A Degraded Honeymoon
by Lydia Gordon


INTRODUCTION 

Though the practice of wife-swapping is not the publicized fad that so 
captured the imagination of a broad element of the American public a few 
years back, it would be naive to assume that the practice has become less 
common. Statistics, in the absence of any recent survey on the level of 
Kinsey's, would indicate that, if anything, adultery is occurring more and 
more frequently in more American marriages. It would be more logical to 
assume "swapping" has left the spotlight because it has become so 
commonplace, like divorce, pre-marital sex, and what have you. 

But with all the distractions of the times we are living in, intermarital 
relations remain a subject of pertinence and interest to the responsible 
public. In an era of rapidly changing morality (an era, for example, when 
the wife of an American president can openly discuss abortion, her 
daughter's virginity - or lack thereof - and her sexual relationship with 
the President) the institution of marriage becomes an increasingly complex 
arrangement. The dangers, the potential unhappiness that can occur in the 
relationship, increase. So do the potential rewards. 

That is one reason why we, the publishers, were particularly pleased to have 
the opportunity to publish this exciting new novel. With incisive insight, 
the author has woven a gripping story of two couples, thrown together 
accidentally, immediately and irrefutably attracted to each other. Without 
moralizing or sensationalizing the sexual passages necessary to this 
shocking but entirely plausible story, the author has painted a fascinating 
and often heartbreaking epic of two couples, four marriage partners, trying 
to come to terms with their own jealousy, their own human needs, and their 
sure knowledge of their respective partners' infidelity. 



Chapter One 

A long time later, after her whole life had been turned upside down, 
Catherine Mason would remember having perceived the harbinger in the storm. 
She would realize that her trepidation, and her bizarre fascination with the 
then unexplainable feelings that gripped her, had derived from a sixth 
sense, warning her that she had more to fear that day than the elements, 
that she faced a danger much greater than the mere wrath of God as 
personified in the fury that poured from the sky. 

It was not the kind of storm one was accustomed to seeing in that part of 
California. Though not by any means a real tornado, the balmy green-clouded 
stillness that had immediately preceded it would have sent old-timers in 
West Texas or Kansas scurrying to the shelter of their cellars. The clouds 
took on that unreal looking greenish glow; the light left the sky as swiftly 
as if there'd been a sudden near-total eclipse; a vacuum-like stillness 
seemed to descend over the rolling, vineyard-planted bills. It was almost 
summer and it was not cold. It was neither cold nor hot. Yet it looked cold, 
cold in a way she'd never seen it look before, and riding beside her young 
husband in the front seat of their second-hand Chevy the sensuous nineteen 
year-old blonde shivered involuntarily, folding her bare arms protectively 
oven the flimsily-shielded swells of her high standing young breasts. She 
gazed apprehensively through the windshield at the surrealistic painting 
created by the low-hanging clouds, then slid suddenly across the seat toward 
her husband, pressing her slender, bared thigh hard against the gear-stick 
in order to get as close to him as the bucket seats allowed. 

"It looks absolutely weird out there!" she gasped, dropping her hand to his 
knee and feeling him tense slightly at her touch. 

"It's just gonna rain," Bob Mason said, his eyes roving quickly over Cathy's 
supple young body before he returned his attention to the road. "And maybe 
hail a. little. Giulio's vineyard's another thirty miles or so. I was hoping 
we could make it there before it broke." He paused, peering intently into 
the distance before them. "No chance," he added, shaking his head. 

Following his gaze, Cathy watched the sudden intricate web-work of lightning 
that was scrawled over the bank of clouds. It seemed to fade but gradually, 
like a hieroglyph drawn in disappearing ink. She winced at the clapping of 
thunder, which seemed to follow a long time later, so long that she'd begun 
to think it would not come. Then to the north, in the direction they were 
driving, she distinguished the gray wall of rain, still and solid-looking 
against the backdrop of clouds above and beyond it, standing up unmoving as 
though it were drawn on the sky in careful, slanting lines. 

"You really think it's worth stopping at the vineyard?" she asked as the 
last sound of the thunder died off. 

"Giulio makes some of the best wine in California, especially at the price 
he charges if you get it straight from him. Besides that, I haven't seen him 
in a couple of years. He's getting old." 

Cathy sank back in her seat, drawing her hand back to her own softly 
contoured thigh as she watched 'another white streaking of electricity 
imprint itself on the sky. She waited, counting one, two, three, four, for 
the thunder. And still she winced when it came. Past the window flashed a 
neon sign reading Motel. She thought: I would like to have stopped. She 
glanced back at her husband out of the corner of her eyes. Furtively she 
observed his handsome profile, his slender but well defined chest and arms. 
Her eyes dropped lower,, then she looked away. It was funny, she thought. 
She and Bob had been married just a few days less than a month. They had 
just finished an extravagant and luxurious honeymoon, a gift from his aged 
and well-to-do grandmother. Now they were going to really begin their 
married life, and already, though she hardly dared admit it to herself, she 
was beginning to have misgivings. It wasn't that she didn't still love Bob, 
she loved him as much as she ever had. But it was beginning to seem that 
love, spiritual love, wasn't enough to make a marriage work. She needed 
something else, that unknown magic something she'd naively taken for granted 
would appear when they were married, sleeping together, making love. It 
hadn't appeared, and during the weeks that had elapsed since their wedding 
night when she'd gone to bed with him for the first time, relinquishing at 
last the cherished virginity she'd guarded stubbornly to the end, she'd 
almost ceased to hope she would ever know that magic of which she'd so 
wistfully dreamed. 

Yet now, frightened and yet excited by the storm that was so swiftly 
descending upon them, she thought she would like nothing so much as just to 
curl up with Bob in a warm bed in the enclosed shelter of a strange roadside 
room. Now she would like to make love with him inside while the storm raged 
without, as if she thought that somehow their sex could feed itself off the 
excitement and energy that was about to erupt in the sky. 

But she would never have the nerve to suggest that to Bob. Not now, anyway, 
the apprehensive young bride thought to herself as the lightning again 
crackled across the sky and the first great white balls of hail battered the 
roof of the car and pelted the road like so many falling golf balls, as her 
own thoughts went racing back over the last whirlwind weeks to the first 
night, when she'd been so full of fear, so full of hope. 

They'd been married in a small civil ceremony in Santa Monica, and that had 
been followed by a modest reception at the home of some of Bob's relatives. 
Then finally the reception was over and, slightly intoxicated, nervous and 
happy, they took the long limousine ride to the Ramada Inn in Hollywood, 
where they would spend their first night together before catching a noon-day 
flight to Acapulco. Even now Cathy would almost feel the excitement that had 
fluttered in her stomach as they took the elevator up, as they walked down 
the long, lighted halls to their suite, as Bob unlocked the door and lifted 
her from the floor and carried her through the door. Holding her strongly in 
his arms, he kissed her hard on the lips, then let her gently down and 
returned to retrieve the small overnight bag from the hall. 

"Do you want to have a drink . . . first?" Cathy remembered saying in a 
choked, quivering voice. 

"No. We don't need a drink." 

As he looked into her eyes she saw the determination set in his face. Then 
he set the bag down on the plushly carpeted floor, guided her gently but 
firmly across the lounge and through the door to the bedroom. Cathy felt her 
heart pounding in her breasts as she was confronted with the elegant, 
queen-sized bed, waiting, she thought then, like a sacrificial alter. She 
looked at the bed, then turned nervously to face Bob, a shiver running 
through her as she met the steel lust in his eyes, as he let his gaze 
dropping from her flushed and sultry face down to the full tightly rounded 
swells of her breasts straining against the lacy blouse she wore beneath the 
light beige jacket that matched her skirt. 

"God, baby," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Have I been waiting a long time 
for this." 

"I'm scared, Bob," she answered breathlessly. 

Then his arms were around her, pulling her to him, his lips covering over 
hers and his tongue snaking deeply into her mouth. She felt his hands 
crushing against her spine and shoulder blades on the outside of her jacket 
and blouse, then dropping to the tightly rounded half-moons of her buttocks 
to pull her loins forcibly up against his own so that suddenly she felt the 
frightening bulge of his erection press hard against her warm thighs and the 
tender mound of her pubis. His tongue was still thrusting halfway toward her 
throat, his lips pressing so hard against hers she was sure they would 
bruise, his hands clawing animal-like at the pliant firmness of her tightly 
flaring ass. Then, as her legs almost buckled beneath her from her building 
excitement and fear, Cathy was released from her husband's grasp. A little 
sigh escaped her lips as his mouth drew away from hers, then her eyes 
widened as he pushed the jacket from her shoulders and with trembling hands 
started undoing the buttons down the front of her dress. 

