FPS-184  Wife's Punishment
(Edward Mitchell)


INTRODUCTION 

In the gamut of human emotions that separates human beings from the lower 
rungs of animal evolution, none victimizes us more easily and inflicts its 
power more devastatingly than jealousy. 

Viciously, it grasps us, choking off self worth, squeezing pride to death, 
and fills our heads with plumped up images of our lover hot in the arms of a 
guileless foe, whose every feature, every gesture we know better than 
ourselves. Precious intimacy dies, leaving us wilted, the laughingstock of 
our withered strength. 

The symptoms seethe and blister into infectious contagions that kill 
marriages. Punishing His Wife is the story of a husband who, after three 
years of marriage, becomes bored with her 'conventional' lovemaking and 
tires of her nagging horror of oral sex. He seeks relief in bars and feels 
he's transcended the lower platitudes of guilt ... until he discovers his 
wife's interests have wandered beyond his bedroom door. 

What ensues is a combat of will, until discovery leads to truth, and truth 
to freedom; freedom of the body, for her; a freedom from guilt, for him. 
Anyone who can admit to having suffered the embarrassment of jealousy, will 
benefit from turning the page. 

-The Publishers 


CHAPTER ONE 

October 23rd... the Atkins' third year anniversary dinner was spread 
sumptuously over the fine Irish linen tablecloth. 

Ted's favorite dish-pot roast-was succulent and finely seasoned with the 
right pinch of paprika. Garlic bread oozed butter, and the vintage zinfandel 
was just piquant enough, without the corky taste. The television set was a 
non-interruptive blackened box whose glass was streaked orange with flickers 
of candlelight reflecting off Polly Atkins' fine wedding crystal goblets. 

She smiled coquettishly under a halo of honey curls, her aqua eyes sparkling 
as daintily she lifted a forkful of salad to her rouged lips. Times like 
these, savored moments of intimacy, she realized just how rich in love she 
was with her husband. 

Setting down her fork and dabbing at rosebud lips with the corner of an 
Irish linen dinner napkin, she leaned over and kissed Ted fondly on the 
cheek as he reached for a second slice of the warm garlic bread. "I love 
you, Teddie," she purred. 

Ted grinned, and kissed her lips, sweetened with wine. He gazed into her 
eyes, gray in candlelight, with butterfly eyelashes creating teasing shadows 
over her high cheekbones. The stirrings of love and sensuality which had 
first excited him, and had never once stopped titillating him, rippled 
through his six-foot-one inch frame. Statistics state that the third year of 
marriage is the hardest; it pleased him that he'd managed to beat the odds! 

Polly's full, ripe figure nearly burst from the tight bodice of her black 
sheath, and the plunging v-shaped neckline showed more than just a casual 
view of her sun-bronzed breasts. The bumblebees of her puffy nipples stuck 
out from under the jersey obstinately ... nipples which had been first 
caressed by him and only him. That claim to her virginity filled him with a 
manliness Webster had no definition for-somewhere in between God and master. 

"More carrots, honey?" she asked. 

Ted nodded, watching the smooth undulations of her buttocks tightly cupped 
in the black sheath as she scraped back her chair and headed for the 
kitchen. As he listened to the clatter of lids being removed from pots, he 
dwelt on the warm wet passion his wife stored between her well-curved 
thighs. Tonight was going to be the night ... after three years a man 
deserved a fresh kind of passion, proof that a husband was foremost a man. 

Tenderly, she placed a dish of steaming carrots, dripping with aujus, before 
her husband and slipped back to the table. "I hope I put enough dill in for 
you." 

Ted studied his wife's butter-smeared, succulent lips in the candlelight, 
barely tasting the crunch of garlic bread. 'Thanks, sweetheart, but I'm 
full." He leaned over and kissed those ruby lips. "After three years, you've 
learned to make a mean pot roast." Cautious of over-eating, he wiped his 
mouth, folded his napkin, leaned back and patted his stomach. 

"But we haven't had the chocolate mousse yet!" protested Polly with a 
teasing smile showing off pearly white teeth. 

"Let's save it for tomorrow," he offered. Another sip of wine would satisfy 
course number one, then on to dessert! Making love on a full stomach robbed 
him of energy and tonight he needed to be hard and hearty! 

"Just let me clear up these dishes and-" 

He caught her arm. "Forget the dishes! I have a little surprise for our trip 
to Hawaii." 

Catching her by the delicate wrist, he urged her away from the littered 
table and pulled her toward the sofa. From beneath the flounce, he hauled 
out a square box. "Open it." 

Titters of exclamations bubbled from her rouged lips and, cheeks flushed in 
love and expectancy, she slid her polished nail under the cellophane tape 
and carefully unwrapped the box, cautious not to rip the wrapping paper. A 
polaroid camera sat inside. 

"Oh, Teddie! How great, for Hawaii!" 

A crooked smirk creased Ted's handsome face. "Thought I'd get it for you now 
so you could learn how to use the damned thing. You know how it is these 
days, buy something new and it doesn't work. What d'ya say we try 'er out 
tonight in celebration of our third wedding anniversary?" 

Polly clapped her tiny hands together and bounced on the sofa in jubilation, 
her melon-like breasts jiggling with the movement. "That would be lovely!" 
she cooed, glancing sideways at the littered table and forcing herself, out 
of habit, to avoid throwing herself into housework and neglecting Ted, 
something he accused her of often these days. Tonight was Ted's night, 
anything he wanted! 

The wine-encouraged visions flitting through Ted's burning brain caused him 
to feel a bit uneasy with himself. He liked sex, loved making it with his 
sexy wife ... but their marriage was growing stale. If only her lovemaking 
was as liberal as her portions of pot roast! Maybe the low-cut black sheath 
she'd bought for tonight was the devilish instigator, maybe it was the big 
three, but he couldn't shake the vision of her soft, tapered body spread out 
on the sofa while the camera winked at her creamy nudity. A strange tingling 
in his groin began at the thought, and a slight jerk of his penis told him 
he'd better start setting the mood. 

First, the camera. 

Ted plucked it out of his wife's admiring hands and fidgeted with it, 
familiarizing himself with the buttons, turning it over, wondering if this 
instrument were capable of his high hopes. 

"Maybe we could take some nice photos for Linda back in Chicago," suggested 
Polly a bit tipsily. She settled back on the sofa, one lithe arm stretched 
over the back of the beige velour sofa, nestling her creamy back into the 
cushions. 

"You got it!" Ted checked the camera to make certain the camera clerk had 
inserted the first free roll of film, and, satisfied, stepped back and 
hunched over to get his wife's voluptuous form well into the frame. "Smile, 
say cheese!" 

She did and the first photograph spit out the front, developing in the open 
air. 

"Looks good, hon ... wanna try another?" 

Loving the attention, Polly dipped her chin as would a professional model 
and smiled into the lens. 

Ted peered around the camera. "This time why don't you lift your dress a 
little?" 

Polly's smile crimped. "But, honey?" 

"This one's for me." 

Well, this was Ted's night and after all, he'd seen more than her thigh! 
Gamely, she inched up the him of her skirt, showing off a rich expanse of 
creamy thigh. 

Click.... 

"A little higher this time, this one wasn't very clear, guess I was shaking 
a little ... the wine, you know." He set the Polaroid down on the end table. 

The pretty wife looked askance at her husband, and if it hadn't been for the 
extra glass of wine with that last slice of pot roast, she would never have 
consented to inching that black jersey up over her knees and a bit further 
north to uncover the black lacey strip of her garter belt. 

Showing off that dimpled knee seemed to crowbar open the iron-tight moral 
code that Ted Atkins had come to associate with his pretty wife. "Promise 
me, Teddie," she started breathlessly, "you won't put it in our family 
album!" 

"Promise," he grinned, holding his breath and snapping the shutter. The 
photograph rolled out and he sat beside her on the sofa watching the image 
darken. He found himself breathing shallowly as his blue eyes oogled the 
firm swell of her stockinged thighs decorated with black lace garters 
snaking down the creaminess. He could see little tufts of blonde pussy hairs 
sticking out around the dampened band of her bikini panties. The aching 
built steadily in his groin .. .a bulge tenting his gabardine pants. 
Embarrassed, he shot up from the sofa and backed off, hunching down, framing 
his wife's loveliness in the camera's eye. 

"No, Teddie, please..." she whispered hoarsely, as if her mother were 
watching from a corner of the room and shaking a warning finger at her 
youngest daughter. 

He ignored her. "Give me a cheesecake pose, honey. Put your legs up on the 
couch and lean back. Make yourself look like Marilyn Monroe. Stick your 
breasts out... wow! That's it!" 

Click! 

Ted Atkins licked his lips and caught the Polaroid film as it spit out from 
the end. His wide blue eyes popped wide as the image of his blonde haired 
wife draped in black on the beige sofa came into focus. The richness of her 
smooth cleavage was shadowed, the bumble bees of her nipples poking through 
the tight black jersey, winking at him. "By God, look at that, baby! Nice 
photo, huh?" 

He passed it before his wife's gaping eyes. Polly gasped, never having seen 
herself look quite so sexy! Her cheeks rouged. "Teddie!" Her tiny hand flew 
to her mouth, but her eyes were glued to the image of her self. One lithe 
arm was stretched out along the back of the sofa, the other bent as her hand 
pulled up the hem of her skirt to show off the black garter belt. Her blonde 
head was thrown back provocatively, thrusting out her heavy breasts which 
strained alluringly against the tenacious black jersey. The light made a 
prism of her diamond earring, creating a blinking star in adoration of her 
sensuality. The glistening fullness of her lips shone wetly as she'd 
moistened them with the tip of her pink tongue. 

"Jesus, baby, you're beautiful! Let's take some more!" Ted's voice was 
gravelly. The excited husband gesticulated wildly. "Lie down on your belly 
and pull the right shoulder strap down over your arm... just a little bit so 
I can see your tits!" 

"Teddie, don't talk like that!" She tutted indignantly, but obediently 
flopped down on her belly and inched down the spaghetti strap until it 
draped down her dimpled elbow. A peek of oozing breast flesh focused in the 
camera's eye. She wiggled into position, the mound of her sensuality rubbing 
into the sofa cushions. A ripple of sensuality sparked through the modest 
wife, giving life to a tingling irritation in the heart of her loins and 
inner thighs. With an embarrassed flush, she felt the band of her bikini 
panties dampen. 

How can I let him do this! her mind raged. But when she gazed up in the dim 
light at her husband's eager face, and her eyes dropped to the tent bulging 
in his pants, her desires flamed. My God, he's getting excited by this ... 
I'm dying of embarrassment and he's getting horny! Somehow that didn't make 
sense to Polly Atkins. 

Sniffling indignantly, Polly positioned herself on her side so that the 
oozing breast flesh topped with a diamond chip nipple came clearly into 
view. Again she felt a ticklish excitation ripple up one thigh and down the 
other, centering in the heart of her womb. Her puckered nipples tingled 
tantalizingly, pressing against the black jersey. 

"Please, make this the last one, hon!" 

"If this is going to be the last one, let's make it right!" Setting down the 
camera, the excited husband knelt before his goose-bumped wife and pulled 
the spaghetti strap down further until her nipple winked over the wad of 
black jersey, like a little sun peeking up to the eastern skies. Next he 
pulled up the hem of her dress, the ticklish feel of his hot fingers 
touching her goose-bumped skin, making her shiver with delight. Compliantly 
she wiggled her hips, aiding him, until the black strip of her garter belt 
came into view ... and up further still until the pouting mound of Venus, 
swollen and damp, peered out between her sleek inner thighs. ' 

It had gone too far! What had been titillating was becoming unholy! Tutting 
in protest, Polly clamped her thighs together and stopped him. 

"Don't be such a cold fish, Polly!" The wine and growing excitement bulging 
his loins had shed patience and chiseled his words. 

Polly's glistening lips puckered poutingly and her blue eyes snapped 
dangerously at him. "I am not a cold fish! How dare you speak to me like 
that!" With her eyes boring coldly into his, she lifted up her hips and 
yanked at her dress until it was a black wad about her slender waist. She 
opened the vee of her thighs and braced one foot on the sofa so that the 
tempting mound of her sensuality was openly pouting before the camera. With 
a defiant sniff, she yanked down the spaghetti strap so that the full mound 
of her creamy breast hung ripely from her chest She heard Ted breathe 
sharply and shivered as she caught him gazing down with hungry eyes at the 
tender, scantily covered mound of her pussy. "This is the last one ... so 
help me God!" 

"Sure, hon," he breathed. "We'll hit the sack after this one." He knelt on 
one knee and framed the tantalizing contrasts of oozing white flesh and 
black jersey, aiming precisely at the blonde pussy tufts peeking out around 
the legbands of her panties. He snapped off the picture and gulped in awe 
when the photograph developed magically in open air. 

Holy shit! Ted's mouth watered from the sumptuous view of his worse than 
naked wife, her cat eyes gleaming hungry at him from the glossy photo. 

Mustering up lost dignity, Polly sat upright on the sofa, smoothing down the 
wrinkled wad of her black jersey dress. Tears stung her eyes. She sniffed 
and sprang to her feet, shooting her husband an angry gaze as she caught him 
oogling the the photograph. With a flick of the head, she stomped off toward 
the bedroom, her polished pink toes digging into the thick hallway 
carpeting. A bit unsteadily, she turned into the bedroom and flicked on the 
night light. 

She turned her back to the mirror as she stripped off the provocative gown 
and tossed it onto the back of the chair. She peeled off her bikini panties, 
the band moistened with unholy desire. Next came the black garter belt and 
dark stockings. 

Why did men always have to treat women like sex objects? Wasn't pure love 
enough? A tingle of bitterness rippled through her at the speculation that 
her own loving husband had been trying to make a fool of her ... like a 
horny teenage boy in the backseat of his Daddy's car, testing a girl to see 
how far she'd go! With a sigh of defeat, she slipped between the cool 
sheets, her flushed cheek burning against the pillow slip. 

In the hallway beyond, she heard Teddie flick off the lights and head toward 
the bedroom. If his lecherous behavior disgusted her, her own haunted her. 
She had allowed him to use her as an object and, like some cheap slut, had 
become excited by submission. The image of his tenting gabardine pants 
flickered before her closed eyes. Yes, Ted had wanted her, and his desire 
sparked her own. 

But calling her a cold fish! How cruel!... especially after sweating over a 
hot stove all day, cooking up a feast for her king! Well, wasn't that the 
plight of women these days? 

She felt his strong presence in the doorway. "Please come to bed, Teddie, 
it's late, you've got that board meeting tomorrow." 

"Fuck the board meeting," he grumbled hoarsely, flicking on the overhead 
light. 

Polly draped a lithe arm over her forehead, shading her eyes. The thump of 
his shoes announced his nightly strip, the whine of his pants zipper and 
rustle of clothes being flung recklessly over the chair back, whispering of 
inebriation. The bed dipped and she smelled the liquor on his breath as he 
positioned himself in a kneeling position. 

A warm hand brushed over her fevered forehead, melting reserve and warming 
affections. Just one touch of his hand, that's all it took to make her feel 
womanly. God, she loved him! Slowly she lifted the arm from her forehead and 
blinked wide her periwinkle eyes. 

His erect, blue veined cock stood out from a nest of bushy curls at the 
dominant vee of his loins. "I love you, honey, you're a sexy woman," he 
whispered hoarsely. Slowly, he slid the cool sheet down over her quivering 
body. 

It came in a burst of emotion. "Ted, I love you so much!" It was a desperate 
whine meant to eradicate the guilt of repressed sensuality. 

"Ohhhh... honnnn," he hummed, his fingers working at the drawstring of her 
diaphanous pink nightie. One slight tug and the fabric opened onto her 
lusciously creamy flesh. His warm hands roamed over the oozing mounds of her 
breasts, caressingly, lovingly, with an urgency that made her tingle. He 
tweaked her nipples until they stood out in diamond chips. Her beauty was 
flawless, her wide-eyed shyness alluring in a virginal way. She had been a 
virgin when he'd married her three years ago today; she had developed the 
bitterness and plaguing sense of boredom which was a cause of complaint 
amongst many of his male friends. 

He licked the shell of her perfumed ear. "You're a great model, honey... 
Christ, I'd love to take pictures of you naked!" 

Polly sucked in her breath. Those damned photographs! Was he in love with 
the slut with her breast hanging out and vagina exposed, or with his wife? 
Hot tears of self-denigration dampened her eyes and she threw her arms 
around his strong neck, pulling him close. She couldn't admit her arousal to 
having stripped nearly naked, spreading her legs like a harlot for the 
camera... what would Ted think of her then? She gripped him tightly around 
the neck and drew him close to her. 

"Ted, make love to me!" she whined desperately. "Let's make love!" 

Ted's mind, yet blinded by the image of his wife spread out on the sofa with 
the blonde fleece of her pubic curls peeking out around the leg bands of her 
panties and the sensual black garter belt, made his cock leap to a blood 
filled high. 

Hovering over her quivering body, he hauled up the hem of her nightie and 
arched his groin above her belly button. He moved his hardened shaft up and 
down along her stomach, silken and soft. Ted groaned, feeling the heat of 
sexuality fire into a rage inside his lust-bloated penis. 

He leaned back, making his penis hang over her breasts. For a delicious 
moment, the sex hungry husband shut his eyes and imagined seeing her 
glistening, wet lips clamped around the stalk of his hardened penis. 
Uncontrollably, he groaned and slid up on the bed until the mushroomed tip 
of his cock hovered about the taut line of her glistening lips. As he moved, 
it drubbed at her chin. 

Maybe on their third anniversary she would relent. 

"Kiss me there, honey ... kiss me, Polly!" His warm, rubbery penis was a 
tongue's lick away from her ruby lips. She need only bend her neck an 
effortless inch to please him. 

A shudder of revulsion quivered through Polly. "No, no, Teddie ... you know 
I don't like to do that!" She turned her face away, pursing her lips. The 
idea of taking his male instrument into her mouth and sucking on it, tasting 
the Ajax-like smell of his semen, revolted her to the core of her being. It 
was vile, disgusting, and mother certainly would never have conceded to such 
unfeminine acts! 

"Not there," she whispered and slithered forward, her arms tight around his 
neck and pulling him downwards until he lay full length on the bed. "I... I 
know you want me to, but can't I make you happy my way?" she reasoned. 

The image of his wife's delicate, soft, loving mouth clamped around his 
penis exploded in disappointment. The envisioned denouement of her cooing 
and squirm- ing as he spurt his white hot cum deep into her swanlike throat 
dissipated like morning fog, leaving a vacuum of desire to haunt him. In an 
otherwise fantastic relationship, her reluctance to please him orally caused 
a shivering schism to split the fulfillment between reality and desire. If 
only he could convince her of the beauty of the act... lips on penis, lips 
on vagina! 

He squeezed her tight, feeling her warmth undulating, quivering against his 
nakedness. Her soft bowled belly and humping pelvis ground against his 
hardened penis until the frustrating image fled and he resorted to the 
missionary position. 

'Teddie.. .oh, honey!" she moaned. "Please don't be angry with me... really, 
I'm not a cold fish. You know how I love to make love to you!" 

"Hmmmm," he agreed. He held her closer to him, moving one warm hand down to 
cup the smooth satiny curves of her buttocks. 

With a desperate lunge, she glued her lips to his, and stabbed the tip of 
her pink tongue between his pearly teeth ... in and out, in and out... in a 
parody of lovemaking. He stiffened as he felt her warm palm encircle the 
girth of his meaty cock and give it a salacious tug. 

"I want to feel you inside me," she mewled hotly. 

Her urgency made him quiver and Ted pressed his warm lips harder against 
hers to show his mutual need. She strained and pressed her body grinding and 
wriggling, and then opened her legs and thighs and positioned his mushroom 
tipped penis against the hairy mouth of her warm, hungry young pussy, the 
taut, hair-lined lips of her womanhood parting with the overwhelming need of 
having him deep inside her belly. 

"Yes, Teddie ... there ... there!" 

He lunged forward, his hips thrusting powerfully as he drove with maddened 
lust into her weeping hole, feeling her fevered cuntal walls grip him, milk 
him. Tonight she would be satisfied with nothing but all of him, and Ted was 
noted in his wife's grinding undulations a hint of whorishness ... he 
couldn't understand her sometimes, he realized in a burst of clarity. But 
how could he comprehend anything with the head of his cock shoved so far up 
into her pussy it struck home at the tip of her spongy cervix! He could feel 
her cuntal walls ripple, spasm. She held him captive within her belly, 
imprisoning him with her clasping, smoothly possessive cunt, and with her 
widespread legs spread wide as they would go; she locked her slender ankles 
around his back and drove him into her. He quickened his strokes, fucking 
into his wife with a crazed fury. The breath wheezed from his lungs. 

Oh shit, it wouldn't take long tonight! He could feel it start, a pulling 
sensation deep in his balls, growing to an intolerable pressure that 
demanded release! Some nights they could make love for hours, but not 
tonight! He was going to cum damned soon and nothing could stop him! 

"Teddie... Tedddeee! Oh, oh, oh, you feel so goood!" she grunted wantonly. 
The voracious wife whimpered and pleaded, kissing his neck, his shoulders, 
tasting the saltiness of his exertion. She babbled babyishly and he knew she 
was close to cumming. Her knees drew up as if on springs as she raised 
herself higher up " off the squeaking mattress. Her wetly squelching pussy 
bucked wildly back up against his pelvis, smacking into his groin. 

"OOOOOhhhhh ... ohhh Teddeeee!" she cried in a tortured wail. "I'm ... I'm 
... eiii eeeee iiiii!" With a devilish groan, Polly's hungry pussy wept with 
the joy of marital bliss! 

That did it for Ted! His cum churned into a froth of lust, deep within his 
balls. It spurt through his swollen testicles and up through his hardened 
penile shaft, bursting through the eye to spate his wife's hungrily milking 
pussy. Again and again giant spurts of creamy seed flowed from him until at 
last he collapsed, a sweaty exhausted mass of male flesh; a sigh of loving 
contentment chorusing her mewlings of appreciation. 

The euphoric cloud lifted after a moment and Ted rolled off his wife's 
trembling form. He kissed her warmly on the forehead, plumped up his pillow 
and curled up in a ball. 

"I love you, honey," she whispered into the night. 

A smile creased his lips. "I love you, too, sweetheart," he answered 
thickly. Tomorrow morning's board meeting flitted unrealistically through 
his mind, taking second place to something more urgent Polly was a damned 
good lay (why not? He'd been her teacher)... but her inhibition about oral 
sex was beginning to tug at the tight band of marital fulfillment that was 
his by rights. In the dim light of the moon stealing fugitively through the 
Venetian blinds, he gazed at her tenderly ... the soft skin, the full lips, 
slightly parted in sleep. Something had to crack that useless veneer of 
revulsion. Somehow she had to learn that mouth on penis was a beautiful act 
of love. 

It was, after all, his right as a husband. 

CHAPTER TWO 

The board meeting of L&M Savings and Loan Association had adjourned as the 
clock struck twelve. The fifteen board members, comprised of senior members 
and the junior group including Ted Atkins, pushed back their upholstered 
chairs from the round executive table in the conference room and filtered 
out the door for a break. Briefcases under their arms, they headed for the 
sanctuary of dimly lit restaurants that catered to the lunch time executive 
crowd hungry for respite and thirsty for a drink and a healthy peek at a bit 
of thigh and cleavage to pry their minds loose from the wearisome routine of 
gray flannel existence. 

Ted was down in the dumps. No, the insipid discussions of loan rates and 
complaints of governmental regulations did not distress him. His problem 
came in a fleshy package of blue eyes and honey hair and Victorian 
inhibitions! 

Ted slipped into a booth in the Crow's Nest Restaurant, welcoming the 
atmosphere of privacy. A burning frustration and lack of fulfillment haunted 
him from last night's lovemaking. Ah, not that Polly wasn't a good lay ... 
Christ, he would have divorced her at last year's anniversary if she wasn't 
the type to spread her thighs at his beckoning. No, it was something about 
her attitude towards his sexuality that distressed him. 

Ted plucked the menu from the polished fingertips of a pearly toothed 
waitress attired appropriately in a skinny leotard and fish net stockings, 
showing off the fine curves and bumps of her pulchritudinous body. A blue 
feathered headdress plumed from her blue black hair. 

"Hi!" she grinned toothily. "The special of the day is Beef Bourginon, fine 
sirloin tips braised in a wine and mushroom sauce. Only $6.95." 

Ted's blue eyes stared over the rim of the Crow's Nest menu, resting 
precisely on level with the nubs of nipples winking at him encouragingly. He 
gulped dryly, her voice a mile away. 

"Or fresh fillet of sole with grapes and white wine sauce..." A crooked grin 
creased her lovely dimpled face and she cagily shifted her weight to the 
other high heeled foot. "Perhaps you'd like to think about your selection... 
?" 

"Oh, no..." he said straightening. As she pivoted her lissome body, his eyes 
fell on the pouting mound of Venus a hand's snatch away. The candlelight 
reflected the image in the crystal wine goblet, mockingly. "I'll ... I'll go 
for the meat. I mean the beef," he amended with a nervous cough. 

Puckering her rosebud lips temptingly, she winked down at her red-faced 
customer, and plucking the menu from his fingertips, sashayed off. A pint of 
blood fled to Ted's pulsing groin from watching the half I moons of blue 
jersey slink between the tables. The image of her red painted lips lingered 
where savings percentages should have, and he failed to notice when George's 
eternally grinning face stared at him across the table. 

"Don't mind if I join you, huh, Teddie?" George settled his ample buttocks 
on the empty chair across from his junior board member. 

Had that voice belonged to anyone but the man who'd hired him, Teddie would 
have made a snap decision about the intruder. As it was, he smiled emptily I 
and said, "Oh, please be my guest, George." 

