Lottery Prize Woman
by James H. Cooper


FOREWORD 

Where once the apparent end product of marriage was monogamy, modern mores 
have brought a distinctive change to traditional conceptions. It is almost 
taken for granted anymore that into each marriage some form of tacitly 
agreed upon infidelity will occur. 

The key clubs of past years, where the husband pitches his house key in a 
hat with others and then tries for the luck of the draw, has never 
disappeared. It has just been sublimated. Socially, sexual experimentation 
has not become less popular-it has just become much quieter. 

It may be assumed that there is something in the human animal which requires 
a change of pace-variety, if you will. Over the centuries of recorded 
history, no drive is so consistent as that of men and women for sexual 
experiences with people not their mates. 

Novels such as this one treat sex as it is being treated today in America by 
real people: with a cynical eye toward the traditional moralities and a 
crass acceptance of the pleasures of sex. It is a fevered reflection of what 
is going on in the great American society. But underneath it all, the author 
provides the warning that in sex, as in all human activities, there is 
always the user of other people, as well as the used. 

-THE PUBLISHER 


CHAPTER ONE 

Rhonda Tracht's skin was her best feature. She knew it and loved it. It felt 
so good, so sensuously wonderful when her husband Martin stroked her that 
she appreciated it even more. His hand would slide lovingly from her neck or 
her shoulders downward, caressing the smooth, pale contours of her back. His 
fingertips made the slimness of her waist feel more feminine. Any touch, 
like the slow, teasing brushing he was doing right now, made her buttocks 
come alive. 

Rhonda had dark brown hair, cut to show her forehead, the nape of her neck, 
and the little dab of ivory earlobe around the miniature-rose earings she 
always wore. Her eyes were large, dark and lively under high-arched brows. 
Rhonda's nose turned up very slightly at the tip. It added freshness to her 
exquisite cheekbones and tempered the wide, sensuous curve of her lips. That 
lovely, creamy skin was just a little redder over her cheekbones, as if she 
used powder. She had no need for rouges. 

Right now, Rhonda lay on her back, twisting her fingers in the floral-print 
sheets of the Tracht's big bed. Her lips were parted. She restrained herself 
as best she could. Martin was driving her crazy. 

His fingertips played across the outer sides of her buttocks, tracing 
feathery-feeling lines along the sensitive skin. He teased her with his lips 
and tongue, plucking at her off-black pubic hair, licking the tender crease 
at the top of her thigh. Every time he got close to the center of her alert 
pussy, Martin pulled back. His fingertips kept moving. 

"Oh, Martin, husband, darling," Rhonda moaned, her whole body shaking with 
hunger. "Please, honey, please do it! I love the way you kiss me down 
there!" Her voice was growing tighter. 

"And I love kissing it," Martin answered, tightening his fingers on her 
hips. He blew a sharp-focused stream of air along the hot, blushing center 
of Rhonda's pussy. 

Rhonda thought she'd die if he didn't stop teasing and really go to work on 
her. All her muscles were knotted up. He'd been arousing her slowly for what 
seemed like hours, nibbling at her breasts, tonguing her nipples, then lying 
full length next to her naked, eager body. Rhonda lifted her hips, trying to 
entice Martin into touching her pussy with his fantastic tongue. 

"Easy, baby," Martin said. "We have all afternoon." He put his tongue out 
and parted the hairs over the center of her delicate slit. 

Rhonda untangled her fingers from the sheets. She put her hands on Martin's 
gray hair, stroking it gently. She tried to slow down the intense reaction 
growing in her pussy. It was all she could do to keep from grinding his face 
into her cuntal zone. Another thin stream of air flowed across the moist 
surface and Rhonda curled her fingers and toes. 

"Gawd, Martin, don't stop," she begged. "I'm all yours, honey, all yours 
forever." 

He tensed. Rhonda wondered briefly why her words had made her husband 
stiffen, but she forgot the question in the next instant. His tongue touched 
the puffy folds of her inner labia. 

The slow drag of his taste buds along the frilly little petals was the 
lewdest feeling Rhonda had ever known. She sighed, letting out a long, deep 
breath. Rhonda had to take her hands away from his head. Her fingers were 
tightening uncontrollably. 

She wanted it to last a long time. Martin was a wonderful husband to her. 
The sheer sensuality of his loving sent shivers down her spine when she 
merely thought about it. Now that he was actually starting on her most 
sensitive flesh, Rhonda felt her heart pounding. A blush spread down from 
her throat to the tops of her breasts. 

Martin said, "You taste so good, Rhonda . . . so rich and sweet." He kissed 
her cuntal crevice with his lips. 

Streamers of sensation, like the fog from dry-ice mists, curled along 
Rhonda's nerves. When his lips touched her labia like that, the stretchy 
little muscle at the mouth of her vagina opened and closed. Her body began 
to take over, as if it begged for him. 

Martin slid his hands around on her hips, moving from her supple buttocks to 
the front of her thighs. Rhonda pressed her knees open further. Sometimes it 
felt like she could open herself wide enough to feel the whole world moving 
in her pussy. 

Martin spread her pussylips with his thumbs and blew at the round, 
pearly-pink tip of her clitoris. Rhonda arched her back. The chill of 
evaporating pussyjuice made lewd shivers run down her thighs. She hummed 
wordlessly, starting a slow, erotic circling motion with her pelvis. 

Rhonda felt the thin, aromatic secretions flow from her pussy like a tiny 
river. As she became more aroused, the fluids thickened. The musky feminine 
scent changed, growing heavier and sexier. She cooed under her breath, 
knowing that Martin had stopped to look at her. She slid her hands up, 
fingers fanned wide, smoothing over her belly. She squeezed her pink, 
berrylike nipples. 

Martin touched his tongue tip to the front edge of her vagina. He pulled the 
ring of tissue forward and up, stretching it delightfully. With a flick that 
sent a tingle all through Rhonda, he slid his tongue up the slick center of 
her exposed cuntal valley. 

If felt tremendous. Rhonda had little fireworks starting in her pussy. The 
tiny bumps on his tongue seemed huge against the sensual nerves of the 
crevice. They were like hundreds of loving little fingers seeking out the 
best, hottest parts of her skin. 

"Yes, Martin, oh, yes!" she squealed. "Go all the way up!" 

Martin refused, for the moment. He teased the top edge of her inner petals, 
sliding his tongue past her clitty and back down toward her pussy mouth. 
Rhonda rippled her muscles, hoping to catch that slippery, agile little 
organ with her clit, but Martin was too quick for her. He nipped gently at 
one outer cunt lip with his teeth. 

Rhonda quivered. It always amazed her. Martin could play her nerves like a 
conductor with an orchestra. He brought out new sensations and combinations 
that built on each other until she felt herself teetering back from the 
scary edge of a mind-blanking come. When they had time and privacy, 
sometimes his hands and mouth and penis would make her shudder all over four 
or five times before she collapsed from the huge beauty of her orgasm. 

His nibbling on her labia was like that. He added to the ache in her clitty 
and the raging emptiness in her vagina. Every part of her body responded 
joyously to her husband's skillful lovemaking. Rhonda closed her eyes and 
listened to the vibrating joy of her muscles and organs as the feelings rose 
up. 

The soft, gentle bites on her cuntlips distracted her. Rhonda let herself go 
limp to enjoy the warm broad sensation. She had just unwound enough to feel 
the rubbery pull of her labia against his teeth when Martin surprised her. 

A quick, flashing touch of his tongue on her clitty made her spine snap 
straight. In a slower reflex, Rhonda curled her pelvis up toward his tongue, 
but it was already gone. 

The wedge-shaped organ danced around the rim of her vagina, then slipped in. 
The sudden shock of the penetration made the little sphincter snap shut, 
squeezing a fresh burst of juice out. 

Martin's thumbs dug into the hinges of her thighs, opening her pussy mouth 
again. Rhonda liked that. It added more pleasure-the pressure made his 
tongue feel thicker and stronger. 

He wiggled the tip around, his lips meeting the soft wetness above her hole 
and the tight ring of her ass. Rhonda felt the probing tip of his tongue 
searching for the most attentive nerves in her cuntal sleeve. She dug her 
fingernails into the sides of her round, apple-hard breasts. 

Martin worked the little organ in and out slowly. He knew just where the 
right touch would send her higher, and he carefully avoided it. Vague 
prayers and curses filtered through Rhonda's head as she waited for him to 
get her vagina moving. She worked her hips around in a sensual circle, 
opening and closing her cunt-mouth on his tongue. 

Rhonda felt the tongue flexing. She held still for a brief instant. Martin 
doubled it back, pressing the winking ring of her cunt muscle outward. 

It felt even nicer than the steady, sure motions of his cockhead. Rhonda 
gasped with sheer cunty delight at the odd touch. She gnawed on her lower 
lip, making the full red swell of her mouth stand out even more against the 
pale ivory of her face. 

"Ohhh, Martin," she whispered, "please give me more! I want it all!" 

Martin shifted his mouth slightly, his upper lip capturing the whole hairy 
nest of her upper cunt-mound. The stiff electric spike of her clitty was 
somewhere in the mass of wet flesh, grinding back and forth under the 
pressure of his suction. Rhonda raised her buttocks clear off the sheet, 
offering her cunt-mound more eagerly to his lips and tongue. 

Martin put his hands under her ass. He lifted her up until Rhonda rested on 
her shoulders. Her legs went around his neck, the long, shapely calves 
resting on his back. He began to eat her pussy with complete dedication. 

It always happens! I lose track of what he's doing down there, Rhonda 
thought. At first, when it's so slow and nice, I can feel all the movements, 
but then he seems to have all of me in his mouth at once! My clitty just 
shoots out sparks when he licks it! 

Martin had peeled back Rhonda's clit-hood with his lip while his tongue kept 
diving in and out of her vagina. She could hear the squishing, slobbering 
sounds of her husband's fast-moving mouth as he licked and sucked at her 
love-mound. 

Rhonda felt a knot of lewd happiness in her belly. It centered right behind 
her clitty, growing upward into her chest. She arched higher, feeling the 
luxurious happiness of his hands as they kneaded at her asscheeks. 

Rhonda felt the mixed pussyjuice and saliva running into her ass cleft. She 
was getting wet all over, as if her whole body was turning into one mass of 
needful flesh. She levered herself against his head. 

It was delicious. Martin's tongue slipped out of her pussy-hole and speared 
at her clit. Rhonda felt the quick thrust clear up to the base of her brain. 
Her head was swimming from the inverted position, but that didn't stop the 
fantastic warmth in her pussy. She ground her pubic arch against Martin's 
open mouth, squirming in delight. 

Now it felt as if he'd sucked the whole top half of her cunt-mound into his 
mouth. Rhonda thought she would explode as his lips worked around the wad of 
wet, sensuous flesh. Every couple of heartbeats his tongue went into the 
center of the mass, seeking out her clitty. The long, lascivious touches 
when he found the pearly button sent lightning bolts of heat up to her 
nipples and out to her fingertips. 

Rhonda's face turned red. She found herself holding her breath in. If she 
let loose now, the big, multicolored burst of her come wouldn't be as strong 
as she wanted it. Rhonda could lose herself in the steamy motions of 
Martin's lips and teeth and tongue if she wanted, and she wanted. 

That knot of happiness inside her pussy was growing, It spun around inside 
her when Martin took one hand off her ass and grabbed her breast. His thumb 
flicked back and forth on her rubbery nipple, and a mass of feeling sprang 
up in her chest. 

Of the three hottest centers of her body, Martin had them all. The touch on 
her titty sent shattering flashes of heat down to her belly. The tonguing on 
her clit amplified them and sent them back. Even her cunt mouth was going 
now. Martin's chin pressed against it, drawing fresh floods of juice out. 

Martin swiveled his head from side to side, stretching her cuntlips 
wonderfully. Rhonda felt like the soft, wet flaps of tissue had grown to 
dozens of times their normal size. The constant suction and licking made all 
the nerves respond. Her pussy mouth kissed at his chin. 

Until Martin began to move his head. He had so much of her puffy cunt flesh 
in his mouth that he could suck and move away, dragging the slippery skin 
out until Rhonda felt her pussy filling the whole room. Then, with a 
tongue-flicking slide of more powerful suction, he gobbled the meaty wad of 
flesh back into his mouth until his teeth met her pubic bone. 

Martin's head moved back and forth. Rhonda's sphincters winked open and 
shut, her cunthole closing in on his blunt, smooth-shaven chin. She tossed 
around, her belly rippling to the urgent need inside, her head rolling on 
the pillows. 

His hand left her titty. Rhonda curled up, grabbing at his head. She felt 
the whirling, brilliant knot of feelings in her belly turn solid as rock. 
Wound up like a watch spring, she wanted all of his cunnilingual skill to 
lash sensation into her cunt until she exploded. Rhonda knew she would come 
any second. 

Martin growled, the buzzing vibrations of his voice setting the nerves in 
her cunt on end. Every single receptive spot in her crotch was ready for the 
blast of her orgasm. Rhonda sobbed at him, begging for him to bring her off. 

"Ohhh, come on, come on." she whimpered. "Marty, you beautiful fucker, do 
me! I'm-I'm almost there, baby! Just a little more on my hole, baby! Oh, 
please, PLEASE! Ahhh-ahhh -ahhh, shit, Mar-TIN!! " Her fingers tightened in 
his hair. 

Rhonda sensed him slowing down. She wanted it now . . . not later, not 
harder. No matter what, she wanted to feel her pussy going off before he 
stopped eating her. Rhonda clenched her cuntal ring tight, forcing the big 
ball of lust in her belly to contract before the explosion. 

Martin gnawed at her cunt flesh like a cannibal. His teeth found the hottest 
spots and inflamed them even more. His tongue and her inner cuntlips slid 
around and around on her clitty. Rhonda felt the quick slipping of her 
muscles and knew her come was about to start. She slacked off and took a 
deep, fast breath. 

Suddenly Martin rammed a finger into her ass. Rhonda's back straightened, 
almost knocking him over. She felt like a rocket had shot up her ass. The 
first big shuddering wave of her orgasm loomed over her. She was about to 
drown in the ecstasy of it. 

Two fingers went into her cunt! Rhonda screamed, a high, piercing note of 
shock and delight. Her cuntal sleeve tightened like a vise. She felt the 
three fingers moving against each other like three supercharged little 
cocks. She ground her whole crotch against Martin's hands and face. 

It was astounding. Rhonda felt the come she'd expected, but it kept building 
up. She tossed her torso from side to side, hanging from Martin's shoulders 
by her knees. Her tits rolled frantically as she swiveled and bucked against 
Martin. Even her nipples seemed to be exploding with the massive jolts of 
her orgasm. Rhonda banged her head against the pillow, her mouth opening and 
closing with the flashing, icy flames that rocked her body. 

Rhonda felt her crotch open wide between the incredible blasts of her 
passionate come. She forced her pelvis against Martin even harder, trying to 
suck his whole head and torso into her cunt. His licking and kissing and 
touching and biting at her cunt had made the whole steaming area feel as 
wide and welcoming as a swampy cavern. 

The thunderous feelings in her loins went on and on. Rhonda wept as they 
began to taper off. She thought she would feel every whorl and ridge of his 
fingerprints as the fingers moved in her ass and pussy. With a sucking pop 
that seemed to pull her inside out, Martin pulled his hand away from her 
holes. 

The tight-clenched muscles of her rectum and vagina barely let him loose. 
Rhonda fell back onto the bed, watching him with wide eyes as he moved up to 
lie beside her. She kept shaking her head in amazement. "M-m-martin," she 
stammered, too limp to move. "I loved that! I never came so hard in my 
life!" 

Martin smiled and put his arms around her. The oozing head of his prick 
touched her thigh. He put one knee between hers and held the limp woman as 
she faded off to sleep. 

Rhonda woke up with a start. Martin lay next to her on his back, staring at 
the ceiling. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 

Ifs only four-thirty! I feel like I've been sleeping for days! She put her 
arms over her head and stretched sensuously. The warmth in her pussy was 
like a little fire banked for the night. All Martin had to do to make the 
passionate flames leap out again was to touch her. Rhonda relaxed again, 
then looked at Martin. 

"How do you feel, you marvelous old sucker?" she asked, grinning at him. 
Rhonda put her hand on his thigh. 

Martin sighed. "Oh, I'm all right. Feel better?". 

Rhonda rolled onto her side, letting one of her breasts touch his arm. 
"Couldn't. A woman couldn't possibly feel better than the way you make me 
feel." She touched the base of his cock. "What can I do to wake up our 
sleeping friend?" 

Martin looked nervously at her. He was fifty years old, and his beautiful 
wife was barely twenty-six. The last thing he wanted, now that he had a 
respected place in the community, was to have Rhonda mad at him for any 
reason. 

"What is it, Martin? What's wrong?" Rhonda asked, sitting up. Her lovely 
breasts barely fell when she rose, their lush weight held up by the superb 
tone of her muscles. She moved her thigh off the damp spot where her juices 
had dribbled on the sheet. 

"I love you, Rhonda," Martin said, his eyes sadder than a basset hound's. "I 
wish I knew what made me agree today." 

"What the hell are you talking about, honey?" Rhonda moved away from him, 
swaying back an inch or two. "Please stop it. You're scaring me." She 
searched his face. "Explain it." 

Martin began, "Well, I went to my Rotary luncheon today, and some of the 
guys were talking about the school board." He looked down into his lap. His 
cock and balls were shriveling up as he talked. 

"Yes? So? We don't even have any kids. Why should you care about the school 
board?" Rhonda thought for a moment about her own six-year-old, who lived 
with her first husband. "I mean, it would be different if we decided to try 
getting Gary back, but you never mention it." 

"Oh, Rhonda! I like the kid, you know that! It's just, well, your folks 
always seemed so set against me because I never settled down. Now we have a 
chance to grow roots here, and I think we have to be involved. That's why I 
agreed to help with the recall campaign." 

Rhonda touched his arm, but he pulled away like a beaten horse. Concerned, 
she said, "I understand that, Marty. After all, you did encourage me to work 
on the library committee. Why are you so upset about this? God knows we can 
afford to make a contribution." Rhonda brightened a little. "I can get out 
of the house, circulate petitions and things. That would be nice . . . make 
some new friends." 

Martin looked like he wanted to sink through the mattress. "We are going to 
make contributions. We're having a kind of raffle every meeting." 

A horrible thought struck Rhonda. "You didn't donate my grand piano? Please, 
honey, tell me you didn't!" 

"No, honey, not the piano. I know how you love that." Martin swallowed 
audibly. "You're one of the prizes. Everybody put his wife's name on a slip 
of paper, and the drawing's tomorrow." Martin reached for her hand. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Martin Tracht wasn't the only husband in Verguenzo Hills having trouble 
explaining to his wife. All the Rotarians in the exclusive suburb, save one, 
were trying to convince their spouses and themselves that the swap raffle 
was as good an idea as they'd thought at lunch. Greg Fredericks was the only 
one who didn't have to explain. His wife, Bonnie, had suggested the raffle. 

It had seemed to Bonnie that Greg was a perfect catch. He was just starting 
his dental practice, and she was very oral and very, very intent on 
financial success. Unfortunately, the more patients' cavities he saw, the 
less interest he had in Bonnie's cavities, and they were badly in need of 
filling. 

Bonnie had been a model wife for the first few years, overseeing the 
cleaning woman, involved in the PTA, taking a sincere interest in her 
childrens' school work and social lives. That lasted for nine years . . . 
nine years of increasing horniness and boredom. 

Of course, Bonnie's escalating interest in sex wasn't all because of Greg's 
inattention. She'd made it harder and harder for him as the years went by. 
Every time a new appliance or committee was invented or organized, she had 
to use it or join it. That meant more work for Dr. Fredericks . . . work on 
committees, work in the community, or just plain gouging at his increasing 
load of patients. He stole six hours a week from his office to speculate in 
real estate, just to get Bonnie off his back. 

Just before the Rotary Club meeting that day, Greg had been discussing his 
problem with the minister of the Verguenzo Hills Episcopal Church, Reverend 
Randy Cotton. The youthful pastor had listened patiently as he watched 

Greg take one drink after another. 

The gray-haired, balding dentist slumped over the corner of the table. "I 
don't know, Rev. I spend eight or ten hours lookin' at people's gums, then I 
come home and Bonnie wants to suck me off. Hell, the other night she went 
after it on the way home from the school-board meeting! All I could think 
about was the teachers' union and that crap they want from us." He sighed. 
"I suppose it's not the kind of thing you should talk to a minister about, 
but it really affects me." 

The pastor was tall and slim athletic-looking. Any of his parishioners would 
have sworn he was in his early thirties, instead of forty-five. He smiled 
secretively as he told Greg, "Oh, anything that affects the members of the 
church is within the bounds of pastoral counseling. I've had similar 
problems with my wife, Beverly. She's always trying to interest me in some . 
. . novelty before I go to console the bereaved. Frankly, Greg, she doesn't 
trust widows." 

The dentist swallowed the final gulp of his vodka and crunched the ice cubes 
loudly. "She's suspicious? Of you?" He shook his head. "No offense, Rev . . 
. I mean, with the collar and all, a person doesn't expect. . . " 

Reverend Randy smiled wider. "Yes, the collar. I hear the Catholics have 
even more trouble that way. There's nothing like the forbidden fruit to 
excite some people." He stood up. "The meeting's about to start. You are 
going to report on the school contract proposal, aren't you?" 

"You bet your eyeteeth I am," Greg said. "Did you get a look at that 
contract? That's the sickest document I've ever seen!" He pulled a photocopy 
out of his pocket. "It's Sodom and Gomorrah all over again! Just look here . 
. . It says right here in black and white that the school board has to hire 
Communists and bi-sexuals and faggots! The union wants our kids exposed to 
that kind of trash, and I don't think anybody in Verguenzo Hills will put up 
with that." 

The pastor reached for the contract proposal. "May I?" He took it and 
glanced through the provisions. "I don't see where it says anything at all 
about Communists. This clause about not rejecting applicants on the basis of 
their political or sexual orientation is pretty standard for civil service 
positions." 

"Hah! You don't expect the union to come right out and name the kind of 
people they want in there, do you? Come on, Rev, you know the commies don't 
work that way . . . they're sneaky." He pointed to another phrase in the 
photocopy. 

"Now, this one is just nauseating! It says here that an unmarried teacher 
who gets pregnant gets maternity leave, and we can't get her fired! What do 
you think of that? Her boyfriend gets time off to look after them! My God, 
Rev, don't you see what kind of people they want to have teaching our kids? 
I'll do everything in my power to stop this kind of thing disgusting 
breakdown of morals. I'm sick and tired of this progressive education, 
this--this Communistic crap! Roy Shores is already looking up the laws on 
recall elections, and we're going to get those left-wing bastards out of 
there before they can ruin all the children in town!" 

Reverend Cotton handed the paper back. "Since you're so worked up about it, 
maybe you should try for a recall. If you can get Bonnie involved in it, 
she'll be making fewer demands on you." Randy saw another Rotarian enter. He 
waved, then added, "I'm sure the members will want to vote on it. I'll see 
you later." He turned away, wondering why Greg Fredericks, the best 
backslider in the whole congregation, had suddenly become so involved in the 
affairs of the community. Even Bonnie Fredericks' interest had waned in the 
last year. 

The dentist watched his black-clad back recede. Greg felt brushed off, but 
that was nothing new. Even his friends in Rotary seemed distant. They talked 
with their mouths closed when he was around. All right for you, tax-dodger, 
Greg thought. You'll be singing out of a different hymnal pretty fuckin' 
soon. 

Socialistic prick! 

Greg was at home now, not trying to explain anything to his wife. In fact, 
he was working busily in the dark-paneled den, papers strewn all over his 
desk. He had mortgaged all the land around his Verguenzo Hills 
Medical-Dental Center and the center itself to extend the option on some 
very desirable land. Now he had to find out just how long he could step 
along his financial tightrope before the whole thing fell apart. He pinched 
the bridge of his nose, rubbing at his strained eyes, and leaned back. The 
recurring daydream came back to him. 

I can get away from all those goddamn teeth! Just finish up this one big 
deal, and I'll be set for life. Oh, shit, just thinking about never going 
back to look into a mouth again . . . 

Even Bonnie would be happier. The way things have been going, I could get a 
nice yacht . . . maybe work in the stock market. . . . I could make a real 
bundle if I didn't have to put up with all those damn patients! The dentist 
shoved his papers aside. He heard something rustle behind him. 

"Bonnie! What the hell are you doing in here? Can't you see I'm busy?" 

Bonnie Fredericks opened the door a little wider. She slipped through, 
pressing the lock button. Her long, red-blonde hair was loose, hanging 
halfway down her back. Her voluptuous body was covered in a sheer, almost 
invisible negligee of smoky gray, and she swayed sensuously on five-inch 
heels. "Oh, honey, you can't be too busy for me to thank you for getting the 
raffle going." She spread her arms wide and wafted toward him, the pink 
spires of her nipples poking out the negligee like tiny tent poles. 

"Jesus! I have a lot of things to take care of tonight, Bonnie. Besides, 
what about the kids? Don't you think they'd be shocked to see their mother 
parading around here like some . . . some . . . " Greg gestured with his 
hand, milling for the word, "CONCUBINE?" 

Bonnie's full, sexy lips compressed in a pout. The lower lip gleamed 
sensually. "They're asleep. I spiked their milk with brandy. I just wanted 
to show you how much I appreciate everything you did today. . . . It's been 
so long since you made love to me." Her heavy, round breasts swayed as she 
leaned over her seated husband. She rubbed the palm of her hand softly in 
his crotch. 

"What's wrong with you, Bonnie? Don't you get enough fucking from the tennis 
pro and the riding instructor? Why don't you take up golf?" The dentist's 
eyes went wide. He worked his mouth a few times, shrinking back from his 
irate wife. "I . . . I didn't mean that, honey," he stammered. 