The virginal young blonde thought she could have almost passed out as she 
stood motionless before her husband, submitting without resistance as he 
slowly stripped the clothing from her sensuous young body. In spite of the 
freedom she'd granted him during some of their more torrid petting sessions, 
it occurred to her that she'd never let him see her completely naked, and 
that realization only increased her building passion as he untucked her 
blouse from her skirt and worked it down off her arms, then reached behind 
her back to loosen the snap of her bra, pushed the tight straps from her 
shoulders so the tightly constricting cups fell away suddenly to reveal the 
full, proudly upstanding nipple-peaked swells of her ripe, full breasts. 
Almost whimpering, she resisted the fleeting impulse to cover herself as his 
eyes hungrily took in the sensuously exposed upper half of her body, as his 
fingers fumbled with the snap at the side of her skirt, lowered the zipper 
so that it fell suddenly to the floor at her feet to leave her clad in 
nothing but her nylons and panties. Petrified to immobility, she stared down 
between her proud young breasts as he worked the panty hose down off her 
thighs, then tugged the panties from her buttocks and down to her knees so 
she had no choice but to step out of them. Then again he had her in his 
arms, stooping to cover his lips hungrily over the lust-swollen nipples of 
her breasts. 

"Oh!" she gasped as his teeth closed too tightly on one of the tingling 
tips, his hands at the same time clawing even more hungrily at the tightly 
flexed roundness of her buttocks. But her hands had moved, seemingly of 
their own accord, up to stroke urgently through his hair and she was holding 
his face tightly to the exposed nakedness of her torso and squirming her 
breasts voluptuously against his eagerly sucking lips and tongue. 

Then a little cry of disappointment rose in her throat as he again jerked 
his face away from her surrendered, burning flesh, and a moment later her 
legs almost went weak as he guided her suddenly to the queen-sized bed and 
pushed her quickly down onto her back atop the cover. 

Still hardly able to accept the fact of what was about to happen, the naked 
bride lay motionless on her back, staring with rapt attention as her husband 
tore off his coat and tie and started to unbutton his shirt. Bob's eyes were 
still fixed hungrily on her body, and he tossed his garments casually away 
in his eagerness, stepping out of his trousers and leaving them crumpled in 
a heap on the floor before he jerked his jockey shorts swiftly downward and 
the sudden exposure of this long, thickly throbbing cock caused Cathy's 
whole body to tremble in fearful disbelief. My God, it was just too big! She 
could never take that huge thing up inside her tight little virgin vagina, 
and the mere thought of the prospect caused her to clench her eyes tightly 
shut. Then she shuddered again, her thighs scissoring tightly closed and her 
forearms pressing protectively over her breasts as she felt the bed sag from 
the weight of Bob climbing up beside her. She opened her eyes to mere slits, 
her mouth going slack as she felt him seize her wrists and pull her arms 
apart. Then one of his knees was planted between her legs to spread them a 
few inches. At the same time he was drawing outward on her arms, stretching 
them to full spread-eagle length away from her body on the bed. She tried 
feebly to resist and found, with a certain strange masochistic sense of 
security, that he was not going to let her stop him this time as she'd 
stopped him so many times before. Then he dropped his face again to the 
upthrust highly parted rounds of her breasts and she once more squirmed her 
naked upper torso eagerly against his face as he resumed the maddening 
licking and nibbling and sucking at her tender little nipple buds. 

"Oh God!" the aroused and frightened blonde whimpered in the sheer passion 
of her building terror and lust. Her husband's hands were mauling over her 
naked body like he was some kind of sex-starved criminal just out of his 
cell. She was completely naked and exposed to his eager caress and now 
somehow he'd managed to plant his other knee down between her own, and he 
was gradually forcing her thighs apart with the same unrelenting 
determination he'd employed in forcing her to surrender her breasts. It was 
going to happen. It was really going to happen and in spite of the fear that 
bound her body and soul she took a lurid comfort in her knowledge of the 
fact. 

Then the nakedly pinioned young blonde's whole squirming body jerked as Bob 
released one of her wrists and raked his hand almost viciously down over her 
ribs and the smooth warm skin of her belly, his fingers stroking through the 
thin blonde curls of the hair of her cunt before darting right down between 
her thighs to trail along the already lustfully moistened little slit. 

"Ouuuuuuu!" Cathy whimpered, hopelessly trapped between her terror of the 
unknown and the salacious promise of the weirdly tantalizing sensation. But 
a moment later her body went stiff and her buttocks jerked spontaneously 
away in retreat as Bob dropped his own loins down between her forcibly 
parted thighs and she felt the rigidly pulsating hardness of his penis 
insert itself straight between them. A distant moan poured from her lips and 
she stared up with wide open eyes as he levered further up over her 
trembling body, his finger parting the blonde-fringed lips of her pussy and 
working slowly up into the cringing little opening as she struggled and 
jerked beneath him. 

But beyond all her terror her body was crying out with an inflamed surging 
need, her want perhaps even intensified by her fright. Bob was still sucking 
and licking alternately at the lust-swollen tips of her upthrust nipples, 
his thumb stroking rapidly across the little nub-end bud of her clitoris as 
his finger wormed deeper and deeper up against the virgin membrane of her 
hymen. 

Then she felt her husband shift slightly and another muffled gasp rose to 
her throat as the finger was slowly withdrawn from the entrance of her 
clasping pussy hole. She felt him seize the bard-throbbing rigidity of his 
cock, and as he levered further up over her, the blunt end of it came into 
sudden contact with her now completely moistened vagina. Then, as she 
struggled in sudden panic below him, he again seized the wrist he'd 
momentarily freed, pinning it once more tight above her head as he bucked 
forward to drive the swollen head of his cock straight up into the quivering 
elastic opening of her cunt. 

"Ooooohhhh!" the helpless blonde cried out from the sudden raw stab of pain. 
She writhed and moaned like a slave strung out on the rack as the ruthless 
penetration continued, the bludgeoning rod of cockflesh driving with 
unyielding pussy tightness, ripping her hymen to shreds as it buried itself 
to the hilt into her previously unspoiled little cunt. 

"God! It's too big!" Cathy whimpered, her whole body jolted by the agonizing 
violation. Bob's cock seemed to fill her all the way to her belly and she 
thought she would die if he made so much as a move. Then she cried out anew 
as he flexed the massive cock even deeper up into her loins, and she lay 
motionless in pain and fear as he slowly started to draw it out, then just 
at the first faint sign of relief sent it surging straight back up into her 
again. 

During those first few slow skewering strokes, Cathy almost thought she 
would go out of her mind from the sheer sensation. Yet instinct told her 
that she'd already endured the worst of it, and she tried to take a 
consolation that at least that bridge had finally been crossed. And still 
the excitement and newness of it all was there. It was an experience, a 
sheer raw experience like nothing she'd ever known in her life, and 
gradually her vaginal muscles seemed to stretch and somehow adjust to the 
huge cock that was thrust deep up inside her. Her lubricating fluids mingled 
with the blood of her torn cherry to further slicken and moisten her 
cringing inner tightness, and as Bob released her wrists 

and moved his hands back to the pliantly quivering swells of her breasts, 
she began to experience the first promise of actual pleasure she'd 
encountered since the initial ripping penetration had completely wiped out 
all her original erotic yearnings. 

"Yes," she whispered at last almost in wonderment. "Yes, honey! Yes, that 
feels better. Yes, do it to me like that!" 

Cautiously, the young bride lifted her buttocks up from the bed, rolling 
them in a gentle undulation and discovering that token cooperation did 
nothing to increase her lingering pain and certainly did not detract from 
the wisps of pleasure that were dancing miraculously out over her softly 
perspiring flesh. She dropped her arms downward, caressing softly over her 
husband's laboring shoulders and back, smothering soft kisses of love and 
gratitude on his face as she began to arch and hunch her nakedly squirming 
ass-cheeks more swiftly. 

"Yes," she purred softly. "Yesss, do it to me. Fuck me!" 

She said it, that word she never said in the presence of any man, that word 
which she'd spoken before only secretly to herself or to her most intimate 
girlfriends, that word that since her puberty had been for 

her the source of so much guilt and dread and grudging fascination. She'd 
said it, somehow meant it in the delirium and excitement of the moment. And 
then before she knew it; Bob was racking her body with a series of 
shattering staccato lunges, grunting like an animal and pistoning the 
hardness of his cock so rapidly in and out of the still tender and burning 
hole of her pussy that the shear fury of the assault snapped her completely 
back to reality. And as she opened her eyes to stare up in shame and 
disappointment she saw the sudden sinking on his face, heard the soft swear 
word as he lost control and the first thick droplets of his hotly spurting 
cum went splashing far up into the depths of her belly. 

"Oh please," Cathy whimpered, her body stiff and motionless beneath him as 
Bob continued the relentless slamming into her ravished inner thighs, 
building to a crescendo, then passing his peak, slacking gradually off until 
finally he sagged, exhausted and motionless on her. 