The senior board member ordered from the menu, marveling at the remarkably 
high set of firm young breasts heaving before his eyes. When the waitress 
brought their wine and salads, George, a dapper man I for his fifty-seven 
years, leaned across the table, knife f and fork in hand. Conspiratorially, 
he eyed the junior I board member, winking. "God help the young stuff if old 
George could get it up again!" He tore open his Parkerhouse roll and 
buttered it lavishly. "I'll tell you, son, the biggest mistake I ever made 
was being monogamous." He shook his jowled cheeks. "Go for it, boy!" 

The perky waitress, plumed headdress wafting in the air conditioning, rolled 
up the waitress' cart and setting the choice of house dressings in the 
middle of the white linen table, pivoted and leaned over without bending her 
knees to retrieve the pepper grinder from the bottom shelf. The sleekness of 
her fishnet stockinged thighs shot up to the crevice of her scantily covered 
buttocks. 

George licked his lips and winked at Teddie who flushed the color of the red 
velvet draperies separating their booth from the one beyond. Daintily, the 
waitress sat the steaming beef bourgeon before Ted and the filet of sole 
before his partner. 

"Anything else I can get you boys?" she twinkled. 

Was it his imagination, or was she staring at him? Ted blinked up into a 
pair of disarmingly dark eyes dancing with candlelight. "No," he answered 
tightly. "Everything's fine...." 

"You sure, honey?" she purred, her perfume heady in his nostrils. 

His eyes lingered on the glistening line of her laxly parted lips, puckered 
and ready. An electrical shock shot from his libido to his groin, and he 
asked himself, dicing up a morsel of juicy meat, did that deliriously 
scented young thing suck her boyfriend's penis? Did she take him in her warm 
mouth and milk him with her lips, until the white hot sperm shot deep within 
her throat, bathing her tonsils in sexual cream? 

"My name's Jody, if you need anything," she rasped sweetly, disappearing 
once more. 

"I think she likes you, Ted," the older man jibed, his green eyes snapping 
with envy of youth. 

"Don't be silly," retorted Ted, straightening. "She's after a tip ... and 
besides," he defended, "I'm a married man." 

"All the better. Monogamy's for the birds. It makes the bitches think they 
can have anything their own way. Buy me a color TV for the kitchen, they 
whine. You buy 'em a color tv for the kitchen ... and you think that makes 
the sex any better?" grumbled the aging man. His jowls bounced with 
negativity as he raised a fish flake to his mouth. 

"I'm happy with Polly." The beef tasted acrid in his mouth, as if he were 
swallowing his own lie. "We just celebrated our third wedding anniversary 
last night." It was a statement, not an ebullience. 

George stared off into space, cogitating. "As I recall, it was about the 
third year when Dorothy and I started sleeping in twin beds. Ah, you 
remember the fad years back before the movies showed couples in double beds 
together ... Ozzie and Harriet, Desi and Lucie, none of 'em slept in double 
beds, no neither could we." George swallowed noisily and washed the buttery 
fish down with a hefty swig of wine. "Gets worse after that, huh!" Here he 
threw back his head. "Wait till they hit menopause! 

"If they think you're an evil sonofabitch for wanting to have oral sex, wait 
till they start crying every time you look at a younger woman. That's when 
they start spending your money, hairdressers, face lifts ... 

Christ all mighty, Ted, get it while you can!" 

Ted, absentmindedly masticating on the winy beef, glared hopelessly into 
George's face. Was that the fate of his marriage with Polly? Had they 
reached the peak of happiness and was the rest a downhill avalanche of 
depression, despair and God help him-sexual frustration? 

Ted contemplated the wisdom of George's observations now as he joined, the 
throng of gray suited men spilling out the L&M Savings and Loan 
Association's sliding glass door and headed for his car in the parking lot 
behind the mammoth concrete and glass edifice. 

His polished wing tips' leather soles scuffed along the sidewalk with a 
dejection all their own,. Spontaneously, they pivoted, and with new life 
strode past the ticket machine and headed around the block for the Crow's 
Nest. 

A husband had a right to stop off for a drink now and then, didn't he? If he 
didn't start asserting his domain as the dominant partner, he'd end up a 
pansy-ass. Christ, I might even turn gay! he shivered, throwing himself onto 
the bar stool closest to the waitress' station and barking out an order for 
a Tanqueray tonic. "And don't squeeze the lime!" 

The cooling gin slipped down his throat easily, leaving a cleansing piney 
taste. Now that his eyeballs had adjusted to the lack of light, and his ears 
to the tattoo beat of disco belching from the neon lit jukebox which 
transformed the afternoon luncheon spa to an alcoholics' paradise, he 
glanced around the room. 

He found her. The blue-black hair shimmering in the unreal lights of 
fluorescent neon ringing the dance floor beyond. The blue feather plume 
danced recklessly as she giggled over a table of three men, one of whom had 
slipped his arm around her slender waist, pulling her down to hid lap. 
Feeling a bit the spy, Ted swung around, minding his own business and 
ruminating over the wisdom of telephoning Polly to hint he might be a little 
late for dinner. 

The second drink was his dinner, that and a crock of cheese and salty 
crackers which the bartender slid in front of him from the other end of the 
mahogany bar. He buttered a cracker with a lavish layer of cheese and was 
washing it down his throat, when she sauntered up to fill a drink order. He 
gulped quickly, swallowing the dry, tasteless mass. 

"Lookie who's here!" the waitress chimed in a silvery tone. "John, buy this 
man a drink on me!" 

Ted stiffened. Number one, he'd never had a woman buy him a drink before; 
and, number two, her stockinged thigh was rubbing against his gabardine one 
... by accident? 

If the second drink created the indecision of telephoning home, the third 
drink obliterated any remembrance of having raised the question. Ted began 
to feel the lightheaded euphoria of independence and fell into an easy 
conversation with the bartender and the cocktail hour waitress. He started 
to feel like the Northwest University fraternity boy again, flirting with 
the uneducated barmaids in the local pubs, and it wasn't unpleasant! By the 
fourth drink, he'd melded, become one with the bar stool, the wall pay 
telephone an impossible journey to the east! 

The after work drinking crowd, had long since dissipated, and-the hard core 
evening set had settled in, crowding the disco floor and yelping with 
Thursday night anticipation of the weekend to come. 

Her breath was like a firebrand on his cheek when she sashayed up to him and 
whispered hotly in his ear: "I'm off in half an hour ... wanna get 
together?" 

Ted blinked. 

"Just give me a sec to peel out of this leotard, and then we can go to my 
place!" Her perfume intoxicated what remained of reason, and memories of 
cold leftovers from an anniversary dinner sitting uneaten on an unattended 
plate failed to leak through the clouds of euphoria. 

Ted studied the misshapen wedge of lime lying lifelessly in the bottom of 
his drink glass and slipped off the bar stool for the first time in three 
hours. Jody stood beside him, dressed in shimmering black satin pants that 
molded every luscious curve of her five foot four inch lissome frame, with a 
red v-neck sweater fuzzy against his hand as she slipped her arm through his 
and headed for the door. 

The night air was invigorating. Her high heels clicked crisply on the 
sidewalk and his leather soles shuffled along in a harmony toward his Datsun 
280Z parked behind the L&M Savings and Loan Association. 

Half an hour later he was pulling into another parking lot in front of a new 
condominium on the east side of town, and crawling into an elevator. The 
night air, the drive, and awakening senses snapped the inebriated executive 
back to his rational sense. Wild- eyed, he grabbed the support bar as the 
elevator jerked upward and its doors swooshed open on the fourth floor. 

"I... I think I'd better...." 

"Ah, come on." Jody pressed him against the apartment door where the numbers 
37 dripped like melted butter before his drunken eyes. She was kissing him 
madly on the neck now, while her free hand dipped into her handbag for the 
key. "You can't go home on Jody now, not when she's all hot for you!" she 
cooed. 

Numb, Ted staggered, gripping the doorknob for support. He literally fell 
into her living room when she turned the key in the lock and nudged open the 
door. Jody shut the door. He was alone, in a strange apartment with ... with 
a slinky hipped woman he didn't know! 

The studio apartment was dominated by a bed shoved against the wall and 
gaily covered with a red satin coverlet with matching pillows. He sat down 
on the mattress, staring weakly up at the beautiful, dimpled face of the 
nineteen year-old. He had to admit she. was a gorgeous young thing... the 
type of girl he would have welcomed meeting before he'd married Polly. She 
exuded pure feline sex, and he had to admit it would be a change of pace to 
take her in his arms, kiss her, love her up a bit, nothing more. He wouldn't 
penetrate her or anything intimate like that, but just to touch those firm, 
upthrust mounds peeping out from the stretchy knit of her sweater, to press 
his liquor-sweet lips to her cherry-red lips, that would be nice, yes, very 
nice! 

Inside his pants, his cock jerked into an instant erection as if it were 
alive and free of his will. He tried to will it limp, to wipe clean the lewd 
thoughts twirling inside his gin-sodden head, but it throbbed and pulsed and 
drew blood from his senses. With a stab of remembrance, Polly's innocent 
face flashed before his mind's eye; guiltily, his eyes averted Polly's and 
fastened on the skyline in the distance from which he struggled to pick out 
the mammoth outline of L&M Savings and Loan Association. He needed a point 
of reference. 

Jody snickered. "Teddie's got a great big hard-on, don't you Teddie?" she 
teased, smiling at the obvious bulge in his gabardine pants with the 
dime-sized wet spot a quarter-inch to the right of the zipper. 

Having never heard a female talk in such blatantly sexual terms, Ted 
blushed, "Please... don't make fun of me!" 

Jody bounced up and down, her heavy, braless breasts jiggling in mockery. 
"You're going to fuck me, you gorgeous hunk of male! I adore men in three 
piece suits." She came to him in a waft of perfumed air, an aphrodisiac to 
his senses. Her breath was like a firebrand on his cheek. Lightly, she 
touched his knee, her fingers nearly burning the cloth. Higher, higher 
still, she reached, her fingers walking like little soldiers to the 
battlefield of his married libido! Her fingertips touched the bulging 
protuberance down between his legs! 

"Ohhh Gawd!" she managed in a strangled breath, almost leaping from the bed 
in a spasmed reaction. His testicles ached with the need of release, the 
sperm churned in his balls, and try though he may, he couldn't pry himself 
loose of her caresses. Too gentle, too tenderly feminine, too insistently 
needful. Now her tongue tip trailed hotly over his stubbled cheek, 
searching, licking for his mouth, and her hand continued to rub and soothe 
the aching load in his testicles. 

"Don't be afraid of Jody," she pleaded innocently. "It's only physical. What 
do I care if you're married?" she cooed, twirling the gold band with a free 
finger in mockery of his defense. "You want to shove your big hard cock up 
my pussy, and I want to feel you inside of me. 

"I want to feel you inside of me?" Weren't those the very words Polly had 
chosen last night, he thought with a sinking sensation in the pit of his 
gut. 

"I... I love my wife," he managed in a weak voice. 

"Of course, she cooks for you, washes your underwear ... that's why husbands 
love their wives, isn't it? But when you need sex," she spat the last word, 
"you come to Jody." 

"No, it's not right!" She had him pinned to the mat-, tress with the lithe 
one hundred and seven pounds of unflawed flesh, or he would have dove for 
the door and emotional freedom. 

"Sometimes it's good," she purred, licking the shell of his buzzing ear, "to 
make love to a stranger and get all the good things wives don't give you." 

She's wrong! That's not what marriage is all about! his tortured mind 
screamed. With a burst of adrenalin power, he wrenched himself out of her 
clutches, off the bed. His heart hammered and he knew his prick was still 
rock hard and seeping embarrassing testimonials to his arousal. He had to 
get hold of himself! 

Jody's raspy voice whispered, "Teddie...." 

He pivoted, garnering the bravery to reject her; his hands balled up into 
fists, but his words froze in his throat. His mouth hinged open and his blue 
eyes bulged. 

She stood there, stripped naked. The lovely nineteen year old had slipped 
out of her black satin pants and yanked her sweater over the haloes of 
blue-black hair, shimmering in the dim light. She wore neither panties nor 
brassiere, and as he gawked mesmerized at her white sculpted, youthful 
perfection, the image of pulchritudinous grace that would have made 
Nabokov's mouth water, he felt a bit of spittle drool from the corner of his 
mouth. 

She smiled sweetly at him, the tip of her wet, pink tongue sticking between 
her cherry-red, glossy lips, full and puckered and suggestive of anatomical 
parts he'd dare not think of. The hair-lined lips of her cuntal valley were 
there before him, the black down glistening deliciously in the pale glow of 
the lamp light. Her high, perfectly rounded breasts, tipped with strawberry 
nipples, jutted out like strawberries and cream. Her long, slender thighs 
trembled and quivered with desire-for him. 

"Well, honey? You like Jody better now?" 

Ted gulped, his eyes watering. 

"Would Teddie like to kiss me here?" His eyes followed her tiny hands, 
heading south for the black triangle, and when she said "here", her small 
fingers blazed a trail down through the soft, pouting lips of her pink pussy 
and slowly, slowly spread them apart, showing the tiny bud of her throbbing 
clitoris. Back and forth, around and around, she stroked the growing nub, 
her eyes never leaving his bulging ones. 

"Does your wife let you kiss her there?" she taunted, reading the message of 
rapacious desire in his eyes with the accuracy of a witch. "Do you two ever 
do it to each other ... suck each other until you cum?" And still she 
stroked herself. "Does she suck your cock for you?" 

How could she know all that! His mind raged. First George, now this little 
slut! Christ, was his frustration that obvious? 

The lust maddening sight was too much for Ted. The thought of kissing, of 
licking her sweet young pussy made his prick leap for joy. "Jody, please, 
you're awfully tempting, but please...." he begged, his throat bone dry and 
aching with longing. 

"Let me kiss your cock for you, Ted. I want to lick it and milk it with my 
lips, make those wiggly little veins bulge, and taste you.- I love to suck 
cock!" She refused to shut up, even against his protestations. Her words 
branded his libido with sizzling desire... with the big scarlet S for sex! 

He couldn't say no, couldn't step outside that door if his marriage depended 
upon it! Polly had denied him oral love and was he to be eternally cheated 
of the soft down of a woman's pussy opening fishlike to his mouth, frothing 
with desire? A pain stabbed his heart. If only Polly could understand that 
simple, human fact of love. This woman wanted his kisses, his tongue, his 
cock ... Oh Gawd, he'd cum in his undershorts if she didn't shut up! 

"... lick your balls and stab my tongue right up your ass..." were the words 
that burned his mind when finally, after a siege of mental inquiry, his 
senses returned to focus, on the naked young woman masturbating herself an 
arm's reach away. 

God help him-he had to have her! Forget Polly, forget cold pot roast, he had 
to have her! The steaming heat in his genitals fairly scorched a hole in his 
shorts. Ah, to suck and be sucked! Yes! 

In a burst of freedom, he tore off his pants and kicked them free. He hadn't 
time to strip off his socks. His shirt came next, until he stood before her, 
his thick, bursting cock standing out from the nest of brown curls. 

"Ooohhh!" she cooed, rolling her eyes in appreciation. "You've got a pretty 
cock-all hard and hot!" She collapsed down on the satin coverlet, the 
perfect color compliment to the alabaster of her flawless flesh and the jet 
black of her hair. The very movement was sensuous and promising. "Let me 
suck you first!" 

Ted's stocking feet padded to the bed and the squeak of springs announced 
his arrival as he collapsed a willing victim in her arms and turned himself 
over to the vixen of the Crow's Nest. Next thing he knew, he was writhing 
beside her, feet-to-head, with Jody's fingers scratching over his burgeoning 
cock, her expert lips kissing his hairy legs, his belly, and inner thighs, 
dipping into his navel for a licking tease. 

"Oh, Gawd, that feels good!" he groaned, not sure he could keep the boiling 
sperm down in his testicles' wells for another scalding moment. 

The blue-black head plunged obediently, eagerly, and a scream tore from 
Ted's overworked lungs as he felt the incredible hot moistness of her soft 
lips closing butter-like over the sensitive, seeping head of his cock, felt 
her searing tongue licking tiny circles around the mushroomed head. Sighing, 
enraptured in the exquisite manipulations, Ted moved toward her and with a 
grunt of a dog about to devour a bone, buried his face in her sweet-smelling 
cunt. 

A sudden jerk of contracted muscled spasmed in the excited nineteen-year-old 
seductress. In a wormish maneuver, she pressed closer to his mouth. The 
complete willingness, the blatant sensuality of her panther-like movements, 
overwhelmed the married man and blotted out all misgivings. 

Jody tasted the piquancy of his secretions, licking up the pearly drops of 
pre-cum hungrily, twirling her soft tongue faster and faster. Then she began 
to suck him in earnest, with the full expense of a woman who enjoyed 
pleasing men. 

In pure adoration, and a smattering of curiosity, Ted managed to pull his 
drink sodden head off the mattress and out from between her legs just long 
enough to watch her lipstick rimmed lips ripple up and down his blue, veiny 
shaft, watching the soft skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in 
as she sawed the length of his penis. The sight was adulterously erotic! His 
loins tensed and jerked upwards into her pretty young face, all the fleshy 
length disappearing with each thrust forward so that only a fraction of an 
inch showed white and glistening with the saliva between her lips. 

With a groan of submission, he returned to her soft, hair fringed pussy and 
drew her firm rounded buttocks down over his hungry mouth so that he was 
sunk nose-deep in her soft-rimmed cunt. He held her tightly to his licking 
orifice with both hands encasing her buttocks, thrusting his own tongue up 
teasingly between the sweet tasting folds. He heard her gasp and nibble more 
frenziedly. Her pussy contracted and opened around his mouth like a feeding 
fish, and then he moved his hands down and opened the petals of her pussy 
wider. He began to curl and flick his tongue at the velvety dampness of her 
cuntal walls. He sucked and licked and groaned and moaned while she swayed 
rhythmically above him. She was a sex-crazed woman, out of control, her cunt 
flowering wider and her secretions spating her thighs. 

He sensed her muscles cord as he worked, plunging for her clitoris, sucking 
and biting tenderly, his tongue reaming the sensuous little button while she 
writhed and churned madly above him. He sensed she was straining to cum, her 
mouth and cheeks sucking like a milking machine at his penis as she bucked 
and writhed and arched her back and head in a quaking of body and spirit. 
Her breasts danced joyously as she sucked voraciously, her mouth creating a 
pumping pressure that untapped the reservoir of his churning semen. 

And then it happened. 

"UUUUMMMM!" came the tortured cry of her climax and the pungent milk of her 
orgasm flooded his mouth, his throat, dribbled down his chin and drenched 
the satin coverlet steaming with their lust. 

Her softly pulsating pussy spread hotly across his face. She screamed out 
her orgasm, never ceasing the milking, sucking pressure on his deep-thrust 
cock. She snaked her heels against his shoulders and rubbed her gyrating 
cunt in an uncontrollable surge of torment. Then-Ted Atkins felt the 
eruption of scalding fire leap along the length of his blood-fed penis. He 
gasped in agony, and his cock began a wild, convulsive jerking that flooded 
the gates of his testicles, rushing into the girl's maddeningly bobbing 
mouth with gush after gush of boiling sperm that bloated her rouged cheeks 
and forced her to swallow to keep from drowning. As quickly as it had 
erupted, it abated-after one final spurt. Now he lay back, half conscious, 
staring at the ceiling, with the taste of a nineteen-year-old's pussy ripe 
in his mouth. 

And still Jody sucked at his juices, milking every last drop of the hot 
gushing male nectar until his penis jerked softly and plopped silently from 
the sperm filled cavern of her mouth. The cock slid from her laxly parted 
lips then, in one last swallow, and she cradled her face to his sperm sticky 
groin. 

"You like that, honey?" she cooed, with evidence of his pleasure dripping 
from her dimpled chin. 

He could only groan in appreciation. He knew that Polly would be maddened 
with jealousy and pain if she could see him now; yet guilt refused to settle 
in. A satisfied, shameless feeling of dominance and control overtook him, 
that and the knowledge that his desire for oral sex had been justifiable and 
gratifying. 

Polly ... his wife ... gold bands... fidelity. An association of 
guilt-associating images popped into his mind, working at his 
self-conscience. Ted lay there, breathing in the musk of the young beauty's 
bodily perfumes and the scent of her love juices drying on his stubbled 
chin. 

Jody's left leg bent, knee drawing up, and he sensed her stirring on the 
bed. She kneed her way around until they were face-to-face. She grinned a 
pearly smile down at him and kissed him on the mouth. The taste of his own 
semen piqued on his taste buds. "You don't want to go home now, do you? We 
haven't even started yet!" 

His tongue ran dryly over his lips. Between his hirsute thighs, his penis 
leapt enthusiastically. "No ... I'm not ready to go home yet," he conceded, 
cuddling her in the crook of his arm. 

CHAPTER THREE 

The October morn was crisp as a bite into a cold green apple. Polly Atkins 
sat at her kitchen table, nursing a cup of black coffee. One trembling hand 
held close the gaping neck of her chenille robe, her bare heels hooked on 
the rungs of the chair. She stared unblinking at a bird chirping from the 
elm tree next to the clothesline. Orange leaves flitted in butterfly swirls 
to the frozen, brown grass hardened with the morning's frozen dew. 

A pang of misery rippled through her body. The acrid, unsweetened coffee 
puddling masochistically in her belly. The coffee cup rattled as it settled 
on the saucer; she clutched the lapels of her robe tighter, shivering 
against the cold knowledge that Ted had not come home until the Friday 
morning sky had turned pink. 

A night out with the boys . .. that she could understand. He'd been 
concerned about the outcome of the board meeting, anxious for his promotion 
to come through. But to not show up until five o'clock in the morning... 
with ... with the smell of a woman on his genitals! 

Polly buried her face in her trembling, sweaty palms and gave in to emotion, 
her body wracking like so much flotsam in the open sea. For the nth time she 
scrutinized the details of her assumption, and for the hundredth time came 
up with the same conclusion: Ted was cheating on her! 

Anxious to re-create their lovemaking of the night before, Polly had dressed 
for dinner and set the table with their wedding china and crystal. The 
previous night-their anniversary, she recalled with a tremor, had been so 
precious-she'd wanted it to last forever, wanted to freeze time into an 
eternity of marital bliss. She waited, watched the evening news with Walter 
Cronkite, sipped at a glass of wine while she tucked her stockinged feet 
under her... and waited. A peek at the steaming pot roast and she splashed 
in a half cup of wine to retain the juices. Ted never liked his meat dry, 
she sniffed, the unsettling feeling that would last the night descending 
upon her. 

By nine o'clock, she'd slipped out of her lounging robe and into a 
nightgown, guessing Ted had gone out for an after-work drink with his 
friends. But why hadn't he telephoned? Another glass of wine, and Polly 
carefully covered the night's dinner in Tupperware bowls and padded barefoot 
and dejected to bed. 

She lay staring at the ceiling, punching the bed pillow and counting sheep 
until she heard the car motor die in the drive. The digital clock never lied 
and it was precisely four fifty-two when she heard him take off his shoes in 
the kitchen (he had a habit of letting them thump to the floor), and pad in 
his stocking feet into the hall and to the bathroom. 

Polly feigned sleep, lost in a troubled, agonized hell of depression and 
suspicion. She shivered under the covers, waiting for him to crawl in bed 
beside her and cradle her in his arms reassuringly. It was Ted's habit to 
awaken her when he came home after a night of drinking with the boys, giving 
his wife that kind of affirmation of affection that separates bad marriages 
from good ones. 

Clumsily he'd opened the bedroom door and thrown himself into bed. No 
kisses, no hugs tonight... just snoring and neglect. As Polly rolled over 
onto her side to cuddle against his back, the smell of femininity stung her 
nostrils-that unmistakable sweetness of perfume, mingled with the piquant 
scent of sex! 

No! Her mind raged. Not Ted! We made love so beautifully last night... he's 
never-Polly rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, splashed now 
with pink strands of an awakening morn. Five o'clock and smelling of 
perfume. The evidence declared the case closed. 

His snores were deep and troubled. Now Polly's curious hand stole around her 
husband's heaving body to the warm vee of his loins. Her tiny hand trembled 
as it delicately touched the withered tube of his penis- sticky and warm! A 
woman has a way of knowing things, and Polly Atkins knew her husband had 
been with another woman! 

Why? The question lingered. Why? Hadn't last night's lovemaking been 
extraordinarily intimate? Oh, sure, he'd wanted her to use her mouth on his 
thing- but that was nothing new. If anything, it had become a joke between 
them. Now Polly's chin trembled and the tears spilled. Was that what their 
relationship had become after three years of marriage? A joke? 

She must get hold of herself and be realistic. Polly sniffed and gulped down 
her coffee, squared her chin and stomped off for the bathroom. Determinedly, 
she stripped off her robe, telling herself she was a beautiful woman who did 
not deserve to be hurt, and stepped under the needle spray of the shower. 

Two avenues lay open to her at the crossroads of indecision: One, succumb to 
hurt and harbor bitterness, leading, inevitably, to divorce; or two, get to 
the bottom of the issue and salve the wound before it became infectious. 

It was around one o'clock that afternoon when Polly drove her Volkswagen 
Rabbit into Myra's circular drive. The maple leaves were rich in oranges and 
reds, swirling in whispering circles at Polly's feet as she made her way 
toward Myra's front door. 

Myra, she mused, stilling her nervousness, had put her psychology degree 
from Northwestern to good use. The two story brick house with sun porch and 
quarter acre back yard hadn't fallen into her hands out of luck. Five times 
married, she managed to put the alimony to good use in terms of investments. 
Her motto was "... it's as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor 
one... 

She was attired in a brightly colored day dress of rustling silk when she 
answered Polly's timid knock. Her greeting was ebullient as ever, lusty and 
honest. 

"Good to see you, Polly." She cupped her college mate's shivering shoulders 
and stood back for a scrutinizing look. Tiny crows feet around dull eyes 
refused to be compensated for no matter how artfully applied the makeup. The 
cold, trembling hands clutched her warm ones in testimony of unspoken 
despair. Myra cocked her head, haloed in Titian curls the color of falling 
maple eaves. "You don't look so good, hon. What's the matter? You and Teddie 
boy split up?" Myra was one for hitting the nail on the head, no matter 
whose thumbs got in the way. 

