Dr. Latham's Sex Clinic
by Stanley Laven
(FPL-126)


FOREWORD 

With bold cunning, and the instincts of a wolf, Paul Latham, respectable 
psychologist with a passion for the perverse, snares the prettiest and most 
vulnerable women patients into his web of lust, transforming them from 
problem-plagued individuals to wantons willing to bare their bodies as well 
as their souls. 

It is with the understanding of his wife, gorgeous herself, that Paul 
practices his own brand of therapy. Herself a hedonist, the green-eyed 
redhead sees nothing wrong with her hump-happy husband combining pleasure 
with business. All she asks is that he have anough left over at the end of 
the day to give her the treatment she so adores. 

And believe anyone, especially those who walk out of his office, Paul Latham 
had plenty for everyone! 


CHAPTER ONE 

Savoring the sexuality of the moment, the promise of pleasure sublime 
propelling deliciously lewd thoughts through his mind, Dr. Paul Latham 
shucked his baby-blue boxer shorts and tossed them in the direction of a 
straight chair, upon which already rested, in a crumpled heap, a blue 
undershirt, a white, V-necked pullover, a soft yellow summer sports coat and 
a pair of expertly-tailored, cerulean trousers. 

Bare-assed naked now, he straightened up and turned toward the queen-sized 
bed he shared with his outrageously desirable wife, Valerie, clamping his 
hands on his hips as he fixed his hazel eyes on her near-nude form. He 
smiled, the knowledge that the gorgeous creature now sitting on the edge of 
the bed would soon be blowing him, her satiny lips sliding wetly over his 
aroused genitals, sending another quiver of lusty anticipation up his spine. 

"And just why is the good doctor smiling?" asked Valerie, a beautiful grin 
washing over her smooth, unblemished face. "What's going on in that devious 
mind of yours now?" 

"Can't a man take a minute to admire his stunning spouse, Mrs. Latham?" 

"Of course he can, darling. But that lecherous little smile of yours 
suggested more than simple appreciation." 

"Really?" 

"Really. Your head is just full of deliciously filthy thoughts tonight, 
isn't it?" 

Paul chuckled softly. "You have only yourself to blame, my sexy darling. You 
inspire a man's imagination." 

"Is that a compliment, luv?" 

"What else?" 

Valerie winked at her handsome forty-year-old husband, her need for that 
beautiful hunk of flesh now dangling between his legs increasing with each 
passing second. She squirmed her pantied ass on the bed and brought her left 
hand to the juncture of her warm, creamy-smooth thighs, her fingers dripping 
down into her crotch to feel the dampness there. 

Directing a tantalizing smile at her husband, Valerie commenced a delightful 
lewd massage of her sheathed snatch, her busy fingers teasing talons as they 
pawed her pussy. She leaned back a little and braced herself with her right 
arm, at the same time spreading her legs for her masturbating hand. 

She played with herself unashamedly, her shapely hips in slow, provocative 
motion as she rubbed up her itching cunt. Up and down her hand moved, 
fingers digging deep and pressing the white cotton briefs into the 
moistening slit of her womanhood. The naughtiness of what she was doing gave 
her almost as much pleasure as the realization that she was lubricating 
nicely. 

"You know something, Mrs. Latham," Paul said, his voice huskier than usual. 
"You are one very wicked, wicked woman." 

"Married to one very wicked, wicked man," Valerie countered with a saucy 
smile. 

"Are you going to play with yourself all night?" 

"I'm getting myself ready for you, darling. My pretty little pussy is 
getting all nice and gooey for your beautiful cock." 

Paul grinned. "That'll be the day when my wife has to prepare herself 
manually." 

"And what's that suppose to mean, lover?" 

"It means you're the kind of woman who's ready to fuck at the drop of a hat. 
One peek at a good-looking guy and you're creaming in your panties." 

"Can I help it if I'm always horny?" 

"I wouldn't want you any other way, beautiful. Now what do you say we get 
down to business." 

"Business?" Valerie said coyly, feigning innocence. 

"The business of sucking my pecker." 

"Oh, so that's what you have in mind." 

"Among other things. Do you think you're ready now to give me one of your 
expert blow-jobs?" 

"I'm always ready to blow you, honey. Mmmm, I can taste him already." 

Smiling, Paul Latham advanced to the bed as his voluptuous wife stopped 
fingering her itching twat and pulled herself up so that she was once again 
sitting erect on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. 
Valerie was indeed a helluva good-looking woman, he thought, again 
acknowledging the fact that without her to come home to he would be a less 
than happy man-even with all the messing around he did at the office. 

His wife was a true beauty, as desirable now, at age thirty-four, as she had 
been when he first fucked her ten years ago, six months before they decided 
they might as well make everything nice and legal. And she was just as eager 
to get laid these days as she had been on her wedding night. 

With her silky, Titian tresses sensuously caressing her neck and shoulders, 
and eyes like glowing emeralds, Valerie was a sight for the most jaded 
voyeur, a visual feast for all but the blind and hopelessly impotent. And 
when attired in something especially provocative, in an outfit that really 
accentuated her luscious, 38-26-36 figure, then it was that men stopped and 
stared and, almost worshipfully, as if mesmerized, marvelled at the wonder 
of her prick-thickening pulchritude. 

"For a man intending to fuck the night away, you don't have a very hard 
pecker," Valerie noted, smiling up at her husband as he positioned himself 
in front of her. "I had hoped Mr. Cock would jerk to attention as you 
watched me play with myself." 

Paul grinned. "Guess I've just got great self-control, sweetheart." 

"Either that or you screwed yourself silly today with one of your 
hot-to-trot patients." 

"All my female patients are not hot-to-trot, you know." 

Valerie chuckled. "They may not be when they begin analysis, lover, but they 
are after several sessions. You make damn sure of that." 

"It all comes under the heading of treatment, Mrs. Latham." 

"Sure it does." 

"I'm a professional, remember? And a professional strives for perfection in 
his work." 

"And you're dedicated, too," Valerie added, playing along with her husband. 

"Absolutely," Paul grinned. "I'm a hard-working psychologist dedicated to 
curing the confused and distraught." 

"You're a crazy practitioner of passion, that's what you are," Valerie 
teased, as she brought her hands up from her lap to commence a gentle caress 
of her spouse's hairy thighs. Lowering her gaze from his face to the still 
flaccid prick less than a foot from her lips, she added, "You're a nasty old 
doctor who believes the mental health of his female patients depends on his 
dicking them dizzy." 

"What a cruel bastard I am," Paul intoned softly, looking down at his 
succulent wife as he began smoothing down her flowing titian tresses. "I 
suppose you've lost all respect for me. 

Valerie looked up quickly, the most mischievous of smiles lighting her 
beautiful face and her green eyes twinkling. "I love you with a passion, 
Doctor Latham. You're so devious it's delicious!" 

Paul chuckled. "If that's so, then why aren't those lovely lips of yours 
wrapped around my cock yet? I said before it was time to get down to 
business." 

"Time to go down, you mean," Valerie corrected. 

"Just start sucking, Mrs. Hot-Pants." 

"Yes, sir. Your wish is my command." 

With that, realizing the time had come to end the silliness and turn 
serious, Valerie gave her full attention to the task at hand. It was a task 
she loved well, this stiffening of her husband's prick with her talented 
tongue and vacuuming lips. She loved the sense of power that would wind its 
way through her as she munched gluttonously on Paul's pecker, treasured the 
warm, slimy taste of his organ in her mouth and thrilled to the feel of it 
as it slowly but surely hardened inside her saliva-laden oral cavity. 

Holding her husband's hips, Valerie leaned forward and proceeded to nuzzle 
her face against his dangling dick, slowly moving her head in such a way 
that the limp organ brushed across her eyes, nose, mouth and chin. She took 
a deep breath, inhaling the strangely-intoxicating aroma emanating from her 
mate's crotch. 

"You do love your cock, don't you, beautiful?" Paul said, a broad grin 
washing over his face as he continued to lovingly stroke his wife's silken 
hair. 

"Mmmm, it's delicious," Valerie purred. 

"Suck it, baby. Get it nice and hard for me like a good little girl." 

Valerie drew back just a little, her right hand trailing down from Paul's 
left hip to tenderly envelop his flaccid manhood. Lifting the penis 
carefully, as if it was a rare and fragile object d'art to be handled 
gently, with love, she puckered her full, ripe lips and planted a soft, 
moist kiss on its plum-shaped head. With her teasing tongue she tickled the 
tiny vertical slit in the center of the head, the slit from which would spew 
all that rich, creamy semen she loved sc; well. 

Then, after running her tongue all around the thick crown, coating it with 
sticky saliva, she parted her lips and without further delay plopped Paul's 
pecker into her mouth. She began sucking immediately, pulling on the warm, 
tasty tool with her pursed lips and drawing more and more of it into her 
oral cavity. 

"Yes, baby, yes," Paul said thickly. "That's my girl. Gobble it all up like 
candy." 

"Mmmmm," Valerie hummed around the delicious pecker filling her mouth. 

The titian-tressed beauty worked on the fleshy root with all the skill and 
dedication expected of a high-priced call girl, her head bobbing and weaving 
sensuously as she sluttishly stuffed her hungry mouth with the thickening 
organ. She couldn't wait until the fat, snake-like pecker was tumuscent and 
pulsating madly, its swollen length bloating her cheeks and stretching her 
jaw. 

Paul, his hands resting now atop his wife's constantly moving head, stood as 
quietly as possible, and savored the wonderful sensations flowing through 
him. Val, he thought, was just a fantastic fellatrice, the consummate 
cocksucker. He had yet to meet a woman who brought such expertise, such 
wicked abandon to the exciting sport of fellatio. And this included the many 
women he had met through his thriving practice. 

Valerie's magnificent tits strained against the white bra confining them, 
the blood-congested, pebble-hard points of her nipples trying to poke 
through the material as she slobbered over her mate's thickening, 
lengthening meat. The crotch of her panties was damp with desire, the sticky 
sex juices seeping from her aroused vagina to make of her crotch a sodden 
mess. 

But it wouldn't be long now, she told herself. Paul's prick was almost fully 
erect, its bulbous head bumping against the back of her throat as she sucked 
hungrily and wallowed in the wicked wonder of this obsequious homage to his 
manliness. Another minute or so, maybe less,-and she would be able to feel 
in the wet, snug confines of her hungry mouth the pulsating power of her 
husband's totally tumuscent cock. 

"Oh, baby, that's good," Paul husked, struggling to stiffle the urge to snap 
his hips forward and ram his saliva-coated manhood down his spouse's 
beautiful cocksucking throat. "Keep it up, honey. Do me good. Ohh, yeah, 
like that." 

"Gaaargh," Valerie said, again trying to speak with her mouth full, her head 
now in rhythmic bobbing motion as she hungrily vacuumed her husband's prick 
toward her throat. 

"Don't stop, baby. More, get it all. Oh, sweetheart. Oh, you cocksucking 
bitch...." 

The wet slurping sounds made by his stunning wife as she sucked on his 
blood-fattened prick added to Paul's pleasure. He looked down at her and 
through eyes glazed by passion watched as she worked her beautiful magic. 

To come in her mouth, or not to come in her mouth, that was the question, he 
thought. How thrilling it was to send his cream gushing into Val's hungry 
mouth and then watch as she gamely attempted to gulp it all down, the viscid 
product of his passion bubbling over her lips and dribbling down her chin as 
she swallowed rapidly, like one with a fierce thirst. 

Then again, how thrilling it was to cream his well-sucked pecker deep into 
Valerie's wet, clinging cunt, hear her joyous moan of pleasure when he made 
that first bold thrust into her mushy, pulsing pussy. To lose himself in 
Val's gorgeous body, to cradle his head on the warm, spongy cushions of her 
eye-popping breasts while hammering his hank to the very depths of her 
slushy box, was sheer, unadulterated bliss. 

As Paul considered his options, weighing the pleasure of coming in his 
wife's mouth against spilling his gooey seed in her velvet-like, 
hotly-gripping vagina, thinking, too, that it had been some time since last 
he ass-fucked her, Valerie continued her licentious laving of his bloated 
bone. 

She had it all now, a fully erect seven-inch prick to suck to her heart's 
content, and she was making the most of it. Up and down her head bobbed, her 
tightly pursed lips hotly hugging the slippery spear of flesh. She sucked 
with abandon, with unmitigated delight, her left hand still glued to Paul's 
right hip, three fingers of her right hand curled around his turgid member 
at its hairy base. 

Would Paul elect to splash her throat with his creamy semen, she wondered. 
Would she once again have the pleasure of drinking down his delicious load? 
Or would he decide to make her cunt happy by stuffing it chockful of 
beautiful prick? Maybe he was of a mind to give her the kinky thrill of a 
sound fanny-fuck. 

Not that it made much difference. Whichever opening Paul chose was alright 
with her. In fact, were he so inclined he could spend his come in one of her 
ears. Now that might be a really way-out kick! It was one of the few things 
they hadn't tried in ten years of sexual experimentation. 

"Oh, baby, that's the greatest," Paul rasped. "Suck it, sweetheart. Suck it 
raw, dammit." 

Valerie groaned and then, without warning, pulled Paul's wet cock from her 
mouth. "Oh, I love you, I love you," she breathed hotly, worshipfully, pure 
adoration in her voice and expression as she fondled her husband's sparkling 
prick. 

"I'm going to fuck the blazes out of you tonight," Paul promised. 

"Yes, I want you to. I need it, darling. But first ... " 

Leaving the thought unfinished, Valerie once again brought her sensuous lips 
to her spouse's blood-fattened pecker, this time to bathe it with a series 
of soft, moist kisses. Her lips trailed up and down the shiny shaft, from 
bulbous crown to hairy base and back again. 

She took her left hand from Paul's right hip and brought it down between his 
legs, cupping his balls in loving embrace as she nibbled on his tasty stalk 
of flesh. As she squeezed the hairy testicles, bounced them playfully in the 
palm of her hand, her experienced tongue snaked from between her lips and 
she began a lascivious licking of her husband's powerful hard-on. 

She licked up and down and all around the delicious dick, her teasing, 
swirling tongue a cunning serpent as it coiled around the organ's pulsating 
fullness. Like a child determined to devour her ice cream cone in record 
time, Valerie worked quickly and without pause, spending but a moment at one 
place before moving on to sample the taste of another. 

With the fingers of her right hand still curled around Paul's manhood, 
steering it this way and that, she proceeded to swab the plum-shaped head 
with her tongue, bathing that knob of flesh with still more saliva before 
taking it briefly between her lips for a few scintillating seconds. 

Then again she was on the move, lifting the steel-hard prick now and diving 
face first into her husband's crotch, her head slipping under the prick as 
again her tongue flicked out, this time to punch, probe, and finally soothe, 
with broad, sweeping strokes, Paul's wrinkled scrotal punch. 

Paul emitted a moan of pleasure, his head lolling on his neck as Valerie, 
propelled by lust, mashed her face even harder against his crotch and fed 
her reaching tongue to his anus. Then it was back to her husband's scrotum, 
upon which she munched like a ravenous mouse, inhaling the pungent aroma of 
his aroused genitals as the wispy curls sprouting from the dangling sac 
tickled her nostrils. 

Paul, his knees turning to jelly, his mind clouded by lust, endured the 
erotic oral caress of his genitals until the pleasure became just too much 
to bear. He had made his decision. He didn't want to come in his wife's 
mouth, at least not this time. Perhaps later, after he had hosed down Val's 
vaginal walls with a gushing spray of his thick cream, he would suggest that 
she suck him hard again, this time ingurgitating his passion product. If he 
knew his wife, she'd be all for the idea. 

Valerie had started sucking her husband's cock again when she felt his 
fingers which had been entwined in her flaming tresses, suddenly tighten on 
her scalp. The next thing she knew she was being yanked away from his loins, 
his well-washed manhood plopping from her gripping lips with a lewd popping 
sound. 

"Enough, baby," Paul husked. "I can't take any more of that." 

Valerie tossed back her lustrous red mane and cast eyes brimming with desire 
up at her husband. "Where do you want me, Paul?" she asked excitedly. "How?" 

"On the bed-on your back," her husband shot back. "Get those damn things 
off." 

Wasting not a moment, Valerie pushed herself up off the bed and with 
trembling fingers reached around in back for the clasp of her brassiere. 
Seconds later, her heart beating fast, she was tossing the constricting 
garment aside and then quickly inserting her thumbs into the elasticized 
waistband of her cotton briefs. 

When she was bare-assed naked, her creamy-smooth, oh-so-fuckable body in 
hot, anticipatory quiver, the titian-haired bombshell jumped back onto the 
bed, flipping over onto her back and twisting and turning into a comfortable 
position before spreading wide her sleek, well-formed legs. 

"Come to me, Paul," she said hoarsely. "I need a fucking so bad. I'm burning 
up down there." 

"I'll fuck you, sweetheart," Paul promised, a faintly feral smile on his 
face, his right hand wrapped around the pole of saliva-laden flesh 
protruding majestically from his aroused loins. "You're going to yell your 
beautiful head off." 

"Do it, darling. Fuck me silly." 

For a fleeting moment, as her husband clambered up onto the bed and 
maneuvered into position between her legs, Valerie savored the strong 
physical appeal of him. This man of hers, she thought, was a really 
terrific-looking stud, attractive in a rugged, all-man sort of way. 

It was no wonder his female patients, or most of them, anyway, were willing 
to bare their bodies as well as their troubled souls for him. No doubt the 
younger ones thought of him as a kind of father figure-and wasn't it true 
that every little girl dreams of laying her dear daddy? The more mature 
women were probably turned on by what they believed to be Paul's genuine 
interest in their distrubed psyches. 

All this aside, what female could resist her husband's charm and dashing 
good looks? He had but to give a girl that beautiful sexy smile of his-the 
one that suggested oodles of experience and a desire to add to his list of 
conquests-and she was wetting her panties in eager anticipation. 

Six-foot-one, one hundred and seventy-five pounds, with warm, hazel eyes, 
and casually-combed long hair the color of cinnamon-that was the man she had 
married. And that was the man who, today, at age forty-one, could still send 
her into paroxyms of pleasure with his pussy-pleasing, seven-inch sword. 

And how she wanted that sword now! 

"You're going to get it good, baby," Paul husked, braced now on hands and 
knees over his supine spouse, his bloated prick, in pulsating readiness, 
poised to penetrate her swampy snatch. 

Valerie squirmed under him. "Don't talk, Paul, do it. Fuck me hard and long. 
Don't tease me." 

"Who's teasing, baby?" 

"You are, dammit." 

"Am I?" A lewd smile creased Paul's dark-complexioned face as he nudged his 
wife's waiting womanhood with the bulbous head of his turgid organ. Although 
eager to plunge his cock into the hot, mushy cove that was Valerie's vagina, 
he enjoyed delaying the inevitable for just a moment or two while his wife, 
locked in passion's strong embrace, squirmed her luscious 
five-feet-six-inches under him and begged for her banging. 

"Oh, you bastard," Valerie moaned. "I could kill you." 

"You want it now, huh, sweetheart?" 

"Yes, dammit. Yes!" 

"Will you ask me nicely for it?" 

Valerie glared up at her teasing mate. "You're a big turd, you know that?" 

"A what?" 

"You heard me." 

"That wasn't very nice, darling. You shouldn't-" 

"Paul! Will you shut the hell up and stick it in me?" 

"Right this minute?" 

"Now!" 

"Ask me nicely and-" 

"No, I'm not going to play that stupid game tonight. I want your prick, 
Paul. Now shove it up my belly, damn you." 

"Right up to your beautiful throat, Mrs. Latham." 

Valerie muttered an epithet and hungrily reached down for her spouse's meaty 
member, her hot hands clutching its pulsating fullness. A deep-throated moan 
of lust rumbled up from her throat as she pushed up her shapely hips and, 
with trembling fingers, attempted to funnel Paul's cock into her sizzling 
cunt. 

"Please, oh, please," she whined. "Fill me. Stuff me with prick." 

Paul allowed his passion-drenched wife to wedge about an inch of his manhood 
into her viscous vagina, the feel of that syrupy cove gripping his tool, 
sucking it in, killing whatever intention he may have had to continue toying 
with Valerie's lust. He had not choice now but to push himself all the way 
inside her slushy sex chute. 

"Alright, baby," he breathed hotly. "Here it comes. You asked for it." 

"Give it to me, Paul. All of it." 

Paul proceeded to do just that, a groan of intense pleasure sailing from his 
lips as he fed his wife the cock she craved, one smooth, even stroke sending 
his eager manhood tunneling up into her quivering belly. He held himself in 
check for several scintillating seconds, still braced on hands and knees 
with his bloated prick snugly ensconced in his mate's molten womanhood, 
savoring the familiar yet utterly delightful feel of Valerie's clutching 
cunt. 

"Oh, Paul, I love it. Now I'm complete-stuffed with your beautiful cock." 

"Hang on, baby. This is going to be fast and furious." 

"Yes, do it. Fast and deep. Bang me to heaven, Paul." 

Paul dropped down onto his gorgeous wife, his hard, hairy chest mashing 
against the spongy fullness of her succulent breasts as he began stroking 
his rod in and out of her happy twat. Valerie uttered a moan of delight and 
wrapped her arms around Paul's hard back. She drew up her legs and then 
splayed her knees. 

"How is it, Val? Good, huh?" 

"Wonderful. Beautiful." 

"Tell me, baby. Talk to me." 

"It's good," Valerie gasped. "I love it, Paul. I love your marvelous cock." 

"You want more?" 

"Much more. Harder. Deeper." 

Spurred on by his own lust and his wife's urgent pleas for the plowing of 
her life, Paul slammed his blood-thickened cock into her steaming vagina 
again and again, his tight, sperm-packed scrotal sac spanking the puckered 
port of her anus with each jolting thrust of his tool into her 
copper-colored cunt. 

In and out he pistoned his prick, hard and fast, his fingers digging into 
the pillow under Valerie's head. Breathless grunts of pleasure popped from 
his lips as he delivered the meat to his hungry mate. 

"Go, Paul, go," Valerie pleaded huskily. "Fuck it raw, you beautiful stud." 

"Up your tits, baby," Paul rasped. 

"Give me, give me. Deeper, baby. Hurt me." 

Paul's taut buttocks bobbed and weaved crazily, like a buoy adrift in a 
storm-tossed sea, as he plunged his rock-hard pecker to the delightful 
depths of Valerie's slushy sex canal. He felt his wife's sharp fingernails 
digging into his back and knew that before long she would start clawing him, 
raking those nails across his flesh and possibly drawing blood as she threw 
herself into the soul-searing fires of a roaring orgasm. 

"More," Valerie grunted. "Faster-harder." 

"You hot-assed bitch," Paul growled. 

"Fuck this bitch. Screw her crazy." 

Soon it was that Valerie fell to babbling like an idiot, gutter words and 
the foulest phrases imaginable tumbling from her lips in an unending flow of 
steaming vulgarisms. Her face, flushed and contorted by lust, bore 
absolutely no resemblance to the one she presented to the world outside. 

This savage litany of lust, this vile verbal onslaught, was of sufficient 
depravity to trigger Paul's orgasm. Belts of exquisite joy shocked his 
nervous system as he reared back and delivered to his lust-demented mate a 
final flurry of bone-jarring thrusts, the last of which had his scalding 
semen streaking through his trembling tool and gushing into Valerie's 
quaking vagina. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

"Miss Mendell, you may send in my next patient now," Paul said into the 
intercom on his large mahagony desk. 

A girlish giggle was the response from the voice on the other end. 

"Miss Mandell, I said you may-" 

"Oh, Paul, you don't have to be so formal. There's no one out here waiting 
to see you." 

"No?" 

"Nope. Here I sit, all by myself, slowly going bananas over this stupid old 
electric typewriter. I don't know why you took away the beat-up portable I 
was using." 

"How many bills have you typed up, Mary?" asked Paul, a small smile on his 
face. 

"None." 

"What?" 

"I can't help it, Paul. This clumsy old thing refuses to cooperate and I 
keep making mistakes. I'm sorry." 