"Cathy. Are you all right. Cathy. Cathy!" 

Her husband's voice seemed to come to her ears from a great distance. Then 
suddenly she was snapped back to the present. She blinked, looking around at 
the torrent of blinding rain. 

"What happened?" he said. 

"Hunh?" 

"What were you thinking about. You looked . . . gone." 

"N-nothing," she replied, wondering why she couldn't just tell him the 
truth. "I was just . . . looking at the rain." 

 Chapter Two 

Bob Mason squinted into the thick sheets of rain. Before them, a gasoline 
truck crept along at a snail's pace. Behind them, bearing down, was a semi 
with a load of new Fords. They passed, on their left, one of the better 
known vineyard's tasting room, a landmark he'd been looking for. Over the 
next rolling hill a large gray structure materialized gradually out of the 
storm, a giant old barn which long ago had lost all evidence of having ever 
worn a coat of paint. Faded letter's above the loft at one end of the 
structure read Dr. Jackson's Special Syrup, and advertisement dating 

back to prohibition, for a cure-all medication, no longer existent, which 
like so many other medications of that period owed whatever success it had 
enjoyed to the fact that it consisted of something in the area of fifty 
percent alcohol. He put on the blinker to signal a left turn and slowed, 
waiting for a clearance in the oncoming traffic. 

"Bob?" Cathy said beside him in a hesitant voice. 

"Yeah, hon'?" 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a kind of desperation in her face. 

"Do we really have to stop?" 

"We don't have to, but there's no reason why not either? Why?" 

"I don't know. The rain. Oh, I don't know." 

In the other lane the line of the cars broke and he cut swiftly across onto 
a gravel road running between rows of vines. Before them loomed the gray 
shadow of the barn. Beyond it, up a hill, he could just make out the red 
brick ranch-style house that had replaced the old wooden home he'd known 
when he used to come here, as a small boy, with his father. 

Relieved of the pressure of driving under these almost intolerable 
conditions on the congested highway, Bob sighed, glancing at his troubled 
young wife with a reassuring smile. He let his gaze drift slowly down the 
length of her slender body teasingly outlined in her loosely clinging cotton 
dress, then dropped his right hand 

casually onto her thigh. He frowned as she tensed slightly beneath his 
touch. 

"Watch the ditch," she said. 

"I am watching the ditch." He glanced out at the deep drainage ditch that 
flanked the gravel road on his left, then squeezed Cathy's thigh and looked 
back at her strained but lovely face. "Relax, baby. Anyway, you must know 
the real reason I wanted to stop here? Hunh?" 

"Well what do you think?" 

"I don't know." 

"Because I wanted to show you off to Giulio. I'm proud of you, nitwit." 

She sat sulking, refusing to look at him. He squeezed her thigh again. 
Before them on the gravel road a small wooden bridge appeared. He slowed to 
cross it, noting that the little creek it crossed was flowing deep and 
swift, a torrent of swirling brown water. 

"What's the matter?" he said, eyes again on his wife. 

"Nothing." She stared straight ahead, sulking. Then suddenly her eyes 
widened. "Bob!" 

He turned his own gaze back to the bending road, cut sharp to the right to 
avoid going into the ditch with the left front tire. He felt the tail-end 
spinning in the gravel and mud, swinging hard to the left. He tried to cut 
back that way to correct it. Beside him Cathy screamed. He had to cut again 
to the right. He could feel the car fish-tailing. There was a sudden drop, 
cut short, like a fall in a dream that stops suddenly when one awakes. They 
were stopped dead, tires still spinning, black smoke pouring from the rear 
of the car where the rubber burned. He jammed it into first, gave it gas. 
Nothing happened. He cursed under his breath and cut the engine, staring 
angrily ahead into the falling rain. Out of the corner of his eye he could 
see Cathy, glaring at him as if he's just confessed to some heinous crime. 

"Damn it," he said finally, turning to look at her sheepishly. 

"I knew it," she said. 

He felt the anger surge in his chest, half at her, half at himself. "You 
knew what?" 

"I knew something would happen if we stopped here. I felt it." 

"Yeah. Well it's not the end of the world!" 

He slung the door open and stepped suddenly out into the pouring rain, 
almost slipping into the ditch himself before he 

seized the door handle to maintain his balance. He bent over and peered at 
the back rear tire, which sat completely off the road and into the ditch, 
washed over by the brown rushing water. He stood staring downward, as though 
oblivious to the storm. His gaze drifted slowly across the ditch and fixed 
at last on an old grayed piece of lumber lying there in the mud. Then he 
walked around the car, conscious of Cathy still glaring at him sulkily, 
leaped the ditch and retrieved the board and did his best to jam it up 
beneath the left rear tire. Then he jumped back over the ditch and moved 
around again to climb, soaking wet, back behind the wheel. 

"I'll give it a try," he said. "But anyway it's not the end of the goddamn 
world. Giulio can tow us out with his tractor if he has to . . ." He paused, 
staring impatiently at his sulking wife. "Honey, what's the matter with you? 
Tell me." 

"There's nothing the matter with me," she hissed, staring at him through 
eyes that were glossed with tears. 

Then, as he started to reach out to touch her arm she suddenly flung the 
door open, jumped from the car into the sweeping rain, and started at a run 
up the road toward the barn. Bob cursed under his breath, staring after her 
for a moment, then angrily started the engine, jammed the transmission into 
first, and resumed the futile spinning of the tires. 

Behind her Cathy could hear the racing of the engine. Instantly she felt 
drenched to the bone. Her heart was pounding so furiously she thought it 
would explode. A strange, involuntary animal sound issued from her throat, 
half the sound of breathing, half horrible lunatic wail. It was her 
breathing and her crying, merged as one entity, as though a primitive 
communication of a most horrible and primal despair. She was half running 
and half stumbling along in the blinding, wind-swept rain. Though her 
voice-breath said one thing, her mind was saying another, over and over and 
over, perhaps not really a separate thought, but rather a mental, silent and 
more sophisticated verbalization of the wail: 

What's wrong with me, what's wrong with me, what's wrong with . . . ? 

She felt her feet seem to fly from under her. The brown dirt and gravel of 
the road raced toward her face. She lashed out toward it in reflex, broke 
the fall and skidded on the hard pebbles and soft mud. 

She got to her feet, hearing the engine racing behind her, looked back and 
saw that the car, with the black smoke pouring up from its rear, had not 
moved. Then she lunged onward, reached the wide front doors of the barn, 
pushed them open and slipped through. 

Inside it was dark, at first almost pitch dark. Drenched, her thin cotton 
dress clinging to the sensuous curves of her flesh, she waited for her eyes 
to adjust. She gasped to catch her breath. The racing of the engine, already 
distant-sounding, suddenly ceased. She heard herself sobbing and with 
conscious effort she stopped it. The silence had a sudden thick quality, yet 
with it came upon her a strange sensation of peace. Around her, the interior 
of the barn was beginning to take shape. She was standing in a semi-circle 
of massive dark forms that gradually materialized as huge wooden barrels, 
wine barrels fifteen feet tall, eight or ten feet in diameter, oppressive, 
overbearing. The chant of thought in her mind progressed. She thought: 

What did go wrong with me then? Why did I do that? Why did I talk to him 
that way, run out into the rain, lose . . . my mind? 

Suddenly she felt tired and weak and cold. She squinted about in the 
darkness. On an upright wooden pillar that supported, or helped to support, 
the loft, she distinguished the switch and the electric wire that lead, she 
saw finally, to a naked light bulb hanging almost directly over her head. 
She stepped toward the switch and reached up to flick it on. 

The jolt was like a crackling sound inside her own head transposed then to 
her lips in a sudden wretched cry as she fell straight backward onto the 
straw upon which an instant before she'd stood, the static tingles still 
running up and down her arm, the barn around her still dark as she lay 
stunned and trembling, realizing only then that what she'd just experienced 
was an electric shock that resulted from the fact that she had touched the 
light switch while she was soaking wet from her mad little dash in the rain. 

Then still feeling dazed, she sat up, got to her feet, looked around as she 
heard the rustling of straw behind her. And then the phantom gray-brown 
shadow swept suddenly into the field of her vision, hooded and masked like a 
night-rider in the nightmare of a runaway slave, floating ghost-like down 
upon her as she screamed, retreated back against one of the tall round 
barrels, her hand lashing out. Her wrist was caught in a firm grasp, then 
her other wrist as she tried to lash with that hand. She shoved her knee up 
hard and heard a grunt as she made contact, then her body was shoved hard 
against the barrel by a hard male body pressed against hers. In the dim 
light she could see fierce-looking eyes glaring into hers. Her wrists were 
pinned back against the rough wood of the barrel. Realizing her 
helplessness, she let her body go limp. The man's face pressed closer to 
hers. She stared, wide-eyed, as his mouth covered over her lips, pressing 
hard, almost bruising them against her teeth. A low mewl issued from her 
throat. Again she strained to free her wrists; finding it still impossible, 
she again relaxed, resistance leaving her as her supple body pressed, almost 
melted into the body of the stranger who held her. 