Bonnie's face moved from rage to the edge of tears. She held herself under 
control, finally saying, "I know you didn't, dear." She put her arms around 
Greg's head, pillowing his face in her breasts. She bent her knees and 
rubbed her pussy against his thigh. "Come on, Greggy-bear, let's . . . " 

The dentist surrendered. He pushed his financial calculations to the back of 
his big desk and tried to stand up. "Yeah, let's go to our room." 

Bonnie shoved him back down. "No, honey, right here, right in your office. 
It would make me feel so much closer to you . . . I'm shut out of your 
life." She unwrapped her arms from his head. With a sensuous, almost begging 
smile, she put his hand on her breast. The nipple sprang up immediately. 

Her fingers went to his zipper. With a breathy giggle, the curvy little 
redhead tugged it down. Her soft hand slipped in to drag the half-hard organ 
out. Bonnie squeezed the limber cock, pressing her luscious titty against 
Greg's palm. 

"Touch it harder, baby," Bonnie whispered. "Remember how you used to make 
love to my breasts?" 

Greg spread the front of the filmy peignoir, his stubby fingertips brushing 
across the soft surface of Bonnie's lush bosom. He licked his lips in 
anticipation. 

"Yes, Greg," Bonnie purred. "Oh, it's been so long!" She straightened, 
gently guiding him by his cock. With a sensuous, almost boneless flow of 
motion, she lay back on his desk. One plump, full-thighed leg dangled off 
the edge. Bonnie raised her other knee. Her long hair fanned out over the 
papers. 

It was nice to see her husband coming alive again. Bonnie didn't screw all 
the young instructors in Verguenzo Hills for love, just from boredom. 
Looking at the athletic young men gave her a kind of aimless itch in her 
pussy, an itch she'd rather aim at her husband. 

But here he was now. Just for a moment, Bonnie regretted suggesting the swap 
club to him, but she thought immediately of the long, lonely months she'd 
spent reading about total womanhood while Greg drilled teeth and shuffled 
papers. I'm going to make it so good for him that he'll always come back, 
she thought. 

He did look years younger. Bonnie stroked his cock gently, feeling it rise 
and stiffen as he stared at her near-nude body. The gossamer gray of the 
negligee concealed any tiny flaw that her plump, well-rounded flesh might 
have. Bonnie made a sensual oval with her glistening lips. She flexed her 
full, firm asscheeks, making her pelvis ripple at him. The cock in her hand 
stiffened further. 

"I really do love your body, honey," Greg said. His eyes roamed from her 
big, pillowy breasts, down across the shadow of her navel, and cherished the 
red-gold nest of her pussy-hairs. Her hips were wide and promising. 

Bonnie felt the tingle in her pussy get stronger as Greg stared at her. She 
tightened the tendons along the inside of her thighs and a little flood of 
musky lubricant dampened the mouth of her pussy. The slow-moving hands on 
her titties made the warm mounds seem even heavier. Bonnie's breasts ached 
to feel Greg's touch grow harder. She loved feeling his arousal as he 
started growing rougher, more dominating. 

One of the best parts of the titty-play was right now, when Greg kneaded 
both of the sensuous globes together. The separate feelings merged into a 
single lovely mass of lewd energy that telegraphed warmth and readiness into 
her loins. 

"Yes, Greggy, oh, my god, yes! I love it like that!" Bonnie whispered. The 
glow inside her warmed her skin until a thin film of sweat glistened all 
over Bonnie. It made her deep cleavage slippery, and the tight valley 
between her titties slithered as Greg rolled the two delicious globs 
together. 

Greg started kissing around the pink aureoles, nuzzling the tips of her 
nipples with his nose. He licked at the extreme end of one rubbery spike and 
pinched the other. Bonnie slid her foot back and forth on the desk top. Her 
hand tightened on his prick. 

Bonnie watched her husband as he caressed and kissed her breasts. The shiny 
top of his head moved back and forth as his tongue flicked across each 
nipple in turn. She put her free hand on his head and stroked the smooth 
skin. 

"I'm glad you're like this," Bonnie said, carefully avoiding the word 
"bald". "Your head feels so sexy! I could almost come right now!" 

Greg lifted his face from her titties and looked at her. "Your jugs feel so 
goddamn nice!" he growled. He spread them apart, rolling her nipples under 
his thumbs. The sweat-slick valley of her cleavage opened wide and he 
burrowed his face between the slippery mounds of titty. 

Bonnie let go of his cock. She put both hands on the back of Greg's head, 
pressing his mouth and nose against her breastbone. 

Bonnie's heart and lungs seemed to swell up inside her. Her whole torso was 
full of a marvelous warm, loving feeling. "When Greg put his hands on the 
outside of each big breast and rolled them against the sides of his face, 
Bonnie thought she would explode. Every cell in the heavy, lewd masses of 
her tits lit up with joy. 

Bonnie held him in, relishing the feeling of his lips and tongue on the 
seldom-touched tenderness of her cleavage. Her hips began to roll 
sensuously, moving in counterpoint to Greg's hands and his burrowing, 
nuzzling face. The thumbs flicking across her nipples sent ceaseless flashes 
of pleasure all through her body, but especially to her pussy. Bonnie felt 
her clitty stiffen until it felt as big as a finger. 

Greg pulled his head back, but his strong hands kept pressing her titties 
together. With a rolling motion of his thumbs, he forced her nipples 
together. 

The feeling in her titties were rising higher and hotter. The sheer, 
ecstatic lasciviousness of her aureoles touching each other made Bonnie 
moan. Her whole body stiffened with a jolt of lewdness when Greg captured 
both nipples in his mouth. 

It was tremendous! Bonnie loved it when he sucked either of the stiff, 
rubbery buttons, but when he gnawed and nibbled and kissed both at the same 
time, fireworks started going off behind her eyelids. The tips of her long 
nipples touched each other, sliding wet and erotic between Greg's teeth. The 
pleasure of his tongue writhing against the crinkled coronas, flicking the 
top, the bottom, the sides of each lusty little tower sent radical shivers 
up and down her spine. Bonnie felt her whole body melting into a lewd mass 
of hunger for his cock. 

With a quick, slicing motion that made Bonnie's whole body thrill, Greg 
slipped his tongue between the tight-pressed tips of her titties. Bonnie 
moaned, clutching at his shoulders. "Yes, Greg! God! What are you doing to 
me? It feels so fucking incredible!" 

The fast, flickering sensation of the tongue whipping both nipples back and 
forth went on. Bonnie tried to pull Greg up onto the desk with her, but he 
wouldn't stop the marvelous suction on her tits. 

After long, vibrant minutes of the sucking, Bonnie's tits were sore, but the 
pain accelerated the heat all through her body. She gasped, barely able to 
breathe in her aroused state, "Give it to me, Greggy, give me your cock! I 
want it so bad!" 

The lusty dentist grabbed his wife's leg and turned her around on the desk. 
Now both her feet were on the floor, and she arched backward over the edge 
of the desk, her mauled, throbbing tits rising from her chest like mountains 
of delicious, snow-white ice cream. He dropped his pants and knelt on his 
swivel chair, his cock rampant. It jutted toward her face like a saber. 

Bonnie raised her head, watching the approach of the red-tipped wand. Greg's 
cock was long and thick-not huge, like the weapons some of her random lovers 
wielded, but a nice, average-sized prick with a hefty flare to the glans. 
Bonnie reached for Greg's hips as he half-crawled onto the desk. 

With a shock, Bonnie realized that Greg didn't want her to suck his prick. 
Her mouth was already wet and waiting. She could almost taste the salty, 
meaty skin, almost feel the textures of the head and shaft against her 
tongue. The juicy center of her loins ached with disappointment. 

Greg bellied against her, his hands grasping the outside of her tits. He 
laid his cock in the soft, slippery groove between the lovely mounds and 
pressed the titty flesh against the sides of his shaft. 

Bonnie thought she would fall apart. The novelty of having her luscious 
breasts fucked had never occurred to her. With an inner shock, she realized 
that the sensitive skin of her breasts felt the hot organ nearly as well as 
her mouth or her cunt could. 

Greg leaned over her, forcing Bonnie back down on the desk. She put her 
hands over his, rolling the voluptuous masses of her bosom around his prick. 
A fire started in her mind, a blazing, white-hot flame that traveled to her 
pussy and mouth as quickly as to her breasts. 

Greg slipped his hands out from under hers. He stroked his cock back and 
forth in the deep, soft valley, rubbing the sides of her face between his 
palms. 

Bonnie couldn't believe it. The scratchy hairs of his cock bush rubbed on 
her nipples like dozens of little feathers. She rolled her hips, flexing her 
cheeks on the very edge of the desk. Somehow, having her pussy and ass 
hanging over the very edge started a heavier flow of cunt juice. It felt 
just risky enough to excite her pussy even more. 

The steady rhythm of Greg's cock thrusts between her breasts tugged at some 
lewd center inside her. Bonnie looked down, straining her neck. The wide red 
knob of his cock kept emerging, then disappearing again at the top of her 
cleavage. She wished she'd greased the deep, hot valley so he would keep the 
wonderful ridge of his glans moving right against the inner slopes of her 
tits. 

Greg pushed further up against her. His shin touched her suspended pussy. He 
held her head tight between his hands. Vague moans of pleasure sounded above 
Bonnie as he slowly speeded the long strokes of his cock. 

Bonnie rolled her hips, sliding further over the edge of the desk. The hot, 
hungry wound of her pussy touched his hairy shin again. She closed her 
thighs around it. 

Now it seemed like her whole body was involved in the sweaty, steamy motions 
of their sex. Bonnie refused to let his leg escape from her pussy mouth. She 
rolled and ground against it, feeling the rigid spike of her clitty rousing 
even further. The copious flow of pussyjuice wet him, smearing down her 
thighs, dribbling onto her rectum. The familiar feeling in her pussy rose 
higher, joining the strange excitement of his prick moving in her bosom. 

Bonnie flattened her hands against her tits. 

The pressure forced her nipples against his belly. The entire voluptuous 
mound of each breast vibrated around the pistoning cock, shuddering with the 
heavy, throbbing excitement of the act. 

Bonnie couldn't watch the thrusting cockhead and move her cunt against his 
shin at the same time. She twisted around, rolling sensuously. The lusty 
motions of her hips pushed them both toward the edge. Now both her plump, 
creamy asscheeks were completely off the desk. She moved her cunt against 
him harder. 

Bonnie looked down at the head of his prick again. It had swollen visibly. 
Now it was an angry purple, with watery white fluid oozing from the slit in 
the head. She tried to bend her head far enough to kiss the tip, but even 
with her tongue poking out, she couldn't collect the single drop of pre-come 
fluid from the tip of Greg's dick. 

Bonnie moaned in frustration. Her pussylips had spread wide on his shin, 
coating the leg with juice. It felt like a huge, hairy cock grazing up and 
down on her pussy. Bonnie heard Greg grunting, and she wailed, "Yes! God, 
yes!! " in reply. 

Greg's thrusting cock moved slower, but each stroke was harder. Bonnie felt 
his balls touch the underswell of her tits. She slipped her hands off the 
outside of the big globes, holding her tits on his prick with her elbows and 
upper arms. 

That felt even better. Bonnie had more tit pressed against his cock, even 
engulfing his balls when he rammed the head of the prick toward her throat. 
She dug her fingers into his asscheeks, pulling him down deeper onto her 
titties. 

The long, pounding strokes were wonderful. Bonnie clutched at his ass, her 
legs crossing around his calf. Greg had started to grind his lower leg 
against the wide, meaty stripe of her hungry cunt. Bonnie swiveled her hips 
lewdly, the winking circle of her cunt mouth kissing at his skin. 

It was starting to happen. Somewhere deep in her brain, the fantastic 
feeling of her release was swelling up. Bonnie opened her mouth wide, 
leaning back. She closed her eyes, unable to even think about anything but 
the cock between her tits and the leg grinding heat into her cunt. 

"Oaughh, honey," she growled. "Come, baby, come with me!! Greg, I'm 
starting! I swear to Christ, I'm starting!" 

Greg slipped his hands from her face to her shoulders. He whimpered, all his 
muscles tightening, "Hold on, just hold on a second, Bonnie! It's getting 
ready! Please, baby!" 

Bonnie inhaled, breath filling her chest until she thought she would burst. 
The salty sweat dripping from Greg's torso half-blinded her, stinging her 
eyes. She clenched her asscheeks, trying to keep the explosion from starting 
in her loins. A whirling ball of sensation spun around in her belly, moving 
faster and faster. She had no idea of how long she could keep herself from 
going off. She strained to wrench words out, begging her husband to come. 

A scalding blast of semen hit her throat. Bonnie felt her cunt clench down 
on nothing. Her thighs clamped around his leg like a vise. She looked down 
toward the still-thrusting prick between her titties. 

Another, bigger blast of come spurted out on the upstroke. She barely heard 
Greg's voice rising and falling in a wail of relief. She tried to lick the 
splash of come from around her mouth. 

Bonnie's pulse pounded in her ears. She felt the huge, crashing waves of her 
orgasm pouring outward from her tits and cunt. The walls of her cuntsleeve 
opened wide, sucking in air, then slammed shut with a crash that rocked her 
whole body. 

It seemed like gallons of come every time another blast ripped from the end 
of Greg's cock and spattered against her face. Bonnie held her mouth wide 
open, as much from the amazing power of her come as from hunger for her 
husband's spunk. 

Every bucking thrust of Greg's prick made his shin spasm against her pubic 
arch. The grinding, jolting motions inflamed her clitty even more, sending 
heavier, hotter lances of orgiastic feeling through her body. Bonnie lost 
herself in the sensation, semen splashing and drooling all over her face, 
musky juice oozing from her cunt, and shivery, steamy, mind-shattering waves 
of pure lust rolling along every nerve in her body. With her hands still 
locked on Greg's rolling asscheeks, she slowly slipped off the desk. Greg 
slid down with her, clutching at the top of the desk, his cock escaping from 
between her tits. They both shuddered with a complete excess of sensuality 
when his come-smeared cockhead slithered across Bonnie's throat and along 
the side of her face. 

Bonnie looked up. She saw Greg's heavy, hairy balls hanging above her head. 
She tried to say something as she lay down in the knee-well, but it was too 
much effort. 

He knows . . . I love it . . . anyway, she thought, letting her muscles go 
slack between the fading pulses of her orgasm. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Rhonda Tracht didn't feel very good about herself two days later. Her mother 
had called, suggesting that Rhonda and Martin fly up to join them for dinner 
in San Francisco that evening. Rhonda had to beg off with a quick excuse. 
"Mother, it would take hours to drive down to L.A. International. It's nice 
of you to invite us, but I just don't think we have that kind of time." 

Her mother's voice took on the half-commanding, half-whining tone that she 
used when she wanted something. "Rhonda, your father can send his plane 
down. I know there's an airport less than half an hour from your house. 
Please do come, dear. Some of my college friends will be there, and they'd 
all love to see you . . . and Martin. Why, Margie Jenkins was asking me the 
other day what he does, and you know, I just couldn't answer! It would be so 
nice for us to see you." 

"Honestly, Mother! You can be impossible! Martin and I are both working on 
the school-board recall, and there are meetings all the time," Rhonda said. 
And am I glad you don't know what kind of meetings! I never even met that 
Shores man in my life . . . I hope he's not as greasy as some of those 
town-council types. 

"Well, I could accept that if you had tried to keep custody of Gary," her 
mother snipped. "Rhonda, when are you going to learn that you can't have 
your cake and eat it too and throw the crumbs to the birds? Love affairs are 
all very fine, but breaking up a marriage is not the kind of thing I expect 
of you. I still wish you would let Gary's father see you. He calls here all 
the time." 

Rhonda took the phone away from her ear. She stared at it, her lips pursing 
in annoyance. 

She broke in on the continuing chatter. "Remember what you always, told me, 
Mother . . . 'Love many, trust few, and always paddle your own canoe.' I 
have to be going. There are some things I have to pick up at the store." 

"You mean that man still hasn't gotten you any help? I don't see how you 
manage, even in that little bungalow." 

"Mother! We don't have help because I DON'T NEED ANY! I DON'T WANT ANY!" 
Rhonda checked her rage. "Besides, it's not a bungalow. It's a ranch house 
on three acres in Verguenzo Hills. It's worth twice what we paid for it 
already. Now I have to go, Mother. I'll call you later, okay?" 

"Real estate speculators are just a step beyond gamblers, Rhonda. I wish 
your Martin didn't have to bother with that sort of thing. I feel like we 
have a farmer in the family! I never thought the day would dawn when we bent 
the twig and couldn't reap what we sowed from the tree that grew up," she 
sighed. 

"I'll call you tomorrow, Mother. Good-bye." 

The rest of the day wasn't any easier. At the supermarket, she felt as if 
there were a huge, flashing neon sign over her head spelling out 
"ADULTRESS!" Rhonda looked cautiously around from under the wide, floppy 
brim of her stylish sun hat. A few of the other ladies gathered in clumps 
here and there, twittering with excitement. Rhonda blushed when she heard 
Bonnie Fredericks say, "I just love to get involved in community affairs!" 

Other women peered nervously around themselves. That made Rhonda feel a 
little better, but not much. Whether the women were excited or fearful, they 
measured one another with thin-veiled hostility. Which one of them is going 
to be with Martin? How do I know she won't have some special technique, like 
Red-book or Cosmo is always hinting at? Martin might like that kind of thing 
. . . you can't learn everything about a man in just a year and a half. 

Why couldn't they at least tell us who they're going to see today? I don't 
even know how many of the men bought tickets! Rhonda blushed, realizing that 
she'd been staring at Beverly Cotton, the minister's wife. In a flustered 
rush, Rhonda ran a finger down her shopping list and headed for the 
checkout. 

No! Not Beverly! Reverend Cotton wouldn't be involved in something so . . . 
cheap and tawdry! 

I'll bet those idiot Rotarians could raise a lot more if she were in it, 
though. She's a lovely woman . . . even if she is six feet tall. 

I wouldn't like to be in her position . . . having to be nice to everybody, 
smiling all the time. I wonder if she ever fights with the 

Reverend? That's really hard to imagine-she seems so sweet. I don't trust 
her an inch, Rhonda decided. She bent to load the items from her cart onto 
the revolving stand. 

It was even worse when Rhonda looked up. The supermarket manager was smiling 
secretively at her, with a lewd expression. He looked as if he could see 
right through every scrap of clothing she wore. Reflexively, Rhonda 
tightened the muscles of her belly and buttocks. 

Stop, Rhonda, she told herself. You're getting flustered for no reason. He . 
. . he's not even nearly in your circle, or in Martin's, for that matter. 
She shoved the groceries toward the cashier. 

The manager was still standing near the exit when Rhonda wheeled her 
purchase toward the door. He smiled at her and nodded. Rhonda gave him a 
shaky smile in reply. 

Her expression snapped to cold blankness when she saw the blue-and-gold 
cogwheel on his lapel. All the way through the parking lot, the skin between 
her shoulder blades was covered with goose bumps. 

My god! I'm acting like a thief! I wish Martin hadn't agreed to go along 
with that stupid club! What's happened to me? I haven't even done anything 
yet, but my pussy's getting itchy to start. This thing is tearing me apart! 

The time and the directions to her winner's chosen meeting place were on a 
folded piece of paper in the hallway. The small white sheet seemed to grow 
as Rhonda put away the groceries. Her eyes kept glancing back to the card, 
then snapping away. While stuffing the contents of the last bag into the 
cupboards, Rhonda had to stop. She put her hand on her chest. 

Her high, proud breasts were heaving up and down with the tense gusts of her 
breathing. Her knees felt watery. She looked again at the hall table. The 
paper was gone! 

Rhonda rushed into the hall. A vagrant gust of wind had blown the paper onto 
the floor. She put it back on the table, still not looking at it. Rhonda 
weighted it down with an ashtray and returned to the kitchen. 

I could run away . . . maybe get Gary and change my name. Martin would never 
find me. 

But that's not what I want! Dammit, I thought he loved me. Now he's selling 
me for that bloody stupid Rotary. Why the hell don't those clowns send the 
kids to private schools! Half of 'em are poison snobs already. God, I hate 
them! I never thought I'd start thinking like Mother, but these nouveaux 
riches in Verguenzo Hills are so . . . yes, gauche! 

Rhonda slammed cans into the cupboards. Her expression was grim. I'll bet it 
was that Bonnie Fredericks. I've seen the way she looks at Martin . . . and 
at any other man in town! Dirty eyes and a dirty mind, that's her. No wonder 
her kids are such little hellions . . . she upends all her time out chasing 
penises instead of disciplining the little bastards. 

A frightening thought struck Rhonda. What if I have to sleep with her 
husband? He reminds me of a slug, with his pudgy little fingers crawling all 
over his instruments. Even if I have to see Mother and Dad, I'm going to San 
Francisco for my next cleaning! Asking if I wanted to be hypnotized while he 
worked . . . and then saying it's usually twenty-five dollars extra!! I 
wouldn't let him hypnotize a toad--he'd try to mate with it! 

Rhonda set down the can of consomm' she'd been ready to throw at the memory 
of the dentist. Brushing the wrinkles from her pastel blouse, she glanced up 
at the clock. 

"All right," she muttered. "I don't have to wait around to be used. He 
better be ready." Rhonda patted at her short coif and checked her makeup in 
the hall mirror. She grabbed her purse and the card and went out the front 
door like a clipper under full sail, tall, proud and determined. 

By the time she'd followed the directions to the appointed spot, the 
determination had evaporated. Rhonda walked into the attorney's front office 
with her purse clutched in both hands, half-hiding the rapid beat of her 
breathing. Her stomach fluttered and her head felt light as cotton candy. 

"I'm here to see Roy Shores," she announced to the middle-aged receptionist. 
"He's expecting me." 

The iron-haired maiden lady looked Rhonda up and down. She pressed a button 
on the desk and spoke into the air. "A lady to see you, Mr. Shores." 

Rhonda felt as if she'd already failed the receptionist's inspection. She 
wanted to be angry, but the moist fear in her pussy and the goose bumps on 
her arms wouldn't let her. The novelty of the whole experience had Rhonda so 
thoroughly intimidated that she actually thanked the woman when she 
indicated Rhonda could go in. 

Rhonda moved toward a rosewood-faced door just as a man came out. He was 
about fifty-five, average height and weight. 

"Mister Shores?" Rhonda asked. He didn't look like a clubman. 

"No, I'm Will Pricer," the man answered. "I'm Mr. Shores' investigative 
associate." He held the door open. "Please go in. It was nice seeing you." 
He flicked on a short smile, only the corners of his mouth moving. 

Roy Shores stood up behind his desk. Rhonda stopped just inside the inner 
office, the door sighing shut behind her. The attorney just kept standing, 
higher and higher. He was at least six-five, with longish wavy dark hair and 
black-rimmed spectacles. He extended a long-fingered knobby hand. "Rhonda 
Tracht? Pleasure to meet you." 

Rhonda touched his hand briefly. It was dry and cool, making her ashamed of 
her own moist grip. "R-roy," she stammered. The large, book-lined room and 
the tall man made her feel like she was shrinking down to child-size. "I . . 
. ummh, I'm not interrupting any of your practice, am I?" 

Roy Shores smiled, his whole deep-lined face moving. "No, not at all. I've 
been rearranging my schedule all day, looking forward to meeting you. I 
should have known Martin's wife would be as lovely as he is involved in the 
community." 

Rhonda blushed. "Thank you." She looked around, shifting her weight from one 
foot to the other. The tall attorney came around the desk and offered her an 
armchair. 

"Yes, Marty's quite a benefit to Verguenzo Hills. You know, we couldn't have 
gotten the glass-recycling program off the ground without him. He has a real 
flair for organization." Roy moved around the room, straightening a large, 
expensively framed picture of a basketball team. He let his eyes roam over 
Rhonda's body, his glance lingering around the cradle-like curve of her 
pelvis. 

Rhonda set her purse down beside the chair. "Yes, I know. Sometimes I wish 
he weren't so dedicated to helping others." She leaned back in the chair, 
looking up at Roy. 

The attorney's smile faded. He stared at Rhonda, his dark eyes hard and 
level. 

Rhonda felt a tiny warmth begin to flow in her loins. She crossed her legs, 
trying to keep the first bit of her arousal a secret from the tall stranger. 
Her skirt slid up, showing half the long, silky length of her thigh. She'd 
deliberately worn stockings and a garter belt, not wanting to go through the 
awkward, unesthetic procedure of putting pantyhose on after. 

"Shall we get started, then?" Roy asked, his voice cold. He shrugged out of 
his suit coat and loosened his tie. 

Rhonda felt the anger she should have let loose on the receptionist grow. 
Her lips tightened into a line and she undid the top buttons of her blouse. 
"If you wish." 

The air was tense and cold in the room, as if it were a duel rather than a 
lewd tryst they were talking about. Rhonda kept her eyes locked on the 
attorney as she took her blouse off. He jerked his head toward a small door. 

Rhonda walked over, her blouse over her arm. She opened the closet and hung 
her blouse carefully, then unzipped the side of her skirt and hung it next 
to the blouse. Her movements were measured, careful and restrained. She 
heard Roy's pants jingle as he stepped out of them, then the sound of feet 
approaching on the thick Oriental rug. She stepped aside to let him hang his 
trousers. 

Rhonda's nostrils flared. He had a virile scent about him. It was neither 
sweat nor perfume, but a dusty, pollen-like odor that reminded her of semen. 
A little trickle of her own juices stained the crotch of her panties. Rhonda 
waited while he finished stripping, standing two feet away in her bra, 
panties and stockings. She left her moderate heels on . . . anything that 
would help her feel more equal to him, even in height, made her less 
fearful. 

Roy stepped back from the closet. Nothing but heavy, controlled breathing 
could be heard in the room. Rhonda unsnapped the hooks of her light, lacy 
bra and slipped the straps down. Her breasts moved up and down slightly as 
she folded her bra and put in on the shelf. She felt extremely naked 
already, with her nipples erecting. The pink-and-coral tips almost hurt as 
she bent over and slid her panties down. She put the filmy little scrap of 
nylon on the shelf next to her bra and turned around. 