Paul sighed. "I told you, Mary, that I wanted all those bills typed up and 
mailed out by noon today. Now here it is almost twelve o'clock and you tell 
me you haven't even addressed one bill yet. Is that what you call 
efficiency?" 

"I said I was sorry, didn't I?" Mary said, turning just a wee bit huffy. "If 
it'll make you happy, Paul, I'll work my lunch hour and get these fucking 
bills completed." 

"It would make me happy, Mary. And listen, watch your language out there, 
will you?" 

"I told you I'm all alone, boss." 

"I know, but if you get in the habit of talking dirty when you're alone, you 
might just slip up one day and say something in front of a couple of 
patients. And that wouldn't go far toward creating a proper impression, now, 
would it?" 

"No, I suppose not," Mary answered meekly. "I promise to be more careful." 

"Good. You can save all those naughty words for when we're alone." 

"When we're fucking, you mean." 

"Mary." 

"Ooop, I did it again. Sorry, boss. Maybe I feel like talking dirty because 
I'm so horny for you. I have an itch betwen my legs that you just wouldn't 
believe." 

Paul couldn't force back the grin that spread over his face. "Mary, my 
sweet, you always have an itch between your legs. Sometimes I think you were 
born playing with yourself." 

"Now who's talking naughty, Doctor Latham?" 

"Alright, let's forget it, baby. Now tell me why you're alone in the 
reception room. How come Mrs. Jennifer Wagner hasn't yet planted her 
beautiful behind in one of those cushy chairs out there? Her appointment was 
for eleven-thirty, wasn't it?" 

"Right. But Mrs. Wagner and her beautiful behind will not be gracing your 
office today." 

"How come?" 

"She phoned to cancel her appointment-said something about a small emergency 
that had arisen suddenly." 

"A small emergency?" 

"That's what the lady said." 

"Did she go into details?" 

"Nope. But she didn't seem too upset. She apologized for canceling the 
appointment and asked if she could be rescheduled for some time tomorrow." 

"So?" 

"So I told the lady with the fair fanny that she could have the hour between 
two and three tomorrow. Does that sit all right with you, boss?" 

"Sure. Now tell me-" 

"You didn't get it, did you?" 

" Get what?" 

"I described Mrs. Wagner as having a fair fanny and then asked if her new 
time slot sat well with you. Sit and fanny, get it?" 

Paul shook his head and grinned. "Mary, you're an absolute riot. You should 
have been a comedienne instead of a psychologist's secretary." 

"As a matter-of-fact, I've often thought of going on the stage. Not as a 
comedienne, but as a stripper." 

Paul chuckled softly. "I agree, baby. You're much better at taking off your 
clothes than you are at telling jokes." 

"Mmmm, and you should know, Doctor," Mary purred. 

"Have I told you lately that you're an insatiable little minx, Miss 
Mandell?" 

"Not lately, lover." 

"Well you are, you know. Now if you can take your mind off sex for just a 
minute, I'd appreciate a rundown of my afternoon appointments." 

"Okay. Hold it a sec while I dig out the appointment calendar. It should be 
right, mmmm, that's funny. I could have sworn I flipped it back into the 
center desk drawer after changing Mrs.-" 

"Mary, you haven't lost the damn thing, have you?" 

"Of course not. Just have a little patience, will you?" 

Paul muttered a curse under his breath and then began an impatient tapping 
of the desk with the fingers of his right hand. A picture of his saucy 
secretary rummaging through her cluttered desk for the missing appointment 
calendar popped into his mind. He could see her there in the outer office, 
her sweet little ass in excited squirm on the desk as she pulled open the 
drawers and foraged about in their contents. 

Why did he keep her on, he wondered. Mary was inefficient, rather lazy, 
quick to complain and even quicker to take a day off when the mood struck. 
To put it simply, his secretary was as dumb as she was desirable-which was 
very. 

But here, of course, lay the answer to the question posed, Paul admitted to 
himself. The only reason he didn't send Miss Mary Mandell scurrying to her 
place on the unemployment line was because of her desirability. In plain 
language, he resisted the sometimes strong urge to fire her because to do so 
would mean the loss of a scrumptious piece of ass. 

And if nothing else, Mary was that. A scrumptious piece of ass with an 
appetite for sex any man would find positively delightful. She could be 
snotty, at times downright nasty, but when she swiveled into his office, her 
prick-stiffening curves obscenely defined by the tight, breast-hugging 
sweaters and blouses she always wore, her taut, rounded rump snugly encased 
in a colorful mini so short it lifted eyebrows on the street, then it was 
that he forgot about her sloppy secretarial work and concentrated on her 
cunt. 

At the moment, however, all he wanted from his secretary were the names of 
those patients he'd be counseling in the afternoon. 

"Mary, what the hell are you doing out there? How could you misplace 
something as important as-" 

"Oh, wait a minute," Mary interrupted. "I just had an idea." 

Paul's eyes rolled in their sockets. Again he found himself waiting for the 
sound of Mary's voice to come over the intercom. 

"Okay, I found it," his secretary announced triumphantly. 

"Good. Where was it?" 

"In the wastebasket." 

"In the-" 

"It must have fallen off the desk and into the basket when I wasn't 
looking." 

"Alright, Mary," Paul sighed. "Just tell me who I'll be seeing today." 

"Well, let's see now. MMmmm...." 

"It's Wednesday, Mary." 

"I know what day it is, Doctor," came the curt reply. 

Good for you, Paul thought. 

"Okay, here we go," Mary said authoritatively, as if preparing to read from 
a highly-technical, complex manual of some sort. "You can expect a visit 
from Brian Reese at two o'clock and one from Ruth Lane at three-fifteen. 
Your last appointment of the day is with that teenage brat, Christine 
Clements. She's due to saunter in here at four-thirty." 

"That's it? Just three appointments?" 

"That's all, Doc. Sounds like an interesting afternoon, huh? I mean, you'll 
be talking to a guy with an Oedipus complex, a middle-aged dame who's 
terrified of growing old, and a filthy rich, snot-nosed kid who has been 
arrested six times for shoplifting. Now that's what I call a cast of 
characters." 

"I wish you wouldn't make fun of my patients, Mary. I never should have let 
you talk me into showing you my files. The information in them is supposed 
to be strictly confidential." 

"You know you can trust me, Paul, sweetheart. Tell me, have you laid the 
Lane dame yet? Something tells me she's aching for that nice juicy pecker of 
yours." 

"You think so, do you?" 

"She's a natural, isn't she? A forty-four-year-old spinster who's afraid of 
getting old isn't about to turn down a chance to put a little excitement 
into her otherwise drab existence. Who knows, Miss Lane might even be a 
virgin. Wouldn't that be a real fuckinger, I mean, wouldn't that be 
something?" 

"If I find out, I'll let you know, alright? Now why don't you get back to 
work on-" 

"I've never met a dame that old who was still intact down there. Imagine 
going through life without getting humped at least once? Hell, I lost my 
cherry when I was fourteen, Paul." 

"You're to be congratulated." 

"Don't be sarcastic. It so happens that I was seduced when under the 
influence of alcohol. The guy was a senior at Cloverdale High and-" 

"Some other time, Mary, okay?" Paul interrupted, suddenly very tired of 
listening to his secretary's voice. On top of her other faults, which at 
times severely tried his patience, Mary would on occasion turn chatterbox, 
rambling on and on ad nauseum about events in her life she regarded as 
trmendously important and of interest to the whole world. She could talk a 
blue streak about the most trivial matters, pausing only ocassionaly for 
air. And yet-yet, she was one helluva good lay. 

"Don't you want to hear all about my getting fucked--er, that is, seduced at 
the tender age of fourteen?" 

"Maybe later. Right now I'd like you to get back to those bills. Buzz me 
when you're finished, alright?" 

"How would it be if I stayed late tonight and typed up these bill," 

"Why do that when you can work on them now?" 

"Because just talking to you has made my itch worse. Would you believe that 
I've got a hand up under my skirt at this very moment. I-ohhh, that feels so 
nice. Paul, I'm so sticky down there!" 

"Take your hand from your crotch and put it on the typewriter, Mary. Maybe 
we can get together after my last appointment." 

"Not till then? I don't know if I can hold out that long. I'm leaking all 
over the chair, Paul." 

"Will power, baby," Paul suggested with a small grin. "You'll just have to 
exert a little self-control." 

"But you haven't done it to me since Monday. How am I suppose to concentrate 
on my work when I'm horny as hell?" 

"Try." 

"Why can't we do it now? You have over two hours to kill before that Mama's 
boy, Brian Reese, walks in. That's plenty of time to-" 

"I'm not going to kill time, Mary," Paul explained, a touch of exasperation 
in his voice. "I want to look over the file on Reese and run the tape of our 
last interview." 

"That's not going to take two hours," Mary persisted. 

"I also thought I would eat lunch. That is, if you have no objections." 

"Lunch? How about eating me instead?" 

"Mary." 

"And you can stuff it up my ass, Paul. You know how much you like banging me 
in the behind." 

"Mary, will you-" 

"And I'll eat you, too. After you've pulled your cock from my shitty rectum 
I'll get down on my knees and-" 

"Enough, Miss Mandell," Paul shouted into the intercom. "If you behave 
yourself and get those bills out, we might just be able to squeeze in some 
fun and games before the day is through. Now, over and out." 

"Over and out," Mary said sadly, softly, sounding as if she had just lost 
her very best friend. 

A broad grin washed over Paul's face as he settled back into the 
swivel-rocker behind his large desk. The little bitch was just too much, he 
thought. She was probably pouting now, calling him every name under the sun 
as she struggled to master the electric typewriter he'd purchased to give 
the outer office an extra touch of class. 

Well, let her suffer out there. By the time he got around to plumbing her 
pretty pussy, she'd be hotter than an exploding firecracker, her vagina 
twitching and salivating like crazy. Maybe he would take her suggestion and 
plug her pert fanny. It had been a while since the last time he explored the 
deliciously snug channel of Mary's rectum. 

She liked it in back almost as much as she did in front. In that respect, 
his secretary was very much like his wife. Valerie, too, derived perverse 
pleasure from a good, strong ass-fuck. How she would moan and carry on as he 
sawed his turgid prick in and out of her clasping-shit chute. 

Val had moaned and carried on last night, Paul remembered with satisfaction. 
He had fucked her to a fare-thee-well, smashing his cock into her pulsating 
cunt with all the strength he could command as she spewed filth into his ear 
and urged him on to even greater effort. 

And at the end, in a mind-blowing finish, she had rent the air with an 
animalistic howl of utter joy, raking her sharp nails across his back and 
biting down hard into his shoulder as her flowing come washed over his 
imbedded prick. Then, a little while later, she curled up into a ball at his 
side and fell asleep while tenderly mouthing his limp, gooey organ. 

Yes, it had been very, very good, Paul mused. Of course, sex with Val was 
almost always very, very good. Just being married to her was great, as great 
as was the life he had carved out for himself since his graduation nineteen 
years ago from good old State University, a Bachelor of Science degree in 
pscyhology under one arm. 

There weren't too many men his age who could say in all honestly that they 
were completely satisfied with things as they stood, that they harbored no 
regrets over opportunities missed or chances not taken, that all those 
dreams they had dared dream had come true, thus making the desire for more 
something of an absurdity, the wish of a truly avaricious individual. 

But he could say all these things and mean every word. All those goodies 
which, when properly blended, formed the good, satisfying life, he had in 
abundance. And what made it especially sweet was the fact that he had no one 
to thank for his successful and fulfilling life. He had done it on his 
own-with an occasional assist here and there from fate, of course. 

Getting started had been tough, Paul recalled, but hard work and 
perseverance had paid off in the end. He had had to work his way through 
college, holding down not one but two jobs while at the same time trying to 
maintain a B-plus average so that he could apply to a respectable graduate 
school. 

The year spent in graduate school had not been without its good moments, but 
again he had had to work to pay his tuition, running himself ragged as he 
heeded the demands of a six-days-a-week job and attended the required 
seminars. Many were the nights he spent burning the midnight oil, cramming 
for tests, preparing carefully-documented theses, his besieged brain trying 
to absorb the theory-laden and sometimes ambiguous studies of behavior found 
in his psychology and sociology texts. 

Finally he was ready to challenge the world, a Master's degree resting 
alongside his B.S. After obliging Uncle Sam, who dressed him in army 
fatigues and shipped him off to Korea for two years, he accepted a position 
in a clinic, where for six years, as an overworked, underpaid Clinical 
Psychologist, he studied the behavior of hundreds. To make ends meet he 
returned to school, this time to teach Psych I at a nearby college and 
suffer the pseudo-intellectualism of students already convinced that Freud 
was wrong about everything. 

Yes, those were the tough years, Paul mused. Everything didn't start to fall 
into place until he opened his own practice. If he had one small regret, it 
was that he had not hung out his shingle earlier. Then again, the time spent 
at that clinic had proved very worthwhile, enabling him to test and expand 
upon the theories learned in school while he established a solid reputation 
for himself as an imaginative psychologist unafraid of hard work. 

It would be eleven years next month since he interviewed his first patient 
in this office. Hard to believe, but true. The years had flown by, one 
following the other in rapid succession, and now here he was, still healthy 
as a horse, still wanting to fuck every pretty girl he saw, comparatively 
young, and with nary a problem to trouble his mind. 

His annual income was something he still found hard to believe. Of course, 
when one's services were rendered at the cost of fifty dollars per hour, and 
when one had more patients than time to counsel them, it stood to reason 
that the money would just keep piling up and up. 

It was because of his lucrative practice that he owned a fabulous house in 
the heart of ultra-stylish Ocean Grove, one of the wealthiest and most 
beautiful residential communities in the entire state. A rambling 
split-level ranch it was, one he had built to his specifications for a cool 
sixty-nine thousand dollars. 

The willingness of his patients to lay out fifty bucks for an hour's visit 
enabled him to drive to his handsomely-decorated, pine-paneled office in a 
cream-colored Cadillac, which at home could usually be found parked in the 
specious driveway alongside Valerie's two-year-old, fire-engine red Triumph. 
How he loved to slip behind the wheel of that powerful automobile and drive 
to work, thinking, as he savored the splendor of the passing scenery on his 
way to Crestmont, a community almost as pleasing to the eye as Ocean Grove, 
of all the pathetic, problem-laden people he would see during the week. 

But enough of this, Paul thought, jerking himself back to the present as he 
pushed up out of the swivel-rocker. It was time to get back to work. He 
would run the tape of his last interview with Brian Reese, study once again 
the man's case history, and then grab a bite to eat. 

Unfortunately, his afternoon would not be as interesting as he had thought 
it would be. It was a shame that Jennifer Wagner had cancelled her 
appointment, for he had been looking forward to treating her as she so loved 
to be treated. But at least the lovely Mrs. Wagner hadn't decided to stop 
seeing him. She would be in his office tomorrow and he would be ready-ready 
to again 'help' her with her little problem. 

In the meantime, there was always his sexy secretary, Paul reminded himself, 
smiling inwardly as he slipped the tape he had gotten from a locked cabinet 
onto the recorder. Mary could always be depended upon in a pitch. 

"What's up, Doc? As if I didn't know." 

"It's not up yet, baby," Paul said with a grin. "But close the door and 
we'll see if we can't remedy that situation." 

Mary smiled sardonically. "So now the good doctor is horny, is he?" 

"I'm ready to do some scratching, Mary. You did say you had a really 
annoying itch, didn't you?" 

"That was before noon-almost five hours ago." 

"So?" 

"So suppose I've changed my mind. Maybe I just don't take to the idea of 
having to wait for what I want." 

"What did you do, sweetheart? Sneak out for a quickie during the afternoon?" 

"I was sorely tempted, Doctor Latham," Mary answered. 

Paul chuckled. "C'mon over here, Miss Smart-Ass, before I get up from this 
chair and-" 

"Threaten me and I quit," snapped Mary, cutting her employer off in 
mid-sentence. 

Paul looked at the sassy brown-eyed brunette standing a few feet from his 
office door, her hands jammed onto her hips as she struck a defiant pose. 
For a fleeting moment he considered going over there and getting the uppity 
little minx, dragging her by the hair across the office and flinging her, 
face down, over his large desk. 

A good old-fashioned mean fuck could always be counted on to take the starch 
out of Miss Mandell. 

But why bother, he asked himself. There wasn't any need to expend that kind 
of energy. Mary would come to him of her own volition. In a few minutes, and 
quite possibly less than that, she would tire of this little act of hers and 
start peeling. Her need to get humped would catch up to her desire to get 
back at him for making her wait. 

He'd just play along with this five-foot-four-inch package of pulchritude 
and see how long she could control the demand of her cunt for hot, thick 
cock. 

"Well, Mary, if you don't want to get laid, you may as well leave. By the 
way, I assume you managed to finish that stack of bills for me. 

"They're finished." 

"Good." Paul took his eyes away from his sexy secretary and pretended to be 
interested in clearing his desk as he shuffled a few loose papers together. 

Mary shifted her weight from one foot to the other, an expression of disgust 
on her pretty face as she stared at her employer. "You know something, 
Doctor," she said finally, "you can be a real louse at times." 

Paul looked up from his desk. "Who, me?" 

"Yes Paul. You. I have a good mind to walk out of here and go home to Jack." 

"Jack? Who's he?" 

"My boy friend, that's who." 

Paul grinned. "The latest one, you mean. What happened to the bloke you were 
going with?" 

"Tim? He left me for some pill-popping slut he met in a coffee house." 

"Too bad." 

"Not really. I was getting tired of Tim anyway." 

"How long did you know him?" 

"About five weeks." 

"And you got tired of him after just five weeks?" 

Mary shrugged. "I like variety in my sex life." 

"That's the understatement of the year, sweetheart," Paul declared with a 
smirk. "You go through boyfriends faster than most women go through the 
day's wash." 

"It's going to be different with Jack." 

"Why? Does he have a twelve-inch prick?" 

"Funny, Doctor. Very, very funny. It just so happens that I like Jack Talbot 
very much and may even decide to marry him." 

"Oh?" Paul's smile faded just a little. The possibility existed that if his 
secretary-receptionist married this jerk Jack, he would lose her services, 
professional and otherwise. He would miss the maddening little minx, he 
thought. Well, that wasn't exactly right. What he would miss were those 
moments spent screwing her silly. 

"Jack has just one very bad characteristic trait. He's terribly possessive 
and gets almost violent if I so much as look at another guy." 

"That could be bad," Paul opined. 

"You're telling me. When I happened to mention that I had laid you, he flew 
into-" 

"What? You told this character about us?" 

"It was an accident, Paul. I mean, we got into this bad argument and just to 
hurt him I said I had been messing around with my boss and-" 

"That's beautiful, baby. Just beautiful." 

"Well, maybe I shouldn't have said anything. But no harm came out of it. To 
you, that is. He thew me over his knee and walloped the daylights out of my 
poor ass. I couldn't set comfortably for three whole days." 

"Well, I hope it taught you a lesson, sweetheart. The last thing I need is 
for some clown to come tearing in here and-" 

"Jack is not a clown," Mary broke in sharply. "He just gets upset when he 
thinks about me with other men." 

"How many others have you told?" 

"Nobody else. Shit, I don't know why you're making such a big production out 
of this. It's not as if I had handed out pamphlets to everyone in Crestmont 
informing them of my affair with Dr. Paul Latham." 

"I wouldn't put it past you, Mary." 

"That's stupid," Mary said, her tone of voice much softer than before. She 
approached her employer's desk and stood with her hands clasped in front of 
her. "When a girl likes a man she doesn't go out of her way to hurt his 
career or embarrass him." 

"And you like me, huh?" Paul asked, unable to stop a small smile forming on 
his face. 

Mary nodded. "Contrary to what you may think, I don't let just any old guy 
lay me. I've got to like a man before I'll permit him in my pants." 

"So you're ready now to screw, is that it?" 

"Uh huh." 

"A few minutes ago you were on your way home to Mr. Talbot." 

"I just said that because I was mad at you for not doing it to me at 
noontime. You should have seen me out there, Paul. I had my hand up under my 
skirt and I was rubbing my cunt to beat the band." 

Paul grinned. "And you're still hot, huh?" 

Mary nodded. "Very hot. I'm standing here leaking like a bloody faucet." 

"Show me, baby, just how hungry for cock you are." 

Mary needed no further prompting. Her hands went immediately to her 
tangerine blouse, fingers fumbling with the buttons down the front. After 
depositing the blouse on Paul's desk, she kicked off her white shoes and 
then lowered the zipper at the side of her fanny-hugging beige skirt. 

Seconds later she was stepping out of the skirt, straightening up to place 
it atop her blouse on the desk. Smiling at her employer, she reached around 
in back to undo the clasp of her cream-colored brassiere. 

"Leave that little chore for me," Paul said. "You just get those pantyhose 
off." 

" Anything you say," Mary breathed. "You're the doctor." 

Paul pushed up out of his chair and stepped to the large picture window 
behind his desk. There was little danger of anyone sneaking a peek at him 
while he fucked Mary, his office being on the twelfth floor of a building 
which faced a sprawling, many-acred park. Still, he felt better when he took 
the added precaution of drawing the blinds. 

When he turned around he found Mary smiling at him. She was naked now except 
for the bra he had asked her to leave on. One hand was at her side, pressed 
against her leg, the other was busy petting her warm, moist pussy. 

"Fffffuck," Paul said, smiling lewdly. 

"Fffffuck," Mary repeated, the sound of the exciting Anglo-Saxon word 
sending a shiver of lust up her spine. 

Paul returned to his desk chair. He unbuckled his belt and pushed his 
trousers down, letting them slide down his legs to form a crumpled heap at 
his feet. He inserted his thumbs in the waistband of his white boxer shorts 
and began working the garment off his hips, bending over slightly as he 
pushed the shorts past his knees to his feet. Then, clad only in a 
rose-colored shirt open at the neck, he eased back into the swivel-rocker 
and ordered Mary onto his lap. 

The scrumptious brunette moved around the desk and without delay climbed 
aboard, positioning herself on Paul's lap so that his still flaccid pecker 
was pushed up against her smoldering, brown-haired snatch. 

"Comfy?" Paul asked. 

"Mmm, you bet, Doctor," Mary purred, placing her hands on Paul's shoulder. 

"Are you going to suck me like a good little girl?" 

"Later, after you've sucked my titties." 

"To do that I'll have to take off your bra." 

"Take it off, Paul. And then munch on my boobs. They want your lips and your 
wonderful tongue." 

Grinning, Paul reached around in back of his secretary-receptionist and with 
an experienced lover's expertise quickly unclasped her brassiere. He drew 
the two ends out and then around her arms to her front, making great show of 
baring those pert boobs he had slobbered over many times. 

Mary quivered on her employer's lap as he peeled the brassiere away from her 
tingling tits and flipped it onto the floor. She squirmed forward and 
emitted a soft moan of pleasure when Paul reached up to cup her breasts, his 
thumbs brushing nipples already stiffening in excitement. 

"Oh, Paul, suck on them for me," she begged. "Chew on my tits until they're 
raw." 

"You've got very sensitive tits, young lady," Paul said, stating a fact 
learned during his first fuck of the saucy brunette. 

"Your mouth, Paul. Put your mouth on them." 

Dr. Latham did as his patient requested, bringing his head forward and 
mashing his face into the soft, warmy valley betwen her spongy delights. His 
tongue snaked out from between his lips and he began to lick, waving his 
head sensuously this way and that against her aroused flesh as he savored 
its smooth texture, its delicate female aroma. 

"Ooooooh, I love that," Mary cooed, clasping Paul's head to her bosom. 

The little nympho has damn good tits, Paul thought, cupping one in his right 
hand and kneading it as he trailed his lips over the other. They were not as 
big as Valerie's, of course, but they were still very nice all the same. His 
wife had breasts the size of large melons whereas Mary's mammaries were more 
like small grapefruits. Very tasty and very squeezable grapefruits. 

Mary closed her eyes and continued humming her approval of Paul's oral 
technique as he labored lovingly on her gelatinous globes of flesh, tending 
first to one and then the other, his warm, knowing lips like moist velvet on 
her flesh. Jack should see her now, she thought. 