Then suddenly she was released. The hooded man stepped back. An instant 
later the doors of the barn flew open and Bob came tearing through and 
stopped, just inside, gaping, framed against the comparative brightness of 
the light behind him. 

Breathless and trembling, Cathy stared at the man. As he pushed the hood of 
the raincoat from his head she saw that his hair was gray at the temples. 
His face was rugged, not handsome; it looked like chiseled stone. He was 
Bob's height, with massive shoulders that appeared even larger because of 
the heavy coat. In this light she could not see the color of his eyes, but 
she could feel them burning into her, almost consuming her, as if Bob, and 
the storm and the rest of the barn and the rest of the world even, did not 
exist. Then abruptly, he turned away. 

"Who are you?" Bob said. "Who are you?" 

"Why'd you scream?" Bob said to Cathy. "Did he - "The light switch. I tried 
to turn it on, and it shocked me." 

"Twice?" Bob said, moving forward. "He . . . scared me," she said. "He came 
out of the dark." 

The man turned and looked at her again, then turned back to Bob. She was 
still trembling all over, partly from the cold, partly from the fright she'd 
undergone, partly from the fluttering of excitement she felt down in her 
belly and loins. 

"My father was a friend of Giulio's," Bob said. "We stopped to say hello and 
pick up some wine. Now who are you?" 

"You mean old Martinelli," the stranger said. "He's in Hawaii." 

"Hawaii?" Bob took another step forward. "Then what are you doing here?" 

"This is my place. I bought it from the old man a couple of years ago." 

There was a silence. Cathy looked at Bob. At the man. At Bob again. Then, 
with a deep sigh, Bob said: 

"Oh." 

Again all was quiet. She could still almost feel the man's body against 
hers, his hands holding her wrists, his lips crushing hard over her mouth. 
There was something animal about it, the way he'd grabbed her, held her. And 
she could almost have cried for shame at the illicit thrills it had somehow 
prompted to course through her loins. 

"My name's Bailey," the man said. "I see your car's stuck." He glanced at 
Cathy, whose soaked dress clung almost transparently to her skin. "Look 
pretty well drenched too." He thought this over. "Come on up to the house; 
we'll straighten out over a glass of hootch an' figure out what to do about 
the rest of your problems." 

"Yeah," Bob said. "All right, thanks." 

Bailey started to pull off his raincoat. Cathy watched him lowering it from 
his shoulders, then realized it must be intended for her. 

"No!" she said suddenly. 

He hesitated, staring at her. 

"No." She shook her head and turned away toward the door. "I don't need it; 
I'm already wet." 

She walked before them out into the wind and the rain. She looked down once 
at the car, still sitting where it had been when she'd bolted from it, with 
the rear tire hanging over into the ditch. Then the men caught up to her and 
flanked her, one on either side, and with her eyes straight ahead she walked 
hurriedly between them, up the sloping road to the new ranch-style brick 
house. And as she walked she was thinking about what had happened just 
before Bob got to the barn, and not only about what had happened because 
that was easy enough: Bailey had frightened her, she'd fought him, he'd 
kissed her and subdued her and she'd stopped fighting him. But she was 
trying to understand what it meant - to herself, and wondering what it might 
have meant to him. And she knew that one way or another he must be thinking 
about 

the same thing now, however it was men thought about things like that. 

And Bob couldn't have been thinking about it, because he didn't even know 
about it. And though that wasn't really his fault, as there wasn't any way 
he could have known about it unless he was a mind-reader, she still couldn't 
help thinking of it as an ignorance on his part that set him apart from her 
and the stranger. 

 Chapter Three 

They were greeted at the front door by a voluptuous green-eyed brunette who 
introduced herself as Sylvia, Bailey's wife, and called her husband Jack. 
Though it was not really cold Cathy was shivering from the dampness, and 
when Sylvia offered to get her something dry to wear she managed to stammer 
that what she would really like was a warm bath. 

"That's a good idea," Sylvia said. "And I can throw your dress in the dryer 
while your there." 

Sylvia led Cathy off one direction while Bob went with Jack Bailey in the 
other. At the door of the bathroom, the brunette told Cathy to hand her 
dress out so she could get it dried. Cathy stepped inside, pushed the door 
half shut and moved back so she would be obscured from the other woman's 
view, then quickly unbuttoned the dress of her brassiere-clad breasts, 
pushed it from her shoulders and let it drop from the flare of her hips, 
then retrieved it and handed it out. She listened to Sylvia's footsteps move 
away down the hail, then closed and latched the door, reached behind her 
back and deftly undid the snap to her bra, feeling her already pertly 
erected nipples tingle to even greater rigidity as she shed the bra-cups 
from her proud young breasts. Clad in nothing but her low-hanging panties, 
the slender blonde bent to start the hot water to run in the bath, then 
straightened up, hooking her thumbs into the elastic waistband to peel the 
skimpy little panties quickly down off her hips and thighs. Though the water 
hardly covered the bottom of the tub, she got immediately in, her bare 
golden skin prickling with goosebumps from the sharp contrast of the warm 
water of the bath and the cool dampness of her own sensitive flesh. 

She settled completely down on her buttocks, relishing the sensation of the 
water rising quickly up between her thighs to lap right into the softly 
curling hairs of her cunt and her sensitive pink vaginal lips. Her brain 
still reeling from her stunning encounter down in the barn, she took the bar 
of soap and the wash cloth and began gently to scrub over her shoulders and 
underarms and breasts, using the washrag only as an excuse to indulge in an 
innocent and wistful self-caress, as she'd showered before they'd got on the 
road from the south in the morning. 

My God, Cathy thought, she didn't think she'd ever experienced anything so 
abrupt and direct, so physical and animal, in the whole history of her 
relationship to the male sex. Not that so much had really happened. After 
all, he'd just kissed her and held her body close to his, and for all she 
knew it might have been nothing on his part but a way of subduing and 
calming her, as one might hug and kiss as a means of calming a a hysterical 
child. But that still didn't account for the look of ruthless anger and lust 
she'd seen in Jack Bailey's eyes when she'd tried to knee him in the groin. 
It was a look which she'd never seen anywhere else in her life, except 
perhaps in a movie, and the strange mingling of excitement and terror that 
had gripped her at the sight of it was something she'd rarely ever known - 
except, to a degree, at least, she reminded herself with a sudden surge of 
apprehension and regret, just before Bob had taken her cherished virginity 
on their wedding night. 

That somber association startling her back from the dreamy reverie into 
which she'd been unconsciously drifting, Cathy replaced the soap in the 
tray, draped the washcloth over the edge of the tub, and sat silently 
staring down at the lush swells of her proudly upstanding breasts and, 
between them, the sleek smoothness of her belly and, lower, the almost 
awesomely beautiful triangle of the sparse, light brown hair of her cunt. 
The sight was for her now a bitter reminder of her unfulfilled sexuality, of 
the conjugal failure of her marriage. Even the fact that her thoughts of Bob 
had detracted her from those deliciously forbidden thoughts she'd been 
having about her earlier encounter in the barn served to instill in her a 
numb hostility toward her husband, and she knew that was a warning sign she 
shouldn't ignore. She knew now that the danger she'd sensed in the storm 
must have been a real premonition instead of idle fantasy. And she knew that 
it was imperative that she and Bob get away from here as soon as possible, 
before, on a foolish whim, she allowed something to happen that would only 
make things more difficult for their marriage in the long run. 

And that, she told herself without conviction, was the thing that really 
should be concerning her now. Her marriage was what was important, and she 
couldn't give up on it just because everything hadn't been storybook 
wonderful during the first difficult month of adjustment. It was love, and a 
lasting relationship that mattered, not the raw excitement of one illicit, 
animal-like encounter with a man who seemed romantic and exciting only 
because she didn't know him. 

Perhaps fifteen minutes had passed before Cathy heard the soft knock on the 
door and Sylvia Bailey said: "You're dress is dry. I'll hang it out here." 

"Okay," she replied. "Thank you." 

Cathy listened to the sound of the other woman's footsteps moving away down 
the hall, then lifted herself to a standing position in the tub and stepped 
quickly out. She retrieved the long bath towel that hung on the rack and 
began to pat softly over the moisture-beaded curves of her naked flesh, her 
eyes straying to the full-length mirror on the bathroom door as she did so. 
She brushed across the still rigidly erected little buds of her nipples, 
then rubbed the towel down the smooth plane of her belly, into the softly 
curling hair that covered her pubis, and finally straight up between her 
slightly parted thighs, the fluffy material scratching teasingly along the 
slit of her cunt, little shivers of forbidden pleasure darting through her 
body. Then, eyeing herself thoughtfully in the mirror, she released the 
towel with her right hand, letting it fall free of her thighs and hang to 
the floor. 