Rhonda was resolved not to look at Roy's cock until she absolutely had to. 
She stood, her chin jutting forward, daring him to look at her body. Her 
eyes stayed on his face. 

The black lace of the garter belt arched like a river bridge across the 
slight, sensuous swell of her lower belly. The vertical straps attached to 
her dark stockings made a frame for her luscious off-black pussy-hairs. The 
crinkly nest unfolded slowly, relieved of the tight caress of her panties. A 
telltale drop of juice sparkled like a little diamond just at the base of 
the muff, lighting the gap at the top of her thighs. 

Rhonda watched him looking at her. This time she knew she would pass 
inspection. His eyes lingered on the uptilted points of her inch-long 
nipples, then swept past her slim waist to the thick jungle of her cuntal 
triangle. Rhonda sensed his prick rising more than she saw it. She still 
didn't want him to have the satisfaction of her viewing the organ. 

"Turn around," Roy said, his voice gruff. 

Rhonda spread her high-heeled feet apart and put her hands on her hips. 
"Why?" she glared. 

"Turn around!" he said, more forcefully. "I want to see your ass." 

Rhonda turned around. The ripe, firm swell of her cheeks flexed delightfully 
as she took little steps to face the wall. The shoes made the trim muscles 
of her calves and thighs stand out excitingly. Her dark hose shimmered, 
accenting the long, curvy legs, making them even more attractive. 

Rhonda forced herself to relax. The wide, shallow cleft between her 
asscheeks felt completely vulnerable. She absolutely refused to look over 
her shoulder at him. With a supreme effort, Rhonda kept her cheeks open and 
the tight ring of her ass unpuckered. Casually, as if she addressed an old 
friend, she said, "Where's your wife right now?" 

The attorney moved around behind her. Rhonda heard a cabinet open and shut 
as he answered, "I'm not married. I had to pay double." 

"Humphh! I hope you think it's worth it," she sneered to the wall. Another 
rush of pussy-juice bubbled from her vagina. 

"It'll be worth it," Roy said, a strange tone in his voice. His big hand 
touched her waist, then slid around to cup her breasts. 

Rhonda fought to keep from moving back against him. The hand cupped all of 
her breast easily, forming the firm flesh into a cone of tingling sensation. 
She took a deep breath, pressing her titty tighter into his palm. The hand 
slid down her belly, and the other one went to her waist. 

Roy's hands were soft, almost silky on her skin. Rhonda purred under her 
breath as he caressed her. She wished she'd taken off the garter belt. It 
stopped his fingers from stimulating a whole strip of sensitive skin. 

Rhonda didn't allow herself to move. She'd come to the office because it had 
been important to Martin, not because she wanted to. If Roy Shores wanted to 
make the adulterous act worth his double fee, then it was up to him. Rhonda 
certainly wasn't going to help him with lascivious movements or lusty 
advice. 

He didn't need any advice. Rhonda realized her body was tensing as his 
fingers barely tickled the fringes of her pubic delta. She slowed her 
reaction down, letting her muscles go limp. 

Roy tugged her backwards. With an obscene thrill, Rhonda felt him nibbling 
at the rich, creamy swell of her buttocks. She pressed her bottom back 
against him, ever so slightly. He put one big hand on each of her thighs and 
gnawed at her ass. 

The sensitive flesh of her buttocks quivered as his expert nuzzling made the 
nerves stand up. He had found a direct route to some weird pleasure center 
in her brain. Rhonda bent forward slightly, presenting her ass. The cleft 
between her cheeks widened. 

With a quick, slippery motion, both of his index fingers pressed her 
pussylips against her clitty. He worked his hands on her thighs, just above 
the tops of her stockings. The motion made sensuous tingles travel from her 
clitoris to the mouth of her vagina. Rhonda couldn't help moving her hips in 
a lewd figure-eight. 

Roy took his face away from her ass. "That's nice," he said. "You're going 
to be worth it." He stood up to steer her over to the big desk. 

Rhonda still refused to look back at him. She walked with her thighs 
brushing together, the nylons whispering. Her tight-legged swaying on the 
high heels made her pussylips flex erotically around her little clit-spike. 

Rhonda bent over the edge of the desk, leaning on her elbows. Despite the 
growing warmth in her pussy, she had decided that she wouldn't come. Rhonda 
wanted to save all the pleasure for her husband, even if she had to give her 
cunt to another man. 

Roy's hands were surprisingly strong. He gripped her right tit with one and 
lifted her by the crotch with the other. Rhonda gasped, all her weight 
see-sawing on the wet, greasy center of her pussy for a second. She 
automatically opened her legs. 

The puffy, slippery lips of her pussy showed deliciously from behind. The 
rich bulge of tender flesh invited a cock as much as her firm ivory 
asscheeks invited gnawing. Rhonda moved her ass in a lubricious grinding 
motion as soon as Roy set her down. 

Rhonda knew that the whole zone around her vagina was sopping with the rich, 
oily secretions from her cunt. She tensed the little ring of muscle at the 
entrance of her cuntsleeve, urging another few drops out. The warm fluid 
weighted some of her cunt-hairs down. They uncurled, swinging down to drip 
juice on her upper thigh. 

Roy's hand cupped her breast, while his long fingers reached across the 
silky valley of her cleavage and captured her other nipple. He pinched it 
slightly, just enough to make it swell up larger, and rolled it between two 
fingertips. 

Rhonda's jaw dropped as she soaked up the extreme pleasure of the fondling. 
Each of her tits felt like a warm, heavy bag of buttery pudding, molded and 
squeezed in Roy's big hand. 

Roy put his hand back down in her crotch again, mashing the soft heat of her 
pussy-mound against the arch of her pubic bone. Rhonda felt excitement rise 
through her body like a drifting balloon. She separated her mind from the 
symptoms of her arousal. I'm not going to enjoy it. 

Rhonda's pussy clenched on air in spite of her will power. She felt the 
consistency of her cuntal cream change, growing heavier to prepare her hole 
for his cock. She still hadn't seen the attorney's prick. 

Something thick and greasy poked against her pussylips. A residue of some 
sort smeared over her cuntlips. Rhonda recognized the high flare of his 
cockhead as it rubbed back and forth in her slit, the ridge peeling the hood 
back from her clitty. 

It felt better and better. Rhonda still concentrated on staying inert, 
keeping herself from any pleasure in the act, but the tingling thrills 
shooting from her clitty and the steamy warmth rising in her vagina wouldn't 
let her. 

Sensations and hunger gathered in her crotch. Rhonda scooted herself back 
toward his cockhead, bending her knees suddenly. She wanted to get that hot 
knob in her vagina before his clitty-tickling made her too horny. If she 
were wound up too far, she might start coming around his prick. 

She missed. A little squeak of frustration escaped from her throat. Rhonda 
began moving her hips back and forth in counterpoint to his cock strokes. 
She was beginning to enjoy the feeling. Her pussy oozed juice constantly 
now. Her labia felt like huge, hot pads of swampy hunger. The whole zone 
around her vagina ached. 

Roy's right hand left her tits. Rhonda put her head down on the desk, her 
arms out. Her fingers splayed out like starfish, creeping on the smooth 
wood. Her breasts swayed, the tips of her aroused nipples almost touching 
the desk. She felt the wood warming under her. 

Rhonda moved sensuously, waiting for her chance to capture his prickhead. 
She curled her spine, drawing the long, wet slit of her pussy across his 
glans, then she arched to force it past her clitty. The hot spike of aroused 
flesh throbbed, sending flashes of acute heat up into her brain every time 
the ridge of his cockhead grazed over the tip. With a sudden, shaky thrust, 
Rhonda pushed her hips backward from the curled position and the end of his 
prick tugged at the front of her cunt mouth. She squirmed, trying to shift 
around until the whole head was centered in her cunthole. 

Roy pulled away. "No, sweetheart," he whispered. "Try this." With a hand 
bracing the shaft, one of his thumbs on her ass-cheek, he guided the greased 
head of his cock to the gray-pink rim of her rectum. 

Rhonda pulled away, pressing the top of her cunt-mound against the edge of 
the desk. "No! Not there," she said, putting her hands back to protect the 
tiny opening. 

Roy grabbed both wrists in one powerful mitt and held them at the small of 
her back. He pressed her forward on the desk. 

Rhonda's ass came toward him, rising in the air as she tried to struggle 
away. The grip on her wrists threatened to pull her arms out of their 
sockets. She twisted her shoulders from side to side, her tits mashing down 
on the desk. 

"No, please!" she cried. "This isn't part of the deal! Marty said nobody 
would hurt me!" 

Roy jerked her wrists higher, then slackened his grip. Her wrists were still 
locked in his big hand. "It won't hurt, dammit! Take it easy. I'm going to 
have your asshole whether you fight or not, Mrs. Tracht, so don't fight." 

Rhonda lay on her face, panting. The broad head, of his cock was still up 
against her rectum, and the circle of his hand around her wrists was like 
iron. She raised one shoe from the floor, but that only put more weight on 
her uncomfortable belly. She set her foot back down. "A-all right. Just be 
careful," she said, her tone fearful and depressed. 

"Relax," Roy said. "Push out a little bit." 

It took all her concentration to obey. The head of his prick was so hard and 
hot and so incredibly big against the tight band of her asshole that Rhonda 
could barely force herself to relax even a single muscle. 

Roy pulled back, relieving the pressure against her ass. Rhonda let out a 
huge breath and bore down a little. All of her attention focused in the 
little lens of her rectum. She felt the tissues spreading, almost as if they 
were kissing at the greasy head of the attorney's cock. 

She lay as still as she could on the desk-top. Rhonda felt fear in her guts, 
as if she might lose control and piss all over any second. She spread her 
arms out to the sides, gripping the overhanging wooden lip of the desk. 

Roy's cock began to circle, as if it were searching for the right angle to 
penetrate her ass. Rhonda bit her lip and her fingers tightened on the edge 
of the desk. 

Roy had found the angle. He pressed harder, moving his prick in tiny 
strokes. Rhonda felt the probing motion of the prick against her ass change 
to a stiff, alert waiting. 

With a slow, steady increase of pressure, Roy started pushing his cock 
against the tight ring of her asshole. The rubbery muscle moved in, still 
not opening for him. 

It was beginning to hurt. Rhonda's fear amplified the pain. She thought the 
cockhead was shoving her entire ass inside out. She bore down, trying 
desperately to open up for the weapon. 

She pushed down hard, harder. The pain changed until it was all from her own 
forcing against the cock. The dragging sensation of being tugged inside out 
stopped, but the pain of pushing her bowels down against him rose. 

Rhonda slacked off just as Roy increased the pressure. With a distinct, lewd 
sliding, the head of his cock began to spread the sides of her rectum. 
Rhonda gasped. 

It was like nothing she'd ever felt. It hurt, with the skin at the top of 
her hole about ready to split from the stretching, but at the same time it 
reinforced the lusty heat in her pussy. 

Rhonda had almost forgotten how ready her body had been before the cock 
pushed against her asshole. Now she felt the mouth of her pussy opening and 
shutting, the warm juice drooling like a river over her entire crotch. She 
moved her ass experimentally from one side to the other. 

That wedged Roy's cockhead even deeper into her ass. Rhonda moaned, the 
tearing pain of her asshole melting into the hot lewdness of her cunt. She 
was beginning to like the obscene lasciviousness of the feeling. Just half 
of the knob was in her ass, and she thought, II it were a little one, it 
might feel very nice. 

Roy backed off, then pressed forward again. A little more of the wide 
cockhead slipped in, almost tearing Rhonda's ass open. She grunted, "Oww!" 

"Quiet," Roy hissed. "You haven't felt anything yet." He shoved hard, then 
groaned. 

Rhonda knew what had happened without looking. The sudden spasm of her 
asshole had locked his cock out, and the heavy thrust had bent the shaft. 
She tried to apologize by swiveling her ass in a slow circle. 

Roy slipped one hand between her belly and the desk. He wiggled his fingers 
down until two of them pressed on each side of her clitty. He moved the tips 
back and forth, coaxing more juice from her vagina. 

Rhonda liked that. The electric flashes of heat in her clitty sent sparks up 
her spine. She rolled her pelvis lasciviously, grinding more goodness from 
the writhing fingers. She offered her ass more eagerly to his cock. 

"That's right," Roy said. "That's better." He braced his prick with his fist 
and drove forward. 

Rhonda gasped, tears squirting from the corners of her eyes. He'd timed the 
fuck stroke to match the flash of her clitty, and the whole head popped in 
when her muscles relaxed. She felt the ridge around the cockhead flaring in 
her ass, and the narrowed neck of his prick was caught right in the solidest 
grip of her rectum. 

Roy stroked mildly back and forth, his fingers still playing on her clitty. 
Rhonda felt a new, strange hunger flaring up inside her, a hunger that came 
from the depths of her ass instead of the mouth of her pussy. She liked 
being buggered! 

There was much more life, much more sensation in her asshole than Rhonda had 
ever imagined. She felt the taper and flare of the glans inside her chute. 
The overstretched muscle of her rectum sensed every internal ridge of his 
prick. She lay there motionless for a moment, just enjoying the slow, short 
strokes of the cock in her asshole. 

Roy began to stroke deeper. Rhonda felt his cockhead moving further up into 
her ass. The drag of his un-greased shaft, compared to the slickness of his 
cockhead, telegraphed strange, vulgar messages of perverse need to her clit 
and her cunthole. Rhonda tightened her ass-ring around his prick. 

That felt fantastic! Rhonda arched her back, pulling away from his prickhead 
as he moved back, and a lusty fullness that reached clear to her throat 
welled up from her ass. 

It was painful, but painfully lewd. The reverse pressure of his cock ridge 
pushing her rectum outward made the whole surface of her ass come alive. 
Rhonda almost wanted to experience the feeling of his prickhead pulling 
completely out. The hunger in her bowels kept her impaled on the prickshaft. 

Roy stroked forward again. Rhonda liked that well enough, but it wasn't as 
exciting as feeling him pulling out. She waited for him to stop, feeling the 
narrow taper of the neck of the cock move up to her rectum again. 

He didn't stop. Roy kept going, the thicker part of the shaft spreading her 
asshole further. Rhonda's eyes went wide in amazement. This was the feeling 
that her ass guts had been hungering for! 

It felt as if Roy's prick went halfway into her ass. The full, stuffed 
feeling back there seemed to reach up to her belly. Rhonda grunted when the 
thick shaft ran out of lubricant. He stopped. 

With so much more prick in her ass, Rhonda didn't dare move when Roy backed 
off. She felt what seemed like a foot of meat slide down and away from her 
ass. The butt-muscle clamped around the shaft clung to it like a mouth. It 
pulled clear up inside her, far past where the head had penetrated. 

Rhonda sighed. She felt the head back there again, tugging her asshole 
outward. With a slow, deliberate strength, Roy moved toward her again, his 
hand still working in her pussy. 

The combination of feelings made Rhonda forget that she wasn't going to 
enjoy any of this meeting. She rolled her ass in a lewd circle, inviting him 
to keep touching her clit. She liked the mounting sensations that flashed 
along her spine. Every touch on her clitty made her asshole seem even more 
sensuous. 

The cock went on and on. Rhonda felt the edge of Roy's fist pull away. The 
hard part's over, she thought. His cock's already most of the way in. 

The fullness in her ass kept increasing. Rhonda felt her rectum close down 
as the thickest part of the shaft slipped past. It felt like his cockhead 
was going to reach clear to her throat! 

Rhonda scarcely noticed when his hand left her pussy. She lifted herself up, 
leaning on her hands on the desk top. The long, thick mass of his cock was 
moving up against her spine. She straightened up, needing to feel that 
incredible, obscene penetration reach into her belly. 

Rhonda felt the tube of her ass guts stretching. She didn't like the pain, 
the deep, tearing sensation that ran from her rectum to the middle of her 
back. There was too much prick to fit into her ass! She grunted, pulling 
forward to escape the incredible depth of his prick stroke. 

Roy pulled back. This time, her chute was so full of cock that the emptiness 
behind his withdrawal felt like a vacuum cleaner was sucking out her guts. 

Rhonda wept. The feeling of the cock sliding out of her ass was like every 
heartbreak in the world. The solid emptiness inside her ass was terrible, a 
lack that had to be filled. Even the sliding against her rectum was almost 
too much for her. She clenched her asshole around him and moved back. 

Rhonda moved her ass back and forth on his prick while Roy held still. The 
tall man's knees were bent, between her legs. Rhonda put her thighs closer 
together, gripping his legs with hers. She rode on his cock, levering 
against his knees. The sides of the desk were now her only support. 

The vulgar sensation in her ass built up. With every rolling fuck-motion of 
her ass, the lips of her pussy dragged across the sides of her clitty. 
Rhonda sobbed, working her ass back and forth. 

Roy began to move against her. Now, as he plunged his cock deeper, Rhonda 
ignored the pain of the solid penetration. All she wanted was to feel that 
meaty bar of cock stuck clear to her breasts. She swiveled her hips, 
gritting her teeth at the sheer ecstatic feeling of her rectum sliding 
around on the cockshaft. 

The prick in her ass was getting even harder. Rhonda wanted to feel him 
going off. She recognized at last the sensuous connection between her 
asshole and her pussy, and she knew that his blasts of spunk would shove her 
over the edge of her come. For a brief second, she wondered what it would be 
like to come with a cock in her ass. 

The long, thick cock rammed into her. Rhonda gripped the edge of the desk 
like a drowning woman. She thrust her ass back at him. The heat of her ass 
and the heat of her pussy were like twin balls of flame in her crotch. The 
gushing flow of juice in her cunt made her crotch squish audibly every time 
she ground back against the pistoning mass of prick. She heard the lewd 
sucking when she rose away from Roy's cock. 

Rhonda bobbed back and forth frantically. The feelings were cresting inside 
her. She moved so hard, so fast, that the firm mounds of her tits bounced on 
her chest. She closed her eyes and moaned, "Come on, you, come on! I want 
it, I want it now, Roy! I want your cock to go off! God damn you, you better 
come! You better make me come good, you fucker! Roy, R-R-Roy! Fuck, Roy, 
FUCK ME! FUCK MEEEE!! ! " 

Rhonda gasped, struggling for air. Her cunt-walls spasmed in and out, juice 
gushing in huge spurts from her hole. She wrung at his cock with her rectum, 
milking at it as hard as she could. Every second, every jamming thrust that 
didn't send semen blasting into her hole was an agonizing lifetime of pain 
and pleasure. 

Rhonda didn't care about the split, bleeding skin at the top and bottom of 
her asshole, or about the tearing, rending sensation in her ass tube. All 
she wanted was to feel his cock lurch and spasm inside her. That would 
finally do it, finally connect her ready, tense cunt to her stretched, 
burning asshole. With grunts and curses of need, she bounced up and down on 
the impaling length of prick meat until her legs, her tits, her neck all 
ached. 

The bucking thrusts of the cock in her rectum slowed. Rhonda put all her 
will power into slowly rising off the prickmeat, feeling the deliciously 
obscene sucking in her guts. She rose clear to the top of his meat, her 
asshole quivering, until she felt him start to drive the big thing in again. 
With a whistling, ripping crash, Rhonda shoved her ass back down his prick 
and felt the first jet of come blast into her ass. 

It was like a bucketful of hot lava against the abused tissues of her ass. 
Rhonda screamed, shocked by the sheer power of Roy's blast. She thought her 
belly would swell up like a balloon and burst as the second shot hit. 

Every spew of his seed jolted Rhonda from her toes to her brain. She flung 
herself against him, her asscheeks hitting his belly with a slap. Something 
covered her mouth as she screamed, the earthshaking pulses of her come 
flooding through her crotch at last. 

The jets of spunk and the contractions in her ass and cunt seemed to go on 
forever. Rhonda kept jerking up and down on his cock like a crazy woman, 
biting at the hand over her mouth, her tits bouncing. She kicked her feet 
up, the sheer power of her come-pulses knocking them both onto the floor. 
The impact drove the cock full length into her ass, and Rhonda fell apart. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Dinner that evening was quite strained at the Tracht house. Martin praised 
the food, and Rhonda replied, but that was all. After, Rhonda sat across the 
living room writing inanities to her mother while Martin read stock reports. 

Rhonda's mind kept wandering. Her rectum still felt strained, as if she 
couldn't quite control it. She was angry with Martin for having involved her 
in the buggery, but she was angrier with herself. She held her pen just 
above the stationery. 

I wonder if Martin would do that to me? Rhonda looked down at the paper, her 
ears reddening. Not tonight, of course . . . Tm too sore. How would I ask 
him? 

I never did see what Roy was built like. Probably just as well. Martin's 
plenty for me . . . but. . . . 

Oh, knock it off, Rhonda. You're a married woman, with a good husband and a 
good life. Just be satisfied with what you've got. 

Rhonda looked over at her husband. Martin was watching her, but he went back 
to his reports when she caught his eye. 

I wonder if he learned anything new today. Rhonda's carefully prepared 
dinner had settled in an indigestible lump in her belly. She shielded her 
eyes from the little lamp. A vague pain above her left brow was working its 
way back toward her ear. 

She looked up when Martin cleared his throat. "Yes, hon?" Rhonda said. 

"Uh, nothing, Rhonda." He looked worried and uncomfortable. 

"Oh." Rhonda stared at the letter for a few more seconds, then turned it 
face down and capped her pen. "Well, I think I'll go to bed." She stood up, 
carefully replacing the antique chair under the escritoire. Slowly, with 
deliberate motions, she moved toward the master bedroom. 

"I'll be in in a little while," Martin said. He turned a page and studied 
it, gnawing on his index finger. 

Rhonda knew that Martin was too worried about what both of them had done 
that day to be able to communicate with her. That made it worse. She felt 
that she could have told Martin she was dying of terminal jet lag after 
being gang-raped by the whole Mediterranean Fleet, and he'd say "Uh-huh," 
and hide in his reports. Depressed and irritable, she went into the bedroom 
and prepared for bed. 

She touched her rectum gently. There apparently had been no real damage, 
despite the loose, stretched-out feeling that still persisted. There was a 
little sting at the very top edge. Rhonda decided to let it go. She slipped 
into a long pale-green negligee and turned off the light. Rhonda wasn't 
sleepy, but there was no point in waiting up for Martin. She lay curled up 
on her left side and worried about their marriage. 

With her eyes closed in the lonely bed, Rhonda found it very easy to wonder 
what Martin had done and with whom that afternoon. Images of her husband 
cavorting in impossibly athletic positions with every other woman in 
Verguenzo Hills filled her mind. She rolled onto her stomach, all but 
feeling the ramrodding of Roy's prick in her ass again. 

Couples all through Verguenzo Hills sat silent in their spacious homes that 
night, or ranted and railed at each other. None of them mentioned the real 
reasons for the arguments . . . that each spouse had wanted to keep an eye 
on the other during the "charity work". The fights and sulks were much more 
conventional . . . whose fault it was that Billy dunked his fresh-frozen 
asparagus spears in his sister's milk . . . why the joint checkbook was out 
of balance . . . whether one partner spent too much or made too little or 
broke an anniversary promise. The only oddity tonight was that the 
disagreements were unanimous instead of scattered here and there among the 
carefully engineered community. 

There were, of course, a few spontaneous outbreaks of peace among the 
clubmen and their wives; in fact in two houses, the fight never got started. 
Reverend Randy Cotton and his lovely, lissome six-foot-tall wife, Beverly, 
weren't sulking, but they almost never did. Greg and Bonnie Fredericks 
weren't fighting, either, though they often did. 

Greg was used to Bonnie lusting after every swinging dick in Verguenzo 
Hills. It had been going on long enough that he'd learned to ignore any 
gardener indiscreet enough to act nervous in his presence. Not that he 
didn't find plenty to squabble about when the spirit moved him-the children, 
the dents in the station wagon, the cleaning woman nipping his 
hundred-year-old cognac. No, it wasn't from charity that Greg and Bonnie 
didn't fight that night. Greg wasn't home. 

The dentist was just leaving Charity's. Charity was the new chairside 
assistant he'd hired, and she made it clear that he was more than welcome to 
come by. She was twenty-two, with a model's exotic face and long blonde 
hair, lean as a whip, and smarter than any man she'd ever worked for. This 
first night, she was also smart enough not to throw herself all over the 
pudgy little dentist. She rubbed his neck and waited for him to talk, 
staying as sweet when he left without screwing her as she'd been when he 
knocked on the door. 

"Thanks for the drink, love," Greg had said. "Gawd, if you knew what it 
means to be able to sit down for an hour without some fucking little brat 
hanging all over you! Really, Charity, I can't tell you how much I 
appreciate a chance to unwind!" 

Charity smiled and nodded. She held the door for him, her left hand gently 
touching the side of his cheek as Greg got into his Porsche for the drive to 
Roy Shores' apartment. "Take care, Doctor," she whispered, closing the door. 

"I'll see you tomorrow." I hope this one isn't all talk, Charity thought. 
I'd love to get a piece of that school ground deal. 

Rhonda woke up with all the repressed tension of the night before gone. She 
sat up, her hair tousled. When she saw her negligee lying in a crumpled heap 
on the floor, she remembered what had started out as a dream-the hurried, 
desperate insertion, the rapid, almost harsh movements, and the shuddering 
jack-hammer beats of her come. Rhonda stretched luxuriously, her lovely 
breasts flattening as she raised her arms over her head. She grabbed a robe 
and walked out to the kitchen. 

Martin was sipping coffee and looking out the window. He turned with a 
start. "Oh! Good morning, honey," he said. "How are you?" 

Rhonda walked over to him, her fingers tracing the three distinct fingernail 
marks on his cheek. "Oohh! I'm sorry, Marty. It doesn't still hurt, does 
it?" 

"Don't worry, Rhonda," Martin said, running the flat of his hand over the 
delectable curve of her ass-cheek. "I shaved around them." Martin kissed his 
wife, then got up to pour her coffee. 

"Won't your broker say something? I'd be kind of embarrassed, honey." Rhonda 
took the cup and rummaged in the refrigerator. 