Flip out altogether is what he would do if he caught her sitting bare-assed 
naked on her employer's lap. Especially after the warning he had given her 
about fooling around with other fellows. The man had a temper that just 
wouldn't quit. Just being around Jack was a wee bit unnerving, because you 
never knew when he'd suddenly explode like a firecracker. 

The thought of jealous Jack discovering her in the embrace of another guy 
gave her goosepimples. She didn't think she could endure another one of his 
vicious spankings. On the other hand, she wasn't yet willing to limit her 
sex life to a nightly boffing session with Jack. 

Sure, he was a nice guy-when he wasn't into one of his violent numbers that 
saw him turn half-animal-and he knew what to do with a girl in bed, but 
variety was still the spice of life as far as she was concerned. 

And she would just hate to give up these sessions with Paul. Never had she 
met a doctor with such a marvelous cure for the common female malaise 
brought on by steaming panties. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

"Please, darling, do it better, please. Don't be afraid." 

"I'll hurt you, Jennifer. I can't-" 

"You won't hurt me. Please now. Squeeze them hard." 

"Jennifer, be still. Don't spoil this for us." 

Jennifer Wagner bit down on her lower lip and damned up the stream of verbal 
abuse that threatened to flow from her mouth to her husband's ears. Tears 
welled in her beautiful blue eyes as she silently cursed her mate for his 
stubborn refusal to pleasure her as she demanded to be pleasured. 

What was wrong with him, she asked herself. Why wasn't he man enough to 
satisfy her gut-jumbling need for rough, no-holds-barred sex? After eight 
years of marriage he was still treating her with such revolting respect, 
handling her in bed as if she was a rare and fragile ornament to be fondled 
with the utmost care and not a flesh and blood woman who could be slapped, 
sucked and screwed silly. 

Any other man would jump at the chance to show her who was boss, forcing her 
to respond to cruel, bone-jarring thrusts of a rock-hard penis that meant 
business. The man she conjured up in her fantasies were real men. Bold and 
charming, aggressive, no-nonsense studs with cocks they used like 
sledgehammers to pound a pussy into quivering submission. 

These men knew what a female was all about and they revelled in that 
knowledge, taking full advantage of her secret yearning for a fuck that was 
as painful, as demeaning, as it was satisfying and pleasurable. 

But her husband, innocent that he was, refused to believe that she could be 
turned on by pain, by a thick prick crammed unceremoniously into her mouth 
or cunt or behind. To him she was an angle, a goddess to be worshipped, an 
object to be fondled with tender, loving care lest it break into a thousand 
pieces. 

Seeing him now, trailing his lips over her naked body as he ever so gently 
caressed her breasts, carefully testing their resiliency, one would think 
that he was preparing to break in a virgin. So cautiously and with such 
reverence did he go about the business of arousing her that it was almost 
laughable. 

And it was the same story every time they made love. She would undres and 
slip under the covers, her naked body more than ready for a forceful 
fucking, for the sweet, soul-searing punishment that only a hot, 
blood-filled cock smashing repeatedly into her vagina could adminster. 

But never were her prayers for a brutal banging answered. She would lie 
almost immobile on the bed, as she was doing now, and suffer for the meek, 
ineffective attempts of her husband to prepare her for the entry of his 
cock, one which, when finally eased into her sex cavity, proved to be 
totally inefficacious. 

Her pleas for a harder, faster fuck would fall on deaf ears. Kevin, ignoring 
her coldly, would slowly, rhythmically, stroke his organ in and out of her 
cunt, adding insult to injury by asking if he was pleasing her, if she was 
enjoying the feel of his gently thrusting tool. 

Why couldn't she make him understand that what she needed, what she craved, 
were nightly sessions of fierce, degrading sex? Why couldn't he forget when 
making love that she was his wife and the mother of his two children and 
treat her like a sassy slut in need of a wildly thrusting, pussy-stretching, 
punishing prick? Did he always have to be so damn considerate, so 
pathetically afraid of saying or doing something that would offend? 

Kevin Wagner swirled his saliva-wet tongue across the smooth, flat plane of 
his twenty-six-year-old wife's warm tummy, his hands gently holding her 
beautiful breasts as he worked his way down her body toward the inviting 
patch of golden pubic curls surrounding her sex clit. 

He dipped his tongue into her navel, teasing that wrinkled indentation for a 
brief moment before moving on. For fifteen minutes he had been laving 
Jennifer's succulent flesh, starting at her face and then inching downward, 
his lips and tongue sliding sensuously over her neck, then her breasts, then 
her belly. 

Within seconds he would reach his goal. Once again he would rub his face 
into that nostril-tickling nest of soft, crinkly pubic hair and inhale the 
intoxicating scent emanating from Jennifer's pulsating vagina. How he loved 
to lick her there, to saturate his senses with the delicious taste and musky 
aroma of her femaleness, to lose himself completely as he worshipped at the 
altar of his wife's sex. 

"Kevin, put it in me now," Jennifer said unemotionally. "You don't have to 
eat me first." 

"But, darling, you usually enjoy it when I kiss you here," Kevin argued, 
lifting his head from his spouse's lower belly. 

Enjoy? That wasn't the word, Jennifer thought. What she did was tolerate her 
husband's worshipful mouthing of her sex. Were he to eat her with some 
passion, if just for once he attacked her snatch with a vengeance, licking 
it lustily, hungrily, using his tongue to plummel her sensitive clit to 
throbbing submission, then she might enjoy his cunnilingus. 

"I don't want it tonight, Kevin. Now please, just get on me and put it in." 

"But are you ready, Jen. I mean-" 

"I'm ready, Kevin," Jennifer broke in sharply, frustration and bitterness at 
her mate's fawning threatening to overwhelm her. "Just stop talking and take 
me. Give me your cock, Kevin." 

"Alright, alright. If that's what you want." Yes, anything to make me happy, 
Jennifer thought. Don't argue with me. Don't curse. Don't slap me around and 
demand that I lie still while you chomp on my cunt. Don't tell me to shut up 
and don't threaten me with a severe beating if I refuse to obey your every 
whim. Don't do any of those things that would make me so very, very happy. 

Disappointed at being refused the chance to show his love by performing 
cunnilingus on his luscious blonde wife, Kevin crawled up the bed and 
positioned himself over her outstretched loveliness so that he could 
administer a loving missionary style. 

What a beautiful creature she was, he thought, looking down at Jennifer. Her 
sea-blue eyes so perfectly complemented her silky-smooth, shoulder-length 
blonde hair, fanned out now on the pillow around her head. There was nothing 
about her that didn't spell total perfection. 

It was as if she had been lovingly created by a master craftsman, one whose 
sense of beauty permeated each and every detail of his work. Her breasts 
were full and firm, twin globes of gelatinous flesh that sat proudly on her 
chest. Her posterior was smooth and taut, composed of two spongy half-moons 
of flesh separated by a narrow, almost hairless crack; her smooth thighs 
tapered to well-formed calves, that led gracefully to small, well-turned 
ankles. 

Even though eight years had gone by since the consummation of their 
marriage, he still found himself marveling at Jennifer's naked beauty, 
eyeing her physical charms when she wasn't looking and giving thanks for his 
good fortune. He didn't know what he would do if ever she left him. 

"Please, Kevin, stick it in," Jennifer said impatiently, wanting to get the 
whole thing over with now. "What are you waiting for anyway?" 

"Alright, darling. Just a second now." 

Oh, this was unbelievable, Jennifer thought miserably. He was funnelng his 
cock into her cunt as if afraid a too-hard thrust would do irrevocable 
damage to her vagina. Why didn't he just rear back and smash his bloated 
bone into her dry canal? Why didn't he make her scream with pain from the 
viciousness of his sadistic entry? 

"There, darling. It's in you. Now you have it." 

"Move it in me, Kevin. Work it deep." 

Lying atop his wife, his hairless chest pressed warmly into her 
taste-tempting mammaries, Kevin began the slow, methodical motion she found 
so unsatisfactory, so horribly frustrating. Without imagination he plowed 
Jennifer's golden-haired pussy, his taut buttocks bobbing lazily up and down 
as he thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, one smooth and steady stroke 
following another. 

"Harder, Kevin, harder," Jennifer breathed, her hands pressing down hard 
against her spouse's back. "Do it faster, lover. Make me feel it." 

"Easy, sweetheart, easy," Kevin cautioned, his voice thickening with 
passion. 

Tears of anger and frustration began welling in Jennifer's beautiful blue 
eyes. It was at times like these, when her strait-laced, unimaginative 
husband was servicing her vagina, that the idea of packing up and leaving 
him for good always crossed her mind. 

Why must their mating always be so mechanical, so devoid of real passion, 
she asked herself for the thousandth time. Wasn't Kevin capable of a strong, 
unbridled lust, one that would find him shedding the cloak of respectability 
he wore with such annoying, unnerving pride? 

Couldn't he fuck her, at least occasionally, with something resembling the 
gut-jumbling fury and savage determination of a man kept from women for many 
months? Why did he have to dick her with such decorum, with so little real 
enthusiasm? 

Were all accountants such stuffed shirts, Jennifer wondered. Was it 
impossible for them to really let loose, to perform the sex act without the 
conservatism, the attention to detail and the arrogant restraint that marked 
their work? Didn't they ever feel like breaking free from the corral and 
galloping at full speed toward the sunset, their nostrils flared and their 
sweat-slick bodies in hot, excited quiver? 

So colorless, so impervious to lust, that was Mr. Kevin Wagner, the man to 
whom she had vowed her love and obedience, the one she had chosen to live 
with for the rest of her life. But of what significance were those vows now? 
How could a wife respect and admire her husband if he constantly failed to 
satisfy her natural need for stimulating sex? 

But she had loved Kevin once, Jennifer reminded herself, moving nary a 
muscle under her mate as he continued his uninspired, business-like probe of 
her sex cove. The very traits she now found most annoying had drawn her to 
his side eight years ago. His gentleness, his kindness, his heartfelt 
concern for her well-being, his unwavering devotion, his basic 'goodness,' 
had appealed to her then, touching her heart and filling it with compassion, 
making it easy enough for her to reply in the affirmative when he asked for 
her hand in marriage. 

Worthy of appreciation too had been Kevin's physical attractiveness. He had 
been, and still was, a good-looking man, one who possessed the even, 
well-defined features of a youthful scholar, of the dedicated intellectual 
too busy with books to expose his face to the sun's tanning, skin-toughening 
rays. 

In his stocking feet he stood six feet two inches tall. He weighed somewhere 
in the vicinity of one hundred-ninety pounds. His eyes were brown, the same 
color as his hair, which, despite her prodding, he refused to wear long. 

Yes, Jennifer concluded, it would be difficult to find much fault with her 
husband's appearance. His body, although unaccustomed to strenuous exercise, 
was as strong and as pleasing to the female eye as she remembered it being 
on their wedding night. And Kevin was still capable of exuding a boyish 
charm, the same charm that had set her heart to fluttering during their 
courtship. 

Now only if he would learn how to fuck a woman. 

For a full minute more Jennifer suffered her spouse's methodically, 
carefully-timed thrusts, and then, oh an impulse, her frustration and 
impatience boiling over, she emitted a strangled groan of disgust and pushed 
Kevin off her body. 

"Jenny, what are you-" 

"My way," Jennifer stated firmly, swiveling atop her stunned mate. "We're 
going to finish my way." 

"But-" 

"Keep quiet, Kevin. Damn you, just keep quiet." 

Positioning herself so that she was squatting over her husband, her twat 
hovering over his loins, Jennifer reached down with her right hand for his 
tumuscent tool and brought it quickly to her sex hole. 

After wedging the bulbous head of Kevin's cock inside her vagina, she 
started to squirm down on it, allowing the six-inch column of flesh to worm 
its way up into her belly. Not many seconds later she had it all. 

She rested a moment, impaled on the warm prick now stuffed balls deep inside 
her vagina, savoring the feeling of fullness afforded her by the imbedded 
erectile. Then, a look of determination etched on her beautiful, 
clear-complexioned face, she started using Kevin's pecker to obtain the 
orgasm he seldom managed to give her when he was in the driver's seat. 

No sooner had she leaned forward to place her hands on the bed next to her 
mate, one on either side of his supine body, then she was posting merrily on 
his manhood. Braced now on hands and knees, darts of desire pricking her 
every nerve end, Jennifer bounced her bottom up and down over Kevin's thick 
pecker. 

"No, darling," Kevin husked. "Don't-not so fast, Jenny." 

"Grab my tits," Jennifer ordered. "Squeeze them hard." 

"Please, Jenny." 

"Do it!" the luscious blonde shouted, slamming her cunt down over her 
husband's blood-filled manhood. 

"I won't hurt you," Kevin declared. "I can't." 

"Do it, you bastard. Pinch my nipples. Make me cry." 

A pained expression washed over Kevin's smooth, unblemished face as his wife 
continued to plead for the cruelty she craved. It was at times like these, 
when Jennifer begged for the brutality he found so despicable, so impossible 
to administer, that he became convinced of her need for psychiatric help. 

He longed for the return of the old Jennifer, the woman he had married and 
the one who, up until about eighteen months ago, seemed perfectly content in 
her role as his wife. How was it possible for a woman to change so 
drastically, to be transformed from one who recoiled from violence of any 
kind to one who wanted to wallow in the mire of masochistic ritual? 

"C'mon, damn you," Jennifer spat, "maul my tits, you fucking jerk. Make me 
scream." 

"Jennifer, will you please stop this madness? I just can't hurt you. I 
can't." 

Tempted to spit in her husband's face, Jennifer continued rocking wildly on 
his turgid tool, time and again impaling herself on his fleshy spear. She 
was rapidly losing all control now, sliding crazily down hump-hill toward 
the awaiting orgasm. 

Up and down she bounced, lifting and falling in hard, jerking motions, her 
lustrous golden tresses swirling about her face as she rode her mate's 
manhood with a demonic enthusiasm. Eyes wide, burning brightly, she looked 
down at Kevin and with a contemptuous expression mocked his weakness, his 
stupidity, his unwillingness to perform those painfully pleasurable acts 
that would catapult her to heaven's gate. 

And then Jennifer was coming, coating her spouse's hard cock with a warm, 
gooey flow of sex juice as she emitted a deep-throated moan of pleasure. She 
dropped down onto Kevin's chest, her breasts flattening against his chest 
and her face twisting into a demented scowl. 

She shut her eyes tight, her fingers digging deep into the pillow under her 
husband's head as she pushed down once again onto his manhood in a feverish 
attempt to suck even his hairy balls up into her quaking vagina. 

Through it all Kevin remained inert, arms at his sides, his mind filled with 
worry for the woman he loved and could not bring himself to hurt. What was 
he going to do with her, he wondered. To whom would he go for help if Dr. 
Latham's therapeutic sessions with Jennifer proved unsuccessful? 

When it was over, a panting Jennifer rolled off her husband and onto her 
side next to him. Very slowly she brought her legs down, stretching herself 
out on the bed as some of her come began oozing out of her cunt. Breathing 
hard, her chest heaving, she looked up at the bedroom ceiling and once again 
silently berated her mate for his total ineptitude where sex was concerned. 

It was several minutes before Kevin said anything to his wife. All of 
Jennifer's wild gyrations, the almost painful way she had squeezed his stiff 
prick with her greedy, clutching cunt while posting passionately on it, had 
failed to bring him to orgasm. And now his organ, wet with Jennifer's 
juices, was resting up against his stomach like a large, fat worm in repose. 

His failure to come did not surprise him. It had happened before. On other 
occasions, more than he cared to remember, his pain-hungry spouse had 
succeeded in making a mockery of what should be a tender physical expression 
of emotional love. 

Rapidly would he lose all interest in sex when Jennifer began her pathetic 
pleas for pain. Oftentimes, as was the case tonight, his prick would begin 
to shrivel while still inside her vagina, becoming almost flaccid while she 
immersed herself in the dizzying splendor of an orgasm. 

"I hope you're satisfied," he now said softly, looking not at the woman at 
his side but up at the ceiling. 

Jennifer said nothing. 

"Do you realize that you spoiled it again for me, Jenny?" 

Jennifer sighed deeply. "I still have a long way to go before I match the 
number of times you've ruined it for me." 

"You can't mean that?" 

"Can't I?" 

"Lovemaking should be tender, an expression of-" 

"Please, Kevin, spare me that stupid lecture. Save it for our daughters when 
they reach puberty. Maybe they'll appreciate your opinion on the subject. 
Personally, it turns my stomach." 

Kevin swallowed hard, his wife's words tearing at his gut. Again he wondered 
what loathsome spirit had entered Jennifer's soul to change her from a 
loving wife and devoted mother to a foul-mouthed wanton seemingly bent on 
her own destruction. 

"A little less talk," Jennifer continued, "and more action. That's what I'd 
like to have from you, Kevin. Maybe if you'd keep in mind that I'm a flesh 
and blood female and not some breakable doll that-ohhh, what's the use. 
You'll never change." 

"But you have, Jenny. And for the worse." 

"So you say." 

"You're sick, Jennifer. I'll never understand just why or how it happened, 
but you've become a monster. A raving maniac where sex is concerned. I 
hardly know you anymore." 

"Maybe you never really knew me, Kevin," Jennifer said, her thoughts 
beginning to stray, to zero in on Dr. Paul Latham, her passion-filled 
psychologist. It was a shame that she had to cancel her appointment with him 
this afternoon. Fortunately, she'd be seeing the good doctor tomorrow, and 
it was highly un-likely that the school nurse would summon her two days in a 
row. Sweet little Melanie, she would never know just how inopportune was the 
bad sore throat she had suddenly developed while in gym class, and how 
miserably disappointed it had made her mother. 

"I knew you when we married," Kevin insisted. "You were a wonderful person 
then, so full of hope and-" 

"Look, let's not talk anymore about it, all right?" Jennifer broke in 
sharply. "I think the less we say to each other the better off we'll be." 

"That's no way to run a marriage, Jenny." 

"It's the only way for us. If you won't cooperate and do the things I ask, 
then I see no-" 

"Cooperate. Is that what you call it? How in the name of all that is holy 
can you expect me to derive even an ounce of pleasure from degrading you? 
Only a savage, a sadist, would willingly perform those depraved acts you now 
crave from me." 

A small, almost evil smile began creeping across Jennifer's face as she 
remembered her last session with Dr. Latham. 

"Do you still love your daughters, Jennifer?" Kevin asked, for the first 
time turning his head on the pillow to look at his beautiful wife. 

"Of course I still love them. I'll never stop loving them and you know it. 
Your question reaches the heights of absurdity." 

"But you no longer love me, do you?" 

Jennifer hesitated, then, "I can't love a man I can't respect. You're my 
husband, Kevin. You're obliged to tend to my needs, physical as well as 
emotional, but you're falling down on the job. Instead of the wild, 
fulfilling sex I need, you give me lectures on the meaning of marriage. I 
need brutal lovemaking, Mr. Wagner, not a barrage of meaningless words more 
suited to a virginal teenager than a twenty-six-year-old mother of two." 

"You're disgusting, Jennifer," Kevin said softly, seething inside. 

"And you're a fool," the luscious blond snapped back. "A stupid, stuffed 
shirt of a fool. You know as much about sex and what makes a woman tick as a 
eunuch would be expected to know. Probably much less." 

"I could strike you for that," Kevin hissed, glaring at his wife. 

Jennifer whipped her head around on the pillow to lock eyes with her 
husband. "Do it then, Kevin. Don't just promise and then not deliver. You're 
angry now. Stay angry. Hit me, baby. Whack the hell out of my ass. Please 
Kevin, punish me good." 

Kevin suddenly pushed himself off the bed, flipping onto his side and 
raising his hand almost in the same motion. Anger burned brightly within him 
as he glared down at his wife, whose voice had trailed off as she watched 
him bolt upright and make as if to smack her face. 

Then his face softened, a sudden surge of disgust dispelling the unbridled 
anger that had prompted him to raise his hand to his wife for the first time 
in his life. He held his hand over his left shoulder for several long 
seconds, then, emitting a groan of despair, brought the hand down and fell 
back into a reclining position on the bed. 

Jennifer remained in position, unable to bring herself to look at the man 
she considered spineless, so pitifully weak. Even in anger he would not hit 
her, she thought miserably. He was indeed a coward, a foolish, perfectly 
useless excuse for a man. He had no more backbone than a jellyfish. 

"I pray with all my heart, Jennifer, that Dr. Latham will be able to help 
you," Kevin said finally. "If a man trained in the art of curing sick 
psyches can't work a change in you, then I don't know what Ffn going to do." 

"He's helping me, Kevin," Jennifer said, an almost satanic smile coming to 
her face. 

"Are you sure of that?" 

"Very sure." 

"It's too early to tell. Dr. Latham has been treating you for less than two 
months." 

"Much can be accomplished in two months," Jennifer noted. 

"You're going to be under the doctor's care for some time to come, Jennifer. 
A full year of therapy might be required." 

"Do you think so, Kevin?" asked Jennifer, restraining her laughter. 

"I don't care how long it takes or how much it costs," Kevin said. "What's 
important is that you continue seeing Dr. Latham until he's satisfied with 
your mental condition." 

"You really do think I'm crazy, don't you?" 

Kevin hesitated, then, "Let's just say that I think you'll be a happier, 
more self-assured person after a year in analysis. Dr. Latham will help you 
put things back in their proper perspective. I'm sure that in his career as 
a psychologist Latham has helped a number of people like yourself. How it is 
that a perfectly normal individual can suddenly turn masochistic is a 
mystery to me, but of course the doctor is far more experienced in these 
matters than I am. He must think you'll respond to therapy or he wouldn't 
keep you as a patient." 

"Oh, I'm responding all right, Kevin," said Jennifer. And then she started 
to giggle. 

"What's the matter with you now? Why are you laughing, Jennifer?" Kevin 
again pushed himself to a sitting position and looked at her. 

"Oh, Kevin, you silly clown," Jennifer laughed into the hands covering her 
face. "You're such a damn idiot." 

"Maybe I should phone Dr. Latham," Kevin said, his expression one of serious 
concern. 

"Yes, do that little thing," Jennifer said, barely able to sneak the words 
in between her chuckles. "He's what I need right now." 

"Jennifer, will you please stop this insane laughter?" Kevin said loudly, 
grabbing his wife by the arm and trying to shake her back to her senses. 

Her husband's touch was like a white hot flame to Jennifer. She recoiled 
from it immediately, a last laugh choking in her throat as she stared up at 
her worried spouse. Seconds later she was twisting away from him, propelling 
herself to the side of the bed and then getting to her feet. 

"Where are you going now?" Kevin asked, as his wife started out of the 
bedroom. 

"To check on the children, do you mind?" 

"Wait a minute, Jennifer. I want you to explain to me what was so funny. If 
you don't, then I'm going to call Dr. Latham first thing in the morning and 
ask him about it." 

Jennifer stopped and turned around. A wicked smile formed on her beautiful 
face as she placed her hands on her hips and advanced slowly to the bed. He 
deserved this, she thought. Because he was so unbelievably naive, because he 
was such a boring clod, he deserved this. 

"What would you say, my holier-than-thou husband, if I told you that Dr. 
Paul Latham, the psychologist you suggested I see because of his excellent 
reputation as an analyst, has been fucking the shit out of me once a week 
for the past two months?" 

Kevin greeted the revelation with stunned silence. Refusing to believe what 
he had just heard, his mind unable to fully grasp the numbing perversity of 
it all, he very slowly worked his way off the bed and then to his feet. He 
moved over to where his wife was standing. 

"So how does that grab you, darling?" Jennifer asked, staring her husband 
square in the face. 

"You're lying, Jennifer," Kevin said coldly. 

"I'm not lying, Mr. Wagner. My weekly sessions with the good doctor are 
simply thrilling. You were absolutely right about Latham, darling. He knows 
just how to treat a patient like me." 

"I don't believe this. I refuse to believe it." 

"He fucks me, Kevin," Jennifer hissed. "Did you hear what I said? He fucks 
me. He fucks me like a man should fuck a woman. And he knows how to 
administer the pain I crave, too. He's an expert at making a girl scream." 

"Jennifer-" 

"You're so surprised, darling. Well, isn't that a crying shame. Maybe I 
should tell you about my last session with Dr. Paul Latham, psychologist 
extraordinaire. That should make your hair stand up." 