It was crazy, she thought. The whole thing was just crazy. Here she was in 
this house belonging to two total strangers, two people she'd seen for the 
first time less than half an hour ago. Here she was, standing stark naked in 
their bathroom, questioning the whole foundation of her marriage which 
itself was less than a month old. Of course they weren't complete strangers, 
she reminded herself. At least in one way there had been a kind of 
recognition down in the barn when she'd been startled by Jack Bailey and 
ended up immediately in his arms, kissing him, melting her tender young body 
against his. It was almost as if she'd been waiting for him to fulfill the 
threat she'd perceived in the storm. 

Quickly then, the naked blonde finished drying herself, replaced the towel 
on the rack, and carefully opened the door. Remaining concealed behind it, 
she reached around and retrieved her dress, which had been left hanging on 
the doorknob. She draped the dress across her arm, stooped to pick up her 
brassiere and panties, which she'd left where she dropped them on the floor. 
Realizing that they were both still soaking wet, she hesitated thoughtfully. 
That was so stupid of her, not having given them to Sylvia Bailey to dry 
along with her dress. Of course her own body heat would dry them soon 
enough, even if those wet bra-cups might be a little cold on her breasts at 
first. But until they were dry, she reasoned, she would be walking around 
with her dress quite noticeably moistened in two separate, distinct places - 
her buttocks and pubic area, and her breasts. 

Not completely eluded by the irony of her little predicament, Cathy 
considered her alternative. And there was only one reasonable alternative - 
she could wear her dress without her brassiere and panties. Going braless in 
this day and age was not in itself that daring, of course, but even with a 
brassiere her shapely breasts, their ample size exaggerated by the 
slenderness of her torso and her arms, attracted more attention than she 
needed or cared for. The light colored print cotton dress, with buttons down 
the front, would be particularly revealing. And as for her panties, even 
though Bob and Jack Bailey and his wife didn't know she wasn't wearing them, 
she would know herself, and the very idea of walking around with her pussy 
bare, even bare beneath a knee length skirt was something Cathy had always 
considered indecent to the point of slutiness. 

Yet now, an inner mischievousness lent the very indecency an appeal Cathy 
could hardly resist. And anyway, she wasn't going to walk around here 
freezing her nipples off for the time it took Bob to figure out how to get 
the car out of the ditch. 

Smiling with secret girlish delight, Cathy carefully hung the bra and 
panties up to dry on the towel rack. Then, she stepped into the 
still-buttoned skirt of the dress, fitted her arms through the sleeves and 
pulled it over her shoulders. Still watching herself in the mirror, she left 
it open down the front for a moment, her eyes roving from the half exposed 
vee-triangle of her cunt up her now shadow-crossed belly to her full ripe 
breasts standing up in almost perfectly symmetry, with no need of artificial 
support. Then slowly she started to button it up, pulling the material 
together over the soft shadowy hair of her pubis, the dark hole of her 
navel, pulling it tighter and tighter against her breasts still standing out 
in naked freedom until finally she was obliged to lift the cloth over the 
points of her nipples, buttoning it tightly ever the still clearly outlined 
swells that strained against it and remained clearly outlined through the 
clinging cotton print. 

Her finger moving up to the next button, just at the top of her breasts, 
Cathy paused again. She was acutely aware of her unfulfilled sexuality this 
evening. It seemed that everything had contrived to drive her into this 
state, the vivid memories that had excited and tormented her as they'd 
driven into the storm, the lurid encounter with Jack Bailey in the barn, the 
inner reflections she'd subjected herself to while naked in the bath, even 
that mild little oversight of having forgotten to give Sylvia Bailey her 
underwear to dry along with the dress. Then she shrugged, her hand dropping 
to her .side. If she was going to walk out of the bathroom looking like some 
hippie candidate for a pornographic film role, she might as well go all the 
way, and leave a little cleavage for whoever wanted to notice. And in any 
evens, after what had happened down in the barn, Jack Bailey probably 
thought she was nothing but a two bit whore, so why not let him nurture his 
erroneous conclusion. He could look as much as he wanted to. But he wasn't 
going to touch again, she decided with firm resolve. 

 Chapter Four 

Cathy smoothed the skirt down over her thighs toward her knees, again 
reminded of the utter nakedness of her softly-haired little cunt just 
beneath the thin material. Then, bracing herself with a couple of low, deep 
breaths, she opened the door and walked out and down the hail. She walked 
slowly, conscious of the friction of the dress over her still peaked nipples 
and the gentle brushing-together of her sensitive inner thighs. She heard 
unintelligible conversation coming from somewhere near the other end of the 
house, followed the sound of it, and arrived at the entrance of a tastefully 
furnished, sunken den with a hard wood floor decorated by an enormous and 
luxurious bearskin rug. 

Pausing, Cathy looked at her husband and at Jack Bailey, seated now like old 
friends at a mahogany table situated before a large picture window looking 
out on the darkened, stormy sky. Between them was a bottle of Bourbon and a 
bucket of ice. From the look on Bob's face she could tell that the tall 
drink in his hand was not his first. They weren't going to be getting the 
car out of the ditch now, it didn't appear, and she couldn't imagine they 
could have already done that during the brief time she'd been in the bath. 

Cathy listened, still unnoticed as Bob finished what seemed to have been an 
explanation of their present situation: 

"So now the honeymoon's over," he was saying, "we were on our way up to 
Eureka. I've got a clerk's job up there, with a logging company. And I guess 
Cathy will try to find something,, maybe part time." 

"Looks like a nice kid," Bailey said. 

"Yeah, I got myself a real winner with Cathy," Bob said with a possessive 
pride that somehow she found not the least bit pleasing now. "She's a real 
doll. I guess I was pretty lucky to land her." 

But now Cathy hardly heard. Jack Bailey, as though sensing her presence, had 
turned suddenly to stare straight into her eyes. Then, his face almost 
expressionless, that steel gaze somehow at the same time detached and 
ruthlessly penetrating, he let his eyes drift slowly down the length of her 
body. They lingered with a humiliating, almost clinical interest on the 
teasingly revealed swells of Cathy's proud young breasts, taking them in 
fine detail. Then his gaze moved slowly lower, down over her belly to focus 
right between her thighs, now so intent Cathy couldn't help wondering if 
somehow he could see that she wasn't wearing her panties. And by the time he 
looked back at her face, the desire to tease that had supported her when 
she'd left the bathroom had completely deserted her. She felt instead, frail 
and vulnerable, a little silly and, in the presence of this strange and 
compelling man, dreadfully overexposed. 

Then Bob turned to see what Jack Bailey was looking at and his eyes almost 
bugged out of their sockets at the sight of his beautiful young wife 
standing there in the doorway. Somehow, her husband's surprise lent Cathy a 
faint semblance of composure. She ignored Bailey, met Bob's stunned and 
gawking gaze, and walked slowly forward. 

Bailey rose as she neared the table. "Whiskey, or something else? We got 
nearly anything you might want." 

"No, n-nothing now," Cathy said, passing him to sit down across the table 
from Bob and kitty-cornered to the place he'd occupied at the head of the 
table. Outside there was another flashing of lightning, followed swiftly by 
thunder that was much closer than before. She stared at Bob, who was still 
gawking back at her breasts. "What are you doing? What about the car?" 

"We're not going back out in that," he said, nodding out the window. 
"Anyway, Giulio must have sold his tractor before Jack bought this place, 
because he doesn't know anything about it. So it's gonna be a neat little 
trick getting the car out, even when things do clear up." 

Bob stopped, shrugged, took another drink. Again Cathy experienced that 
vague sensation of being on the "inside" while Bob was locked Out. He was 
drinking with and calling by the first name a man who had just made the 
crudest sort of approach to her. She knew it, Bailey knew it; Bob did not 
know it and she felt no inclination to tell him, though in the back of her 
mind she knew that was exactly what a good wife would do. But Bob was 
obviously getting a little drunk. He was naively unsuspecting. It made her 
feel slightly contemptuous, and it was a feeling that now, for some reason, 
she relished. None of which, of course, solved the real problem of how they 
were going to get back on the road. 

"So what are we going to do?" she asked finally, still cautiously avoiding 
Bailey's eyes. "We can't just sit here getting soused all night." 

"Why not?" Jack Bailey asked. 

"Jack and Sylvia have offered to put us up," Bob went on. 

