance of Flo's tight young anal passage. 
Instead, he withdrew the offending digit, no longer out of any fear of 
hurting her, but because his cock was jerking wildly almost out of control, 
and he wished desperately to make these ecstatic moments last, to give her a 
pleasure matching his own. 

His hands slipped to her breasts, kneading, stroking, his fingertips rolling 
the erect nipples teasingly between them. The lush fullness of each perfect 
hemisphere, resilient, yet still strong and firm in their sleek, pulsating 
warmth, was more exciting to his touch than anything he had ever dreamed 
could exist. God, he was going out of his skull! She moaned, helpless 
beneath his hands, her pelvis grinding uncontrollably against the hard 
demand of his cock, crushing the full length of her provocative body into 
his lean, muscular frame with undeniable urgency. He knew then with ultimate 
certainty that he was going to fuck her. 

As though she had read his thoughts Flo twisted her face away from his 
scouring lips. 

"Oh, no, no, no, nooo-o-o-o!" she whined, tossing her head from side to 
side. She gripped his shoulders, nails biting into the flesh, in a desperate 
effort to push him away. But she couldn't help the feverish undulation of 
her buttocks and hips, nor still their movement, wild gyrations as though to 
escape the fires ravishing her loins. Yet with every buffeting thrust the 
hardness of his aroused penis burrowing into her belly increased her desire 
to an unbelievable pitch. She felt his lips at her breast, his hot breath 
searing the tender flesh, and as he sucked the nipple deep into his wet 
mouth she felt it distend, reach out hungrily to capture every last 
sensation roused by his laving tongue. His hand trailed over the softness of 
her belly... down the firm muscle of her hip and thigh, then smoothed over 
the light patch of soft cornsilk pubic hair to the very lips of her 
vagina... feeling, teasing, tracing the warm, fleshy folds of the pulsating, 
fleece-lined furrow. 

Dear God, how was she going to stop him now? When every fiber of her being 
was crying out to be touched, kissed, caressed! She sucked in her breath 
with a gasp as she felt his thumb and forefinger pressing outward, spreading 
the soft, thin lips of her vagina with a gentle insistence, and the coolness 
of air touched against her there. She heard the harsh, rasping expulsion of 
her breath, realized with a sense of horror that it was her own voice 
murmuring. "Ooooh... yes, yes... yesssssss!" And then all conscious thought, 
all will was swept away in a torrent of passion as his middle finger slipped 
into the moist, open flanges of her vaginal slit. She felt its tip probing 
with breathtaking gentleness into the narrow, viscous sheath... then making 
sudden delicious contact with the throbbing, tiny bud of her clitoris. 

Flo whimpered aloud, little delighted mewlings, gazing through slitted eyes 
down into his face that was kissing and sucking at her breasts, while her 
arms cradled his head tightly to her. Automatically, she spread her legs 
wide to make it easier for him to reach and rub her clitoris. Between thumb 
and forefinger he twitted the tiny, erogenous mound to swift quivering 
erectness, sending electric shocks of pleasure jolting through her body and 
causing her to writhe helplessly beneath his hand. 

The fervent response of Flo's body, after all the times she'd held him off, 
increased Martin's enchantment a thousandfold. The smooth, moist lips of her 
cunt were like velvet to his touch, thrilling his prick to a hot pulsation 
that was slowly driving him insane. His mouth worked frenetically at the 
magnificent peaks of her breasts, tasting their heat and feeling their 
passionate ache. A light film of perspiration in the warm valley between 
smelled of opium, hot sweet wine and exotic incense. As he delved deeper 
into the dripping sheath between her outstretched thighs his rummaging 
finger met with a swift resistance. Flo uttered a sharp gasp, quickly 
drawing her legs tight together, and he felt a violent contraction in her 
throbbing cuntal passage repulse his questing fingertip. 

What the hell! A sharp surprise penetrated the fog of desire in his 
befuddled brain. Christ Jesus! Was she really a virgin? This beloved, 
marvelous, luscious creature who had consented to belong to him... Had there 
been no one else before him? The exciting wonder of the thought was enough 
to send a raging freshet of blood to his balls. His cock gave such a 
thunderous jerk that for an agonizing moment he thought he was going to cum 
in his shorts. With a deep groan he rolled away from her, tugging 
desperately at the elastic band around his middle. 

"Oh, no!" Flo cried out. His abrupt withdrawal from her wanting body was 
more than she could stand. She lay stunned, overcome by a desolation of 
loss. Hardly knowing what she was doing she reached out with imploring 
hands. And suddenly felt the full, round hardness of hot flesh. 

Martin had taken her groping hand and placed it on his naked inflated rod, 
his own hand covering hers and enclosing her fingers around it. Inherently 
her nerves recoiled, alarmed at its angry pulse, and then she compulsively 
squeezed tight. Her hand felt wonderfully soft and cool on his inflamed 
organ and as its hot rigidity gave slightly beneath the tantalizing pressure 
an anticipating chill of excitement raced through him. He tightened his grip 
on her clenched fingers and flipped his pelvis slowly back and forth, 
causing her hand to massage the thick outer layer of skin over the rock-hard 
staff in an easy rhythm. 

The initial realization that the erect column of flesh in her hand was 
Martin's penis had rendered Flo powerless to protest _" had she wanted to. 
Her mind was observing in fragments now... the size of his cock, 
unbelievably massive... the feel of him, incredibly hot, fantastically 
desirable... and the sinful act she was about to commit. She'd led him on 
until there was no turning back... for either of them... and, God forgive 
her... she didn't care! 

She lay as if entranced, lost in a world of physical sensation, an erotic 
paradise like nothing she'd ever known. And suddenly she was aware that she 
was caressing his penis, eagerly stretching her slender fingers to encircle 
its massive thickness while her hand rubbed feverishly up and down its 
enormous length. She felt it growing, swelling as if by some fantastic magic 
to her touch, and was filled with a strange, ecstatic wonder. 

"Damn!" he gasped. "Oh, my darling, careful! Ohhh... I've got to do it to 
you... now!" 

"Yes... now, please... now!" Flo moaned, the lewd words like a spur to her 
overpowering desire. 

Under the lust-inciting manipulation of Flo's hand the tiny glans capping 
the bloated head of Martin's prick had begun to lubricate freely. Wet from 
the semen-soaked ridge traversing the underside of the inflated rod, her 
fingers were smooth and slippery. As he moved over her, fearful of losing 
him for even an instant, Flo grabbed onto his cock with both hands. Hands 
that were still pistoning madly out of control in a natural fucking rhythm 
as she worked feverishly to guide the hard, fleshy shaft to the 
desire-drenched hole of her cunt. Her entire body was a huge, cavernous void 
urging her insanely on, demanding to be filled with the wondrous miracle in 
her grasp. She was only dimly aware of Martin's hot mouth on her lips 
pleading with her to wait, to hold still for just a second and give him 
time. 

.. She felt the necessary delight in her hands struggling as if to escape 
her. Squeezing onto his cock with all of the strength in her young fingers, 
she used his thick, blunt head to part her vaginal lips. 

Oh, God! The electrifying contact was unbearably exquisite! Never... never 
had there been anything like this ecstatic sensation! For a fleeting instant 
Flo lay passive, enraptured by the erotic bliss racing through every 
tingling nerve in her body, savoring the deliciousness of his satin-smooth, 
pulsating knob nestled hotly in the moist, quivering lips of her cunt. Then 
the thick shaft of rigidity in her hands surged to even greater proportions. 

She felt its bulbous head give a violent jerk and begin to probe with a 
massive, heated urgency into the set, vulnerable sensitivity between her 
open thighs. 

And suddenly Flo was overwhelmed by a swift, driving panic. Whether it 
stemmed from a horrified realization of the incredibly monstrous size of the 
member about to invade the tight, hidden depths of her virginal passage, or 
if some moralistic demon had risen up to smite her with the evil of her 
wanton behavior - matter; whichever, she relinquished his penis as if it 
were a red-hot poker. Her legs clamped together tightly, her strong thighs 
clasping his erect, pulsing cock between them while he wrestled frantically 
on top of her to get the blood-filled tip of his prick into the moist folds 
of her passion dilated cunt. 

She started to cry out, to plead with him to stop, but fright coupled with 
choking desire to contrive only small, unintelligible syllables. When she 
tried to rear up her hips it merely served to bury his penis more snugly 
into the soft yielding flesh of her thighs. For in spite of her panic the 
burst and blaze of passion continued to roar through her cunt in an 
unchecked holocaust. It had swept her beyond the realm of rational thought 
or decision when some primitive, female animal instinct seemed to take 
possession of her senses. As if she knew she couldn't leave Martin like this 
she stifled his agonized moans with her hungry lips. Kissing him with a 
savagery of exhilaration, she thrust her tongue deep into his gasping mouth, 
engorging him with the lashing, darting fury of an enraged snake. The 
driving force of desire in her loins flowed from her greedy mouth and as she 
engaged his tongue in an avid duel her solid thickness of his straining 
cock, moving in simultaneous harmony with her hot, mouth-fucking tongue. 

Suddenly, as she grasped his relentlessly boring weapon and he continued to 
buck wildly in a crazed, desperate search, he clamped his mouth down on 
hers, starting a low groan that swelled to a curious, high-pitched cry. 

She felt his prick lurch in her clutching hands and his helpless gasps of 
climax exuded into her mouth again and again. He jerked convulsively in 
orgiastic upheaval and she felt the thick, hot stream of his sperm spurt 
from his exploding penis, saturating the splayed open lips of her raw 
vagina, and flooding into her pubic hair until she was drenched with the 
warm, sticky liquid. It covered the inner softness of her thighs, dribbling 
wetly down between her legs to pool on the rug beneath her buttocks. 

She had writhed beneath him all through it, aching with the torment of her 
own frustration. 

When at last he collapsed heavily across her, his penis growing limp in her 
hand, shuddering like a child in the aftermath of an emotional storm, she 
felt an indescribable sense of loss. Yet she willed her unsatisfied body to 
be still, holding him tenderly while he murmured apologies for having failed 
her in a low, boyishly shamed voice. He seemed unaware of her resistance and 
she said nothing to dispel his illusion, taking some small comfort in that 
she had made him happy. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Although the three-hundred mile drive to Upper New York State hadn't in any 
sense been an elopement for Flo and Martin, they had gotten married in 
Kingston. That merely seemed the most expedient means of lending some aura 
of the romantic to the ceremony. 

Flo's nature balked at the sterile idea of a quick trip to City Hall. Then 
too, they could get away from the office only for a weekend, and although 
two days could hardly be classed as a honeymoon trip, just going to Kingston 
held a connotation of the exotic, of a wonderful and different happening. 

Flo had never been there before. 

Martin didn't give a damn where they got married. After three technically 
celibate months all he wanted was to get the formalities over with as 
quickly as possible _" preferably like two months ago. For he hadn't been 
able to get even close to the intimacy of that one almost regrettable 
incident which had merely whetted his sexual appetite. 

They had started out for Kingston fairly early on a Saturday morning. 
Spirited and alive with anticipation, the rather monotonous drive through 
the Catskills had been a speeding adventure. They checked into the Mountain 
Inn shortly past noon and from that prosaic moment on everything seemed to 
go wrong. 

All arrangements taken care of by a travel agency, the wedding wasn't set 
until four o'clock. Flo had known for several weeks that the motel 
reservations were made out to a Mr. and Mrs. Martin Filbert and had thought 
little of it. Yet standing at Martin's shoulder while he signed the 
register, the concise and irrevocable Mr. and Mrs. flowing from the pen in 
his hand had startled her to an uneasy feeling of the clandestine. She 
stiffened and the look of a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar 
flitted over her face. 

Perhaps the foreign atmosphere of the lobby, blending directly into the 
illegal casino, had some bearing on Flo's distress. The posh area was a 
strange melding of quiet and noise. 

Countless pairs of feet moved silently across a thick cloud of carpet, 
dealer's calls rose and fell in a lulling, monotonous chant and the serious 
gambler's declaration was a dead, muted murmur. The touchings of glasses and 
cards and chips, on green baize or against each other, merged into a sound 
unlike any other in the world, but low _" not unpleasant. 

Then into the soft-swirling hush a cacophony of sound would swell _" like 
intermittent skyrockets shot from staggered pinpoints throughout the room. A 
shrill noon whistle, a clash of cymbals or a clanging of bells would shriek 
out a winner, minutely preceding a metallic geyser of coins erupting from 
the bowels of a slot machine. These would be followed so closely by a high, 
staccato scream or a thundering bass that the human and mechanical were hard 
to distinguish one from the other. 

Brought up on the doctrine that gambling stood high on the list of the 
world's deadly sins, although Flo had outgrown that notion she was thrown 
off balance by the glaring diversity of sound, the enigma of daylight hours 
circumscribed by a nocturnal frenzy. These offbeat surroundings made the 
whole thing seem like a slightly tawdry, illicit affair. Had her moral 
standards been more sophisticated, it would have been a lark. Instead, once 
Flo was alone with Martin in the wall-to-wall glamour of their rooms, an 
even greater sensation of furtive wrong-doing assailed her. Common sense 
told her this was not only unreasonable but ridiculous; but rising hysteria, 
whether over things real or imagined, is never reasonable. 

Her actions acquired a devious cunning of their own. Pressing the assumption 
that it would take far longer for her to bathe and change, she urged Martin 
to freshen up first. A true and sensible idea, he made no objection. By now 
familiar with Flo's conversity of reticence and sensuality, he even 
recognized her growing tension and suppressed a strong desire to entice her 
into bed with him right then and there. Prior to his falling in love with 
the illusive Florence, if anyone had told him he couldn't go without 
screwing for three measly months without climbing the walls, he would have 
said they were crazy; now he was beginning to doubt his own sanity, so hot 
for her he felt like a frustrated sex fiend. 

Damn her big blue eyes, he thought... and those big tantalizing breasts, 
too! Since coming into their room she'd carefully avoided the least brush of 
bodily contact, and even denied him her eyes; so he'd made up his mind to 
content himself with merely watching her add the final touches of dress and 
makeup. He loved to watch her, so physical he hurt to look. Tall and 
graceful and vital, each move was fluid, sexually exciting. She had an 
unconscious gesture of lifting the wealth of raven's wing hair from the nape 
of her neck, and each time she raised her arms he was newly aware of the 
magnificence of her voluptuous breasts. 

Martin was deprived of even this. After hurrying to make himself ready, Flo 
urged him, with such feverish nervousness, to go down to the casino and have 
some fun while waiting for her that he was forced to comply. The way she was 
acting, this didn't seem the time to tell her his only pleasure was right 
here. God! Just wait until tonight... he'd fuck her so damn thoroughly she 
wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow! Tonight? Hell, with the wedding at four 
o'clock... in swift calculation the cogs in his brain began clicking off the 
remaining hours, minutes, almost seconds... to instant Utopia. He left her 
with a studied nonchalance, but with the fires of anticipation already 
smoldering in his loins. 

So Flo dispatched him to where the liquor flowed freely _" to get a head 
start on a strong contributing factor to her final disillusionment of the 
day. She sent him away when every nerve in her body was crying out in sweet 
urgency. Futile, bitter tears distilled the perfumed water of her bath with 
an infinitesimal brine. 

According to the brochure furnished by the travel agency, The Lovers Chapel 
was a little jewel of a wedding spot. Had Martin and Flo been the only 
prospective groom and bride of the moment, or of the next hour or so, some 
illusion of sanctity might have persevered; but not much. An hour's wait in 
a tiny, airless anteroom wasn't the only disenchantment. It may have been a 
miniature jewel box, but one too crowded for Flo to really tell. It held a 
changing crowd which was nevertheless constant in its sameness; from the 
young boy and girl looking scared and too young to be out alone after dark 
_" to the blase couple, slightly glassy-eyed and obviously on the 
marriage-go-round for their third or fourth time. 