"Bitch-you bitch," Kevin breathed, clenching his fists at his sides. She was 
telling the truth, he realized angrily. 

"My last visit to Latham's office was a really exciting one, Kevin. He made 
me undress and then beat on my poor ass with a riding crop as I lay draped 
across his desk." 

"Stop it, damn you." 

"When he grew tired of swatting my ass, he yanked out his big stiff cock 
and-" 

"Jennifer!" 

"And fucked me in the ass!" Jennifer shouted. That's right, Kevin my love. 
Dr. Latham rammed his fat old cock way up inside my dirty rectum and then 
pounded hell out of my bottom. And I loved it, do you hear? I screamed with 
joy and begged him to never stop screwing my behind." 

"You disgusting, foul-mouthed, deranged little tramp," Kevin hissed, 
glowering at his wife. 

"You should consider yourself lucky, darling. Latham is the only man with 
whom I've commited adultery. So far, that is." 

"You're not to see him again, do you hear?" 

"I'm seeing him again tomorrow afternoon." 

"No!" 

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" 

It was at this point that Kevin, a monstrous anger churning up his insides, 
the claws of frustration ripping at his heart, gave his mocking wife what 
she had been asking for, demanding, for such a long time. He drew back his 
clenched fist and sent it thudding into Jennifer's beautiful, grinning face. 
She fell face first onto the bed, her moans partially smothered in the 
mattress. 

"I could kill you," Kevin rasped, advancing slowly toward the bed, his fists 
still balled tightly. 

He looked down at his sobbing wife. For the first time in his life he had 
the urge to maim and murder, to use his bare fists to pummel another human 
being into unconsciousness. He wanted to strike out at something, somebody, 
and by so doing relieve the painful ache in his heart. 

Jennifer sobbed softly into the mattress for a full munute, then slowly 
rolled over onto her back to reveal a jaw already beginning to swell. 
Although he realized now that there was no limit to the number and variety 
of degradations his wife was willing to subject herself to in her quest for 
pain, Kevin was still unprepared for the faintly mocking smile he saw creep 
across Jennifer's tear-striked face. 

Nor was he fully prepared when she asked, "Is that all, darling? One punch 
and that's it? Wouldn't you like to box my pretty ears now?" 

He just stood there. He felt totally numb. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Paul Latham eased back into the brown leather armchair and then folded his 
arms across his chest. She looked especially good this afternoon, he 
thought, watching as Jennifer Wagner settled herself on the beige couch next 
to his chair. 

For her visit to his office today she had donned an eye-popping pair of 
fanny-hugging, blood-red bellbottoms and a tight-fitting cream-colored 
sweater that buttoned down the front. It was a cock-thickening sight, to say 
the least, and it was with the greatest ease that he could imagine himself 
unbuttoning those buttons and baring Jennifer's succulent breasts, pushing 
down her flaming bell-bottoms to explore the humid delights of her pantied 
snatch. 

Only one thing detracted from the overall picture of ravishing beauty 
presented by Mrs. Wagner. And that was the unsightly swelling on the right 
side of her jaw. 

"So, here we are again," Jennifer said, leaning back in the couch and 
crossing her legs. "The patient and her analyst all set for visit number 
nine. Or should I say, round nine." 

Paul grinned. "It looks as if you've already been in the ring, Jennifer." 

"What?" 

"Your jaw. What the hell did you do to it?" 

"Oh that. Well-" 

" You're not going to tell me you walked into a door, I hope." 

"Would you believe a telephone pole?" a smiling Jennifer asked. 

"I would not." 

"Maybe it's a cancerous tumor." 

Paul chuckled. "That I seriously doubt, baby. Now tell me what happened. 
Were you finally able to get that nincompoop husband of yours to smack you 
around a little?" 

Jennifer's smile faded a little. "Yes, something like that." 

"Great day in the morning. So Mr. Milktoast is at last beginning to turn 
tiger, huh?" 

"I'd rather not talk about him, Paul." 

"Why not? C'mon, sweetheart, give me all the juicy details. How did you 
manage to provoke the dumb clod?" 

"I said I don't want to discuss it," Jennifer said, a bit of a bite to her 
voice. "I'm not here to talk about my husband. Besides, I've already told 
you all about him. We played that scene the first time I visited your 
office, remember?" 

Paul looked at his "patient" and then shrugged his shoulders. "Well, if you 
don't want to tell me about the incident then you don't want to tell me 
about the incident. Simple as that." 

Jennifer returned Paul's half-smile with one of her own. She wondered if 
maybe she should explain to him exactly what had transpired between herself 
and Kevin last night. But that would mean confessing to a "sin" he had 
warned her repeatedly against committing. 

At least once during each of her previous visits Paul had expressed concern 
about someone learning the exact nature of their relationship. Such a 
disclosure, he had said, could do irrevocable damage to his practice in 
Crestmont. So mum was the word. 

But here she had gone and blabbed to her husband, Jennifer thought, 
remembering the jolting right cross Kevin had sent crashing against her now 
painful, badly swollen jaw. Were she to tell Paul that she had broken her 
promise not to say a word, he just might decide to terminate their 
relationship. 

"Perhaps it's just as well that you don't go into any detail, Jennifer. I 
mean, why waste precious time talking when we could be balling?" 

"My feelings exactly, Dr. Latham," Jennifer said, a broad smile blossoming 
on her face. "And since I'm paying for an hour's worth of your time-" 

"You expect your money's worth, correct?" 

"Correct." 

Paul chuckled. "My beautiful Jennifer, have I ever short-changed you? Don't 
you always leave here satisfied with the service I've rendered?" 

"More than satisfied, Paul." 

"Good. Now what's it to be this afternoon? The whip again? Perhaps a good 
old-fashioned spanking. Yes, that might be nice." 

"It all sounds so inviting, Doctor. And so exciting." 

Paul leaned forward in his chair and placed his arms on his knees, clasping 
his hands in front of him. "I could work on your tits for a while, Jenny. 
How would it be if I squeezed and mauled your luscious breasts until you 
yelled uncle?" 

"Oh, Paul," Jennifer said softly, her pulse quickening as her "doctor" 
reeled off a few of the things he could to to provide her with the pain she 
craved. 

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" 

" Yes-yes, I would." 

"And your cunt, Jennifer," Paul continued. "Wouldn't you just love me to 
attack your cock-hungry twat? I could bit you there, suck your sweet snatch 
until it was raw and bleeding. I would thrust a few fingers inside you and 
then, while you sobbed in agony I'd try to shove my whole fist inside your 
slushy cunt." 

"Paul, sweetheart, you don't know what you're doing to me." 

And me, honey, Paul thought, watching his beautiful blonde "patient" slump 
further down in the couch. He could feel his cock begin to stir inside his 
trousers. It was starting to swell, to thicken with warm blood, to push up 
and out against the material of his boxer shorts. 

"Let's get the show on the road, Jenny. Treatment time has arrived." 

"No. Wait a minute Paul. I want to tell you about a dream I had a few nights 
ago." 

Paul grinned. "C'mon, beautiful, stop pulling my leg." 

"This will take just a couple of minutes," Jennifer explained, pulling 
herself up into a more erect posture on the couch. "And I think you'll find 
my dreams very interesting, Paul." 

"Okay, if that'll make you happy," Paul sighed. 

"I dreamed that I was raped. Oh, Paul, it was beautiful, just beautiful. It 
was very late at night and I was walking alone in a deserted park-the one 
right across the street, in fact. Suddenly I heard the sound of footsteps 
behind me." 

"The plot thickens," Paul smiled. 

"I looked back over my shoulder and saw this huge, hairy man about twenty 
feet behind me. He was a big, powerful brute and at the moment stark naked. 
I couldn't see him too clearly at first because the park was so dark. But 
then he passed under a street lamp and I caught a glimpse of his face. He 
was ugly, the ugliest man I ever saw." 

"Most fantasy rapists are like that," Paul noted, a touch of sarcasm in his 
voice. 

"And his cock, Paul, it was something out of this world. It was monstrous, 
as thick and as long as a horse's tool, and it jutted out from his loins 
like a flagpole. It was a cock better suited to a randy mare than a womn." 

"But it excited you, didn't it?" 

"No. I was afraid of it, Paul. I could imagine myself being ripped asunder 
by that gigantic organ." 

"So you ran." 

"Yes. I left the cobblestone road and darted into some bushes. I could feel 
the loud thumping of my heart as I started running through the park. As I 
dashed around a tree I tripped over a large branch and fell face first the 
damp ground." 

"The truth is you wanted to be caught and raped," Paul opined with a smile. 
"Your fall was not entirely accidental." 

"I don't know." 

"Did you scream for help?" 

"No. I picked myself up and then spun around to check on the whereabouts of 
the man chasing me. I thought I had put some distance between us but I was 
wrong. He was coming after me, gaining ground with each passing second. I 
turned and started running again, this time cutting through a row of hedges 
and dashing out into an open field of grass." 

"A mistake, right?" 

"Yes, because now I had no cover. I could hear the man behind me, growling 
like a bear as he closed the gap between us. I thought I could feel his 
breath on my neck and wondered just how close to me he really was. 

Ten feet? Twenty feet? Thirty? I was afraid to look back over my shoulder 
for fear that I'd see him getting ready to lunge at me. 

"And then I felt his large, powerful hands on my shoulders. He threw himself 
against me and I was sent sprawling to the cold ground, his huge bulk 
resting on my back like a steamer trunk. He kept me pinned like that while 
he caught his breath, his weight pressing my breasts and face into the damp 
grass." 

"Did you consider crying out now?" Paul asked, knowing the answer he would 
receive from the gorgeous masochist. 

"I was afraid to. I didn't want to provoke him, I guess. Anyway, he started 
whispering dirty things into my ear, telling me that I wouldn't be hurt if I 
did all that he asked. Then he pulled himself up off my back and started 
wrestling me over, his dirty fingernails digging into the flesh of my arms." 

"Now we get to the good part," Paul smiled. "When I was on my back he 
started ripping at my clothes. I was wearing what I'm wearing this 
afternoon, Paul. This same sweater and these bellbottoms. He took hold of 
the sweater and with a fiendish snarl ripped it right down the middle. Then 
he grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me up to a sitting position on 
the ground." 

"The better to remove your sweater," Paul remarked, again with a sardonic 
smile. 

"He worked the sweater off me and tossed it aside. Then he jammed a few 
fingers between my bra and chest and viciously yanked the bra off my 
breasts. When I was naked from the waist up, he shoved me back to the ground 
and started denuding my lower half. I was helpless, Paul. All I could do was 
stay put and watch as he began dragging down my bellbottoms-" 

Helpless, my ass, Paul thought. You wanted it, baby. 

"The next thing I knew I was naked except for my white cotton panties. But I 
didn't have them for very long. The ugly brute snarled again and ripped my 
pants away, tossing them next to my other things on the grass. And then he 
was on me, Paul, growling like an animal as he struggled to jam his 
monstrous manhood into my dry vagina-" 

Paul kept his eyes on Jennifer as she continued her explicit and detailed 
account of the rape she had experienced in a dream. He watched her drop one 
hand into her lap and, after spreading her legs, begin a heated massage of 
her crotch through the material of her bellbottoms. The other hand she 
brought to her left breast, squeezing it hard as she started squirming on 
the couch. 

"I tried to squirm out from under him but it was no use. He was too big, too 
heavy. I started to plead with him, Paul. I begged him not to do this awful 
thing. But he ignored my tears and kept jamming his horse's hard-on between 
my legs. And then-oooo, did that hurt." 

"The penetration?" 

"Yes. He suddenly lunged forward and buried his great cock in my cunt. I let 
out a scream, Paul. The pain, oh that mind-bending pain." 

"But it got better, didn't it, sweetheart? The pain quickly turned to 
pleasure, right?" 

"It did, yes. As soon as he started fucking me. He didn't waste any time. 
Once he was in me he started pounding away, tearing up my cunt with his 
powerful prick. I could feel it up to my tits. I thought I'd be split right 
down the middle. He was so huuuuge." 

A lewd smile blossomed on Paul's face as he pushed up out of the armchair 
and quickly took off his sport jacket. Keeping his eyes on Jennifer, who was 
almost panting now, he unbuttoned his shirt and at the same time kicked off 
his loafers. His pecker was about to bust through the material of his 
trousers, so aroused had he become by the beautiful woman's account of her 
degrading ravishment. 

"But then, that prodigious cock began to feel good in me. I wanted more of 
it, Paul. I didn't care if the bastard ripped up my insides. The pain was so 
good, so satisfying. I started to moan with joy. I begged him to do it 
harder, faster. I wrapped my arms around his hard back and-ohhhh, it was so 
fucking good, Paul." 

Clad now only in his boxer shorts, Paul looked down at the woman squirming 
shamelessly on his couch. Her head was lolling on the back cushion and her 
eyes were closed. Nostrils flared, she continued abusing her body through 
her clothes, one hand busy between her parted thighs, the other roughly 
massaging her left boob. 

"Tears of happiness washed down my face as he slammed his marvelous cock 
into my hungry cunt. Each belly-flattening thrust of his tool knocked my 
breath away. He kept socking it to me, using his cock like a sledgehammer to 
pound my pussy to pieces." 

Paul shucked his shorts and then, bare-assed naked, stepped to the couch and 
dropped into it next to Jennifer. He brought one hand to the front of her 
cream-colored sweater and started unbuttonning the buttons. 

"He battered my cunt with his enormous organ, Paul. He looked down at me and 
told me I was a hot-assed bitch. I agreed and begged him to never stop 
fucking the shit out of me. He just laughed and-Paul, what are you doing?" 

"What does it look like I'm doing, sweetheart?" Paul grinned at the luscious 
blonde whose eyes had suddenly flicked open. "If you go on much longer with 
this tale of rape, you'll be coming in your pretty pants. And we can't have 
that, can we?" 

"No wait, Paul," Jennfier said, taking the passionate psychologist's hand 
away from her sweater. "I don't want it like this. I want you to rape me." 

"What?" 

"You heard me. I want to be taken against my will." 

"You mean-" 

"Yes. I want to re-enact the rape I dreamed about the other night. Please, 
Paul. It'll be fantastic-for both of us." 

Paul smiled. "You don't expect me to take you to the park right now and-" 

"No, of course not. We'll do it here in your office." 

"You're serious, aren't you?" 

"Very. Now please, Paul. Say you'll rape the shit out of my cock-craving 
body." 

Paul looked at the ravishing blonde next to him. Maybe it wasn't such a bad 
idea at that, he thought. He had plenty of time to do as Jennifer wished. 
His next appointment was a good forty-five minutes away-and since his office 
was soundproof he didn't have to worry about her yelling her head off. 

"Well, Paul, will you do it? Will you rape me?" 

"Will you promise not to scratch my eyes out?" 

Jennifer smiled. "I'll do everything I can to prevent you from entering me 
except claw your face and-" 

"Knee me in the groin." 

"Yes. I wouldn't want to ruin you, you know. I won't kick you in the balls, 
Paul." 

Paul shrugged. "Well, all right then. I'm ready when you are baby." 

Jennifer's smile faded as she dropped her gaze from the psychologist's face 
to his lap. The sight of his organ, rock-hard and throbbing now, sticking up 
against his belly, sent a shiver of lust up her spine. 

She brought her left hand down and hungrily grasped the spear of flesh she 
would soon be trying to keep from slicing up into her steaming vagina. Her 
fingers curled around its pulsating fullness and a look of sexual need 
blanketed her beautiful face. The prospect of being raped, of being savagely 
violated, of living the glorious dream of brutal ravishment she had dreamed 
the other night, was turning her inside out with desire. 

It would be a fantasy come true. 

"Now, Paul," she said finally, giving the docor's blood-filled dick a 
violent squeeze. "Rape me now!" Wasting not a second, he jumped on Jennifer 
and wrestled her down on the couch until she was stretched out on her back. 

"No, don't do this," Jennifer cried, losing herself easily and quickly in 
the role of hapless victim fending off the lustful attack of a satyric 
rapist. "Please-you're hurting me. Ooohhhh-" 

As Jennifer bucked and twisted under him, her hands clamped firmly on his 
shoulders, Paul worked like a madman to strip her naked. With his right hand 
he grabbed the top of her sweater and yanked down, the garment tearing 
easily right down the middle as two of the buttons he had not undone earlier 
popped up into the air. 

Remembering what Jennifer's dream rapist had done, he plunged a hand into 
her silky blonde tresses and with a violent yank jerked her up to a sitting 
position. Jennifer shrieked and started pummeling his chest with her balled 
fists, her face flushing as she struggled with all her strength to prevent 
the denuding. 

For a fleeting moment, as he worked the torn sweater around and off 
Jennifer's shoulders, Paul considered the consequences of tearing all her 
clothes. He knew that that was what she wanted now, to have the clothes 
ripped from her body and then to be savagely screwed in the manner of a 
demented rapist. But what happens later, he wondered, when it came time for 
her to leave his office and return home. She couldn't very well walk out 
wearing garments badly wrinkled and tattered. 

That was a problem that would have to be confronted later, he decided, 
tossing the sweater onto the floor. Right now he had Jennfier's bra to worry 
about. He was anxious to bare her boobs, to feast his eyes once again on 
those spongy globes of succulent flesh. 

"Stop it, please stop it," Jennifer moaned, her lovely face contorting in 
simulated anguish. "Don't do this to me." 

"Shut your mouth, slut," Paul shouted. He drew back his right hand and 
smacked the protesting blonde across the face. He hit her a second time, the 
back of his hand crashing against her left cheek and jarring her head back. 
"Now will you shut up, cunt?" 

"You bastard!" Jennifer howled. "You perverted beast!" 

"Bitch!" Paul yelled back. His left hand still painfully entwined in 
Jennifer's hair, holding her head up and back, he again raised his right 
hand and whacked her across the face. 

Then, as Jennifer fell to whimpering like a baby, as the tears began sliding 
down her burning cheeks, Paul unclasped her bra and quickly pulled it off 
her chest. 

"No, don't do this," the ravishing blonde sobbed, acting her part 
beautifully. "Stop it. Don't rape me, please. No, don't take them off. 
Ohhhh-" 

Ignoring the woman's phony pleas for mercy, Paul undid the lone button at 
the side of her bellbottoms, yanked down the zipper, and then proceed to 
roughly tug the garment down her legs, his body hunched over as he labored 
like one possessed to get at her pantied treasure. 

The couch cushions sagged under his weight, the springs in squeaky complaint 
as he shuffled back on his knees while dragging the bellbottoms down 
Jennifer's creamy smooth thighs, over her knees to her feet, where for a 
second they remained bunched at her ankles. But only for a second. 

Quickly he removed Jennifer's white shoes, the left first and then the right 
tossing both over his shoulder in a manner befitting the frantic rapist. 
Then he worked the bellbottoms around and off her feet, crumpling the 
garment into a ball before hurling it across his office. 

"Okay, baby," he breathed hotly, eyes wide and burning brightly. "Now we 
just have your pants to worry about." 

"No, don't take my panties off," Jennifer pleaded, feigning fear as she 
squirmed her near-nude body on the couch. "Please. I'm begging you. Don't 
rape me. Don't." 

"I'm going to fuck you dizzy, baby. And you're going to eat it up, you 
hear?" 

"No, I won't let you." Jennifer bolted up to a sitting position on the couch 
and spit in his face. 

"Bitch!" Paul spat, ducking the spray. "Spit at me, will you. I'll show 
you." 

Valerie Latham would have found interesting and certainly not disquieting 
the fact that her psychologist husband was playing determined rapist to 
Jennifer Wagner's suffering but spunky victim. At the moment, however, she 
was giving absolutely no thought to her spouse, his practice or his 
problem-laden patients. 

She was much too busy concentrating on Frank Fallon. 

The voluptuous Valerie had met her virile, muscular lover six months ago, 
literally bumping into him on the turnpike while on her way to Crestmont to 
purchase yet another dress to hang in her already clothes-crammed bedroom 
closet. 

She had pulled up behind Frank's cream-colored Dodge, which Frank had 
stopped at the change of the overhead traffic light from green to red. When 
the light finally flashed green, Valerie, much to her dismay at the time, 
broke from the gate like a bronco-buster, accidentally jamming her foot down 
on the gas pedal and propelling her small Triumph into the larger Dodge. 

The damage to both autos was slight, of no consequence whatsoever, but the 
impression Frank made on her that fateful afternoon was of considerable 
significance, because it set in motion the very enjoyable affair they had 
been carrying on for the last five and a half months. 

Valerie had been considering the merits of an affair for several months 
prior to her fortuitous introduction to Frank Fallon, president and co-owner 
of a thriving construction firm located on the outskirts of Ocean Grove. It 
wasn't that she felt sexually deprived and in need of a really good banging. 

Far from it. Paul, she was quick to admit, gave her all she wanted in bed 
and then some. He was a robust, imaginative lover, a talented cocksman not 
afraid to experiment and one concerned as much with his wife's orgasm as he 
was with his own. No complaint did she have with Mr. Latham. Not a one. 

What had prompted Valerie's search for a lover was her general, overall 
feeling of restlessness. Her life, she realized, had fallen into a pattern, 
a rather monotonous one brightened only by those sizzling sex sessions with 
her husband. Although she truly loved her good-looking mate and her fabulous 
home, and enjoyed the parties she threw for her friends and neighbors as 
well as those she attended with Paul, she became increasingly aware of the 
sameness of her activities, the disquieting routine of it all. 

What she needed, Valerie had already decided before meeting Frank, was a 
good jolt, a tonic of sorts, something that would jar her loose from the 
nagging feeling that, despite all her wonderful possessions, her life lacked 
purpose and maybe even direction. 

So it was that Valerie embarked on her affair with Frank Fallon, finding in 
their secret meetings, their clandestine couplings, the excitement and 
danger she felt was missing from her life heretofore. And making this affair 
even more thrilling, more naughty, was the fact that it was her first. 

"I guess I'm overdue, wouldn't you say?" Valerie had teasingly asked Frank 
during their first rendezvous at the Rest-A-While Motel, a home away from 
home for adulterous couples residing in and around the posh community of 
Ocean Grove. Frank's answer had taken the form of a bone-rattling plunge 
into Valerie's steaming vagina, following which he fucked holy hell out of 
her. 

Now, as her husband "raped" Jennifer Wagner in his office in Crestmont, 
Valerie beckoned Frank with her little finger. She was bare-assed naked and 
sitting up in the double bed that came with No. 6, one of the nineteen units 
which, when taken as a whole, comprised the popular and usually busy 
Rest-A-While Motel. 

"You're not starting to give me orders now, are you, baby?" Frank asked with 
a crooked grin. 

Valerie smiled. "Only the kind you love to obey, Mr. Fallon." 

"You're a wicked little bitch, Mrs. Latham." 

"I'm a randy little bitch, you mean. Now bring that big, beautiful body of 
yours over here before I-" 

"Before you what?" 

"Before I dash outside and ask the first stud I see to screw me." 

Frank chuckled. "Like that freckled-faced kid in the office, huh?" 

"Could be," Valerie answered with a grin. "You saw how he looked me over 
when you registered us. I thought his eyes were going to pop right out of 
his head." 

"He'd be a lousy lay, baby." 

"How do you know? Have you tried him?" 

"Have I tried him? I ought to whack the daylights out of you for a crack 
like that. Here, is this the body of a guy who likes boys?" 

Valerie watched Frank assume the pose favored by very strong, exceptionally 
well-muscled men when they want to show off their powerful physiques; feet 
apart, planted firmly on the ground, arms up and bent at the elbows, chest 
out and stomach in. 

Frank was without doubt the most well-constructed man she had ever set eyes 
on. Posed as he was now, he looked as if he had just stepped out of a 
body-building magazine. His was the body promised every ninety-eight pound 
weakling by those pushing programs in weight-lifting and related 
muscle-strenghtening techniques. Mr. Adonis, meet Mr. Fallon. 

And Frank was good-looking too. Good-looking in a rough, unfinished sort of 
way, that is. A rumpled mass of coal-black hair topped a large head more 
round than oval. Frank's eyes were blue, twin orbs peering out from beneath 
bushy eyebrows; his nose was broad and somewhat crooked, broken often, he 
had explained, during his short-lived career as a professional boxer. 