"Broker?" Martin asked. Quickly, "I'd get a new broker. Besides, I doubt I'm 
the only investor in Verguenzo Hills with an occasional fresh scratch on his 
face . . . or elsewhere." 

Rhonda froze. She turned slowly around to look at him, then snapped back to 
her breakfast. "Want anything?" she asked, her lips tight. 

"Umm, I have to be going," Martin said. "New York's been open for hours." He 
kissed the back of her neck and hurried toward the front door. "Ahh, there 
might be another invitation in the mail today. You can ignore it if you 
want." He juggled his attache case briefly and stepped out the door. 

Rhonda broke the egg yolks with a savage jab of her spatula. "If you'd stay 
home for once, you sonofabitch," she muttered. She turned off the stove and 
went back to bed. 

This whole thing is getting crazy! Why am I putting myself out for some 
bunch of compulsive baby-makers? I don't give any more of a damn what 
happens to the little cretins than their parents do! 

How can I get Marty to see that his Rotary scheme just isn't that important? 
What's wrong with me? I used to be able to get ideas across to him. Now I 
feel like some dumb . . . cunt! 

Well, shit fuck piss! Maybe Mother and Dad were right. I shouldn't have 
married someone with no family, no past that anyone can locate. 

No, I shouldn't start thinking like that. I have to trust my own judgment. 
Maybe keeping house is rotting my brain . . . all that Lysol and Aerowax and 
junk. The labels say not to breathe the vapors. That must be what cleaning 
women are for. 

Racist! I never thought like that in my whole life! Am I losing my grip 
completely? Rhonda grabbed the telephone book from the drawer in the 
nightstand. I need help! I need a goddamn psychiatrist before I go bananas! 

Psychiatrists . . . see Physicians and Surgeons, M.D. "What the hell is with 
this telephone company?" Rhonda muttered, paging through the book. "Why 
don't they just list shrinks?" 

She ran her finger down the right-hand edge of the columns, looking first 
for the Verguenzo Hills prefix, then back to the specialties. There were 
plenty of urologists, proctologists, and pediatricians in the area. Rhonda 
watched her finger trembling, as if it were some mechanical device barely 
under her control. "Babies, assholes and pricks . . . is that all they think 
lives here?" She laughed breathlessly. Stop it right now, Rhonda! she told 
herself. 

Here he is . . . Wayne Sivartz, M.D. . . . Psychiatry. Rhonda dialed the 
phone, all but dropping the handset. The address was not far from the 
business/professional section of VH. 

Rhonda took big, heaving breaths while the phone rang. 

"Verguenzo Psychiatric Institute," a female voice answered. 

Rhonda found herself babbling out her name and begging for an appointment. 
The girl on the other end asked her to hold on while she checked on the 
doctor's schedule. Rhonda picked nervously at her toes, her robe falling 
open, while she waited. 

"Mrs. Tracht? The doctor does have an hour open today. Could you be here at 
eleven-thirty? Doctor likes to see new patients as soon as possible." 

"Y-yes, I can be there. Do you need any more information ? " Rhonda asked. 

"Thank you, but the doctor likes to take care of that himself. We'll see you 
at eleven-thirty." The receptionist hung up without waiting for a second 
confirmation. 

The curative power of the profession was remarkable. Rhonda felt calmer 
already as the panic of her strange thoughts receded. She decided to prepare 
herself completely for the session. The two hours she had before leaving the 
house would be just enough. 

After a long, luxurious bath and careful attention to her makeup, Rhonda 
looked at herself in the mirror. Before she pulled her bikini panties up 
over her stockings and garter belt, she surveyed the shapely image of her 
body. 

Rhonda felt good about looking at herself. She'd not started to age at all . 
. . her features looked mature, but she could have been any age from fifteen 
to forty. She smoothed her hands from the outer sides of her breasts, down 
past her slender waist, and over the trim, sensual curve of her hips. She 
half-turned to examine herself in profile. 

Yes, I made the right decision. There's nothing wrong with me that I can see 
. . . my hair and face don't look like a lunatic's. My figure's all right. 
It must be in my head. I hope Dr. Swartz can find out what's wrong without 
too much time. I know it takes years to be cured sometimes . . . I don't 
mind that. I'd just like to know if I'm turning into some kind of closet 
psychotic. Rhonda stepped into her panties, then picked her bra off the 
hanger. She checked her watch and began to hurry. 

By the time she was fashionably garbed in an expensive beige suit, Rhonda 
had barely enough time to dash out to the station wagon and hurry to Dr. 
Swartz' office. She scooped the mail off the tiles in the entryway. 

That invitation . . . damn! Well, it can't be as important as my sanity! 
Rhonda dumped the stack of envelopes on the hall table and rushed to the 
car. 

The office was a surprise to Rhonda. She'd never thought of anything except 
a desk, a chair, and a couch in connection with a psychiatrist . . . there 
was a waiting room, with a section for the receptionist, and a long hall 
going back from the door. Rhonda looked around, then announced herself. The 
clock behind the receptionist said she was three minutes early. 

A medium-sized man with curly brown hair and a big mustache appeared behind 
the receptionist. He wore a dark-green suit, and some of the red filling 
from his jelly doughnut clung to the corner of his cookie-duster. He leaned 
over the receptionist's shoulder and peered at the appointment book, biting 
into the doughnut again. He washed it down with coffee from a Styrofoam cup 
and dabbed at his mustache. "Mrs. Tracht? I'm Doctor Swartz. I'm glad to see 
you're on time. That's always a good sign." 

A strange impulse to run seized Rhonda. She stood up, looking toward the 
door. Wayne Swartz reached for her hand to shake her hand. "Funny, you don't 
look Viennese," Rhonda blurted. 

The headshrinker looked at her, tilting his head curiously. "And you don't 
look crazy." He gestured toward his office, and Rhonda preceded him down the 
long, dimly lit hall. 

"I hadn't expected to see you so soon," the doctor confided. "I always try 
to keep an hour or two open during the day, but to have you call at nine 
sharp . . . " 

Rhonda felt her grip slipping. She hadn't recalled saying anything about 
psychotherapy to anyone, not even Martin. "I-uh, I just thought we should 
get started as soon as possible," she stammered, trying to remember exactly 
what she had said to the girl on the phone. 

The doctor opened the door to the inner sanctum. "That's a very, very 
favorable sign," he said. "Just take a seat and we'll discuss what you 
expect from this relationship, and I'll tell you what I expect. This sort of 
thing is always better when both parties begin on a contractual basis." He 
poised himself on the corner of the desk, one hip casually hung across the 
cluttered wood. 

Rhonda looked around the room. Skylights brightened the air, shining down on 
plants and row upon row of heavy-bound books. The furniture was very 
expensive, scattered aimlessly around. The style was what Rhonda thought of 
as Modern Hideous. Apparently someone came in daily to dust and brush cookie 
crumbs out of the corners and left everything else wherever Dr. Swartz had 
strewn it. 

Rhonda liked the idea of defining the goals of her therapy before starting. 
She was looking around, trying to think of just where to start, when she saw 
the reason for the open appointment hour. On the wall above the doctor's 
desk was a service plaque from the Verguenzo Hills Rotary Club! 

Rhonda stared up at the plaque. She didn't move for ten seconds. When she 
could finally tear her eyes away from the wall to look at Dr. Swartz again, 
he was already removing his necktie. 

Rhonda scooted back in the big armchair. "I-I-" She dragged one foot up onto 
the seat, her skirt riding up past the dark band of her stocking top. 

"What is it, Rhonda?" the doctor asked. "Are you having trouble dealing with 
this situation?" He removed his shoes, placing one on top of the other, 
heel-to-toe. They looked like they were in an invisible shoebox at the side 
of his desk. 

No! I refuse to believe this is happening to me, Rhonda thought. Is this 
psychiatric idiot actually going to take advantage of me ? I came here as a 
goddamn patient, not as a raffle prize! She tried a new tack. "What do you 
think about the school board, Doctor Swartz?" 

The shrink went on taking his clothes off. He teetered on one foot, 
disentangling his slacks from his ankle. "I'm apolitical. I don't care one 
way or the other." 

"Then why aren't you supporting them? Why is everyone in the Rotary in on 
this fund-raising for the recall?" Rhonda stayed up on the back of the 
chair, her feet gathered under her. Maybe she would be able to talk her way 
out of screwing the psychiatrist. 

"I get more action this way. For the price of the tickets, it's a helluva 
lot cheaper than going into town for a massage," he confided. "Not that some 
psychiatric professionals don't go to bed with their patients . . . this is 
safer. I don't want to get my license yanked." He stood naked beside his 
desk. "Well, come on, Rhonda. Take off your clothes!" 

"But what about your wife? Don't you care how she feels ? " Rhonda was 
beginning to wonder about the doctor's mental condition. She started to take 
off her stylish little jacket. No! That's what he expects you to do! You 
should leave! 

"We're married," he explained. "It's not like we were lovers! If Suzanne has 
her way, I might have to wait for the Tricentennial before we make love 
again." He opened the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out something 
bright pink. "She's not very empathic." He tossed the pink wad to Rhonda. 
"Put these on, please." 

Rhonda caught the pink mess reflexively. It unfolded in her hand. She 
dropped the cutout pink latex suit in disgust. "No! God, just touching it 
gives me the creeps! What kind of nut are you, Doctor Swartz?" 

The psychiatrist's cock was rising in little jerks. He picked the rubber 
suit up and handed it to her again. "Put it on! Goddammit, I only bought one 
ticket this week, and I want to get my money's worth!" He put his hands on 
his hips and stared at Rhonda, his youthful forehead furrowed in annoyance. 

"To hell with you! I don't have to," Rhonda said, but she held on to the 
warm, stretchy garment. She looked at it more closely. 

It had cutouts for her nipples and a circle for her neck in the top half. 
The bottom half was like opaque pantyhose with the crotch missing. It looked 
as if it would go almost up to her ribs if she snugged it firmly into place. 
Her nipples tingled when Rhonda imagined having only the tips of her breasts 
exposed. 

"The whole club made a deal," Wayne Swartz said. "I don't know who's with my 
wife, but I put her name in the hat anyway. Don't tell me you're going to go 
back on your husband's word, Rhonda." 

"Martin said I didn't have to do this today if I didn't want to," Rhonda 
replied. She rubbed the gummy latex between her thumb and forefinger as she 
spoke. It warmed at her touch, just as her pussy began to warm to the 
texture of the rubber suit. 

Wayne Swartz moved toward his desk again. "I'm a doctor. I could tranquilize 
you so you couldn't resist." His eyes brightened at the thought. He put his 
hand on another drawer. His prick was fully erect now. 

"You wouldn't!" Rhonda looked at him. The psychiatrist slid the drawer open 
and pulled out a vial of clear liquid. 

"How much do you weigh?" Wayne asked, uncapping a syringe. He stuck the 
point into the bottle and began to draw the solution into the barrel of the 
hypodermic. "I'd guess about sixty kilos." 

"No! One-nineteen," Rhonda protested. She put the suit across the arm of the 
chair and began to take off her jacket. "Put that away. I hate needles!" 

The psychiatrist set the bottle down on its side, the needle still piercing 
the plastic top. He squeezed the shaft of his cock as he watched Rhonda 
strip. His dickhead turned a deep, beetlike red. 

Rhonda took off her suit in a frantic rush. The pale cashmere top slipped 
off, barely ruffling her short hair, showing the tasty mounds of her breasts 
above the half-cup bra. She stood in front of the chair to skin her skirt 
down. 

The psychiatrist stood watching her, his hand constantly moving on his 
prick. Rhonda caught glimpses of the engorged head, dripping thick, 
pearl-white lube from the widening slit in the glans. She wondered where 
this man would put his prick, and her pussy leaked juice over the crotch of 
her panties. She looked hopefully at Wayne Swartz. 

"Take everything off," he told her. The mental-health professional went back 
behind his desk and leaned back in his big leather chair. 

Rhonda felt her ears burning. It seemed much worse than disrobing along with 
Roy Shores had . . . this time she had to face the man, who surveyed her 
body like the prize morsel it was. 

Reluctantly, Rhonda started by unhooking her stockings and rolling them 
down. The smooth whisper of the nylon seemed to travel right up her legs to 
her pussy. The musky fluid from her vagina wicked along her panties, leaving 
a damp stripe that followed the sensuous crease between her pussylips 
perfectly. 

Rhonda could feel his eyes on the curve of her ass-cheek when she put her 
foot on the seat of the chair. The tops of her breasts were warming, the 
creamy skin turning pinker. The top rim of her aureoles showed over the 
cups. The coral circles crinkled as the buttons on the ends stiffened. She 
laid her hose across the arm of the chair. 

Rhonda slipped out of her bra next. The tips of her nipples were nearly an 
inch long. The circles around each one tightened and relaxed, pushing the 
points forward and back. 

The eyes on her body became less troublesome. Rhonda started moving slower, 
trying to tempt the doctor. She was extremely conscious of the sweet, heavy 
weight of her bosom as she bent over to slide her panties off. A little 
tail-like puff of her cunt-hair showed behind as she bent over, barely 
masking the blushing red around her vagina. Rhonda stepped out of the 
panties slowly, giving Wayne short, tempting flashes of her nipples and the 
sides of her breasts. She kept her back turned as she undid the garter belt. 

Rhonda turned slowly toward him, a lewd smile flickering around the corners 
of her lips. Wayne was breathing heavily. She couldn't see his prick from 
where she stood, but his right arm was flexing as if he stroked it faster 
and faster. 

She looked at the rubber outfit. It seemed smaller every time she saw it. 
Rhonda wondered if it would fit her. She picked up the bottom half. 

"No-the top first," Wayne Swartz said, swallowing as if his mouth were dry. 
He put both hands on his desk. He gripped the edge to keep from jacking his 
prick while Rhonda put on the costume. 

She gathered up the latex top. The inside was dusted with a talc-like 
powder. Rhonda rubbed her thumbs across it. Standing with her feet spread, 
she gathered the garment and ducked into it. 

Her head popped through the opening easily. The powder smelled like 
ground-up rubber. Rhonda managed to force her arms through the sleeves, then 
she tried to pull the torso down. 

It was difficult. The stretchy latex resisted her. It wouldn't slide on her 
skin, in spite of the French chalk dusted all over it. Rhonda pulled the 
bottom edge out with both hands to get it past her breasts. It took dozen of 
quick tugs and adjustments to get it settled, but even then the holes 
weren't centered over her nipples. They were inches higher. 

Rhonda pinched the rubber at the sides of her tits and pulled the holes into 
place. The recoil of the fabric pressed on the underside of her nipples, 
forcing the tips up and through like two fat grapes. She tugged the hem down 
to her hips. 

The little nipple holes were reinforced with heavier rubber. The pressure 
all over her breasts forced Rhonda's tits toward the holes, but only the 
points of her nipples could fit through. The sensitive little spikes 
throbbed and swelled bigger than Rhonda had ever seen them. 

"Now the pants," Wayne said, his knuckles turning white on the desk. Rhonda 
looked at them, then sat on the edge of her chair. She rolled the legs 
together like pantyhose, noticing that there were feet, like in a child's 
pajamas, at the end of the legs. Rhonda rolled them onto her feet, then up 
her legs. 

It was beginning to excite her. The tight-stretched rubber glistened, 
reflecting the brightness from the skylights. Rhonda noticed how the panty 
slimmed and emphasized her shapely legs. Every muscle in her body stood out 
like a statue's. Even the soft, firm shapes of her abdomen and arms looked 
sculpted under the glossy pink rubber. 

Rhonda pulled the panty up her thighs, struggling to get the narrow 
waistband over her hips. The slit in the crotch allowed only the central 
bulge of her plump cunt-mound to show, with a tiny extension behind for the 
base of her ass cleft. Rhonda brought the waist up over the bottom of the 
shirt section and let it cling to her middle. 

She stood for a second in front of the psychiatrist, the heat in her pussy 
beginning to spread through the rest of her body. Rhonda eased some of her 
cuntal fringe out through the slit. The rubber had trapped a few dark curls. 
They tugged painfully at her labia. 

The lips of her cunt were puffing up like her nipples had. Rhonda was 
beginning to sweat, but only her head, hands, nipples and pussy could let 
the fluid off into the air. The oven-like feeling in the rubber suit made 
her even hotter. Rhonda felt her wavy hair gluing itself to her forehead. 

Wayne stood up and moved toward her. Rhonda said, "Well? Is that all?" 

The psychiatrist shook his head. His prick bobbed up and down as he tensed 
his abdominal muscles. He took Rhonda by the shoulder and turned her to face 
a mirror among the plants. 

He ran his hand down her back, squeezing the round firmness of her buttocks 
even tighter. 

The sight hit Rhonda like a fist. She felt the swampy warmth in her pussy 
fan into blazing heat. She looked slippery as a seal in the glossy rubber 
suit, and fanatically sexy. Every curve and hollow of her figure was 
accented by the tight compression of the rubber, with shadows and highlights 
making her look like a sleek wet-dream come to life. She ran her hands over 
her hips and belly. 

The rubber wasn't quite as slippery on the outside as it was on the inside. 
Rhonda's skin felt sensuously damp all over, except for the throbbing heat 
of her nipples and her cunt. When the rubber stuck slightly to her fingers, 
then skidded off, the rippling vibrations on her skin quivered clear to the 
center of her body. The steamy heat inside the suit made her almost too hot 
to enjoy the lewd bubbling of juices in her pussy. 

Wayne turned her around again. He put his arms around her and pulled the 
rubber-clad Rhonda close to him. His mouth attached to hers as if they were 
welded together, his tongue invading wetly. 

The rubber increased the impact of every touch. Rhonda felt the barrier 
between her belly and his prick, but the heat and shape of the cockhead came 
through the second skin like magic. It made her want to really touch the 
pulsing shaft, absorb it into her slick, sensuous flesh in any way she 
could. 

The psychiatrist grabbed her shoulders and thrust her away. He looked at the 
sumptuous feast of slick, sweaty femininity before his eyes. Rhonda watched 
saliva gather in the corner of his mouth. His expression got glassy. 

"Get over there," Wayne said, pointing to a straight-backed chair. He pushed 
her roughly across the office. 

Rhonda stumbled, catching herself just before she fell across the chair. The 
rubber suit tugged at her skin. She felt the steamy puddles of sweat inside 
it forming under her arms, along her legs, and beneath her feet. Something 
about the hot, wet suit and the psychiatrist's rough manner made her feel as 
if she wanted him to abuse her. Rhonda grabbed the back of the chair and 
bent over, presenting her ass and the base of her pussy to him. 

Dr. Swartz struck her upraised buttocks with the flat of his hand. Both 
mounds quivered, the harsh smack traveling along the rubber to her breasts 
and thighs. Rhonda gasped. 

The sensation was threatening to overwhelm her already. Every cell of her 
skin seemed to be a fresh, unused erotic organ. The all-enfolding latex suit 
pressed new areas every time she moved. The sensuous variations in pressure 
and the complete, prison-like tightness of the rubber combined to arouse 
Rhonda faster than she'd thought possible. Just for an instant, she wished 
that her pussy was shut up in the strict grip, too. 

Rhonda realized that she had to have her cunt-mound free of the rubber. The 
juicy gushes of fluid from her cuntal zone would have drowned her whole 
crotch with simmering sensation if the sticky mess couldn't evaporate. The 
overflow from her pussy mouth was coating the insides of her thighs with 
heavy-scented dew. Trails of cunt juice trickled clear to her knees, 
chilling Rhonda's skin even through the rubber. 

The psychiatrist ran his hand over the puffy bulge of her cunt. Rhonda 
moaned at the touch. When he squeezed her cuntlips together, it made the 
rubber feel even tighter. Rhonda had sweat soaking her hair flat to her 
scalp now. She felt as if she were in an oven, an oven lit by the heat of 
her loins. 

Wayne Swartz pulled a long, thin stick from the clutter of his office. 
Rhonda didn't see the wooden slat until after he hit her across the ass with 
it. 

The sting flashed across her asscheeks like lightning. Rhonda could have 
sworn he'd hit her with a paddle the size of a tennis racket, but when she 
turned, it was only a tiny dowel. 

"Oww! What are you doing?" Rhonda said, putting her hands over her ass. 

Wayne didn't answer, except to slash the little cane across her knuckles. 
Rhonda jerked her hands away. "Goddammit, Doctor!" she began. 

The psychiatrist lashed a stinging stripe across the backs of her knees, 
then quickly beat on the tight-sheathed roundness of her thighs. Rhonda 
squealed, the rubber making the impacts seem to strike from every side. Each 
stroke set up more tension in the steaming-hot garment, abrading her nerves 
and forcing sweat from Rhonda's pores. 

"Shut up! Think about every time you hurt someone! Don't you deserve this, 
cunt?" the doctor snapped. He pulled his arm back past his shoulder and 
delivered a whistling blow right down the center of her ass-cleft. 

"Unngghhhh!" Rhonda grunted. She knew the receptionist was too far away to 
hear her if she screamed. The last swat hadn't hurt as much as the others, 
but the location threatened the tender gash of her pussy. She grunted more 
from fear than pain. 

The rubber suit was stretched so tight across her ass that it barely touched 
the sensitive trough between her cheeks. It had been the noise and the 
knowledge that he could slash the stick across her cunt-mound that had made 
Rhonda exclaim . . . and the ripple that the rubber set up in her asscheeks. 

Each time the doctor flailed at Rhonda, the rubber relayed the sting across 
her skin. The feeling radiated outward in a circle, hurting in the center, 
then less and less as the impact spread. By the time the skin a few inches 
away felt it, it was much more erotic than painful. 

"Turn around," Wayne Swartz ordered. Rhonda slowly straightened to face him. 

His cock looked like it would start shooting any second. The thick, blunt 
member trembled, jerking spastically as he wound up for another blow with 
the stick. Rhonda flinched, covering her exposed cunt-mound with both hands. 

The stick flashed across the tops of her tits. Rhonda's mouth opened in a 
grimace of shocked lewdness. The reinforced edges of the nipple-holes cut 
into her rock-hard nipples. The tortured buds sent white-hot lances of lusty 
need down to her cunt. 

"Yes! You fucking rotten rich cunts love it, don't you?" Wayne said, 
slashing the limber little stick across Rhonda's belly. The cane sounded 
like a whip cracking on the smooth, flat rubber. 

Rhonda barely felt it. There was enough protection in the rubber suit that 
she could take his beating for hours. The only reaction her body had, 
besides flinching at the loud whip-cracks of sound, was more steamy arousal. 

She was swimming in her own sweat inside the suit. The chalky powder was 
totally soaked now, and the entire inner surface of her thighs was coated 
with a greasy smear of cunt juice. 

Rhonda smelled her own pussy-scent filling the room. It added to the musty, 
half-bitter aroma of the doctor's cock and balls. 

Rhonda noticed that he was sweating, too. Rivulets of shining liquid coated 
his sides. Wayne's lips were wet with bubbles of spit as he whacked the 
stick across her belly, the tops of her tits, the smooth pillars of her 
thighs. He carefully avoided striking her nipples and the fluffy, moist 
curls over her naked cunt. 

Wayne beat at her until Rhonda thought his arm would fall off. His curly 
hair was getting wet. His chest rose and fell like a marathon runner's. She 
turned from side to side in a sensuous swaying motion, exposing more of her 
rubber-clad body to the stick. Rhonda found herself actually enjoying the 
whipping. 

Wayne muttered under his breath as he flailed away at her. Rhonda couldn't 
catch the words, but the frantic motions of his mouth and the frenzied look 
on his face made her lewd excitement increase. 

Within the hot, slippery wetness of the rubber suit, Rhonda felt like her 
moist cuntal flesh had somehow spread all over her body. She stopped looking 
at his hand and the stick. Rhonda concentrated on the bobbing shaft of his 
red-tipped prick and the swaying mass of his balls. 

With a shock, Rhonda realized that her pelvis was moving back and forth as 
if his prick were already lodged deep in her vagina. She invited more blows 
with the stick, thrusting her hips forward each time he swung at her. She 
leaned back, bracing her hands on the seat of the chair. Rhonda shoved her 
cunt at him. 

The psychiatrist's eyes went wide. He threw the stick onto the floor. With a 
lewd, low growl, he grabbed Rhonda, arching her back further. 

Like a nail driving into a pine plank, his prick found her pussy mouth. 
Rhonda gasped at the harsh power of the penetration. Without so much as a 
touch on her labia, the head of his cock rammed right into the wet, greasy 
tube of her cunt sleeve. His belly slapped against hers and he wrestled her 
to the floor. 

Rhonda's arms went around him immediately. Her palms skidded on the sweat on 
his back. She flared her nostrils to take in the sharp odor of his armpits 
and crotch. With a single motion, Rhonda slipped her hand from his shoulders 
to his asscheeks and pulled him all the way into her cunt. 

The man's cock battered into her, reaching up to her womb and beyond. Rhonda 
felt the flaming knot of excitement in her belly expand like a balloon. It 
filled her whole being instantly. 

There was absolutely no use in fighting him, even if Rhonda had wanted to. 
Wayne pounded his prick into her like a dog in rut, the sledgehammer blows 
of his pubic bone against her clit beating more heat into her crotch. 

Rhonda couldn't believe how quickly her cunt was reacting to the furious 
thrusts of his cock. Every man she'd known had started gently, getting her 
cunt thoroughly aroused before plunging his prick into her hole. Now Wayne's 
cock stabbed into her like a spear, jamming an inferno of lust into the soft 
tissues. The blazing heat of her cunt rebounded from the rubber that cased 
her so tightly and echoed on itself until Rhonda thought her body would 
literally melt under him. She opened her mouth to beg for something, god 
knew what. 

The psychiatrist jammed his lips against hers. His teeth assaulted her mouth 
like wild animals, gnawing and biting. His tongue raped into her mouth, 
stabbing in and out with the same furious rhythm as his cock. Rhonda felt 
herself pierced and brutalized at both ends of her spine, and she loved it! 