Polly clutched her purse to her chest nervously; her chin trembled 
dangerously. She sniffed, raising dampening eyes to Myra's critical ones. 

"Nobody ever comes to see me unless they're about to split with their 
husband," she bemoaned in a husky voice that hinted at late nights and 
cigarettes. "Can't imagine why," she snickered, leading her guest into the 
sunken living room and indicating with a curt gesture for Polly to have a 
seat on the white velour sofa next to the fireplace now roaring warmly on 
the chill afternoon. 

"Care for a drink?" Myra was at the bar, splashing gin and tonic into two 
tumblers and dumping in ice cubes. A twirl of the swivel stick and the cool 
drink was thrust into Polly's hand. 

Polly first looked at the glass, beaded with cold dew. She didn't care for 
alcohol, but she knew that refusing would offend Myra who always enjoyed a 
drinking partner. Then she looked into the orange leaping flames of the 
stone fireplace and thought how warm and secure it was. Not at all like the 
ache permeating her being. She shivered, wanting to die. A warm hand on her 
arm brought her back to reality abruptly. 

Polly bolted, hearing the other's voice coming as from out of a void: "Tell 
me about it, that's why you came." 

Polly sniffed and raised her head. "I'm sorry, Myra. I'm just not myself 
today." 

"Then who are you? Some lovelorn virgin pining over Sir Galahad?" she 
tutted. "Come on, I know you better than that. Out with it!" 

"I... I can't talk about it," she choked, touching her hand to her forehead. 

"Of course you can. Take a sip of that drink and loosen up a bit. Nothing 
and I mean nothing, can be that bad!" she said proudly, settling back on the 
sofa beside her guest and slipping one elegant arm along the back of the 
sofa while the other hand clutched her drink. "Take it from the horse's 
mouth, you can get through it, if you'll face it, and you can't face it if 
you don't get it off your chest where you can look at the problem 
objectively." Her gold bangles jiggled as she spoke, her throaty voice 
convincing and meaningful. "Anyway, there's nothing you could say about men 
that would surprise or amuse me," she put in with a snicker. ".. .and it's 
Ted you've come to discuss, who else?" 

Polly's eyes pried loose from a burning log about to flake into hot ashes, 
and flashed a questioning look at Myra. She noted the little age lines 
around the eyes, the slight pucker of the upper lip, relenting to premature 
aging, and wondered that if men could do that to a woman ... was Ted worth 
the trouble? 

"How did you know ... that... that I was having marital problems?" Her voice 
was tight. The dam broke, and from her anguished soul came the loathsome 
details of Ted's infidelity. She left out the more embarrassing details of 
her search for evidence, and wept hot salty tears. 

When her eyes lifted to Myra's, she noted a little smirk. Polly blinked, 
baffled, eyes questioning silently. 

"Oh, my dear girl!" boomed Myra, taking a hefty swallow of her drink. "This 
happened once and you're ready for the nunnery?" she guffawed. 'Take a look 
at my gallery of husbands, sweetheart!" She pointed to the curving stairway 
where hung the framed portraits of her five husbands, ascending the 
staircase in order of succession. 

In a rustle of silk, Myra leapt from the sofa, threw back her head and 
assuming the theatrical pose that was Myra Belfry, flung herself at the 
bottom stair and jabbed a finger at the first portrait. 

"Meet husband number one ... oil tycoon, Houston born, first mistress 
discovered after two months of marriage, divorced two months later. Took my 
diamonds before the court settled the estate." On to the next. 

"Meet Lloyd, Polly." Polly stared into the bland face of a Nordic looking 
man with a square jaw and squinty eyes. "Found Lloyd on the chopping block 
with the maid ... lovely, huh? Had her skirt wadded up to her waist, eating 
his dinner!" 

Myra threw back her head and ascended two steps: "Husband number three, 
Charles Osgood III. Cute huh?" she squinted, curling her upper lip. 'Turned 
gay the first year of marriage, but left me a house in Pugent Sound ... 
which compensated nicely, so my lawyer thought." Myra dragged heavily on her 
drink. "Number four. This one left me no settlement. In fact, he owes me 
money. I don't know what happened to him ... think he's running a disco 
somewhere in Greece. And the latest, I'm awaiting the papers from my lawyer 
now. Handsome, don't you think? Twenty-five years old and poor as a church 
mouse." 

Polly blinked and squinted at the drawn face of a new wave rock and roll 
star. The photograph, judging from the red lights, had been taken in a rock 
club. 

"Or shall I say was poor until I poured my money into promotion for his 
group ... and I'm getting fifty-two percent of the profits while he's out 
fucking groupies and snorting cocaine." A tone of bitterness sang in her 
voice. "Nice group of men, wouldn't you say, Polly?" 

Polly was aghast. She nodded dumbly, wondering if a woman could possibly 
have loved that many men in so short a time. 

"I can see the question in your eyes, honey," smirked Myra knowingly. 
"You're wondering if I ever loved any of them, right?" without waiting for 
the predictably nod of Polly's blonde head, the other woman headed for the 
bar and splashed a heavy handed dose of gin into her empty glass. A quick 
swirl of the swizzle stick and she glanced at Polly's bewildered expression. 
"Truth of the matter is, it's that chumpy rock star I was most stuck on. 
That boy knew how to love ... oh, the long nights of torrid lovemaking!" she 
quipped whimsically, staring out the plate glass window with a far away 
glint in her eye. 

Embarrassed by these admissions of intimacy, Polly stared down into her 
drink. Compared to Myra's unhappiness, Ted's one night of infidelity could 
hardly be considered tragic. 

"So..." Myra, swung around in a rustle of silk. "What's the problem between 
you and Ted. Sex? Another woman?" 

"H-how could you tell?" Polly's voice was small and tight. 

"It's written all over your face! Look at you..." she gesticulated, "you're 
all humped over and withdrawn, feeling sorry for yourself when you should be 
getting at the meat of the problem..." 

Polly choked and sipped eagerly at her drink, appreciating the numbing 
affect on her raw emotional state. 'That's the problem," she conceded, 
cheeks burning. "I don't understand why he would be with another woman after 
... after we had such a wonderful anniversary together! I mean, we love each 
other, physically. " The word stuck in her throat. 

"Sex ... ah, do you give him what he wants?" Polly's eyes burned into 
Myra's. "Wh-what do you mean?" 

Myra shooed a hand in the air. "Oh, come now. How old are we now, Polly? 
Twenty-eight? Do you ever initiate lovemaking? Do you go down on him ... 
lavish him with kisses between his legs, make him feel like the dominant 
being men crave to be?" 

She watched the rouged cheeks burn to crimson. Polly stared down at her 
drink and with a desperate movement, threw back her head and emptied it. 

"So that's it, the old you-won't-love-me-if-I'm lewd theme, huh?" Myra 
chuckled lewdly. "Ah, how well I know that game! Why do you think Charlie 
boy turned gay?" A pause, then: "Well, maybe that didn't have much to do 
with it. But I'll tell you one thing, Polly. It took that rock n' roller to 
open my legs." Myra took a seat beside Polly on the sofa and thrust one bare 
leg over the other, studying her ex-college mate intently. 

Polly sat staring off into space, rehashing mentally the confessions of a 
woman who'd known five husbands. Certainly Myra had the edge over her when 
it came to understanding men. 

"What it comes down to, sweetheart, is that you've got to learn to be open 
about your sexuality if you're going to please Ted. I remember Ted from 
college ... the football hero, the macho type, right? Always anxious for a 
little peek of leg..." 

Polly winced. "Please, Myra, not now." She touched her hand to her fevered 
forehead, every truthful word hammering away at her female ego. 

"If s true and you know it! So he's been a good hus- band for three years, 
but if you don't give him a bit of variety in bed-get kinky now and then, 
he's going to get bored." 

"You make it sound so-so animalistic, Myra!" charged Polly, the nerves in 
the back of her neck tightening painfully. 

"We are animalistic..: half our bodies are tied up in sex and giving birth! 
Every cell of our bodies are connected to the inevitability of spreading our 
legs for a man." 

"But I'm a wife, not just his lover!" charged the other. 

"Bullshit," poo-hooed Myra. "That's a social discipline, not an instinctive 
function. For godsakes, you majored in sociology, you should know." 

"But what am I going to do?" wailed Polly. 

"Tell me..." Myra's voice was conspiratorial. "Does he have oral sex with 
you?" 

Polly's blonde head swung around, defiantly. "Of course not!" she snapped, 
her teeth showing under a curled lip. 

"That's the problem... you've got to let him express himself with 
you-totally. I mean," and here she gesticulated with her elegant fingers 
tipped in cherry red, the gold bangles tinkling on her arms, ".. .if he 
wants to kiss your pussy, you've got to let him... if he wants to tie you to 
the bedpost and whip you with a belt, give it a try. What have you got to 
lose? Believe me, honey," she urged, reading the incredulity of her friend's 
wide-eyed expression, "if that's what he wants now and then he'll go out of 
the house to find it." 

That was too much for Polly! She cupped her trembling hands over her ears 
and shook her blonde curls, clenching her teeth. Anything to shut out the 
filth spewing frjom Myra's mouth. When at last she released them she wished 
she hadn't. 

"What about masturbation, do you feel comfortable enough with yourself to 
make yourself orgasm?" 

"Oh, come now, Myra!" Anger percolated in Polly's veins. "I'm not a sex 
crazed slut who can't wait for her husband to make love to her!" 

Myra leaned back comfortably on the sofa. "I suggest you try it. You can't 
make Ted feel like a man if you can't make! yourself feel like a woman!" The 
ice cubes rattled in her glass as she clinked it down on the glass topped 
end table and shot up from the sofa, returning moments later with an armful 
of magazines which she plunked down on the end table in front of her guest. 
"I got these at the institute. Dr. Dearborn gave them to me for lesson 
number one on becoming a woman. You've I got to learn to feel free with 
yourself and masturbation. Take these home and peruse them ... they will 
cure you. It did me." 

Polly rolled her wide blue eyes at the ceiling, the tears now dried and 
where pain once stung, disbelief and a strangely growing curiosity took 
place. Out of the corner of one eye, she felt Myra's studying her 
expression, waiting for her, to-open the first glossy magazine whose front 
cover was written in big white letters: Sexology Institute of America. 

When the distressed wife refused to flip open the cover, Myra grew 
impatient. She plucked the heavy glossy magazines from the table and thrust 
them into Polly's arms. "Here, take these home with you... and give me a 
call tomorrow." 

Ungracious, wouldn't it be to refuse after Myra had opened herself to help 
out a depressed school chum? "I am sorry if I'm been poor company, Myra... 
it's been really sweet of you to help me out." With the magazines weighting 
her arms, she followed Myra to the door. 

By the time she nosed into 2895 Elmworth Street, the heavy weight of her 
depression had lifted considerably. Yes, she thought dizzily, the affects of 
alcohol in the afternoon dulling her senses, I was right in going to visit 
Myra. She's experienced with men and she certainly has a good attitude about 
herself... something I need. Maybe I have grown too dependent on Ted. Still 
the idea of masturbation and letting Ted tie her to the bedpost seemed 
impossibly out of reach for a woman of her moral stature. Maybe that moral 
stature, she thought, plunking the unopened magazines down on the sofa, is 
building a wall between Ted and me. Oh, God, life is so complicated! 

Without a second thought, she headed for the refrigerator and poured a glass 
of chilled Chablis. The first sip made her shiver and, instinctively, she 
turned up the thermostat and shed her sweater. The morning dishes sat in the 
sink, but that bothered her little as she curled up on the sofa and sipped 
her wine, watching through the living room plate glass window her 
industrious neighbor Harry raking leaves against the October breezes in a 
battle of man against nature. 

Institute of Sexology, she muttered aloud, heading for the refrigerator for 
a refill of Chablis. Leave it to Myra! She sipped of her wine, her eyes 
stealing curiously down at the magazines. She began to wonder, 
disinterestedly at first and then with growing curiosity, what the magazines 
were about. Probably one of those cheap advertising gimmicks-mail in a 
matchbook cover and ten dollars. 

The wine was beginning to affect her now, in several different ways. The 
depression of Ted's negligence had waned to a dull throb of irritation, and 
she felt a resurgence of independence that follows disappointment in a love 
mate. An irrational desire to see what panacea Myra had predicted for her 
marital problems, overwhelmed her. , Impulsively, stifling a drunken giggle, 
Polly reached out and flipped open the unrevealing cover to the Sexology 
Institute Manual of Female Development, as it read on the spine. 

Her first reaction was one of shocked horror. She blinked and squinted, her 
eyes fixed on the full-color glossy plates of blatant carnality which lay in 
the warm bowl of her belly. Polly's brain began to spin with the combination 
of startlement and alcohol. 

Dear God, she thought . . . this is common pornography, filthy stuff Ted is 
always peeking at in the book stores! 

The first glossy page she'd a sweet-looking brunette straddling a dark 
haired man; both of them were naked as jay birds, with their genitals openly 
exposed to the camera's eye, and his penis ... his thing was pushed halfway 
up into her vagina! 

Polly wanted to rip the magazine to shreds, but a curious perversity caused 
her to grip it more tightly while her eyes remained fixed on every lewd 
detail. 

How could any woman consent to pose before a photographer in that 
compromising posture? A heaviness gathered in her belly then, recalling the 
titillating embarrassment of having posed for Ted. Polly swallowed hard, 
studying the sheer ecstasy on the young girl's face. Lids drooped, mouth 
parted and moist, tip of her tongue showing, caught up in the sexual frenzy 
of the moment, of the feeling of a man's hardened shaft boring deep into her 
cuntal hole! 

Polly's wide blue eyes lifted from the page. It was this lewdness, this 
oneness of sexuality Ted had been aiming for their anniversary night! If she 
hadn't stopped him, it might have come to this. Which meant, she reasoned 
breathlessly, that Ted wanted his wife to act precisely like this tramp in 
the photograph! 

Staring into the pretty girl's lust contorted face, Polly felt a shortness 
of breath, a fluttering in her lower belly. The inside of her mouth went 
dry, and she licked her lips several times. 

Her trembling fingers flipped the page and the second two-page spread sprang 
to view. She sucked in her breath, a spiral of unwanted warmth spearing its 
way upward through her warmly secreting loins, into her empty belly toward 
the ruby crests of her melon-like breasts. A man, a faceless man in his 
shameless posture, was kneeling nakedly on his haunches while he crouched 
between the widespread thighs of a buxom blonde. His long, lizard-like 
tongue curled out to flick at the swollen naked genitals and the oily nub of 
the girl's clitoris! 

"Oh, oh, Gawd!" wailed Polly, physically stricken by the turpitude of such 
animalistic behavior. The more terrifying the sight, the more transfixed our 
response ... and so it happened with Polly Atkins. Her periwinkle eyes were 
glued to the photograph, at the man, at his tongue licking the swollen pink 
flanges of her vagina. Perverted ! Sick! That's what Ted's been wanting to 
do to me for three years! The photos had a natural progression and it seemed 
obvious the next would be the reversal. 

Polly gulped. A wave of shame flowed through her quivering body, rouging her 
cheeks to crimson. These disgustingly behaved people were drawing her into 
their lasciviousness, infecting her soul with perversity. The lusty smirks 
on their faces, the contortion of ecstasy, was beginning to affect her. A 
froth began to dampen the crotchband of her panties ... Now she wished Ted 
were here to cool her arousal flamed by the wine and the thought of 
lovemaking. 

She moaned aloud, working up the courage to thrust the magazine to the floor 
and be rid of the evil demons jumping out from the pages to stab tiny 
pitchforks of lust into her loins! 

A flip of the page. "Oh, no!" she groaned. Just as she'd feared-a woman 
(what difference did the color of hair make now?) with her parted lips 
ovaled around the blood fed length of a man's penis! Oh, and the girl was 
loving it, reveling in her filth like a child licking an ice cream cone! The 
girl had her head buried in the naked man's loins, just as Ted had for so 
long wanted her to do to him! A low moan of despair tore from Polly's 
throat. She pushed the magazine off her lap and sat slumped on the sofa's 
cushions. She trembled, opening and closing her legs in a futile effort to 
end the tingling, flowing excitement the lewd photographs had fanned between 
her silken thighs. 

Oh, Ted, why aren't you here now! I want you, Teddie, I want you deep inside 
me, honey! Sooo baddd! 

Her breathing became shallow, her nipples puckered into diamond chips. In a 
wail of very real despair, the incited young wife leapt from the sofa and 
tore down the hall to the bedroom where she slammed the door and threw 
herself onto the bed in a frenzy of hysteria. The burning ache in her belly 
would not stop, even though she'd left the wicked photographs face down on 
the living room carpet. 

"What about masturbation..." came Myra's voice from the deep recesses of her 
libido. "Do you feel comfortable enough with yourself to make yourself 
orgasm?" 

And her rebuttal (weak in retrospect) had been: "Come now, Myra .. . I'm not 
a sex crazed slut who can't wait for her husband to make love to her!" 

Strange how time doth change things.... 

In one swift motion, the beautiful young housewife kicked off her shoes, and 
tore at the zipper of her dress. She peeled off her lacey brassiere, 
marveling at the firmness of her breasts in the full length mirror, and 
stripped off her stockings, leaving her garter belt to make a lacey 
crisscross over the soft bowl of her belly. A low, deep moan tore from her 
throat as she tore at her flimsy bikini panties. 

Her liquor-fogged, passion-drenched mind refused to admit to the evil she 
had been led to believe came from masturbation. A red hot urgency replaced 
reason, blotting out everything but the intense desire and need for release. 

Cooing, throwing back her head in slow, rotating circles, she massaged with 
polished fingertips the smooth flat whiteness of her stomach, around and 
around, raising up to pass over her swollen breasts with their strawberry 
tipped nipples. She sensed the love juices gathering in her womb. With a 
will of its own, her hand moved lower and she arched her back, raising her 
hips high off the bed, her fingers passing through the downy fleece of her 
blonde pubic curls and intensifying to a damning crescendo the sexual frenzy 
within her. 

A groan of desire bubbled from her laxly parted lips, as the young housewife 
moved her hand warm downward between her now widespread thighs, wet with the 
secretions of her passion. She wormed her finger into the moist flesh 
experimentally, marveling at the feel of the soft, warm lips of her pussy. 
Funny, she had never touched herself before down there, at least in an 
appreciative manner. The feeling sparked by her own fevered fingers was so 
very, damnably good! 

Gently, she manipulated the soft hair-lined inner lips until she could feel 
them swelling with warm, rushing blood, and her clitoris became rigid and 
tingling. Her index finger touched the trembling nub of flesh, making her 
gasp with the delight as she felt her release cumming. Her hips thrashed the 
bed and the air, her eyes fluttered open and shut. She licked her lips and 
cooed back into the pillow where just last night Ted had rested his head. 

Faster, faster, faster her quickly learning fingers rubbed across the 
sensitive, swollen nub, blanking her mind of all thoughts, all reasoning, 
nothing existing for Polly Atkins at that moment but the delirious need to 
come. 

And magically, she was there! 

Oh, God, she was making herself cum! 

Her hips flailed frantically, boring down into the mattress as wave after 
wave of unbearable passion rippled through her loins. The pleasure was so 
acute it was electrifying. It was not the dull, throbbing bittersweet pain 
of feeling Ted boring into her womb, but a sharp current of sensation that 
centered in the oily nub of her clitoris. 

Then, as her orgasm slowly and predictably ebbed, her buttocks sank back 
down into the spread and her hand stilled. She couldn't bear to lift it from 
her seeping cunt. Her eyes squeezed shut and her swollen breasts rose and 
fell spasmodically. 

Slowly sanity returned to her brain. A feeling of abject mortification 
overcame her, backed by the unreality of having been her own lover. She lay 
staring up at the ceiling, wondering what evil had overcome her that she 
might resort to the use of her own hand for relief. She moaned aloud in 
despair, sitting up, brushing the hair from her eyes. In a rush of movement, 
she flung herself face down on the bed and cried. She cried for women like 
Myra, she cried for herself and she cried for her marriage that was falling 
apart because she was unable to give what did not come naturally to her. 

She felt sick, in need of cleansing, impure ... as if her body were diseased 
with an incurable illness that lay dormant in her soul. She needed to sleep; 
she couldn't be this upset when Ted came home for dinner. The fear set in 
that he might not come home tonight, and she cried harder. He must never 
know what she'd done tonight. 

After a long moment, she pulled herself from the bed, showered and put on 
fresh pants and sweater. Later, in the kitchen she was slapping sliced roast 
into the Dutch oven when, with a wail of despair, she remembered, the 
Sexology Institute Manual lying face down on the beige living room carpet. 
Dear God help her if Ted lay eyes on that! 

Frantically, she shoved the glossy magazines with their innocuous covers 
into the top shelf in the hallway closet next to Ted's handball equipment, 
keeping a wary eye on the clock, and making a mental note that it would be 
wise to. return the odious ministers of evil to Myra the next day. 

CHAPTER FOUR 

"If I were you, Mr. Atkins, I wouldn't have sex with my wife for a week." 

Ted pulled up his suit pants' zipper and stared askance at the doctor whose 
name he'd picked from the telephone book yellow pages. One didn't come to a 
family doctor with suspicions of venereal disease. 

"A week? But the results-" 

"The results won't be in for a couple of days, and your penicillin shot 
won't protect her." The doctor peered through bifocals and scribbled notes 
in the fresh manila folder bearing the name of his new patient. "Remember 
it's for her own good ... and yours." He gazed accusatively at the pale 
faced husband and slapped shut the folder, then rose from his chair and 
opened the examining room door. "If you have any symptoms ,.. any itching or 
discharge, give me a call." 

"Oh, Jesus," bemoaned Ted, raking fingers through curly hair. "That's all I 
need!" Wearily, he slipped into his suit coat and left the clinic, a 
dejected and fearful man. 

Last night's sensual excesses and the anxiety of facing a grim Polly ate at 
the highs of infidelity. If the situation were reversed, he told himself 
rationally, making a tight right into the drive, and it had been Polly 
groveling in the arms of another man, he would be damned mad. Yet, as he 
pulled up behind the shiny bumper of his wife's Volkswagen, he couldn't deny 
the pleasures of oral sex. If only Polly could appreciate the beauty of 
mouth on penis, mouth on vulva. 

Shyly, he opened the front door, tossed the evening newspaper on his 
recliner rocker, and called out a weak hello. The kitchen was alive with the 
frantic rattle of pots and pans, the smell of dinner warming the air. A cold 
chill rippled up and down his spine as he saw her in profile. Guilt/Fear of 
being neglected for wrongdoing? He paused at the door. 

"Hi, hon ..." He came up behind her as she stood at the counter tearing 
lettuce into the wooden salad bowl, her movements brusque, jerky. Ted kissed 
his wife on the cheek and slunk his arms around her waist. 

"Oh, hi," she answered coolly, ripping the leaves with vengeance. "Sorry I'm 
late. I had to work late." No answer. 

A trembling hand grabbed for the refrigerator door and he pulled a can of 
Olympia beer from the shelf. He popped it open, keeping one eye peeled on 
his wife's stoic profile as she hurriedly set the table and grabbed the 
garlic bread from the oven. 

"Italian or French?" 

"Huh?" 

"Dressing. I'm talking about salad dressing. Italian or French?" she 
snapped. "Italian's okay." 

On nights like this when he bore the guilt of wrongdoing, it was a contrite 
Ted who added to their dinner a fine bottle of French wine or a bouquet of 
red roses. Christ, I can't even make love to her! She knows something's up 
... I can tell by the glint in her eye. Jesus, she can be so cold. I'd 
rather she lost her temper and accused me so I could defend myself. 

"Have a good time with the boys last night, dear?" 

Ted chewed a long moment on his salad. "We went out for a couple of drinks 
after the board meeting. What a helluva long day that was!" He masticated 
unnecessarily, and heard himself say without thinking: "Oh the way home I 
got a flat tire, of all the damned things! Couldn't find a service station 
open so George had to drive me halfway across town. Wouldn't you know 
something like that would happen. I was looking forward to coming home and 
getting a good night's sleep too." 

Ill- bet you were, you liar! She smiled sweetly and gingerly plucked a slice 
of buttery garlic bread from the bread basket and set it on his plate. A 
pang of regret, coupled with the ache of deception, chiseled at her 
appetite. Absentmindedly, she pushed the tomato around the salad bowl. 

To fill the silence, Ted emitted a deep sigh. "Early to the sack tonight. 
Thank God tomorrow's Saturday," he talked as she chewed. 

Polly blinked back salty tears. If only he would take her in his arms and 
erase all the ill feelings! The guilt of this afternoon's lusty episode with 
those filthy magazines and his nonchalant attitude, left her hungry for more 
than food. She needed love to put things right! Yes, she decided with a 
glimmer of hope, she would forget his infidelities and squeeze him and hug 
him and make love to him like a wanton slut if that would end this damnable 
uncomfortable silence between them! Her spirits lifted, she filled two wine 
glasses and hoped for the best. 

With a belly full of roast and salad, Ted settled down in his favorite 
chair, the recliner across from the television set; he kicked off his shoes 
and leaned back, loosening his tie. In the kitchen he heard Polly clearing 
the table and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. He contented himself 
with the newspaper, paying special attention to the ailing stock market. 

In a titter of nervousness, Polly cleared the dishes and dashed for the 
bathroom. A sudsy shower, powdered from breasts to toes, and she padded 
nakedly to her closet to slip from the hanger the black negligee with the 
red ribbon drawstring Ted had bought her for Valentines Day. A naughty 
little number, she wore it only when Ted was in one of his voyeuristic moods 
when he delighted in watching his wife parade about the drape-pulled 
confines of the living room. 