Yes, Valerie decided, she couldn't have done much better than Frank. For her 
first fling she had chosen a six foot two inch, two hundred and ten pound 
giant of a man. With a cock that was quick to rise and never in a hurry to 
wilt. Not bad for a gal playing the game of adultery for the first time. 

"Well, I'm waiting, baby," Frank said, holding his pose. "Tell me what you 
think. Is this the body of a queer or what?" 

"Queers come in all sizes and shapes, don't they?" Valerie teased. 

Frank dropped his arms and shook his head. "Baby, in all my thirty-nine 
years I've never met a broad like you. Don't you ever get tired ( of jabbing 
the old needle in a guy?" 

"You know you love it, you big brute," Valerie said with a broad smile. 

"I guess I'm just going to have to prove to you again that I'm as straight 
as they come." 

"The proof is in the fucking," Valerie declared, sliding a little further 
down in the bed as she brought her hands to her warming womanhood. "Now am I 
going to get laid this afternoon or not? I can't wait all day, you know." 

"You won't have to wait a second more, Mrs. Latham. Help is on the way." 

Frank walked over to the motel bed, his slightly larger than average pecker 
in the first states of tumescence. He looked down at the gorgeous 
titian-tressed woman now stretched out and squirming sensuously on the bed. 
She was fooling with him again, he realized, his eyes fixing on the smooth, 
inviting undulation of her shapely hips as she rolled them up in tantalizing 
welcome. 

"Do me, Frank," Valerie breathed sexily. "Do me good this afternoon." 

"What do you want, baby? You name it and I'll do it." 

The apprentice adulteress smiled warmly. "What haven't we done yet, Frank? I 
can't think of any act or position we haven't tried at least once already." 

"Maybe you'd like your twat sucked." 

"Maybe." 

"I could fuck you between your tits, baby." 

"Yes, that's an idea," Valerie purred, continuing to rotate her hips on the 
bed as she lovingly fondled her copper-colored snatch. "What else can you 
think of, lover?" 

"How about if you suck on my cock for a while? You always get a charge out 
of that." 

Valerie's eyes drifted from Frank's face down to his rising manhood. She 
watched with more than passing interest as his tool climbed his left leg, as 
it became thicker, longer, swelling while ascending until finally, 
magically, total turgidity was achieved. 

"Mmmm, it looks good enough to eat, Frank." 

"Go to it, beautiful," Frank suggested, curling the thick fingers of his 
right hand around the column of blood-packed flesh. "He's ready whenever you 
are." 

"Later, I'll suck him later," Valerie promised, her voice soft, sexy. "He'll 
be my dessert." 

"And the entree? Has milady decided yet?" 

The titian-haired beauty stopped the provocative rotation of her hips, the 
smooth, spongy hillocks of her prime posterior settling into the mattress as 
she brought her hands from her wetting snatch up to her mouth-watering 
boobs. She thought for a moment, fingering her rose-colored nipples as she 
tried to decide in what hole she wanted Frank's cock the most. 

Frank finally emitted a sigh of exasperation. 

As if that were her cue, Valerie said, "All right, big boy, how about coming 
in the back door this afternoon? Are you in the mood for some hot 
ass-humping?" 

"I am if you are, baby," Frank answered quickly, a broad smile replacing the 
small frown he had been wearing. "It's been three weeks since the last time 
I shoved it up your sweet fanny." 

"I know. That's why I want it today." 

"Asshole beginning to twitch, huh?" 

"It needs to be stretched again," Valerie said, grinning up at the big, 
burly man. 

"Baby, I'm going to stretch it a mile. Now let's stop all this talking and 
get down to business." 

Valerie pushed herself up off the bed and maneuvered close to Frank, her 
legs curling up under her as she reached for his pulsating pecker. Without a 
word she moved her head into position, directing the pear-shaped crown of 
Frank's tool to her eager mouth. For a few tantalizing seconds she rubbed 
the cockhead back and forth across her sealed lips. 

Then, her lips parting, she took into her mouth the tasty crown and started 
sucking taking more and more of the pulsing organ inside her oral cavity as 
she hungrily and without pause launched into an enthusiastic fellatio. 

Back and forth her head moved, her soft, supple lips gliding wetly over 
Frank's turgid manhood, her teeth scraping lightly over its heavily-veined 
surface. Finally- 

"Okay, Mr. Fallon, that should do the trick. Now you're all nice and 
slippery." 

"The better to ream your ass, beautiful," Frank grinned at her. 

"That was the idea, fella. We may as well make the trip up the old dirt road 
as easy as possible." 

With that, her anus in excited twitch, Valerie released Frank's 
saliva-covered manhood and twisted around away from him, positioning herself 
on hands and knees on the bed with her firm, full, and very fuckable bottom 
provocatively presented for inspection. She looked back over her left 
shoulder, a smile coming quickly to her beautiful face when she saw how 
hungrily Frank was staring at her poised behind. 

"Go ahead, you big brute," she said huskily, her voice as thick and warm as 
molasses. "Fuck the shit out of my ass." 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Frank had every intention of doing just that. Stepping up behind the 
ravishing redhead, he placed his large, work-toughened hands on her 
beautiful backside. He proceeded to caress that succulent seat, his thick 
fingers pressing deeply into the smooth, resilient flesh of Valerie's firm 
buttocks. 

Up and down and all around his hands roamed, squeezing, stroking, massaging 
roughly. 

With the middle finger of his right hand he traced the inviting cleft 
between Valerie's buttocks, running the digit slowly up and down, up and 
down, pausing for a few brief seconds at her anus to diddle that puckered 
port. 

"Mmmmm, I like I like," Valerie purred, sensuously rolling her plush 
posterior back at Frank. 

"What do you like, baby? Tell me." 

"I like your hands on my ass." 

"And my stiff cock up it, right?" 

"Right." 

Frank chuckled and continued his not-too-gentle kneading of Valerie's 
tempting tail. Shit, but she was one helluva broad, he thought. She was a 
woman and a half, no doubt about it. From the top of her head to the tips of 
her toes Valerie Latham was all female. 

Too bad he didn't know a little more about Valerie's husband, because then 
he'd be better able to judge the guy, to figure him out. But Valerie never 
had much to say about her old man. Whenever he brought up the subject of her 
husband, she would quickly change the course of the conversation, making it 
very clear that she preferred not to discuss her marital affairs. 

All he knew for certain was that Paul Latham practices psychotherapy over in 
Crestmont. He was one of those guys who charge an arm and a leg just to 
listen to some poor slob's troubles. It sure was a damn easy way to make a 
buck. All you had to do was nod your head once in while and sympathize with 
those mixed-up jerks. No sweat in that. 

Well, maybe he didn't really know anything about Paul Latham, enough, that 
is, to make a fair judgement. Maybe he was making some hasty conclusions 
about the man and his profession. It could be Latham was a decent sort 
making a good living in a job he found interesting. 

But one thing he did know. Valerie was too good for him. Much too good. 
Valerie was born to be worshipped, to be placed on a pedestal and kept 
there. Men should be made to pay just for the great privilege of feasting 
their eyes on her loveliness. Dressed she was a knockout, naked she was pure 
heaven. 

But most men tok women like Valerie for granted. They were too busy with 
their careers to fully appreciate the value, the importance of breathtaking 
beauty. Women like Valerie can't be seen on every street corner in every 
city of every state. They were special very special, and deserved to be 
treated accordingly. 

There was no doubt about it. She was one in a million. And he, Frank Fallon, 
confirmed bachelor and cynic, was falling deeper in love with her each 
passing week. What a bitch it was that Val was already married. If only she 
were free. 

"Hey," Valerie said suddenly, impatiently, "are you going to fuck my ass or 
not? Now who's the one wasting time, Mr. Fallon?" 

"Sorry, baby," Frank smiled. "I was thinking, that's all." 

"This is no time for thinking, Frank. Save the brain work for another day 
and start working that beautiful cock inside my shitty rectum." 

"Right beautiful. Hang on now." 

Dispelling from his mind the sad thought that Valerie was not his to screw 
night after night after night, Frank readjusted his stance and with his 
right hand guided his still rock-hard pecker to her winking nether hole. 

Then he pushed forward with his hips, exerting pressure at Valerie's small 
anus with his blood-engorged cockhead as he worked to gain a foothold, a 
cockhold, in her tantalizing bottom. Hands clamped firmly on her shapely 
hips, a look of determination on his rough-hewn face, Frank struggled to 
wedge the bulbous crown of his saliva-laden prick inside Valerie's resisting 
asshole. 

"C'mon, baby," the sex-hungry beauty pleaded, "get it in me. Shove it in 
there." 

"Open your ass, Val," Frank husked. "Help me a little." 

"I am helping," Valerie said, squirming her delightful derriere back at 
Frank. "Just ram it in me, Frank." 

"I'll hurt you, baby." 

"No you won't. I can take it. Shove that damn thing up my fucking behind." 

Frank grunted and pressed ahead, exerting even more pressure against the 
exciting woman's wrinkled rear aperture as he knocked impatiently on the 
back door to pleasure. Valerie dug her fingers into the sheeted mattress and 
continued to stubbornly resist the instinctive urge to tighten her sphincter 
muscles. 

And then, finally- 

"Ughhhh-yes, that's what I want, Frank. More now, baby. Get it all in 
there." 

"Can you feel it, beautiful?" 

"It's good, give me the rest now." 

Frank looked down at the point of connection, the wholly obscene sight of 
his pulsating prick joined to Valerie's magnificent bottom sending a shiver 
of lust up his spine. The thick, blood-filled head of his organ was snugly 
sheathed in the woman's shit-chute, held there hotly by her 
widely-stretched, gripping asshole. 

As Valerie squirmed restlessly on her hands and knees, her long flaming 
tresses hanging straight down and partially shielding her beautiful face, 
Frank began working the rest of his powerful prick inside her dark, dank 
rectum. He pushed ahead with care, with more caution than was necessary, 
because he was loath to cause Valerie even the slightest pain. 

"Oh, it's good, Frank, so fucking good," she panted happily, the feel of her 
lover's pecker worming its way relentlessly up inside her clammy rectal 
canal clouding her mind with desire. 

Why was it, she wondered, that a good screwing of her ass thrilled her so. 
What made it so strangely satisfying, so utterly delightful? The rectum was, 
after all, sadly lacking in sensitivity, having neither the great elasticity 
or nerve endings of a female vagina. 

It was psychological, Valerie decided. Or at least much of it was. She was 
inclined to agree with Paul who, having interviewed a number of female 
patients with anal fixations, was of the opinion that the thought alone of 
being fanny-fucked, of submitting to what, ultimately, was a dehumanizing 
act, was enough to stimulate some women and make them highly responsive to 
sodomy. 

Yes, that made some sense. Women were, by nature, essentially masochistic, 
basically submissive creatures. They wanted to be taken, handled and humped 
not with finesse but with vigor and determination. 

As for anal sex, there was something wickedly wonderful, something 
deliciously depraved, about offering up your bottom for penetration. It was 
all so dirty, so unnatural. Getting fucked in the fanny was akin to laying 
bare your soul. You were so open, so vulnerable, so completely at the mercy 
of the man exploring that most private and personal part of your anatomy. 

How gut-jumbling good it was! 

"All right, baby," Frank said, "you have it all now. Your behind is stuffed 
with prick." 

"Mmmmm, I love it," Valerie breathed hotly. "Fuck me now, Frank. Ream me out 
with your beautiful bone." 

A hundred wild horses couldn't have pulled Frank away from Valerie, so 
intent was he on once again pleasing her by performing one of her favorite 
perversions. But he took a moment now to savor the feel of his rock-hard 
organ in the woman's dank shit-chute. He was in to the hilt, his tool buried 
balls deep inside her humid rectal chamber, snugly ensconced there. 

To say it was great would be an understatement, Frank thought, again looking 
down and thrilling to the beautifully perverse sight of his prick in lewd 
possession of Valerie's mouth-watering posterior. He had burrowed through 
the muck in her rectum, inching his cock slowly but surely into her 
fantastic fanny, and now he was home free, imbedded to the hilt, his organ 
planted firmly inside the back road to paradise. It was sensational! 

As Valerie hummed her wholehearted approval, Frank began working his tool in 
and out of her hot, tight back passage, testing its elasticity with slow, 
sure strokes. He would withdraw until only the bulbous head of his pecker 
remained sheathed in Valerie's ass, hugged hotly by her distended anus, and 
then push back inside the clammy confines of her gripping rectum until her 
ass was again chock full of meaty manhood. 

"Yes, oh, yessss," Valerie hissed. "That's the way, baby. Dig it deep into 
me." 

In and out Frank moved his probing pile of flesh, his buttocks in slow, 
rhythmic, back and forth motion as he pushed in, withdrew, pushed in and 
withdrew, stretching Valerie's shit-chute with each deliberate, well-timed 
stroke. 

The psychologist's wife rocked back and forth on the bed, her beautiful body 
in lazy, sensual sway as she swiveled her luscious bottom, rolling it up and 
back to greet the darling dick drilling into her bowels. 

Shit, but it was good, Valerie thought. The fantastic feeling of fullness in 
her behind was simply heaven. Frank's hot sausage of a cock was planted up 
her ass, stuffed deep inside her rectal canal, and the sensations suffusing 
her now were nothing less than exquisite. 

"How is it, baby?" Frank asked, his voice heavy, charged with passion. 

"Beautiful, just beautiful," Valerie moaned rapturously. 

"You want it faster now?" 

"Yes. Faster now, Frnak. Do it faster." 

"Hang on, honey." 

Without further ado, Frank increased the tempos of his thrusts, his hands 
tightening on Valerie's heavenly hips as he began punching his prick into 
her quivering alabaster ass with less reserve and more determination. 

Valerie cried out with pleasure, tossing back her head to reveal a face 
bathed in a strange, perverse smile. Her long flaming tresses swirled about 
her neck and shoulders as she rocked on the bed and begged Frank to really 
do it to her, to fuck the daylights out of her dirty derriere. 

"Get down, baby," Frank ordered. "On your elbows." 

Valerie obeyed without pause, dropping onto her elbows and then cradling her 
face between her arms. Now she was in lewd, servile crouch on the bed, her 
face pressed hotly into the mattress and her impaled backside thrust high in 
the air. 

"Go, Frank, go," she pleaded passionately. "Fuck my ass raw, you big brute." 

Quickly Frank resumed his reaming of the redhead's mucky rectum, picking up 
where he left off seconds ago. Again and again he boomed his pulsating cock 
into the quivering behind so provocatively posed for defilement, his meaty 
manhood churning up inside Valerie's dank, dark rectal chamber and lustily 
stirring her turds. Each passionate plunge of his rigid rod into her rectum 
wrenched from the redhead's throat a gutteral moan. 

"Oh, Frank, it's good, so goooood." 

"Enjoy, honey, enjoy." 

Paul should see her now, Valerie thought dazedly. How would he react to the 
sight of her being banged in the bottom by another man? Not with joy, that 
was for sure. In many ways her husband was the typical male chauvinist, the 
kind whose belief in the old double standard could not be shaken by the most 
vociferous liberationist. 

It was perfectly all right for him to "treat" his female patients by 
screwing them dizzy on his office couch, but his wife was to remain the ever 
faithful servant, the homemaker whose sexual needs were tended to on the 
marital bed-and only the marital bed. 

Extra-marital humping was, in a word, verboten. 

But what Paul didn't know wouldn't hurt him, Valerie decided, again feeling 
Frank's hairy scrotal sac slap up against her upturned snatch as he 
delivered yet another jolting thrust into her stretched rectal chamber. 

No doubt Paul's belief in the outmoded double standard, a belief strongly 
implied if seldom stated, had played a part in her decision to take a 
temporary lover. Perhaps in her subconscious there was a need to get back at 
him, to match his numerous affairs with at least one of her own. 

Well now she had something. Never, of course, would she be so bold, so 
daring, as to flaunt her affair with Frank in Paul's face. Informing her 
mate of her infidelity, confessing to many moments of passion with Mr. Frank 
Fallon, who, for all intents and purposes, she had picked up on the 
turnpike, would serve no useful end and might even cause a rift in what she 
considered a very solid, very satisfactory marriage. 

Her affair with Frank, all their clandestine couplings, was and would have 
to remain her secret. And what a truly delicious secret it was. On a number 
of occasions already she had savored the knowledge of her adultery while 
feigning intense interest in Paul's detailed description of an encounter 
with a randy patient. 

Yes, indeed, Every woman, married or single, was entitled to her secret. 

"Baby, baby, I'm going to come soon," Frank announced suddenly, knocking out 
of Valerie's head all thoughts of her spouse. 

"Yes, come in me, Frank. Fill my ass with come." 

Reaching now for the summit, the glorious peak of pleasure, Frank threw 
caution to the wind and commenced a savage assault on Valerie's fabulous 
fanny. Violently he plumbed the dank depths of her mucky rectal canal, his 
thrusting prick a meaty cudgel as it churned furiously up inside her humid 
bowels. 

"Argh-oohhh!" Valerie grunted, each powerful, pulverizing thrust into her 
bottom shoving her forward on the bed a few inches, pushing her face deeper 
into the mattress. 

"Soon, baby, soon," Frank promised in a rasply, lust-choked growl. 

"Come, oh come," whined the passion-befogged redhead, her fingers digging 
hard into the mattress, the sheer vulnerability of her humiliating position, 
her total helplessness, contributing significantly to the wild, weird 
pleasure she was deriving from the hard-driving cock rapidly reaming her 
rectum. 

Frank battered Valerie's bottom with a fiendish fury, with the unholy 
intensity and single-minded savagery of a man gone berserk. Out of control 
now, swallowed up by a gigantic, demonic lust, he ripped into the goreous 
female's painfully stretched rectum with a vengeance, forgetting in this 
moment of madness and gut-jumbling depravity that he loved Valerie Latham, 
that it was she who, with her luscious body and devilish demeanor, with her 
sultry voice and intoxicating charm, had started him thinking about the 
perfect companion and how he might make of their relationship something more 
permanent. 

Valerie was now just Woman, a scintillating specimen of her sex, a female 
who had enthusiastically offered up her succulent ass for brutal ravishment. 
And he was just Man, lust-bound Man, dominated by the soul-scorching need to 
satanically service that proffered posterior. 

"Oh come, ooooo, please come," Valerie whimpered into the mattress, tears of 
happiness rolling down her cheeks, her excited body in feverish quiver as 
she impatiently awaited Frank's creamy discharge in her derriere. 

For ten seconds more Frank's rampaging rod ran amuck in Valerie's steaming 
rectum, punishing it unmercifully. The titian-haired beauty whined with 
pleasure and again, in a plea, begged for her lover's syrupy semen. 

He had once again ripped her up back there, cleaving her bottom as one might 
halve a ripe peach, his slashing sword of flesh shredding her rectum with 
fiendish, furious force. Again and again she had felt his powerful prick 
thunder up her bowels, surging deep inside the clammy confines of her after 
passage. And now she wanted the balm, the soothing lotion that would ease 
the soreness and inflamation caused by Frank's abrasive thrusts into her 
tender shit-chute. 

Was there a better abirritant than a man's warm, gooey semen? To be sure, it 
was a love liniment. 

While one woman shivered in ecstasy in a motel not far from her home in 
Ocean Grove, the ejaculating cock imbedded in her ass spitting out a warm, 
creamy come to bath her violated rectum, another woman, in Crestmont, in 
Paul Latham's decorative office, begged for come in her cunt. 

Jennifer Wagner, masochistic mother of two and seeker of sadistic embraces, 
had forsaken her role of whimpering victim, of female frightened by the 
inevitability of her ravishment, and was now a most willing participant in a 
frenetic fornication. 

No longer was she feigning fear, pretending to be terrified of and revolted 
by the impending rape of her treasure twat. She had stopped pleading for 
mercy and ceased trying to twist out from under her "rapist." 

She was herself again, thrilling to the kind of savage, animalistic sex she 
demanded but didn't receive from her strait-laced husband. 

Jennifer's return to reality was managed with astounding ease. It had taken 
but a few hard, bold thrusts of Paul's turgid cock into her pulsating pussy 
to transform the blonde beauty from amateur actress playing a part to 
hump-hungry harlot in desperate need of sex. 

Seconds after cock coupled with cunt on the couch, Paul lustfully locking 
loins with his pain-worshipping "patient," Jennifer junked her act and threw 
herself unashamedly into the fuck. With an animal-like groan of passion she 
had thrown her arms around the lusty psychologist's hard back and hooked her 
legs over his, responding immediately to his rough thrusts into her 
steaming, salivating cunt. 

And now Paul was really socking it to her, his taut buttocks jerking crazily 
up and down and side to side as he hammered his tumescent pecker into the 
butter-soft mush of Jennifer's sodden womanhood, his arrogant prick probing 
deep inside her quivering tummy. 

"Harder, Paul," the blonde masochist begged in a breathless voice. "Fuck it 
harder, baby. Screw me good." 

"Take it, you cunt," Paul husked, looking down into Jennifer's flushed, 
passion-twisted face. "Swallow it up, pretty bitch." 

"Give me cock. Cock, cock, cock." 

"Like this?" Paul slammed his meaty manhood into the woman's steaming sex 
cove with a violent thrust of his hips. 

"Arrrgh-" Jennifer groaned happily. 

"And this?" 

"Ohhhh-" 

"And maybe this?" 

"Ummmph!" 

"Is that hard enough for you baby?" Paul growled, his breath coming in short 
gasps. 

"More," Jennifer whined. "Please give me more. Hurt me." 

A satanic grin spread across Paul's attractive face as he took in the pained 
expression on Jennifer's. The urge to truly defile this beautiful female was 
becoming more intense with each passing second. Just knowing that he could 
do anything to her, anything at all, and that she would love it and plead 
for more, was enough to start his blood boiling and his heart beating like a 
tom-tom. 

An idea suddenly popped into Paul's head. Pushing himself up off the couch, 
his slippery prick sliding wetly out of Jennifer's slushy vagina, he got to 
his feet and moved quickly over to his desk. 

"Paul, come back," whined the lovely masochist, one hand darting downward to 
clamp over her now prickless pussy. "Please finish me off. I need you." 

"Be right back, baby," Paul promised. "I've got a little surprise for you." 

"Bastard," Jennifer moaned, beginning a frantic massage of her aching twat 
as she writhed on the couch. 

Paul found what he had been looking for in the left hand bottom drawer of 
his desk. He had purchased the frightening item just last week in a 
pornographic bookstore, thinking at the time that Mrs. Kevin Wagner, ever 
ready to experience the perverse thrill of painful intercourse, would 
thoroughly enjoy his use of it on her. 

He had planned to save it for a special occasion, perhaps making good use of 
its pain-inducing properties when, on one of her weekly visits to his 
office, Jennifer expressed a wish for a truly agonizing sexual experience, 
one that would have her screaming like a banshee. 

But this was just as good a time as any, Paul thought, walking back to the 
couch. Besides, he had seen in that bookstore other evil contraptions 
Jennifer would no doubt find very interesting. These could be purchased at 
another time and used in the weeks to come. 

He would simply add their cost to Jennifer's bill, since they were to be 
used in her "treatment." 

"What's that?" Jennifer asked, turning her head on the couch cushion to see 
her psychologist strapping something around his waist. "What are you doing, 
Paul?" 

"If it's pain you want, baby, then pain you'll get. You're going to love 
this." 

Still stroking her sizzling snatch, Jennifer watched Paul fit the hollow 
rubber cylinder over his erect penis and then bring behind his back the two 
straps attached to the cylinder and hook them together. Her eyes, moist from 
the tears of joy she had shed while Paul was scouring her vagina with his 
thrusting tool, grew wide as she focused hard on the cock attachment. 

"You like, sweetheart?" Paul asked with a grin, after adjusting the straps 
around his waist. 

"I-I've never-" 

"What you see is what you're going to get, Mrs. Wagner. Every last painful 
inch." 

Never before had Jennifer seen anything like what Paul was now wearing. It 
was a strange-looking contrivance, one of evil design, in all likelihood 
invented by a man with a sadistic bent. Frightening it was, but also 
fascinating. 