And from them on to their attendants _" even more glazed of eye, and most 
certainly louder spouting allusive and not so allusive bride-groom-bedtime 
stories. 

As they moved up and down in an indeterminate line Martin was blocked 
momentarily from Flo's sight by an overstuffed, bosomy blonde in a red 
dress, and had the panicky sensation of being left standing alone in some 
weird game of musical chairs. After that she held tight to his hand _" 
exactly like one of the frightened young child-brides... 

Nearing the biliously green bottle-glassed doors of the chapel itself they 
were accosted in turn by: a sales pitch for a more lavish corsage, a wedding 
portrait genuinely hand-painted in oils, and a choice of recordings or 
stereo tapes of the ceremony. Somewhere along the line Flo had longed for 
City Hall _" and for a more sober Martin. More than pleasantly buzzed by 
the time they had left the motel, he went on to help somebody's best man, 
one of those ribald raconteurs whose speech was larded with four-letter 
words burning her ears, dispose of a pint flask of Scotch... and he even 
laughed uproariously at the man's dirty jokes! 

The marriage rites were anti-climactic. The sudden contrast of an ark of a 
room equipped to seat forty or fifty people, with only three in it, was 
dizzying. A recording of "Oh, Promise Me" as played on the mighty Wurlitzer 
came on too loud, at too fast a tempo; it raced up and down the empty pews 
like the lost chord, then converged into a hammering anvil in Flo's already 
throbbing temples. 

A breath away from hysteria, she must have made the proper responses, not 
knowing whether to laugh or cry; for the next thing she knew she was back 
out on the sidewalk, gulping in fresh air to cleanse the chapel flower's 
funeral heaviness from her lungs. She'd almost no recollection of the 
ceremony and wasn't sure if Martin had even kissed her until her tongue 
picked up the medicinal taste of Scotch on her lips. Walking the short 
distance back to their rooms she wondered if perhaps the anticipation of 
things... not so much those of the senses... but concrete plans, wasn't 
always more gratifying than the actual attainment. Her mind was attempting 
to pigeonhole this fancy when they entered the lobby of the Mountain Inn. 

No matter what anyone else's conception of axiom may be, Kingston is the 
place where it is always three o'clock in the morning; a quiet desperation 
is ever lurking somewhere beneath its cacophony of sound. The noise level 
had escalated considerably since midday, but as Flo preceded Martin through 
the heavy oak doors the ever-overriding blast of a shrilling whistle 
assaulted her ears like a tolling knell of doom. 

With a sudden jolt the puzzle of expectation versus reality fell into place. 
She stopped short, causing Martin to pull her hard against him to avoid 
falling over her and sending them both sprawling. The feel of his strong 
arms around her, one hand pressed inadvertently into the ripe underside 
swell of her left breast; his hard muscular leanness flattened tight against 
her softly yielding body, brought the picture imprinted on the puzzle into 
complete focus in her mind. She closed her eyes and saw his penis as it had 
looked on that rainy afternoon, massive and rock-hard, standing out from his 
groin like a huge, heavy spear... some barbarous, atavistic weapon, with its 
smooth, rubbery head throbbing hotly... shining in the flickering firelight, 
blood-engorged, like a giant purple plum ripe to bursting... a white-hot 
lava bubbling from its unseeing eye. My God! This lewd instrument was going 
to attempt to get inside of her! It was too big... it would never fit! 

And then the picture shattered. Suddenly she couldn't face culmination of 
the anticipation she'd secretly harbored so long. Nerves almost frayed to 
the breaking point from the strain of the past few hours, and no match for 
Martin's rash, inebriate mood, she was wildly and desperately frightened. As 
he held her in that breathless moment, she felt the fingers on her breast 
move with a quickening of intent, shaping into a firm, insistent mold. His 
entire body seemed to spring to life with a forceful purpose; no longer 
merely supporting but thrust demandingly against her. And in the instant 
before she tore herself away and turned to face him she felt the swift 
hardening strength of his penis surge low into the pulsing hollow at the 
base of her spine. 

"Let's have dinner first... " she heard herself say into his chest and felt 
her face grow hot. 

The "First" had simply slipped out; she didn't even know where it had come 
from. First... 

before what? But she was thinking... maybe if she had a few drinks at dinner 
it might help her to relax... embolden her, as the brandy had that day of 
the football game. 

Flo shivered. The next few heartbeats seemed an eternity. She could see his 
broad chest heave, feel his breath, hot and rasping on her forehead. When 
Martin didn't answer she was compelled to raise her eyes and look him in the 
face. He was staring down at her as if she had spoken gibberish; but beneath 
a blank incomprehension she saw the naked hunger glittering in his eyes. 
Fresh panic struck as she wondered if he were seeing it reflected in her 
own. 

"Martin, please... " Flo was almost begging. A tide of laughing couples 
surged through the doors, jostling them aside. But Flo and Martin might have 
been on a deserted island for all the attention they paid the sudden 
disturbance. 

Martin's gaze cleared until there was nothing in its amber depths but 
disbelief mixed with a cold, dispassionate anger. "Je... sus Christ," he 
said, biting off the profanity slowly and icily with clenched teeth. 
"Dinner?" The word was tossed out like garbage. "In this town it's the 
middle of the afternoon... who in hell eats dinner then? What in the goddamn 
hell has gotten into you, Flo?" 

But she couldn't very well tell him that she was scared silly because of 
what was going to get into her... that the time she had looked forward to 
with such heart-breaking desire was at this moment terrifying _" 
unthinkable. And suddenly she was desperate to be alone... 

feeling like she was about to fall apart and break into a million brittle 
pieces. Somehow she managed to stall for time... pleaded a headache and said 
perhaps if she could just lie down quietly for a little while? 

Martin had tried to understand but he simply couldn't; and although he told 
Flo it was all right, he certainly didn't mean it. The word "alone" went 
unspoken, but it was there between them, an invisible barrier. He was 
bewildered and furious that she could be so unfeeling. But her desperation 
was so clearly visible that he thought what the hell... he'd waited this 
long another hour more or less wasn't going to kill him. 

Involved at the blackjack table with fast drinks and a fast blonde, somehow 
that hour stretched out into two. When Martin made his unsteady way up to 
their room, he was rip-roaring drunk, out of his mind and out of patience. 

And time had run out for Florence. 

As he fucked into the tender, cringing depths of her cunt in a savage, 
mindless fury, his maddened cock knifed through her virginity with the 
merciless thrust of an avenging sword. He vented all the pent-up frustration 
of endless nights into his untried wife as if she were some well-used whore 
he'd just picked up downstairs in the bar. 

Had hers been a bolder spirit, indeed if she'd had anywhere else to go in 
this hell town, Flo would have left him that night. 

Compared to the journey there the drive back to their new house the next day 
seemed triple the distance to her. She and Martin were barely speaking; so 
she had little to do but watch an identical flow of trees creep by and sort 
out her thoughts. At the time of his animalistic rape she'd wished rashly 
that she had never married him, but the rationality which had deserted her 
entirely yesterday seemed to return with each slow mile. In the compact 
Lotus she felt his remorse like a palpable, living thing and could sense 
that his suffering, though of a different kind, was just as great as her 
own. And she had no doubts about his love for her. 

A peculiar feeling of guilt had come over Flo. How much of the terrible 
weekend, she pondered, had been her fault? If she had given in that time 
when she wanted to so badly... Or if she hadn't insisted on waiting so long 
to get married, holding Martin off _" making him wait when she was aware of 
how fervent, and frustrated, his need for her was. She realized men were 
different than women in that respect; that sexual gratification was a more 
necessary, physically important thing. Especially when the girl involved had 
never known... She thrust that aside, as yet unwilling to probe too deeply 
into her own sexuality. 

For in spite of the excruciating pain of Martin's forceful entry, once the 
worst of Flo's fears had been realized, beneath her shock and angry hurt, 
her sense of outrage at him for getting drunk and daring to treat her in 
such a vile, degrading manner, under the rape of his ravaging cock there had 
been moments of exquisitely pleasurable sensation. 

Within a few miles of the little house they had rented, the first place she 
had ever felt really her own, Flo had accepted her share of the blame for 
what happened; was ready to forgive Martin and try to make amends by being a 
docile, loving wife. If she had desired retribution or planned to revenge 
his drunken act, nothing she could have dreamed up would have accomplished 
that as well as the unexpected, unwelcome appearance of her mother. Her 
presence in the tiny, cardboard-walled house dealt a lethal blow to sex. She 
made Martin feel self-conscious even when he was urinating in the bathroom 
behind closed doors. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

On the day of his mother-in-law's leaving Martin Filbert thought he knew 
exactly how some poor innocent slob who has been unjustly incarcerated must 
feel upon his release from prison. By this time he was firmly convinced that 
Hell is indeed other people. He felt it was positively asinine for Flo to 
have taken Mrs. Mason home and even as he watched their cab out of sight 
could hardly wait for his wife to get back to him. 

Since the disaster of the wedding night they had come to a sort of armed 
truce. While her mother stayed on, and on and on and on, any attempts to 
achieve a satisfactory personal relationship had been downright impossible. 
But underlying the tension in the little house, which was thick enough to 
slice off in miserable chunks, there existed a tacit understanding of mutual 
forgiveness between them; it was as if each shared the secret promise of a 
second chance coming up, once this nightmare was over. 

Martin went to the office that morning in a glow of well-being, and, full of 
that spirit, attempted to channel a driving burst of virility into a pile of 
legal briefs. He found it difficult to concentrate on the dry stuff; Flo 
kept creeping into his mind. Hell... he was more interested in their sexual 
encounter that night. Erotic images sinuously twisting through his brain, he 
waited anxiously for the interruption of her expected phone call. When it 
finally came the day went flat. He sat stunned and agreed to the 
arrangements to pick her up at the airport the next morning. 

Afterwards he went into a slow burn, thinking of all the things he should 
have told her. 

Who the hell did she think she was... some goddamned baby-sitter for her 
parents? 

Dammit all, she was his wife now... and a wife was supposed to take care of 
her husband's needs, wasn't she? Not go traipsing off when what he wanted 
above all else right now was to... to fuck her! Not like that cockeyed, 
drunken screwing in Kingston... 

he'd been a stupid ass for giving her such a bad scene, and it certainly 
hadn't been his idea of pleasurable intercourse, either... to make amends. 
And he knew damn well she was made to enjoy it too. Oh, hell... what was the 
use of even thinking about it! 

Martin slammed out of the office early, wishing every stupid jerk there 
would stop with the stupid jokes and questions. "How's married life treating 
you boy?"... "Man, your ass is dragging, that gorgeous gal too much for 
you?"... "How's every little thing... worn out yet? Ha, ha!" And so on, ad 
nauseam. Funny, but he'd never noticed before what a tiresome bunch he 
worked with. 

On the way home he half-seriously contemplated stopping at a bar and getting 
really loaded. Maybe even getting drunk enough to pick up a girl and take 
her... take her where? No, if he did have the guts to find sexual release 
with some strange broad, and this he very much doubted _" even beginning to 
hear the old familiar refrain of "only one more night" _" he couldn't take 
her home. He did have enough sense left to realize that even her mother 
hadn't been able to squelch Flo's joy in having her own home. Though God 
knows she'd tried... ! And the place wasn't really much. 

The house Martin and Flo had rented was the rustic, summer-cottage type of 
abode whose charm is somehow enhanced rather than detracted by an antiquity 
which was slightly dilapidated, by once-tended grounds regressed now to an 
undisciplined wilderness. It was nestled in a valley of the foothills. A few 
others like it, remnants of a by-gone day when this was a resort area, were 
scattered deeper in the canyon and a group of hippies had found these a 
natural habitat. Little modernized, inconvenient, almost inaccessible during 
heavy rains, the location itself, clinging tenuously as it did to the skirts 
of an exclusive bedroom town, nevertheless provided a good mailing address 
for an aspiring young lawyer and his wife. And the neighboring houses to the 
south of them in the mouth of the valley were newly built on a much grander 
scale. 

Calling himself a gutless wonder Martin had settled for buying a bottle to 
take home. 

When he got there he felt almost as sorry for the empty little house as he 
was feeling for himself. It was dwarfed by the Newly's next door, a big 
ranch type crouched high on a hilltop. As he headed into his own overgrown 
driveway an unwitting pang of envy assailed him; not entirely for Wayne 
Newly's patent success, that was only a small part of it, but for the 
obvious rapport existing between him and his gorgeous wife Grace. And theirs 
looked like a house people could be happy in. 

Before entering the brown cottage he glanced again up the hill. Momentarily 
his perspective shifted and the sprawling house looked like a big, brooding 
trap, until he saw the glow of Grace's hair. She was standing near a bright 
overhead light in the kitchen and in its gleam her strawberry blond curls 
shone from the window like a welcoming beacon. 

For some reason a tingling shiver ran up Martin's spine. He cursed the lock 
on the back door, which always seemed to stick, then shut it behind him with 
a vicious shove of his foot; a sliver of its peeling wood fought back, 
tearing his cock, and he swore again. 

Once inside the first thing he did was open the fifth of whiskey and pour a 
tall drink, straight, over a couple of ice cubes. As he took a long swallow 
of the still warm liquor he caught himself wondering if that rather amazing 
sunburst was the natural color of Wayne's wife's hair. Having eaten nothing 
since breakfast, reluctant to leave the office for fear of missing Flo's 
call, the tepid alcohol landed in his empty stomach like a depth charge, 
then exploded, and he felt its immediate bracing warmth. He added more ice 
to the glass and refilled it from the bottle. Sipping, slowly now, but 
steadily at the dark drink, he could feel the alcohol work its magic on his 
tangled nerves, skillfully untying each knot. And as he relaxed he let his 
mind wander off in the direction it wanted to go, even though he knew it was 
on a path that led into forbidden territory. 

Was the color of Grace's hair that same pink gold all over? Did it cover her 
pubic mound . . 

. the tantalizing vee at her crotch so clearly defined by the slacks that 
always clung to her lions like a second skin... a mound which stood out even 
more enticingly in the tight short-shorts she affected around the yard no 
matter what the weather? Christ... they were so tight... even the slit of 
her pussy, straining to escape the stretched fabric, was plainly visible... 
he couldn't help looking down there. A man would have to be blind to resist 
the temptation! By God, if he ever caught his wife running around 
practically bare-ass like that... 

"Flo... dear God... why aren't you here?" His own voice, sounding strangely 
harsh and thick in his ears, startled Martin to the awareness that he had 
half a hard-on. He had been standing in front of the kitchen sink, not 
touching it, but now he could feel its tiled edge rubbing against the 
growing bulge at his crotch. Or had he stood here doing the rubbing himself? 
Bringing his cock to erection with the loving aid of a kitchen sink... of 
all the goddamn crazy things! Next thing he knew he'd be masturbating into 
it! 

And thinking about his neighbors wife... What in hell, he wondered, was he 
doing?... 

Turning himself on with thoughts like that... But... what would it have been 
like? 

Before Martin could guide his unruly thoughts back to the straight and 
narrow they had stripped Grace bare, had exposed the soft hair-covered 
mystery between her legs. And he could feel his sex-starved cock warming its 
cold hardness in a soft-lipped furrow of silken coals that matched exactly 
the color of her hair. 

"Dammit, Flo!" 