The lace straps supported the draw-stringed bodice made of the finest French 
lace. The bumblebees of her nipples made dark circles under the transparent 
fabric, and when she moved, the melon-like weight of her creamy breasts 
moved in a Goddess-like rhythm. High and firm on her chest, the vee of her 
cleavage was marked by a red streaming ribbon, trailing down to the 
lace-edged slit that ran from the hem of the ankle length gown to the mound 
of her Venus. 

Brushing her hair to a glistening sheen of gold, she dabbed perfume behind 
each dainty earlobe and behind each dimpled knee and, slipping into the 
black satin matching slippers, she sashayed down the hallway to make her 
appearance. 

Ted sat contently in his recliner, wiggling his toes and squinting at the 
small print of stock market statistics; the television roared in the 
background. A fresh can of beer sat on the carpet beside him. 

In a woosh of anticipation, Polly settled down on the sofa, and swept one 
lusciously creamy thigh over the other, awaiting a response. She cleared her 
voice. "Care for a glass of wine, honey?" 

Ted's tired eyes peered over the top of the newspaper. He gulped. "Thanks .. 
. I've got a beer. Help yourself, though." Oh, Christ, she's wearing that 
see-through nightie! I know what she wants ... oh shit! The doctor said one 
week. What if I give my own wife syphilis? She'd never forgive me! As he 
peered at the lovely apparition, a contrast of golden haloed curls and blue 
eyes set in a pixie face, creamy skin-and the naughty black of seductive 
lace, he realized he'd never loved his Polly more. 

And he couldn't have her. At least tonight. 

With a moan of regret that only he could hear, he rested his eyes on the 
newspaper, deciphering the deliberate rustles and extracurricular movements 
designed to attract his attention. 

"Anything interesting in the newspaper, honey?" chimed Polly, stretching one 
naked arm along the back of the sofa in an engaging pose. 

"Naw ... nothing you'd be interested in," came the flat, heartless answer. 

Brusquely, choking back a sob, Polly grabbed for the Cosmopolitan Magazine 
resting on the coffee table and flopped it open. The color spread of 
nymph-bodied models adorned in skimpy summer-fashion bikinis stared up at 
her. With a sniff, she turned the page, mentally comparing the luscious 
bodied females to the imagined woman who'd enjoyed the pleasures of her 
husband the night before. 

Maybe he didn't notice I'm dressed for him. Maybe he really is tired. Maybe 
I imagined this whole rotten mess ... maybe I'm just paranoid because I 
wouldn't do that on our anniversary night. 

A thousand may been rifled through her mind. A smattering of Myra's analysis 
galloped through her mind. Perhaps all these maybes and suppositions were 
the crux of her problem. She wasn't aggressive enough; instead of sitting 
there waiting for Ted to take notice, she should force him to take notice. 

Slapping down the unread Cosmopolitan, she lifted from the sofa, wafting of 
perfume and sashayed over to his side. Gingerly she plucked the newspaper 
from hi fingers and let it butterfly to the floor. Resting pin polished 
fingertips on an outthrust hip, she wiggled as if settling into place. 

Ted stared up at his wife, aghast. 

"What do you say, big boy," she purred, hoping to make him laugh-at least 
respond. She nodded her blonde curly head in the direction of the bedroom. 
"How 'bout we move into the bedroom and make up for lost time?" 

Ted gulped dryly. He flicked his wrist and pressed the button on his digital 
time piece. "It's only eight o'clock. Can't you wait?" 

He was beginning to feel guilty as hell for his retaliatory escapades the 
night before, and her open invitation for sex was making it worse. Last 
night he had wanted to punish Polly for her rejection of his kind of sex, 
punish her for the frustration of three years of oraless sex. He had needed 
to feel for the sake of his own psyche, that the problem lay with her. 

Before he could stop her, his wife threw herself in front of him and 
descended in his lap, wrapping one lithe arm around his neck and staring him 
squarely in the face. She grabbed his left hand and squeezed it to her hip 
urgently. She began to grind her warm buttocks into his lap. His other hand 
she cupped to her left breast. 

Ted responded with stunned fascination. Polly had never acted this way 
before ... especially following a fight. By nature she was a pouter, a 
you-come-to-me type. Yet he had experienced her passion for three years and 
realized her love for him. Where this kind of aggressive behavior fitted 
into her character, he wasn't certain. 

Ted glanced at his wife out of the corner of his eye, frightened of the 
intensity glimmering in her dilated pupils. She looked almost demonic, 
possessed! 

"Darling, you're hurting my leg. You know I hurt that knee playing 
handball," he said, frightened of this sudden split of personality. 

Struggling to maintain her composure, Polly shifted her weight. "Better? she 
choked, starting to feel the flush of embarrassment rouging her cheeks. 

He grimaced in feigned pain. "I... I think you're going to have to get up, 
hon." As she lifted, he teasingly slapped her on the buttocks. 

That he would mock her advances stung her heart. She stood with her back to 
him and when she rose from his chair, desperation took charge. Urgently, she 
clung to him. 'Ted, please," she begged. She ground her pelvis into his 
desperately. "I want you, darling, please, let's make love!" 

"Polly, it's only eight o'clock, we have plenty of time," he cajoled. A 
wrinkled furrowed his brow. "Really, what's with you?" 

"Oh, Ted, don't ask questions now!" she moaned, needing him to erase the 
guilt of her self-induced ecstasy earlier that day. Instead of fulfilling 
her desires, it had only left her hungering for something greater and manly, 
Ted. Frantically, she grabbed his hands and pulled them to her breasts. Her 
dimpled face contorted with the maddened need for love. "Just make love to 
me, Ted. Do it to me now!" 

"Honey," he pleaded, "what's come over you? It's not like you to beg like 
this!" When he tried to uncoil her grip from his wrists, she wailed in 
anguish. 

It was true! He had another lover! Why else would he reject her? The 
frustration of lost love compelled her to need him more. 

"I'm not begging, I'm asking you to make love to me!" Her face was contorted 
with anguished need and desperation. 

A shocked silence was filled only by the roar of television game show 
roaring in the background. Ted was taken aback. He was used to being the 
seducer... the fumbling of hands, the kissing. He wasn't prepared for the 
desperate act of aggression on his wife's side. Making love was a man's 
game, played by male rules. 

"I'm just not in the mood, baby. I'm tired. I've put in a full week's work." 

"Damn it!" she railed. Frustration was stoking the fire between her legs. 
She needed him to make love to her to prove she was still number one. "I 
need your cock! I need your cock deep inside me, Ted, fuck me now!" 

With that, she pulled him toward the sofa and threw herself down on the sofa 
beige pillows. Ted's face burned hotly with confusion, fear and a thousand 
emotions he couldn't identify. His gabardine pants tented from the hardening 
bulge. He felt her fingers toying with his belt, pulling at it, yanking at 
the metal tab of his zipper. 

He panted, despite doctor's orders, as her groping fingers came into contact 
with the naked flesh of his pulsating cock. Christ, how could he reject her 
now? Yet, he must! Somehow, he had to fight his way out of this bag and come 
out smelling like roses. 

Polly pushed him away and raised up on her elbows. Mewls of lustful desire 
gurgled from her throat as she worked feverishly to unsheath the hardened 
stalk of his penis from his tight-fitting trousers. Suddenly the fleshy 
monster leapt into view and poked between the open fly to bob before her 
sex-starved eyes. She then caressed it lovingly, stroking the soft outer 
skin of sensitive nerve-filled flesh up and down. Her blue eyes were glassy, 
fixed on the swollen muscle as she twisted feverishly around on the sofa. 

"Fuck me, honey," she implored, her eyes searching his face with a look that 
coupled animalistic desire and supplication. 

Ted's emotions roiled. What had happened to his wife? Did one night of 
staying out late threaten her enough to beg him for sex? Was she that 
desperate, that insecure? She was behaving worse than Jody- and that was 
conceding a sore point! The thought that she would never act like this again 
crossed his mind, that maybe she would come to her senses and be his 
submissive Polly again encouraged him. 

Wiggling her hips, she managed to yank open the flap of her nightie, 
exposing the creamy expanse of luscious thighs to her confused husband. He 
bent over her, staring at the blonde fleece of her pubic mound. "Help me ... 
out of this!" she yelped. 

He pulled down the straps of her nightie, allowing the ripe melons of flesh 
to tumble into view. His lips lapped hungrily at the tiny, throbbing 
nipples, his swirling tongue stoking desire in her goose-bumped body. A 
shiver of hot lust convulsed her body as his tongue lapped at the sensitive 
flesh. Yes, he must still love her... must still desire her-as he had before 
the other woman. She squirmed and panted beneath he husband's fervent 
caresses. She was crazed with the need for him. 

It was unnatural lovemaking, and Polly knew it, but the need drove her on. 
When she could stand it no longer, she wrenched his head away from her 
breasts, creating a suction when his lips were pulled back fro her breast. 

"Oh, darling, get between my legs and make love me!" 

Her eyes stared up into his wrinkled brow. What was wrong, her mind raged. 
Why was he still in h' clothes? She suddenly felt her body begin to chill at 
the thought of his rejection. She was lying beneath he husband with her legs 
spread, begging for him to take her... and he stood transfixed as if she 
were speaking a foreign language. 

"Please, Teddie?" 

To mobilize him into action, she fumbled for h' swollen penis and grasped 
the heavy hardness between her tiny fingers. 

Ted swallowed tightly. Oh, God, what to do? Should he take the chance and 
shove his hard prick inside he and be done with it, hoping he didn't infect 
her with imaginary diseases and guilt, or should he? 

It was worth a try. 

With a deep moan of anticipation, he spread her wide apart, and parted the 
slippery cunt lips. Holding the swollen flanges wide with his thumbs, he 
stared at the nub of her pounding clitoris and feverishly dipped his head 
and probed the pulsating pussy flesh with his tongue. 

Before Polly realized his intent, he'd lapped straight up the full length of 
her hotly quivering pussy, sending fantastic shocks of delight through her 
trembling body. He poked it, like a finger, into the hole, and tasted for 
the first time the piquancy of his wife's sexual juices. The sweet aromatic 
aroma filled his nostrils with love and appreciation for his blonde haired 
darling. 

Polly's eyes rolled in her head deliriously. With an effort, she raised her 
head and gaped at the brown curly head bobbing between her legs. 

"Nooo!" she yelped, pushing him away, and nearly gouging out his eyeballs. 
"Don't do that, Ted. Please, not that!" 

But it was too late. Polly Atkins had known for the first time the delights 
of mouth on vulva; yet the indignity, the deception of his intent seared 
hotly in her mind. How could he attack me... when I needed him to make love 
to me... putting his lips on me down there ... disgusting, horrible! Like in 
those terrible photographs! 

"Ted... how could you?" she burst, struggling to sit up, her melon-like 
breasts jiggling from the abrupt movement. Burying her face in her hands, 
she wept. The image of his chin dripping with her inner juices stung her 
mind, and her cheeks flushed with abject humiliation. 

Ted backed off, a hurt, injured expression clouding his handsome face. He 
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wiping clean the evidence of his 
lust. For a long silent moment he stared at his wife. 

"Please, be reasonable, Polly ... let me give you pleasure the way I want 
to. Don't be so uptight." 

"Uptight?" she wailed, shivering with sobs. "Just put it inside the way you 
always do!" 

Ted straightened. He eyed his wife critically. "For once I'm going to have 
my way," he retorted, clenching his fists, secretly relieved at having found 
a way out of this entanglement. "Nope, I'm not going to make love to you 
'like we always do' until you get over your phobia! I've been damned 
patient, Polly, but this is going too far!" 

With a gruffness unbecoming to him, he yanked up the pants zipper, leaving 
his whimpering wife to sob pathetically on the sofa's arm, and kicking into 
his shoes, grabbed his coat and decided to do some serious drinking "You're 
more disgusting than that slut, Myra!" he yelled, slamming the door after 
him. 

CHAPTER FIVE 

The moist, shredded kleenex wad found its way to Polly's sniffling nose onee 
more. Intermittent sobs, chorused by the rattle of ice cubes in Myra's 
impatiently empty gin glass filled the room with depressive silence. Outside 
the expansive bay windows, leaves danced in the crisp October air with a 
freedom the distraught wife found agonizing. 

Ted wouldn't make love to me last night. I did what you suggested, I let 
myself be aggressive and seduce him, but he still wouldn't make love to me! 
Oh, Myra." 

Holding the wad to her perky nose, she grasped the other woman's warm hand 
for self assurance and comfort, and sobbed so hard her cheeks rouged for 
want of breath. "I feel so terrible!" 

"Pull yourself together, honey. Tell me what happened." Myra's eyes glinted 
with lusty hunger. "Did he touch you, did he just refuse ... tell me!" Ted 
Atkins had been an object of Myra's fantasies for years; her empty belly 
congested needfully as Polly conjured up the courage to speak. 

Polly sniffed loudly and as her chin trembled and dimpled with sadness, she 
studied the rapt expression on her college mate's face. To openly admit that 
Ted had wanted to put his mouth on her vagina and satisfy her in that 
animalish manner was not easy to express-even to Myra. Then, too, Ted would 
be irate beyond words if he knew she'd discussed their sex life with Myra. 
The two enjoyed an open hostility, fermenting since college days. 

Polly's pearly teeth clamped over her succulent lips for a thoughtful 
moment. "He wouldn't put it inside. He wanted to use his mouth," she choked 
out in revulsion. "Then he got mad and left. Oh, I don't know where he 
went... out drinking I suppose, or out with that, that woman!" 

Myra cocked an arched eyebrow, a smirk creasing the heavy red line of her 
lips. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander. Ever think of 
playing around, Polly?" 

Polly's blue eyes saucered. "How could you suggest such a thing? I love 
Ted!" 

Myra swung one lithe leg over the other, curling one foot under her rounded 
buttocks. "You're all broken up, your ego is about as big as a pinhead, and 
you can't quit feeling sorry for yourself!" Throwing back her burnished 
head, she drained her drink and sashayed toward the bar for a quick refill. 
"Do you think Ted wants a woman like that?" she snickered. 

"Well, I'd never thought of it that way," conceded Polly in a tiny voice. 

"You've got to make up your mind to rid yourself of jealousy and these 
stupid sexual hang-ups. They're needless baggage and until you can free 
yourself, your marriage to Ted will be pure disaster!" she promised in a 
thick voice. 

A quick swirl of the swizzle stick and the lithe bodied woman, draped in a 
raw silk caftan, settled on the sofa. "Tonight I'm inviting one of my 
teachers over for dinner. I want you to stay and meet him, he's a very 
intelligent and handsome man." A seductive smirk twitched at the uptilted 
corners of Myra's luscious mouth. "I'm sure the three of us will have a 
great time. You can't sit home and mope forever!" 

Socializing with Myra and enjoying an intimate tete a tete showed the two 
faces of Myra Belfry. An eccentric with a penchant for the macabre, she 
enjoyed the tantalizing effects of toying with people's minds, pitting them 
against each other and reveling in the outcome. That could make her a 
disarmingly spontaneous social butterfly. Other times, like yesterday and 
today, Myra was all heart, giving and open. It was that Myra that Polly had 
grown to trust. Still, she balked at the invitation. 

"I really should pick up around the house a bit, but thanks." Hastily, she 
snatched up her purse and headed for the door. 

Myra blocked her path. "I insist!" She pressed her lithe body against the 
wooden plank cracked open from Polly's hasty retreat. A gust of cold air 
rippled through Polly's blonde curls as Myra's pressured it shut. "Your ego 
needs a lift, God knows, and Ed would love to meet you! He's an expert on 
marriage ... you might call him a professor," she grinned conspiratorially. 

Unnerved by the insistence (and how else could she get out the door?) Polly 
agreed on seven o'clock and headed for her silver Volkswagen. From the 
rearview mirror, she caught Myra's purple robed silhouette as she plucked 
the receiver from the cradle and nestled it to her gold-bedecked ear. 

Dr. Dearborn hailed from the South. An ex-Baptist minister in the sultry 
lowlands of Atlanta, he'd masterminded a phenomenal church following 
garnered through a network of radio and television programs where his 
frantic, Christian plea for funds to build a church dedicated to the people, 
earned him a cool two million the first year. The funds and donations poured 
in, but the walls were slow in being erected. By the end of the third year, 
the 'Dr. Dearborn Christian Hour' was no longer logged on the Sunday morning 
radio lineup, and the public reached the logical conclusion that they'd been 
had. 

A genius with cunning charisma, he'd turned his exploitive talents to a 
fresher institute which he lovingly termed the Sexology Institute of 
America, dedicated to happier, more Christian marriages. At least that was 
the voiced intention. In reality, the institute was a whorehouse of lust. 

Unfortunates such as Myra Belfry-Johnson-Carlyle-Osgood-Rainier-Camdon 
unhappy in marriage and seeking a reason for successions of frustrations, 
paid hefty sums to learn the sexual devices of entrapment. Courses in 
'Self-Fulfillment', 'It's Fun With More Than One', 'Lingerie', 'The Whip 
Doesn't Always Hurt', and other courses aimed at unscrewing the libido 
turned out graduates who, in their courses of study, had become disciples of 
the infamous Dr. Dearborn, more commonly known as Ed. 

Now, as Polly knocked timidly on Myra's front door, it was Ed's handsomely 
chiselled, mustached face that smiled back at her. He wore a natty 
three-piece suit, conservative tie crisp around his neck. A deep tan from a 
Hawaiian holiday deepened his cheeks, giving him a healthy glow. His eyes 
danced like a cat toying with its tortured prey as she extended a warm hand 
which he pressed to his lips. 

Polly choked, wishing she hadn't come. Ted had been sitting in his recliner, 
can of beer in hand, when she'd slipped unannounced out of the house. They 
might have spent the night discussing the problems of their marriage, 
instead of her running off for cocktails with one of Myra's lovers. 

Myra gushed with social grace. In the crackling light of the fireplace, she 
oozed sensuality! A burgundy crepe evening dress with a slit running from 
ankle to thigh accentuated the ripe mounds and swells of her mature body. 
Her panther-like sensuality lent itself sumptuously to the sleek lines of 
the deep, blood red garment. Her burnished hair was brushed to a riotous 
glow, gleaming in the firelight. Her voice was thick and lusty when she 
said: "Ed, meet Polly, an old friend of mine from college. She's the woman I 
told you about-the one with the sexual hang-ups." 

Polly blushed crimson and settled, unnerved and squirming, on the matching 
chair adjacent to Dr. Dearborn. What right had Myra to talk of her married 
life in these intimate terms! "Oh, Myra, please..." she hissed through 
clenched teeth, unconsciously tugging at the hem of her blue wool dress as 
if the spoken word sex were capable of undressing her in front of Dr. 
Dearborn's piercing dark eyes. 

"There's no reason to be ashamed of it, Polly. We've been talking about sex 
for two days, and talk won't change anything!" Swaggering her hips, she 
plucked a log from the brass holder and leaning over until her creamy 
breasts almost spilled from the deep vee of her neckline, lay the log in the 
crackling flames. Straightening, she grinned at Polly. "We're all friends, 
darling, there's no reason to be embarrassed!" 

Polly accepted a snifter of brandy, despite the fact that she hadn't eaten 
all day. Nervousness from last night's humiliation chiseled away at her 
appetite, and with Ted pounding around the house today complaining of a 
hangover and carefully ignoring her, it had hardly created an atmosphere for 
dining. The alcohol burned down her gullet. Beside her the fire roared, 
beading her satiny forehead with perspiration. Daintily, she wiped her 
forehead with the back of her hand, wishing she hadn't worn wool. 

To her right, she felt Dr. Dearborn staring at her, his face set in a smirk, 
tight and haughty. The unnerving sensation that she'd walked into the middle 
of an intimate moment was difficult to dispel; the electricity between Dr. 
Dearborn and Myra snapped, with Polly the circuit breaker. 

"We'll eat in a bit," promised Myra, grabbing the phallic-shaped brandy 
decanter by the neck and tipping it generously. "I hope you like clams, 
darling." 

"Sounds fine with me," Polly's voice was small and tremorous. I wish he'd 
quit looking at me like that! One more brandy, and Polly excused herself to 
the bathroom. The brandy burned in her stomach and a light headed dizziness 
set in from hunger and the growing heat in the living room. 

Polly took longer than usual dragging a hairbrush through her tight blonde 
curls haloeing her dimpled face. She tucked the brush back into her evening 
bag, set the alligator bag on the glass shelf, and stepped back to examine 
her image in the full length crystal mirror of Myra's dressing room. 

"Oh, no," she groaned. The button of her dress had loosened and a wisp of 
white lace stuck up for Dr. Dearborn's hungry eyes to see! No wonder he'd 
been staring at her! With a grunt of dismay, she deftly closed it, a chill 
rippling through her body, followed by a crimson blush as she wondered how 
Dr. Dearborn had responded to the ripe swell of her creamy bosom pushed 
together in an exaggerated cleavage. After Myra's introduction about sexual 
hang-ups, he must have found her indecency amusing! 

Examining the seams in her stockings for straightness, she hurriedly ironed 
her dress free of wrinkles. It was so hot in the living room, the wrinkles 
had steamed in, she feared, snatching her evening bag and deciding return to 
the living room via the kitchen to get a glass of water. Her mouth was dry 
from the brandy. She pressed the door open with the force of her sweating 
palms. Abruptly, her eyes spitted and her jaw dropped in shock. 

Myra was standing with her back to Polly, her firm breasts pressed tight to 
Ed's chest, their arms twisted together. They were kissing and squirming 
their bodies together, both of them grunting and groaning together like a 
couple of mating animals. Polly pulled her head back instantly, hearing the 
ominous whine of a zipper being pulled down. Of all indecent things! If Myra 
had wanted to seduce her doctor, couldn't she have done so in private; why 
did Polly have to play voyeur? Like two high school students, they were 
pawing each other. 

Polly was transfixed on the lusty disgrace. She could see the quivering 
flesh of Myra's smooth ass cheeks and sleek thighs as they ground hungrily 
against Ed's bulging loins, and Ed's muscular thighs were pressed against 
the five-times married woman with unmitigated desire. 

"You really think she will?" Polly heard Dr. Dearborn whisper throatily. 
"Naw ... I can't imagine it. . ." 

Myra's husky retort was broken off in a thick laugh. For a moment, Polly 
thought she might faint with outrage. Suspicion and disgust rose bile-like 
in her throat. Who were they talking about? Certainly Myra wasn't cruel 
enough to mock her guest after the opening jibe about sexual hangups! Polly 
choked with the fear of being discovered spying on the two lovers. 

".. .pull the wires ... that's all it takes..." 

Myra was quick to reply, and did so in a hushed giggle. "Yess ... she 
will... we'll make her!" 

Dr. Dearborn snickered. "Mmmm... sweet blondes ... love 'em!" Then he swept 
Myra back into his arms again, oblivious to the seething guest pressed to 
the doorway. He mashed his mustache-tickling lips down on Myra's succulent 
ones, and Polly gawked in mortification as the doctor reached one examining 
hand down to one of Myra's rounded buttocks and give it a salacious squeeze. 
Horrified, Polly watched as his outstretched middle finger dipped into the 
crevice, slowly caressing up and down between her trembling ass cheeks. In 
answer, Myra's thighs began to grind automatically, at first from side to 
side and then in ball bearing circles as she ground her abdomen into his 
bulging loins, faster and faster. 

Polly's throat tightened in disgust. She could stand it no longer! First the 
scathing insult, then leaving her alone while they mauled each other's 
bodies in the kitchen! Revulsion sprinkled through her brain. Pressing her 
purse against her chest and her lips into a straight line, she dipped into 
her handbag and fingered her keys. She would leave without announcement if 
they didn't cease their rapacious display this second! Gritting her pearly 
teeth, stole one more peek before retrieving her own coat from the hall 
closet and saying goodbye to Myra once and for all. 

Their moans chorused, waning and waxing in the full moon of their passion. 
Yet Polly had to admit that a tingling warmth had begun deep in the heart of 
her womb, sharing Myra's passion. Last night's frustrations were heavy in 
her belly. Her nipples beneath her whitelace brassiere were hardening into 
nubs of sensitivity. She hated herself for feeling this involuntary emotion, 
feeling soiled... like the afternoon with the filthy magazines! 

The irate house guest didn't try to tip toe back to the living room. The 
click of her high heels against the hardwood floor echoed through to the 
kitchen, separating the passion-aroused lovers in startlement. It was a 
tight-faced Polly that Myra found sitting demurely next to the fireplace. 
Quickly, she filled her friend's glass with the amber liquid. 

"The doctor and I were heating water for our steamed clams," smiled Myra 
smugly. "I hope we haven't left you alone too long." 

'That's okay," chirped Polly, irritated to the bone. "I'm really not very 
hungry... in fact, I'm not feeling very well. Thank you for the drink, Myra, 
I think I'll be going." Polly started to rise off her chair, fighting 
dizziness. 

"Please, no. . ." Myra was one shade light of contrite. Her eyes fled to the 
bay window and she blocked her guest's view of her car parked in the drive. 
"It will only be minutes ... and Ed would be so disappointed if you left. 
We've got so much to talk about!" 

The iron curtain of escape was pulled shut, and Polly, quite against her 
will, settled back on the chair. The eerie, discomforting feeling that she 
was the subject of a cruel game of "Get the Guest" popped into mind and 
Polly was drawing several comparisons between Virginia Wolfs character and 
her own hostess, when her ears, preened for suspicions, caught the sound of 
a door closing, very slowly and deliberately hushed. 

"Ah, here's Ed now. Let's have another drink!" They made small talk about 
the Sexology Institute and, after her fourth brandy on an empty stomach, 
Polly felt a warm vertigo ripple in her stomach. She realized she was 
quickly approaching inebriation. She needed coffee, she needed food; she 
didn't need these two people gawking at her with silly smirks. 

Impatiently, she crossed her stockinged legs in a whoosh and tapped her 
fingers on the chair's arm. She felt them staring at her. Their two heads 
multiplied to four and in a burst of panic, she realized she was too drunk 
to drive. They were deliberately getting her drunk, it seemed, and starving 
her, too! 