The cylindrical length of flesh-colored rubber sheathing Paul's pecker was 
at least a foot long, which meant, of course, that approximately six inches 
had been added to the six of the doctor's dick. On the rubber extension were 
a dozen or so thick, spike-like protrusions, about three-quarters of an inch 
in size. 

This wicked penis attachment, Jennifer concluded, was obviously intended to 
rip a female's pussy to shreds. 

"So what do you say, Jennifer? How would you like it if I slammed this big 
banana inside your cunt?" 

"The lovely blonde swallowed hard. "You'll kill me with that thing, Paul. I 
couldn't take it." 

"Nonsense. You're a big girl with a big hunger for pain." 

"But-" 

"And this thing will do the trick, baby. Next week you'll be asking me to 
shove it up your ass, I'll bet." 

As Jennifer stared at Paul's now monstrous manhood, her mind filling with 
thoughts of the agonizing pain she could expect if it were crammed 
ruthlessly inside her tender, sensitive vagina, an emphatically perverse and 
not unfamiliar desire began wending its evil way through her naked body. 

Her anguish would be of incalculable proportions, comparable to nothing 
heretofore experienced, she realized with a strange mixture of fear and 
fascination. The sadistic spankings Paul had administered, the fiendish, 
feverish assfucks he had subjected her to, the diabolical way he crammed his 
meaty cock so far into her mouth that she gagged-all this would seem like 
innocent fun after she'd been savagely mauled by the terrible, twat-tearing 
penis-enlarger. 

"Well, baby, give me your answer," Paul said, stepping toward the office 
couch and looking down at the vulnerable blonde. "Are you going to chicken 
out or-" 

"No," Jennifer cut in sharply. "Do it to me, Paul. I want it in me." 

"All of it?" 

"All of it. Tear my cunt to pieces, Paul." 

"You're going to love this sexy toy, Mrs. Wagner." 

Quickly now Paul climbed back onto the couch, once again positioning himself 
between Jennifer's legs, one of which she had hooked over the backrest to 
give the doctor more room and to fully expose her snatch to his diabolical 
dick. 

"Touch it, Jennifer," Paul urged the masochistic woman as he hovered over 
her. "Feel those rubbery little spikes." 

Jennifer snaked her right hand down between their bodies and curled her 
fingers around the rubber cylinder sheathing and lengthening Paul's pecker. 
Already she could feel the thick, pointy protrusions digging into the tender 
flesh of her vagina, rippng away at the walls of her poor womanhood with 
agonizing abandon. 

"Now ask me nicely for it," Paul ordered, an evil gleam in his eye. "Beg for 
the pain you crave, bitch." 

"Beg for it?" 

"That's right, sweetheart. Let me hear you plead for this big, beautiful 
cock." 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Jack Talbot was fuming. He had thought that finding a parking space directly 
outside the small supermarket was a stroke of good luck, since it would 
enable him to keep a fairly close watch on Mary as she wheeled her shopping 
cart up and down the aisles. From this vantage point he could also see her 
when she paid for her purchases at the check-out counter. 

Now he wasn't at all sure. It might have been better, he realized, if he had 
parked his car behind the store, in the small and always crowded lot the 
store provided for its customers. Then he wouldn't have been witness to his 
girl's aggravating, nauseating behavior. 

Watching the woman you were nuts about make a complete ass of herself by 
flirting with every Tom, Dick and Harry she met was no way to begin a 
Saturday. Here it was, not yet ten thirty in the morning, and already Mary 
had blinked her baby browns at-half a dozen guys, all of whom had smiled 
back while no doubt thinking her an easy lay. 

Disgusting, that's that it was, Jack thought, angrily tapping the steering 
wheel of his '69 Plymouth. Why couldn't the little bitch go about her 
business without starting up with every two-bit jerk who crossed her path. 
Through the large supermarket window he had seen her flirt first with the 
produce manager, a roly-poly guy with a fat, stupid smile, then with the 
manager of the store, a lean, lantern-jawed buck with enough nerve to put a 
hand on Mary's arm while talking to her, and then with some balding, 
bespectacled idiot whose shopping cart she had bumped into with her own. 

And now, at the check-out counter, she was giving the eye to a kid, a 
skinny, freckle-faced punk at least five years younger than herself. She was 
really giving the kid a going over, smiling that naughty little smile of 
hers and sticking out her chest in an obvious attempt to turn him on. 

It wouldn't surprise him in the least if the next thing Mary did was reach 
across the counter and clamp her hot hand over the kid's crotch. If he was 
getting a hard-on, then she'd know for sure that he found her exciting. 
Maybe he'd even have the guts to make a grab for her cunt. 

But that was Mary, Jack realized disgustedly, his blood boiling as he 
watched his girl in animated conversation with the youthful check-out clerk. 
Everywhere they went together, to the movies, to a store for groceries, to a 
dance, for a stroll up the block, Mary was sure to find at least one stud 
she could tease to distraction by batting her eyelashes and swiveling her 
shapely hips. 

She just couldn't resist the temptation to flirt. She was always striking up 
conversations with strange men, approaching young and old alike with a 
boldness and disdain for propriety associated with arrogant streetwalkers. 
How well he remembered their visit to an art gallery when, after a lengthy 
search prompted by her sudden disappearance from his side, he found her in 
one corner of a room fending off, playfully, of course, the lewd advances 
being made by a tall, goateed gent in his sixties. 

What really galled, what knotted his stomach and made him want to puke, was 
the possibility that Mary's flirtatious behavior had resulted, in who knows 
how many instances, in her being bedded. How many of those she teased did 
she wind up fucking? That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question, the 
one that lingered in the back of his mind waiting for an answer. 

He knew for a fact that she had fucked her employer, that horny psychologist 
Paul Latham, but how many others had plumbed the mushy depths of his girl's 
pretty pussy? How many cocks besides his had she taken into her mouth? How 
many stiff pricks had she taken up her saucy ass? 

Damn the little bitch anyway! 

Jack turned his gaze from the supermarket and stared out the windshield when 
he saw Mary and a clerk, another mop-haired teenager, exit the store. The 
fact that the two were laughing did absolutely nothing to extinguish the 
flames of anger raging within him. 

"In here, Tom," he heard Mary say. "I think we can get it all on the back 
seat." 

He'd like to put you on the back seat, Jack thought. 

"Jack, will you open the back door for us?" 

Mary asked, peering through the half-opened window on the passenger's side 
of the auto. "My hands are full, honey." 

Jack turned and glared at his girlfriend for several long seconds, then 
finally reached across the front seat and flipped up the door lock. This 
done, he immediately resumed his stiff pose behind the steering wheel, hands 
gripping the wheel tightly. Just wait until I get you home, sweetheart, he 
thought angrily. 

It took less than a minute for Mary and the brash young clerk to stash her 
packages on the back seat. After slamming the door shut and thanking the 
youth for helping her, Mary pulled open the front door and slid in next to 
her boyfriend. No sooner had she closed the door and rolled the window down 
a little than Jack was on the attack. 

"So Miss Hot-Pants, Miss Cock-Crazy Cunt, I suppose you gave that jerk your 
telephone number." 

"What?" 

"Well why not? I mean half the studs in Crestmont have it. One more won't 
make any difference. Besides, it's probably the best tip the kid will 
receive all fucking day." 

"Jack, let's get home, huh?" Mary sighed, exasperation weighing down her 
voice. 

"Just like that, huh? No explanation or-" 

"I've got stuff in the back that will melt unless it gets in the 
refrigerator soon," Mary broke in. 

"That's more important than your embarrassing me again, is it? Well, that 
figures." 

"Jack, just shut up and start the car, will you?" 

"You've got some fuckin' gall, you know that, bitch?" 

"Please, don't start a scene again. I had enough the last time you took me 
shopping." 

"I saw you parading around in there, baby. I watched you strut your stuff in 
front of all those guys. Yeah, you really had them chafing at the bit, Miss 
Slut of 1973." 

"Jack, will you-" 

"Maybe you grabbed a quick one when I couldn't see you, huh? How 'bout it, 
baby? Did the manager take you down to the basement and screw you on a bed 
of potatoes? Or maybe he shoved it in while you were bent over a stack of 
cartons." 

Mary shook her head. "You are unbelievable, Mr. Talbot. I'm beginning to 
think you've lost your mind." 

"And then, just to add insult to injury, you bring back to the car one of 
the guys you were flirting with. Yeah, that was a nice touch, wasn't it? 
That's what you call rubbing salt in the wound, right?" 

Mary swiveled around on the seat and flashed Jack a look that would have 
wilted the ardor of the most arrogant, persistent swain. "Listen, you 
jealous bastard, and listen good. You know damn well Tom was helping me with 
my packages. I couldn't possibly have managed four heavy bundles all by 
myself and you know it." 

"You could have made two trips, baby," Jack argued. 

Mary snorted. "Sure, why not? What the hell do you care if I make a dozen 
trips back and forth, my arms breaking from the weight of those fuckin' 
packages. You can just sit here and pretend you're a king or something. If 
you weren't so damn lazy, I wouldn't have to get somebody to help me. If 
once in awhile you'd-" 

"You know I detest shopping for anything," Jack interrupted, stubbornly 
refusing to admit to himself that Mary's anger, at least as it concerned 
having to lug the heavy bundles to the car, might be justified. "It just 
isn't my style, that's all." 

"Yours is the style of the typical male chauvinist pig," Mary fired back. 
"Let the women handle all the menial chores, that's your motto. Keep them 
slaving over a hot stove, dusting the furniture, making the beds, doing the 
shopping, and all those other unimportant, boring jobs. If they get a little 
uppity, a little sassy, well, then just throw them on the nearest bed and 
give them a good fucking. A stiff cock once in awhile is all they need to 
keep them happy, anyway." 

"You're changing the subject, baby. I'm not like you say I am. And even if I 
was, that doesn't excuse your behavior. Not one little tiny bit. You have no 
right to go throwing yourself at everything in pants." 

"Throwing myself at-oh, shit, you're just too much, Jack. Paranoid is the 
word for you. I suggest an immediate visit to a good phychiatrist. Maybe a 
specialist in mental disorders can figure out what's ailing you." 

"Why don't you arrange an appointment for me with that clown you're working 
for?" Jack suggested, his voice dripping sarcasm. "He's found out what it 
takes to cure what you've got." 

"And what is it I have, Mr. Talbot?" 

"Hot pants, baby," Jack answered without hesitation. "You've got a real bad 
case of the always twitching twat." 

"I never heard you complain before about my always twitching twat. I thought 
you rather enjoyed fucking it, in fact." 

"I don't like sharing the wealth," Jack stated angrily, his steely blue eyes 
boring holes in Mary. 

"If you don't put a lid on this insane jealousy of yours, you just might 
find yourself with nothing to share." 

"Now what's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means I've had it up to here with your stupid accusations and idiotic 
demands. Every time I take a deep breath your heart skips a beat because you 
think I'm about to whistle for a man. I'm nothing more than a sex object to 
you, Jack, and being a cuddly plaything is getting to be an awful bore." 

"I love you, baby," Jack declared firmly. 

"You love yourself," Mary countered. "Now will you start this car and get me 
home? I don't want to talk about us any more." 

Jack's eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at his saucy girl friend, who had 
turned away from him to look out the window on her side. There wasn't any 
sense in continuing the conversation, he decided. As far as Mary was 
concerned, the subject was closed. To belabor his point would serve no 
useful purpose. 

Jack turned the ignition key and stepped lightly on the accelerator. The 
Plymouth growled in response and then fell to humming softly as Jack let the 
engine idle for several seconds. He glanced over at Mary and discovered her 
still looking out the window, obviously determined to avoid his gaze. 

With a groan of disgust he shifted from "P" to "D" and jerked the car away 
from the curb. He'd try to control himself until they got to Mary's place, 
he decided, pulling into traffic. Once in her apartment he would be able to 
exert his authority. What Mary needed, what she was begging for, was another 
good spanking. 

Mary sat in stony silence during the ride to her apartment, only 
occasionally glancing over at her boyfriend behind the wheel. He was 
seething with anger, she realized. The look on his face was ample evidence 
of that. 

Well so what? She had as much reason to be upset with him as he had to be 
upset with her. Maybe it was true that she enjoyed flirting with men, 
teasing and arousing them to the point where they were ready to royally rape 
her. And maybe she had hit the sack with a few horny studs since meeting 
Jack Talbot. 

But what of it? This was a free country and she was still a free female. 
There was no law that said a girl couldn't screw men of her choice, when and 
where she felt like screwing them. She and Jack weren't even engaged. He had 
no right to watch over her like a mother hen. 

She liked Jack Talbot. Maybe she even loved him. He was a handsome six foot 
one inch, one hundred ninety pound hunk of male sex appeal. Curly black hair 
crowned a head near perfect in design, Jack's features being sharp, 
well-defined, eyes, ears, nose and mouth in attractive harmony. 

Then, too, there was his proficiency in the sack. Jack was a strong, virile 
lover, capable of screwing her into a state of ecstatic exhaustion just 
about every night of the week. A girl would have to look long and hard to 
find his equal in bed. 

But that didn't mean he had the right to enslave her, Mary argued silently, 
her body jerking suddenly to the left as Jack made a quick, too sharp right 
turn and gunned the automobile down the one-way street. He owned her no more 
than she owned him. 

Just because they were living together in her apartment didn't give him 
exclusive right to her body. It would be another thing altogether if she and 
Jack were married. Then he'd have every right to expect fidelity from her 
and throw tantrums if she strayed from the marital bed. At the moment, 
however, Jack Talbot was just her lover, and his maniacal suspicions, the 
way he watched her like a hawk, were driving her right up a wall. 

On the other hand, she wouldn't like to lose him. Jack had his good points, 
quite a few, in fact, and she had to admit that he was as generous with a 
dollar as he was quick to explode in anger when he suspected her of 
wrongdoing. As his wife she would no doubt enjoy many material comforts. 
Jack would probably work extra hard at his truck driver's job to provide her 
with those goodies, big and small, which contribute to a wife's happiness 
and sustain her on days dark with despair. 

Yes, marriage to thirty-year-old Jack Talbot could prove rewarding in a 
number of ways. And it most certainly would not be boring. Now if only she 
could find a cure for his disgusting, and exasperating jealousy. 

Jack brought his auto to a sudden stop outside his girl's apartment building 
and quickly turned off the engine. Without a word he got out of the car, 
slamming the door shut behind him. He pulled open the back door and scooped 
up two of the four bags of groceries huddled together on the back seat. 

He kicked the door shut and then marched around the Plymouth and up onto the 
sidewalk, his stride purposeful as he headed for the well-maintained 
rent-controlled apartment building. Under the moss green awning he marched, 
pushing open the thick, grilled door with his left hip as he entered the 
large, unspectacular but tastefully-furnished lobby. He walked to the 
elevator, pressed the button with his right elbow, and waited impatiently. 

Shaking her head, Mary pushed open the door on her side and climbed out of 
the car. 

Less than a minute later she was heading toward her apartment building, her 
arms weighted down with the two bulging bags of groceries she had pulled 
from the back seat. 

It occurred to her, as she waited for the elevator, that she might have gone 
too far once again. That Jack was boiling mad was more than obvious, and it 
was with a very real fear that she remembered the wicked walloping he had 
administered to her aching behind the last time she provoked him. 

But he wouldn't dare do that to her again, she told herself, stepping into 
the small, immaculate elevator. He wouldn't have the nerve. She pressed 
number eight on the panel of buttons and then stepped back into a corner, a 
worried frown blanketing her pretty face as the humming elevator began 
climbing to her floor. 

Jack was waiting for Mary when she entered her cozy three room apartment. He 
stood near the living room window, one hand clamped over his left hip, the 
other tilting a can of beer to his mouth. 

"Help yourself, why don't you?" said Mary sarcastically, pausing on her way 
to the kitchen. 

"I already have, baby." 

" I see that. You don't waste any time, do you?" 

"I was thirsty. You don't have any objections, I hope." 

"Would it make any difference if I did?" 

Jack shook his head. "Nope." Again he brought the beer can to his mouth, 
tilting his head back as he guzzled the thirst quenching brew in a manner 
befitting men of his ilk. 

Again shaking her head, Mary moved into her small kitchen and set her 
packages down on the kitchen table. It wasn't bad enough, she thought, that 
he treated her like a possession, now he was beginning to act as if the 
apartment were his and not hers. Brother, how pushy could you get? 

"Hurry it up in there," Jack shouted from the living room." 

"What?" 

"You heard me, baby. Put those groceries away and then get in here. We have 
some unfinished business to discuss." 

"Are you ordering me in there, Jack?" 

"Im tellin' you to shake a leg, baby. Put that stuff where it belongs and 
then bring that sweet ass of yours in here. And bring me another-no, never 
mind, I don't want another beer. I just want you, sweetheart." 

Mary was about to tell her boyfriend to go to hell when she thought better 
of it. Better to take a different tact, she decided, pulling open the 
refrigerator door to put away the milk, butter, cheese and eggs she had 
purchased at the supermarket. She would humor Jack, on a casual air and 
treat the foul mood he was quickly slipping into with something akin to 
nonchalance. 

If she was lucky, he'd decide to go out for a walk. 

"So, here I am, master," Mary said a few minutes later, a sardonic smile on 
her face as she entered the living room. 

"You took your sweet time, didn't you?" Jack chided, turning from the window 
to confront his girl friend. 

"I could have gotten in here sooner if you had helped me put away the 
groceries." 

"That's women's work." 

"You eat twice as much as I do, Jack." 

"Huh? What's that got to do with anything?" 

Mary sighed. "Never mind, lover. I'm not about to start explaining to you." 

Jack set his empty can down on a table and stood staring at Mary. He felt 
his cock stir within the warm confines of his undershorts as he took in his 
girl's pert, provocative figure, enticingly encased at the moment in a 
purplish-red, breast-hugging sweater and a pair of tight-fitting beige 
bellbottoms stretched taut across the saucy swells of her firm, rounded 
backside. 

But the fact that he was getting aroused in no way altered his conviction 
that Mary deserved to be punished, first for her flirtatious manner, which 
he found obnoxious to the nth degree, and second, for engaging him in 
argument outside the supermarket instead of owning up to the fact that she 
enjoyed humiliating him by playing up to other men. 

"Hold it, baby," he said, as Mary prepared to settle into the upholstered 
armchair in the corner. 

The adorable brunette forced a grin. "What are you going to do, take my 
picture?" 

Jack strode to the armchair and pulled his girl friend up to her feet. 
"C'mon, Miss Smartypants, you and I are going into the bedroom." 

"I don't feel like that now, Jack," Mary argued, trying to pull away from 
her boyfriend. "Just because you're horny all of a sudden doesn't mean-" 

"Fuckin' isn't what I had in mind, sweetheart. I mean, that can come later." 

"Then what-" The remaining words to Mary's questions stayed locked in her 
throat as she suddenly realized, with numbing clarity, exactly what it was 
Jack intended to do to her. The thought of once again suffering the 
indignity, the awful humiliation, of a cruel spanking filled her with 
unvarnished dread. The pain of such a punishment was bad enough, but what 
made the ordeal really loathsome was the damage it did to her pride, her 
sense of self-respect. 

"That's right, princess," Jack grinned, holding Mary's arms tightly as she 
started struggling in his grip, "once again it's time to smack some sense 
into that mixed-up head of yours." 

"No!" Mary shouted, grimacing as she twisted and turned this way and that in 
a frantic effort to escape. "I won't let you do that to me. Once was 
enough." 

"That's the whole point. Once wasn't enough, Mary. You haven't yet learned 
your lesson. Now-" 

"You bastard!" Mary fumed, anger now surging ahead to momentarily overtake 
fear. She drew back her right foot and then delivered a swift kick to her 
boyfriend's left shin. 

"Oww!" Jack howled, his face contorting in pain. 

"Let me go, Jack. I'm warning you." 

"You little bitch, I'll fix you." 

"Jack if you-ughhh, no. Noooo-" 

Suddenly, with surprising agility, Jack had flipped Mary up over his right 
shoulder, bending down and wrapping his strong arms around her legs and then 
jerking upright as he tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

"That kick will cost you a dozen extra slaps, baby," Jack announced, as he 
started for Mary's bedroom. 

"Put me down this instant, you brute," the scrumptious brunette demanded in 
a choked voice, kicking out with her legs as she began pummeling Jack's back 
with her balled fists. 

"Sure, I'll put you down. And when I do you'll wish I hadn't. You can count 
on-" 

"We're finished if you do this, Jack," Mary warned. "I mean that." She 
struggled gamely, with a fierce determination, at one point reaching out to 
plant one hand against a wall in the foolish hope that this would somehow 
slow Jack down. 

"This women's lib business is starting to affect your brain," Jack said. 
"Another spanking just might help you to put things back in proper 
perspective." 

"Ohhhh, I hate you," Mary groaned, realizing the futility of her struggles. 

Jack turned a corner and entered the bedroom, a still squirming Mary draped 
over his right shoulder. Once in the bedroom, the walls and ceiling of which 
were soft pink, Mary's favorite color, he flipped her onto her back on the 
double bed. The fearful female bolted to a sitting position and then started 
to scramble off the bed. 

"Whoops, no you don't, sweetheart," Jack said, quickly grabbing hold of his 
escaping girl friend. He dragged her back across the bed and then, gripping 
her waist, flipped her over onto her tummy. 

"You'll pay for this, Jack," Mary promised, tears welling in her eyes as her 
boyfriend yanked down the six inch zipper at the side of her fanny-firming 
bellbottoms. "I'll never forgive you. Never." 

"You'll thank me for it in time. Besides, a sound spanking once in awhile 
does a woman good. Satisfies the old masochistic urge, you might say." 

"You bum!" Mary cried out. "You pervert!" 

"Sticks and stones, sweetheart," Jack grinned lewdly, working purposefully 
as he tugged down his girl's bellbottoms to a point several inches below her 
provocative posterior. 

Mary started whimpering into the yellow bedcover, her moment of pure misery 
composed of one part hatred of Jack, one part fear of the upcoming spanking, 
and one part nagging self-pity. Stirred into this sad mixture was the awful 
realization that her so-called punishment seemed unavoidable. 

Jack would eventually have his way with her. Arguing with him was out of the 
question. Reason alone wouldn't dissuade him from raining blow after blow on 
her poor bottom. She could plead with him, beg for mercy like a trembling 
captive caught escaping. But that wouldn't work, either. She had tried 
appealing to his sense of decency the last time he whacked her derriere and 
had failed dismally. 

There was nothing to do but suffer the spanking, Mary thought sadly, a 
single tear trickling down her left cheek to drop silently onto the 
bedcover. Further efforts to escape would surely prove unsuccessful and 
serve only to temporarily delay the inevitable. Oh, what a sickening son of 
a bitch Jack Talbot was! 

Jack, who had been staring down at his girl, his cold blue eyes feasting on 
the scintillating sight of Mary's pantied posterior, now moved to denude 
that delightful derriere, his fingers digging into the elasticized waistband 
of the pink cotton briefs as he began tugging the flimsy garment down. 

"C'mon, baby, lift those hips for me," he ordered. 

Mary obeyed, lazily wriggling her shapely hips up off the bed so that Jack 
could work her panties down and around her ass. 

"There, now we're cooking," said Jack a few seconds later, when the pretty 
brunette's undies were banded around her creamy thighs, resting atop her 
bellbottoms. A lewd smirk danced mischievously across his face as he studied 
Mary's succulent behind, obscenely framed now on top and bottom by the 
ruffled border of her magenta sweater and the crumpled band of pink trapping 
her thighs just below her hidden anus. 

A somewhat clumsy positioning of Mary's posterior followed, Jack having to 
expend energy he would rather have saved in order to place Mary in proper 
position for her spanking. Considerable effort was required to get the 
uncooperative female draped, bottoms up, over his lap. 

Mary, refusing to assist in her own humiliation, willed her body limp, 
becoming dead weight in Jack's arms and forcing him to pull, shove, tug, 
drag, carry, and generally manhandle her inert form until he had her in 
ignominious sprawl over his knees. 