The tender longing was gone from his voice. Martin reasoned that if his wife 
were where she should be, he wouldn't be forced to resort to erotic 
imaginings about some other woman. Until now, when left alone for no damn 
good reason at all, he'd been consciously unaware that he knew so much about 
Grace's anatomy. Certainly, he couldn't be expected not to notice that she 
was a strawberry blonde with a cantilevered construction, but beyond that... 
He lifted his drink to take a swallow and was surprised to find it empty. 

He sloshed more whiskey into the glass, no longer bothering with ice, drank, 
and carried it to the back door. 

The kitchen window at the top of the hill was dark, the other windows so 
heavily draped that nothing could be seen in the fast-falling darkness, but 
an uneven geometric design of dimly amber rectangles and squares. This time 
he shut the door gently, almost with the stealth of a teenager sneaking in 
after curfew. 

He looked around the kitchen with the sudden impression, close to alarm, 
that he was in a strange place, in a room he didn't know. The room tilted, 
but only slightly. And as he started toward the living room his heart 
hastened with an excitement he did not understand. 

"Hi! Is anybody home?" 

Martin almost dropped the glass in his hand. He had gone two steps into the 
other room, and turned around now to find Grace Newly standing inside the 
back door, hands behind her on the knob. She had on a black velvet jumpsuit 
trimmed with some sort of glittering icing. Against the inky matte fabric, a 
perfect foil for her burnished tresses, her flawless skin was the color of 
heavy cream. A plummeting neckline, slashed almost to her navel, displayed 
the superb contour of high, full breasts and gently sloping shoulders. She 
was half leaning against the door, spine pressed to its aging wood, one leg 
bent slightly outward at the knee, with her pelvis arched in a strong 
forward thrust. The black outfit looked as if it was sewn on her. 

"May I come in?" 

With the best will in the world he felt mesmerized, could not take his eyes 
away, had to feast them on the superficially hidden version of the genital 
image in his mind. 

"Something the matter, Mr. Filbert?" 

Startled, he came to his senses, and saw that she was smiling at him in 
polite inquiry. He hoped the sudden flush in his cheeks was not too 
noticeable... or the sudden bulge at his crotch. 

"No, no." he said hastily. "Nothing at all. 

It's... just that I didn't hear you knock." 

He was finding it hard to speak over the tight constriction in his throat. 
His cock was jerking like a wild thing against his leg. He restrained the 
awful impulse to let the drink slide from his lifeless fingers and to cover 
the monstrous betrayal with his hands. 

"Heavens, I didn't knock!" Grace laughed. "We're all very informal around 
here. An open door is as good as an engraved invitation! I'm afraid you'll 
just have to get used to us!" 

She came into the room, a Venus at the prow sailing through sparkling seas. 

Remembering his manners, Martin intended to look down at his glass and offer 
her a drink but he found himself, instead, staring into the depths of her 
bottomless neckline. Christ, he was going to lose his mind! From their frame 
of glittery black, the satin cones of her breasts reached out to him, 
pulsing warmly like Pygmalion's life-given marble. The ruby nipples, 
springing from areolae of a muted pink, thrust at a barely covering fold of 
fabric, struggling to push it aside as though the filmy stuff were a harsh 
abrasive that was no longer to be endured. 

He put out a hand, the one holding the glass, as if to ward her off, to stop 
her from coming any closer. Somehow he managed to find his voice, to dredge 
it up from his groin where it seemed to have settled along with most of the 
blood in his body. "May I offer you a drink, Mrs. Newly?" he asked. 

"That's just what I came barging in to ask you! And it's Grace, please. Mrs. 
makes me feel so... so staid!" she said prettily. "Like an old married 
woman... not that I'm not married of course... " 

My God, Martin thought. She knows damn well that "staid" would be the 
farthest from any man's mind when he looked at those half-naked tits... and 
the way she said "married"... 

as though right now she wished that she wasn't... Well, of course he was 
married himself, but for a second there... Anyway, it was one hell of an ego 
booster! He was suddenly aware she was still talking. 

"Sorry, what did you say?" he asked her, realizing at the same time that he 
was getting pretty well loaded. 

"I said I feel like we're old friends already, Martin. Wayne has told me so 
much about you . 

.. when you two were at college together. I would have come over much 
sooner, but with your mother-in-law... " Somehow, in that one phrase Grace 
contrived to describe Flo's mother, detest her, and offer up a world of 
understanding. She went on, "But when Wayne and I saw her leave with your 
pretty wife this morning... " 

"Flo flew up to Long Island with her mother." he answered her unspoken 
question. "She's staying overnight with her folks." He didn't know what made 
him add that extraneous bit of information. 

"Then you are all alone!" Grace strove to keep the note of triumph from her 
voice. She was gloating smugly to herself, fully aware of the effect the 
daring of her outfit was having upon him. He had been too busy looking down 
her neck to notice her hot gaze at the front of his pants. She could see his 
cock pulsing there, flexing spasmodically from time to time, pushing at his 
fly, and she felt warm droplets of fluid begin to flow from the sensitive 
wall of her cunt. This was going to be even easier than she'd hoped for... 
and judging from the size of that bulge _" more rewarding! Moistening her 
lips with the tip of her tongue, she smiled up at him. "So you simply must 
come for dinner, too... I've got Manhattans already mixed, and the only 
neighborly thing to do is to take you home with me!" And throw a fuck into 
you you won't forget my big beautiful neighbor, she added silently to 
herself with an inward smile. 

"That's very kind of you, Grace... sounds better than a T.V. dinner... " 

Sensing his hesitancy she reached out and took his hand. "Wayne and I 
insist," she said, tugging him gently towards the door. 

The light touch of her fingers pressed a warming buzzer in Martin's 
liquor-fogged brain. 

Damn Flo... his preoccupation with sex was ballooning all out of 
proportion... as a result of the frustrating hell she put him through. If 
she were home... Hell, she'd probably be going along with him over to the 
Newly's... the invitation was nothing more than a friendly gesture, most 
natural thing in the world. He dismissed a vague, uneasy feeling of guilt. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Outside in the darkness Martin took a deep breath, felt a slight cooling of 
his blood once the delectable front of her was turned away from him. She had 
dropped his hand and he followed the pale halo of her hair across the drive, 
the crunch of loose gravel underfoot only a decibel louder than the jungle 
beat of his heart. She picked her way so surely through the tangled 
underbrush of a thin strip of his own yard beyond that he realized she must 
have often come this way before, must have been familiar with the former 
occupants, and he felt a strange stab of emotion. 

He was jealous... Good God! How could he, a guy crazy about his wife, be 
jealous of some phantom he'd never known... and over a woman who meant 
nothing to him? But what a woman... what a gorgeous piece of ass! 

Martin was instantly shocked by his lewd thought. They had come out of the 
shadows, into a light from above that spotted the remnants of dry-rotted log 
steps leading upward, and he'd found his eyes glued to the alternating 
clench of Grace's black-velvet-covered buttocks. But as she swung up just 
ahead of him with an undulating rhythm, there was no other place to look. 

Once they were in the house she took him into a room at the back that would 
have held his whole cottage, with space left over. It was expensively 
furnished, but somehow oddly off-beat. Long, sleek leather couches lined the 
walls, but there were cushions everywhere, scattered around a very low table 
in the center and piled at random on the terrazzo floor, giant puffy 
toadstools, in place of chairs. He glanced around the room, taking in a lewd 
collection of bas-relief plaster of Paris nudes on one wall, a pair of 
gilt-framed erotic prints on another and a cluster of classical nude god and 
goddess statuary, licentious ancients almost larger than life, grouped at 
one end of the bar. 

Which was the one spot he'd tried to avoid with his eyes, where Grace was 
pouring their drinks. But her image was so vivid in his mind, the room's 
erotic decor had the opposite hoped for effect of checking his runaway 
senses. Against his will his roving scrutiny fastened on her provocative 
breasts. 

"Those stairs make you sweat a little, don't they?" she asked him, forcing 
him to take his eyes off her breasts and look her in the face. 

Did she suspect... had she been laughing at him?! No... she was looking at 
him with innocently raised eyebrows. "They certainly do, Grace." He 
swallowed, wiping a few beads of perspiration from his brow. Especially with 
you dressed like that, my girl, he added to himself. 

She rounded the bar carrying two brimming cocktail glasses. "Bring the 
shaker, lamb. 

Which do you prefer, couch or cushions?" 

That was a monumental question. His head spun and he clung to the crystal 
cocktail shaker in his hands as though it were a lifeline. The room was 
excessively warm, bringing the ample amount of whiskey in his bloodstream to 
a quick boil. And not just the whiskey accomplished that. In his half-sotted 
state he felt that to sprawl out on the floor (the only way he could think 
of it) with a woman who was, to all intents and purposes, naked, would be 
immoral in the extreme. In this Bacchanalian setting, especially, it smacked 
of a Roman orgy. 

"The couch will be fine," Martin after some hesitation, his own voice 
sounding strange to him. 

They sat down and he knew instantly he'd made the wrong choice. One rounded 
thigh rested lightly against his leg and Grace leaned slightly toward him, 
drink in hand, presenting him with the magnificent panorama of her breasts. 
He could feel the heat of her body rising in enveloping waves around him and 
his nostrils flared with the unsupportably delicious smell of her, an 
aromatic fragrance that was spicy perfume and fresh soap and warm, desirable 
woman. His throat parched. Realizing she had put a drink in his hand he 
downed it in one shuddering gulp, cherry and all. As it slid easily down his 
gullet Martin realized the small preserved fruit was the bourbon's only 
claim to Manhattan status. After the initial shock to his stomach, he was 
grateful for its undiluted, bracing strength. Grace swiftly refilled the 
glass and he went through a quick repeat performance, though rather glad 
there were no more cherries in sight. 

She finished her own drink and leaned forward to set the glass on a low 
cocktail table. 

Unabashedly now, Martin was watching her. The drinks had really gotten to 
him, engulfing him in an euphoric glow. As he looked at the voluptuous 
forward swing of her breasts, he thought wasn't this what he had wanted to 
do tonight? Get bombed and pick up a broad? 

Only Grace Newly was no pickup... and not any broad, that's for damn sure... 
Christ... 

she was a beautiful woman! He'd really lucked out... too lily-livered to go 
after a woman and then have this sexy creature come to him... but not to 
fuck... Flo's husband... not Wayne's wife... he just couldn't fuck her... 

Martin's alcoholic thoughts were already streaking off in all directions, 
his prick, almost fully erected, was jerking spasmodically in his pants as 
Grace moved slowly back from the table. She more than moved, she performed. 
Stretching voluptuously, every sleek, lovely line and curve of her superb 
body writhed and undulated beneath her supple skin of black velvet with the 
fluid, sinuous rhythm of a preening panther. And when she came to a purring 
rest at Martin's side, her wayward ruby nipples tilted up at him, uncovered. 
"You like?" She asked. 

For one wildly insane moment, his empty glass clutched in his hand, Martin 
thought she was asking about the drink still burning his palate. Somewhere 
deep within he heard the silent cry of Flo's name and he wondered, for the 
first time, where is Wayne? Then everything fled from his mind and he was 
aware only of the terrible proximity. He wanted to reach out and take her in 
his arms, kiss her, thrust his tongue into the melting depths of her lips, 
lips moist with invitation. Her breasts rose from the ebony folds like 
untouched melons just come of age and he wanted to caress them, to tweak the 
rosy nipples into crimson hardness, to find out if the creamy mounds could 
possibly be as incredibly soft and smooth to the touch as they looked. 

He looked down, blushing, just as she raised one long slim leg to rest the 
heel of her foot on the couch, tightening the material across her crotch 
until it cut into the widening cleft of her vulva. He saw a slow spreading 
moisture on the matte velvet gradually darken the deep crevice to an inky, 
sheening gloss. Oh, Christ! He felt his cock lurch into instant, swollen, 
rigidity, straining to free itself of its cloth prison like a leashed wild 
animal. 

"Go on," she whispered, "why don't you touch me?" 

Torn between craving and guilt, his eyes flew to Grace's face. She was 
looking at the bulge in his pants. 

"I - I" he said dryly. 

She laughed, a low amused gurgle in her throat. But when she shifted her 
gaze to look him full in the face there was no trace of laughter, only a 
faint mockery in eyes that scorched him with hot sapphire sparks. 

"I can see that you want to, darling. Why not?" 

"I'm sorry, Grace," he said with a groan. "Oh, God, you can't know how much? 
Yes, I want to touch you, but... " Christ, couldn't she see what she was 
doing to him? Playing with him . 

. . teasing him out of his mind. Swinging those big breasts around like a 
common whore . . 

. but she had the face of a Madonna... and was happily married! 

Alcohol buzzed in his head like a swarm of angry bees. He could feel his 
balls begin to ache from the pressure of his gathering sperm, building to an 
intolerable agony. Martin couldn't have said why he was holding back, but in 
spite of Grace's bold advances, her uninhibited display of raw sex, 
somewhere, tucked away in a moral niche of his confused brain, he had her 
pegged as too restrained to go all the way. Wayne was such a sweet, gentle 
guy his wife couldn't be otherwise. She was merely amusing herself, leading 
him on to titillate her vanity. He'd been turned back from the gates of 
heaven too many times by Flo to risk another rebuff at the last minute. The 
provocative body pulsing hotly at his side was the pinnacle of any man's 
atavistic dream and Martin was afraid to test its reality. 

And then she wrapped her fingers around his hardened penis through his 
clothes. He couldn't breath and a harsh cry, as if out of pain, broke from 
his lips. 

"You want to fuck me, don't you, darling? With your big, hard cock," she 
crooned, breathing in his ear. "And I want you to fuck me... to feel your 
lovely cock worming around deep in my soft, wet pussy. Feel down between my 
legs, lover, I'm soaked already." 

It took a long strangling moment for Grace's lewd words to register in his 
brain. Although no puritan, that such crude language could flow from her 
soft, full lips was so violently incongruous, so incredible, that Martin sat 
motionless, caught up in time in a void of baffled shock. 

Grace knew precisely what had happened, but she was mildly surprised that 
such a sensual man, one who exuded an almost tangible aura of pure animal 
sex... and who had everything going for him in the way of looks, could be so 
artless. 

With a knowing smile she leaned closer, and there was a subtle change of 
emphasis in her seduction. As though quite by accident her bare breasts 
pressed with an almost imperceptible insistence against his arm and her lips 
found his ear, moving over its outer surfaces in a gentle tracery of 
butterfly kisses. She relaxed her hold on his penis, her small slender hand 
smoothing over the rocklike bulge with a deft, easy rhythm. And when she 
felt it jerk convulsively under her palm, saw his mouth open and close in 
sweet agony, Grace came alive with a swift, instinctive urgency. 

She twisted against him, crushing the ripe fullness of her breasts into his 
arm, their turgid nipples boring into his tensed muscles, and shot her tiny 
tongue whirring into his ear. Then with a quick, simultaneous movement, her 
fingers at his loins clamped in a tight, hard squeeze around his penis; the 
other hand reached for one of his and jammed in into the soaked velvet-soft 
furrow between her legs. 

"How do you want it, Martin baby?" she asked. "Suck or fuck?" 

Her voice broke out, urgent and compelling, savage like the crack of a whip. 
It tore at Martin breaking him open from head to foot, and he felt his last 
defenses crumbling away. 

His loins throbbed from the vibrant grip of her hand on his cock; he could 
feel its heat searing the fleshy rod even through his clothes. Her wet 
velvet vaginal lips, slippery and warm, sucked at his fingers and the 
aphrodisiac effect of her salacious question excited him beyond endurance. 
Just as Grace knew it would. 

The lewd words spiraled crazily in his head... suck or fuck! Christ! His 
lust-incited mind tried to formulate an answer... to tell her he was beyond 
caring what happened... 

nothing mattered, nothing existed... only the obscene demand of her 
voracious cunt and the violence of his need. But as he bent to kiss her only 
an incoherent cry tore from his throat. Against his hot mouth her lips were 
like orchids _" crumpled, soft, cool and moist. 