Ed and Myra watched Polly's eyelids droop and her head nod from heat and 
alcohol. Dr. Dearborn could see she was very uncomfortable, but too polite 
to complain. Not that complaints would help replace the pulled wires in her 
car. Yes, she was here for the night, like it or not, and after Myra's juicy 
tale of marital eruptions, tonight would promise to be a wild evening of 
Myra's games. 

That's what he admired about Myra-her mental agility in playing with 
people's minds. Therapy had unscrewed her libido, and he'd watched a woman 
nearly frigid for contempt of men blossom into a sensual flower, earthy and 
vibrant and lustfully delightful! 

Now the doctor's mind was filled with a wild desire to fuck the Titian 
haired blonde. His penis and testicles ached furiously with the need to slip 
his cock inside her pink pussy and plant his steaming cum deep inside her 
tender belly. That and other amusing tortures of her pulchritudinous body 
and spirit. And Myra had led him to her! 

Myra fanned herself with a flapping hand. "The fireplace radiates a lot of 
heat ... it must be ninety degrees in here!" She blew down her neck. "Here, 
darling, have some more brandy ... it's great for the appetite!" 

"Oh, no thank you...." Polly's voice was weak, her head swimming. "I really 
should get home... I'm not feeling very well." 

Dr. Dearborn fanned his cheeks with a linen handkerchief plucked from his 
suit coat pocket. He stared by the fireplace where Polly sat in a slumped, 
drunken dizziness, her cheeks flushed, forehead dotted with perspiration. 
She could catch her head in mind-roll, blinking her tired eyes to alertness. 
Her fingers were white knuckled from hanging onto the chair's arm, as if 
that alone were keeping her from slumping to the floor. 

"How long have you and your husband been married?" he queried, smiling 
disarmingly. "You really should take some courses at the institute." He 
turned to his accomplice. "A course in joys of oral sex," he said 
nonchalantly, ".. .would suit you fine, don't you agree, Myra?" 

His words came as if from miles away, out of a blue haze of heat. Myra 
tittered; Polly burned. "I don't think that's very funny," she objected. Her 
mouth was dry, her voice thick, her tongue lazy. "Now if you'll excuse me, I 
really have to get home ... I'm not feeling very well...." As she rose 
clumsily out of her chair, Dr. Dearborn shot off the sofa and eased her 
down. 

"Please, you've only just arrived." Deftly, he plucked her empty snifter 
from the end table. "Have another drink with us... it's so good for the 
appetite." Myra nodded, the queen of seduction glorying in her approaching 
hour of triumph. 

"No ... no more brandy." The words tumbled with effort from Polly's mouth. 
She braced her dimpled chin in her upturned palm and blinked at her 
ex-college mate. 

Myra smiled cattishly. "If you won't go to school, Polly, we're going to 
bring the institute to you." Polly blinked as Myra worked at the side zipper 
of her tightly molded evening dress, pulling the burgundy bodice down over 
her creamy shoulders. "First we're going to take a look at our bodies and 
forget embarrassment." Standing up, the red-haired woman peeled out of the 
clinging dress, pulling it down over the ripe mounds of her breasts cupped 
in lacy patches of black lace hugging her slender ribcage, down over the 
flat bowl of her belly, over the black lace strip of her garter belt with 
its lacey straps holding up fishnet stockings. Around the elastic bands of 
her bikini panties, black tendrils of pussy hair sprouted. With a sigh of 
rejection, Myra let the garment puddle at her feet. She kicked the 
Vanderbilt labeled dress with the toe of her shoe and fell back on the sofa, 
crossing her stockinged legs. 

"God, it feels great being free of clothes!" She sighed heavily, mindless of 
Dr. Dearborn sitting a hand's reach away. 

"Myra!" Polly sobered up quickly. "There's a man in the room...!" Any 
admiration or kinship Polly might have been seduced into enjoying with Myra 
Belfy was quickly evaporating. 

"You mean you don't undress for Ted?" piqued Myra. "No wonder he's bored 
with you!" 

Polly's blue eyes slitted. "You've no right to talk to me like that, Myra, 
no right at all!" She was sitting on the edge of her chair now, cheeks red 
with anger and alcohol. 

Myra's eyes rested levelly on Polly's flushed cheeks. "Some people learn 
naturally, some have to be taught. Unfortunately, you fall into the latter 
category. Some day you'll thank me for this, Polly. I have no reason to be 
ashamed of my body." 

Cocking an eyebrow, she poked out her glossy lips and drew a deep breath 
that made her melon-like breasts swell and threaten to burst the flimsy 
strip of black lace, showing all but the tips of her puffy nipples. 
Brazenly, she ran blood red fingertips over the nearly naked creamy flesh. 
"Hmmm ... I'm cooling off already." 

"I'm not ashamed of my body, either, Myra... but I don't strip in front of 
men. That's-that's animalish!" Her curls bobbed in the heat of anger. How 
could Myra insult her like this? 

"In college you never liked sex either, Polly. Really, I don't know what Ted 
saw in you...." 

Polly gulped. Indignity and rage sent adrenalin charging through her veins, 
chilling her to the bone. The need to escape Myra's insults was strong, but 
the need to defend her marriage and sensuality raged stronger. 

Polly's chain of thought chugged off, riding the bumps and valleys of 
inebriation, roaring back in time to find some semblance of reason for 
Myra's heartless attack upon her lifestyle and very being. What had she ever 
done to Myra to deserve this scathing attack? 

'Ted loves me," she choked defensively. "We-we have a good marriage!" 

Myra cocked an eyebrow, maintaining her temperament and playing the role of 
catalyst to the hilt. Tucking an errant strand of red hair behind a 
gold-dangled ear, she smirked at Polly. "That's interesting. So you're 
secure. What about boredom? Look at you, Polly. You dress like a nun. I've 
tried to give you advice, but you just won't listen." Myra let out a deep 
sigh and crossed her legs. 

"You want me to have the same cheap emotions you do? Married five times and 
raking them for their money!" she charged back. 

"My emotions aren't cheap, Polly. They run deeper ... very deep." Myra shot 
a meaningful glance at Dr. Dearborn who sat drinking up the melodrama 
unfolding before his lusty eyes. "Don't they, Ed?" 

Polly tried to clear her mind of brandy, tried to still her heart and gather 
the strength to rise from the chair and leave Myra's house for good. But her 
misaimed brain was burning, her limbs shaking and legs unsteady. She 
wondered what Ted would think if he were sitting here listening to Myra 
gnash out the preciousness of their marriage with the heel of her foot, like 
it was a smoldering cigarette butt fit for the gutter. Alongside that raging 
thought, galloped the fear that Myra might be right. Ted had found another 
lover because he was bored with her sex. Gulping down a trickle of bile, she 
glanced down at the modest blue wool gathered over the rich swells of her 
breasts. She sniffed. Hurt, anger and the butterflies dancing drunkenly in 
her stomach rampaged through her body. 

She lifted her saucered eyes to the satin smoothness of Myra's swan-like 
neck, down to the creamy cleavage pushed temptingly together by the lace 
brassiere, down over the bowl of her dimpled belly smoothed by the strip of 
black lace holding up fishnet stockings. A pang of hurt stabbed at her heart 
as she wondered how Ted would react if he were sitting here now. Who would 
be the one to trap his attention ... Myra's sensual, lithe body, or her 
breasts modestly hidden behind blue wool. The damning thought brought a 
whimper of real pain. 

Polly could not deny that the burnished haired woman sitting immodestly in 
black lace brassiere, garter belt and high heels was a tempting sight, 
despite her growing disdain for the woman. Shamefully, she recalled the 
ticklish excitation that had rippled through her neglected belly when she 
caught Dr. Dearborn and Myra mauling each other in the kitchen ... the image 
of them groveling nakedly together had terrified her. She had clenched shut 
her blue eyes and prayed to be free of those loathsome lurking thoughts. 

If only she'd refused that last brandy! Could she make it to the car? 
Struggling to keep her vision in a straight line, she grabbed the arm of the 
chair like a rock climber grasping a pylon, and hauled herself to her feet. 
Her rubbery ankles collapsed under her and she toppled over, nose down in 
the carpet. She felt strong hands tugging at her, tossing her lifeless body 
back into the chair. To her right, the fire burned her cheeks and 
unconscious streams of Joan of Arc, the martyr, flitted through her mind. 
Well she could identify with that hapless character. Polly Atkins, the 
savior of Myra Belfry's lust! 

Now the confused, helpless woman sat slumped immodestly in the chair, her 
dress yanked up over her thighs to show off a warm expanse of naked thigh 
above the rim of her stockings. Her sleek legs were spread slightly apart so 
that Dr. Dearborn's flinty eyes could see the narrow wisp of cloth covering 
her pouting mound of Venus. He licked his tensile lips under the hairy line 
of his moustache, feeling his cock leap for joy, pounding with lust. Myra 
was playing the goading bitch, driving the poor drunken mass of confused 
flesh into a defensive state of paralysis. She was glued to that chair, 
drunk beyond redemption. His for the taking! 

"Polly," tutted Myra. "I've never seen you so drunk and rumped!" 

Polly touched her hand to her burning fire head; it was clammy. She 
squinted, shook her head to clear her senses and wondered if her ears and 
eyes were deceiving her. 

"I want to show you what a real woman looks like, Polly ..." hissed Myra 
between glossy, pooched lips. Gulping the dregs of brandy, Myra swaggered to 
her feet; a bit tipsy herself, she rocked on her four inch high heels. She 
pirouetted in front of her incredulous guest, cupping her lace covered 
breasts with her hot hands, running her palms down her slender ribcage and 
over her smoothly rounded hips to come together at the mount of her hot and 
ready cunt. 

Myra licked her lips and smirked at Polly. "This is what a woman is all 
about. .. and my little Pollyanna, you will realize by the end of this 
evening that you've got one hot little pussy that's probably drenched, 
begging for a hard cock to satisfy you. It's a lesson you have to learn to 
be free... and Myra," she winked, "is one helluva teacher!" 

CHAPTER SIX 

"I have to agree with that," snickered Dr. Dearborn, his moustache twitching 
at the pale-faced, terror-struck lovely sitting like a limp rag doll. Eyes 
rolling in her head, tossed blonde curls with apple cheeks creating a 
pulchitrudinous image of vulnerability. 

Myra's eyes gleamed, her face twisting into a gloat. Obscene ideas and 
images rampaged through her libido in a lusty carnival. Had Polly any 
inkling of her incipient involvement in this melodrama, she would have 
crawled on hands and knees out of the door and hitchhiked home! 

Dr. Dearborn pooched out his thin lips and hooked a finger in his collar. 
"Getting rather stuffy in here, don't you think?" 

"Stuffy ..." smirked Myra, leveling cattish eyes on her guest, " isn't the 
word for it!" 

Polly, glued to the chair, nodded her bobbing head. She'd managed to sling 
one leg over the other, and cupped her dimpled chin in the palm of her hand, 
refusing to look at her ex-friend-turned villain parading in front of her. 
Myra's elegant fingers weighed her breasts, thrusting back her shoulders and 
arching her back; she ran her hands panther-like over her slender frame 
while her heels dug into the inch thick carpet, pirouetting in lusty 
circles. 

Maybe they would eat soon; maybe Myra would have the heart to fix dinner. 
Were they deliberately depriving her of sustenance? She hoped that by 
ignoring Myra's shameless parade, she would quit showing off and fix dinner. 
Squirming wormishly in her chair, her face drawn into a tight frown, Polly 
drew a deep breath, filling her lungs with fireplace smoke. She too, was on 
fire, but never would she strip naked! 

Dr. Dearborn was working at the knot in his tie and stripping it off, worked 
at the buttons on his shirt. He grinned lecherously at the pie-eyed blonde 
with the blonde Titian curls frowning in disbelief. Long tapered fingernails 
dug into the tweed chair arm, hem yanked up to her wad in her lap from the 
reckless squirming, dimpled knees yawning apart to give a mouthwatering view 
of her cunt. He squinted, focusing between her creamy thighs to see a wet 
spot of excitation on the crotchband of her panties. 

Dr. Dearborn was almost naked himself now. 

"Polly, ready for lesson number two." She gesticulated expansively. "A man's 
naked body ... stand up, Dr. Dearborn, and let Polly have a look at you!" 

"You're terrible!" spat Polly, her elbow loosing its braced hold on the 
chair arm. The blonde head bobbed down and bobbed up like a cork in choppy 
waters. 

"We're both made of flesh and bone .. . not much different except for 
shape." Myra turned her haughty gaze at Dr. Dearborn who was stripping out 
of his pants now. Noting the horror on Polly's crimson face, she smirked. 
"Don't be shocked, Dr. Dearborn teaches in the nude. Everyone of his 
sixty-nine students has seen the little blue veins on the underside of his 
cock- so don't think you're special!" Myra smiled crookedly at her teacher, 
basking in the glow of his eyes roving appreciatively over the swells and 
dips of her creamy near-nudity. He considered her one of his prize pupils, 
but with a teacher of such talent, how could it be otherwise? He became an 
animal when she raked her fingernails over his thighs, a snake when he bored 
his swollen penis lustfully into her belly, and a little boy when she licked 
at his ear. Theirs was a symbiosis of freedom of sensual expression. 

Myra's dilated pupils bored into Polly's heavy lidded ones. "It feels 
wonderful to let yourself go and get all hot and swollen and wet and ready 
for a man!" To exemplify her point, she planted her high heels wide apart, 
slithered her elegant fingers over her belly and with one long nailed 
finger, pulled aside the dampened crotch band of her black bikini panties. 
Her red hair dipped, falling over her satiny forehead. She stared down 
between her own legs. "Look, my cunt is all hot and wet... mmmmm... I love 
to touch myself... I'm not ashamed of making myself orgasm, Polly," she 
purred. 

That lesson hit home! Polly shrieked in horror, buried her face in trembling 
hands, and shut out the disgusting sight! How could any female parade around 
showing off her private parts and brazenly stroke herself into excitation? 
Even for Myra that was lewd! Yet of their own will, her tremulous fingers 
fell lax, and one blue eye peeked at the swollen moistness of her friend's 
ragged, seeping cuntal lips. There in burning firelight, her juices dewwed 
the rose petals of her womanhood. 

Polly gulped, her burning eyes traveling up to the Cheshire cat smile on 
Myra's face. Pleasure was etched on every line of her face. Like a cat 
spread contentedly in front of the fire, Myra purred deep in her throat, her 
claws lengthening to give herself greater pleasure as she dipped her fingers 
into the seeping hole of her cunt. The blonde wife sitting in abject horror, 
felt a quickening of her breath, a congestion growing heavy in the pit of 
her stomach. Hadn't she satisfied herself in the same disgusting 
manner-minus an audience? 

She struggled to pry her eyes loose of the sensual feast, but it was as if 
her neck were screwed on like a bottle cap, rusted in place. Something held 
her fast. She had to watch-the salacious display of animal carnality cut 
through morals, tradition and everything dear. Myra's finger sluiced into 
her slurping cunt, the noises filling the room shamefully. Polly struggled 
out of the chair ... but she was glued to that seat, paralyzed by curiosity 
and alcohol. 

Polly's mouth hurt it was so dry! The tip of her warm tongue ran over the 
chapped line of her lips. She was inebriated beyond redemption, defenses 
lost to drink, her body hot and her mind churning with perverse images. An 
unwanted trickle of arousal rose in her wetly throbbing pussy, as she tried 
to toss aside sexual arousal. 'Wb. . . please stop this!" she yelped. 

Myra contentedly fingered her pussy, head tossing wildly from side to side. 
Polly's blue saucered eyes lifted to see Dr. Dearborn stepping out of his 
pants and lying them over the back of the sofa. His legs were long and well 
formed, muscular and strong. 

The older man caught her gaze and lifted his eyes to rest on Myra's gyrating 
body. His mouth salivated with desire for the delectable Pollyanna of 
purity. His penis was stony, crying for release from the red cotton trap of 
his jockey shorts; in moments it would be drubbing into Myra's tender, 
velvety parts. Their riotous plan had worked: Polly couldn't be roused from 
that chair if a bomb exploded on the roof! 

He guffawed lecherously and tore off his shirt, gleefully watching Myra play 
teacher. His loins churned with excitement at the thrill of exposing his 
body to two young beautiful women. Tonight would be one hell of an evening! 
The blue eyed, blonde haired lovely would be groveling under his cock, 
subjugated, taught a lesson she'd never forget. Vaguely, his mind conjured 
up the profile of her husband. Ted, that was his name. Skinny, impotent ... 
or muscular, domineering? 

With a contented sigh, Dr. Dearborn stretched out on the sofa before the 
fire, his cock losing its wrinkles in a rubbery erection that pointed 
straight at the ceiling. Idly, he wondered if he could shoot his cum that 
high, and vowed to try it some time. Not tonight, though. His legs were 
spread wide and shivering with anticipation. Myra withdrew her finger from 
the seeping hole of her vagina with a sucking noise and slid easily down on 
the sofa in delight, kneeling with her red hair grazing the soft bowl of Dr. 
Dearborn's belly, her mouth a scant tongue's lick away from the tip of his 
mushroom headed cock. 

"Watch this, Polly! Myra's going for lesson number three. She's going to 
suck my cock! Watch and learn!" 

With a groan of anticipation, Myra took his fleshy stalk between her warm 
palms and began to rub it lightly, arousing the doctor to a state of 
clenched teeth lust. It was all he could do to keep from groaning and 
shooting his cum to spurt over his belly, but he'd become very practiced in 
sex from teaching reluctant, frigid women to appreciate the joys of mouth on 
penis, mouth on vulva, and he was no short shooter! 

Timing was of utmost importance to keep Polly mesmerized and curious ... and 
in that chair! 

Grinning cattishly, Myra turned her face toward Polly as she sat on the 
floor, legs spread wide to show off the curling black hairs of her cunt 
poking out around the moistened band of her panties. 

"You've never tasted a man's cock before, have you? Want a lick?" she 
offered. "Oh, the feeling when it gushes down your throat!" 

"You talk so filthy!" moaned Polly, covering her face with her hands. 

"Poor Ted," sighed Myra. "That's the problem with your marriage. You told me 
so yourself. But you'll learn, Polly, believe me, you'll learn!" 

"Oh, Gawd!" Polly's wail was anguished. How could Myra talk this way, so 
filthy, so obscene, so proudly animalishly about sex. The wild sensations 
rampaging through her body were raping her of mental clarity. Now her own 
body terrified her. The brandy, the filthy language, suggestive and lewd, 
and the heavy congestion from Ted's neglect swamped her body with 
goose-bumped thoughts of carnality. 

Myra's living room had transformed into an inferno of steaming obscenities 
echoing with grunts and moans of lewdness. Polly cringed in the chair, glued 
in a strangely masochistic way. Her warm body sheened with perspiration, her 
forehead beaded, the ripe cleavage between her milky breasts sticky. 
Conflicting emotions rioted in her body. Somehow she couldn't believe this 
dinner party was real. She pinched herself to make certain she wasn't 
dreaming, but that act of self-flagellation did nothing to dispel the 
obscene hallucinations enacted not five feet away! 

Perversity in its rawest, stickiest form was unraveling before her saucered 
eyes as she watched the rigid pole of Dr. Dearborn's cock jutting up from 
his hairy loins, holding her attention magically. If bile of disgust choked 
her before, she was suffocating on it now! A gurgle of nausea threatened her 
as she saw Myra press her lovely face closer to Dr. Dearborn's steaming 
groin. The meaty erection stabbed at the red headed glistening lips ... and 
then Myra leaned forward with a groan, pooched out her cherry lips and blew 
hot breath over the seeping tip, bringing a whimper of delight from her 
professor of lust. A second later that whimper magnified to a low groan as 
Myra's practiced pink tongue darted out to swipe off the pearl of pre-cum 
dangling precariously at the tip of his swollen cock head. 

"Mmmm ..." she smacked her lips loudly, squirming on her knees, groveling in 
his groin, adoring the taste of Dr. Dearborn's pungent tasting cock. 

And Myra wasn't feigning delight. A ripple of nausea was hard to choke down 
as Polly watched the thick hardness dripping with erotic juices too 
succulent to stay within the tensile, rubbery line of Myra's sucking lips. A 
bit of creamy spittle rivered to the base of his cock, glistening in the 
flickering firelight. Myra wriggled her naked hips as she ovaled her 
beestung lips over the head of his pulsating cock. 

The horror of watching a woman pervertedly sucking a man's peniss sent 
earthquaking tremors of revulsion quaking through Polly's drunken brain. The 
porthole of her still functioning brain screamed for her to pry loose of 
that chair and throw herself behind the wheel of her car no matter what the 
circumstances! Drunk or not ... she couldn't stay here and play voyeur. She 
struggled to will her body to move, but her nerves were short-circuited, 
frazzled, her mind a steaming swamp of sensation and her physical body 
melted to rubber. The brandy and the heat of the blazing fireplace had 
pickled her brain and begun a sexual fermentation deep in the heart of her 
womb... not to be controlled, and not to be desired by the shamefaced Polly 
Atkins. 

Her fingertips shredded the chair arms agonizingly as oogle-eyed, she 
recalled the earlier pain of imagining Dr. Dearborn and Myra groveling 
nakedly together. Now those fears had materialized into a real life drama 
happening a hand's reach away! The lustful slurp of Myra's working lips 
slipping hotly over Dr. Dearborn's hot erection mingled with deep groans and 
moans of a man seeing a glimpse of nirvana. She blinked. Was it possible 
that she had willed this crazy obscene melodrama through precognition? She 
gulped at the thought of the powers of the will, and wished her body could 
muster the will to peel itself loose of the chair. 

Fingers of guilt and self-loathing choked at her throat, making her settle 
the guilt on the real guilty party! If Ted hadn't treated her like a 
worthless slut, wanting to put his mouth on her down there between her legs, 
she wouldn't be sitting here watching Myra make a slut of herself! Those 
charring thoughts screeched to a halt from the heated sensation of the 
chair's tweed cushion sticking to her sheened upper thighs, sticking 
electrically to her seeping cuntal hole up above the rim of her silk 
stockings. The erotic sensation made her jerk and she pressed her legs 
together to halt the pricklish arousal that began to gallop through her 
loins. 

Polly's sweating hands flew to her mouth. "Stop... please . ,. help me go 
home!" she whimpered. Even if Ted wasn't talking to her and refusing her the 
joy of making love, she was a married woman who owed her husband the respect 
and loyalty of honoring their marriage vows. She clenched her eyes shut, 
squeezing out salty tears, wondering why she couldn't shake loose the 
pricklish thrills of excitation pulsating in the heart of her womb as a 
result of watching the worse than naked college friend sucking, nibbling, 
tantalizing over her teacher's blood engorged penis. It was horrifying, 
disgusting ... and yet she couldn't budge from her voyeur's seat. 

"Ohhh ... mmm." Myra mewled around the stabbing stalk of male meat. She 
sucked in vacuuming rhythms, expertly, driving her lips over the full heated 
length of his hotly throbbing penis, trapping it deep within her throat, 
slamming it hard against her tonsils. Myra's eyes began to water, her cheeks 
reddened from the effort; yet she took it all. Polly could see through 
blurred vision her friend's wetly ovalled lips working on the thickly veined 
shaft, watched with glazed eyeballs as the wet lips of her mouth puckered 
outward and then rolled back in as she sawed up and down, up and down. 

Dr. Dearborn's slender hips tensed and jerked spasmodically out of control, 
heaving up into the masochistically kneeling woman's lovely face, the hard 
stalk of flesh disappearing with each swallow so that all just but a 
fraction of the hairy base was lost in the warm cavern of her saliva 
splattered mouth. As she sucked, and suck she did, Myra's free hand wriggled 
between the man's thighs, tickling, caressing the bloated sac of sperm-laden 
testicles. Myra's gorgeous face was twisted in lust, mirroring her voracious 
desire to milk all of his fiery hot semen and gulp it down her hungry 
gullet. 

The room smelled of firewood smoke and steaming genitals, hanging in the air 
like sensual fog ready to break into a thunderstorm of lust over Polly's 
sweat sheened forehead. She smelled sex, her eyes saw sex, her tongue could 
taste the piquancy of Dr. Dearborn's secretions, and her hands sweated with 
the need to feel naked flesh. A sob tore from her throat, her dimpled chin 
trembling dangerously. She wanted to be with Ted, wanted to have him 
stretched out on the sofa while she manipulated-oh, how could she think such 
filthy thoughts! Her marriage was not a pig pen of lust like Myra's sex 
life! No, no, hers was precious, intimate, loving and real! She had never 
imagined a woman could act so sluttishly, that two human beings could treat 
each other so animalishly! Now she was being taught a lesson she would 
rather not have learned. To her terror, she realized her buzzing ears were 
the creation of her own moans of desire ringing through her skull and 
finding physical expression as she ran her hot tongue over her dry lips and 
sang the nuses song of beguilement! 

"Disgust was fading to desire, running from white hot to passionate pink! 
Pricklish stirrings of response for another woman's experience, ate at 
Polly's hatred and horror. Both were flesh and blood as Myra had stated, and 
that physical connection created a mental bridge from libido to libido. 
Myra's pleasure in slaving over Dr. Dearborn's genitals, became her 
pleasure. The cock drubbing into Myra's tensile lips became the cock 
drubbing into her laxly parted lips. She ran her tongue around her lips 
licking up the imaginary shreds of secretions seeping from Dr. Dearborn's 
cock tip. 

Polly had become one with Myra's lust, she admitted in a blazened heat of 
disgrace. As she'd feared that afternoon when she screamed out her relief 
and dribbled cuntal juices onto Ted's bedroom pillow, she was a slut at 
heart-no better than Myra. Now Polly lowered her heavy head in defeat, her 
eyes stinging with tears. She felt her body losing defense to the taunting, 
flaunted throbs rising in her empty belly and cock-starved pussy. These 
feelings were accusatively similar to the rumblings in her starved body when 
she had begged Ted to take her. Now she realized in a damning burst of 
understanding that the feelings she experienced now watching Myra slave over 
Dr. Dearborn's genitals, was not unlike the thrill of lying spread eagled 
under her husband's pounding penis. Where then, she demanded of reason, lie 
the element of love in the act of lovemaking? 