But the desired end was finally achieved, with spanker sitting on the side 
of the double bed and spankee, her face flushed with shame, the taut cheeks 
of her smooth, well-molded fanny quivering in frightened expectation, 
obscenely draped across his lap. 

The wicked pummeling of one near perfect posterior could now commence. 

"Got anything to say, baby, before I begin?" Jack asked, tracing the 
exciting contours of Mary's curvacious bottom with the thick, work-toughened 
fingers of his right hand. "Suppose I give you one last chance to 
apologize?" 

"Go to hell," Mary muttered. 

"That'll cost you, Miss Smartypants. I'd say, oh, about half a dozen 
additional smacks." 

"I wish I had never met you, you creep." 

"Then you refuse to apologize?" 

Mary said nothing. Why waste breath calling him names, she thought. It 
wasn't going to change a damn thing. And apologize? Hell, she didn't have 
one solitary little thing to apologize for. Not one. True, expressing regret 
over a supposed sin and asking forgiveness just might spare her the 
spanking, but not before the Pope administered the rites of confession to 
Satan himself would she give Jack the satisfaction of an apology, even one 
she didn't mean. No sir, never. 

"All right then, sweetheart. You asked for it." 

So saying, Jack brought his right hand up over his right shoulder. He 
maintained the pose for several long seconds, arm cocked, hard hand ready to 
descend on vulnerable backside, and savored his complete control of the 
situation. At the moment he was the master and Mary the slave, the spirited 
filly in need of taming. 

What a truly stimulating sight it was! What a luscious target Mary's 
tantalizing tail presented! 

Arched provocatively, in wicked abandon, it was as if her beautiful bare 
bottom was beckoning a blow, asking to be struck repeatedly and turned a 
crimson hue. Who but a saint would turn down such a deliciously lewd 
invitation? 

Smiling inwardly at the thought that never in a hundred years would he be 
considered for sainthood, Jack delivered the first of many mean smacks he 
intended to give his girl friend's impudent posterior. His hand landed with 
a crisp, "cracking" sound on Mary's left buttock, causing that semi-globe of 
gelatinous flesh to tremble and wrenching from Mary's throat a shriek of 
pain. 

"That's numero uno, baby," Jack announced triumphantly, in the manner of one 
who had taken the first step toward achieving a desired objective. "And this 
is numero dos-" 

"Oww!" Mary howled. 'Ohhhh-" 

"Stings a little, huh?" 

"You crummy-owww!" 

Tears of shame and pain rolled down Mary's cheeks as the outrageous assault 
on her aching ass continued. Without mercy Jack rained blow after blow on 
her poor behind, striking in turn the right cheek and then the left, his 
meaty hand slicing through the air to come crashing down against the rapidly 
warming flesh. 

"All you libbers need this once in awhile," Jack declared. "A good spanking 
does wonders for the smarts." 

"I hate you," Mary whined. 

"What was that, baby?" 

"I said I-aiee! Ohhh-" 

"You've got a pretty little ass, Mary. I'd rather fuck it than smack it. But 
until you learn to behave-" 

"Owww! Arhhh-" 

Mary's mortification was total. Draped as she was over Jack's knees, her 
arms and legs dangling downward, her bare bottom sticking up in obscene 
surrender, she could do nothing but suffer the brutal battering and pray 
with all her might that her boyfriend's arm would soon grow weary. 

At the moment, however, it didn't seem that Jack would ever tire of swatting 
her sore seat. He was really into the spanking now, whacking away with a 
fiendish enthusiasm and turning her pert, flaming fanny a fiery hue. 

Again and again his right hand descended on the quivering derriere, the 
imprint of his fingers remaining on the abused flesh for a few seconds 
before fading away. 

Smack! Whack! Smack! 

"Owww-it hurts so bad," Mary moaned. 

"That's the idea, baby," Jack growled back. "Maybe you'll think twice next 
time before givin' some guy the glad eye." 

"You're an animal. A stinkin' ani-aieee!" 

Whack! Smack! Whack! 

With devilish delight Jack beat a steady tattoo on his girl friend's aching 
ass, the muscles in his face tightening as he devoted himself to the savage 
swatting of the impudent seat Mary loved to wriggle for her admirers. 

Her pathetic sobs of protest were like music to his ears, providing as they 
did a satanic sort of accompaniment to the sound his hand made as it cracked 
across her trembling, inflamed backside. Perverse pleasure engulfed him, 
making him want to thrash Mary's succulent behind until it was blistered and 
bruised, a rounded mass of raw, welt-covered flesh. 

Smack! Whack! Smack! 

"Stop-please stop," Mary pleaded, the awful pain at her tortured bottom 
spreading to all parts of her body and smothering her resolve not to beg for 
mercy. 

"Stop? We've just begun, sweetheart. You won't be able to sit for a week 
when I'm through with you." 

"No-please don't hit me. Don't do-arghhh-" 

Mary squirmed in unadulterated agony on Jack's lap, tremulous sobs breaking 
from her throat as with diabolical determination Jack walloped her naked, 
quivering bottom. Tears streamed down her pain-contorted, flushed face and 
dropped noiselessly to the carpeted floor. 

It was painfully obvious now, she realized, that Jack intended this sadistic 
spanking to be, at the very least, the equal of the last one he 
administered. Her ass ached something fierce and burned like blazes. It was 
as if she had backed into an open furnace and allowed the shooting flames to 
sear her naked seat, as if a gallon of white hot lava had been poured all 
over her fanny. 

How many blows had he administered already? She had no idea because she 
hadn't bothered to keep count. Of more importance, of course, was how many 
more scorching smacks he intended to give her. Fifteen? Twenty-five? Fifty? 
Would Jack ever stop this perverse pummeling of her blazing behind? 

For five minutes more Jack banged away at Mary's reddened rear end, pausing 
every so often for a brief rest before resuming the punishment. Only when 
his arm started to ache did he stop altogether. 

With a rough shove he sent Mary tumbling off his lap and onto the floor, 
where she remained for almost a full minute sobbing softly into her hands 
before dragging herself up to her feet. A sense of accomplishment welled 
within him as he looked at his well-spanked girl friend. 

She was the personification of misery, he thought. With her wet, 
tear-streaked face, shielded in part by her disheveled hair, and her 
shoulders slumped in an attitude of resignation, Mary bore little 
resemblance to the smart-talking female who had argued at length with him 
outside the supermarket. 

"I hope this has taught you a lesson, baby. From here on in you had better 
mind your P's and Q's." 

"Get out of my bedroom," Mary said, softly but firmly, struggling to contain 
the rage that boiled within her. 

"Are you going to behave from now on?" 

"I said get out of here. Just leave me alone." 

"Maybe I want to screw you, sweetheart. You look mighty sexy right now, you 
know, standin' there with your middle bare. Hey, don't pull your pants up on 
my account." 

"Touch me and I'll scream my head off," Mary warned, working her briefs and 
bellbottoms up her hips and around her waist. "I'll have you arrested for 
raping me." 

"Now that's no way to talk, baby. Just because-" 

"Will you shut up and leave me alone?" Mary yelled. "Get out of my sight, 
damn you." 

Jack stared at his angry girl friend and then, deciding it would be better 
all around if he gave her time to cool off before climbing into bed with 
her, he pushed himself up off the bed and started out of the bedroom. At the 
door he turned, just in time to see Mary fling herself onto the bed and 
begin moaning, great sobs of anguish trundling up her throat to be partially 
smothered by the pillow she clutched to her head. 

Sorry, sweetheart, but you had it coming, Jack thought. No one makes a fool 
of Jack Talbot and gets away with it. 

Five minutes later found Jack in the living room, settled comfortably in the 
armchair and sipping a can of beer. The sound of Mary crying in the bedroom 
drifted to his ears as he considered the sizzling spanking he had 
administered. He hoped she would remember the spanking the next time she 
felt like flirting. 

The problem was, of course, that she was always being tempted. There weren't 
too many men able to pass Mary on the street without at least taking note of 
her curvaceous figure-especially when she was attired in an outfit that left 
little to the imagination. And all Mary had to do was sense a man's 
interest, see his smile of appreciation, and she was off and running, 
batting her 'eyes and wiggling her hips like a lusting floozy. 

But what could be done about these naturally curious males? There was no law 
tha't said a man couldn't try to score with as many broads as possible. 
Every stud worth his salt dreamed of making it with dozens of curvy, 
cock-crazy chicks. He himself was always on the lookout for pretty 
hitchhikers, hot-assed, uninhibited hippy types willing to suck or fuck in 
exchange for a ride in his truck. 

But that didn't mean he had to like it when other guys moved in on Mary, 
Jack thought, cradling the beer can in his hands as he ruminated. The fact 
that he could understand their interest in his cuddly girl friend didn't 
make their lewd propositions and suggestive winks any easier to stomach. 

But again, what the hell was he going to do about it? Dealing with Mary was 
easy enough; he could continue punishing her until she woke up to the fact 
that what he wanted was a one man woman quick to smother the interest other 
males showed in her. But he certainly couldn't go around beating up all 
those characters who, by word or deed, made perfectly clear their desire for 
Mary's sweet pussy. 

Or could he? 

Jack took a healthy swallow of beer as he juggled the idea that had just 
popped into his mind. While there was no way he could get to all the guys 
Mary flirted with to caution them against pursuing her, what he could do was 
select one stud and make an example of him. 

Someone like Paul Latham, for instance, the doctor with the quick dick. 

The more Jack thought about roughing up Mary's employer, whom Mary had 
admitted laying, prompting her first spanking, the more he liked the idea. 
Not only would it provide him with a certain satisfaction, a feeling that he 
was doing something concrete to curtail Mary's flirtatious behavior, it 
would also serve as a warning to others who were planning on plowing Mary's 
pussy. Mary, too, just might be convinced to watch herself if she realized 
the potential harm to others engendered by her flirtations. 

Yes indeed, Jack thought, tough talk accompanied by some physical action 
seemed necessary. In a way, it was just what the good doctor had ordered. 

All he had to do was figure out the best time to hold his little meeting 
with Paul Latham. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Paul Latham was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his mind on what 
his new patient was saying. Such was always the case when he found seated in 
the chair next to his desk a female blessed with uncommon beauty, one whose 
vulnerability set his heart to pounding and his prick to thickening. 

Julie Lamb, Mrs. Laurence Lamb, to be exact, was truly a visual delight, a 
female favored by the gods with a face and figure to lure to her side every 
male whose pecker was still capable of rising to the occasion. Only those 
with diseased dicks could ignore her dazzling good looks. 

She was a tall, big-boned beauty, a ravishing, raven-tressed, light-skinned 
creature with large chocolate eyes, full, sensuous lips, well-shaped ears 
and nose. And as he listened to her disclosures, interjecting a comment or 
nodding his head on occasion, Paul found it easy enough to imagine the 
luscious Mrs. Lamb in a state of sexual excitement, writhing in naked 
abandon on a bed and pleading for prick. 

Actually, his interest in his patient as a sexual partner had blossomed 
twenty minutes ago, lust rearing its head the second she entered his office 
and, somewhat nervously, made her way to the chair he suggested she take. It 
was then, as he quickly took in her small, lovely smile, her soft, 
unblemished skin, that he first started wondering what Mrs. Laurence Lamb 
looked like when bare-assed naked. 

Now he went about the business of mentally undressing her, removing her 
colorful peasant blouse with the ruffled sleeves and tugging down her 
loose-fitting flared skirt. In his mind's eye he saw the melon-colored 
blouse and the tangerine skirt lying in a crumpled heap at her feet, near 
the brown casual shoes she had kicked off at his request. 

Mrs. Lamb was almost naked, her firm, full body clad only in brassiere and 
panties. She was talking to him, smiling sexily and asking him to hurry and 
finish stripping her. He saw himself obeying immediately, stepping up to 
unclasp the breast-hugging bra and then, after tossing the constricting 
garment aside, working down the clinging briefs to expose her tantalizing 
twat. 

"-And so, Doctor, you can see why I'm so disturbed. I came to you 
because-Doctor? Are you listening?" 

"Oh, yes, of course," Paul answered, snapping to attention. "I was just 
running through my mind something you mentioned at the start of our 
interview." 

"Oh? What was that?" 

Paul fumbled for an answer, grasping the first thing that entered his mind. 
"Er, your reply to my question about previous sexual experiences with other 
females. If you remember, you said that prior to your involvement with, 
er-what was the woman's name again?" 

"Helen. Helen Lowry." 

"Right. Mrs. James Lowry. Well, you stated that prior to embracing this 
woman sexually you had never even entertained the idea of lesbian love. Is 
that correct?" 

"Yes, Doctor, it is. I feel so awful about the whole thing. So guilty, I 
mean. It wasn't bad enough that I allowed myself to be seduced, but I had to 
go and enjoy it. I don't know what in heaven's name got into me, Doctor." 

A few potent drinks and several stiff cocks probably, Paul thought. 

"I'm beginning to think that Larry and I made a tragic mistake when we 
decided to experiment with wife-swapping. I never thought I'd get myself so 
screwed up sexually at a spouse-trading party, Doctor. I mean, does 
homosexual activity usually take place when couples get together for the 
purpose of swapping?" 

"I don't think it's as uncommon as you may think, Julie. You must 
remember-oh, do you mind if I call you by your first name?" 

"No, of course not." 

"Good," Paul smiled. "Now as I was saying, you must remember that we are 
all, each and every one of us, capable of performing homosexual acts if the 
time and place seem correct. Ostensibly, couples gather at a swap-party to 
exchange mates for an evening of heterosexual intercourse, but this in no 
way precludes the possibility of so-called unnatural encounters taking 
place." 

"You mean the atmosphere of a swap-party is conducive to that sort of 
thing?" 

"Well, not exactly. What I'm getting at is that when you have a number of 
people revelling in naked abandon, in a room drenched in the sounds and 
smell of sex, all things are possible. Imaginations are given free reign and 
sexual experimentation suddenly seems not at all perverse but fitting and 
proper." 

"I-I think I understand what you mean, Doctor. But what I want to know is if 
there's any chance of my becoming an out and out lesbian. I mean, I love my 
husband very much and I wouldn't want another woman to come between us." 

"Are you saying that you're afraid of becoming addicted to lesbianism?" 

"Well, I did enjoy my initial experience so much. There's no way I can deny 
that, Doctor. And I just know that if Helen suggests another lovemaking 
session I'll find it very, very difficult to say no. She's a most persuasive 
woman and-well, she thrilled me to pieces at that darn party." 

"I see," said Paul seriously, in a scholarly tone of voice he hoped would 
impress his beautiful patient. As he turned his attention to the notes he 
had made during Julie Lamb's narrative and pretended to study them, he 
collected his thoughts and made ready to spring his trap. 

"So what do you think, Doctor? Is it possible for a woman like me, one who 
really enjoys heterosexual relations with her husband and other men, to 
almost overnight turn lesbian? It sounds so crazy, so unbelievable, and 
yet-" 

"What I think, Julie," Paul began, looking up from his notes, "is that we 
should attempt to learn if you are by nature a true bisexual. And to that 
end I propose an experiment." 

"An experiment?" Julie asked, the expression on her smooth, unblemished face 
one of skepticism. 

"Yes, an experiment. The success of which will require your complete 
co-operation. You must place absolute trust in me and do all that I say 
without question. Only then we will be able to obtain a true reading of your 
sexual self." 

"Will it hurt, Doctor?" Paul smiled. "Not in the least. In fact, I think 
you'll find what I have in mind most enjoyable." To himself he added, and 
very sexually satisfying, lovely lady. "Wha-What do I have to do?" 

"Just this, Julie. I am going to call my receptionist, Miss Mandell, in here 
and you will permit her the chance to arouse you sexually. Then, at the 
conclusion of-" 

"I-I don't think I could do that, Doctor," Julie broke in. "I-I don't even 
know the woman." 

Paul smiled his best fatherly smile. "Mary is a most attractive young lady, 
Julie. I'm sure you'll find her a very stimulating sexual partner." 

"But it's so-so unconventional, Doctor. I mean, it's not at all the kind of 
help I thought you'd be able to give me." In her mind's eye Julie saw 
herself locked in a lewd embrace with the girl she had spoken to briefly 
while waiting in the outer office. Mary was an attractive female all right, 
she thought. There could be no denying that. But could she strip down in 
front of the doctor and let Mary fondle her private parts? Could she come 
with another female, a stranger really, while Dr. Latham watched the 
passionate proceedings? 

"Oftentimes it is the most unconventional method which proves most 
satisfactory," Paul asserted authoritatively. "Psychoanalysis has come a 
long way since the days of Sigmund Freud, you know. Today nothing is 
considered verboten if it will help the patient gain real insight into his 
or her particular problem." 

"Yes, I know that, Doctor. Still-" 

"Tell you what, Julie. If it will make it easier for you to enjoy sex with 
my receptionist, I can place you under hypnosis." 

"Hypnotize me?" 

"Yes. Do you have any objections?" 

"Well-no, I suppose not. I guess it will make it easier for me. But I've 
never been hypnotized before. I may not be a good subject. Maybe it won't 
work, Doctor." 

Paul smiled. "Well how about if we find out, Julie? I'll just buzz Mary and 
have her join us for a little while." 

Thinking that his twenty-five-year-old patient was certainly not as bright 
as she was beautiful, Paul buzzed Mary on the office intercom and asked her 
to come into his office. Less than thirty seconds later the brunette 
bombshell appeared. 

"Yes, Doctor, can I be of assistance?" asked Mary, as she walked to Paul's 
large desk. 

"I need your help in a little experiment, Mary. I believe you know Mrs. Lamb 
here." 

Mary smiled at the woman sitting primly in the chair next to her employer's 
desk. "Yes, we exchanged pleasantries in the waiting room." 

"Mrs. Lamb-Julie, that is-has expressed concern about a sexual encounter she 
had with another female at a wife-swapping party she attended with her 
husband. The purpose of this little experiment is to determine if Julie is a 
natural bisexual." 

Mary managed to suppress a grin and said, "I see, Doctor. And you want me to 
make love to Mrs. Lamb, correct?" 

"Exactly. Then Julie and I will engage in sexual relations. At the 
conclusion of this experiment Julie will weigh the pleasures derived from 
sex with you against the pleasure she derived from intercourse with me. It 
may very well be that she'll find both acts equally enjoyable. In which case 
we will have demonstrated that it is possible for homosexuality and 
heterosexuality to dwell in harmony within the same individual." 

What a crock of shit that is, Mary thought, playing her part as she nodded 
her head in understanding. But she had to hand it to Paul. He could 
verbalize the most inane thought in such a way as to have those within 
earshot applauding his sharp, analytical mind and keen perception. In short, 
he was a master when it came to snowing people-especially his female 
patients, so many of whom were so quick to place in him all their trust and 
confidence. 

"You mean," Julie said, "that I might just have to learn to live with my 
bisexual nature?" 

Paul nodded. "Yes, precisely. As a great many people have done before you." 

"I see." 

"So then, shall we get started? Mary, will you lock the door and then 
undress while I put Julie in a trance?" 

"You're going to hypnotize her?" 

"Yes. It will take but a few minutes." 

Mary turned and, allowing herself a smile, walked to the door and locked it. 
She wondered how many psychologists there were like Paul Latham. And how 
many women they had conned into baring their bodies as well as their souls. 
In the name of analysis, of course. One thing was for damn sure; if she ever 
decided that she required psychiatric help, she'd check, double-check, and 
triple-check the doctor's qualifications and reputation. 

Five minutes later Mary was bare-assed naked and standing near the couch, 
one hand gently stroking her brown-haired twat as she watched Paul put the 
trusting Mrs. Lamb under hypnosis. There had been times in the past when 
Paul, exceptionally eager to get in a patient's panties, resorted to 
hypnosis to hurry matters along. So Mary had not been all that surprised 
when informed of his decision to hypnotize the ravishing, raven-tressed 
Julie. 

Nor had she been surprised when he asked her to make love to the woman. On 
three other occasions he had requested that she engage in lesbianism, with 
patients whose problems were similar to the one plaguing Julie Lamb. 

Mary had no qualms about engaging in sex with another female. While she 
favored heterosexual humping, the hungry coupling of cock and cunt as male 
and female meshed and became one, she was also capable of coming with a 
woman. As a change of pace, lesbianism was rather nice, since it provided 
her with the chance to fully explore the body of another of her sex. 

It was especially nice, Mary thought, when that woman was a true beauty. 
Julie Lamb was that and then some. Stroking Julie's smooth, resilient flesh, 
tonguing her full, firm tits, sucking on her odorous snatch, and doing 
whatever it took to arouse the stunning woman wouldn't be at all difficult. 

"Okay," Paul said at last, "I think that ought to do it. The ravishing Mrs. 
Lamb will now obey my every command." 

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Doctor," Mary said with a grin. "If she 
would obey me, I'd tell her to give you a good swift kick in the balls." 

"Very funny, sweetheart. Instead of making with the wisecracks, why don't 
you give me a hand undressing her?" 

"Will you fuck me when she's gone?" 

"I doubt that I'll have any strength left," Paul answered, fumbling with the 
buttons on Julie's peasant blouse. "I intend to screw this broad to hell and 
back." 

"Will she remember what happened?" Mary asked, dropping into the couch next 
to Julie to assist in the woman's denuding. 

"Only if I tell her to. And I think I will, because I want her to think back 
on our screwing session the next time she gets the itch to be laid." 

"Pervert," Mary cracked. 

"Yeah, but you like me just the same, smartypants. Now let's hurry up and 
unwrap this beautiful package of female pulchritude. I want to see what her 
husband sees all the time." 

Working together, quickly and efficiently, Mary and Paul undressed the 
(hypnotized Julie, pulling and turning her this way and that as they removed 
her blouse, skirt, bra, shoes, and sand-colored panty hose. When she was 
naked, Paul arranged her on her back on the couch and told Mary to get to 
work. 

"Mmmm, my pleasure, boss," purred Mary, staring down at the voluptuous 
woman. "She looks good enough to eat." 

"Then go ahead and feast, baby. You'll be oiling the way for my pecker." 

As Mary climbed up onto the couch and eased herself down atop Julie, Paul 
backed away a few steps and started removing his own clothes. In no time at 
all he was naked, his meaty cock a sturdy fleshy stanchion as it jutted out 
from his warm loins. He couldn't wait to bury his pulsing bone in the warm, 
sloppy mush of Julie's clasping cunt. 

Mary wriggled snake-like atop Julie's voluptuous body, luxuriating in the 
warm, spongy feel of the woman's smooth flesh as she rubbed herself into it. 
She toyed with Julie's tempting tits, rolling those gelatinous globes of 
succulent meat in her hands and tweaking the rose-colored nipples. 

Squirming up the black-haired beauty's firm form, Mary proceeded to lave her 
face with lecherous abandon, licking and kissing and nibbling as she bathed 
Julie's beautiful face with syrupy saliva, the wanton washing concluding 
with a deep soul kiss square on Julie's lips. 

Then, inching back down, Mary pushed herself up and stiffened her arms. With 
sensual grace she rolled her shoulders and brushed her breasts over Julie's, 
pointy nipple poking pointy nipple, four mounds of spongy, squeezable flesh 
flattening together as Mary worked her tempting tits into her partner's 
marvelous mammaries. 

Moving lower still, Mary slithered downward and trailed her tongue across 
the smooth, flat plane of Julie's tummy. A quick exploration of the belly 
button, her tongue digging deep and swirling sexily in that wrinkled 
indentation, and Mary was on the move again, worming her way toward the 
crinkled patch of dark pubic hair surrounding Julie's sex slit. 

"Right, that's the way, baby," Paul said thickly. "Go down on the beautiful 
bitch. Eat her out, Mary." 

"Mmmm, she smells good here," Mary noted, whiffing the female scent of her 
partner. 

With that, the saucy brunette buried her head between Julie's warm thighs 
and plastered her face in the woman's odorous snatch, her tongue snaking 
from between her lips to lick up and down the sensitive sex lips. 

It was at this point that Julie became alive, a tremulous moan of pleasure 
escaping from her throat as she arched her hips off the couch. She had been 
relatively quiet up till now, seemingly content to just lie back and let her 
partner do all the work. But now, as if suddenly signaled to participate 
more actively, to shed her inhibitions, she allowed her desire to be fueled 
by Mary's hungry munching of her labia. 