She pulled his face down and crushed her lips with bruising force against 
his mouth, opening her lips wide, hurtling her tongue with a silvery 
movement into his mouth. She gave little, crooning whimpers as he pressed 
and rubbed against her, pulling his own tongue deep into her throat with a 
voracious, suctioning force. Her hand began to move faster on his aching 
prick, sending gusts of heat soaring through his balls. He could feel the 
wetness of the seminal fluid seeping from the glans on the hardening tip. It 
smeared against his leg inside his pants until he was certain she could feel 
the wetness through the material. She continued massaging him with a 
practical thoroughness until he thought the head would erupt. It was jerking 
now almost out of control and he was afraid he would cum at the slightest 
extra pressure. He could feel it building with an inexorable force deep in 
his scrotum below. She sucked hungrily on his tongue, nibbling with tiny 
sharp bites of her teeth that sent shivers coursing down the length of his 
spine. He felt as if he were drowning in the honeyed well of her mouth. 

With an effort he withdrew his lips from the exquisite torment of her 
tongue. He moved his mouth down onto her neck and he slipped his hands 
beneath her buttocks. Cupping the supple globes to pull her tightly to him, 
he shoved his pelvis fiercely against her, trapping her hand between the 
torrid press of their bodies in an effort to still its action on his 
screaming penis. 

She threw her head back and the full neck strained against his mouth as his 
kisses bruised a moist salivating trail to the pulsing hollow of her throat. 
Her breasts dug into his chest, their hard little nipples boring into the 
pectoral muscle like tiny pneumatic drills. 

They reached out, begging to be touched and caressed. He was wild to explore 
the form and texture of the globular mounds, so firm and resilient, but he 
didn't dare let loose of her ass cheeks and allow her hand to pursue its 
incendiary stimulation of his cock. If she did, he knew for a certainty he 
would shoot his load into his pants. The indignity of such a sophomoric 
performance made him groan in helpless frustration. 

He was holding her with such desperate passion, his strong fingers gripping 
her buttocks with a pulverizing pressure, that Grace was somewhat astounded. 
My God but he's horny, she mused. He's making me hot as hell... and this is 
only the beginning of a long, long night... Looks like little Grace has 
found herself a real gone stud in this gorgeous hunk of sex. That new wife 
of his must sure be balling it up... and she looks capable of putting out 
plenty too. It's a wonder he isn't dragging his tail... instead of going ape 
at the drop of a bared bosom... with a hot little pussy like that around the 
house... Or is it? 

Grace was fully aware of her potent sensuality and had every confidence in 
her sexual prowess; nonetheless, Martin's reaction to both had been far 
quicker and more volatile than she'd expected. She felt his breath-wracked 
body shudder against her. And suddenly a finely-honed sensitivity to sexual 
A response supplied the answer to her question. It also dealt a small blow 
to her ego, which was ignored in the quick delight of her knowledge. 

The things Wayne and I can teach these two innocents, she exulted, will be 
like fantastic! 

The Filberts will jazz up the Club, too... the whole gang has been getting a 
bit stale lately. 

This thought reminded her that Wayne must be home by now, probably was in 
the back room _" checking on film and camera equipment. She had better get 
Martin cooled down a little _" before he shot that heavy load in his pants 
_" or she'd wind up with a remorseful young husband on her hands and have 
to start again from the beginning. 

Grace plunged in where angels would fear to tread, at a time like this, 
using a proven tactic with the uninitiated. 

"Is your wife good in bed, darling?" she asked sweetly of the flushed, 
handsome face suckling like a greedy child on the swollen nipple of her 
right breast. 

Martin stiffened abruptly, his hard lean strength pressed even tighter 
against her, if that were possible. His cock gave a rampaging lurch in her 
hand and his teeth clamped down, hard, on her breast, drawing a squeal of 
surprised pain from her throat. For a moment Grace thought she had bitched 
up the whole thing. And then he reared back, his face drained of color. 

"What the hell has my wife got to do with this?" Martin demanded. He glared 
at her, breathing heavily. The bewildered anger of a wild bull, caught 
off-guard, and corralled, fought with the red haze of lust in his eyes. But 
Grace wasn't looking at Martin's face; she was examining, with relieved 
satisfaction, the bulge at his crotch. It was slightly less prominent now, 
but still a taut, hard pulsation. 

"You haven't changed your mind, have you Martin? You do want to fuck me 
don't you...?" 

she asked, staring down at him with an all-knowing Sphinx-look in her eyes. 

Changed his mind? Sweet Jesus, he was going out of his mind! He wanted to 
rip that teasing black velvet from her white flesh and tear into her like 
some ravenous jungle beast. Yet somehow he knew that he had to control the 
ferocity of his need, that this luscious woman was offering sensual 
pleasures beyond his wildest imaginings. He looked up into Grace's eyes and 
saw the promise there, open, ready, reaching out to him, and was lost in the 
blind arena of sexual compulsion. 

"Christ, Grace! Yes... Oh, yes! I want to fuck you! My God... I've got to 
fuck you or go out of my mind!" 

She could have uttered the word Flo a thousand times and it wouldn't have 
mattered now. 

His hands went out to her, grazed the tips of her breasts _" but in a fluid 
motion she slithered from the couch and rose to her feet. "No, not here _" 
the bedroom. Come, my darling." 

Martin would have followed the lure of her soft, swinging buttocks through 
the gates of Hell. 

She led him along a short hallway, fingers working at a zipper under her arm 
as she walked. He followed her unsteadily, weaving on his feet like a 
drunken fighter, with a strange feeling of ambivalence. The Martin Filbert 
he knew would have been appalled at this stranger lusting after another 
man's wife; but he was too far gone to give a damn. He found himself in a 
well-lighted bedroom, not quite knowing how he got there. Grace went around 
behind him to close the door. He heard it shut and turned to see her 
shedding the sexy jumpsuit. With a reptilian undulation of her body, a magic 
rippling that swept from her shoulders down to her feet, it fell to the 
floor. She stepped out of it, kicked it carelessly aside and padded to the 
bed. Lying back on its satin cover she spread her legs wide apart. 

"Hurry, darling," she whispered in a voice husky with rising passion. "Get 
your clothes off... 

I want to see how you look naked. I want to see that big, beautiful cock of 
yours." 

Martin approached her with the gait of a somnambulist. He stopped short at 
the foot of the bed, staring, his rasping intake of breath loud in the room. 
He saw her buttocks squirming into the mattress, saw the almost unendurable 
magic of her heavy breasts and stiff nipples, saw the lavish splendor of 
flesh that was generous and beckoning. And he saw the triangle of red gold 
hair that awed him because it was even more glorious than the dazzling halo 
on her head. He quaked to own it. He stripped his clothes from his body with 
desperate fingers as he looked down, mesmerized, at the pink petal lips of 
her vagina, open and ready, glistening with honeylike secretions. It was 
unbearable. Stepping out of his shorts he felt a fleeting self-consciousness 
as he stood there before her with his cock standing out in a naked erection, 
reaching out far ahead of the rest of his body. She looked up at him, her 
eyes riveted on the thick, blood-raged shaft cleaving the air, seeping fluid 
from its tiny mouth. For a moment she studied its engorged head _" the 
glabrous tip almost purple and throbbing hotly. 

"Oh, darling, it's lovely. Even bigger than I thought it would be." She was 
breathing heavily. "God, I want you to screw me with it, I want to feel your 
cock deep up inside me!" 

Martin's self-consciousness vanished. With a small grunt he knelt on the 
edge of the mattress and began to stroke the smooth, moist flesh of her 
inner thighs, feeling the way they trembled. 

"You want to put it inside me, don't you, Martin?" She breathed deeper this 
time. 

"Oh, God, yes I want to!" The words tumbled from his lips in a guttural 
moan. 

He leaned over and kissed her and her arms were immediately fierce and hard 
around his neck, and her mouth worked heavily and demandingly against his 
mouth. Then she fell back taking him with her. 

'Tell me!" she commanded against his lips. "Tell me that you want to fuck 
me!" 

"For God's sake yess... Yess, I want to fuck you!" 

"How?" 

"Deep!" he cried in anguish. "I want to fuck you like you've never been 
fucked before! I want to jam my cock deep in your belly... to make you 
scream for more!" He flung himself down on the bed beside her, their legs 
entwined, and she held him with all of her strength, moaning deep in her 
throat, as he ran his hands over her back and down to her buttocks. 

He let his fingers revel on the firm skin, his loins tingling, his whole 
body trembling at the feel of her nakedness, so firm and resilient. He 
stroked her breasts, drawing his fingertips gently along their bulging 
sides; they responded to his touch with a tautening of the nipples. The 
silky flesh was as full and firm as he'd expected it to be, fantastically 
smooth and vibrant and warm. 

Her hand searched down between their tightly welded bodies, found the 
hardness of his penis. He gasped as the coolness of her fingers closed 
around his rigid flesh, and then her mouth locked against his. Her teeth bit 
into him and she sucked his tongue and forced her own between his lips; her 
tongue searching with a strong, rigid pressure, as if she wanted him to 
emulate her movement with his penis in her. She crushed the full length of 
her body against his and ground her pelvis hard into him, then suddenly 
twisting her body and pulling him over on top of her, opening her legs wide 
to take him between them. 

She ran her hands over him with little searching, fluttery movements as if 
her fingertips were trying to commit his lithe, muscular leanness to memory. 
His cock was resting hard against her thighs, pressed into the narrow, 
hair-lined slit of her cunt. Her back arched in a way that pressed the 
insistent firmness of her breasts into his chest, levering them both up off 
the bed with a surprising strength. She reached under her buttocks, then, 
with both hands, pulling her vaginal lips slowly apart, giving his penis 
greater contact with the moist, sensitive flesh as it lay nestled in the 
full length of her wet, throbbing crevice. She relaxed, dropping her body 
back to the bed, his rigid member trapped hotly between her thighs. 

He insinuated his hands between her shoulders and the bed and ran them down 
the long smooth silk of her skin, feeling the hidden ivory roundness of 
vertebrae, the clever flexing sheathing of scapula. There was a downy 
pattern of hair in the convexity of the small of her back, sending tremors 
coursing up his spine. He could swear her back had changed and flowered 
under his touch, sleek, flexing, hypnotic. The tenseness in the cords of her 
thighs pressed against the outside of his hips and he sensed their primitive 
strength, and wondered how those strong thighs would grip around him later, 
when he had driven his cock into the innermost depths of her. 

"Oh, God... but you feel good," she breathed, crushing her lips against his, 
straining upward, breasts aimed and tumid, writhing the flat plane of her 
belly against him. Her voice had become a sulky, whispering, raspy sound and 
tearing noises, like tiny snorings, had begun to accompany her rasping 
inhalations. Martin pushed his hands further down beneath her, cupping the 
fullness of her ass in the palms of his hands, and pulled her open crotch up 
hard against him. He moved slowly up and down the inflamed slit, sensing it 
grow wetter and wetter, taking a swift joy in the savage helplessness of her 
ever increasing need. Her buttocks began a more desperate, metronomic 
rotation up against his loins and he had the feeling of trying to herd 
something that was endlessly alert to pounce free. 

And suddenly it did. Without warning her legs snaked out wide on either side 
of him, her calves locking against the back of his thighs, pulling him 
savagely into her. 

"Oohhhh, fuck me!" she moaned into his mouth. "Fuck me now, darling, fuck me 
now!" 

He started to move but she was quicker, her hands were already down between 
them, circling around his pulsating cock to guide it between the lips of her 
surging cunt. Martin groaned above her as her hands moved his prick up and 
down between her legs, parting the soft, silken hair of her vagina with the 
throbbing, blood-filled head. They grazed teasingly against the sensitive 
gland, forcing it to greater hardness. The pressure in his balls was 
excruciating now, and he knew he couldn't wait. He had to fuck her! 

He plunged into her, driving his cock with a brutal force he seemed unable 
to control, the warm, velvety sheath of her cunted flesh clamping around his 
nerve-centered gland so moistly and firmly that he let out a low animalistic 
grunt. 

"Agggghhhhhh!" she screamed beneath him. 

His prick rode up in her, tightly at first, hurting along it's whole, hard 
flesh _" and then more easily as the wetness of the passage surrounding him 
lubricated the way. 

Suddenly, he hit bottom and his balls slapped sharply into the naked, 
upturned cheeks of her ass. She screamed again while her eyes rolled wild 
and all of her was supple in her torment. Her face contorted with passion, 
mouth working, nostrils flared, a light sweat breaking out on her forehead, 
moistening the tangle of golden hair to liquid topaz. 

Martin felt the smooth raw flesh of her vagina holding him in, roiling and 
pulling all around his hot, bursting cock as he fucked into Wayne's wife 
with long, hard strokes. He had been afraid that he'd cum at the instant of 
entry and tried to keep his mind blank and gray; but somehow he had regained 
control. He rammed his prick into her with pounding strokes while pleasure 
surged through his body like ocean waves rolling up a beach and he sent each 
wave of pleasure back where it came from. She strained back under him 
arching her loins up at him, lifting them both a few inches off the 
sweat-soaked satin coverlet. 

Her broken mouth was lost in a demented keening and mewling between the 
gasps that measured, by their frequency, her desperate climb to her peak or 
orgasm. She swung her soft thighs up and clasped his waist in a scissor grip 
with her calves, winding her legs around his body, waving her naked buttocks 
wildly from side to side. 

"Ohhhh, that's... it, lover... ooohhhhh yessssss! Its good! Oooh God, its 
good! Shove your finger in my ass! Do it! Now! Do it, make me scream!" she 
coughed. 

He reached under her between her buttocks as he drove his chafing rod 
rhythmically into the hot moistness of her cunt. He stretched the moons of 
her ass wide, searching with the tip of his middle finger toward her anus. 

He found it. A small stream of warm moisture was running down the widespread 
crevice from where his lust-hardened rod was fucking into her. It lubricated 
the tight, puckered little hole and he probed experimentally with the tip of 
his finger. He pushed hard, feeling it give a little, and then suddenly the 
tight elastic nether ring gave way and his finger slid in up to the first 
knuckle joint. She leaped upward at the first lancing pain, screaming out at 
him, "Aaahhhhh, God it hurts!" 

He thrust again, sinking his finger to the second knuckle. 

"Oooohhhhh! Yes, yessss! Hurt me! Hurt me more!" 

Despite the pain, he felt her suddenly begin to screw her buttocks back on 
his finger until it was sunk to the palm of his hand. He rotated it inside 
the fleshy depths of her rectum, eliciting a babble of pain and pleasure 
from her throat. Through the thin wall of flesh separating her two passages 
he could feel the underside of his heavy prick reaming in and out of her and 
began skewering her between them in the same driving rhythm as she groaned 
on incessantly. 

Martin could feel his cock growing and expanding inside of her until it felt 
as though it were going to burst from the exquisite pressure building in his 
balls. He had reached that point where he knew he had to cum soon or he'd 
blow his mind! Christ! He had never known it could be like this! He couldn't 
hold back much longer... but he wanted her to cum too... both of them at the 
same time. God I He increased the pace and deepened his thrust, pumping his 
prick into her still harder, in tempo with his impaling finger in her 
rectum. Her hands had been running over his body like demented things, but 
suddenly they gripped his pistoning buttocks, her arms grew awesomely 
strong, and he knew that she was near. He continued his merciless thrusting 
with all his strength. 