Love and lust battled and clashed. Polly lifted her watering blue eyes to 
settle on Dr. Dearborn who was placing his hands against Myra's temples and 
forcing her to stop sucking his cock. He was forcibly pulling her mouth 
free. "Stop a minute!" he grunted in a wheezing voice. "You're getting me 
too hot! It's not time to cum yet!" 

Fires of desire danced joyously in Myra's dilated pupils. "I want to taste 
your cum... we have to finish the lesson for her!" 

Eyes sparkling, Dr. Dearborn stared longingly at the drunken, bobbing head 
and fixed eyes of the starving dinner guest. With a grunting effort, he 
stood up from the sofa and slowly started pumping his erection with a hot 
fist. "We forget we have a guest, Myra," he rasped throatily, licking his 
lips. 

Polly's hands fled to her throat. "No!" she yelped, catching his 
insinuation. Her buttocks clenched together, and she drew her stockinged 
legs up in defense against the ominous direction of his flinty eyed gaze. 
The tortured guest's blue eyes fled from one unsolicitious face to the 
other, the brandy in her brain distorting their faces lecherously. 

The naked couple seemed to be closing in on her, choking her, grasping at 
her with long nailed claws of a bird of prey. They'd wanted to teach her a 
lesson-the lesson of the devil! Her own lax self-defense was trapping her, 
she couldn't pry herself loose from the chair, hadn't the strength to will 
her body to follow the trail of moral dictates. She fought off attacking 
hands, but no one had touched her. 

"Don't .. . please don't touch me," she wailed pathetically, shaking her 
blonde head. 

Dr. Dearborn smirked. "Nobody's going to hurt you," his tone was pacifying, 
convincing. The suave man took one step closer to where Polly sat cringing 
into the tweed chair and he reached out to touch her fevered arm. "You must 
be hungry, Polly ... you've had one too many brandies and you're not 
thinking straight." 

"Get your hands off me!" she shrilled, pulling back her arm as if she'd been 
bitten by a rattlesnake. A sinking sensation weighed the pit of her belly, 
and she shivered, shooting a pathetically pleading glance in Myra's 
direction. Tell him to get away from me! He's your lover, not mine!" 

"Quite the contrary, darling," retorted Myra with a crooked grin glistening 
of Dr. Dearborn's secretions. "I've invited him to dinner for you. You're 
the feast.. but I promise you'll leave this house another woman." 

"You're the feast of the red haired friend turned vixen had said. Polly's 
eyes rolled in her skull, her brain burning like yesterday's newspapers, the 
full impact of Myra's plotting scheme hitting her between the eyes with a 
force that pinned her to the back of the chair. 

"Help me to my car, Myra .. . please ... I want Ted back ... I don't want 
another man, please understand that!" 

With a bored grunt, Myra rose to her feet, slipped into a fur coat snatched 
from the closet and tossed Polly's at her. "Okay, you win, Polly." She 
looped her arm through Polly's trembling one. "Say goodnight to Dr. Dearborn 
and let's go." 

The two women staggered out the door, their high heels clicking on the crisp 
cement leading to Polly's parked Rabbit. Deftly, Myra opened the car door on 
the driver's side and her drunken dinner guest slipped behind the wheel. 

"Thank you, Myra," she sniffled, "I hope you and Dr. Dearborn have a good 
time tonight," she choked with disgust. The key slipped into the ignition 
and Polly's trembling foot stomped down on the accelerator. 

Click . . . , Nothing happened. 

Click... 

She stomped harder on the accelerator, holding it down to the floor boards 
and pumping it in wild desperation. It refused to turn over. 

Myra pooched out her lips, drawn into a knowing grin. "I guess you'll have 
to spend the night, Polly. Come on, I'm freezing!" 

"No ... it-it'll start... j-just watch!" Repeating the process did not 
change her fate. 

One pair of high heels clicked gingerly on the sidewalk, the other dragged 
lagubriously. The heat in the living room felt as if it had been screwed up 
another ten degrees; the hot wall of air struck the women with suffocating 
force as they peeled off their coats and Polly fell into the chair defeated. 

"You might feel better," suggested the unctuous doctor, "if you stretched 
out on the sofa." Despite her urgent, tight-voiced refusals, he helped her 
out of the chair, slipping a strong arm around her waist, and eased her down 
on the sofa. That extra few feet distance from the fireplace felt like ice 
on a fevered brow, and she sighed languidly, almost pleasantly with relief. 

"Is there anything we can get you?" Dr. Dearborn winked surreptitiously at 
his accomplice. 

"No... no, I'm fine. A few minutes rest and I'll call a cab." Polly was 
beginning to believe she'd imagined the earlier carnal escapades. Ticklish 
invisible fingers played at the seeping hole of her womanhood and, as she 
lay staring up at the ceiling making slowly vertiginous swirls her mind fled 
back to the earlier sensual feast. She licked her lips, thankful the two 
naked rompers had come to their social senses. One laxly Dr. Dearborn's 
devouring eyes leveled gleefully on the dinner guest's tapering thighs and 
stockinged legs. The movement of laying on the sofa had pulled her dress 
high over her thighs. Polly could feel the cool draft wafting over the 
dampened band of her panties and popping open one saucered eye, caught Dr. 
Dearborn staring nakedly down at her. The tube of his half-erect penis 
jutted from the nest of his loins. Hastily, she clenched her eyes shut, 
squeezing back a sob, turning her head to shut out the view of his penis 
poking directly toward her mouth. 

"Feeling okay, hon?" It was Myra, leaning over her, running a cool hand over 
her brow. Polly drew a deep breath, smelling the woman's sex, nearly tasting 
it. Black wisps of pubic curls peeked out around the elastic legband of her 
panties. The milky orb of her oozing breast flesh dangled dangerously over 
the rim of her black lace brassiere, succulent and ripe. Polly had never 
felt so defenseless, physically, and God help her, emotionally! Their 
taunting, their insistence on parading around naked ... oh, to be home in 
her own bed with Ted curled up to her side! 

They closed in on her. One hand held a damp washcloth to her forehead, other 
hands worked at the buttons of her blue wool bodiced dress. Some one plumped 
up a pillow beneath her head. Then her shoes were gone. The doctor took his 
place at his patient's side. 

"You're going to catch a cold if you don't get out of these sweaty clothes! 
Really," he said with real concern, "do you always sweat this much, Mrs. 
Atkins?" 

"I, I. .." she felt someone pulling her knees apart, and then a hand, a warm 
palm was running up under her wool dress, Polly spasmed with a deep throated 
wretchedness as she felt his lascivious fingers creep along the tender, 
stocking covered flesh of her inner thighs. She bolted. His practiced 
fingers were pulling aside the thin band of her panties. Trapped by his 
touch, Polly moaned out humiliation and shame, then groaned in despair and 
mortification that seared her married soul as the doctor began to prod and 
stroke along her mounds' passion-soaked band, following the telltale swollen 
folds of her pussy. 

"God, you're wet!" he croaked. 

Polly's limbs began a dance of their own. She clenched her teeth in an 
attempt to stem her hips thrashing gyrations. "Ohhh ... no.. . please... 
."she mewled. 

"Amazing," snickered Myra. "that's all it took! One little stroke and she's 
groveling already! And I was beginning to think my lessons weren't 
effective!" 

Polly Atkins's entire being became a swirling maze of sensual torment and 
inebriation, seeping her strength as she felt the doctor's hand plunge into 
her steaming genitals, taunting, while his grinning accomplice worked at the 
buttons of her dress. Her head was pulled free of the soft cushions and a 
coolness shivered over her shoulders as the dress was peeled off her creamy 
shoulders. Now Myra's warm hand deftly slipped under her back and toyed with 
the fastener of her brassiere until it popped open, exposing the milky, 
quivering mounds of her breasts. She heard the doctor suck in his breath 
sharply as she leered hungrily at the trembling nakedness. A surging heat 
suffused her cunt and spread to her throbbing breasts as her dress was 
lifted from her thighs. 

Dr. Dearborn hooked his fingers in the elastic waist-band of her nylon 
panties and reaching up under her garter belt, hauled them down over her 
shuddering hips and thighs, leaving her without the tiniest vestige of 
protection against his probing fingers and feasting eyes. The moustached sex 
educator shadowed over her, triumphantly running his hand over her throbbing 
breasts, her naked belly, her stocking covered thighs, up and down her 
goose-bumped nudity with toying caresses. He sucked in his breath as he 
watched his deft fingers move over the creaminess of the married woman's 
firm, cringing flesh. He'd never seen a woman as pulchitrudinously pure as 
this blonde haired, blue eyed lovely. Her skin was flawless and firm as a 
sixteen year-old's and, after treating the sexual ills of forty-two year old 
frigid bitches, this was a welcoming sight! His sperm heavy balls ached 
between his thighs and the sight of her nudity made him long to thrust his 
cock deep into her hot little pussy... but not until later. 

The lecherous doctor held himself in check, torturing himself for a 
delicious moment in anticipation of the final skewering of his rock hard 
cock up between the full pink lips of her twitching cuntal hole. And they 
were throbbing, ragged, swollen, ready and wet! But she hadn't lost her 
defenses yet, not entirely. The physical symptoms were there glistening 
before his flinty eyes, but she hadn't been mentally trained yet to loosen 
inhibition and desire vocally. Until such moment when she could mouth her 
needs, his lessons were lost. She needed to need him more than he needed 
her. That would be the ultimate lesson. She needed to lose repulsion at the 
sight of his blue veined cock and lose all control of herself, forgetting 
who and what she was and needing to be fucked until her legs wobbled. 

Even Myra, arrogant wet-pussied Myra, needed some lessons in that area. She 
was beginning to feel a power in her female sensuality that was openly 
detrimental and threatening to his male dominance. He was the teacher, after 
all! Might be a good idea to teach them a lesson together, he grinned 
salaciously to himself, the wheels of sex cranking overtime. He would force 
Myra into a defensive corner until she had to fight her way free... 
admitting to his mastery over her. 

The salacious thought of playing scriptwriter in the melodrama of college 
friends turned enemies, churned and burned in his cunning brain. To bring 
them to their knees . .. together... ah, yes! 

Shooting Myra a crooked smile, he snickered up at her. "You've hardly been 
gracious, Myra. Why don't you make up to little Polly and give her pussy a 
few good licks!" 

Polly's head shot up off the pillow and a blanche-faced Myra blinked 
incredulously at the stern-faced doctor. The women stared at each other for 
a brief moment, then quickly averted their gaze to rest on the doctor's 
intent stare. 

CHAPTER SEVEN 

Ted Atkins flicked his wrist, eyeballing his wristwatch for the ninth time 
in as many minutes. The television network news hummed its theme song, the 
logo splashed on the screen. Normally after an aggravating day of 
fluctuating loan rates and compound interests, the world-wide hard luck 
story that raged the world over soothed him in a strangely insensitive way. 
If that ritualistic scheme failed, Polly's home cooking worked to warm his 
belly and brain. 

Now, at six o'clock in the evening the dark and silent kitchen served only 
as reminder of the haunting secrets lurking in the glossy covers 
surreptitiously tucked next to his gym bag zipped tight with his handball 
shoes and mitt. Ted raked steely fingers through his brown curls and let out 
the eigh of a truly distressed husband. 

He wrung his hands and swore, his body jerking with rage. Damned fucking 
woman wouldn't suck his cock and considered her own husband a perverted mole 
for wanting to take a snipe at her privates with his tongue-while stuck in 
the back of the closet, glassy-eyed nymphets romped with naked, faceless men 
... lips on pink pussy folds, pink lips on rubber cock ... kept his 
goody-goody wife company on a cold October day! 

Hell, maybe his Polly was one of those closet masturbators, he thought with 
a shiver. She could have turned lesbian for all he knew! The wheels of 
reason churned and steamed and spouted. The blonde haired, blue-eyed wife 
sniveling around the kitchen seemed a stranger to him now. 

With a bearish grunt, he hurled himself to the telephone and threw back the 
telephone cover, running his finger from A to Z and back again until he 
found Myra Belfry, that was her new name. Christ, that woman goes through 
husbands like a box of cookies! 

He jabbed 373-9087 on the touch tone dial, while his teeth ground so hard he 
could taste chaffed enamel! Polly had a habit of picking up her toys and 
running over to Myra's house whenever married life demanded more than she 
could give. Dollar to a donut (quickly he amended that thought; a dollar was 
worth 32 cents these days)... that's where Polly had slammed off to. 

Myra swallowed thickly as she eyed the lush young woman laying nakedly in 
whimpering submission. Dr. Dearborn had methodically undressed his patient, 
buying time while Myra choked on pride, and lay the battleground for her 
next sexual encounter with her therapist. The quivering deja vue rippling 
through her naked belly reminded the shuddering red head all too well of her 
first orgasm at the hands of a-man. He had nearly beaten her into 
submission, but the results were earth shattering. Maybe, just maybe that 
same magic could spark between two women! 

The five-times divorced woman's eyes roamed across Polly's shoulders, slowly 
around her upthrust milky breasts and puckered nipples. She could tell from 
the tiny goose-bumps dotting Polly's ivory skin, she would be all 
strawberries and cream. To run her fingertips over the velvet spot between 
Polly Atkins' thighs had to be a glimpse of heaven! 

Naked and wet with its scent of love filling the air, Polly's blonde fleeced 
vagina was mouthwatering. The red haired vixen was beginning to warm to the 
idea of mashing her lips to Polly's pink pussy. Her own breasts swelled and 
throbbed at the thought. 

"Make friends with Polly, Myra," hummed Dr. Dearborn in a compelling voice. 

Myra edged closer to the sofa, balked, and then reached down compulsively 
with her right hand to gently caress Polly's budding breasts. She slowly 
caressed the throbbing mound, feeling the woman tense in momentary shock at 
this lesbian touch, and tried to cringe away. The nipple stiffened under 
Myra's massaging hand, and the low mewl of submission rang in her ears as 
Polly relaxed against her arm. 

"Get your cunt up there!" urged Dr. Dearborn, glassy eyed and busy pumping 
at his rock hard organ. 

Polly's throat constricted and she thought she might be sick as she glared 
fearfully at Myra crawling along the sofa on all fours with a predatory grin 
on her face. She watched in white hot horror as Myra scissored her legs to 
straddle her friend's breasts, positioning her full round ass cheeks 
directly over her face, knees pressed under Polly's moist armpits. Gaping 
through saucered, disbelieving eyes, Polly stared at the fleshy split of 
Myra's ragged cunt from the tiny ring of her anus to the folds of her wetly 
gleaming pussy. 

"We've been friends, my dear Polly, but now we'll be lovers," she hissed 
throatily, stroking blonde curls from Polly's damp forehead while two blue 
eyes stared depthlessly into her flinty orbs. Licking her ruby lips, she 
stared down at Polly's trembling thighs to the pink slit of her cringing 
vagina. With tantalizing slowness, she placed her warm palms flat against 
the sleek in-sides of Polly's legs, and with her thumbs, parted the wetly 
glistening cunt flesh. With a whimper of hot desire, Myra dropped her 
burnished head and buried her hot tongue deep inside the perfumed walls of 
her friend's golden fleeced cunt! 

"Noooo! Myraaa!" wailed Polly. Head raised off the cushion, she watched in 
stupefied horror as Myra's face buried between her thighs. A painful groan 
bubbled from deep within her tormented chest, her naked buttocks grinding 
desperately down into the cushions as she tried to lever Myra's preying body 
off her own nakedness. 

"Nooo ... oh, please, Myra ... don't let him make you do thisss!" 

Myra hummed in answer and pleasurably stabbed her warm tongue deep into 
Polly's crying cunt. 

Polly's swollen breasts shivered in shame, tears of guilt welled up in her 
eyes as she listened horrified to the wet sucking noises echoing from 
between her wide stretched legs. Despite searing humiliation and a 
nauseating revulsion, little trickles of pleasure lurked in her loins; her 
buttocks jerked involuntarily as spasms of very real pleasure rippled 
through her raw nerve endings. 

The horror struck wife clenched shut her eyes and tried to fantasize it was 
her husband slobbering moronically between her legs. That was an obsession 
with him and she had never allowed him the liberty... how she hated herself 
for that now! 

She buried her nose in the sofa back, wanting to die. Tears of humiliation 
stung her eyes. Her love starved body had slowly gained a will of its own, 
deserting her married soul. It felt good ... Gawd, it felt good! The blonde 
wife shuddered, sucked in her breath and fought the prurient sparks 
threatening to char her helpless soul. Myra's tongue licked and sucked in 
battle, the toy soldiers of her fingers urging her foe to raise the white 
flag of surrender! 

The red head wormed her pink tongue deeper up into the hot quivering slit, 
feeling the silken pubic curls grazing the tip of her arrogant nose and 
flaming cheeks as the blonde ground her buttocks in unwilling rhythm. The 
taste was bittersweet, piquant, meaningful. She licked the cream, her taste 
buds watering with erotic pleasure. 

The thought of sucking another woman's pussy had never appealed to her. Was 
it that women were forever discussing their 'female' problems, she wondered. 
Had that hole between their legs become a 'curse' too many times? Well, to 
hell with that philosophy! The ragged pussy lips and their exuding cream was 
just as tastey as any man's cum she'd swallowed! 

Polly squirmed and bucked under the torture of Myra's flicking tongue and 
maddeningly sucking lips until she thought the woman was going to suck her 
heart out! The vee of her thighs was one throbbing mass of burning 
sensitivity, dripping with juice, electrified, shooting negative ions 
through her body until she feared it might electrocute her! She flailed her 
blonde head from side to side, crying, laughing, hysterical with pleasure, 
imprisoning her lover hunched between her flexing thighs while she stared at 
the dark tendrils and swollen ragged pussy lips scenting the air inches from 
her sweat-dotted face. 

"Looks good to you, doesn't it, Polly?" came Dr. Dearborn's needless 
rhetoric. "You're neglecting your friend. That's not showing much 
appreciation of your hostess," he warned with a twang in his convincing 
mellifluous voice. 

Polly swallowed. No ... she turned her head, fearing she might be sick. To 
please the woman who'd given her a taste of nirvana, she tentatively brushed 
her fingers of the bowl of Myra's soft belly and watched the spasmodic 
reaction. Myra mewled, little drops of dew moistening the lips of her rosy 
cunt. That her fingertips possessed such power amused Polly, filled her with 
a sense of power she'd yet to enjoy with her husband. 

The skin was satiny, warm, rippling with elasticity. Experimentally, she 
stroked Myra's firmly rounded thighs and buttocks and was rewarded with a 
muffled sob of joy. Myra kissed the oily bud of her clitoris, nipping 
teasingly with her teeth to send the sensitive bulb into full erection. 
Polly spasmed with bolt of delight; she arched her back, straining against 
Myra, trying to mash her cunt against the mouth that was driving her into an 
erotic fever. Her brandy-filled mind could not register such joy. The 
nibbling, sucking lips and mouth were driving her down a road of 
sensuality-a one way street! 

Dr. Dearborn knew he'd won; Myra seemed to sense it too. Her sleek body 
rippled with desire as she threw herself into this lesbian act, grasping the 
oozing flesh of Polly's buttocks with steely fingers, tangling her voracious 
tongue into the golden curls rimming her pussy. The musk of tender pussy 
flesh made her own body swell and coo with a sexual hunger too explosive to 
quell. 

Dr. Dearborn was going crazy with joy! He oogled the lesbian lovers, pumping 
at his own cock while the fire crackled and orange flames reflected off the 
glistening, sweaty naked women as if their bodies were polished glass. 
Abruptly his head turned to the side. With a grunt of disapproval, he padded 
barefoot to the telephone. A minute later, interests renewed, he settled his 
naked, hirsute buttocks on the throne of Polly's demise, and grinned with 
the satisfaction of a scriptwriter plotting a drama that would unravel in a 
true life drama. He pulled at his cock, chuckling to himself. Wait till 
pussy-hungry Atkins finds out his wife's been chewing on Myra's slut cunt! 
How some poor fools wallowed in self-flagellation to learn the simple lesson 
of libertarianism! The word of the Almighty ... or sex. It mattered not. The 
human race was bent on seeking pain to find freedom. 

"Kiss me, Polly," mewled Myra in desperation. "Put your mouth on me!" 

In a flash of need to return the favor, Polly buried her blonde head 
slavishly between the quivering thighs, waving the white flag of surrender. 
The velvet of Myra's whorish cunt filled her nose and tickled her taste buds 
like a pinch of cayenne pepper! 

"I'm kissing another woman's cunt. . . and I don't hate it! That makes me- 
She couldn't finish the thought, so damning and humiliating were the facts! 
Yet she kissed and tongued the petals of Myra's cunt while her drunken 
imagination fooled her senses and she conjured up images of sucking one of 
the clams that was supposed to be steaming in Myra's kitchen right now! The 
piquant love juices made her mouth water, her nostrils flare, her erotic 
urges to gallop straight down to her own pussy being licked and lapped. 

Gleaming trails she licked, from Myra's tiny anus to her oily clitoris, 
taunting the elastic skin with a stabbing tongue as if it were a penis. She 
ground her buttocks in gyrating circles so that she could feel all of the 
wicked oral rape of her sizzling flesh shuddering with delight as the 
lesbian above her teased every oozing inch of her nerve sizzling skin. God, 
it was heavenly! When had Ted made her feel wanton, abandoned, desirious of 
giving pleasure as well as receiving. 

The blonde haired wife's body jolted from the sparking eroticism charging 
through it, piercing her blood engorged veins and churning the marrow in her 
bones. Drunkenly, she reveled, groveled in the perversions as she struggled 
toward orgasm. 

Dr. Dearborn's practiced eyes read the signs of impending orgasm in the 
wildly thrashing creamy flesh. Now was the time to ram his logger-head cock 
up into her flaming pink pussy and feel it throbbing around his bloody stalk 
when she screamed out her elusive climax. To explode in her shivering white 
belly while her cunt hugged and milked him-and her husband watched from the 
door- would be dinner enough for his sadistic senses! Yes, timing was the 
thing. He wanted her oogled eyed husband to know he'd fill his wife's cunt 
with heated sperm. 

"Move over girls," he shouted, elbowing his slaving accomplice turned 
lesbian from her dominant position. 

Myra's mouth and cheeks were glistening with strands of Polly's creamy cum 
when she raised her head and grinned obscenely at her mentor. She wriggled 
her naked buttocks, strapped in the black garter belt, hard against Polly's 
licking tongue, feeling the other wormish tongue slick all the way up her 
belly and over her milky breasts. "Oh ... we can't stop!" protested Polly. 
Her cunt was burning with the need to cum, to relieve the damned up pressure 
that had built from the volcanic manipulations of this licentious pair. 

"Get off! It's my turn. Let's not be selfish, Myra." 

With a sniff of indignance, Myra slid off the couch, envious that Polly was 
going to get the only cock to be shared, when she had sucked it to rock hard 
erection. Feeling a need to drive her friend into deeper, darker submission, 
she fell to her knees beside the sofa and hissed in her friend's face. "Tell 
the doctor what you need, Polly!" It was a lesson to be learned-vocalizing 
the need to be fucked, lowering oneself to a level of humility wherein all 
inhibitions melted in the heat of passion. 

Polly whimpered, her head flying from one lust contorted face to the other 
as gradually the reality sunk into her fevered brain that she had been the 
object of a game ... and the dice had only begun to roll! She'd been one 
tongue's lick away from exploding in orgasm ... but she wouldn't beg anyone 
for something she'd learned her own fingers could satisfy. Well, not as well 
maybe, she amended mentally, desiring more than life itself that it were Ted 
crawling between her legs instead of the mastermind of the Institute of 
Sexology! After Myra's tongue licking, that was one college degree she 
didn't need! 

"Let's have it, Polly... tell me what I should do with this hunk of meat, or 
I'll shove it down your throat and let you chew on it for days!" 

Polly moaned in despair, almost delirious from the nibbling of her cunt and 
the tastey evil of having sucked Myra in return. Ted must never know ... the 
words sprang to mind, though mindless of meaning. Ted ... it was but a word 
now, a threat to her sexuality, a burden to her soul. 

Dr. Dearborn was shaking her by the shoulders now. "I want to hear you ask 
for it, bitch!" The white line of his teeth showed beneath the curl of his 
upper lip. 

She sniffed. "Do itt..." she gurgled incoherently. 

"You know the words. Use them!" Dr. Dearborn leered down from where he 
squatted on his knobby knees between Polly's cream-streaked thighs, 
shivering with the need for the meaty cudgel a thrust away from the fleecy 
down of her cunt. 

"F-fuck me ..." she choked. "Just do it!" Polly shivered and quivered and 
shuddered and muttered out the last shred of self-respect. 

Decency, marital fidelity, and pride melted to water dripping between the 
fingers of lust as Polly felt her slender ankles being grasped in the 
doctor's strong fingers. The force of his grip made her groan and, glancing 
up through slitted eyes, she glared into his lust contorted face and knew 
her fate. She lay immobile while he jerked her legs high off the couch and 
thrust them back over her head, jamming her polished toes into the sofa's 
arm on either side of her head. Doubled over like a wheelbarrow, he held her 
in that position, the pain in her muscles tearing at her tendons. The flat 
plane of her hairy, moistly sucked cunt was a feat for the man on a platter 
of sin and degradation as he hovered over her in a push-up posture. His 
hands were steel chains, holding her ankles to the couch, the horrible 
burning in her cunt the ball of fire. 

Ted ... oh dear God, Ted! Why had he never taken her like this? The glint in 
Dr. Dearborn's eyes brought a tear to her own, born of disgrace and abject 
humiliation. Her blonde head flailed from side to side, I the sofa cushions 
dampened with tears of frustration and self loathing. The long, spearing, 
bloodfed hulk of meat wagged between the doctor's hirsuite thighs, the tip 
dripping with secretions of lust... meant for her! 