Nice, very nice, Paul thought, his eyes glued to the two desirable females 
on the office couch. Mary was really getting into it now, sucking sluttishly 
on Julie's tasty twat, her head in crazy, sensuous weave as she labored with 
obvious delight. Having Mary around could at times be a damn nuisance, but 
there were other times, like now, for instance, when he appreciated her 
availability, her willingness to perform all manner of sex acts. 

"Let her eat you at the same time," he said to his sassy receptionist. 
"C'mon, baby, twist around and give Julie your smelly snatch." 

"She's getting wet fast, Paul," said Mary, lifting her face from Julie's 
warm, saliva-coated snatch. "Maybe she really does prefer women to men." 

"She enjoys them both." Paul smiled lewdly. "My patient is just an 
old-fashioned hot-assed broad. If she didn't like getting fucked and sucked, 
she wouldn't have joined that spouse-switching club with her husband." 

"They're the best kind, aren't they, Doctor? Old-fashioned, hot-assed 
broads, I mean." 

"There's none better, sweetheart. Now come on, position yourself so that 
Julie can munch on your cunt while you're slobbering over hers." 

"Anything you say, boss. It sure as hell beats taking dictation, or typing 
up bills." 

With that, Mary clambered off the couch and got to her feet. Seconds later 
she was climbing back onto the couch, this time positioning herself so that 
she was straddling Julie, her impudent fanny hovering over the beautiful 
woman's face 

"Good. Now get your face back down on her twat-and give her yours to eat." 

Mary didn't have to "give" Julie anything. She took it. The sight of Mary's 
succulent ass wriggling over her face, the proximity of Mary's darling pussy 
and the intoxicating smell of same, inflamed Julie's passions and sent a 
thrill of lust rippling up her spine. She reached up and enfolded Mary's 
hips with her arms, then applied pressure and forced the female's inviting 
sex nest down against her face. 

With undisguised pleasure Paul watched the two women devour each other's 
tempting twat. Locked now in a scintillating sixty-nine, the couch sagging 
from their combined weight, Mary and Julie feasted like females famished, 
hungrily and with unfettered abandon. 

Strange gurgling sounds of lust bubbled up from Julie's throat as she chewed 
her cunt like a carnivore, her fingers digging into the pliant flesh of 
Mary's hips as she mashed her beautiful face even harder into the pulsing 
pussy and slurped up the sticky sex juices seeping from the fleshy faucet. 

Mary, not to be outdone, performed with a passion befitting the lusty 
lesbian, rubbing her face hotly into Julie's well-washed womanhood and 
driving her tongue deep inside the viscous cove soon to contain Paul's 
throbbing cock. 

Said cock was at the present time being massaged with enthusiasm, Paul 
having formed a fleshy funnel with his right hand, fingers curled to his 
palm. Now he was pumping his prick, vigorously pleasing himself, shaking his 
shaft as might a peeping Tom aroused by the lewd spectacle of a couple 
coupling. 

He suddenly decided to come, to send his seed hurtling through the air 
toward the couch, toward the two merrily munching on each other's slick, 
leaking love holes. It would be easy enough, he thought, to get it up again. 
He would order Julie to plop his limp organ into her sweet mouth and suck 
him hard again. 

Paul stepped closer to the couch and then, as a gutteral moan of pleasure 
ripped from his throat, he spilled his creamy semen, the syrupy come 
streaking in an arc from his ejaculating tool toward the torrid twosome on 
the couch. Through glazed eyes he saw his load splash down against Mary's 
smooth back, the globs of gooey semen speckling her flesh and trickling 
toward her provocatively positioned posterior. 

Stepping closer still, he aimed his jerking rod at various targets, using it 
as a hose to spray the two females with his viscid come, directing the 
spewing seed toward Mary's hair, then back to her ass, now to Julie's 
half-hidden face, then back again to his receptionist's tousled tresses. 

Only faintly aware of Paul's actions, Mary and Julie continued slobbering 
over each other's now sodden snatch, passionate gasps and breathless grunts 
busting from their throats as they ate with gluttonous appetites. 

And then it was upon them, the moment of truth, the sweet, blissful 
culmination of their lusty labors. Waves of intense delight washed over 
Julie, her body in heated tremble as she slurped up the come flowing from 
Mary's twitching twat, Mary moaned, the throaty sound of satisfaction 
partially smothered by her partner's steaming, soupy snatch. 

For a full minute the females rested, permitting their naked bodies time to 
relax as they lovingly licked each other's come-drenched twats, their 
tongues curling gently around clits still hard and pulsing. Then Mary pushed 
herself up off the couch and got to her feet, her knees feeling rubbery and 
not strong enough to support her weight. 

"Whew! That was all right, Doctor. That come was almost as nice as the kind 
I get when you do me." Mary dropped her eyes to her employer's flaccid 
pecker. "But what happened to you? Where's that beautiful hard-on I saw 
before?" 

"Didn't you feel me come all over your back?" 

"Oh, so that's what it was I felt." Mary brought a hand around to her lower 
back. "Ugh! I'm all messy. Why did you have to go and do that anyway? I 
thought you wanted to get your rocks off in Mrs. Lamb's cunt." 

Paul grinned. "I suppose you thought the ceiling had suddenly sprung a 
leak." 

"What?" 

"When I shot my load all over you." 

"Oh. I don't know what I thought. But you haven't answered my question. How 
come you came when you did? I was all set to watch you bang the shit out of 
her." 

"And you'll have the chance, sweetheart." Paul looked down at Julie, who was 
lying in supine sprawl on the couch and smiling a dreamy smile. She seemed 
to be in a world of her own, a world of cocks and cunts and couples coupling 
indiscriminately in an orgy of demonic lust. "Something tells me Mrs. Lamb 
will be only too happy to suck me hard again." 

"If she won't, I will," Mary grinned, her left hand darting from her side to 
wrap around Paul's limp prick. 

Paul brushed his receptionist's hand away and leaned over his patient. "My 
cock, Julie ... my big, beautiful cock. Do you want it in you?" 

"Y-Yes ... oh yes," Julie answered excitedly. 

"You'll have to suck it first. You know, get it all nice and hard." ' Suck 
... sssssuck!" 

"Yes, suck. Will you blow me, Julie?" 

"I want to, Doctor. Let me ... please." 

Paul straightened up and turned to Mary. "It's times like this that I know I 
chose the right profession," he said with a wink. 

Mary smiled sardonically. "Knowing how cunning and devious you are, Doctor, 
I'd say you would have succeeded in any profession you elected to enter. 
Succeeded sexually, that is." 

Paul chuckled and then, turning again to Julie, drew the voluptuous woman up 
to a sitting position on the couch. An insolent grin blossomed on his face 
as he stepped between Julie's knees and placed his hands on her head. She 
had yet to touch his pecker, to wrap her lovely lips around its come-coated 
head, but already he was looking ahead to future "therapy" sessions, when 
Mrs. Laurence Lamb would enter his office in a state of sexual agitation 
and, without prompting, shed her clothes and zero in on his cock. 

"Go to it, Julie. Let me feel your wonderful mouth on my organ. Suck it, 
Julie. Suck it." 

The order alone was enough to make Julie's flesh tingle. She knew where she 
was and who she was with, and that scant inches from her face was a prick, 
one not unlike that belonging to her husband, whom she often treated to a 
skillful blow-job. But everything else was hazy, blurred, her mind unable to 
hold a rational thought for longer than a few fleeting seconds. 

All that seemed to matter at the moment was her sexual desire, her 
gut-crumbling need to take into her mouth, and then into her vagina, the 
beautiful male member she was staring at. Every fiber of her being cried out 
for prick, hot, throbbing, jaw-stretching, cunt-reaming prick. It was as if 
she were trapped, caged by her need to wallow in a swamp of unbridled lust. 

"What are you waiting for, baby?" asked an impatient Paul. "Go ahead and 
suck, Julie. Take it all in your cock-hungry mouth." 

"It's a very tasty tool," Mary piped up. "Take my word for it, Julie." 

Julie did more than that, an animalistic growl bursting from her throat as 
she suddenly attacked Paul's pecker. Using both hands, she hungrily stuffed 
the limp, fat worm of a prick into her eager mouth, stretching her jaw to 
the breaking point in a feverish attempt to shovel balls and all into her 
oral cavity. 

"My, the lady does have an appetite, doesn't she?" Mary said with a broad 
grin. 

"She's a born cocksucker." 

"I'll say. Look at her go after it, will you. She's going to eat you alive, 
Paul." 

Mad with desire, her mind a tangled web of lustful thoughts, Julie slobbered 
over her psychologist's genitals. With fiendish glee she rolled Paul's 
flaccid organ around on her tongue, savoring its warm fullness, its slightly 
salty taste. 

She took it all in, greedily gobbling up the soft, spongy member she knew 
would harden under her passionate ministrations. Eyes closed, nostrils 
flared, her raven tresses dancing about her neck and shoulders, Julie 
vacuumed her fleshy lollipop deep into her hungry mouth. 

"Oh, this is just too much," Mary said, obviously excited by the lewd sight 
of Paul's patient salaciously sucking his manhood. "I've got to do 
something. I can't just stand here and watch all this." 

"Play with yourself," Paul suggested, looking down at Julie's bobbing, 
weaving head. 

"No. I have a better idea. I'll do your back while Mrs. Cocksucker does your 
front. Are you game?" 

Paul grinned. "What do you think, baby?" 

"Good. It's been a while since I've had my tongue up your ass, anyway." 

With that, Mary stepped behind Paul and dropped quickly to her knees. 
Seconds later she was palming the cheeks of his taut ass, kneading the firm 
flesh as if his buttocks were twin mounds of spongy dough. Then, eager to 
once again explore her boss anally, she pried apart the cheeks of Paul's 
bottom with her thumbs and gazed at the puckered port of his anus. 

"See anything you like back there?" Paul asked. 

"You bet I do, Doctor. I'm going to drive it way up there. My tongue will 
touch your tonsils, fella." 

"I'll settle for a good try, baby." 

Without further ado, Mary plastered her pretty face against the 
psychologist's behind and commenced her lewd labors, her experienced tongue 
darting from her mouth to slither up into Paul's asshole, She pushed her 
tongue as far as it would go inside his rectum, then proceeded to piston it 
back and forth, her nostrils filling with the tell tale odor emanating from 
his asshole. 

Mary had not forgotten the viscious spanking she had recieved from her 
boyfriend, Jack Talbot, last Saturday. Nor had she forgiven him his violent 
outburst of anger. The memory of her painful and humiliating ordeal rested 
in the back of her mind, ever ready to seep into her consciousness. 

She didn't know what she was going to do with Jack. How much longer could 
she put up with his insane jealousy was a question that needed an answer. 
And quick. 

But she wasn't about to dwell on her boyfriend and his stupid suspicious 
mind right now. She wouldn't allow thoughts of him and the savage spanking 
he had administered to spoil this moment of delicious perversity. Now this 
was not the time or place to consider the faults and virtues of Mr. 
Talbot-not when she had her tongue swirling crazily up inside her boss' 
bottom. 

"Oh, baby, that's the ticket," Paul said thickly. "Don't stop for a second. 
Mmmmm ... oh, that's fucking good." 

Neither Mary nor Julie had any intention of stopping. Each woman thought 
Paul's words had been directed at her alone, and so each reacted 
accordingly. Mary pried Paul's cheeks even further apart and sliced her 
tantalizing tongue into his smelly asshole yet another time, working it 
wickedly inside that small, dark port, moving it in and out and around in 
the manner of a wriggling worm seeking shelter. 

Julie, meanwhile, continued to feast like one demented on Paul's pecker. The 
tasty tool was swelling now, thickening and lengthening in her saliva-laden 
mouth as it filled with warm blood. Her lust immense, she bobbed her head 
rapidly up and down, her tightly pursed lips sliding wetly, passionately, 
over her psychologist's meaty manhood. 

Shit, but this was too much, Paul thought happily, his fingers entwining in 
Julie's silky black hair. He had not one but two delightful females tending 
to him. A sultry babe with a body that invited brutal ravishment was blowing 
him with a passion, sucking his tool with a frenzied delight and doing 
fantastic things to his balls with her squeezing hands. Behind him, 
worshipping his asshole, was his spunky receptionist, a curvaceous little 
brunette doll whose inhibitions could be listed on the back of a postage 
stamp. 

Could any man ask for more? 

He could hardly wait to tell Valerie tonight how he had spent the better 
part of this Tuesday afternoon. He might even top off the day by giving Val 
a good dicking. If he could manage another erection, that is. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

"And then I arranged the beautiful bitch on her back and fucked holy hell 
out of her. It was something else, Val, let me tell you. She just couldn't 
get enough of my thrusting pecker." 

Valerie Latham smiled at her husband. "I suppose you could say that Julie 
entered your office like a lamb and left like a lion." 

Paul chuckled. "She left well-fucked, that's for sure." 

"Did you schedule an appointment for her for next week?" 

"Of course. I'm only a psychologist, not a miracle man. It takes more than 
one therapeutic session to effectively treat a patient like Mrs. Laurence 
Lamb." 

"You have to wrestle with the problem, huh?" 

"Right. The initial interview serves to acquaint me with the patient and her 
problem. It's during subsequent interviews that I begin exploring effective 
means of dealing with the lady's troubles." 

"Oh, Paul," Valerie grinned, "how can you say that with a straight face?" 

"Because I'm a doctor dedicated to-" 

"The premise that every female who enters your office is fair game," Valerie 
broke in. 

Paul chuckled and rolled over onto his right side, pressing himself close to 
his naked wife as he latched onto one of her succulent breasts. He commenced 
a tender massage of the gelatinous globe of flesh, kneading its doughy 
softness and playfully tweaking the nipple that sat atop the breast like a 
cherry atop a mound of vanilla ice cream. 

"I also believe that every female in this house is fair game," he said with 
a wicked little smile. 

"Are you sure you have enough strength left, darling? After all, you did 
have one helluva busy day." 

"It was a day like any other, baby." 

"You're a wicked, wicked man, Mr. Latham," said Valerie, smiling up into her 
handsome mate's face. 

"Now isn't that a coincidence? My receptionist said something to that effect 
just this afternoon." 

"Well, Mary should know. She's pretty wicked herself." 

"A sassy little bitch is what she is. Her one redeeming quality lies in her 
ability to fuck like a house afire." 

"She's also good at analingus," added Valerie with a grin. 

Paul chuckled. "That she is. A groovy sensation it is, too. Having a tongue 
tickling your asshole, I mean. I don't doubt that Mary's had her talented 
tongue up more male bottoms than she can remember." 

"She must like the taste." 

"Yeah, I suppose so." 

"What about her new boyfriend? Has she spoken about him lately?" 

" No, she hasn't," Paul answered, continuing his dextrous manipulation of 
his beautiful wife's mammaries. "I think she's having trouble with him. He's 
insanely jealous and hesitates to let her out of his sight for a second." 

"I know, you told me. He's the one with the mean temper, correct?" 

"And the quick hand. Talbot has already given her one vicious beating that I 
know of. Could be she's suffered a few more spankings because of her 
flirtatious behavior." 

"If I were Miss Mandell, I'd dump the bloke quick. He could end up killing 
her." 

"Maybe she is thinking of kicking him out. Anyway, that's her problem and 
not ours." 

A moment of silence ensued as Paul concentrated on arousing his spouse. 
Leaning over, he dropped his head and planted puckered lips over Valerie's 
left nipple. He sucked the tasty nubbin into his mouth, laving it lovingly 
as he brought a hand down between his wife's legs and cupped her crotch. 

Although his afternoon had been most gratifying sexually, a fiendish fucking 
of Julie Lamb having followed her gluttonous sucking of his prick and Mary's 
wicked mouthing of his anus, he was unable to ignore the not so subtle 
suggestion of sex conveyed by his stunning wife's naked body. 

He was not at all tired, despite the energy he had expended earlier in the 
day. The thick steak Valerie had broiled for the two of them upon his 
arrival home, and the several drinks they had enjoyed in the living room 
after dinner, had replenished his store of sexual power. And now, lying 
naked in bed with his very fuckable spouse, he was again in the mood for 
pussy. 

"You know, honey," Valerie said, breaking the silence, "I'm beginning to 
really worry about this." 

"About what, luv?" asked Paul, lifting his face from Valerie's tits but 
continuing to stroke her copper-colored snatch. 

"About what happens between you and your female patients. You know, hon, 
you're running an awful risk by trying to seduce each and every one of 
them." 

"Let me worry about that, all right? Haven't I been getting away with it for 
all these years?" 

"Yes, but still-" 

"You never expressed any great concern before." 

"I know, hon. Maybe I'm just now beginning to realize what we stand to lose 
if you're ever found out. I mean, it would be nothing short of disastrous. 
One word to the police by any one of the females you've fucked under the 
guise of professional concern and you'd be drummed out of the corps so fast 
it wouldn't be funny. While some of your fellow psychologists might envy 
your guts, they'd have no choice but to ban with others in the profession 
and bar you from ever practicing again." 

"Relax, sweetheart. Nothing like that is-" 

"And then there goes this beautiful house, the cars, all the furniture, our 
clothes and-" 

"Hey, will you cut it out?" Paul grinned. "Before you're through you'll have 
us living in a one room walk-up in some godforsaken ghetto somewhere." 

"I don't think it's anything to laugh about, Paul. We could find ourselves 
in one helluva mess some sad day." 

"Well we're not going to, sweetheart. I promise you that." 

"How can you be so sure?" 

"Because the females I fuck in my office are not about to tell anybody 
anything. First of all, I have yet to screw a patient who didn't thank me 
afterward. They all love to get laid, baby. It's as simple as that. That's 
why they keep coming back for more of my special treatment. They're not 
about to spoil a good thing by blabbing to their boyfriends or husbands or 
whoever." 

"I don't know, Paul. I can only hope that our luck holds out." 

"Luck doesn't have all that much to do with it, Val. Look, even if one of 
these broads suddenly develops a guilt complex she isn't going to embarrass 
herself by telling family, friends and neighbors that she's been screwing 
her analyst. I mean that could be downright messy, no?" 

"Yes, I see your point, hon. But just suppose for a minute that one of them 
blurts out the affair she's been having with you. To her husband, let's say. 
Now that would make for one very, very angry individual." 

"Paul shrugged. "It's already happened." 

"What?" 

"Well, not exactly in the way you suggest. But Mary told me that in a moment 
of anger she decided to hurt her boyfriend by informing him of the fact that 
she was laying for me. And enjoying it greatly." 

"Good grief. When was this?" 

"Oh, about two weeks ago." 

"And what happened?" 

"Nothing, that's what happened. I suppose this jerk Talbot was upset for a 
while, and maybe he knocked Mary around a little bit, but aside from that 
there was no trouble. I mean, he didn't come after me with a baseball bat. 
He probably brooded for a while and then got over it." 

"I'd say that was a close call, wouldn't you?" 

"Well, I was peeved with Mary for telling her boyfriend about us. But what 
the hell? There were no serious repercussions from the stupid mistake." 

"Not that time," Valerie amended. "But suppose, well ... suppose that dame 
who likes to be abused ups and tells her husband about how you satisfy her 
need for pain? He might be more inclined to take action than Jack Talbot 
apparently was." 

Paul smiled. "You're referring to Jennifer Wagner." 

"That's her. What would happen if-" 

"Oh, honey, come on now. Let's not belabor the issue, huh? Of all the female 
patients I've fucked, Jennifer Wagner is the least likely to spill the 
beans. I mean, she couldn't live without her weekly dose of punishment. 
Besides, even if she were to say something to her husband I seriously doubt 
that he'd do more than sulk for a day or two. From what I gather, Kevin 
Wagner is one of those spineless meatheads women are always divorcing. He's 
a milktoast, the kind of guy who's afraid to raise his voice for fear the 
world will come to an end." 

"You're positive about that, are you?" 

"Very. Now we can stop all this idiotic talk about the everyday sex-crazy 
patients and get down to the business at hand?" 

"Which is?" Valerie asked with a knowing smile. 

"Don't you know, baby?" Paul grinned. 

"Here I've been stroking your twat and playing with your tits for the last 
fifteen minutes." 

"Could be I've become immune to your touch, darling. Maybe I'm suffering 
from that dreaded disease known as insentient erogenous zones. Maybe you'll 
never be able to arouse me again." 

Paul chuckled. "The day I can't arouse you, baby, will be the day I hang up 
my cock. Now you just lie back and watch me start that motor of yours." 

With that, Paul began to inch his way down his luscious wife's naked body, 
one hand still busily rubbing her tempting twat as he trailed his lips 
across her mouth-watering tits and then over the smooth, flat plane of her 
tummy. 

Before long he was crouched between Valerie's legs and mashing his face into 
her odorous snatch, crinkly, copper-colored pubic hairs tickling his 
nostrils as he swabbed her lovely lips with his demanding tongue. 

"Oh, honey, I like that," Valerie cooed, a dreamy expression washing over 
her face as she closed her eyes. "Get your tongue in me, darling. Work on my 
clit." 

Paul slid his hands under his wife's shapely bottom, dragging her up off the 
bed as he ground his face even harder into her delicious pussy. Like a 
ravenous rat he munched on Valerie's sex, rubbing his face into her warm, 
fragrant flesh in a seeming effort to crawl right up her vagina. 

He pushed his tongue into her cunt, thrusting it deep, then zeroed in on a 
swelling clitoris. 

"Ooooo...." Valerie moaned happily. "I love that, Paul." 

Paul lovingly laved the thickening mini-penis, his teasing tongue curling 
around it tenderly, carefully. Valerie purred her approval as he swabbed her 
clit, his fleshy serpent of a tongue caressing that inflamed passion nubbin 
and fueling her rapidly building lust. 

A few minutes later, her twat in twitching readiness, Valerie asked for her 
husband's cock. Although she was ready to be reamed, to be fucked with a 
wild, furious abandon, she wanted first to suck Paul's pecker, savor for 
perhaps a minute or so the taste of that which would be jammed balls deep 
inside her secreting vagina. 

And so a sixty-nine was in order. Heeding his spouse's deliciously lewd 
request, Paul quickly twisted around on the bed and arranged himself so that 
he was straddling Valerie, his totally tumescent cock a pendulous pole of 
flesh as it dangled in front of her face, scant inches from her eager lips. 

The cock to Valerie was like a carrot to a rabbit-a temptation impossible to 
resist. 

Hungrily she reached for the swaying stalk of flesh, her mouth opening wide 
as she lifted her head off the pillow and slid her lovely lips over the 
plum-shaped head. 

She drew Paul's cock into her mouth, taking a little bit at a time and 
relishing the warm feel of it in her oral cavity. She brought one arm around 
under his body, her hand closing over his swaying scrotal sac. Lustily she 
squeezed the hairy pouch, fingers pressing deep into the wrinkled, spongy 
bag of flesh as she sucked her mate's manhood back to her throat. 

And then, at this most inopportune time, the telephone rang. 

Muttering a curse, Paul lifted his face from Valerie's tasty twat. "Shit, 
now who the hell could that be?" 

Valerie took her husband's cock out of her mouth. "Talk about lousy timing, 
darling." 

"What time is it, anyway?" 

The titian-tressed beauty turned her head on the pillow, her eyes fixing on 
the alarm clock sitting on the night stand. "It's almost ten-thirty." 

"I suppose that isn't too late for somebody to ring us, but his or her 
timing certainly stinks." 

"I'd better answer it, darling," Valerie said with a small smile. "It might 
be something important." 

"Yeah, I guess you're right. But if it's somebody selling something tell him 
to shove it you know where." 

"Will do, sweetheart." 

Paul worked himself off his wife, twisting around on the bed until he was 
sitting on the side, his arms resting on his knees. Turning his head, he saw 
Valerie reach for the telephone. Seconds later, the receiver resting 
alongside her face on the pillow, he heard her greet the caller. 

And with that unpleasant little interruption out of the way, the good Doctor 
and his wife got down to the serious business they had started with, which, 
of course, was getting down to it. 


THE END