"Oohhh, fuck it, hard, hard, fuck it hard! Hardddd!" she intoned, chanting 
the words in an endless stream, spurring him on with the pummeling of her 
heels on his back. She had jackknifed her legs up to mash them against her 
breasts, offering him the full expanse of her vulnerable crotch. She tossed 
her head madly from side to side, her eyes wide and blind and monstrously 
blue, whining and whimpering like nothing human in her frenzy to accomplish 
the peak of her release. 

And then suddenly _" "I... oh God... I'm there! I - I'm 
cuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmiiinnnggggg!" 

Her body leaped upward with one great convulsive joining, her nails tearing 
at his back. 

Her eyes rolled upward and she screamed. She screamed again, cursing him. 
She screamed out her orgasm to him in a torrent of obscenity, as she screwed 
herself up on his prick with all the power in her strong thighs while her 
loins jerked spasmodically against his belly. When it was over she collapsed 
limply down into the mattress, lying still except for the uncontrollable 
quivering of her cuntal flesh still locked tightly around his tortured cock. 

Martin's drunken, lust-inflamed mind tilted and whirled with the spectral 
exultation madness. He had done it! He had subdued this goddess of 
temptation to quivering mass of mortal flesh! 

After endless weeks which had begun to seem like a slow medieval torture of 
emasculation, he was triumphant in this indisputable proof of his virility. 
But the thrill of victory was measured in micro-seconds _" all that 
remained was the agony of his sperm-bloated testicles, the hard urgency of 
his shrieking penis. My God, now what was he going to do with his fucking 
cock? 

It took all his control to keep from continuing to screw into her. Jesus, he 
had never in his life seen anything like it; he had never felt anything like 
it either. He flexed his prick deep in her belly, hoping to bring her to 
life again. 

"Mmmmmm... that was lovely," Grace murmured, her buttocks giving a languid 
wiggle. "I haven't gone on a trip like that in a long time." 

"For Christ's sake, hold still," he gasped, trying to hold out, hoping she'd 
make him cum with a more spontaneous action. 

"Martin, baby," she smiled in approval, "you held back for a long time." 

"But not much longer," he breathed hard. "I'm damn near there." 

"Roll over," she smiled sweetly up at him. "I'm going to teach you things 
you never knew existed. 

He withdrew slowly, reluctant to pull his hardness out of the moist warmth 
of her pussy when he was so close to shooting it into her belly. He didn't 
want to stop _" but her promise intrigued him. Teach him?... Perhaps some 
way to give Flo more pleasure... 

to... 

Flo. In an abandoned ballroom of his mind, countless naked images of her 
danced to forgotten music, improvising obscene parodies of music he could 
not quite hear. Martin closed the door to his thoughts, and sealed it off. 

He rolled from the softness of Grace's body over onto his back, slender 
sticky threads of her orgasm following his cock across her thigh, and lay 
tense. His penis reached yearningly up to the ceiling. 

She turned on her side toward him and, reaching out with her hand, began 
stroking him, sliding the loose flesh up and down in a slow, magical rhythm 
that caused him to grit his teeth to keep from groaning out his frustration. 
God! Her smooth hand felt marvelous on his aching rigidity... but he was 
wild for the clinging sanctuary of her cunt! 

He gasped in awed wonder as she rose to her knees and hovered over him on 
all fours, her face a scant few inches from the moist, bulbous head of his 
prick. She held it tightly between both hands, stroking it between the flat 
of her palms in a tantalizing up and down motion that caused his loins to 
undulate in time with her maddening rhythm. Her head dropped slowly toward 
his hardness and he held his breath... My God!... was she actually going 
to... 

Suddenly her tongue flicked out, the tip boring teasingly into the 
nerve-centered wetness of the tiny gland on the end. The sudden unexpected 
contact was like a swift electrical charge on his aroused flesh, bringing a 
groan from his lips, sending chills up the back of his spine. She brought 
her mouth down all the way, enclosing the full pulsating gland in a soft, 
warm pressure. He moaned, thrusting his loins upward compulsively as the 
moistness of her lips closed over the throbbing, sensitive head, trapping it 
completely inside the soft, humid cavern of her mouth. 

"Christ!" he gasped, lifting his head from the bed and staring down at her 
contorted face. 

The very sight of his hard shaft of flesh sunk halfway between her ovaled 
lips gave him as much excitement as the action itself. Still wet with the 
juices of her orgasm, it glistened like the stump of a wet tree along the 
part she hadn't yet taken between her soft lips. She held his prick with one 
hand, lying on his loins, while she began to suck it steadily, rhythmically. 

Up and down, with a twisting motion of her tongue at the apex of her 
withdrawal, the tongue flicking magically across the tiny opening of the 
gland on the end. 

He flexed his buttocks, his head still raised, watching the coruscating 
motion of her head bobbing up and down. The sight of the action was driving 
him mad. She moaned and began to suck harder, nipping now and then with the 
edges of her teeth. His prick was white beneath the scraping suck and a rich 
purple at its smooth, spongy tip. 

Grace could feel his throbbing reaction. She shifted her position without 
relinquishing his distended staff from her mouth and kneeled on all fours 
between his outstretched legs. 

She slipped both hands under the cheeks of his ass, pulling his loins up 
tighter to her face while she plunged her mouth down over him from above. 
Her tongue swiped round and round the growing gland voraciously, until 
Martin felt it near the bursting point as she took almost the full length of 
his prick deep into her throat. He was certain she would choke but she 
continued the maddening sucking _" on and on. 

Her lush breasts bounced and danced as he watched her working over him 
furiously and he felt towering swirls of heat building in his balls. He 
arched his body, pushing even farther between the moistness of her lips; 
thin pink ridges of inner flesh pulled out from her mouth, clinging greedily 
to his thrusting cock. His mouth worked insanely, spilling incoherent 
mutterings. And then he gasped. 

Christ Jesus, what would she do when he came... ? My God... he thought 
crazily... 

this is it! 

It happened. And he was transported by the fantastic depth and breadth of 
the act. She thrust deep, deep over his cock, devouring it to its hilt in 
her mouth as the first rain of his molten sperm volcanoed into her throat. 

Martin thought his head was going to be torn off, everything suddenly was no 
longer there, only this, and it was like dying. 

In a small adjoining room, small only by comparison to the rest of the 
rambling structure, Wayne Newly flipped off the tape recorder. He had 
switched off a home movie camera but seconds before, and with the sibilants 
of winding acetate stilled, the room was suddenly and peacefully quiet. 

He unzipped his fly and with some difficulty extracted the massive bulk of 
his turgid cock from his underpants. A grunt of relief escaped the slack 
lips of his sensitive mouth. He fondled the huge tool absentmindedly, 
looking around him with pleased satisfaction, taking in a plethora of 
dark-room and electronic sound and camera equipment which would have been 
the envy of many an independent producer. His cock jerked in his hand and he 
looked down on the exposed member as if only then aware of what he was 
doing. 

"Well, big boy, what do you think?" he asked of the drooling eye staring 
blindly up at him. 

"Should we get started processing some of this film right now? No telling 
how soon you and I might need it as an introduction to Mrs. Martin Filbert's 
sweet little pussy... if we know Grace, looks like she'll be busy for quite 
a while with her old man." Jesus, he mused, if Flo is anyway near as hot for 
it as that husband of hers... God Almighty! 

The lusting thought made it even more difficult for Wayne to stuff his 
aroused prick back into his pants before he could get to work. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Flo Filbert was standing at the curb, impatiently tapping one foot, when 
Martin arrived at the airport to collect her. He had kept her waiting for 
well over an hour. 

On this of all mornings Martin had overslept - not having had the presence 
of mind to remember to set the alarm the night before. The insistent ring of 
the phone woke him, but by the time he fell out of bed and groped his way 
groggily to the kitchen to answer it, it had stopped. So he'd merely stood 
there, in a shaft of late morning sun streaming in the window, peering 
stupidly around him, trying to get his sluggard brain to function. He felt 
like hell, his head throbbed and his tongue was like an old blanket lying in 
his mouth. 

When his eyes began to focus properly again they landed on the half-empty 
fifth of whiskey standing on the drain-board. 

Christ! I really must have hung one on, he'd groaned inwardly. Catching a 
glimpse of his reflection in the window pane, he sprang back to the center 
of the room, the quick motion making his head spin as he stared down 
curiously at his nakedness, feeling like a fool. 

What the hell! 

The area surrounding the hard nipples on his chest was covered in love bites 
and a tracery of long thin scratches ran over his belly and rayed outward 
from the inside of his thighs, standing out on the tanned surface of his 
skin like some dusky-red leavings of a spider gone mad. 

And then it had all come back to him. No... not all. But all the bright 
hotness of Grace in his mind, coming so strongly and suddenly that it 
brought a knotted, aching tension to his loins that made him sick and dizzy, 
unable to drag his traitor body to the shower. He peered at his watch, 
knowing he was going to be late meeting Flo's plane, then turned blindly to 
the bottle. 

A stiff slug of whiskey, gagged down, had soothed his hangover and supplied 
the physical coordination to shave and shower and dress; and a second one on 
his way out for the moral strength to go and pick up his wife. 

He drove rapidly to the airport, speeding faster than he should, pondering 
the ridiculous euphemism for what he had done with his friend's wife. It was 
called making love, but whatever they had made; it was not love. Martin was 
numbed by the collapse of the image of himself but had no illusions on that 
score. The only certainty arising from his confusion of guilt and remorse 
was that his love for Flo was in no way diminished. 

Grace's words pushed their way back into his brain. "Your wife doesn't have 
a thing in the world to do with this... nor my husband. We want each 
other... it's as simple as that." 

Not that her pat rationale made what had happened perfectly all right... But 
for the first time he could remember _" he thought, it's only a lay. He had 
heard that from so many men who were frequently and unimportantly unfaithful 
to their wives, men who kidded each other about, as they put it, getting a 
piece from another store. Hell, he may be a drunken, whoring bastard... but 
for whatever it was worth, he still loved his wife. 

The quick drinks he'd slugged down made the inevitable improvements in 
Martin's morale and the locker-room bromide abetted the liquor in salving 
his conscience. If needed the libido has a conscience; for the brute thrill 
of conquest was still hot in his blood. 

Martin had already spotted Flo's familiar yellow knit dress from a half 
block away, her shining hair blue-black in the sun, before his thoughts got 
to the crowning shame of the night. He had a quick vision of himself going 
back to his own house, reeling drunkenly down the hill _" it's a wonder he 
hadn't broken his goddamn neck! _" naked as a jaybird. 

With Wayne Newly coming down behind him, toting his clothes, making light 
conversation about the congeniality of the neighborhood... about social 
activities they all enjoyed together! As if he and Grace had just finished 
playing a high old game of checkers... 

Christ! 

A rare infidelity was one thing. Even sexual permissiveness between an 
occasional husband and wife. But a whole neighborhood? This was a 
titillating headline; something you read about in Playboy. Not a situation 
you landed into in your nine to five life. But you did... and with all four 
feet. 

Dear God, how was he going to keep Flo from finding out about last night? 
And did Wayne expect her... ? Oh no! God, no! 

Martin pulled into the loading zone. With a taxi crowding him from behind, 
he leaned over and opened the door. Flo ducked inside with a breathless 
laugh. 

"Hi, darling... Oh, it's good to be home!" She leaned forward, receiving a 
quick peck on the cheek before Martin pulled out into the flow of traffic. 
The straight line of her nose wrinkled involuntarily. Had Martin changed his 
shaving lotion? 

"I'm sorry I'm late, Flo... but that damned alarm... " he said, leaving that 
hanging in the air, to let her make what she would of it. 

"I was beginning to think you'd run off with another woman," she laughed. 
"But as long as you're here now you're forgiven." 

She moved suddenly very close to him, so that he could feel the warmth of 
her thigh, putting her hand on his leg. 

"Dad was so happy to see me, I just couldn't turn around and come right 
back... and I'm really glad I did stay, for his sake." And for mine, too, 
Flo thought. With her newfound boldness she rubbed his thigh, feeling a 
slight reaction beneath her touch. "Did you miss me?" 

A car cutting too closely in front of them, bringing a "Damn hot-rodder!" 
from Martin and causing him to swerve abruptly, then right the car, saved 
him from having to answer her loaded question. Miss her, he thought 
bitterly, I missed her so damn much I was out getting fucked and sucked by 
the neighbor's wife. Beneath her warm, slender paw, the scratches on his 
thigh felt like the mark of Cain and he trembled with a shame that no amount 
of rationalization could dispel completely. 

She mistook the tremble for desire and suddenly wondered if she dared start 
something the minute they got inside the house... if Martin didn't! Ah, but 
he would... and now she was ready for him. 

Something cool and afraid had been ripped out of her, leaving a feeling of 
hotness that was strangely bold. 

In only a short while he'd be holding her tight... she could almost feel the 
strength of his arms pulling her to him until her breasts were flattened 
against his chest... feel the throbbing length of his hard shaft probing 
into her belly; her breasts felt swollen, heavy and a warmth of inner 
moisture was suddenly wet between her legs. She had the almost unbearable 
urge to slide her hand up to her husband's trouser-covered loins. 

But the Jezebel role was too new to Flo for her to play it well... not here 
in the car, speeding along the busy freeway and in broad daylight. In front 
of God and everybody! 

she chuckled to herself, feeling a warmth flooding her cheeks, and quickly 
snatched her hand away from temptation. She looked up at Martin's rather 
grim profile, her eyes blurred with a tender longing. He was strangely 
silent, but in the quickening excitement of her own anticipation she was but 
vaguely aware of it. In less than ten minutes they would really be starting 
married life... alone together at last. 

In even less time than that, eight minutes and twenty-one seconds to be 
precise, Flo found herself deposited on their front walk like a... a... like 
the Sunday morning paper, was the phrase that came to her stunned mind. She 
hadn't been tossed out of the car in exactly the same careless manner, but 
she felt just as discarded. Before he had even drawn up to the curb Martin 
had explained, in a rush of words sounding learned by rote, that much as he 
hated to do this, work was piled a mile high on his desk and he simply had 
to get down to the office. 

It was the only excuse he'd been able to think up; he needed time to pull 
himself together. 

And Flo must not see those marks of lusting, animal sex. 

So she was left hurt and bewildered in a vacuum of suddenly meaningless 
excitement. 

A while later Flo stood at the kitchen door, looking out at the miniature 
oasis of semi-jungle greenery that had a wild beauty against the dark 
background of scrub oak and pine climbing the slow hills. A power mower 
somewhere encountered a rock and wrenched and coughed, throbbing to a stop 
like an indignant insect, leaving the afternoon in sudden silence. She drank 
from the glass in her hand, the acrid murk of liquor a strange companion for 
the green with a strong smell of childhood in new-mown grass. From behind 
the hedge next door she heard a burst of laughter, gay voices raised, then 
abruptly, the sound of a phonograph. 

A sudden hot fierce wave of envy startled her. There were a dozen things she 
should do inside. The clear sun, which belied a forecast of rain, reminded 
her of a hamper full of soiled linen, but she suddenly thought... To hell 
with it!... mixed her third drink - or was it her fourth? _" and went out 
the back door. 

Flo had been rather surprised to find the depleted bottle standing on the 
drainboard. A timid drinker, she had taken the initial drink out of 
frustration. It had such a heartening effect that she'd gone back for more. 
With the hot sun beating down now on her head she felt slightly dizzy. 
Across the quiet yard reverberated the insidious blare of jazz. The drumbeat 
throbbed insistently, persuasively, a sort of erotica which seeped under her 
skin. 

Despite herself she was drawn insidiously halfway up the Newly's hillside 
terrace. 