Cathy didn't even try to conceal the alarm that flashed on her face, yet 
beyond the alarm there was another emotion manifested in her initial silent 
reaction to this new development that should have only added to her anxiety. 
But in a curious, almost perverse way, she found the idea appealing. Moments 
ago, as she'd emerged from the bathroom, the memory of Jack Bailey's mouth 
on her lips and hands on her body still a vivid presence in her mind, she'd 
thought that she would now enjoy a brief game, which shortly would end, and 
she and her husband would go on their way. Now, according to what Bob had 
just said, she was going to be forced to play her game a lot longer than she 
had expected. And though deep down inside she knew she was baiting the 
devil, she was still highly tempted by the idea. 

"Sylvia's got a ham in the oven," Bailey said. "And there's plenty of room. 
We built the house big." 

From his eyes, now that she did look at him, Cathy could learn nothing. Now 
his expression seemed to deny even the memory of what had happened before. 

"But . . ." Cathy began, and didn't finish. 

"You might as well have a drink," the gray-templed man went on. 

Cathy hesitated momentarily, then nodded. "Yes." 

"Vodka collins," Bob put in. 

Again she hesitated. Bailey was waiting. "No," she said, shifting slightly 
in her seat. "I'll have a . . . dry martini." 

"Make that two." Sylvia Bailey, her smiling face beaming, walked briskly 
into the room. She took brief note of the slight change in Cathy's mode of 
apparel; she looked Bob over, obviously pleased; and when she turned back, 
Cathy couldn't help but notice, Sylvia was watching very closely to see 
where his attention would go. It went, after a brief exchange of thoughtful 
glances on their part, to Cathy. 

Self-conscious, secretly thrilled, Cathy waited as the older man brought her 
drink. She accepted it and drank eagerly of the almost straight glass of 
gin. Almost the moment the burning aftertaste had left her lips she felt the 
first faint lightening in her head. Now, she knew, she was really playing 
with fire. She could drink vodka and control herself fairly well. But gin 
was something else. 

 Chapter Five 

A thin haze of smoke hung over the room. On the table were the remains of a 
Virginia ham, sweet potatoes, strawberry short cake with whipped cream, 
empty wine bottles, spilled wine glasses that left violet stains on the 
white table cloth. Outside the rain fell in a patter that was soft, almost 
musical. Cathy sat on one end of the couch. She held a tall cocktail glass 
between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, held it up before her 
face and stared into it, turning it slowly, as though hypnotized by it. 

Bob's body was in the bent "sitting" position, but he was horizontal beside 
her, his head in her lap. Several minutes earlier he had begun to snore. 
Across the room, Sylvia Bailey reclined in a leather-covered easy chair, her 
hands clasped behind her neck to arch her full voluptuous breasts, her skirt 
hiked up her thighs almost to her panties. At the window, Bailey was pacing 
slowly back and forth, drink in hand. 

Then abruptly he stopped and turned and looked at Cathy. "I'll help you get 
your boy there to bed." 

"Yes. Thank you," Cathy said. She slipped from her place on the couch, 
letting Bob's head fall onto the cushion where she'd sat. She turned toward 
Sylvia. "It was a fine meal. I had . . . a nice time. Good night, Sylvia." 

Sylvia Bailey smiled. "Night, Cathy." 

Bailey reached the couch, stopped and hoisted Bob without apparent effort 
onto his shoulder. Bearing him like a sack of grain, he went out the door 
and down the hall. Cathy looked back once more at Sylvia, then followed him 
Out, walking behind him down the hall to the guest bedroom where she and Bob 
were to sleep. She caught up to him and opened the door to let him in. He 
bent and dropped Bob on the bed, straightened up and stood looking down at 
him. Bob stirred, moaned, curled into the fetal position and was silent. 

Bailey turned slowly to Cathy, standing just inside the door with her back 
to the wall. Her long blond hair, now dry, hung freely over her shoulders. 
Sometime during the night another of the buttons at the front of her dress 
had come loose; now it was parted almost to her nipples. She was breathing 
hoarsely, heavily. Her head was spinning from the alcohol she'd drunk. The 
fluttering in her stomach, as his eyes moved slowly down her body, was like 
a beating of wings. Then he walked slowly toward her. 

"No." She formed the word with her lips and shook her head. She started to 
move back into the open doorway, but his arm moved up to the facing to block 
her escape. Then his strong body was hard against hers, pinning her against 
the wall. His lips crushed again over hers, his tongue thrusting deep into 
her open mouth, his other hand dropping down to cup full over one of her 
ripe young breasts on the outside of her dress. He pressed his body hard 
against her, driving her against the wall, the bulging erection of his cock 
tenting up hard in his trousers to press right against the soft mound of her 
pussy protected by nothing but the thin material of her dress. 

Squirming helplessly, Cathy could not have resisted if she wanted to. He was 
too strong for her, and even as she felt his hand tugging the material of 
her dress aside so that suddenly her naked breast popped free, there was 
nothing she could do to escape. Then she felt his hand press back over her 
nakedly exposed nipple, his finger and thumb squeezing the little bud so 
hard it was all she could do to resist crying out aloud from the sheer 
sensation, and a moment later she felt his other hand moving down her body, 
seizing the hem of her dress to start to tug it slowly upward off her long 
slender thighs and the tightly clenched half moons of her ass. 

"Oh God, no, please!" Cathy moaned into her powerful aggressor's mouth, her 
legs almost going weak from her building unwanted desire as her skirt inched 
higher and higher off her buttocks and suddenly she felt Bailey's thigh 
pressing right against the mound of her softly haired pubis and the nakedly 
tingling little bud of her completely unprotected clitoris. Then he shoved 
his hand up beneath the skirt, his fingers coming suddenly in contact with 
the cleft cheeks of her ass, darting straight up between her thighs from 
behind to stroke right along the already lustfully moistened slit of her 
cunt. 

Cathy saw the surprise in Bailey's eyes as he drew back to look down into 
her own frightened and lasciviously excited face. She thought she could have 
almost gone out of her mind from the contact of his hands on her sensitive 
flesh. He was holding her helplessly in his strong arms, now almost smirking 
into her eyes, his finger lying right along her hair-lined little cunt slit. 
It had been waiting there for him, completely naked and unprotected beneath 
her skirt. And she felt like crying from shame at the realization that for 
all he knew she might have had it that way on purpose. 

Then a half-stifled whimper rose in the pinioned blonde's throat as she felt 
Bailey push his hand even farther up between her thighs from the rear, 
carefully parting her flanged pussy lips so that the long middle finger 
thrust suddenly right up into the entrance of the quivering little vaginal 
hole. She shook her head desperately, whipping her hair wildly over her 
shoulders, but short of crying for help and waking up her husband or 
alerting Bailey's wife there was nothing she could do to resist. And every 
minute her very will to do so was growing weaker and weaker. He was still 
grinning down into her face; his hand was still wedged tight between her 
thighs; and with a relentless pressure he was working that penetrating 
finger deeper up into her warmly yielding flesh. 

"Oh God," Cathy gasped finally aloud as she felt the ravaging finger 
penetrate to the last knuckle. 

Bailey moistened his lips, watching the unwillingly aroused young blond with 
almost sadistic relish, slowly withdrew the finger and rammed it swiftly in 
again, repeating this gesture until he was finger-fucking straight in and 
out the now freely lubricated cuntal slit. Before him Cathy swayed and 
trembled, her mind reeling by the very salaciousness and depravity of it 
all. She could feel her resolve weakening, her body responding as though of 
its own satanical accord, her flesh crying out for more and more of the 
relentless masculine aggression some perverse secret part of her could not 
help but want. Then, just as she experienced far up in the most secret 
depths of her loins that first strange tremoring that seemed to promise that 
magic she had never known, she heard a low moan across the room and her 
sudden shame and fear seemed to snap her completely back from the heights of 
joy to which she seemed almost on the verge of ascending. 

Bailey must have heard the moan too, for he half-turned to look over his 
shoulder. And as a kind of instinctive reaction, she seized the inherent 
opportunity of the diversion, grabbing his wrist suddenly and forcing his 
hand down from between her thighs, moving to the right along the wall to 
slip free of him. He whirled back, and in spite of the stab of near pain she 
felt far into the depths of her loins, she shied away as he reached out to 
grab her. Then, as he stalked toward her she retreated to the only 
relatively safe place she could think of in the room. She backed to the bed, 
dropped down at the head of it and took her sleeping husband's head back in 
her lap, bending over to hug it lovingly to her breasts. For her efforts she 
got the slightest stirring of his legs. But that was enough. Bailey stopped. 

He glared at her, his slightly reddened eyes like twin fountains of animal 
lust. "I know you want it," he whispered. Then without another word he 
turned and walked out of the room. 