The thrusting, bucking, arching duel went on and on. Rhonda vaguely realized 
that her ass was rising clear off the floor when she hunched up at his 
descending piston of prick-she knew because of the incredible power of the 
fuck-stroke that drove her ass back to the carpet. 

Rhonda's nipples were raw from the feverish scraping of his chest against 
them. The sweat from both bodies mingled there, burning into the tender 
surfaces. Rhonda thought her breasts would explode, bursting through the 
nipple-holes in a gusher of boiling female flesh. 

The fantastic swamp in her cunt was fighting back now, gripping the doctor's 
prick like a vise. Rhonda clamped down, not sure if she wanted to slow his 
ramming strokes or not. With every deep, hard jab of his prick, the balloon 
of feeling in her guts expanded further. It was so big Rhonda could have 
floated across the country on it. 

She swam in the rubber suit. Rhonda heard her cunt squishing, the river of 
pussy juice squirting out like a gushing oil well. The rubber was like the 
walls of an oven clinging to her, fueled by the fantastic heat of her skin. 
Rhonda's head was swimming with the heat that filled her body. She couldn't 
focus her eyes. 

Wayne humped harder on top of her. When their bellies slapped together, it 
sounded like continuous thunderclaps. He pulled out until his cockhead 
started to slip out of the mouth of her cunthole, then flung himself back 
down. They were both so slippery that he could barely stay on top of Rhonda. 

She wrapped her hands around his shoulders, clinging for dear life. If his 
cock fell out of her cunt now, Rhonda would have died from frustration. She 
felt the cataclysm about to burst over her, about to tear her whole body to 
shreds. Rhonda wailed, losing her words in the sheer agony of delaying her 
orgasm. 

Wayne pulled back and held for an instant. 

Rhonda bore down to open her fevered cunt for him. She forced her knees 
wider, arching her back. The muscles of her belly readied themselves for his 
final thrusts. 

With a flashing curl quicker than the end of a whip, Rhonda flung her cunt 
up at his prick. The thick mass of man meat flew down, splitting her open 
like a bolt of lightning. Rhonda felt the shuddering spasm of his dickhead 
like an earthquake in her hole. 

With a splashing, sliding, swampy gush of come blasting against her womb, 
Rhonda let go completely. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. Her feet 
locked on the back of Wayne's knees. The incredible power of her first 
come-burst smashed her mind to splinters. 

It went on, higher, tighter, wilder. Rhonda felt it all, felt millions of 
sperms rushing through her cunt, felt the blood cells rushing in her 
pounding cunt, felt the whole room collapse on them. She laughed and 
screamed and let her body take over. 

The curling, whipping motions of her spine did a wonderful job. The 
automatic motions of her come milked more and more juice from the doctor's 
cock, wringing the thick fluid out until his balls were totally drained. 
Rhonda felt the pulsations of his cock slow, falter and stop, but her cunt 
flesh still moved around him. The heavy, limp weight of the psychiatrist's 
sweating hips tossed and rolled above her as Rhonda let her hips move on and 
on and on. Somewhere far away from the bottomless, quivering pit of her 
cunt, Wayne laid his head on her tight-cased tits and let Rhonda's come 
carry them both away. 

With the fading roll of her pelvis still holding the center of Rhonda's 
attention, she opened her eyes. Just above Wayne's head, she saw a flash of 
blue-white light. It wasn't important. All that mattered was the feeling in 
her loins and the virile weight of the man on her tits, belly and thighs. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Martin Tracht's first reaction was to knock the holy hell out of the 
minister's wife. He looked at the six feet of lissome, shapely woman and 
felt his wrath growing. His prick hung down, as useless to satisfy Beverly's 
starving flesh as a length of soggy rope. 

Naked or clothed, Beverly Cotton could have been the most lasciviously 
desirable woman in Verguenzo Hills. She always wore a slip or an undershirt 
to camouflage her long-pointed nipples; she couldn't stand the confinement 
of a bra. Her hips were wide, built to hold a man during the hardest, 
longest bouts of sexual fervor, and her long legs were perfect to lock 
around her lovers' hips. Her pussy hair grew in a narrow vertical stripe 
that showed the lush crease at the outsides of her labia. It was fine and 
curly, following the sensuous curve of her pussy mound like an aromatic 
shadow. 

But Martin couldn't get it up. Maybe being naked with her in the parsonage 
had something to do with it, but he doubted that. In his fifty years, he'd 
made love in stranger, more profane places with more than his share of other 
women. The trouble started when Beverly's sensuous, snakelike movements 
reminded him of his own wife. Martin had touched Mrs. Cotton's firm, 
high-set breasts and the beginning stiffness of his erection had fled. He 
had images of Rhonda opening her pussylips in front of a block-long line of 
his Rotary friends. 

Beverly turned around on the bed, her breast brushing across Martin's thigh. 
Her large, sympathetic brown eyes looked up at him. She took his flaccid 
penis in her hand and sucked the head into her mouth. 

Martin thought of Rhonda again. Beverly's technique was different, with more 
slow suction and less tongue work, but having a pretty brunette's face in 
his lap made him worry again what Rhonda was doing. He lifted Beverly's head 
from his lap and said, "Please don't. It won't do any good." 

Beverly sat up. She spread her knees and crossed her ankles. "What is it, 
Martin? Can I help?" She put her hand on his thigh. 

He hadn't felt so helpless since he "retired". "I don't think so, Bev. I 
guess my old sins are catching up with me." He let his face and torso sag. 
Martin suddenly looked his age. 

Beverly Cotton pulled him against her bosom. She stroked the side of his 
face. "It happens to everybody sometimes, darlin'. Whatever you did before 
has nothing to do with it." 

Martin put his arm around her silky-smooth back. "No, it's not that. I keep 
worrying about Rhonda. She seems to be under a lot of strain with this swap 
arrangement. I don't know what to do about her . . . I'm not worried about 
myself." He pulled back to look at her. "Believe it or not, just having her 
next to me makes my cock jump up like a flagpole." He put his head back down 
on Beverly's breasts. "There's no reason you should believe it." 

Beverly looked down at the limp curl of his cock. She would have loved to 
see it stiffen. "I do believe you, but what are these sins that are coming 
home to roost?" 

Martin tensed. "I quit my old line of work when I met Rhonda." He waited for 
another question, warily rigid against Beverly. 

"I'm sorry I asked," Beverly whispered, her fingertips floating delicately 
across Martin's skin. She felt the cautious tension flow out of him and went 
on. "Some times I'd rather not remember the things I've done. Randy left the 
priesthood because of me, when I was a student in the school where he 
taught. I had a false pregnancy and. . . . " She made a sour face. "I wanted 
to be a nun before that, a nursing sister. We didn't find out we are both 
sterile until after we were married." 

"Ahh, Bev," Martin said, moving upright to put his arms around her. The 
brittle good humor over the sadness in her voice affected him. He felt 
infinitely closer to her after hearing the fragment of her story. "I had no 
idea . . . " He kissed her perfumed shoulder. 

"Nobody but you and Rovin' Randy and our bishop knows," Beverly told him. 
She pulled back a few inches. "Now tell me more about why you're worried 
about Rhonda. Is she starting to spend more time by herself? Is she acting 
strangely?" 

Martin didn't want to let go of the curious closeness he felt for the 
minister's wife. The warm feeling had spread down to his groin. He pushed 
her back onto the floor of the storage room and covered her pussy mound with 
his hand. "Later," he said. 

Beverly reached down to his rising prick. She slipped her cool, soft hand 
across the head, feeling the virile tremble of rushing blood in the organ. 
"Yes, much later," she purred. Beverly pulled Martin on top of her. 

Rhonda put the vacuum cleaner back in the closet. The whole house was 
spotless, as it should be for a visit from Reverend Cotton. The spacious 
home looked like an advertisement from House Beautiful, with even the wooden 
sun decks swept clean. 

Rhonda was ready for the visit, too. Since her session with Dr. Swartz, 
she'd felt lewder and lewder. In the last two days, she'd attacked Martin's 
prick with increasing vigor morning and night. The only trace of shyness 
left in her was about asking him to slip his cock into her rectum. 

Now Rhonda was dressed to receive the minister. She'd showered and powdered 
her soft skin. Her makeup was immaculate, as was her demure little dress. 
Beneath the summery fabric, Rhonda had combed the hairs of her muff into 
airy clouds of pussy-scented curls. Her legs were bare as was every inch of 
her ivory skin under the dress. Without panties, Rhonda was conscious of 
every brushing motion of her thighs against her pussy hairs and the 
increasing dampness at the base of her slit. 

When the doorbell rang, Rhonda straightened her dress and checked herself in 
the hall mirror. She took a deep breath and opened the door. Reverend Randy 
Cotton stood there, smiling. He held a slim briefcase in his hand. 

"Hello, Reverend! How are you? Won't you please come in?" Rhonda said, 
holding the door wide. She stood just inside, waiting with a hospitable 
smile. 

"Thank you, Rhonda," the pastor said. He walked in, allowing the sleek, 
svelte woman to brush her breasts against his upper arm. He stood behind her 
as she closed the door and clicked the lock. His practiced eye immediately 
detected the absence of panty lines under her dress. His proper prick began 
to stir. 

"This is a lovely home," Randy told her. He looked around at the opulent 
furnishings, holding his black briefcase in both hands. 

"That's very nice of you, Reverend," Rhonda said. She gave a light-hearted 
little twirl that made her dress fly up around the tops of her thighs. "We 
like it here. Would you like to see the rest of the place?" 

"Call me Randy. After all, we aren't in church now . . . even clergymen like 
a little intimacy when they're relaxing," he said. 

Rhonda led him toward the long hallway that went to the master bedroom. She 
moved her ass provocatively, feeling Randy's eyes on her. Rhonda wished her 
heels were a little higher--she'd noticed Beverly Cotton's legs before, and 
they were even lovelier than her own. 

The minister stopped beside one of the side chairs in the hall. He ran his 
hand over the dark wood at the top, examining the back and cushion 
carefully. "Please tell me this isn't real," he said. "I've seen one like 
this in the de Young Museum, and I've coveted it since." 

Rhonda's face fell. This wasn't what she'd had in mind for her tour of the 
house. "Yes . . . it's the same one. My father lent it to them to complete 
the set." She stood watching him for five long seconds. 

Reverend Cotton patted the wood in farewell. "I'm sorry. The only Provincial 
I ever see is the parish elders." He put his arm around Rhonda's shoulder. 
"Shall we?" 

"Of course . . . Randy." Rhonda steered him toward the master suite. "You 
could leave your briefcase in the hall," she suggested. 

"Thanks, but I'd rather carry it," he told her, squeezing her arm slightly. 
Rhonda slithered out from under his arm and opened the door to the bedroom. 

She'd spent several agonizing minutes trying to decide if it would be too 
blatant to turn back the spread on the canopied bed. Reluctantly, Rhonda had 
left the pillows covered. Even so, her pussy tingled as the pastor looked at 
the sumptuous fullness of the huge bed. Rhonda sat carefully on the edge of 
the billowing spread and looked meaningfully at him. 

Randy Cotton looked around the big bedroom. Rhonda could almost see 
cash-register totals going off in his head as he surveyed the furnishings. 
She leaned back on her elbows, thrusting her breasts forward. "Well?" 

"Did your parents give you all of this beautiful furniture?" Randy asked. He 
stepped to the side of the big windows and pulled the drapes open. Bright 
sunlight filtered through the greenery outside, as if the garden were an 
extension of the room. 

"Not all of it. Marty bought some for me." Rhonda kicked one foot back and 
forth. "I used to love collecting, but my interests have changed lately." 

Randy Cotton turned toward her. He stared at her, the obvious lump in his 
trousers lengthening by the instant. Slowly and distinctly, as if his tongue 
were getting as thick as his cock, he said, "Would you . . . like to show me 
. . . the garden?" He snapped the latch of the sliding door without looking 
away from her. 

Rhonda stood up Her pussy suddenly felt as if it could encompass the whole 
room, like a moist, simmering cave descending over the house. She licked her 
lips and walked through the door. 

Randy Cotton followed her out into the garden. He took her wrist in one 
powerful hand and steered her toward an old, thick-limbed tree. With just 
the hint of a tug, he spun her into his arms and kissed her. 

Rhonda's loins melted into a puddle of thick, steamy need. She felt her 
cuntal thatch dripping with juice. Even in the flower-scented breeze, the 
aroma of her pussy floated into her nostrils. Rhonda devoured the pastor's 
mouth, sucking at his thrusting tongue as if it were a cock spearing into 
her mouth. Her knees got weak. She tried to pull him down to the grass. 

Randy wouldn't let her sink down. He dropped his briefcase. With slow, 
sensuous motions, he inched her dress up as his fingers caressed her 
buttocks. 

Rhonda broke away to stare at him in shocked lust. Her skirt was up around 
her waist, her asscheeks naked to the breeze. She rubbed the greasy stripe 
of her cuntal crease against the lump in his fly. 

Rhonda's breasts ached. They felt heavy, full of warmth and hunger. She 
hoped that he would strip her dress off completely. She slid her hand 
between their bodies, fondling his hard-on through the black trousers. "Yes, 
Randy, goddammit, yes!" she hissed. 

Randy let go of her ass. He backed away, then fell to his knees. He lifted 
the front of her skirt and rubbed his face against the damp heat of her 
pussy mound. 

Rhonda put her hands on the back of his head. She closed her eyes and let 
her head loll back, luxuriating in the sensuous preliminaries of the act. 
The nuzzling and soft lapping of her labia sent chilly tremors up her spine. 
Her nipples stood up, poking through the thin cloth of her dress like two 
blunt pencils. 

Randy fumbled in his briefcase, still burrowing against the sweet mound of 
her cunt. Rhonda heard the sounds and sensed the motions of his hands, but 
the virile face against her pussy was all that mattered. She kneaded his 
head harder, pressing her center against him. 

The minister stood up, letting her skirt fall down again. He had long, 
buckle-ended straps dangling from one hand. "Tie me to the tree," he said, 
his voice throaty. "Take me prisoner!" He dropped the straps and backed 
against the trunk. 

Rhonda stood stunned for an instant, then the image sent a wave of heat from 
her mind to her cunt. She grabbed the straps and attached one to each of his 
wrists. They were long enough to pass around the trunk and over two 
branches. She tied the ends behind him, out of reach. Now, if she could keep 
him from shooting off, she had all the cock she needed for as long as she 
needed it. He was her prisoner. 

Randy's eyes gleamed. His arms were up and back, leaving him helpless in 
front of Rhonda. He lifted his chin away from the starched collar and waited 
for her to begin. 

Rhonda looked at the package of virile manhood she'd trussed to the tree. 
That unmistakable bulge of thick cock still stood stiff in his crotch. Her 
fingers trembling with haste, she undid his belt, then his zipper. She 
reached into his fly. 

The rigid length of prick felt blazing hot. Rhonda wrapped her hand around 
the organ, pulling it out to stare at it. It was a cock like any other she'd 
seen, but it belonged to a bound pastor. She ran her thumbs up the shaft to 
the head and smeared the sticky drop of white fluid across the head. 

Randy pushed his hips toward her. Rhonda tugged his pants down to his 
ankles. She stood back to look at the lewd sight of the captured minister. 
Especially here in the open, sunlight slanting under the tree to shine on 
his prick, the picture made her pussy boil. 

Rhonda took off her dress slowly, swaying her hips to the lusty music in her 
head. She liked the way the pastor stared as she unbuttoned her bodice. 
Rhonda kept the cloth closed over her breasts until the last button was 
undone. 

Licking her lips suggestively, Rhonda opened the front of her dress. She 
kept her eyes on Randy's face. The obvious evidence of his arousal, the 
gleam in his eyes and the tongue that flicked across his lips, made her feel 
even hotter. There was nothing Rhonda loved more than seeing a male's 
reaction to her. It made her feel more sensuous, more abandoned. She let her 
breasts escape from the dress. 

The minister's eyes traveled across the smooth, ivory-white mounds. He 
followed the opening as it moved slowly down, exposing her navel and the top 
of her dark pussy fringe. His prick jerked further upright, the head 
swelling to the size of a plum. 

Rhonda let the dress fall open all the way. She stepped out of it, letting 
the summery cloth fold onto itself like a parachute on the grass. Dressed in 
only her high heels and the high heat of her lusty blush, Rhonda moved 
toward him. 

Slow and sensuous, waiting for the heat in her pussy to build further, 
Rhonda reached to touch his cock. She knew the minister was watching every 
move she made. She moved as erotically as she could. 

Rhonda sank to her knees, brushing the tips of her hard nipples across the 
end of his cock. The rubbery points sent a quick twinge of heat down into 
her belly each time she twisted her shoulders to flick them across his red 
glans. 

She didn't bother to watch his face. Rhonda could hear the panting gusts of 
his breath and feel the accelerating pulse in his cock. Even the odor of his 
balls increased as she aroused him. She concentrated on his prick, twining 
her little finger through the bush at the base of the hard wand while she 
held the shaft. 

The skin under the coarse, wiry hairs was slippery with sweat. Rhonda put 
one hand around her breast to guide the tip of her nipple up and down the 
pulsing blue line of his come tube. 

The feeling radiating from her pussy threatened to overwhelm her. Rhonda's 
pussylips were unfolding, the frilly inner strips puffing up. She spread her 
knees slightly, letting the breeze cool the overheated center of her cuntal 
crease. 

She had to move her whole torso to rub her nipple on his cock. Rhonda rose 
and fell, her body moving like a tongue slithering up and down an ice-cream 
bar. The hard, hot tip of her nipple skidded on his cockshaft, catching and 
releasing. Each juddering little bounce sent shivers through her entire 
breast, shivers that turned to wet heat in her crotch. 

Rhonda guided his cock downward. She rubbed her nipple around the spongy 
ridge of his glans, under the rim and back up across the slit. The smell of 
his cocklube rose to her nostrils. Rhonda pushed her breast against the top 
of his cockhead until the whole end was swallowed up in her titty. Releasing 
the shaft, she pressed her tit around his prickhead until her nipple ached 
from the lewd stimulation. With a low, tortured groan, Randy tried to pull 
away. 

Rhonda grabbed the root of his prick again and forced him to stab it against 
her breast again. She was beginning to sweat, and his glans slipped off to 
the side. Her nipples flashed a lusty shock, like a fat blue spark of static 
electricity, up and down her spine. Her hips jerked. 

Rhonda decided that this wouldn't do. She looked up at Randy, pulling her 
sumptuous tits away from his groin. She made a sensuous, inviting oval with 
her lips, rolling the flat of her tongue out as if she beckoned for his 
cock. 

Randy nodded, his ready prick even harder at the thought of having Rhonda's 
lovely face distorting around his cock. The minister tensed his belly and 
buttocks, readying his balls to spew cream into her mouth. 

Rhonda didn't start sucking his cock immediately. She touched the side, the 
edge of the head, the long lump that ran beneath his scrotum, her fingers 
dancing light as spider's legs. She kept herself under tight control as his 
cockhead swelled up. Her touches barely hit his skin, sometimes just 
compressing the charged air around his cock. With a sudden, swift motion, 
Rhonda cupped his sac in one hand. 

The minister's hips jerked as if he were thrusting his prick deep into a 
steaming cunt. Rhonda rolled the meaty balls in her palm for an instant. 
Another drop of thick stuff appeared in his come slit, and Rhonda let go of 
his manhood. 

"Don't stop, Rhonda! Oh, fuck, what are you doing?" Randy said, his voice 
cracking. His thighs knotted with tension as he tried to keep his come 
moving up from his balls. 

Rhonda loved seeing him strain. She put her hands over the puffy warmth of 
her pussy. "I don't want you to come now, Randy," she said. "I'm going to 
keep you here all day." She licked her lips and gazed lewdly at him, a 
smoldering hunger deep in her brown eyes. 

Randy sagged back against the tree trunk, taking his weight on his 
outstretched arms. "That's not part of the deal," he told her. "Dammit, 
Rhonda, I have other things to do today. The Sunday school committee is 
meeting in the parish hall, Bev has asked me to help her plan the pancake 
supper . . . " His voice faded off. The minister's prick wilted slightly. 

Rhonda didn't like that. She wanted that nice holy cock as stiff as possible 
for as long as possible. She stood up on tiptoe and pressed herself 
full-length against the minister. "Now, Reverend, be nice. One of your flock 
is in need of your . . . services. Why can't we stay here in the garden and 
. . . converse?" 

The warm bar of sacred prick stiffened slightly against her belly. Rhonda 
rubbed against it, slipping her hand under his black shirtfront. She toyed 
with the vertical line of hair on his belly, then found one little nipple. 
With the edge of her fingernail, she teased it into erection, enjoying the 
way the tiny bead puckered under her touch. "See? It's not so bad, is it?" 

Randy moved slightly in his bonds. He rolled his chest around, trying to get 
away from Rhonda's nipple-scratching nail. "Stop it," he whispered. "It 
tickles." 

Rhonda dragged her sharp fingernail down the middle of his chest. She felt 
the skin tear a little. Randy's muscles tightened further, and his cock 
resumed its proud, upright stance against her smooth belly. She slithered to 
the side, caressing the front of his thigh with the damp, curly hairs at the 
top of her pussy-mound. 

She was undeniably excited. Rhonda wondered if the stop-and-go fondling 
she'd done on his prick and balls would make him shoot off faster or slower. 
She opened her mouth carnivorously and sucked at his tongue. 

It felt wonderful, as wet and slippery as the steaming swamp between her 
thighs. Rhonda moved her head, rolling her mouth on his until their tongues 
slithered like seals playing in a stormy ocean. The reverend's thigh pressed 
harder against her pussy, and Rhonda moved her hips in a lascivious, 
juice-spreading rotation. 

The goo from the end of his cock smeared all over Rhonda's lower belly, 
rubbing sticky warmth into her skin. She felt her pussylips opening like a 
hothouse orchid on his thigh. Rhonda realized that she wanted that prick in 
her pussy now. 

With a slow, strained motion, she pulled her hips back, sliding her cuntal 
crease along the upraised top of his thigh. The motion peeled the little 
hood of pink flesh back from her clitty, and Rhonda gasped at the silky, 
shuddering cascade of feelings at the tip of the little button. 

Randy was several inches taller than Rhonda. She had to go on tiptoe to get 
the head of his prick against her pussy. She rubbed the glans up and down in 
the slick valley between her cuntlips, greasing the head with her own musky, 
lusty juice. Her whole love mound seemed like one big, hungry mouth. The 
sphincter at the mouth of her vagina worked open, they closed on air as she 
slithered on the minister's prick-knob. 

With his back to the tree, Randy's feet were higher than Rhonda's. She bit 
her lip, trying to bend his cock down far enough to fit it against her cunt 
mouth. A bubbling gusher of pussyjuice flooded down her thighs, chilling her 
skin as a breeze dried the thick, sweet nectar. 

Rhonda stood on his feet, reaching around behind her buttocks to steer the 
head of his cock toward her dripping vagina. It would barely move against 
her hole, catching against the furthest-back edge of her cunt muscle. She 
grunted, dragging herself up his body with one hand. 

Rhonda felt his cock go upright again, just beside her hole. She grabbed one 
branch of the tree, straining to pull herself higher. With a sideways motion 
of her hips, she centered his cockhead beneath her cunt mouth. Slow and 
careful, she let herself move down. 

Her cunt was so wet that his cockhead skidded back, the high ridge at the 
top grazing her asshole. The wet touch made all her sphincters clamp tight. 
Rhonda let go of his prick and put both hands on the branch. 

"Yes, that's it," Randy said, rolling his hips to line his prick up with her 
cunt. He thrust forward, then pulled back. Even though he was tied to the 
tree, he could move enough to excite Rhonda. 

Rhonda almost let go of the tree when she felt his prick stab at her clitty. 
The pressure against the little love-trigger started small, then bloomed in 
her belly like a mushroom cloud. Rhonda felt it moving like a wave that 
swelled up in her, filling her whole body, then leaving her flesh emptier 
than before. She rolled her pelvis forward, gasping when his glans touched 
the spike again. She wanted that prick in her cunt and she wanted it now. 
Even the time it would take to untie his arms would be too long. She pulled 
herself up, positioning her pussy mouth precisely, and let herself move 
slowly, sensuously, straight down onto the broad head of his prick. 

With a sigh of relief, Rhonda felt the helmet-shaped end of Randy's prick 
spread her inner labia. The ring of muscle at the mouth of her pussy opened 
hungrily. She let her arms go straight as he thrust up at her, and the whole 
length of his prick slipped into her cunt. 

With the position finally right, Rhonda sagged against him. The base of his 
cock put constant pressure on her clit, and her feet were inches off the 
ground. She stayed still, relishing the full penetration for a moment before 
she moved her pelvis. 

The virile fullness in her cunt was a relief after the struggle to get him 
in there. She looked at him, her eyes glazed with the sensual heat rising 
from her loins. 

Randy smiled back at her. Rhonda liked the lewd, happy look above the 
clerical collar nearly as much as she liked the cock imbedded in her pussy. 
She let go of the branch and put her hands on his shoulders. 

"Gawd, but that feels good," she whispered. "I love having a good hard prick 
inside me." Rhonda spread her knees, running the arches of her feet up and 
down his calves. 

The incredible lasciviousness of her pussy mouth spread through the rest of 
her body. 

Every inch of her skin seemed to wake up to the feeling" of his shirt, his 
hairy legs, the summery breeze on her naked skin. Rhonda held herself tight 
against him. 

The minister's legs were weakening under the lusty load of Rhonda's body. He 
couldn't reach around to support the woman with his arms; the only lift he 
could give was with his cock. Rhonda felt him begin a forward motion with 
his hips. 

"Yes, like that, Randy," she purred. With a sideways motion as slippery and 
smooth as oiled glass, she began to milk at his prick with her cuntal 
sleeve. 

Every move ground his pubic bone against her clitty. Rhonda sighed, feeling 
the slow rise of her lust. It was one of the nicest feelings she'd ever 
known, and it was hers to control. Even Randy's hardest thrusts were eased 
by her weight and the straps holding his arms to the tree. 