Which was where Grace, with a sly, delighted grin, caught sight of her, 
sipping the amber liquid and feeling somewhat sorry for herself in a maudlin 
way. And exactly in the right mood to forget her shy reserve with strangers 
when Grace called down a warm invitation to get into her swim suit and come 
join the party. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Although only shortly past noon the party was going full blast. A handful of 
people were scattered around the turquoise pool, taking advantage of the 
unseasonably burning late-fall sun. But most of the crowd was gathered in 
the big play room opening out onto the terrace, the room where Martin's 
initiation had begun last night. 

Wayne Newly had stationed himself in a strategic position to keep a lusting 
eye out for Flo's arrival. But when she emerged from the top of the hillside 
stairway, holding slightly back in the ragged opening of oleander, Wayne 
wasn't quite prepared for what he saw. 

The bathing suit she wore, two wisps of thin cloth the color of honey that 
clung to her shapely body like second skin, brought a silent whistle to his 
lips _" along with an instantaneous hardening in the groin. Until he drew 
closer she appeared naked; it was that deceptive. 

"You shouldn't be allowed to wear that in public," he said. 

"I'm not out in public, darling. This looks like a friendly group." 

Flo responded with an unfamiliar boldness surprising even herself. The micro 
bikini had been bought on a foolish impulse and never worn. Only the courage 
of alcohol and a surge of rebellion at Martin's taking off the way he did 
prompted her to put it on. She had been startled, frightened somehow, by the 
way the daring suit made her feel _" as sexy and seductive as it looked. 
She had almost lost her nerve, almost taken it off again, but now the open 
admiration in Wayne's eyes made her glad she hadn't. 

Flo thought the deliberately lewd expression on his almost priestlike face 
delightfully funny. She was laughing up at him as he walked her inside with 
one arm flung carelessly around a large expanse of her naked bared flesh. 

"Quiet, everybody!" he waved his free arm over his head. "Let me introduce 
Flo. The new little pussy cat in the neighborhood!" he yelled, over the din 
of loud voices and blaring music. 

Coming in out of the bright sun, Flo distinguished little more than a blur 
of shifting figures, and if the noise level declined with Wayne's sweeping 
announcement, the drop was too imperceptible to be noticed. For which she 
was thankful, feeling a sudden embarrassment standing so nakedly in the 
shelter of Wayne's arm. And then she was breathlessly, vibrantly, aware of 
his latent power. He squeezed her tight against him in a friendly bear hug. 
Clad only in the briefest of trunks, a narrow band encircling his hips, 
every bone and muscle of his slim, sinewy frame felt hard and hot against 
her soft nakedness. 

"Come along, girl, let's get you a drink," he said heartily. "You're way 
behind!" 

Although Wayne wasn't too sure about that. The blue glitter of those amazing 
eyes of hers had seemed to be more than a reflection of the bright sun, her 
peach skin was so warm to his touch... and her rapid breathing... God, what 
tits! "You're going to drive me insane before this day is over, baby," he 
told her silently, looking down at her breasts, feasting his eyes on the 
rise and fall of full, ripe flesh. The tips of their perfectly sculpted 
roundness, barely covered by the sliver of bra, jutted out against the 
fabric. He couldn't exactly see her nipples but they were clearly defined, 
intriguing shadows which fell into place to paint an erotic picture in his 
mind. He could feel her magnificent breasts, soft as marshmallow, except for 
the tips which were hard and distended, trembling in the palms of his hands. 

As he steered her toward the bar Flo felt a sudden tightening of Wayne's 
fingers on her hip. His touch sent a rush of sensual pleasure sweeping 
through her loins, an excitement so unexpected, so intense, her legs went 
weak. They had reached the bar at the same time and she leaned weakly 
against the padded leather, grateful for its support. For a moment her brain 
muddled. She thought she'd had too much to drink... the sun had been too 
hot... the room was too crowded, too stifling... 

Had his hand stayed a split second too long on her bare flesh? Had Wayne's 
fingers been intimate... knowing? 

"What'll it be, Flo? Scotch, bourbon, vodka? Or anything else your little 
heart desires. 

We've got all the comforts of home around here. You name it... " he paused, 
smiling at her warmly, his face alight with gentle eagerness to please. 

"Thanks, no. I don't think I really should." 

Flo felt the strength return to her limbs as quickly as it had drained. It 
must have been her imagination, she thought, but even so... what kind of 
idiot did that make her? Going all weak and trembly with her own 
hair-brained fancies... She shivered. There was no denying a wet sensitivity 
between her thighs. 

"You can't refuse this, try it, just to please me," Wayne was coaxing her. 
"It's the specialty of the house, guaranteed." 

He neglected to say what the potent concoction of layered rum, a mind 
blowing zombie with a subtle addition or two of his own, was guaranteed for 
_" or to do. But Flo found out, and before too long. By the time he had 
built her the third drink she was feeling marvelous, the party was 
delightful and Wayne was the most charming, entertaining and witty man, she 
had ever met. And the beautiful punch was delicious. 

In a lull in the conversation among the group clustered at the bar he asked 
her, "What's Martin doing this afternoon?" 

"Who?" 

Then Flo realized she was perched on a bar stool, her mouth hanging open in 
stupefied surprise. The sound of Wayne's infectious laughter, mingled with 
an admonition not to go away _" he'd be back shortly, was ringing in her 
ears as she watched him disappear across the room. She managed to close her 
mouth. Martin? Now, that's a good question, she thought hazily. Well... let 
him work if he wanted to do that... rather than stay home and make love to 
her... She was having a perfectly wonderful time without him... and Wayne 
would make love to her... if she let him, wanted him to... 

"My God... Now what kind of crazy thought was that?" 

"Damned if I know, but I'll give a penny for it." 

Unaware that she'd spoken aloud, the answer to her question, coming almost 
directly in her ear, startled her. She swiveled around to find a vaguely 
familiar face staring down at her. Why, he looks a little like Martin, she 
thought, and then remembered that the tall redheaded man had been introduced 
to her earlier... Brian? no... Bert... Bert Long, that was it! How clever of 
her to remember! 

"It wasn't worth it, Bert," Flo assured him. Looking up, her eyes blurred, 
and as she shook her head to clear her vision she saw they were alone at the 
bar. A strange giddiness seemed to pervade her whole body as she turned and 
looked around the room. The light had dimmed, making it difficult to see but 
the party seemed to have congregated at one end of the room. 

"Home movies," Bert said, as if in answer to the question forming slowly in 
her mind. 

"Wayne promised us something new. Says it pretty damn rare... let's join the 
crowd and find out." 

She groaned inwardly, it sounded pretty dull to her. Flo was feeling so good 
now, filled with a glowing exhilaration that made it increasingly hard to 
even sit still, that watching amateur pictures of somebody's trip to Hawaii 
or the Grand Canyon or whatever seemed silly. And besides, she wanted 
another drink. She held up her glass and saw it was over half full. Well 
anyway _" as soon as she finished this one. 

Bert was standing close behind her, his hand moving up and down her arm from 
shoulder to elbow, slowly stroking the smooth flesh. She didn't really want 
him to touch her, didn't even like him too much. The way he looked at her, 
with hard, bold eyes, made her feel totally naked, but pushing his hand away 
seemed too much trouble. She stared down into her drink, fascinated by its 
shades of rose and red and pink, swirling hypnotically with a tilt of the 
glass. Soothing, like the hand on her arm, lulling, making her feel as if 
she were enormously heavy, a sweet-swollen dreamy thing, protected and warm. 

"There, that didn't take long, did it?" Wayne asked. 

Flo looked up and came out of her trance, glad that he'd come back. She was 
feeling so strange, floating, a pleasant lighter-than-air sort of helpless 
feeling. But he would take care of her now. 

"Buzz off, Bert. We'll see you later," he said, then turned to Flo. "Come 
on, hon, finish your drink and we'll watch the picture. I think you may find 
it interesting." 

She was almost too relaxed to move but drained the drink still in her glass 
with long, thirsty swallows, set the glass on the bar and slid down off the 
high stool. Feeling giddy, but suddenly light and gay as the hastily gulped 
liquor sent a glow of exhilaration speeding through her blood-stream, it 
sounded like a wonderful idea. 

"All right. I'm ready, Wayne," she agreed. The words struggled from a tight 
constriction in her throat in a breathy, barely audible whisper. 

The only light at the far end of the room came from the picture projected on 
a large screen and they stumbled through a confusion of arms and legs. 

Entwined bodies lay sprawled on cushions on the floor, while those still on 
their feet writhed and twisted in a pagan dance without music. 

Flo was grateful for the solid support of Wayne's arm on her waist. It was 
difficult to keep her legs braced under her. They seemed detached from her 
body, as if they belonged to someone else. When he finally pulled her down 
with him on a loose pile of cushions she sighed with relief and snuggled 
against him, closing her eyes. She felt herself spiraling to the delicious 
heights of a free and easy drunkenness. In a far corner of her mind a small 
reasonable voice told her, 'This isn't the behavior of a respectably married 
woman." 

But the magical balm of liquor left no room for moral conjecture... and the 
encompassing warmth of Wayne's firm-muscled body felt so relaxing she hadn't 
the strength to move. 

And then suddenly it wasn't relaxing at all. 

He pulled her hard against him, slipped his hand up her side and cupped it 
warmly just beneath her breast. Everything quickened. She could feel her 
blood begin to stir deep within her body and a swift unwanted moisture 
formed between her legs. Against the light pressure of his hand her breast 
felt hot and swollen, heavier, larger than the other. Her mind was in a 
state of utter confusion, so astounded at her sensual reaction to his sudden 
touch that she was practically paralyzed. 

"Watch the picture, darling," he urged in a soft whisper, but she didn't 
dare open her eyes. 

Wayne let his fingers brush softly against the tip of her breast and felt 
the nipple surge to quivering erection. As a low moan escaped her lips he 
grew more confident by the second. His eyes were glued to the screen, 
watching Martin fuck wildly into his wife's cunt, but lewd images of what he 
would do to this soft young body in his arms once it had reached the stage 
of total, helpless submission tumbled in delirious, kaleidoscopic images 
through his brain. 

With a gentle tug at the scant top of Flo's bikini, he pulled it around her 
waist, letting her full breasts spring free. He could feel the pressure 
building in his balls and as he began to manipulate her tumid nipples, 
rolling them like little balls between his thumb and forefinger, he reached 
down and eased his hardening prick out of his trunks. His lusting gaze still 
fastened on the screen, he rasped, "She sure loves to screw and he's really 
putting it to her!" 

Flo could hardly believe what was happening. She felt hot and cold at one 
and the same time, like a block of ice that was wrapped in a sheet of flame, 
yet growing hotter and hotter instead of melting. The wisp of fabric binding 
her vaginal area was drenched and delightful shocks of sensation emanated 
from her nipples as Wayne continued twisting and rolling them between his 
fingers. She knew she ought to stop him but she was powerless to resist. And 
she was enmeshed in a sensual glow so exquisite that she hated to lose it. 

She was almost as stunned by Wayne's actions and words as by her own wanton 
abandon. He had struck her as being, in the only basic and pertinent way, a 
gentleman. 

But the abrupt about-face of his image was strangely exciting somehow. 

"Jesus, look at him go! He's fucking her cunt like there's no tomorrow! 
Look... Just look at that, will you!" 

Wayne's voice, urging, telling and gloating, rained lewd words into Flo's 
fertile brain. They whirled in her head, inciting her desire until she 
wished feverishly to obey his command, but something held her back. When a 
shrill scream rose in the air and shattered against the ceiling, breaking 
into a myriad of brittle curses, she almost raised up involuntarily to watch 
the obscene picture. But his hands on her breasts held her down. And... 
ohhh... 

they felt so good! 

"She's cumming! By God, he's going to break her in two! But she's loving 
every bit of it... 

her cunt's eating it up!" Wayne paused and sucked in his breath. "Christ! 
Will you look at that! The guy's fucking prick is still hard! And after a 
screwing like that... " He paused again and a sly note crept into his voice. 
"It's probably just as well you don't see this part... one look at that big 
cock might spoil you for some of mine!" 

Flo writhed in helpless torment, his lewd word pictures coming alive in her 
mind. She felt his hands stroking the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, 
felt her legs spread wide of their own accord to allow his searching fingers 
greater access to the moist, wanting lips of her vagina. 

"You can look now, honey," he whispered hotly in her ear. "She's going to 
suck him off. 

She's kissing his prick... and then she'll take it in those soft red lips... 
and God, how soft they are!" 

As Wayne's vicarious excitement mounted, his hands on Flo's thighs inched 
upward and his voice rose in pitch. Her body shook like one with fever 
chills as she fought for control. 

And suddenly his fingers, strong and probing, were on the moist, 
fleece-lined lips of her cunt and he cried out. 

"Jesus! That big rod of your husband's will choke her to death!" 

Flo froze, momentarily suspended in cold-sober shock. As the meaning of his 
crude exclamation exploded in her brain, she felt torn asunder; one part of 
her mind refused to believe what the other knew was irrevocably so. She 
wanted more than anything in the world to flee from that very real reality, 
to go back into the warm cocoon of sensual euphoria and lose herself in its 
blissful sanctuary. But that was no longer possible! 

With a violent shove she pushed Wayne away. Her eyes flew open and she 
lurched to a sitting position. In the dim light it took her a moment to 
bring the images on the screen into focus. She caught the picture just 
before Grace's mouth began its downward plunge on Martin's monstrously 
expanded cock. 

Flo stared in horrified disbelief. She saw the red, blood-engorged head of 
her husband's penis make contact with moist pink lips of another man's 
wife's mouth. Her tongue darted out, flicked lightly into the tiny slit at 
the tip, then her mouth opened wide and with a wild downward plunge of her 
head, the thick, glistening shaft of flesh was completely absorbed into the 
taut oval of her greedy lips. 

"Oh, no... no, no!" Flo's moan of anguish was muffled by the recorded 
transmission of Martin's ecstatic groan. She wanted to scream out her 
disbelief, to get up and run away from the unbelievable scene, but her 
throat closed and she was frozen into immobility. 

And as she sat, transfixed, staring mesmerized at the rhythmic motion of 
Martin's cock sawing in and out of Grace's avid mouth, her own excitement 
quickened to a burning lust. 

Wayne's hands were rummaging expertly over her heated flesh, stroking and 
massaging her breasts, her belly, the moist flesh of her inner thighs. She 
was dimly aware of what was happening, and somehow managed to tear her gaze 
away from the screen. 

Flo closed her eyes tight shut and buried her face in Wayne's shoulder, but 
still the vision of Martin's cock, wet and glistening, skewering into the 
red oval of Grace's lips raced through her mind. 

"Oh, God," she groaned, "How could he?" 

"You mean you didn't know?" Wayne whispered in innocent surprise. "After 
all, you did come to this kind of bash... 

Know? How could she know? Flo's confused brain reeled. And what did he 
mean... this kind of bash? 

She squirmed back in his arms, trying to make out the expression on Wayne's 
face in the dim flickering light. "I... I don't know what you're talking 
about... " 

"Why honey, we have a little arrangement going... sort of a good neighbor 
policy," he explained softly. His hand ground harder on her breast, his 
fingers giving the soft rubbery nipple a hard pinch sending a flash of pain 
and pleasure shooting down her spine. She uttered a low helpless gasp and 
squirmed her buttocks down into the cushions in an effort to stem the 
flowing tide of passion washing down between her thighs and through her 
loins. 

She looked desperately around her, as if seeking a way out. Everywhere she 
turned she caught the gleam of flesh, naked and writhing, of entwined 
bodies. Positions varied but there could be no doubt as to what they were 
doing. 

Waynes's skilled tutoring began to bear fruit. 

"They're fucking!" His lewd word came unbidden from Flo's lips. And suddenly 
she was aware of the sounds in the room, sounds that were like those 
emanating from the recorder, wet, sucking noises punctuated intermittently 
by small moanings and groans of total sensual pleasure. 