 Chapter Six 

Legs weak, head spinning, Cathy pulled her skirt back down over her naked 
buttocks and thighs, stumbled to the door and watched Jack Bailey disappear 
into the darkness down the hall. Her breath was coming in hoarse strained 
gasps; an electric tingling darted over the nerve-ends of her flesh; down 
between her thighs she could feel a dribbling of feminine lubricant moisture 
which issued from her lust tortured little cunt, which now seemed to spasm 
in its own deep inner frustration. My God, she felt like she'd almost been 
on the verge of actually cumming if Bob's groan hadn't disturbed her and 
snapped her back to reality. And now she was left with a dull gnawing she 
thought would physically drive her out of her mind if she didn't have some 
kind of relief, and a mental guilt and frustration that made her almost 
regret the attractive feminine body and unspiritual animal sexuality which 
the Good Lord seemed to have sadistically blessed her. 

At last, with a heaving sigh, the distraught young blonde turned away from 
the doorway and walked back to the bed where her husband lay in drunken 
oblivion. She looked at his face, young, clean shaven, again handsome in 
sleep though earlier in the evening he'd been wearing an expression of 
absolute drunken idiocy. And somehow she, in spite of all the gin she'd 
imbibed, in spite of the fact that she was very drunk - and she was drunk, 
she told herself; what had just happened here would never have happened if 
she'd been sober - she'd somehow stayed on her feet, stayed alert contrary 
to the very laws of nature, as though there were an energy and drive in her 
which had allowed her to overcome what should have been enough alcohol to 
put her flat on her back in her own oblivious stupor. 

And now she was still awake, alert. She felt as if there was something 
swarming in her very veins. And nothing to do, nothing to do but sleep, or 
lie awake, or pace the room, and wait for morning when somehow, perhaps even 
against her secret wishes, she and Bob could get away from here before 
something really terrible happened. 

Cathy turned away from her sleeping husband and walked to the window, pulled 
the curtain aside and stared restlessly out into the night, where now the 
rain was falling steadily, where there was silence except its endless 
patter, as though it were a peaceful washing-over to smooth out the havoc of 
the storm. She turned and looked back at the bed. Bob shifted in his sleep. 

"Well," she said to herself, "I guess the least I can do is undress him and 
put him under the covers." 

She walked back and sat down at the foot of the bed and took one of his feet 
and began to undo the lace of his shoe. She removed that shoe, unlaced and 
removed the other, then the socks. She gazed up the length of his body to 
his face, then let her eyes rove back downward to come to rest finally on 
his crotch where, though he by no means had an erection, she could 
distinguish nonetheless an ample bulging of his trousers caused by his big 
limber cock. Then, her hand trembling slightly, she reached up and deftly 
loosened his belt, unbuttoned his trousers and peeled the zipper slowly 
down. Her heartbeat slightly hastening she pulled his jockey shorts 

down off the flaccid shaft of cockflesh, her fingers entwining tightly 
around it, moving in a slow up-and-down jack-off motion along the length of 
the thick rubbery cock. 

After a moment, as Bob groaned and again shifted on the bed, Cathy abruptly 
ceased the movement of her hand. She let the now slightly distended penis 
slip from her hand and flop down against her husband's belly. She stood up, 
her hands moving up to caress teasingly over her own breasts on the outside 
of her dress, the soft contact causing her nipples to leap visibly to 
erection beneath the clinging material. She paced to the window and looked 
out, turned away and paced to the door and looked down the dark corridor. 
She needed something to do, something to occupy her, to get her sanely 
through this night. 

"Let's see," she whispered. She smiled suddenly, and continued, speaking at 
a whisper, almost deliriously to herself: 

"I know! My bra and panties. They must be dry by now, so I'll go get them 
and put them on and then at least . . . I won't have that problem of running 
around here like this . . . Tomorrow . . . morning." 

She glanced quickly back at Bob, lying still on his side of the bed in the 
same position and same state of undress she'd left him - barefoot, trousers 
open at the crotch, jockey shorts pulled down to. expose his hairy groin, 
his soft cock, his balls. Then, tiptoeing in order to avoid attracting the 
attention of - Sylvia and Jack Bailey, she started away down the hall in the 
direction of the bathroom, feeling her way cautiously along in the darkness. 

Cathy had gone perhaps twenty paces, when she was suddenly startled by a low 
feminine moan from somewhere in this end of the house. 

"Emmmmmmnnnnnn, baby! Come on, brute! Hey, what . . . what's the matter?" 

Cathy had stopped, frozen to sudden immobility. Of course the voice was 
Sylvia's; she was talking to her husband, Jack. Cathy hadn't missed the 
lustful strain in her voice, which she now almost positively identified as 
having come from the den. And the den was just near the end of this 
corridor, to the left off a large entrance way, where there was no door. The 
aroused and curious young blonde could have almost screamed aloud at the 
suggestion that realization caused to pop into her mind. My God, she could 
stand here and listen to them to her heart's content. She could even watch 
them, if she wanted to, and the idea that she could even think of such a 
thing should have been enough to warn her she was really in danger of 
slipping beyond the limits of decency. 

And yet the very depravity of it seemed only to fill her with a perverse and 
compelling relish. And at the same time she could feel her curiosity 
sharpening almost beyond the point of resistance. And finally, she added in 
deft rationalization, she might even be able to learn something of value. 
Sylvia Bailey certainly didn't look like an unfulfilled woman, just as Jack 
didn't look - or act, Cathy added with another twinge of inward guilt - like 
a man who would leave a woman unfulfilled. And if, by watching them, she 
could learn something that would be useful in solving her and Bob's own 
problems, then perhaps her unbecoming action of a few moments ago would 
somehow be justified in the end. 

But even then, Cathy hesitated a moment longer, seesawing back and forth 
between the concept of what she wanted to do and what she thought she should 
do. But if there had been any slight possibility her conscience would win 
out over temptation, that possibility was completely rubbed out of existence 
by Sylvia's next remark: 

''It's the girl, isn't it?" 

Cathy waited, still frozen. Her heart was pounding furiously in her breast, 
and Sylvia's words, which by their sound had been spoken matter of factly, 
and without malice or spite, echoed in her ears, over and over again and 
again as though it were not just Sylvia but a multitude of voices that had 
spoken. 

And Bailey hadn't replied. 

"Come on, Jack," Sylvia went on, almost at a purr. "I can see it in your 
eyes. You've got the hots for that little bitch, and I can't even say that I 
blame you. But you've really got it bad this time, haven't you baby? Haven't 
you?" 

Almost without realizing it, Cathy had begun to move slowly again along the 
corridor toward the sound of Sylvia's voice, as though she were hypnotized 
by her words and by the spaces of Jack Bailey's silent responses in between. 

"I'm not blind honey. This time it's different. So go ahead. You have . . . 
my blessing." 

"What do you mean, your blessings?" Jack asked and now somehow just the 
sound of his voice caused a chill to go darting down the excited and shocked 
young blonde's spine. 

"I mean I'll understand," Sylvia went on in the same lusty voice. "I'll 
understand as long as you understand." 

"As long as I understand what?" 

"I'm not going to sit back and twiddle my thumbs through all this. I can get 
restless too. And the husband's a good-looking young man. Strong looking." 

Cathy couldn't have been more stunned if she'd been bit over the head with a 
hammer. They were actually making a deal, a bargain of the flesh. And she 
and Bob were the barter. My God, they must have felt like spiders watching 
jumbo grasshoppers wading into their webs when she and Bob had turned up on 
their land, and she knew that if she had any last remnant of decency and 
rationality in her own being she would turn around right now, go back to the 
bedroom and wake Bob up and let him hear for himself what their foul-minded 
host and hostess wanted to plan for them. Then he would understand why she 
hadn't wanted to come here, or stay here, and maybe he would be motivated to 
take some steps to get their car out of the ditch and get them away from 
this terrible place. 

But Bob of course was passed out, drunk, and she'd already decided that he 
wasn't going to be awakened any time soon. And Cathy hadn't even slowed 
down. In fact, she'd hastened her silent pace, tiptoeing now swiftly along 
the wall toward the bend in the corridor, from where she would not only be 
able to overhear what was going on in the den, but actually look in and 
observe the expressions on the older couple's faces as they continued their 
shocking and outrageous discussion. 

"But it's not going to be tonight," Sylvia Bailey went on in her same 
purring, mocking voice. "You were in there too long. If you could have made 
it you already would have. Tonight you're stuck with me." 

There was a moment's silence, another low, feminine moan, then Jack Bailey's 
voice saying: "Cut it out, Sylvia." 

There was another silence. Sylvia's laughter, lusty, mocking. She said: 
"Come on, sleepy head. Wake up." 

My God, Cathy thought in horror. Was that man so crass he could be sleeping 
through this? 