Rhonda lifted her feet, putting them up around the trunk behind him. She 
squeezed his hips between her thighs, levering her ass from side to side. 
His prick stirred opposite to her sensuous motions, moving the hungry flesh 
inside her around like a giant tongue probing a bowl of pudding. 

Rhonda leaned back, holding onto his shoulders. Her tits were free of his 
shirt now, and she looked down between their bodies to where their loins 
were welded together. 

The sight amplified the combined clit-cunt sensations that shivered up and 
down her spine. The thick, coarse hairs of his cock bush were merged with 
the thinner, wetter hairs of her pussy. Every time Rhonda rocked her hips 
from one side to the other, she saw the soft, firm pad of her love mound 
move to fill any gap between them. At the edges of her vision, her nipples 
stood out like dark-pink pebbles, hard and sensitive. Tightening her 
asscheeks, Rhonda rolled her pelvis forward. 

If she strained hard in the motion, Rhonda could feel his cock sliding a 
little way out of her pussy tube. The bar of virility sucked at the partial 
emptiness inside her belly, making her want to roll back down onto it. She 
loosened her muscles, then repeated the curling, sliding motion of her hips. 

When Rhonda forced her cunt-mound to climb up his belly, the tight male 
muscles pressed into her crease, separating the flesh. She stared down, 
fascinated by the bright red stripe of her inner labia. Rhonda felt his cock 
nudge against her womb. 

The sensation was duller than the sharp, pinprick feelings that expanded as 
they shot from her clit, but somehow just as exciting. Even the full, round 
sensation of his prick slowly moving in her cunt sleeve increased when his 
glans touched the secret nerves up inside her. 

Rhonda had to close her eyes. 

She still wanted to watch the wet, gluey junction of their bodies, but the 
feelings racing through her belly held her attention completely. Rhonda 
thought her mind would split in two if she tried to see what happened as the 
complex flavors of her arousal mingled and heated in her cunt. 

With a low moan, Rhonda let her spine uncurl. His prickhead barely touched 
her cervix on the way down, but even the light brush of the ridge against 
her womb sent a thudding rush of passion up to her brain. 

She tried to restrain herself, but the multiple chords of sensuality pouring 
lewdly through her nerves drove Rhonda to move her hips faster. Rhonda 
rolled from side to side, as if she were a huge sifter, settling all the way 
down onto his prick. 

Rhonda loved it, even with her eyes closed. She knew it was Randy Cotton, 
her minister, and that he was tied to a tree in her garden. She knew it was 
his cock wedged all the way into her belly, that it was his balls moving up 
and down as he thrust into her. She let her head fall back, her nipples just 
grazing against the slick black cloth of his shirt. 

The grinding, rolling, slippery wetness of her cunt was growing noisier. 
Rhonda could hear the lusty squishing of her cuntlips around his prick and 
smell the sharp, mingled odors of their sweat under the tree. The sunlight 
warmed her asscheeks, as if they weren't already inflamed by the heat in her 
loins. She swiveled her hips like a belly dancer, milking at his cock. 

It was the lewdest set of feelings Rhonda could remember. The cock in her 
belly drove in with her weight and the thrusting power of his accelerating 
strokes. Every single jab of his meat battered against her cervix and 
scraped cockhairs across her clit. Rhonda felt the icy chill travel from the 
nape of her neck to the base of her spine, meeting the heat at her pussy 
mouth. She dug her fingers into his shoulders. 

The center of her belly was spinning. It felt like a star, burning 
blue-white and throwing out sparks, sparks that hit her nerves and flashed 
every part of her body. Rhonda grunted, urging him on. "Come on, Randy, oh, 
oh, oh God! Fuck me, baby, fuck me HARDER!" she wailed, her cunt whipping 
along the length of his prick like a glove full of butter. 

"Keep on, Rhonda," Randy muttered. He was dangling from the straps, his 
knees weakening. He shoved his prick toward her, then yanked it back, moving 
fast as a jackhammer. 

The rapid, bruising impacts against her pubic arch were starting to hurt, 
but the pain didn't matter. Rhonda wanted him to go off, wanted to feel the 
rugged thrusts grow harder and faster. She clenched her cunt ring around the 
base of his prick, all but locking him into her pussy mouth. 

Rhonda grunted prayers between clenched teeth. She begged with the minister, 
"Come, you sonofabitch! Ram that fucking cock into me! Ram harder, fuck 
harder, Randy! Please, mother-fucker, please shove it in, make it go!" 

Even her tits hurt, waiting for the knot of lust in her belly to explode. 
Rhonda was throwing her cunt along his cock so fast that her tits bounced up 
and down. The coral joints of her nipples were a lewd, circling blur of hot 
flesh. 

With a groan like his nuts were being torn off, Randy broke the feverish 
rhythm of the fuck. He stiffened all over, the cords in his neck standing 
out like ropes. He jerked forward, a battering stroke that bounced Rhonda 
away from his cock for an instant. 

As she fell back down onto the base of his prick, Rhonda felt the first 
massive blast of spunk jet against her womb. It was like a bomb went off in 
her cunt, releasing all the feelings that had built up. With a scream, she 
felt her pussy start to contract. 

When she came, Rhonda felt the whole world slow down. Her pussy moved, 
tightening relentlessly around Randy's cock. It took at least a month for 
the walls of her cunt to ripple to total tightness around his meat, then 
another half-year before they slacked again. In the eons before the next 
massive pulse started, Rhonda felt the wave of contraction move outward from 
her pussy to every cell of her body. 

By the time his cock had slammed to full depth in her cunt again, Rhonda had 
taken a census of her body. Her heart pounded, the beat matching the rolling 
ripples of her cunt-walls. Her nipples ached, throbbing in time to her heart 
and her clit. Even the muscles in her arms and legs tensed, taking forever 
to loosen again. 

Rhonda forced her cunt down onto the base of his prick. She wanted the fire 
hose blasts of his spunk to stay up inside her, to splatter against the end 
of her cunt-tube, to coat the walls of her vagina with thick syrup until her 
whole belly swelled full of semen. With a sigh that exhausted all the air in 
her lungs, Rhonda said, "I'm . . . comm . . . ing!" 

Over and over, Rhonda felt the magnificent gushes of his semen and the 
ongoing spasms of her come. She felt liquid dribbling from her hole, 
squishing around his cock and dripping off her cuntlips. Her legs slowly 
unwrapped from his hips, her feet skidding on the rough bark of the tree. 
Rhonda let herself go limp, moving only when the rippling waves in her cunt 
forced her muscles to obey. After years and years, her feet touched the 
grass. She fell against Randy's shirt front and stood there with him until 
her overloaded nerves would obey her mind instead of her pussy. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Charity was mixing mock silver to put in a patient's tooth when she 
overheard Greg Fredericks making a telephone call. She stopped scraping 
around in the little pestle, her ears alert, her pretty, sharp-nosed face 
intent. 

"Roy? Listen, I got the option all ready. It'll hold six months from 
tomorrow." He paused. 

"Oh, bullshit! We won't need a second recall. Three'll get you twenty 
they'll buy even if we don't get a majority." 

Charity quickly bent her head down, watching the pestle as she stirred 
carefully. She had heard the scrape of shoe leather on the tiles in the 
office corridor. He's probably just shifting his weight. She stopped 
stirring. 

The dentist's voice sank to a whisper, then he laughed, with the tight 
snicker of one con man talking to another. "Sonofabitch, Roy! If Pricer has 
the snapshots, we've got the whole goddamn town by the balls." He snickered 
again. "Or the snatch, if you prefer." His voice went down again, muffled by 
his turn toward the wall. Charity held her gear in one hand and crept to the 
door, straining her ears. 

"You think so? I admit nobody knows much about him. . . . Nah! Even if the 
clown was with them once, why the fuck would the CIA care if you'n me make a 
few bucks? Our asses are covered better than baby buns . . . we report the 
capital gain and even IRS can't screw around with us." 

Charity looked in her pestle. The silver epoxy had hardened like rock while 
she eavesdropped. She started mixing another batch. 

Rhonda lay on the chaise lounge, wondering if it would be worth the time to 
swim this afternoon. She glanced over at the tree where she'd had Reverend 
Cotton so deliciously tied and smiled. Her pussy tingled a little bit even 
now. She thought of her husband and the tingle stopped. 

Martin had told her the night before that the recall committee had enough 
money to operate now. The swap raffles would stop. 

Rhonda had her doubts about his statement. Martin had been reserved all 
evening, forcing himself to respond to her attempts at conversation. When 
she'd started caressing his prick under the covers, he winced, as though 
he'd had a real workout that day. Surprisingly, Rhonda felt a little 
jealous. II he's taking advantage of that fund-raiser, why would he stop ? 
From what the other ivives told me before this thing started, they don't 
trust any of their men out of arm's reach. 

Well, there's a simple enough solution. If his prick isn't ready for me when 
he comes home at night, I'll know. It wasn't bad last night, once I 
persuaded him. 

Goddammit. I shouldn't have to persuade him! Even if he is almost thirty 
years older than I am, I should get the respect my body needs, at least! 

I'm thinking a lot more about sex than I used to. I wonder if that's bad for 
me? How would I find out ? A psychiatrist? "Hah!" Rhonda snorted. 

"Not even my minister! I wonder if he tells his wife?" 

"Rhonda? Are you there, Rhonda?" Beverly Cotton's clear voice carried over 
the high hedge around the garden. 

"Bev? Is that you? Hold on just a second," Rhonda called. Maybe I'll find 
out if he tells her. Damn! I was just getting really comfortable. 

Rhonda threw a short terry cloth robe over her bathing suit and went to the 
gate. She thumbed the lock open. "Hi! What brings you by today, Bev?" 

The tall beauty stepped into the yard. She wore a sober dress and flat 
shoes. "Oh, I just thought I'd see how you're doing." She pulled a sheaf of 
papers from her big purse. "Have you signed the recall petition?" 

"Oh, I signed one over at the Mall yesterday. Would you like a drink ? Soft 
drink, hard drink, pool water?" Rhonda gestured toward the swimming pool. 

Beverly said, "No, thank you." She looked around the enclosed garden, 
stopping by the edge of the pool. "My, you've done a lot with the place 
since Randy and I were here last. It looks very nice." She sat at the little 
table, letting her purse fall to the ground. 

"And I feel like I did everything but dig the hole for the pool," Rhonda 
said, flopping down on her lounge again. "My hands were so sore last 
summer!" Embarrassed, she added, "It wasn't anything like the work you did 
on the parish hall, of course." 

Beverly leaned back in her chair and looked at Rhonda, her pretty eyes very 
level. "Knock it off, Rhonda. You know fucking well all I did was ride herd 
on a bunch of old ladies and their thumb-fingered husbands." She undid the 
top button of her blouse, fanning the fabric across her neck. "Maybe I will 
have a drink . . . vodka Collins, if you've got it." 

"Sure, Bev," Rhonda said, jolted by the woman's frankness. She went to the 
pool house and mixed it, tightening the belt of her little robe before she 
brought Bev's drink and her own to the table. "There you are." 

"Thanks." Beverly Cotton took a long sip from her glass. "That's nice! I 
hate this door-to-door nonsense. I thought I was done with it when I bailed 
out of Girl Scouts." She looked at Rhonda. "That robe looks too hot to wear 
today. Don't leave it on to please me." 

Rhonda tugged at the belt nervously. "It is warm." She shrugged out of the 
robe, shyly draping it over the back of her chair. The tiny triangles of her 
bikini top barely covered her nipples, and the black triangle over her pussy 
was tight enough to show the fine lines of her tight cuntal hair. Rhonda sat 
with her thighs crossed, afraid that some of her pussy fringe might have 
escaped at the sides of the little scrap of cloth. 

"How is Reverend Cotton?" Rhonda asked, looking past Beverly's shoulder. She 
realized her eyes were focusing on the tree she'd tied him to. Her ears 
turned red. 

"Randy's fine." Beverly Cotton took another sip of her Collins. She turned 
to see where Rhonda was looking. "I'd be more concerned about Martin if I 
were you." 

"Oh, Martin's doing just fine," Rhonda said, her voice a little too cheery. 
She waved toward the pool. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to swim? I know 
we have a suit around here that would fit you." 

"Your husband is very concerned about you." Beverly looked earnestly at 
Rhonda. 

"It's impairing his functions." It was Beverly's turn to blush. Her cheeks 
reddened slightly. 

"What do you mean? Marty's . . . well, he's Martin. -There doesn't seem to 
be anything wrong with him." Rhonda was very uncomfortable. She started to 
uncross her legs, but thought better of it. 

Beverly finished half her drink with one big swallow. "It's this Rotary 
thing. It's starting to . . . diminish his potency." She looked away. 

"Wha . . . How would . . . ? " Rhonda stopped. "Oh." She looked down into 
her lap, idly noticing the bark-scrape on the inside of her left knee. She 
smoothed her fingers along her thigh. "I know." 

"I think you should refuse to be in the raffles any more," Beverly said. 
"That might be the trouble. He wasn't too clear afterward." 

"You mean it's still going on? He . . . Martin said it was over. I thought 
they had enough money now." Rhonda put both feet on the cement, unmindful of 
the exposure. The rich swell of her pussy mouth glistened under the shiny 
black cloth. "I won't be involved in it any more." 

But that's not the same thing! If I gave it up, refused to go meet the men 
or let them come by, then it would be my decision. It's not fair for Martin 
to make up my mind for me! Rhonda thought. 

Beverly watched Rhonda, her face troubled. "I don't know how much money they 
have," she said, "but don't blame Martin for lying to you. He's upset about 
the thought of you sleeping with other men." 

"How the fuck do you think I feel about him screwing other women?" Rhonda 
snapped. She lowered her eyes. "Sorry. I-I didn't mean you." 

Beverly put her hand on Rhonda's knee. "I know, honey. I don't blame you. It 
used to make me feel absolutely crazy jealous when Randy had to visit 
another woman . . . you can imagine how I felt when he told me he'd slept 
with some of them!" She smiled at Rhonda. "I know he won't leave me for any 
of them, though, and that's what matters. I'm sure Martin wouldn't leave 
you. He really is a lovely man, Rhonda. Don't be angry with him." 

Rhonda closed her eyes. She wanted a moment to think. Slowly, trying to sort 
it out in her mind, she said, "How do I know he hasn't bought another 
ticket? For all I know, he could have organized the whole thing . . . he's 
good at working things out." She opened her eyes to see if Beverly had a 
suggestion. When the other woman merely shrugged, Rhonda went on. 

"I wonder how long he's been sneaking around behind my back? I hardly ever 
call him in town during the day . . . he needs to concentrate on the market. 
He could have a string of women from here to . . . to Zanzibar!" She glared 
at Beverly. 

The minister's wife shook her head. "No, Rhonda. He told me I was the first 
woman he's been with since you two were married. I believed him." 

"Humphh! Why should you believe him? I still don't know what he did the 
first forty-seven years of his life!" Rhonda sagged. "Shit-sticks. I guess 
there's no way to be sure anyway." 

Beverly giggled. "Sorry, Rhon. I was just wondering how you'd keep him from 
screwing somebody else. Sew him into his pants? Sniff when he comes home? 
What if he showers, or has to pee?" She waved her empty glass, the ice cubes 
tinkling. "Do you suppose I could have another?" 

"Sure, Bev." Rhonda stood up distractedly, then stopped. "I'm going to swim 
in a little while. Why don't you stay? The suits are right here." Rhonda 
gestured toward the pool house. 

Beverly waved her hand loosely in the air. "Oh, maybe. I might just stay and 
watch. My feet feel like I've been dancing with a moose." She kicked her 
flat shoes off, then undid another button. 

Rhonda turned toward the little bar. "Well, I don't have a damn thing to do 
today, except lay around. I feel like I should be eating bonbons and reading 
True Confessions." 

"Does that work?" Beverly asked, pointing to a four-foot whirlpool beside 
the main pool. 

"Oh, yes! I'll bet it would feel good for your feet," Rhonda said. "Martin 
likes to sit in it after a long day in the city." She detoured from making 
the drinks and toed a rubber-covered switch in the decking. The surface of 
the little pool bubbled and churned as the pump wound up to operating speed. 

Tall, lovely Beverly walked around and sat at the edge of the little 
whirlpool. She pulled her skirt up to the tops of her thighs and kicked her 
feet in the foaming water. "Ahhh! Oh, Rhonda, this is the ticket!" She held 
her feet in the middle of the main jet and leaned back on her elbows. 

Rhonda brought the tall glasses over. She smiled at the look of relieved 
ecstasy on Beverly's face. She sat next to Beverly, dangling her own feet in 
the swirling froth, and waited for the taller woman to open her eyes. 

"I wonder if the building fund could put one of these in the parsonage," 
Beverly mused. She looked at Rhonda, her eyes round with mock astonishment. 
"They could get another fifteen hundred miles out of me every year!" 

Rhonda giggled. "It's that or have your feet retreaded." She handed the 
glass to Beverly. "Isn't there a lot of unnecessary nonsense for you to put 
up with ? " Rhonda slipped down into the pool, letting the bubbling streams 
of water caress her legs, her buttocks and her lower back. 

Beverly was squirming, rolling from one buttock to the other. "Oohh, this 
cement is hot. It finally got through my dress!" She stood up in the 
whirlpool. 

Rhonda was embarrassed again. She was falling down as a hostess. "I'm sorry. 
Let me get you something to sit on." She clambered out of the pool and 
started for the cabana. 

"Don't bother," Beverly called. Rhonda stopped and turned to look at 
Beverly. 

The minister's wife was unbuttoning her dress, her hands moving right down 
the front of the sober cloth. She shrugged it from her shoulders and lifted 
it over her head. 

"Let me get you a suit," Rhonda said, but she didn't move. Even after riding 
the minister's cock for half the day before, seeing his wife peeling down to 
a long, satiny slip was a shocking experience for Rhonda. 

Beverly pulled the slip up until it gathered just under her full breasts, 
then crossed her arms over her head and pulled it off. She wore only a 
brief, transparent pair of panties, barely big enough to contain the easily 
visible bulge of her labia and the dark, curly hairs on the lush mound. 

Beverly slipped the panties down-they scarcely made any difference, being 
transparent all over. She drew one wet foot, then the other through the leg 
holes, and let the scrap settle on the cement deck. With a sigh of 
contentment, she settled down into the whirlpool, crossing her long legs and 
leaning Sack until her breasts bobbed just at the surface of the bubbling 
pool. She picked up her drink and took a long sip. 

Rhonda realized she was staring at the minister's wife. She started toward 
the pool house, then stopped and started again. 

"Come back here, Rhonda," Beverly said. "This feels so damn good!" Her 
floating breasts had sprinkles of water across the tops, and reflections 
shimmered across her throat and under her chin. 

Rhonda moved uncertainly back. Sometimes she and Martin swam nude, but only 
at night. They'd never been naked in the whirlpool. With a sudden flash of 
decision, Rhonda stepped out of her bikini bottom and sat in the pool across 
from Beverly. She untied the strings that held the tiny top of her swimsuit 
and tossed the little black triangles onto the decking. She kept her legs 
together and slid down, her hip just brushing Beverly's knee, until the 
rushing water rose to her throat. "Ummm-hmmm," she purred, feeling the 
bubbling froth caressing her skin. "It is nice this way." 

Beverly smiled at her. "Isn't it, though?" Holding the sides of the pool 
with her hands, she uncrossed her legs and spread her feet wide, putting one 
against each side jet at the surface of the water. Her hair dangled, barely 
getting wet behind her nape. "Oh, feet! Oh, dear feet, enjoy it while you 
can!" 

Rhonda found herself glancing down at the dark patch of Beverly's pubic 
hair. Not since she'd showered with the other teenagers at her private high 
school had she seen a pussy with such trim, close-bunched hairs. The 
whirling water obstructed Beverly's crotch. Rhonda could see only a patch of 
dark at the junction of her water-wavering thighs. 

Guiltily, Rhonda looked up. Beverly was watching her. Rhonda felt her ears 
turning fiery red. She shifted her weight, her ass rising from the bottom of 
the pool as she moved. Her ankles grazed against the underside of Beverly's 
thigh. 

A flutter started in her belly. Rhonda kept looking away from the other 
woman's face, but from where she sat, there was nothing else to look at but 
Beverly's body. Rhonda was becoming nervous, and the cool, amused look on 
Beverly's face didn't help. 

Finally, the minister's wife spoke. In a low tone, barely audible above the 
whooshing roar of the whirlpool, she said, "Is the gate locked? It wouldn't 
do for some people to see me like this." 

Rhonda nodded. She tried to say "yes, it's locked," but her throat wouldn't 
function. She reached for her drink and took a gulp. 

Beverly smiled. "Good. I always loved being outdoors. Days like this, with 
the sun so bright and warm on my skin. . . . I always feel a little lewder 
than usual when it's warm." She stretched her arms over her head. Her lush, 
cone-shaped breasts rose from the water, flattening to make her nipples 
stand out even further. She stood and walked toward the diving board at the 
far end of the main pool. "Join me for a couple of laps?" she called. 

Rhonda got out of the whirlpool. The invigorating bubbles had waked up her 
skin. She felt smooth and taut and firm all over, with fresh, youthful blood 
racing just under the surface of her skin. She watched Beverly's 
hip-swinging walk, and the naughty little flutter in Rhonda's loins grew. 

Beverly's ass was lush, round and full, with a very slight crease at the 
bottom of each cheek. The way her thighs tapered into the wide, comfortable 
curve of her pelvis was emphasized by her careful walk. Each of her feet 
paused on an arrow-straight line, accenting the female sway and rolling 
firmness of her buttocks. 

Rhonda followed Beverly, glorying in the warm sunshine on her skin. Both 
women glittered as if they'd been sprinkled with jewels. Water dripped from 
the underswell of Rhonda's tits and from the ends of Beverly's erect 
nipples. 

Beverly stepped onto the springboard. She trotted to the end, then jumped 
once in the air. Her bosom floated, jouncing once sharply as she hit the 
diving board and kicked off again. Her sensational legs powered her high in 
the air as she did a perfect jackknife into the pool. Rhonda caught a 
glimpse of her ass and legs as she split the water, a picture that burned 
into her mind while she ran to take her own dive. 

It feels better naked, Rhonda decided as she ran to the end of the board. 
Especially with the sunshine all over me! My whole body feels so alive! I 
wonder if Beverly's breasts and pussy feel as nice as mine do right now ? 
She bounced twice on the board. 

Beverly came up in the middle of the pool, treading water and grinning at 
Rhonda. "Hooo! This beats the hell out of the YWCA!" 

Rhonda jumped again. The acceleration when the springboard kicked her up 
made her belly feel excitingly full. Her breasts were like bags full of 
buttery-soft nerves. Every cell in her titties encouraged her nipples to 
spring up, hard and alert. Loving the flash of sun on her buttocks and the 
wet glare of the water in her eyes, Rhonda dove into the pool. 

She opened her eyes underwater. Beverly's long legs were bicycling, her 
hands skimming just under the surface. Rhonda kicked and drove herself right 
at the taller woman's middle. 

With a fluid shock, her face and shoulder intersected with Beverly's waist. 
Rhonda felt a flare go off in her loins as she bounced away from Beverly. 
The water rippling over her breasts and along her pussylips was like a 
million soft hands stroking her whole body into lewd eroticism. 

Rhonda came up for air. She was gasping, shaking her head to clear the water 
from her eyes, when she felt Beverly knock against her. The minister's lusty 
wife half-curled around Rhonda, then took off with a splashing kick toward 
the shallow end of the pool. 

There had been the unmistakable brush of a nipple against the underside of 
Rhonda's breast. It felt like the touch had left a brand across the bottom 
of her lush mound. Rhonda felt the contact burning into her tit even as she 
started after Beverly on the surface. 

Beverly's sleek, slippery form wriggled like a water snake, staying 
underwater until Rhonda was overhead. Rhonda watched the other woman stop 
and reverse directions, and she dove. 

That was just what Beverly had been waiting for. She swiveled around, coming 
up as Rhonda went down. Her face flashed across Rhonda's belly. 

Rhonda almost choked on the water. Had that been a tongue lashing across her 
cunt-mound? It felt like it. . . something small and slippery had definitely 
touched her thigh. She somersaulted off the bottom of the pool and swam 
between Beverly's spread legs, reaching for her pussy as she shot through. 

Beverly closed her legs on Rhonda's as the smaller woman started to come up. 
With a shriek, she reached behind her and grabbed Rhonda's breast. She fell 
into the waist-deep water, splashing and screaming with laughter. 

Rhonda grabbed for Beverly as they floundered at the bottom of the pool. 
They were both weightless, suspended just off the smooth floor. Rhonda and 
Beverly wrapped around each other like mating octopi, arms and legs twining. 
Their mouths searched and met. 

Rhonda didn't know what had come over her. She'd never felt the lewd 
softness of another woman's mouth on hers, or the firm mounds of female 
breasts against her own. She clamped her thighs tight around Beverly's leg 
and held on until she thought her lungs would burst. 

Both women floated to the surface, round patches of feminine skin gleaming 
as they broke water. Rhonda put a foot down first, releasing her thigh-grip 
on Beverly. She stood up, taking in great, sobbing gusts of air. She passed 
one hand over her hair and stared in frightened shock at the minister's 
wife. 

Beverly stood up, her skin wet and slippery-looking. Trails of water ran 
over her face, her round shoulders, her breasts. She moved toward Rhonda, 
putting her arms out. 

Rhonda worked her mouth. She stuttered, "I-I-" She looked around, her eyes 
wild. 

"It's okay, Rhon," Beverly said. "I don't see what you're worried about . . 
. we are friends, aren't we?" She let her hands sink down to her sides 
again. 

Rhonda looked up and down the tall, sensuous body in front of her. The water 
rippled just at the top edge of Beverly's cuntal nest. The long, curly 
strands floated out, separated enough to show the pouting swell of her labia 
and the slight puffiness of the inner petals. Rhonda tore her eyes away. She 
felt her own clitty erecting when she thought about the sweet, private 
softness of Beverly's delectable body. With a low moan, she moved into the 
other woman's arms. 