Dr. Dearborn grinned lewdly under the bushy line of his moustache and 
slapped his weight down on the nubile wife squirming with frustration 
beneath him. With a heaving grunt, his fleshy cock speared between her wide 
spread pussy lips and dug into the heart of her waiting belly, pushing the 
warm, soft folds before its seeping, mushroomed head. 

The hot rubberiness tore into Polly's cunt with a horribly wonderful force. 
A dying hunger within her was being fed, nourished, and with the promise of 
satiation. Her pretty, flushed face was contorted and the pleading whines to 
be torn apart, cleaved by his lust, babbled from her laxly parted lips. To 
be brutally mauled for having behaved as a worthless slut was her fate, and 
now she would lie back and accept her punishment for having tasted of the 
apple. The Garden of Eden that had been her marriage would be closed to her 
forever after tonight... so be it! The need was too great! 

Polly wetted her chapped lips with the tip of her pink tongue, tasting the 
juices of Myra's frothy sex. She flailed her blonde curls from side to side, 
brandy dulling her senses and fading Ted and marriage into a swamp of lost 
memories and broken promises. She wanted the evilly leering doctor to shoot 
his scalding white cum into her belly ... wanted to be taken by force. 

"She's a better student than I'd expected!" blurted Myra, oogling her blonde 
haired friend. "Is that you, Polly?" 

"Ohhh ... tight cunt, tight cunt," muttered the doctor, surging and 
thrusting and boring his lusty meat into Polly's firmly clasping hole. "It's 
been a long time since I've fucked anything this hot and tight!" 

Myra glowered down at him. "Thanks for the compliment," she muttered under 
her breath, splashing a thumb of brandy into her snifter and settling near 
the fire that crackled while the writhing twosome grunted and stained the 
sofa with lust. 

Obscenities and sweat stung the air, threatening to penetrate Polly's 
impervious haze of alcohol and dulled senses. She became something inhuman 
as she grunted and writhed and pumped and snaked her legs over her head. The 
sounds of naked flesh smacking naked flesh filled the air. Her periwinkle 
blue eyes fastened on the doctor's lust drawn face and she felt a thrill of 
forbidden lust that was terrifyingly demeaning; with a grunt of protest, she 
levered her hands against the doctor's chest and tried to push him away. 

Cagily, the doctor slipped his meaty hands beneath her nakedly churning 
buttocks and lifted them off the sofa, forcing his boring cock an inch 
deeper into her warm cunt. Moaning incoherently, Polly wound her warm, sleek 
legs around his bony back and the tight walls of her cunt clasped his hard 
pumping cock until she could feel every inch of his hot, sliding shaft. 
Insane, surrendered ... the Scarlet S of adultry to be worn forever on her 
soul! 

Myra snickered. If only Ted could see his wife now! Would the shit hit the 
fan! She remembered him as the macho football star of Northwestern 
University. Watching his apple cheeked Pollyanna getting fucked until her 
guts turned to pudding would serve him right! To savor the moment, Myra 
slumped from the chair, and, hand over hand, kneed her way to the sofa and 
sat a hand's reach away. Her burning eyes fastened on a color close up of 
Dr. Dearborn's rock hard penis gouging into Polly's desperately sucking 
cunt. Polly's legs were spread wide as a roasted turkey on the Thanksgiving 
platter. Her slender ankles were locked high above his straining shoulder 
blades. She rode him in rocking horse style. The aromatic panorama of her 
cunt, dripping with juicy promise-from clitoris to anus-was open to Myra. 

Myra emitted a moan of animal arousal and began to masturbate. Her red 
tipped fingers plunged in and out of her seething cunt as she panted, making 
wet noises as she gouged for her cervix. Her face was but six aromatic 
inches away from the drubbing of cock into cunt. Her butterfly eyelashes 
flitted wing-like. Delicious sex! 

The wet, sluicing sounds of self-fulfillment stung Dr. Dearborn's ears and 
drove him into a frenzy of lust. He imagined the delights of a juicy menage 
a trois with these two sex-craved women and that drove him to white hot 
excitation, adding adrenalin to lusty power. The vulnerable lady turned 
whore shivering beneath him was easy prey; but timing was everything, and 
trickery his forte, he could wait. 

He glanced down at Polly's angelic features, scrunched up and burning with 
lust. Time to test the penetration of his teachings. Sucking a deep breath, 
he pulled the tip of his penis down to the hairy mouth of her lust inflamed 
cunt and held the meaty stalk quietly, like a rodent peeking its head out of 
its hole. 

The game was too simple, the rules too well followed. Time to break a few.. 
.and pride -with it! His balls ached with the temptation to finish her off, 
ram his cock up into that spongy cervix head and let her have it. With a 
sigh, he levered himself up above her squirming, pinned down body and draped 
an arm over the back of the sofa, shaking his head with indecision. 

Polly blinked. "Why ... what are you doing?" She writhed her hips, and 
clutched onto his arm with squeezing, needful fingers. Between her legs, the 
steam of lust smoldered, burned, incinerating decency and pride. 

The wily doctor shook his head. "I can't do this to you, Polly. I never 
should have come for dinner," he rasped, his bushy moustache hiding a tight 
smirk. 

"What do you mean, can't" she bellowed. "You already have!" 

"I am a minister before I'm a teacher, Mrs. Atkins!" he said with 
dictatorial fervor. "One of my rules is to never make love to a married 
woman." He shot a keep-your-smirks-to-yourself glance at Myra who stopped 
her fingering with the cessation of cock plunging cunt. His voice chimed 
with petulance. 

The insides of Polly's belly gripped the doctor's bloated penis in the 
clutches of her milking cuntal muscles. To keep from shoving it up her guts, 
took every ounce of strength he could muster. 

"But ..." Polly rammed her hips upward, forcing the doctor another inch 
deeper inside her cunt. She wriggled her hips from side to side, egging him 
on with pouting, childlike mewls. 

Dr. Dearborn shook his dark head, darker thoughts galloping through his 
brain. "What would your dear, faithful husband think if he walked through 
that door! What would he think of you? And what would he do to me?" He 
levered up, dangerously close to unplugging that burning hole. "No..." he 
shook his head. "It's not worth it-to either of us!" 

All but a quarter-inch of his throbbing prick was pulled free, chilling in 
free unmusked air. The doctor gnashed his teeth against temptation, ready to 
renege when she grasped him needfully by the shoulders, pulling him into 
her. 

Polly's face was a mask of lust. "He does- he fucks other women! Why can't 
I?" Her dimpled chin trembled. "J-just the other night, he came home-and I 
could tell he'd been with another woman! He doesn't want to make love to me 
anymore ... he thinks I'm boring!" With that painful admission behind her, 
Polly fell into tears. 

The doctor, hiding a tight smirk, stroked her forehead. "You're anything but 
a boring fuck, my dear." He gritted his teeth, feeling his penis bloat 
another inch within the juicy hole of this near-virgin's cunt. Gazing down 
into her flushed face, he stared into her periwinkle eyes, on fire with need 
and sexual longing. 

"B-but you don't want me ... nobody wants me!" was the wail of a broken 
heart. 

Polly's pearly teeth clamped over her trembling lower lip and her fingers 
dug into the doctor's hairy forearms as she held onto him for emotional 
survival. "Oh, please...." 

Dr. Dearborn held his patient tight in his arms, his penis worming its way 
back home up the wall, juicy hole between her legs. Would have been damn 
cruel, wouldn't it, to leave her like this? 

Over the hot shoulder clammy with sweat, Polly's eyes rolled over to Myra 
fingering herself with renewed enthusiasm; the folds of her swollen, ragged 
pussy lips were full from lesbian teasing. Myra's arrogantly slanted 
nostrils flared from the musky scent of another woman's heat. In an 
unconscious gesture, she wetted her lips with her wet tongue, tasting Myra's 
love juices and reveling in the secret that must be hers forever. A whimper 
tore from her throat. She had to be filled, had to be satisfied ... had to 
be loved! And Dr. Dearborn's comforting arms tight around her was just the 
medicine to soothe her soul! 

"Me making love to you," whispered the doctor hotly in her ear, " would be 
like your husband fucking Myra." He gloated in his power of manipulation as 
he felt his cock bore into the slickened hole of Polly's cunt, crawling 
homeward. 

"I... I can't stop him ... and he-he doesn't want me!" She let out a 
tortured yelp, shivering, as the doctor's penis stuffed her elastic pussy as 
if he were stuffing a meaty sausage up her belly. Desperately, she wriggled 
nakedly beneath him, slipping down the sofa until she was bent over like a 
pretzel. "You-you think my husband would want to-to do it with her?" She 
glanced fearfully at the masturbating woman. 

Out of a corner of his eye, the doctor watched Myra slicing her cream coated 
finger in and out of her cunt. "Don't put the cart before the horse... we'll 
cross that bridge together when we come to it!" 

"Oh, fuck me ..." she whimpered pathetically. 

"Who can tell what a man will do? We're all animals." He bore the ache of 
thundering testicles agonizingly holding their white hot load of lightning 
cum. Her slick cunt gripped him with satin force ... satin... satin in and 
out, this one, compared to Myra's fiery eccentricity. 

"I-I bet he would fuck her-behind my back! Oh, Dr. Dearborn ... maybe he 
already has!" 

"Can you blame him? She is a beauty ... look at those tits, firm and 
succulent. Didn't it feel good sucking her tits, Polly?" he grinned. "And 
her cunt, all juice and perfumey ... didn't it taste good? I'll bet you felt 
real secure being in her arms, huh, Polly?" 

"Oh, yes ..." the answer tore from her throat. 

"Good, then why don't the three of us love each other ' together. Suck 
Myra's cunt while I fuck her!" 

CHAPTER EIGHT 

"Damn bitch ..." muttered Ted under his breath. The shivering October night 
air froze his words in mid-breath. Bitten by Myra's bug... the whorened's 
jaws meshed in synchronization with the Datsun 280's gears as the silver 
bullet sped toward the wealthier side of town where Mercedes' hugged 
tree-lined avenues. 

Yet deep in his domineering male psyche he couldn't beat down the 
unswallowable truth that his wife's speeding off to spend a night with a 
five-timing slut like Myra was his fault. His buttocks still ached from the 
puncturing prick of the penicillin shot. One bite of the apple had shamed 
his arrogant nudity and now the snake crawling between his strong thighs 
coiled in despair at the night spent in the arms of the cocktail waitress at 
the Crow's Nest. Damnesd stupid thing to do, his rational self tutted. 
Damned stupid.... 

Damned stupid, but it failed to cool down his temper. Maybe he had fucked 
another woman till he couldn't walk straight; maybe he didn't make love to 
his wife when she begged for an affirming touch; maybe he'd made her feel 
cheap and worthless and unfeminine. 

A sickening feeling tightened in the bowl of his beer-blutted gut with that 
realization. If he'd buried guilt and fear he would have been truthful with 
her. Hell, people picked up social diseases from toilet seats and from 
unwashed underwear straight from the store wrapper. Had he played on Polly's 
vulnerability as he had for the past three years, he wouldn't be caged in by 
the iron bars of womanly threats. 

The Datsun's headlights picked up the silver gleam of Polly's silver Rabbit 
parked snugly alongside the curving driveway of Myra's alimony-inspited 
stone and stucco bungalow. Cozy little spread it was, with maple and elm 
trees, standing silhouettes in the dim light of the electric lamp post 
marking the flagstones leading up to her front door. Smoke billowed from the 
chimney, blueing the air in homey hints of contentment. 

The irate husband, distraught and feeling the prickle of nervousness, 
hunched his shoulders against the breezy winds tearing through the nubby 
tweed of his zipped up jacket, and scuffed tipsily toward the door. He had 
lifted his knuckles to knock, when he hesitated. 

What kind of spying, unliberated macho pig would he make himself out to be, 
knocking susipciously on doors at ten o'clock in the evening? Is my wife 
there, please, huh? Myra would laugh his balls off, the castrating bitch! 
He'd despised her haughty sensuality since college days when she would sneak 
into the fraternity house wearing a trench coat and nothing else, and fuck 
the pajama pants off half of Chi Omega ... except for Ted Atkins! What 
distaste soured her tastebuds against him, he couldn't fathom. Time was deep 
and treacherous and Polly's childish running away was not justifiable cause 
to plunge the waters of time. Turning on his heel, he scuffed back towards 
his car, the square-shouldered shadow undiscernible in a thin silhouette of 
naked tree branches dancing in the wind, spashed by a light post lamp. 

With a whimper of appreciation, Myra plucked her fingers hurriedly from the 
steaming morass of her cunt and lifted her smooth, garter belt stripped 
buttocks so that Polly's mouth could smother her sensitive flesh. She wanted 
nothing more than to have the blonde haired nymphet who reminded her of the 
sweet dolls in the glossy magazines, bring her to a splattering orgasm. Her 
hands gripped Polly's dancing breasts and squeezed the milky orbs with 
unwomanly strength, her brain lost in the fire of burning sensations rolling 
through her vaginal mound. 

The feel of red polished fingertips digging into her creamy flesh almost 
made Polly cum. Her mouth sucked, her pussy sucked, her belly danced with 
white hot excitation and her cream-dripping vagina gripped around Dr. 
Dearborn's plunging cock like a clenching fist, while his cum-filled 
testicles pounded an erotic tattoo against her nakedly upthrust buttocks. 

The doctor's moustache twitched with evil delight as, yanking higher and 
further apart Polly's quivering legs, his lust hardened penis fucked into 
her with thundering thrusts. The raw, sucked, naked lips of Myra's pussy 
were driving her to insane heights of ecstasy. She rocked back and forth, 
her heels digging into the carpet to keep from falling; hands digging into 
the sofa back, her pelvis grinding over her female lover's face, she cooed 
her delight. 

"Ahhh ... eiii.. . I'm ... I'm cumming!" She jerked and heaved and twisted 
her panting nudity beneath Polly's oral licking. "Suck me ... honee! Succck 
mee!" It was the wail of a banshee in the throes of pagan orgasm-lesbian 
orgasm! Her wetly spewing cunt dripped with creamy cum that drenched Polly's 
pretty face. 

Frenetically, like a battery operated toy gone berserk, Dr. Dearborn fucked 
into Polly's rippling pussy. Lewd cries and screams egged him on with moans 
of his own echoing their lust-inspired ecstasy. Polly groaned out from the 
searing bittersweet pain rippling through her ravaged genitals, as the head 
of his goring cock thundered into her sensitive cervix until it threatened 
to tear through the tender tissue and gouge out her heart! It hurt, but it 
hurt good! Her muffled voice lost in the cum drenched tendrils of Myra's 
ragged cunt lips, echoed from between Myra's legs. Her greedily clasping 
cunt locked down around his thrusting penis and slithered up wetly to devour 
voraciously more of the sausagey meat of his prick. Sweat poured from her 
flesh as she aimed and clawed her way toward orgasm. A deep hum tore from 
her throat, her inner thighs spasmed ... she was close, so very close! 

"Fuck her, Ed!" she heard Myra goad, but Polly could hear nothing above the 
singing in her temples, the buzzing in her ears. Her entire nudity was alive 
with the harmonious dance of orgasm. Then it rose deep in her belly, the 
cone forming on the volcano, preparing for an explosion that would rock the 
house on its foundation. 

"Ah, ah . . . I-J Ahhh Gawwwwd . . . I'm cummmming!" The married blonde 
woman screamed out, convulsing, filling the living room with the honeyed 
scent of her dripping love lava. 

Above her, her screams echoed back ... deeper, masculine and very, very 
meaningful! Dimly, from her space station, hanging on a star, she felt her 
in-sides warm with gushes of hot molten sperm jetting from Dr. Dearborn's 
wildly jerking cock. Like a water hose, it spurted out millions of crawling 
sperm, wriggling their way toward the heart of her womb. 

Later, long satisfied moments later, Polly's convulsing climax, combined 
with the dulling influence of drink, left her catatonic to the world. Her 
subconscious mind floated on carpets of erotic euphoria as she stirred in 
her sleep. Vaguely, she experienced a coldness as the warm sweating body 
lifted from beside her. Someone gently rolled her onto her back and spread a 
blanket over her nudity. She snuggled, worming contentedly under the warmth, 
lost to all but the sweet memory of forbidden bliss. 

Dr. Dearborn settled down into the chair and, wiping his sticky penis with 
his underwear, splashed brandy into a snifter and wafted it aromatically 
under his nose. He pooched out his lips, feeling the tickle of his moustache 
now wetted with amber pearls of liquor. Languidly, his dark gleaming eyes 
fell upon the slumbering blonde whose pink fingertips had fallen to the 
floor in subconscious search of the satiny bowl of Myra's naked belly. 

A catlike purr rippled from Myra's laxly parted lips and stunned to 
wakefulness by the touch of cool fingertips, forced herself to wakefulness. 
Her smile was crooked with satination, a smile that Dr. Dearborn interpreted 
as indulgent greed. 

"Get what you wanted, Myra?" His voice echoed the pricklish pride of an 
artist standing back to admire a finished work, deciding whether to sell or 
possess. 

"Mmmm..." Myra stroked burnished hair back behind a shell-like ear. "What's 
left besides dinner?" Like a preening cat, she scratched her head, ran long 
claws to reach an itch along her shoulder blades and braced her feet to 
stand up. "I'm hungry ... are you? We never did boil the water for my 
clams." 

"The night hasn't ended, my dear." 

"Hmmm?" A crooked smile creased the smeared lipstick whose outer layer was 
streaked along Polly's inner thighs. Knee walking to Dr. Dearborn's nakedly 
spread legs, she draped an elbow weakly over his right one and crawled up 
the sofa like a house pet begging to curl in its master's lap. "Any more 
surprises in store? I dare say, I ought to invest money in your institute, 
doctor ... as teachers we'd make a killing together!" 

He stroked her cheek. Funny you should say that, he thought, arching a bushy 
eyebrow. That's exactly what I had in mind in exchange for the favor of 
fucking your Titian haired friend! "I'd love nothing better!" He drew in a 
deep breath that rippled of contentment edged with boredom. He toyed with a 
strand of her curly hair. "We're soon to expect a guest, if you don't mind." 

"Now? Who?" 

Lifting his chin, he nodded in the direction of the sofa where Polly 
slumbered peacefully. "Our darling's husband, no less. He telephoned while 
you two were 'engaged,' shall we say, inquiring about his wife. I took the 
liberty of inviting him over for a drink. He should be here any moment, if 
my instincts haven't been burned out from the last hour of teasing our toy." 

With a bottle weighing his pocket and a scuffle in his step, Ted threw 
himself back behind the wheel of his car, abandoning the aching fear of 
hypocrondiacal gonorrhea. He'd read in a condensed Reader's Digest article 
that one could contact a disease merely by thinking oneself out of immunity. 
Be that true, his cock was seeping with discharge right now instead of the 
wet dime sized spot of lubrication oozing from its tip from the gnawing 
remembrance of Polly's seductive behavior the previous evening. Christ, he 
could have fucked her in the ass, she was so hot! Hot ... why? 

He knew better than to ask himself that silly question. The evidence was 
under his arm, the glossy magazine covers cold against his wrist. Myra and 
her self-help courses! Huh! The only self help that woman needed was to pry 
her mouth loose of cock. That's all she did, so the Chi Omega frats 
claimed-suck cock. Couldn't pry her legs apart with a crowbar to throw the 
animal a piece of male meat. Something screwy behind those ears! Not that he 
wouldn't mind stuffing his bloated girth into her right now, just to prove 
she was no greater influence over his wife than he. Hell, she's probably 
turned into a raving lesbian by now. 

Those damning thoughts and flickers of imaginary sex scenes, inspired by the 
grinning nymphets eating their way through the pages of filth, pricked 
suspicion of torrid sex scenes between God only knew who. Where Polly fit 
into this madness, he was soon to find out. In his rearview mirror, his half 
drunken eyes raked over the stone face of Myra Belfry's domain. The chimney 
spewed out smoke in darkening trails that evaporated into the night air. 

With forced nonchalance, Ted slipped the car keys into his pocket and 
retreked the cobblestone walk until he reached the front door. Pressing his 
ear to the door, his overworking senses picked up the titter of lusty 
laughter. Definitely Myra's .. . Polly's voice was chimey, like the tinkle 
of a Christmas bell. 

Dr. Dearborn, draped in a satin men's kimono which Myra kept handy for 
'unexpected overnight guests', nodded his cue to, his accomplice who sat in 
ragged stockings and garter belt next to the fire. The door creaked open and 
Ted Atkins' face set in expectant dispute, lips taut, mouth sweet with 
alcohol, squinted into the living room splattered with firelight. 

The clever doctor stared at the distraught husband, hunched against the 
biting winds, and wondered how long it would take him to sniff sex, his 
temper to bomb the roof off the house, when he spied his darling Polly 
laying naked on the sofa with her lips encrusted with female cum. Now he 
wished he'd forced her into letting him stuff his cock down her throat, so 
his sperm could have caked her lips in perfect harmony of the sexes! 

"Where's my wife? I want my wife, goddamn it!" He growled in Dr. Dearborn's 
evilly twitching face. Shouldering his way into the house, Ted Atkins 
stomped three angry steps toward the living room ... and stopped dead in his 
tracks. 

Myra winked at their guest. "Hi, Ted ... how y' doin'?" Naked from the waist 
up, her melon-like breasts danced with crackling firelight. The bowl of her 
satiny belly was stripped with black lace; one sleek leg clothed in torn 
fishnet black stockings was draped easily over the chair arm. She kicked her 
spiked heel and sipped her brandy from a snifter. , "What the hell?" His 
lips became tensile. 

Myra regarded Polly's husband amusedly. Glossy magazines tucked under his 
arm, dressed in crisp white shirt and formal jacket, he looked like a 
night-calling Fullerbrush salesman. 

"What right have you giving my wife this filth?" he bellowed, cheeks 
reddening with a rage that made him ball his fists into weapons. He threw 
the magazines on the floor. "Where's Polly?" Her nudity, creamy an lusty 
from orange fire reflections, added strength to the rising stalk of his 
penis. He'd never gotten a hard-on when angry; he couldn't understand his 
responses now. 

"Now, now," cut in Dr. Dearborn as he padded barefoot down the three steps 
to the sunken living room, "have a drink and settle down." 

Sofa back facing him, Ted hadn't seen the blonde head contentedly resting on 
pillows stained with sex. "I don't want a drink ... I want my wife. I know 
she's here .. . you goddamned told me yourself, you jerk!" Ted's upper lip 
curled in disdain as he regarded the suave doctor whose composure was 
admirably noted by Myra. Even as Ted grabbed the lithe bodied doctor and 
grabbed him by the slinky satin lapels of his kimono, he failed to flinch. 

With a sneer, Ted loosened his hold, eyeballs boring into the other's and 
stomped over the magazines where pie-faced girls smiled up nakedly from 
between hairy male thighs. He gave them a kick and stalked around the sofa, 
passing by the sofa and letting out an injured yelp of pain. Bile rose in 
his throat as he spied his wife's discarded blue wool dress recklessly 
tossed in a blue ball under the glass-topped coffee table. A black lace 
garter belt caught his eye and further up his bulging eyeballs traveled ... 
up the sleek lithe arm to naked, creamy shoulders, up the swan-like neck to 
the blonde curls of his flushed face wife... then down the other naked 
shoulder to rest on the strawberry nipple, swollen from Myra's sucking lips. 
He stared incredulously at his snoring wife. His nose twitched from the 
piquant smell of freshly spewed sex juices drying in the heat of the 
fireplace. 

Ted's nostrils flared with rage. Except for the heated snorting of forced, 
discharged air, one could have heard a pin drop. A roar tore from his chest 
as he jumped on his wife and shook her so hard Myra swore she could hear 
Polly's teeth rattle. Polly's naked breast bobbed up and down like a cork in 
water. 

Polly opened one sleepy eye and squinted up at the red-faced stranger 
growling down into her face. His breath smelled of alcohol, his hands icy on 
her shoulders. Hissing his disgust through clenched teeth, he threw his 
infidel of a wife back on the sofa. 

What was that all about? Yawning, Polly forced herself to sit up, rubbed her 
eyes with the balls of her fists. With an effort of will, she forced herself 
to alertness, hiding under the blanket. Keeping her eyes focused in one spot 
was difficult; her eyelids fluttered, the mascara smeared clownishly around 
her periwinkle orbs feeling itchy as the wool blanket covered her nudity. 

Naked ...? Vm naked? The warm trickle oozing from the heart of her 
womanhood, staining Myra Belfry's velour sofa, bore evidence of her 
adulterous romp with her college friend and Dr. Dearborn. The piquant taste 
of lesbian love encrusted her lips, the clammy feel of foreign male sweat 
beaded on her cleavage. She wanted to wither up and die. God forbid Ted 
should find out! Rolling over on her side, curling up in a protective 
prenatal ball, she pulled her knees up to her chest and whimpered. 

Ted... the contorted mask of his scrunched-up face fled back to memory. If 
that didn't prove his presence, the bellowing voice did: "Goddamned slut!" 
He'd gone mad! Snatching her discarded nylons from the white carpet, he 
tried to rip them in half, but the tenacious nylon refused abuse and he went 
for her brassiere, draped over one corner of the glass topped table. With 
his-fists, he ripped the white lace garment in half, wadding up the lifeless 
halves and tossing them into the fire. He'd gone crazy, hysterical! He 
kicked her high heeled pumps across the room. Polly's new blue wool dress 
was in shreds. Thank God she wasn't still in it! 

Polly cringed into the sofa cushions, wincing, the palms of her trembling 
hands wadded up edges of the wool blanket. Dr. Dearborn and Myra watched 
from the battlefield sidelines, amused at the irate husband's jealousy. When 
he'd cleared the floor of his wife's discarded garments, Ted started 
yelling, turning his ire on the face behind the twitching mustache. 