"Of course. Just like your husband is fucking my wife," he whispered with 
his mouth against her lips. "Turnabout is fair play, baby." 

"Oh... oh! You can't... we can't," she whimpered into the hot wetness of his 
mouth. 

"Why not?" he demanded harshly. "You want my cock... and I damn well know 
it!" 

Reaching for her hand, he took it in his and thrust it down between them, 
wrapping her fingers around his swiftly hardening penis. 

Flo's heart stopped and her soft body stiffened against him like Lot's 
adulterous wife. 

Without conscious will her hand tightened on the massive, fleshy instrument, 
holding it in a frantic grip. And she felt an emanating of lusting tremors 
from her hand on his penis rush like wildfire throughout her entire body. 
She did want it!... Oh God... how she wanted it! 

And she had been afraid to let her own husband... the man she loved... 
afraid to let him put his... his... 

"You do want my cock, don't you Flo. Don't you want to feel my cock inside 
your cunt." 

Wayne's voice made a soft, decisive statement of the questions. 

Yes, that was the word! Flo's alcohol and lust-distorted brain tasted the 
foreign word, chewed it up, swallowed, and digested it. Her thoughts rambled 
on... afraid to let Martin put his cock in her cunt... and now she was going 
crazy... absolutely out of her mind... 

for the cock of a total stranger! 

"Yes!" she hissed. "I want your cock! Ohhh, no... no! I can't." She felt 
helpless, unable to cope with the torment wracking her mind and body. 

"Why not?" he insisted again. "Martin's sucking my wife, now he's... " 

"Oh, please - don't... ! I can't... not here!" 

She couldn't bear to hear any more, but an angry, wanton defiance came to 
life in her mind. Yes, Wayne is right. If Martin could do this... why not 
let Wayne make love to her? 

But not here... not with her own husband on the screen watching... 

She seemed to lose contact with reality. Newly half-led, half-carried Flo 
out onto the terrace by the pool, stopping at the bar on the way to pour her 
another drink. By God, he thought, Grace has one hell of a technique when it 
comes to softening up a couple of babes in the woods like the Filberts. But 
then, he wasn't doing too badly, either. Get 'em without experience and 
teach 'em right, he chuckled to himself. 

Once outside in the bright sun, Flo blinked like a startled blue-eyed owl. A 
light breeze was cool on her nakedness, causing her to cringe inwardly with 
an innate sense of embarrassment. But her shameless body laid down beside 
him, stretching out beneath the bright sky with sexual, relentless urgency. 
He leaned over her, running his hands lightly over the swelling mounds of 
her breasts, teasing the hardened nipples with little circling pressures of 
his thumb. His hand dipped to the bare skin of her flat stomach and kneaded 
gently at the smooth sun-warmed flesh. 

Wayne felt her tremble beneath him, felt her own inner heat rise almost 
visibly in response to his touch. His cock reached skyward, its blind eye 
drooling at the sun, and he knew she was ready for anything he wanted to do. 

Flo's hips began to squirm against the canvas deck pad and she turned her 
body toward him, pressing herself to him. And then she lifted her head, eyes 
squeezed tightly shut against the glaring sun, and offered him her lips, 
open and shining and wet. 

He ground his lips onto hers, completely engulfing their softness with a 
moist, hard pressure, stabbing his tongue past her teeth and into her mouth 
to fence hotly with hers. A shooting star plummeted from the sky to explode 
in her brain at the sheer physical impact of his kiss and her hand clawed 
uncontrollably at the back of his neck to lock their mouths in a heated 
fusion. His hand was again at her breast, but no longer gentle, squeezing it 
until ridges of plump flesh oozed out from between his fingers. 

Tiny mewlings of the pleasure of pain sounded deep in her throat. They 
surged around his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth in a simulation 
of coitus. 

And then Wayne's hand dropped from her breast, slid down across the smooth 
flat abdomen to the first downy pubic hairs fringing the hip-hugging strip 
of her bikini. His fingers moved swiftly inside, lingering for a tactile 
moment in the curling tendrils of her soft, silken fleece. Then he let his 
hand slide lower still, his middle finger extended, until the digit came in 
sudden contact with the moist, humid furrow of her cunt. 

Flo's body jackknifed forward with the electric contact of his touch on her 
naked, vulnerable crotch. Her entire being peaked into vibrant, breathing 
aliveness. She began to moan, a low humming sound of hungry wanting. From a 
far periphery of the yawning abyss of her mind came a warning whisper from 
the reasonable voice. This is wrong... 

this is all wrong. I'm not a common whore... There must be some mistake... 
some way of turning back before it's too late. 

But she knew nothing could stop this. She was entirely incapable of protest 
or resistance. 

She couldn't stop him even if she wanted to. 

Which she didn't. She liked his touch on her genitals, she craved it! And 
his tongue in her mouth, his hand on her breast, oh God, there was no 
turning back... and yet she couldn't wait to go on ahead... 

Wayne curled his middle finger into the wet, quivering passage of Flo's 
cunt, teasing the bud of her clitoris, feeling it become immediately erect, 
toying with it; a sensual explorer lost in the enjoyment of what he was 
doing, marveling at a new discovery of warm, limitless abundance. Damn, he 
thought, she's really got the hots... I was right, she sure is ready. She's 
ready for cock, all right. Dying for it! 

"Sugar," he whispered smoothly against her mouth, "I want to fuck you, I 
need to fuck you, I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked 
before." 

He lifted his head to catch the reaction in her face. The sun shrank the 
pupils of her eyes so that they were wide and blind and monstrously blue, it 
haloed her black hair sheening like spilled ink. Her moist lips, 
desire-darkened and loose, moved smally, fumbling for the words. 

He knew she wouldn't, couldn't resist. She was too far gone now for anything 
else to happen. 

"Oh yes, yes... yes darling... and I-I want you to... to fuck... to fuck... 
me... I need... 

Wayne darling... darling... " 

She had begun to lose the thread of her words. Her voice got softer and 
precision of her diction began to blur. Wayne knew what was happening. 
Nothing else mattered to her now _" but cock, nothing at all. And the lewd 
words, so basically alien to her lips, caused his prick to ache with 
excitement, to emit a sticky warmth of seminal secretion from its bloated 
glans. 

"Go on... " The suavity of his voice had turned to a rasping file. 

"I need you... to fuck me, too... as much... as you need it. Fuck me, 
Wayne... fuck me . 

. . fuck me... fuck me... " He slipped his finger from her cunt and stripped 
off the desire-drenched bikini. She automatically raised her hips to help 
him. He knelt down between her outspread legs and stared at her soft 
resilient pubic hair and the moist sheath of her open cunt. His eyes feasted 
gleefully on the thin lips, petal-pink, delicately edged with feathery 
black. A droplet of her seeping vaginal juice moistened its fringe, then 
two, and then more, and they glistened with the luster of precious pearls. 
By God, she was a beauty... and completely at his mercy now! He ran his 
hands over the soft flexing hollows of her inner thighs, letting his fingers 
stroke the fluted pink petals of her cunt and dart in and out of the 
passion-flooded passage at will. Saliva dripped from his open mouth, 
mingling with her juices in the delicious narrow pit of her open vagina. 

Flo moaned continuously as she gave herself over completely to this man, 
this comparative stranger who was giving her such rapturous delight. Her 
hips undulated in frenetic sexual abandon as the expert ministrations of his 
hands stoked the fires burning inside her to a bright glorious blaze. 
Through half-slit eyes she could see him kneeling over her. She watched with 
bated breath as his head lowered slowly, slowly... Her stomach went 
hollow... resistance seized her for a moment. What he was going to do to her 
was incomprehensible... it was obscene. His breath was hot on her throbbing 
pussy, creating an icy chill that spiraled the length of her spine. 

With a small cry she tangled her hands in his hair in an attempt to draw his 
head away. 

Yet even as she did she knew it was futile; in her helpless physical need 
she was no match for his strength. 

"Relax, baby." His breath fanned a ripple of new prurient sensations on the 
nerve-centered opening. "I'm going to kiss and lick and suck your cunt. I'm 
going to bury my tongue in your hot little pussy and you're going to love 
it, baby. Ill make you cum like you've never cum before." 

His vile words and his hot teasing breath were like fuel to the fire of 
lust, turning any thought of denial to dust. She was aroused to a pitch of 
uncaring insane desire. She was beyond words; her loins leaped wildly 
forward to tell him of her unequivocal surrender. 

Wayne drove his head savagely downward, his lips mashing into her vaginal 
mouth, splaying the lips open wide with the hard moist pressure of his 
mouth, his tongue ramming deep and hard into the burning crevice of her 
cunt. 

"AAAAAggghhhh!" Flo screamed as his long, hot tongue lashed into her 
defenseless crotch and her body responded with convulsive lurches. Her hands 
grasped his hair, tried to pull his face deeper into her desire-drenched 
loins. 

Ohhh, it felt good! It felt wonderful! How could she have ever denied 
herself... denied Martin... such joy as this?... It was lovely... beautiful! 

She was groaning incessantly, broken sounds, as though she were trying to 
call out his name but couldn't fit the straining softness of her mouth to 
the consonants. 

His agile tongue speared in and out of her widespread vagina, slipping back 
and forth over the tip of her throbbing clitoris. She writhed and twisted, 
screwing her pelvis up into his face in savage, total abandon. Wayne took 
the erect, pulsating button of her clitoris between his teeth, holding it 
snugly there, and began to circle it with a swift lashing of his tongue, 
round and round until she cried out sharply at the almost unbearable 
pleasure. He increased his attack, fucking her orally, faster and harder, 
sliding his long pointed tongue deeper and deeper up into her dilated, 
grasping channel, driving it in and out of the moist, velvety sheath with a 
hard, relentless fury. He drew her legs up and around his neck and her 
thighs gripped convulsively, pulling him still closer to her straining 
loins. 

Every muscle in Flo's body was tensed as she strained her hips upward to the 
maddening tongue that was licking insanely into her flame-seared cuntal 
passage. She thought she would go out of her mind from the intense ecstatic 
rapture in her love-starved loins. God, she couldn't stand it! She had to 
have release, had to have it soon! 

As his mouth and tongue worked in slobbering animalistic subjugation at her 
seething cunt, Wayne's eyes stared up along the sweat-slick valley between 
her sensuously quivering breasts, reveling in the lusting grimace on her 
face. 

Christ, she was really turned on! She doesn't know it yet, but this doll's a 
real live fucking machine! He could feel the gathering waves of her orgasm 
roiling and churning... rising. 

Flo screamed... a high, rising cadence of sound that was somehow not quite 
human. Her body spasmed against him in uncontrolled violence as wave upon 
wave of torrential ecstasy ripped her wide open. 

When at last it was over she sank back with a long, exhausted, satiated 
sigh. Wayne raised up slowly from her reflexively trembling crotch, grinning 
down at her with a lecherous satisfaction. 

"Well, baby?" he asked. "How was it... did you like it?" 

"Ohhh... Wayne... God!" Flo breathed her eyes squeezed tightly shut. "It 
was... perfectly marvelous!" 

"That was only the beginning. Open your eyes, honey," he commanded softly. 
"Look at what I've got for you." 

Dreamily, Flo opened her eyes. She found herself looking at his thick, rigid 
penis standing out from beneath the slight paunch of his belly. Her breath 
caught in her throat. My God, it was huge! 

"Like that, honey?" His lewd smile broadened. 

Flo tried to speak but she couldn't. She was trying to imagine that great 
menacing shaft worming itself into the soft, fleshy folds of her vaginal 
orifice. A quiver of fear crossed her face. God, could she possibly take all 
of that? 

His hand began a lewd stroking of the heavily uncircumcised foreskin, back 
and forth, over the huge, bloated head. He saw an almost imperceptible, 
slow, rolling undulation begin in Flo's soft white buttocks. Goddamn right, 
she liked it! he gloated, no doubt about that. And she was going to get 
it... but good! 

"You're going to love it, doll," he said. "Because I'm going to fuck you 
now. My cock is as hot as your tight little cunt, and I want to fuck you 
with it. I want to shoot my load of hot sticky sperm deep into your belly. I 
want to fuck you now, Flo... " 

"Oh! God, yes, do fuck me now, please, fuck me, fuck meeeee!" 

Low, misty clouds were moving quickly, sometimes touching the tops of the 
rolling foothills. The humid air was cooling rapidly and a hastening wind 
tumbled down through the canyon, blowing all traces of the false early 
spring away and leaving a heavy curtain of rain in its wake. 

Flo was drifting through a long black tunnel in a boat. It was cool and 
clammy, and she felt as though she couldn't breathe properly. The boat 
started to sink, but she really didn't seem to mind that, until it dropped 
below the surface, immersing her in the icy water. She felt the waves 
swirling around her with an arctic chill on her hot flesh and the sound of a 
rushing waterfall was loud in her ears. 

Flo moaned, shivering, and opened her eyes. Physically and emotionally 
drained, she must have fallen asleep. She had no idea how long she had been 
lying there in the rain, but from the waist down her body was being sluiced 
with sheets of cold water. In the moment of walking she thought she was 
still in the dream and then it was coming back to her slowly. She was 
partially covered by an overhanging eave of the Newly's house, a rain-soaked 
beach towel clinging to her bared buttocks. 

In the wet, lowering dusk, her first thought was to head for home, but as 
she skirted the swimming pool she was coldly aware of bared breasts 
billowing above the towel clasped around her middle. And it suddenly struck 
her that she couldn't go home to Martin _" and he must have returned by now 
_" like this. Confused, still lost in an alcoholic and sexual fog, she 
wasn't prepared to confront him with his infidelity. And at the thought of 
her own, lewd and strangely exciting images whirled through her mind, images 
that stiffened her bared nipples and moistened the swollen lips of her 
vagina. 

Suddenly the cold, wet drizzle felt good on her hot breasts. And Flo turned 
and half walked, half staggered back to the Newly's party. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

As Martin walked in the door he sensed immediately that Flo had gone out. 
The little house had the same empty feeling it had the night before when 
he'd been there alone. 

And there were no lights burning. Although it was only four o'clock, a 
rather menacing darkness had abruptly settled over the afternoon sky. 

When he'd gone to the office earlier on the excuse of work, there had been 
things he could have taken care of, but he'd sprawled in an easy chair and 
promptly fallen asleep. 

He awoke feeling cramped but somewhat better. A steak sandwich consumed in a 
bar on the way home, preceded by a couple of stiff drinks and washed down 
with three bottles of beer, improved his condition considerably more. By now 
he had about reached the stage of reasoning where he was ready to forgive 
her. But finding her gone not only surprised him _" where the hell could 
she have gone to? _" it rekindled his guilt. 

Turning lights on and off he paced restlessly through the house. He spotted 
the bottle of rye and thought, hell, I might as well be drunk as the shape 
I'm in! About three drinks drained the bottle and turned his emotions from 
guilt to worry to anger. He wandered back into the bedroom, pervaded lightly 
with the perfume she wore, and saw her lacy bra and panties tossed on the 
foot of the bed. When he became aware of a hardening in his groin, he'd 
really had it and stalked out of the house to go looking for her. She might 
have walked the half mile or so to the store, he thought. 

He felt a few drops of rain on his face as he started toward the car. He'd 
parked in back of the house and he was looking down, avoiding the chasm al 
cracks in the driveway when a lively burst of noise arrested his motion. It 
came down the hill from the Newly's. Perhaps Flo... ? 

And, although subconsciously, Martin was positive that Flo couldn't be next 
door, an overwhelming compulsion changed his direction and he turned away 
from the car and started up the hill, hurrying as the rain fell harder. 