The water made their skins squeak where they rubbed together. Rhonda's 
nipples bored into the underside of Beverly's breasts, her pubic arch just 
touching the outer curve of Bev's labia. She put her arms around the taller 
woman, her hand sliding beneath the water to caress her asscheeks. 

Beverly glued herself against Rhonda. Their bellies and thighs and the rich, 
warm skin of their breasts seemed to merge into a single mass of warmth. 
Rhonda loved the softness, the incredible lewd sensuality of feeling another 
female body against her own. It was almost like touching herself, but 
touching herself all over with every part of her body. She felt as if her 
flesh was turning into one lovely puddle of sensuous feelings. She turned 
her face upward, and Beverly's mouth descended to meet hers again. 

The feeling was as soft and fragrant as two orchids clinging and melting 
together. Rhonda couldn't tell if the tongue in her mouth was softer or 
wetter than her own. All that mattered was that it was as sensuously female 
as hers, and it was merging with the thrilled nerves of her mouth. 

Rhonda moved her pelvis slowly, lewdly against Beverly. She felt the soft 
curls of Beverly's pussy rubbing at the base of her belly. A fluid wave of 
luxurious pussyjuice oozed from her open vagina and merged with the water in 
the pool. As Rhonda's skin came more fully alive, she felt even the rippling 
reflections of the sunshine on the water flickering across her back. 

Rhonda pulled her lips away from Beverly's soft, gluey-warm mouth. She 
looked up into the other woman's face, her eyes melting like a puddle of 
milk chocolate. Rhonda's jaw was slack with the fervent warmth that rose in 
her like a volcano about to burst forth. She nibbled at Beverly's shoulder, 
then brushed her lips across the top of the tall woman's luscious bosom. 

"Yes," Beverly breathed, stroking the back of Rhonda's head. "Oh, Rhon, 
that's so beautiful!" 

Rhonda stepped back, her hand pressing into Beverly's firm cheeks. "We'd 
better get out of the pool," she said, her voice high and tight. Her heart 
pounded like a trip hammer as she led Beverly to the steps. 

Rhonda was conscious of every rolling muscle in her body as she stepped out 
of the water. Her asscheeks felt like glowing masses of hunger with a life 
of their own. They rose and fell with her swaying walk. 

The hot cement burned the soles of her bare feet. Rhonda turned around to 
watch Beverly emerge from the pool. 

Beverly's skin was a little darker than Rhonda's, tending toward olive 
rather than ivory. Somehow, the contrast between the taller woman's skin and 
Rhonda's made their touching, in the water or out, more luxuriously erotic. 
Rhonda licked her lips, her eyes riveted to the narrow vee of cuntal curls 
over Beverly's pussy. 

The plump, soft outer lips of Beverly's pussy moved slightly as she stepped 
up to the decking. Rhonda could see the inner lips pooching out at the top, 
where the stiff erection of her clitoris gently pushed a moist triangle of 
darker pink forward. The tiny fragment looked like a miniature tongue, wet 
and inviting. 

With a sensual moan, Rhonda rubbed herself against Beverly. Her hands 
traveled up and down Beverly's body, sliding luxuriously from her breasts to 
her luscious ass and back again. 

Beverly shifted in Rhonda's arms, tugging the smaller woman toward the 
sun-baked cement deck. Rhonda pressed her breasts tighter against Beverly's 
ribs. Bev's delectable breasts weighted Rhonda's tits down, making her 
nipples even harder. 

Rhonda let herself sink to the cement. The soft, insistent motions of 
Beverly's hands, squeezing' and caressing her supple curves made Rhonda 
tremble with lascivious desires. 

"Ohh," Rhonda gasped. The hot deck burned her thigh, then her buttocks as 
she sat down, still holding Beverly. The scalding warmth of the surface 
communicated itself to her pussy. Her wide eyes stayed on Beverly's, seeking 
reassurance before consummating the lewd necessity that flooded her loins. 

"Lie down here, Rhon," Beverly whispered. She slipped her thigh between 
Rhonda's and they lay on their sides, facing each other. 

Rhonda couldn't get enough of the delicate, feminine feeling of Beverly's 
skin. She slid her hands from the softly rounded shoulders to the opulent 
swell of her breasts. The brown-pink towers of Bev's exceptional nipples 
were as big as a man's thumb when Rhonda caressed them. 

The cement baked them from below and the brilliant, eye-watering sunlight 
heated them from above. The infernos raging in the two women's bodies were 
amplified by the heat of the summer day. Rhonda raised one knee, opening her 
legs. Beverly's thigh rubbed against the swampy mouth of her pussy. 

The slow motion of the smooth leg against her simmering cunt flesh filled 
Rhonda's whole torso with lascivious waves of sensuous heat and erotic 
chills. She slid her hand away from the proud tower of nipple and down 
Beverly's belly. Hardly daring to actually touch another woman in that 
scary, intense spot, Rhonda slid her fingertips across the curls of 
pussy-hair. Tears came to her eyes. The skin and the soft, lusty padding 
beneath were so sensuously delightful that Rhonda's heart was about to 
break. She thought she couldn't possibly deserve touching anything so warm 
and soft and deliciously erogenous as Beverly's pussy. 

Beverly's hand kept stroking Rhonda's ass-cheek. Rhonda felt the imprint of 
each fingertip as the touches moved on her bottom. The caresses were light 
as feathers, then as demanding as her own ravenous pussy mouth. Even the 
once-abused ring of her asshole quivered, hoping that Beverly's fingers 
would brush nearby. 

Rhonda moved her hips, moaning low in her throat. She ducked her head, 
mesmerized by the thought of kissing the long, thick spike of Bev's nipple. 
Rhonda touched her lips to the side, then the top of the taller woman's 
breast. 

The pure carnal delight of kissing the womanly skin sent soft, lewd feelings 
all through Rhonda. It felt as if her pussy, kissing Beverly's thigh, and 
her mouth, on Beverly's wondrous breast, were connected by a living mass of 
nerves. Rhonda's hips moved in a hypnotic motion, as if just by pressing 
harder against Beverly's thigh she could make the other woman feel the same 
sensuous heat that was flaring up in her cunt flesh. 

Beverly curled her free arm under Rhonda's neck. She held the smaller 
woman's face against her bosom, pressing herself tighter against Rhonda. 

Rhonda loved it. She gladly would have smothered in the firm delights of 
kissing Beverly's tits. She opened her mouth in a lewd oval that captured 
the whole umber circle of Bev's nipple. With a throaty purr, she rolled her 
tongue around the firm, rubbery tip of the titty. 

Rhonda reveled in the sensation. There was a faint hint of female musk in 
the fleshy taste of the tip. She sucked, feeling the spire throb and grow 
between her lips. With a playful growl, she let her teeth close lightly on 
the base of the tiny tower. 

Beverly gasped. Her fingers dug into Rhonda's ass like claws, urging her to 
press against the satiny length of the minister's wife. Her thigh pressed 
against the warm, juicy slot of Rhonda's pussy, mashing the tender cuntlips 
into a pad of melting flesh. 

The pressure on her clit and all around her hole almost made Rhonda's jaw 
spasm. She took her mouth off Beverly's breast, afraid that the excitement 
might make her bite the tasty bud off. She slid her hand around Beverly's 
pussy, finally daring to cover the warm mound with her fingers. 

Rhonda couldn't allow herself to actually insert a fingertip yet. . . that 
would have been too much, despite the rising fever in her brain. She held 
the sweet, fatty pad at the top of Beverly's pussy in her palm. With a 
slight increase in pressure, she moved the mons back and forth. 

Beverly's whole body trembled. Rhonda could feel the shocking intensity of 
the lewd reaction rippling through every one of the woman's muscles. Feeling 
the power of lewd control over Beverly rising deep inside her, Rhonda 
pressed her fingertips against the puffy sweetness of Beverly's labia. 

The moist, squishy flesh was simmering, coated with slick juices of 
Beverly's aroused lust. Rhonda moved her palm in a lubricious circle, and a 
gush of fresh pussyjuice wet her fingers. 

The sun and the light breeze had dried the pool water from their skins, 
leaving both women satiny-smooth. Rhonda smelled the mingled female scents 
of their pussies and felt the rich, heavy sweat of profane arousal oozing 
all over her body. She slipped a finger between Beverly's pussylips. 

The slick, smooth skin of the hidden valley was like a toothless mouth, 
gripping and sucking at her finger. The inner labia clung wetly to Rhonda's 
skin, spreading wider, then closing again as she explored the crevice from 
Beverly's vagina to the hidden spike of her clit. 

Rhonda peeled the triangular hood back from the end of the hot come-trigger. 

The lusty little button was stiff as a pencil. In the soft folds of 
Beverly's cunt flesh, the stiffness and heat from the magic spot made it 
feel the size of Rhonda's finger. The smaller woman slid her nail lightly 
around the erected clitty, and Beverly tensed all over. 

"Ohhh, Rhon! Oh, baby, take it easy," she whimpered. "I'm going to come if 
you don't stop that!" 

Rhonda wasn't about to stop. The raging progression of feelings that fanned 
through her flesh when Beverly's thighs mashed her pussy-lips against her 
pubic bone had the smaller woman all but ready to explode. She slipped her 
thumb into the soft, swampy valley at the top of Beverly's cuntlips and 
rolled the slippery little clitty around in the soft, sensuous triangle of 
her inner labia. 

The obvious acceleration of Beverly's lusty hunger infected Rhonda. She 
clasped Bev's thigh between her own and rode it. Her hips rolled faster and 
faster. She tried to make her motions catch up with the blossoming flashes 
of feeling that filled her loins. Desperate, Rhonda covered Bev's clit with 
her palm and shoved two fingers into the other woman's cunthole. 

Beverly screamed, but Rhonda knew it wasn't from pain. Her own breath was 
burning her throat as she gasped and struggled to force her cunt past the 
edge of her come. Rhonda's pussyjuice soaked Beverly's thigh completely. It 
was like grinding her pussy back and forth on a sealskin, slippery and warm 
and utterly thrilling. 

Rhonda moved her finger to and fro in Bev's cunt. She rubbed the heel of her 
hand upward. The fleshy covering over Bev's clit slid back. The rounded end 
of the stiff come-button tickled Rhonda's hand. 

Wiggling her fingers like berserk snakes inside Beverly's vagina soaked 
Rhonda's hand with rich, fragrant juice. The salty sweat that covered both 
bodies greased the contact between their tits. Rhonda felt her pussy tube 
opening and closing, moving with the same rhythm as the drooling sleeve of 
woman flesh around her fingers. She put her free hand around Beverly's neck. 
Their torsos pressed tight, tits mashing together, nipples sliding like 
tongues on soft skin. 

With a gasping, writhing, slippery gush, the cunt-tube around Rhonda's 
fingers went into the rocking spasms of release. Rhonda felt the meaty 
tremors flash up her arm from Bev's cunt. They traveled with all the heat 
and speed of lightning bolts down Rhonda's spine to her thigh-mashed cunt 
flesh, and exploded. 

Both women's breaths wrenched from their throats in wails of agonized 
frenzy. They thrust their hips toward one another, the racking beat of their 
orgasms moving them across the sunbaked deck. Rhonda saw the trees and the 
hedge moving, the bathhouse melting, and Beverly's face pressing against 
hers. She opened her lips and let her tongue merge with Bev's as her pussy 
had merged with the long, silky length of Bev's thigh. 

Rhonda felt the ring of cunt flesh around her fingers moving, tightening 
harder and harder as the shared orgasms crested. She didn't know if she 
could ever get her hand out of Beverly's pussy mouth, and she didn't care. 
She rode the thigh in her crotch until her muscles felt drained. As their 
breathing slowed, the molten duel of their tongues and bodies tapered off. 
Rhonda thought she saw Beverly close her eyes. She went limp on the decking. 

A silly thought occurred just as Rhonda's thighs released Beverly's leg. 
Marty's going to be mad . . . I left the whirlpool running. Rhonda rolled 
onto her back in the sunshine, her hand resting comfortably in Beverly's 
pussy. She smiled and let herself drift. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

AH through the rest of that week, Rhonda jumped whenever Martin or anyone 
else mentioned church affairs. By the time Martin came home on the evening 
his wife and Beverly Cotton had their lusty romp in and around the swimming 
pool, Rhonda was already disgusted with herself. 

I shouldn't have done it, not any of it, she told herself. Her stomach felt 
sour. A tiny voice at the back of her head reminded, It did feel wonderful, 
Rhonda. 

But it's perverted . . . I degraded myself by starting to-to do THAT with 
her! Beverly's a minister's wife, for Chrissake! She's led a sheltered life, 
and now we're both corrupted. I made at least as many advances as she did! 

The little voice came back. Rhonda wished she could stifle it . . . there 
was something immoral, if not positively sinful, about the arguments the 
little voice presented. Show me where God destroyed any city because the 
women made love. Beverly should know about that! Besides, what about your 
Mother's friends, Kitty and Leslie? You don't seem too shocked about them . 
. . you always liked Leslie. 

But there's a big difference! Neither Kitty nor Leslie ever touched me like 
that. Sure, they used to hug me when we'd see them, but everybody Mother 
knows hugs people! That . . . affair today was just dirty! 

Bullshit, Rhonda. You didn't think it was dirty until you started worrying 
about Martin coming home. Isn't it a lot less messy than having that 
horrible lawyer shove his cock into your ass? What about the way semen keeps 
dribbling out of you for hours? Do you really like to see it on your panties 
at night? 

But that's natural, Rhonda thought. The little voice was starting to make 
her feel trapped. There was no way to get away from the twisted logic, 
unless she drank herself into a stupor. Even then, the smart ass voice would 
probably come back when she woke up. Having an argument with herself and a 
hangover at the same time would be dismal. 

Don't try that crap, Rhonda. We know you don't want to be natural. Living in 
a cave, pregnant from your first period until you die? No air conditioning, 
no supermarket ? If you're going to be stupid, I won't talk to you any more. 

"Good," Rhonda said aloud. 

Martin thumbed the remote control, killing the sound on the TV. "Pardon?" 

Rhonda said, "Oh! I was just reading this article about the school recall. 
They think they have enough signatures to put it to the vote." 

"Ummm." Martin pushed buttons, making the television whirr through 
half-a-dozen stations. He tossed the control in his hand, summoning up 
nerve. "Honey, I've been checking up on that. Maybe it wasn't a good idea 
for me to pressure you into helping." 

Rhonda stiffened. She set her newspaper carefully in her lap before the 
shiver at the top edge could turn to audible flapping. Her voice was cold. 
Rhonda hated herself for the tone. "Yes? Why do you say that?" 

Martin looked even more miserable than he had when he'd first told Rhonda 
about the swap raffle. "We-uh, you haven't been doing as well since this 
started. I mean, you don't seem very happy now . . . you're tense at night . 
. . I feel like I can hardly talk to you." 

"Oh, I'm quite happy," Rhonda said bitterly. "I'm bloody ecstatic! Now I 
have something to fill my days, like some jock attorney's cock in my 
asshole! If that's not enough, I can let some perverted screwball 
headshrinker try to cook me alive in a rubber suit!" 

"Now, honey, please-" Martin began. 

"Don't you 'honey' me, you sonofabitch," Rhonda shouted. "You even lied 
about the raffles being over! How many more tickets did you buy? How many 
other women around here are you going to fuck before you stop lying to me?" 
She glared at her husband, her eyebrows pulled down into a knotted line. 
Rhonda's chin jutted forward. She was not lovely when she was angry. 

Martin moved his mouth like a fish out of water. Rhonda cut him off. "You 
can bullshit Beverly Cotton, but I won't stand for it! You've been staying 
late in town every night since this thing started! What the hell do you 
think you're doing? Working your way through the building secretary by 
secretary?" She stomped across to his chair. "Leave that television alone! 
My mother bought that, and she can still write a check for your tired old 
ass!" 

Martin slumped. Rhonda immediately put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, Marty, 
I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" She touched his shoulder. 

Martin reached up to pat her hand. "I am pretty old sometimes." He sighed. 
"You should have shouted at me before this. It was selfish for me to ask you 
to help with that raffle. I wanted to stay out of sight as much as possible, 
so when all the other guys went along, I did too." 

Rhonda knelt beside his chair. "You don't have to do everything those Rotary 
clowns do. They don't matter even a little bit, Marty." She stroked his gray 
hair. 

"I suppose you're right. Maybe I don't have to be so cautious," Martin said. 
"It seemed like a good habit to develop. 

Rhonda leaned her head against his arm. When Martin got that wary, faraway 
look in his eyes, there was no point in asking any more questions. 

Monday morning, Rhonda was resolved to clean the house until it sparkled. 
She didn't want to so much as look at the pool, much less lounge in the sun. 
Every time the warm rays bathed her skin, the lewd feelings she wanted to 
save for her husband surfaced. Well, damn it, it's not funny, she thought. 
Next thing I know, I'll start going out to pick up men in bars, like Bonnie 
Fredericks. I have to control myself! 

Wouldn't that be a sight, a married woman my age masturbating in her back 
yard! I should put all that energy into housework! 

Rhonda heard the postman drop the mail through the front-door slot. She went 
into the entryway to pick up the letters. Everything seemed normal, except 
for a single thick envelope, hand-addressed to her. Rhonda took it into the 
living room to open. 

Rhonda Tracht almost fell through the floor, expensive Oriental rug and all. 
A fistful of color photos slipped from between the folds of a single sheet 
of heavy paper, color photos of her, stripped to stockings and garter belt, 
with Roy Shores' prick halfway into her ass! Rhonda dropped the pictures, 
then fumbled on the rug to pick them up. With her fingers shaking, she 
unfolded the letter. 

Dear Mrs. Tracht, it read. This is the first roll of film we've taken of 
you. If you would like your father and mother to see this and the series 
featuring Mrs. Cotton and yourself, we will be happy to forward them. If you 
prefer to leave your behavior a secret between you and your partners, come 
to TelePhoto Systems at three p.m. Monday or Tuesday. Bring cash$500 per 
negative. The note was unsigned. 

Rhonda counted the pictures. Every one was slightly different, but every one 
of the twenty showed an unmistakable lusty glaze in her eyes. There was no 
doubt at all that the tall man's cock was in her ass, either . . . the angle 
showed the stretching of her abused rectum as plainly as Rhonda had felt it. 
Just looking at the photographs made Rhonda's anus ache. 

She checked the time. How would she explain to Martin? Why should I? I don't 
know about the ones with Bev, but this batch is certainly Martin's fault! 

Rhonda looked up the address of TelePhoto Systems in the phone book. Damn! I 
told her we would be safe. I have to buy those back . . . Randy could be 
defrocked or unfrocked, or whatever they do to ministers. Depewed? I can get 
the money, but if Mother checks the account. . . . How could I tell her what 
I needed ten thousand dollars for? 

Rhonda looked at the buggery pictures again. I'll show them to Marty. He'll 
buy them back if he ever wants to get on good terms with Mother and Dad. 

Rhonda dialed the number listed for Tele-Photo Systems. When the answering 
service picked up the phone, she couldn't think of a message. Rhonda tried 
to flounder about names, hoping the operator would tell her who owned the 
company, but it didn't work. She hung up knowing just as little as before 
she called. Rhonda put her chin in her hand and gazed past the pile of 
pictures, wondering what to do. 

After considering her options, Rhonda decided to get down to the bank and 
draw out the cash. Shivering at the thought of Martin's birthday present 
going up in smoke, she drove to the shopping center. 

The teller at the bank was more than a little surprised when he saw the 
withdrawal slip. He conferred with the manager, who shot looks at Rhonda 
from a desk across the room. She set her jaw and waited until the apologetic 
clerk brought her money to the window. Looking over her shoulder as 
suspiciously as an embezzler, Rhonda went out to her station wagon. 

Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Martin drive by. Rhonda tried to 
remember if she'd hidden the pictures or left them in the living room. She 
shrugged-Martin was going to see them soon enough. 

At twenty minutes to three, Rhonda headed the car toward TelePhoto Systems. 
Her stomach was churning as she drove. She tried to calm herself-she'd been 
checking the mirrors more than the road. 

The address was in a tacky little "industrial park"-rows of shoddy-looking 
new plywood buildings, with pastel doors the only difference between one row 
and the next. The parking lots were full of lumps and big potholes from 
settling asphalt. Rhonda weaved her station wagon from side to side, looking 
for the suite number she'd copied from the telephone book. 

A magnetized plastic sign was nailed to one of the lurid orange doors in the 
fourth row. "TelePhoto Systems . . . Security and Surveillance." Rhonda 
parked the wagon and tried the front door. 

It was locked. She went back to the car. It was only five of three. Rhonda 
wished there were a restroom handy . . . her bladder threatened to betray 
her. 

A man walked up to the side of the station wagon. He tapped on the glass and 
Rhonda jumped. She rolled the window down a few inches. "Yes?" Her heart 
stopped for an instant, then thudded heavily. She recognized the man. 

"You bring the money?" he asked. 

Rhonda pulled away. She was trying to think of where she'd seen him. "N-not 
today," she stammered. With a start, she remembered. It was Roy Shores' 
investigator, Will Pricer! 

Pricers' eyes narrowed. "Why'dja come? You tryin' to set me up?" He put his 
hand on the door handle. "I got plenty more pictures sweetie." he said 
menacingly. 

"I want to see the pictures of Mrs. Cotton," Rhonda said. Her voice 
quavered. "I-I have to make sure you have them, that they're . . . " 

"It's all inside," Will Pricer said, jerking his head toward the office. He 
opened the car door and Rhonda stepped out. 

She followed him across the lumpy asphalt. 

The man dragged a single key from his trousers and opened the door. It stuck 
at the bottom. He kicked it, grunting as he shoved. 

Rhonda looked around. The dingy little box she found herself in was barely 
big enough for the two of them. A narrow hall led back toward splotches of 
white paint. "Wh-where are the pictures?" she asked. The musty smell of the 
cubicle and the deserted feeling in the air frightened her. 

Pricer stumbled back into the hall. He found a light switch. "Come on, lady. 
I got 'em right back here." 

The light in the hall made the little office seem even smaller. One room 
they passed had a telephone, dusty from disuse, sitting in the middle of a 
postage-stamp of wall-to-wall carpet. The next room was dark, but the third 
had a bright overhead light already burning. Rhonda looked at the ancient 
wooden filing cabinet. That must be where he keeps his blackmail evidence, 
Rhonda thought. She followed him in. 

Pricer rummaged in the top drawer of the cabinet. He pointed toward a 
straight-backed chair with his chin, and Rhonda sat. She held her purse in 
her lap with both hands. Rhonda was glad she had hidden the money in the 
car. 

A loud whoosh, like a distant fighter plane snapping on the afterburner, 
made her jump. "What's that?" 

"Toilet." Pricer pulled a brown envelope out of the drawer. "Now, I ain't 
got the negatives here, but I did make up some prints today. I didn't know 
if you wanted your momma to know about you and that dykey Cotton bitch or 
not. Wanna see 'em?" He held out the envelope. "They're real snappy. I could 
make a bundle sellin' 'em." 

Rhonda grabbed for the envelope. "Yes, I want to see them!" She opened the 
clasp and shuffled the pictures out. 

The photos hit her harder than the first set had. Will Pricer had put them 
in order, beginning with an excellent, flattering rear shot of Rhonda in her 
skimpy bathing suit. The photos went from there through Beverly's removing 
her clothes, both women diving into the pool, the splashing, playful 
wrestling and their kisses. Rhonda quickly checked the last one. 

She and Beverly lay naked on the cement, their legs still intertwined. 
Rhonda's fingers were blatantly stuffed into Beverly Cotton's crotch, and 
sated smiles of sensual exhaustion covered both faces. She stacked the 
photos back together. "All right." 

Rhonda wanted to concentrate on what the paunchy man was saying, but her 
mind kept going back to the episode with the minister's wife. Seeing the 
pictures had brought back the soft, firm warmth of Bev's skin and the lewd 
excitement they'd shared. Rhonda shifted in the chair. 

"How soon can you gimme the money?" Pricer asked. He stuffed the pictures 
back into the container. 

"I don't know," Rhonda lied. "I don't have that much." She licked her wide, 
sensuous lips. Her pussy quivered as she asked, "C-could we work out some 
kind of deal ? I . . . " 

Pricer's baggy green trousers showed a prick bulge rising. He pulled the 
photos out of the envelope again and looked at them. "Ya wanna blow me while 
I think about it?" 

Rhonda's fluttering pussy leaked juice all over the crotch of her panties. 
She moved off the chair, kneeling in front of the investigator. She fumbled 
with his zipper. 

The blunt end of his cock poked straight up toward her face when she tugged 
the organ out. Rhonda put her hand around the shaft. Her nipples poked into 
her bra cups like two jabbing fingers. She ovaled her glossy-wet lips and 
slid them onto the end of his cockhead. 

The fleshy feeling of his glans excited her. Rhonda slid her lips back and 
forth on the wide knob before she took the whole head into her mouth. Her 
free hand unsnapped his trousers, then went around his waist and down across 
his ass. 

Rhonda moaned as her lips enclosed the prickhead. She ran her tongue around 
the spongy end and sucked lightly, relishing the way Pricer's knob swelled 
larger in her mouth. 

Will Pricer said, "Lift up your skirt." His voice was breathy. 

Rhonda reached back and flipped her skirt up over her buttocks. The man's 
belly touched the top of her head as he leaned forward. With an obscene 
thrill, Rhonda felt his fingers intrude under the waistband of her panties. 
The man began stroking her ass. 

"Come on, sweetie," he said. "Suck me real good. You gotta please me . . . 
Daddy might cut you outta his will." His fingers dug in at the soft line 
where her buttocks met her thighs. 

The half-painful pressure moved Rhonda forward. She took more of his prick 
in her mouth, rolling her tongue around the knob. Saliva filled her mouth, 
lubricating her lips and tongue. Rhonda bent her neck to the side, taking 
his cock deeper yet. 