"Who the fuck are you?" he growled. Ted Atkins' face turned from crimson red 
to ashen white with the doctor's reply. 

"I'm the man who just fucked your wife, Mr. Atkins," he said, swishing 
brandy in his snifter with a nonchalance that drove Ted berserk. 

"Fucked my wife? Huh! That's a laugh!" He threw back his head and laughed 
hysterically, every nerve ending in his body sizzling in reprisal. White hot 
jealousy sent him into an emotional spasm he couldn't control. He wanted to 
hurt her as she'd hurt him. "You fucked my wife... when you could fuck Myra? 
You've got to be kidding!" 

That whoop of mockery cut Polly's pride to the quick. She flew from the 
couch and glared at her husband in nude victory. "What do you mean, he's got 
to be kidding? Just because you refuse to make love to me, doesn't mean no 
other men are attracted to me! You, you boring fuck!" Polly's face scrunched 
up with hatred; clownlike circles of smeared mascara hollowed her eye 
sockets, her tousled blonde curls looked as if she'd crawled out of a 
clothes dryer. 

He should have beaten her for making love to another man, not laugh at his 
enemy for making a bad choice! So he didn't think she was a good lover, huh? 
Thought Myra was a sexier, more voluptuous woman? What kind of disgusting, 
insensitive, amoral bastard had she marred! 

Oh, he would pay for that insult... oh, would he pay! 

The lid flew off Polly's self control. Deep within her psyche, something 
snapped. The room fell silent, husband and wife glaring at each other, while 
the onlookers sat amusedly sipping brandy. The melodrama was about to begin. 
The radically transformed blonde housewife from the suburbs, began sashaying 
nakedly about the living room. Breasts jiggling, buttocks wiggling, she 
tousled her hair and arched her back, striking a cheesecake pose. She 
pooched out her cum encrusted lips and blew a kiss at her oogle-eyed 
husband. 

"My husband," she said gustily, "thinks I am a boring female ... he doesn't 
want to make love to me." She tossed her curly head exaggeratedly; neither 
anger nor resentment chimed in her voice. Polly Atkins was beyond the point 
of emotion. Pure, unadulterated vengeance drove her on. She cupped her two 
warmly tingling breasts, swollen from earlier lesbian love, in the palms of 
her hands and weighed them like cantaloupes. Her body was hot, firelight 
streaking orange ribbons over her sheened bumps and curves. The butterfly 
was emerging from her cocoon; if ever Polly Atkins had been shy, that modest 
quality was shed from her now! An oddly pleasant feeling it was, being the 
center of attention. The exhibitionist in her strutted about the room, 
thrusting her nakedly quivering breasts in Dr. Dearborn's face. 

She stroked her swollen nipples over his mustache and pooched out her 
succulent lips. "Dr. Dearborn didn't think I was a boring fuck, did you, 
honey?" she purred. Smirking dangerously, she flashed a glinty eyed smile at 
her pale faced husband whose jaw had dropped three inches in disbelief. , 
Dr. Dearborn was dumbstruck for the first time in his life. He finally let 
out a moan, fighting the temptation to nibble his teeth on the rosebuds of 
her succulent nipples. Fearfully, he stole a glance at Polly's husband out 
of the corner of one twitching eye. 

Ted Atkins was riveted to the floor. A bomb couldn't have jarred him! His 
face once rose red with anger, had faded to ashen gray. His eyeballs bugged 
from his skull, veins throbbed in his neck. He looked like a wind-up toy 
soldier ready to charge into battle. 

Polly spread her legs and with her thumbs, spread the rose petals of her 
ragged, swollen pussy lips. "See my pussy, Dr. Dearborn ... would you say 
that was a boring pussy?" She bent her knees so that the gawking man could 
see the moistening pink slit of her pussy a lick away from his mouth. 

Confident that Ted Atkins was beyond the point of reprisal, too stunned to 
speak-or they all would have joined the fate of the torn bra and ripped 
dress-he cleared his throat and smiled up at her lewdly. He loved a game... 
and by God he had the ringside seat in this one! He'd never guessed that 
below that modest veneer was a white hot woman full of pride and vengeance. 
His long thick cock pounded beneath his robe. 

Polly's hot tongue darted out to lick her soft lips, the very thought of her 
depravity making her sizzle with arousal. Her eyes fled to Myra who sat 
amusedly watching her college friend transform into a man-hating slut like 
herself. 

"You want to fuck me, Ed? Want to shove your hard prick up my pussy and make 
me cum ... again?" The cum-entangled blonde fleece nesting her pink vaginal 
lips, was open to the doctor's examination. To egg him on, she ran a 
polished fingertip over the oily nub of her clitoris. "Huh, honey?" 

"I... ah ... now?" He eyed what remained of the ego-damaged husband. 

"You're crazy not to, Ed," said Myra huskily. "Hell, I'd snap up the chance 
... she gives damned good head!" 

Ted's body jolted as if a million volts of electricity had struck him. His 
hair literally stood .on end. 

Though his cagey accomplice was egging him on, Dr. Dearborn had set ideas 
about fucking a man's wife in front of him. Whatever the shriveling husband 
had done to deserve this, it must have been damned juicy! Dearborn smacked 
his lips. 

If one could describe insanity, Ted Atkins was a prize example. Torn between 
ripping his hair out and tearing his wife's fingernails to the quick, he 
rode the fine line. The sight of her parading around naked as a jay bird and 
fingering her pussy in front of a strange man, made him sizzle with 
humiliation. Yet, he balked. There was no stopping her, short of beating her 
to a pulp. For a man who'd never lain a hand on his wife, that presented 
problems. Dear God, what could he do? His armpits were drenched, his blood 
turned to ice. Indecision held him riveted to the floor. 

Polly Atkins was on fire; she could no longer control her actions. An 
excited moan escaped her parted lips as she realized she really did want to 
fuck Dr. Dearborn again. She had already made a fool of herself, so why stop 
now? If Ted didn't already hate her, he was a fool. Never would he forgive 
her for this humiliation-in front of Myra, of all people! 

"Fuck me, Dr. Dearborn," she hissed throatily. The words rolled off her 
tongue like liquid velvet. Her middle finger dipped into the wet honey pot 
of her cunt and slightly parted her fleshy vaginal lips, swollen from 
earlier excesses. Her periwinkle eyes rolled in her head, and she began to 
slide her finger up and down the wetly throbbing furrow of her crying cunt. 
"Dear Lord, what do I have to do to get you hard?" 

"Get with it, Ed ... throw her the bone!" It was Myra's voice, thick and 
husky. 

With that, Dr. Dearborn spread his legs, opening the flap of the satin 
kimono. His lancing penis parted the robe as it jutted out from his loins 
like a snake raising its head out its hole to check the weather conditions. 
Hurriedly, he untied the belt and the slinky fabric parted in the middle to 
show off his thin, muscular body. "Look good to ya, little girl?" 

Polly cooed lustfully at him with salty tears welling up in her eyes. There 
was no retracing her steps, and she knew it. Everyone in the room knew-most 
of all, Dr. Dearborn, the perpetual opportunist. 

The reality of his wife, his own dear Polly, blatantly seducing another man 
in front of his eyes was the last straw. He balled up his hands into steely 
fists. "Polly, stop it! Stop it! I can't take any more!" 

Her head flew around. "You can't take any more? Huh?" she cried 
hysterically, her voice somewhere between a laugh and a cry. "I'm nothing to 
you... go find the little hussy you were sleeping with the night after our 
won-der-ful anniversary!" 

"Yeah, shuddup, Ted!" snapped the umpire from her throne. "Let your wife 
have her way for once-big, macho football star!" 

Ted sank onto the sofa, feeling an odd congestion in the pit of his stomach 
at the thought of watching his wife sluttishly seduce another man. From an 
objective point of view, it would be similar to investing at a fixed loan 
rate and watching the rates climb. The horror, the shock, had faded to a 
dull throb that quivered in his thighs, making his penis lurch with 
expectation of the macabre. He blinked for the first time when he heard Dr. 
Dearborn say as he climbed down onto the rug on all fours, simultaneously 
yanking off his robe and pulling Polly down with him: "Suck my cock, 
Polly... show your loving husband how you suck cock..." 

Polly blinked. Her body went stiff. "No ... please, just fuck me...." 

"Show hubby darling you're not a boring fuck!" he demanded. He leaned toward 
her, his jutting penis dangling inches from her face. Below, his 
sperm-filled testicles swayed in their hairy sacs. He wrapped his fingers in 
her blonde curls and yanked her head down with a grunt. "I told you to 
suck!" 

"But..." Then: "Mmmmffff..."The piquant, rubbery nob was thrust between her 
pearly teeth, gouging at her tonsils. The unusual, semi-salty taste awakened 
her tastebuds dulled by brandy, polishing all fears with red hot desire. 
Willingly, she opened her mouth, licking her lips, allowing her tongue to 
stretch out between her lips. Her head moved forward, mentally comparing the 
taste to Myra's cunt. 

The brandy, the earlier lesbian romp and now vengeance, combined to shed 
Polly's inhibitions, shattering them like glass. She swirled her wet tongue 
around the slit, tasting his juices while he moaned, his fingers massaging 
the back of her neck with brutal force. She opened her mouth, accepting him, 
swirling her tongue in faster strokes, holding the base and pumping his 
girthy meat into her throat. 

"Ahhh ... Gawddd...!" he moaned. "Butter mouth...." 

Now Polly began bobbing her head, her tongue twirling and her ovalled wet 
lips nibbling softly around the sliding shaft of his penis. Dr. Dearborn 
jerked his hips forward, staring down at her lewdly bobbing blonde head. Her 
firm breasts danced and swayed beneath her chest as she braced herself on 
her elbow. She swallowed and dipped her head as if bobbing for apples. He 
could see her lips clinging to the swollen head of his penis on the 
outstroke, and he could feel the building pressures of orgasm weight his 
testicles as she nibbled and feasted on his aching erection. 

Surrendering herself to this newfound depravity, she sucked his cock 
voraciously, reveling in the piquant taste of his manly meat. Her naked, 
twitching loins ached with increasing tension as her own climax seethed in 
the pit of her belly. 

Huh ... and Ted had laughed at her love act! She wanted the doctor to shoot 
his sperm down her gullet while her horrors truck husband oogled the act 
three feet away. She sucked faster, harder, her breasts heaving and her hips 
churning, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Deliberately, she pressed her nose 
and lips to the bristles of his pubic thatch, and caught the heavy musky 
aroma of earlier sex, making her nostrils flare like a frightened deer. The 
smell was an aphrodisiac. 

Ted gawked shamefacedly at his once-puritanical wife sucking the fox faced 
man's cock-in front of him! Three years of begging her to take one tentative 
lick of his prick for the same favor-and here she was in full three 
dimensional life-sucking another man's wetly glistening penis as if she were 
starving! Anger, rage, heartache, bitterness ate at his better senses. He 
realized he should have been honest with her the night following their 
anniversary. Nor should he have laughed at her tonight. 

But he had and now he was paying for it. 

The animal in him, aside from all emotion, rooted him to the chair. He 
blinked, realizing the subtle changes taking place in his psyche. Ted 
squirmed, realizing he was growing excited-obscenely so-by witnessing his 
wife sucking another man's penis, gaining fantastic pleasure from another 
man that she had never allowed him. The woman was proving she was female, 
all female. His eyes glanced around the room and he wondered what 
carnalities had taken place tonight. He twisted in his chair, feeling his 
emotions grow like mushrooms on a rainy morn. A drop of seminal fluid oozed 
from the tip of his hardened cock. 

Ted Atkins sat nervously in his chair, wondering what to do about the aching 
throb in the pit of his groin. Myra, watching from the sidelines with 
cattish attention, eyed the wronged husband lightly stroking his eagerly 
pulsing cock through his zipped-up pants. "Go for it, Ted ... look at 
Polly's luscious buttocks wagging in the breeze! Show her what a man you 
are- for a change!" 

Ted's upper lip curled in disdain for the woman who'd made a fool of Polly 
and was now trying to make a fool of him. So she didn't think him much of a 
man, huh? He studied Myra's tilted smirk through bulging eyeballs, then let 
the reddened orbs travel to his wife's wildly rotating asscheeks. The 
rounded half moons of her buttocks winked back at him, tormenting him with 
bittersweet titillation. He couldn't take another minute of her seductive 
torture! 

Damn ... if Polly could tear up the remaining shreds of marital trust and 
respect like so much tissue paper, so could he! 

Panting, he tore at the zipper of his gabardine pants, kicked off his shoes 
and got down on all fours on the carpet. The fire was hot on his flushed 
cheeks, turning his brain into a fevered circuit of lust. He knelt between 
his wife's quivering thighs, stripped out of his jockey shorts, and knee 
walked up between her kneeling legs. With the warmth of his hot hands on her 
hips, he probed experimentally with his fingers, digging them gently into 
her warm, buttery flesh. Finding her backbone, the bumpy ridges stood out in 
symmetrically from the humped-over position she was in; he followed it until 
he came into wet contact with the cum slickened crevice of her vagina. 

"Ohhh ... ahhh," mewled Polly, lost in a world of desire. 

Ted snickered and pressed the seeping tip of his mushroomed penis into the 
wetly heated slit, sliding the rubbery tip up and down in sensuously 
taunting circles ... pleased with himself for finding the solution for 
abstinence. When had a woman ever contacted veneral disease from anal sex! 

Polly squirmed her naked buttocks in salacious invitation against her 
husband, shuddering from the explosive desire to be invaded from both ends. 
That it was Ted who was about to take her from behind didn't matter ... one 
cock was as good as the other. "Yesss..." she hissed through clenched teeth. 
"Take me from behind!" she cried out, and then hungrily took the rigidly 
thrusting cock of Dr. Dearborn back into her warmly sucking mouth, sighing 
contentedly as she began to suck feverishly. 

Ted snorted as he dug his fingers cruelly up into her pussy and ran his 
slickened cock head with the mixture of his wife's cheating cum and his own 
secretions. 

Polly felt his hard hands gripping her shivering buttocks, still raw from 
earlier excesses. His fingers spread her buttery ass cheeks wide apart. She 
knew in that very instant that Ted was going to fuck her all right, but not 
in the loving, traditional sense that marked three years of marriage and 
trust. He was going to fuck her anally ... going to shove his erection right 
up her bowels'... like it or not! 

Polly tried to cry out in protest, the horror of his defilement filling her 
with terror and disgust, but Ted held her firmly, chuckling: "Relax.. .and 
it won't hurt ... you cocksucking bitch!" 

Finally he was going to punish her as she deserved. Pain . . . Polly 
couldn't stand the thought of her husband's sausage-like prick being rammed 
up her bowels, cruelly stretching her anus! 

Now her husband had spread her defenselessly up-thrust ass cheeks wide as 
the flesh would tolerate, and she knew he was staring at the tiny puckered 
hole of her anus. God, was nothing sacred anymore? She struggled to twist 
away, but Dr. Dearborn flexed his strong hips with vengeance and drove his 
hardness down past her tonsils, yanking at her hair so tightly in his fist 
she feared he might scalp her! The kneeling, subjugated wife felt the 
rubbery head press against her naked rectal hole, teasing along there, and 
nudging against the tiny sphincter muscle. She heard her husband draw in a 
long breath. 

"No... no, please, Ted... no... NO! DON'T HURT ME THERE!" her muffled scream 
echoed through the living room. "Myra... please, help me, Myra! Don't let 
him hurt meee!" 

Polly's screams fell on deaf ears. Myra was lost in her own salacious world 
of self-fulfillment as, glassy eyed, she watched Dr. Dearborn shove his 
hardened penis down Polly's throat while Ted wormed his punishing cock up 
his wife's bowels. Polly was beyond help-another lesson to be learned. 

With a vicious thrust that banged his bony pelvis into his wife's buttocks, 
Ted's bloated shaft of flesh split into her virginal anal hole with an 
unmerciful thrust. It slipped in, quarter inch by quarter inch, boring into 
her hot spongy back passage with relentless force, until she felt his 
sperm-weighted testicles slap against her inner thighs. The scream building 
in her mind tried to release its power through her throat, but all that came 
out from her ovalled lips was a strangled gasp as Dr. Dearborn flexed his 
buttocks and drove his long hard penis deeper into the warm buttery softness 
of her mouth. 

"Holy shit!" grumped Ted Atkins half in pain. "What a tight ass you got, 
wifey!" he chuckled lewdly, feeling the sweetness of reprisal as he watched 
his wife's asscheeks quivering in agony. 

Polly tried to shriek out in pain, but the bloated penis boring in and out 
between her lips forced her to swallow her cries in mocking silence. Her 
pretty features scrunched up in blistering pain as her anger-driven husband 
clutched at her hips and hammered his penis deeper up into her tightly 
resisting anal hole. The pressure of his straining thighs forced her 
forward, impaling her pretty flushed face on Dr. Dearborn's loins until she 
started to gag. Her eyes watered, her nose twitched... she was suffocating, 
so suck she must! 

Behind her, Ted thrust with powerful strokes, making bestial sounds deep in 
his gurgling throat as his fleshy probe continued its heartless invasion of 
her private nether regions. His hips humped and humped, and his fingers 
clawed at her sleek thighs as Polly ground her naked ass cheeks back against 
his pelvis while his testicles smacked loudly against her cunt below. Then 
he drew his penis out slightly, watching as her pouting anal lips clung 
possessively to his shaft, slipping reluctantly down the length of his 
withdrawing penis. He continued to pull out until only the lust swollen head 
of his burgeoning cock was left lodged in between the gaping, pain filled 
hole of her rectum. He moaned and thrust inward again, his breath wheezing 
from his overworked lungs. He began fucking crazily into her buttery depths, 
feeling her spongy flesh and rubbery muscles grip his cock possessively, as 
if trying to pull it free of its base! 

As Ted and the salacious Dr. Dearborn buffeted the limp hapless Polly 
between them, the pain and torment began subsiding. Gradually, the naked 
young woman began to feel something different, something more lewd and 
shameful than the mental agony of being used as a sex object by two selfish 
men ... the same sexual frenzy that had driven her to lesbian lovemaking 
earlier that evening took control of her soul, her body and her mind! 

The pleasure became compulsive! Her movements became instinctual! 

Polly Atkins' hips began to grind back against his rampaging cock screwing 
into her anal hole; her head flailed from side to side like a dog tearing at 
an old shoe. Her sucking mouth worked with blind passion, her cheeks 
hollowing as she savored the juicy secretions oozing from the tip of Dr. 
Dearborn's prick! 

If ever the married woman had fantasies of becoming a whore, it was now! She 
was a whore! She mewled and cooed and gurgled around the rigid penis 
stuffing her mouth, her resistance shredded like damp tissue paper. 
"Fuccckkk meee!" A savage tone to her voice cried for salvation as the twin 
cocks bored into her with hellfire force! 

Legs draped over the chair, red head draped over the chair's arm, Myra 
Belfry's belly and thighs quivered from the sultry exhibit taking place at 
her feet. She had to hand it to Polly-she was a devilish Pollyanna. Faster, 
faster, her fingers fluttered over her pussy curls, stroking herself into 
mindless ecstasy! 

Ted stared at his wife's clinging anal flesh as she groveled around the 
suave Dr. Dearborn's genitals. A strange transformation came over him. The 
less sickened and jealous he became, the more aroused he was! This was an 
orgiastic dream come true-wild sex with no guilt ... and at Polly's 
insistence! His ears sang with blood. 

Now Polly began gyrating her hips in a wild tempo that Dr. Dearborn was hard 
pressed to match. The two adrenalin-lust powered cocks increased their speed 
as they drove into her mouth and anus with thundering force! 

Those cocks were alive within her-alive and a rowing! The hard rubbery cock 
head implanted in her rectum like a burrowing rodent, the tingling pound of 
sperm-heated testicles drubbing against her vaginal slit and against her 
dimpled chin, the fleshy folds of his thick penis screwing into her ovalled 
lips as if her mouth were just another cunt. Polly became one with them and 
despite the bittersweet pain in her anal hole, her tongue began to lick 
wildly at the hardened shaft filling her cheeks. She rammed her ass cheeks 
back against her husband's cock, feeling the first waves of her climax build 
in her belly. She cooed and mewled and drooled around the fleshy stalk 
battering into her mouth, knowing it wouldn't be long before she was freed 
of the damnable seething need for release. She'd transformed from a shy 
seedling to a blooming flower of lust! 

The sight of the timid friend turned whore, was too much for Myra! She felt 
herself cumming as her fingers fluttered over the oily nub of her clitoris. 
Myra sucked in her breath, breasts heaving, as faster and faster her fingers 
plunged into her dripping pussy, still swollen from Polly's nibbling lips. 
Arching her back, she shoved her fingertips up into the spongy nest of her 
cervix ... her lustful mantras driving the thrusting threesome on to their 
roaring climaxes! 

With a loud groan of impending release, Dr. Dearborn locked his possessive 
hands around the back of Polly's wildly bobbing head, drawing her warm wet 
mouth deep down on his cock until only a fraction of the rubbery stalk could 
be seen. Polly groaned from the agonizing pain of the meaty cudgel boring 
down her throat, scraping her tonsils. The first taste of male sperm, fiery 
and masculine, trickled down her throat. Then it came in a gush ... flooding 
the back of her mouth, filling the warm hole and bloating her cheeks until 
they nearly burst like water-filled balloons. She swallowed gluttonously, 
sputtering to keep from choking on the creamy sperm as he emptied his balls 
into the tender passage of her throat. 

Grunting behind her, Ted thrust his massive hardness forward with a vengeful 
lunge, working slavishly with long, boring strokes that wormed up her 
convulsively puckering rectum. "Damn bitch . . . damn hot bitch," he 
muttered in a litany of love-lust. "I'm ... oh, Jesus, yeahhh ... I'm 
cumming!" 

Polly stiffened as she felt her husband's cock burst in her anus. A terrible 
burning rush of hot, squirming seed spewed deep up into her anus with a 
searing agony that made stars sprinkle before her unblinking eyes. The hot 
sperm filled her body ... and then it hit her with volcanic force. Her 
orgasm lifted her off the floor like magic levitation. 

A kaleidoscopic explosion of sound and color blinded her, as she roared off 
through the clouds to hang on to a star for that blissful moment! She felt 
their semen and her secretions rushing together in sticky rivers of lust, 
flowing down in spating rivers from her mouth and trickling down the slender 
columns of her thighs. For a long, blinding moment, she. knew nothing other 
than the joy of twin cocks spewing their seed into her, while her own juices 
rivered from her spasming cuntal lips and down her quivering thighs to the 
stained carpet below. 

The fire crackled, logs smouldering into ashes. The room cooled, chilled 
with icy guilt and regret. 

It was a contest between Polly and Ted to see who would relent first. 
Carefully, with studied neglect, they averted each other's eyes as if they 
mirrored the other's infidelity. Polly, with no clothes left in one piece, 
draped her wool coat over her shivering, naked body, hating to go home but 
hating more the idea of spending a night at Myra Belfry's house. 

Myra and the lust-sated doctor lay snoring on the sofa, when Polly tiptoed 
out of the living room, leaving her husband to stare blindly after her in 
wonderment. He watched her disappear into the shadows toward the foyer where 
her high heels clicked on the hardwood floor. 

Pride melted in warm gushes of emotion that knifed in his belly. He tore 
after her, catching her by the arm and pivoting her around to face him. 
Strands of blonde hair clung to her forehead, pasted by another man's cum. 
Her eyes and features were swollen and clownlike. Hanging her head, feeling 
the bile of guilt rise in her throat, she refused to look at him. With his 
strong hands, he forced her tiny pixie face upward to meet his eyes. 

"I love you ... even if you made an ass out of yourself, I still love you." 

Polly sniffled, forcing her head aside. Damn it, how could she still love 
him after the way he'd treated her? How could he still love her? 

She started to mumble, but he put a finger to her pouty, swollen lips. 
"Don't talk ... let's get out of here!" 

The human mind has its own buffers, and Ted Atkins' polished his injured 
male ego to a glistening shine. To admit to Polly's adultery was not yet 
possible. It would take time. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he 
opened the door. The sky was turning pink, the ground crisp with frozen dew. 
A new morning, a new day---- A hot shower, a warm cup of tea.... 

"Ohhh, Ted, I love you!" cooed Polly, snuggling up to her husband's warm 
chest and pressing her satiny bosom to him. 

Ted wrapped a strong arm around her back, bringing her close to his still 
sweating body and licking a warm tongue around the rim of her shell-like 
ear. "I love you too, baby.. .and I'm sorry if I insulted you or neglected 
you. Men can be selfish, insensitive bastards, and I guess you're stuck with 
the prize bull." 

Polly wormed closer to him, hugging his hairy chest seductively. "Why don't 
we make love and forget about last night?" She shivered her naked shoulders. 
"Maybe we could both forget faster." 

Ted blinked, the comfortable smile fading from his handsome face. I wouldn't 
have sex with my wife for a week, just to be sure ... Hastily, to fill the 
chasm of suspicion, he kissed her on the forehead and tweaked a puffy nipple 
between his fingers. "Honey, I'd love to- and don't get me wrong-I don.'t 
want you to feel bad, but that doctor... you never can tell what kind of 
diseases men like that carry." He pooched his lips thoughtfully and shook 
his head. "Maybe we oughta wait a coupla days before we-" 

Polly whimpered. "But-I-" 

Raising her hands to his lips, he kissed her fingers, one by one. "That 
doesn't mean, dear lady, we can't please each other in other ways." 

Blessing his lucky stars for his wife's timely infidelities that freed him 
from his self-made trap, Ted wormed his way to the foot of the bed and, with 
the warmth of his palms opened his wife's shivering thighs and nestled his 
face in the warm wetness of her pussy. 

Polly's hands cradled the soft brown curls tickling her sensitive flesh. As 
his tongue pleasured her in warm, wet swirls, sucking, nibbling at the 
tender flesh, the image of Myra's red hair refused to evaporate into faded 
memories of imagined pleasures. 


THE END