When Flo came in out of the rain, looking like a wet sex-kitten, the party 
showed no signs of slowing down. Wayne greeted her with a long, hard kiss. 
She crushed her body against him and stopped him from speaking with another 
long kiss. 

"I was going to say," he whispered as she pulled herself away in sudden 
confusion, "You're the best fuck I ever had... the goddamned best! But don't 
tell my wife I said that." 

Her loins still thrilling with memory of the delight of his massive 
instrument of pleasure, Flo couldn't help the depraved sensation of pride 
his lewd compliment gave her. It was like a dream, a wild heavenly 
nightmare. She wanted to look at him; to touch him because their sunlit orgy 
had become unreal and implausible. It was an episode she knew she should try 
to forget, yet, perversely, it had been so wonderful she wanted some 
confirmation from him that it had actually happened. She wanted to put her 
hand down... and feel his cock . 

. . Good God, what next? Had she no shame left? 

But hadn't Martin... No, that wasn't fair. She knew Martin loved her; that 
she loved him. 

Then why... ? 

Flo's brain swam, trying to decipher the miniscule difference between right 
and wrong. 

And then she gave up trying altogether as Wayne wrapped her nakedness in a 
woolly blanket, letting his fingers rummage in her cunt, stroking the 
rain-drenched curls and teasing the glossy bud of her clitoris until her 
dripping vaginal slit was wetter than ever. 

Wayne pressed a drink in her hand and she swallowed more than half of it 
needfully. 

"Cigarette?" he asked, flipping open a small silver box. 

Whatever he had given her to drink had taken her breath away and 
flash-flared in her belly, radiating deliriously through her body. "No," she 
gasped. "I don't smoke." 

"You will when you get through with this," he grinned suggestively. "Not 
that you need it, hon," he hastened to add. He extracted a clumsily shaped 
cigarette with both ends twirled closed, like the fuse of a firecracker, and 
held it out to her. 

"What is it?" she asked, although somehow she seemed to know. 

"My private stock. Kept in the family cellars for generations at just the 
right temperature... 

Vintage Acapulco Gold. The best in marijuana." 

He was laughing at her... daring her with his innocent choir-boy eyes. 

"Well, fuck you," the liquor and his adept tutelage said through Flo's lips. 
"Thanks, I'll have one." 

"That's my girl. I knew you wouldn't let me down." He lit her up with the 
end of his cigarette. "Take a long belt, swallow it, till you've got to 
exhale and then let it out through your nose." He watched Flo with a 
calculating eye as she did as she was told, then smiled with lewd 
satisfaction. 

The smoke had a harsh abrasive taste, but she liked the smell, which 
reminded her of oregano. 

Two cigarettes and another drink later she put an arm around his neck and 
pulled his face down to hers. Her mouth was wet and she ran her tongue along 
his lips, then closed her eyes as his head dipped to her breasts, where he 
grasped her stiffening nipples with his teeth, playing back and forth from 
one to the other with his mouth. 

The lights had dimmed once more in the smoke-ribboned room, but the big 
screen was dark; the members of the club seemed to have settled down to the 
serious business of providing their own entertainment and the air was 
vibrant with the sounds of wet mouths and genitals locked together, the 
moans aid grunts of copulation. 

Flo's drugged, lust-deranged body was hardly human, a mass of sheer sensual 
desire. 

She was pushing her hips up impatiently toward Wayne's growing cock. Its 
hardness was driving her insane! She had to feel it in her cunt again! But 
he seemed to be teasing her, frustrating the wild searching of her hands and 
her inflamed body at every turn. Another couple, so close at her back that 
the man's thrusting buttocks were rhythmically grinding back into her own 
ass, increased Flo's turmoil almost to the breaking point. She had already 
cum twice and was reaching for her third orgasm, but her drugged body was 
insatiable. The potent combination of alcohol and marijuana had proved to be 
a powerful aphrodisiac, inciting a lust that she was powerless to control. 

Thank God Flo wasn't over here, Martin was thinking as his cock sawed in and 
out of Grace Newly's educated vaginal passage. Christ! Look who's 
talking!... He was a faithless bastard for being here himself... but after 
last night... and with Flo not staying home long enough to... Oh hell! Grace 
didn't mean a good goddamn to him. And right now he was too drunk to care. 
He heard himself moaning as she pulled in her abdomen in an expert way so 
that a marvellous new internal caress began. 

God, she sure knows how to use her ass. Whoever Wayne's screwing there right 
in back of me sounds like quite a piece of ass, too... a real nympho. And 
her smooth, warm bottom feels damn good. 

Flo was groaning, almost sobbing beneath Wayne's teasing mouth, the 
tantalizing ministrations of his finger in her cunt. She wanted his cock... 
not that small digital substitute... 

"Quick! Quick! Oh, God," she moaned in a strangled whisper. "I want your 
cock!... I want you to fuck me with it!" 

"Is my cock better than your husband's... is it bigger than Martin's?" he 
whispered hotly in her ear. 

"Ohhh, yes, yes!" 

"Yes... what? My darling." 

"Yes, it's better! It's bigger!" 

"Then tell me. You want my cock, don't you? Then tell me it's bigger and 
better than Martin's cock is, Flo," he droned. 

In her tormented need, Flo would have said anything Wayne asked of her, 
without even knowing the words or what she was saying. 

"Yes! Yes!" she screamed out at him. "Your cock is better than Martin's! 
Your cock is bigger than Martin's! And I want your cock! I want it, I want 
it, I want it!" 

Martin's body stiffened behind his wife's back. Flo! Oh dear God! It just 
couldn't be... Not his own wife, getting fucked by Wayne Newly... and 
begging for it! When she would hardly let him, her own husband, touch 
her!... and comparing him to Wayne... like he was some bastard stud! And 
where did she learn those words? Why... the little bitch! 

He'd show her who was top man around here! 

But he had a hard time getting away from Grace. In his mad rage he had 
fucked into her like a wild bull, bringing her quickly to orgasm, and she 
had enmeshed him like an octopus, her body convulsing tight against him, 
until at last her cumming was through. By the time Martin managed to get 
loose from her tenacious grip, Flo and Wayne Newly were gone. 

Stretched flat on his back on the big bed, Wayne looked up into Flo's dull, 
drugged eyes, taking a sadistic relish in the dilated pupils, the electric 
blue of the iris now a pale, opaque wash. 

A thin thread of spittle drooled from the corners of her slack red lips. 
Wait till that prick of a husband gets a look at his sweet, innocent little 
wife. Christ! We'll have the Filberts both ready to join the Club before I 
can say cunt... and that's pretty damned quick. And with Bert and Reg riding 
her, too... Where the hell is everybody, anyway? 

Wayne didn't know it yet, but after all of his elaborate planning to bring 
Martin in on the scene of Flo's complete subjugation, his delectable, 
immutable bait, Grace, had bitched it up. 

Flo was raised on all fours over him with her knees on either side of his 
hips, the uptilted moons of her lovely buttocks waving hungrily in the air. 

"Put it in! Put it in!" she wailed, her full, heavy breasts swaying and 
bouncing as she tried to skewer her lust-incited vagina down on the bloated 
head of his monstrous, towering cock. 

"Take it, Flo," he commanded. "You do it... grab my prick and shove it in 
your cunt!" 

Her hands reached down between them like wild, frightened birds, searching, 
and finding the rigid pole of hot flesh. With trembling fingers she guided 
its fiery mushroom head to her hungry cunt-lips; and then he caught her 
waist and pulled her down on his throbbing prick with a hard violence. At 
the delightful shock of initial entry a small shriek welled up from deep in 
Flo's throat. And then he jerked upwards, his hips driving his elongated rod 
into the soft velvety flesh of her unquenchable cunt. Her thighs shoved down 
to meet him, impaling the elastic opening full upon his thick shaft, sending 
his thrusting cock deep inside her up to her cervix. 

"Ooooohhhh," she wailed, feeling his bloated sac of heavy sperm smack 
vibrantly against her inner thighs, and her hands went eagerly back and 
around to his balls, fondling them with feverish delight. 

Flo was bouncing joyously up and down on Wayne's wonderful, ecstasy-giving 
prick when the two men walked into the room, too entranced with her mad, 
lusting pleasure to be aware of their presence. For a moment they paused, 
staring at the sensuous marvel of the young insatiable girl's dancing 
breasts with hot, hungry eyes. 

Bert Long, who had been drooling for this all afternoon, poked a salacious 
elbow in the other man's ribs. "See what I mean, Reg? Jesus! She can really 
shake that ass!" 

Reg, a primeval ape of a man, with a wealth of coarse black fur that spread 
from his pectorals to the heavy underbrush at the base of his overhanging 
belly, didn't bother to answer; he merely ran his tongue over his slack 
mouth. 

Leaning forward over Wayne's writhing body, her breasts flattened against 
his strong chest as she hung on wildly, Flo was too absorbed in her mindless 
climb to orgasm to be conscious of Bert's hands searching hungrily at her 
rectum. He knelt behind her, holding his swelling prick in one hand only 
inches from the tiny, puckered ring of her anus, while he watched Wayne's 
impaling cock in her cunt with obscene fascination. His other hand went to 
the soft, white cheeks of her gyrating ass, stroking the smooth flesh, 
teasing her rectum with the tips of his fingers. Slowly and gently he 
inserted the tip of his forefinger into the soft, rubbery passage, riffling 
it around inside, drawing gasps of mounting desire from Flo's throat. 

Reg leaned over Bert's shoulder, eyes glued on the brownish-pink hole, his 
blunt fingers tufted with black hair flexing convulsively. His fetid breath 
was hot in Bert's ear. 

Bert looked up and rasped impatiently, "What the hell's the matter with you? 
Her asshole's mine... Get around over there and fuck your cock into her 
mouth, dammit." 

As Reg backed off and headed around the bed, he released his own cock and 
used both hands to draw the full, white cheeks of her buttocks wide apart, 
stretching the rubbery opening wide with his thumbs. When he leaned forward, 
resting the hot, fleshy head of his blood-pressured against the tiny, 
defenseless hole, Flo jerked away. Her whole body contorted as she struggled 
to look back over her shoulder, trying to learn the source of this new, 
strange sensation, yet straining not to lose the delightful punishing 
instrument in her cunt. Her passion-blurred eyes caught a horrified glimpse 
a huge, fleshy shaft poised above her tiny rear orifice. Her mind whirled 
with crazed lust... she wanted it! But not there! God, it was too big! 

She heard Wayne's voice and it seemed to be coming from miles away. 

"Bert is going to fuck you in the asshole, Doll. And you're going to like 
it, believe me. 

Haven't I always been right? You will love it," he assured her persuasively. 

Bert flexed his hips, teasing the moist head, pulsating hotly, along the 
sensitive crevice between her buttocks, bringing it finally to rest on the 
wrinkled, slightly cringing anal ring. 

Flo was trembling in an agony of indecision. Although in some far corner of 
her mind she knew there was no immediate decision to make, she had no 
conscious choice now... All decisions had been made - signed, sealed -merely 
waiting for delivery. She felt the huge, bloated head of Bert's prick 
throbbing hotly against the tightly puckered lips of her anus, and she 
thought, it's going to hurt... but I want it, I want to be fucked there. 
God, I'm so hot I can't stand it... And Wayne was right... always right... 

She screamed then, as a violent pain, a thundering, ripping, 
all-encompassing hurt blotted out thought, erased everything _" was all 
there was in the world. Bert had bored her asshole with a brutal thrust, had 
reamed the tight, virgin passage as though it were butter with his 
lust-hardened prick, to bury it almost to the hilt. She opened her mouth to 
scream again, and Reg, waiting for the chance, drove his prick far into the 
depths of her open throat. 

For a minute that seemed like an eternity in Hell, Flo remained motionless. 
Reg's thick, heavy cock rammed in and out of her throat, almost choking her, 
and she could hardly breathe. She felt a great splitting at her loins, a 
white heat from the two evil monsters that were tunneling between her legs, 
that would surely destroy her. Convulsively, she had tried to shift her 
hips, or draw her buttocks in to lessen the pain of her anus, but that had 
merely worsened it. 

"Dear God! Help me!" she pleaded inwardly, while they buffeted her between 
them like some slut they'd picked up on the streets, using her defenseless 
young body as a human receptacle into which they would eventually drain 
their lewd, animal sperm. She felt debased, dirty. Where had all the 
wondrous rapture gone? The supreme bliss... a newfound joy in being finally 
a woman. 

And then Wayne's husky, panting voice reached her ears... "Relax... just 
relax, baby... 

It'll stop hurting .. in just a little while... remember, I'm right... I 
know... just... fuck back!" 

Good God! Was he crazy? Relax, fuck back! With three men fucking... 

And then... a strange thing happened. His words brought a licentious mental 
image of herself being fucked by three men at the same time. The sheer 
perversion of her obscene helplessness began to stir her with a lurid 
excitement. She heard bits and pieces of their breathy, lewd exclamations 
being volleyed back and forth. Nice juice cunt... tight, budding asshole... 
sweet, hot mouth... 

She felt the blissful sensual tremors rising again from deep down within her 
belly. And then the fire of unfulfilled lust raged out of control and she 
began to wildly undulate her buttocks and squeeze with both cuntal and anal 
muscles at the hard throbbing cocks boring into her; she sucked and licked 
voraciously at the cock ravaging her mouth as if she were trying to devour 
it. Flo was mewling and wailing like a depraved animal gone wild, lost in 
wanton, erotic bliss she offered herself to the exquisite instruments of 
pleasure plundering every orifice of her body with an enraptured, total 
abandon. She was completely and helplessly impaled... her brain reeled... 
nothing mattered but the tremendous sensations of subliminal exultation 
about to explode within her. 

And she wanted to milk these ravagers of her helpless body dry, to fill her 
belly and her rectum and her throat, to have them erupt with her own 
explosion in great torrents of joy. 

Suddenly, magically it happened. The rod in her madly sucking mouth 
exploded, filling her throat with a delicious, pungent liquid. She swallowed 
in desperate, crazed gulps on the frothing sperm to keep from choking, as 
the vessel of her mouth filled and emptied, filled and emptied... 

She felt the cock fucking into her form behind begin to jerk and fill her 
anus to overflowing, felt the seething liquid hot in the crevice of her ass 
cheeks, searing the tender flesh. 

And as her own orgasm seized her, sending ecstatic spasms of sensation 
rocketing through her, she could feel the frantic contraction of the 
monstrous cock in her cunt spewing its thick jets of hot semen far into the 
depths of her belly, blending and pooling with her own secretions, adding 
the final touch of exquisite violence. 

Martin found Flo out on the terrace. She was standing in the pouring rain, 
with a sad-looking blanket draped Indian fashion around her shoulders, 
staring down the hill, trying to penetrate through the dark rain to their 
house. He was so glad to see her that his breath caught in his throat, and 
for a moment he couldn't speak. And then he said, "Where the hell did you 
go? Dammit, Flo, I can never find you when I want to." 

"Oh, I was around," she said, not looking at him. "And you've found me now." 

She wheeled violently around with a soft little cry and flung herself 
against him. Somehow the blanket got lost on the way and he gathered her 
nakedness in his arms. "You won't have any trouble finding me again," she 
murmured into his chest. Her hand reached down between them and took his 
cock in a fierce, warm grasp. 

"Oh God!... Flo, darling... Can you forgive me?" 

"Forgive you, dearest? Forgive you for what?" Her voice was puzzled. "These 
little parties have nothing to do with us." 

"You know," Martin said, "You look pretty much like a sick kitten that my 
dad had to drown once." 

"Come on, darling," she said, leading him by the distended handle of his 
prick. "Let's go home and do our thing like the others!" 


THE END