She had to swallow the saliva that was building steadily around his thick, 
salty cock. Rhonda worked her tongue along the sides of his shaft, then felt 
it sinking further into her throat as she gulped. One of his fingers slipped 
around her rectum. 

Rhonda bobbed her head back and forth, sliding back until only the head of 
his prick was in her mouth. She rotated her head again, pressing the flat 
side of his cockhead against her palate. 

"Tha's better," he said. He began to stroke his prick slowly in and out of 
her mouth. He stripped her panties down to mid-thigh and rubbed his fingers 
along the soft, liquid warmth of the base of her pussy. 

Rhonda felt her excitement rising. She slid a hand around his balls, 
fondling the heavy, hairy sac like a bag of precious diamonds. She moved her 
other hand up and down on his cockshaft, slow strokes that tightened the 
cock skin under her lips. 

The pleasantly full sensation in her mouth made Rhonda hungry for more. She 
slithered her tongue around the, swollen shaft, then sucked mightily until 
she had half the long meat in her mouth. She made a swallowing motion with 
her tongue, and felt a tremor move along the shaft. 

Saliva leaked from the corner of her mouth as she pulled her head back. 
Rhonda ran her silky tongue along around and around the spit-slick cockhead, 
diving briefly into the slit at the end. 

The heavier, mustier taste of his cock lube seemed to spread through her 
mouth like a cloud. The flavor soaked into the tissues of her palate, her 
gums, even her lips. Rhonda knew that the prick would stay in her mouth 
until it shot, and that wouldn't be long. 

With a moan that nearly drowned around the cock in her mouth, Rhonda felt 
two of his fingers wiggle into her pussy. She arched her back, bearing down 
to open her hole further. 

The assaulting fingers moved in and out with the same rhythm as the 
prickhead stroking in her mouth. She rolled her ass in a lewd circle, 
sucking harder at his knob. The hot spike of her clitty was completely 
erect, sending flashes of heat up her spine every time the fingers stretched 
her greasy cuntlips. The slithery little inner petals dragged electric 
tension across the sides of her clitty. Rhonda's knees were shaky. 

All the rushing blood in her body seemed to concentrate its heat in her 
cuntlips and her mouth. Rhonda sucked faster on his prick. Her hips rolled 
like a carnival ride, working the tight, hot flesh of her cunt sleeve 
against his twisting fingers. 

Will's cock rammed harder into her mouth, battering the back of her throat. 
Rhonda wanted to feel it beating against her womb, feel the broad flare of 
the glans stroking her cunt-walls. She gargled around his prick, her slack 
lower lip letting spittle flood down over her chin. She squeezed his balls. 

Rhonda hadn't imagined that she could let a man like this, a sneaking, evil 
blackmailer, use her mouth to fuck. Her mind was offended, somewhere far 
from the pleasure centers that sucked harder as he fucked harder. 

His balls swung faster with every stroke. Rhonda had to release them. She 
felt the hot, greasy sac slipping from her fingers. She let go of the meaty 
ovals. They bounced against her chin, the same way as other balls had 
bounced against her asshole or her cunt. She clamped down on the fingers 
that rampaged in her hole. 

Rhonda put both hands on his asscheeks. She forced his cock to ram against 
the constricted ring at the top of her throat. Every battering, piston-like 
thrust of his plunging cock sent flares of lusty heat down into her pussy. 
Rhonda felt his meat thicken as he pulled back. Only the top half of the 
cockhead was in her mouth. She sucked vigorously at the tip, lashing her 
tongue into his come slit. 

With a grunt as if his balls were being bludgeoned, Will Pricer drove his 
prick in. The swift motion and the gobbling downstroke of Rhonda's mouth 
watched the rude jab of two more fingers into her cunthole. 

Her cunt mouth spasmed just as a thick, bitter load of come blasted into her 
throat. Rhonda gagged, pushing his prickhead toward her lips. Her cuntal 
tube clamped on all four of his fingers like a vise and she struggled to 
swallow the heavy, puckery-tasting cream. 

The man's prick seemed to be full of gallons of semen. Again and again the 
stringy masses of fluid spattered into her mouth. Rhonda felt it spraying 
from the corner of her lips, dribbling down her chin. She sucked him deep 
again, wrapping her lips tight around the neck of his cockshaft. 

Rhonda couldn't control the lusty motions of her body. The hand in her cunt 
drove the walls and even her fluttering asshole into quivering spasms. 
Flashes of demented sensation took over, moving her body like a storm-tossed 
chip of wood. Her tongue and throat contracted rhythmically, even when the 
wads of spunk had ceased shooting from his slow-thrusting prick-head. Rhonda 
held the wide knob in her lips until the tapering waves of her orgasm let 
her slide limp to the floor at his feet. 

The sucking pop as his fingers left her vagina sent one last racing jolt of 
sensation through Rhonda's drained body. She rolled slowly onto her back. 
Her panties held her knees up, half-open. The crimson gash of her cunt flesh 
was shiny with juice, and a long trail of Will's semen ran from the corner 
of her mouth to the shoulder of her dress. She stared up at him, her jaw 
slack, licking at the stringy white come on her face. With an effort, she 
asked, "What about the pictures?" 

Before he could answer, Rhonda closed her eyes. When she opened them again, 
Will Pricer had disappeared. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

The first thing Rhonda did was pull her panties up and go to the old filing 
cabinet. She tugged at the handle of the top drawer. It was locked tighter 
than a bank vault. 

Rhonda immediately thought of the ten thousand dollars she'd stashed under 
the spare tire in her station wagon. She hurried out to the front office. 
Her car was still there, windows up and lock buttons down. 

"Mr. Pricer? Will Pricer!" she called. Rhonda looked out the front door, but 
there was nobody at all in the space between the tacky little plywood 
buildings. 

Rhonda didn't know what to think. Pricer obviously had the keys to the 
filing cabinet, and she needed to get that film away from him. She went back 
down the hall, stopping for an instant to stare at the locked cabinet. "Damn 
him," she hissed under her breath. The flimsy chair was obviously too light 
to smash into the cabinet with. Rhonda stalked resolutely across the carpet. 
Maybe she could wrestle the cabinet out to her wagon and hack it open at 
home. 

Rhonda bent over to tug at the lowest handle. She wrapped her fingers around 
the greening brass and yanked. It moved about an inch. She set her heels in 
the rug and started a steady, even pull. 

Rhonda moved the cabinet about a foot before it hung up on a bump under the 
carpet. She stood to walk around. It felt top heavy. Maybe she could shove 
it onto its side and manhandle it out the front door. 

One of the buttons on the telephone lit up. Rhonda stopped pushing just as 
the edge of the cabinet rocked free of the floor. Stealthily, Rhonda punched 
the lit button and lifted the receiver. 

The unhelpful voice from the answering service answered just as Rhonda got 
the handset up to her ear. With her heart already pounding from the 
exertions against the filing cabinet, Rhonda heard a familiar voice ask for 
Will Pricer. It was Martin! 

"He's not available just now, sir. Whom should I say is calling? the 
operator asked. 

Rhonda felt a foreboding heaviness in her bowels as Martin said, "This is 
Roy Shores. I need to get in touch with Will immediately." 

"Oh, Mr. Shores! I'm sorry, Counselor, I didn't recognize your voice at 
first. Mr. Pricer said he'd be at the lab. Do you have the number?" 

Rhonda put the phone down. She had to get those pictures of her lusty 
interlude with Beverly out of the cabinet before Martin came. She put her 
back against the filing cabinet and her feet against the wall. With a 
muscle-straining shove, she toppled the heavy wooden box to the floor. The 
massive weight of the contents cracked the frame when it hit. 

Rhonda picked herself up from the floor. She tried the handle again, but the 
crack down the side of the frame hadn't split the wood enough to free the 
lock. She was just straightening to pull the cabinet toward the hallway when 
she heard a door open. 

Rhonda froze. There was no place to hide in the tiny room. She was still 
crouching next to the fallen cabinet when Roy Shores stepped in, followed by 
Greg Fredericks. 

Rhonda stood up very slowly. Roy Shores looked like the very wrath of God as 
he stared at her. The balding dentist behind him was no cheerier. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Roy snarled. His big hands rose as if to 
strangle Rhonda. 

Rhonda backed away, sidling around the cabinet. "Uh, huh, M-mister P-pricer 
asked . . . told me to . . . " She looked at the dentist's glowering face. 
"I . . . he took pictures of . . . " 

Greg Fredericks grabbed the tall attorney's arm. "Roy, what's she talking 
about? Those pictures were our insurance! I told you not to trust that 
rummy!" 

"Shut up, Greg." Roy Shores looked worried for a moment, then his face 
cleared. "Tell me about the pictures," he asked pleasantly. "Exactly what 
kind of thing are you talking about?" 

Greg Fredericks started to say something else, but Roy gestured to quiet him 
again. "What pictures, Mrs. Tracht?" 

Rhonda didn't know what to answer. Maybe the two men didn't know their 
helper was shaking her down for two sets. Which set did they know about? 
"He-he had some . . . Oh, please don't ask me! I just feel rotten about it! 
If my parents ever . . . " 

Roy Shores glared at his little partner. "Please, don't be upset, Rhonda. 
Will does work for me, you know. I could get the pictures from him when he 
comes back. He knows that I won't tolerate anything illegal-I am an 
attorney, and I respect the law above all," Roy told her. 

Greg Fredericks tugged at Roy's arm. The taller man bent down, shooting 
glances at Rhonda while he listened to Greg's murmurs. Roy asked, barely 
audibly, "What about Charity?" 

Greg muttered some more. Roy nodded and went to the telephone. "Why don't 
you take Mrs. Tracht into the back room?" he suggested before he began to 
dial. 

Rhonda moved quietly to Greg's side, then followed him down the hall to a 
larger room. She didn't resist when the little dentist put his hands under 
her skirt. If it would get the pictures away from Will Pricer, she would 
fuck even pudgy, hateful Dr. Fredericks. 

He slipped her panties down, his thick fingers lingering on the long, 
silky-smooth taper of her nyloned thighs. Rhonda was stiff as a board, even 
when he gently insinuated his fingers into her still-wet pussylips. 

"Take off your dress," the little man urged. 

Rhonda fumbled with the buttons. She was getting more practice at daytime 
disrobing than she cared for. Now, if it were Bev here with me, she thought 
wistfully. 

The little half-cup bra showed in the shadowy dimness of the unlit room, 
accenting the creamy white of her breast-tops. Rhonda stepped out of her 
dress and folded it carefully. 

Greg Fredericks had already stepped out of his pants. His leathery-looking 
prick stood up at a forty-five degree angle, a little drop of cock lube 
glistening in the slit. He jacked slowly at his cock, adding, "The bra, 
too." 

Rhonda reached back to unhook the bandeau. Her breasts lifted and separated 
as she undid the back, then her cleavage came together again when she leaned 
over to slip it off her titties. She dropped the bra on the dusty floor. 

Greg walked over to her. She could just see the shining top of his head 
between the sparse hairs he'd combed so carefully over the dome. The top of 
his head was just at the level of Rhonda's upturned nose. She winced when he 
grabbed her snatch, as crudely as he'd take a fistful of liver from a 
butcher. 

"That's good," he said, kneading the tender flesh of her labia between his 
fingers. His middle finger slipped into the narrow slit between her cuntlips 
and tickled toward her cunt-hole. 

Rhonda didn't care for the way he was touching her at all. Even when he bent 
his head to suck at her tits, his teeth scraped across the sensitive ends of 
her nipples. She stood with her arms at her side, putting up with the coarse 
handling. 

Greg gnawed on one nipple, then the other. In spite of her numb revulsion, 
Rhonda found the constant pawing and sucking bringing the three hot spots of 
her nipples and clit to erection. She spread her knees slightly. 

"You're a cold bitch aren't you?" Greg complained, lifting his mouth from 
her tits. "You're never gonna hang onto a man if this is the best you heat 
up." 

Rhonda reached for his prick. She squeezed the shaft hard, digging her nails 
into the smooth, hot/soft skin. "What does Bonnie say about this? Is this 
the famous prick that drove her crazy for every other cock in town?" 

Greg backhanded her, knocking Rhonda's face to the side. "Shut up, you cunt! 
What goes on between me and that worn-out twat is none of your business!" 
His finger wrenched at Rhonda's pussylips, tearing some of the hairs at the 
edges of her slit out. 

Rhonda hissed. She let go of his prick. The pain in her crotch was as bad as 
the pain she'd felt when Roy Shores had fucked her ass. 

"That's better," Greg said. He stared up at her, then methodically slapped 
her tits with his open hand. 

The meaty thwacking hurt Rhonda's ears nearly as much as his hand hurt her 
breasts. She leaned away from him, unable to move her feet. The rugged grip 
of his fingers on her cunt flesh kept her legs and hips in one place. 

With alarm, Rhonda realized the blows on her tits were arousing her. Her 
breasts heated up as the blood rushed to the surface. When her nipples were 
fully erect, the vibrating recoil of her flesh from the repeated slapping 
sent shivering signals to her cunt. Fresh, musky fluid oozed onto her labia. 
The fingers in her crotch began to feel better, even though the pressure and 
the constant gouging made her want to pull away. 

"Touch my cock," Greg said, "and touch it right!" He stopped slapping at her 
breasts. 

Rhonda reached down to his crotch again. She ran her palm slowly over the 
head of his dick, then circled the shaft with her fingers. She stroked up 
and down, matching the rhythm of his pulls at her cunt flesh. 

"That's right, that's fuckin' exactly right," Greg gloated. He put his hand 
on her ass, smoothing his palm over the smooth curves. He sank down to the 
dusty floor. "Now ride me," he ordered. "I love seeing a tightass rich cunt 
ride my cock." 

"Will I get the pictures?" Rhonda asked, kneeling above him. Her breasts 
swayed enticingly as she spoke. 

"If you're good to my prick," Greg said. He reached up and twisted one of 
her nipples. 

Rhonda straddled his loins. She reached for his cock with one hand, pointing 
it up toward her pussy mouth. Slowly and carefully, she parted her cuntlips 
with the other hand and settled down onto him. 

"That's fine, just like that," Greg encouraged. His hands roved over her 
tits and slithered across her ass like small sweaty animals. 

Rhonda felt the head of his cock spreading her pussylips wider, then parting 
the soft folds of her cuntwalls. After sucking Will Pricer's cock and having 
her cunt reamed by his fingers, she liked the sensation of having a prick 
where it belonged. Her pussy really needed the true, hot thickness and 
rigidity of a cock, even though she could come in dozens of other ways. 

Rhonda looked up. She saw Roy Shores coming into the dark room. She settled 
further onto Greg's cock. After all, Roy had already buggered her in his 
office. Why should it matter if he watched her riding on Greg's prick? She 
looked down at the supine man beneath her and moved her hips in a sensuous 
circle. 

Rhonda began to enjoy his prick more, even though lazy Greg wasn't moving it 
at all. When she circled, it corkscrewed further into her belly, levering 
around against her tight cuntal grip. 

Rhonda's tits felt heavy, full of warmth and lust. She swayed her whole 
torso in an erotic motion, moving as bonelessly as a smooth, shimmering fur 
sliding off a model's back. 

"Yes," Greg groaned. He put his hands on her tits again, matching his 
kneading, caressing motions to the sensuous sway of the lush mounds. He 
lifted her tits from the underside, and Rhonda leaned forward. His lips 
opened as if they would take her nipples in. Any bit of stimulation that 
would increase the growing lewdness in her body was welcome. 

When his lips did slide erotically over her left breast, then her right, 
Rhonda thought the heat in her belly would double in seconds. She almost 
forgot about getting the pictures back as she slid her pubic bone around on 
his belly. The rod in her cunt stirred around deliciously, stimulating every 
nerve and muscle inside the smooth, wet tube. 

Rhonda felt his prick stiffen inside her. She was surprised that the pudgy 
dentist would be ready to come so soon. She tried to slow the insistent 
motions of her hips, but the accelerating lewdness in her pussy made the 
walls of her cunt sleeve tighten. She put her hands on Greg's shoulders, 
then lay down on top of him. 

Rhonda straightened her legs. She lay full length on the man, rolling her 
shoulders to press her nipples tighter against him. She felt hands on her 
ass, seeming to urge her on. With a sudden shock, slippery and vulgar, a 
finger went into her rectum. 

Rhonda moaned, "Oh, yesss," and the finger stroked back and forth. She felt 
her whole body turning into a greasy, warm mass of slippery flesh, as if her 
cunt had spread to cover all of her skin. She rolled and rubbed against 
Greg's chest, his belly, even squeezing her thighs between his. 

A heavy weight settled on her back. As long as it pressed her closer to the 
man writhing under her, Rhonda didn't care. She gasped, shoving her pussy 
mouth down onto the base of his prick as the finger withdrew from her 
asshole. 

"AAAAOOWWWW!! NNNOOO!! " Rhonda screamed. A thick, greasy mass of cockhead 
was pressing against her asshole! With a sickening pop, it thrust past the 
tight ring of her rectum and slid into her guts. 

Now she was impaled on two cocks at the same time. Rhonda cursed and 
struggled, but Roy's strong hands held her down. One big hand pressed 
against her ass, the strong fingers spreading her cheeks further. The other 
hand held her shoulders down like a bug pinned to a display case. She 
couldn't move, except to roll her hips back and forth against the twin rods 
that jammed into her. 

The lusty fullness in her cunt and the obscene stretching in her asshole 
combined. Rhonda felt the thin wall between the two pistoning cocks sliding 
back and forth, rubbed on both sides at once. Her control let go, and 
burning piss flooded her cunt. 

The salty urine splashed audibly onto Greg's legs. It scalded the irritated 
tissues of her cuntlips like liquid fire. The incredible writhing motion of 
the pricks in her ass and cunt was all but forgotten as Rhonda felt shame 
flood all over her. 

Greg cursed, biting at her shoulder. The pain in her ass and the tearing 
agony of the teeth locked onto the side of her neck sent Rhonda into berserk 
spasms. She couldn't tell if she were coming or dying. The cock in her ass 
bloated to monstrous proportions. She knew it would explode in her shitter 
any second. 

The biting, cursing, violent man under her bucked up at her cunt like a 
bull. The savage thrusts and the tension in his whole body told her that he 
was coming. Rhonda couldn't feel the jetting sperm, with the mass of cock in 
her ass and the teeth locked on her shoulder completely overloading her 
brain. All she knew was that after the first horrendous blast of stabbing 
prick into her cunt, the cock in her asshole rammed clear to her guts. As 
all her muscles spasmed in agony and release at the same time, Rhonda felt 
Roy's prick explode. 

The cocks jerked madly, separately, in her flesh. Rhonda's torn asshole and 
tortured cunt couldn't keep up with the high speed thrusts of the two 
spewing pricks. She trembled, her arms and legs flailing to match the fury 
in her crotch. 

Rhonda heard a voice weeping and screaming. Huge gusts of air tore at her 
throat. She bruised her feet against the dirty floor. 

The cock in her cunt had stopped spearing into her at last. Greg lay 
immobile as her cunt flesh milked at his prick. Rhonda felt the head of his 
cock shrinking between her cuntwalls while Roy's prick still shot off. 

The violent stabs of his meat into her asshole had all but split her in two. 
She couldn't stop the motion of her hips. Rhonda faintly realized she was 
coming, that she'd been coming since his prick had first fucked into her 
ass. The greasy mass of cock in her rectum and the soggy, melting penis in 
her vagina both stilled, moving only as her tapering motions and the tight 
fit of her holes forced them back and forth. With a single gasp of fatigue 
and cunty satiation, Rhonda went as limp as the men sandwiching her. 

Greg moved under her. "For Chrissake, Roy," he mumbled, "you're crushin' 
me." 

The cock in her ass began a slow slid outward. Rhonda opened her mouth wide, 
feeling the incredible suction her bowels exerted on his cock. "Oh, please," 
she whimpered. Any stimulation of her ass or her cunt threatened to make her 
start coming again, and Rhonda knew she couldn't stand that. She gritted her 
teeth and lay as limp as she could on top of the dentist. 

The motion of the cock in her ass stopped, then jerked out with a pop that 
threatened to disembowel her completely. Rhonda said, "Owww, you sonofa-" 
Her eyes went wide with shock. Martin stood in the doorway. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Martin reached for the switch on the wall. With a snap, the dim room was 
flooded with light. He didn't say a word. 

Rhonda wanted to disappear through the floor. She'd never seen the 
expression on Martin's face before. His eyes were slitted, glittering like 
wet black rocks. He looked like a sculpture of pure anger. 

Roy Shores blustered, "What are you doing here? I can have your ass in a 
twenty-year sling for breaking and entering!" 

Greg Fredericks craned his neck. He shivered under Rhonda when he looked up 
into Martin's flaring nostrils. He pushed his hands against her shoulders, 
trying to squirm out from under her. His cock went limp as a bootlace and 
squirted out of her cunt. Rhonda stood up. Covered front and back with the 
men's sweat and come, she stepped toward her husband. "Marty, I . . . " 

Martin quieted her with a chopping gesture of his hand. He was totally 
different from the mild, forgiving husband whom she had lived so happily 
with for the last eighteen months. 

"Well, what have you got to say for yourself?" Roy Shores said. Greg 
Fredericks crabbed sideways across the floor and tugged on his pants. 

Martin spoke slowly, pronouncing every word with great care. "I should kill 
both of you right now." He reached into his coat slowly. 

Roy Shores, his cock flapping obscenely, backed toward the wall. "The police 
will be here any minute. There's a silent alarm," he warned. "You don't have 
a chance to get away with it." 

"What do we care? Shit, Roy, we'll be dead!" Greg yammered. He reached 
toward Martin with both hands, pleading as the front of his slacks fell 
open. "Please, Martin . . . this is the first . . . Look, I don't care what 
you do with my wife! You were in on the raffle! You know we just did it for 
the kids, for the school! I never . . . " 

Martin's expressionless face changed. He looked at the dentist with a 
mixture of pity and disgust. The pity faded. He pulled his hand out of his 
inside pocket. He dropped a folder full of pictures on the floor. "I don't 
kill people any more." 

Rhonda glanced down at the pictures. It was definitely Greg Fredericks and 
his assistant Charity in every one of the dozens of frames. They were 
fucking in his Porsche, in the dental office, in an open field, in every 
position imaginable. 

Greg scuttled across the floor. "Where did you get these? They-they're 
faked! I'll sue you!" 

Roy reached for his trousers. "Maybe your wife should get dressed. The 
police will be here any time." 

"They aren't coming;" Martin said flatly. "There's a junkie holed up in a 
pawnshop twenty miles from here. All the cops are at the shootout." He 
looked down the hall and gestured. 

Two nondescript men, casually dressed, appeared behind him. The larger of 
the pair said, "Yes, Len-Mister Tracht?" 

Martin asked, "Did you deliver the prints to Mrs. Fredericks?" The men 
nodded. "Good. Put the tall one with Pricer. Make it look like two separate 
accidents." 

"Yessir, Mr. Tracht," the speaker said. They both advanced into the room and 
took Roy Shores by the arms. His rugged, lined face paled as he tried to 
pull away from the strong grip. 

"Hey! What are you doing? This is assault! Let go of me, or you'll find out 
the consequences!" The tall man kicked as they lifted him half a foot from 
the floor. 

Rhonda watched the men carry Roy out. "Marty, what are you going to do with 
him? What's going on?" 

Martin's face relaxed slightly. "Oh, I won't do anything to him. I'm retired 
from all that." He scooped up her dress from the floor. "Put some clothes 
on, honey. We'll talk about it when we get home." 

Rhonda stepped into the dress, moving slowly. Her muscles were beginning to 
cramp up. "I want to talk about it now! How do you know the cops won't 
come?" She buttoned the front of the dress. 

Martin put his arms around his wife. "I just know, that's all. Come on. We 
have to plan dinner for your parents tomorrow night." 

Rhonda moved down the hall with him. "But there's a school board meeting 
tomorrow. 

You're supposed to report on the recall motions after." 

"Rhonda, I don't think we have to worry about the school board until we get 
custody of Gary. Even Greg Fredericks won't be worrying about it any more. 
With Shores gone, he's the sole owner of the option on the school-ground 
property. I don't think Bonnie's lawyers are going to let him hang onto it." 

Rhonda's head was buzzing. "You mean that whole recall campaign was just for 
him and Roy to make money ? I had to sleep with everybody in town to help 
make them rich?" She stopped and went back. "Where's the file cabinet that 
was in here?" 

Martin laughed. "Don't worry about that, Rhonda. John and Walter disposed of 
the contents. The only ones I saved were the batch Pricer took of Greg. 
Pricer and Charity figured that they wanted a bigger piece of the four 
million than Greg was going to give them." 

Rhonda walked out of the shabby little office with her husband. "Then why 
all the rest of the pictures? And where did those two men come from? I never 
saw them before in my life!" She looked around. "Where's my car? Martin, 
somebody stole my car." 

"It's back at the house. I don't think you're in any condition to drive." 
Martin opened the door of his coupe. "Let's go home. I'll make you a nice 
little drink and some dinner while you soak in the whirlpool." 

"You can't cook, Marty! You don't know how!" Rhonda flounced her skirt as 
she sat in the car. 

"How do you know, honey?" Martin said as he climbed in. He waved through the 
windshield to a man in a caterer's truck and started the motor. "Maybe I'll 
call out for a pizza." 

Rhonda frowned. As the shiny-paneled truck preceded them out of the parking 
lot, she thought, Mother was right, but I don't care. If Marty really wants 
my son to live with us, anything she says doesn't matter. 

Martin flicked the headlights on and off as the truck pulled onto the 
freeway ramp. "Well, all the favors owed me are paid. If I ever thought I'd 
have to call on-" 

Rhonda interrupted him. "Martin, I don't want to hear about it. You're 
retired, remember?" She leaned against his arm contentedly. The whirlpool 
would feel good. 


THE END