Then she was slapped mockingly in the face with her own sheer naivet as she 
rounded the corner of the corridor, gazed lavish, sunken lounge, and found 
herself staring straight ahead at the real object of Sylvia's last puzzling 
remark. 

She hadn't been talking to Jack Bailey. She'd been talking to his cock! 

The innocent young blonde almost collapsed to her knees as she took in the 
lurid scene that greeted her. The lights in the den had been turned down 
very low, so she could see them clearly enough without worrying about them 
seeing her. The table had been partially cleared off; new drinks had been 
made and served. Jack Bailey sat on the fold-back leather easy chair, his 
legs propped luxuriously up. Sylvia, naked to the waist so that her 
amber-hued breasts shined as if slickened with oil in the dim light of the 
room, was kneeling slave-like on the floor beside him, her face bent over 
his loins so her long dark hair spilled in cascades down over his groin. But 
through the long black locks Cathy could see that his trousers had been 
undone and unzipped, the same way she'd done Bob's a little earlier. Jack's 
cock, also soft, was cupped tightly in Sylvia's hand. She, like Cathy a few 
minutes before, was moving her hand in a teasing up-and-down stroking motion 
along the limber shaft of flesh. Where Bob had been out unconscious, but 
restlessly stirring, Jack Bailey was sitting rigid in his chair, glaring 
down with a look of violence and contempt that almost made Cathy shudder to 
think of it. And there was one other even greater difference between this 
little scene and the one in which she had participated with her unconscious 
husband a few moments ago in their room. 

She'd always thought of Bob's cock as being huge, but Jack Bailey's was 
gigantic! It was like a baseball bat, or a policeman's Billy club, or like 
some pagan phallic statue, blood filled, red-purple tipped, a thick dark 
cudgel looming from a bush of curling black pubic hair that stood up like a 
jungle between his hairy thighs, a full seven or eight inches in length now 
and, though Cathy could hardly believe her eyes, growing by the second. 

Then the stunned young blonde received an even greater jolt to her innocence 
as Sylvia Bailey flicked her tongue from her mouth to moisten her voluptuous 
lips in what appeared to be a gesture of genuine relish. And as Cathy gawked 
in unbelieving astonishment, the excited brunette dropped her face lower, 
her tongue darting snake-like downward to flick right across the slickly 
glistening head of Jack Bailey's cock, darting right into the little slitted 
eye-like hole at the tip. 

And as though in programmed response, the still limber length of cock flesh 
stiffened and distended another fraction of an inch, the head taking on an 
even darker hue as the blood rushed to fill it. A low moan of approval rose 
from Sylvia's throat, and she twirled her tongue teasingly around the end of 
her husband's gradually swelling cock, lashing it gently and expertly toward 
an erection the trembling blonde in the doorway didn't even know if she 
wanted to see for herself. 

"Cut it out," Bailey grunted. "I told you I'm not in the mood." 

"But I'm going to get you in the mood," Sylvia purred, ducking her head 
suddenly downward, ovalling her lips to slip them right over the swelling 
cocktip and caused the shaft to distend and thicken even more. 

 Chapter Seven 

Cathy stood mesmerized, unable to turn away from the compelling exhibition 
in spite of all of her shame and fear and moral indignation at witnessing 
such a perverted exhibition. She'd heard of women who used their mouths to 
perform the function for which another more specialized part of their body 
had been created. She'd accepted what she'd heard as fact, but some defense 
mechanism in her mind had prevented her from actually confronting the finer 
details of the act. Now here she was face to face with it, not in her 
imagination but in real life, and she almost recoiled from the very shock of 
it all. She could only console herself with the knowledge that apparently 
Jack Bailey was just as much against what Sylvia wanted to do as Cathy was 
herself, and she thought that at least on that level she might have 
misjudged him. But in spite of all her abhorrence, she couldn't force 
herself to turn away. She was trapped, as a spectator, seemingly as 
irrefutably as Bailey himself was trapped as a participant. And in spite of 
all her revulsion - or perhaps as a perverse outgrowth of the very revulsion 
itself - Cathy, like Bailey, was becoming more and more excited by what she 
saw. 

In the dim light of the den, Sylvia's lust strained face again bobbed up 
away from the now upright cock that pointed so eagerly toward her mouth, and 
as she lifted her succulently rounded lips up off the now saliva-glistening 
head, the shaft of her husband's penis lengthened even further, almost as 
though in pursuit of the contact it had been so suddenly denied. Teasingly 
she again swept her tongue over the tip. A low animal groan rose from 
Bailey's throat. His face flushed and contorted with wrathful animal lust, 
and as Cathy gaped in trembling incredulity., the frightening instrument 
lunged suddenly to fully pulsing erection. Then, before she could even sort 
out in her mind the immense physical proportions of the freakish phallus 
exhibited there before her, one of Bailey's hands dropped down to the back 
of Sylvia's neck, suddenly forcing her head downward even as he lunged his 
own buttocks up from the fold-out easy chair. And with a swift driving lust 
he buried almost the full length of the enormous shaft of his cock straight 
up into his wife's mouth and throat. 

"Aaaggghhhh! Ugggghhhhh!" Sylvia gagged, obviously choking on the huge cock 
that had been thrust so forcibly into her mouth. This was obviously even 
more than she had bargained for, and in spite of all her previous 
disapproval of the other woman's lascivious and unbecoming action, Cathy 
couldn't quell the sympathy for the other woman that welled strongly in her 
breast. My God, that must be killing her. Bailey's cockhead must be embedded 
all the way to her tonsils, and still he appeared to be pushing downward on 
the back of her neck as though demanding she take it even deeper. It was 
unheard of for a man to subject a woman to such torture and degradation, and 
though she'd never been an activist in the movement for liberation of her 
sex, Cathy now felt almost compelled to try to do something to help out her 
fellow female. And short of that, she told herself half-deliriously, she 
could at least make a vow that she would enact any vengeance possible on 
behalf of her own downtrodden female sex where this oppressive and 
over-endowed male was concerned. 

Yet even as Cathy's conscious mind rebelled against what she saw, her body 
was responding differently. She was burning feverishly all over, her skin 
covered with a thinly beaded coat of feminine perspiration. The moisture was 
again flowing up between her thighs and her breath was coming in almost 
audible gasps. In her subconscious mind flashed vivid recollections of the 
way it felt to have Bailey's hands mauling over her body like she was a 
helpless rag doll, his long middle finger skewering forcibly up into the 
quivering tightness of her tight little cunt. She could remember the feeling 
so clearly that she could almost feel it even now, and 

it was without really thinking of what she was doing that Cathy reached down 
to the hem of her skirt, drawing it slowly upward to bunch it at her waist 
and completely expose her nakedly clenching buttocks and the softly-haired 
lubricating warmth of her vagina, then press her hand protectively up 
between her thighs right across the moistly palpitating little clit. 

"Oooohhhhhhh. Uuggghhhhhhh!" Sylvia moaned in the den before her, bobbing 
her head now slowly up and down along the straining saliva-coated length of 
her husband's cock as he squirmed his buttocks up and down on the cushions 
of the chair. One of Sylvia's hands was still entwined tightly around the 
base of his cock. Now the other dropped down to tug at the zipper of her own 
skirt, parting it and working the garment quickly down off the smoothly 
rounded panty-clad cheeks of her ass. 

And as Cathy occupied her conscious mind with the enthralling and sordid 
display being staged before her, her hand seemed to move of its own accord, 
pressing even more tightly up between her thighs over the naked hair-lined 
lips of her cunt to find sudden wantonly stimulating contact right over the 
palpitating little nerve-end of her clitoris. She didn't even think about 
what she was doing. It just felt good and for that reason she left it there, 
pressing her finger harder and harder into the narrow crevice of her 
succulently moistened pussy to cause a heated throbbing sensation to race 
anew upward through her belly. All the flames of her previous unfulfilled 
desire were being re-ignited, and the movements of her finger up and down 
the trembling slit of her cunt and over the lust-erected little bud of her 
clitoris were just an unintentional result of her natural physical needs and 
physiological responses to her unconscious self-stimulation. 

Sylvia had somehow managed to get out of her skirt without even breaking the 
rhythm of her wanton cocksucking. Now she was tugging her panties off with 
even greater urgency, and she no longer appeared to even protest the obscene 
use of her mouth. She was sucking wantonly and with hungry relish, prompting 
low groans of untamed animal excitement from her husband's throat as she 
drove her lust-contorted face straight down into the thick bush of his pubic 
hair to take his surging cockshaft all the way to the hilt into her 
voluptuous lips. 

"Emmmmmnnnnn. Aaaahhhhhh!" she mewled around the surging pole of flesh, 
picking up the rhythm so that her head bounced up and down in abandoned fury 
along its straining lust-filled hardness. Her cheeks bloated out, swelling 
and hollowing as she sucked in sluttish submission up and down the full 
length of the throbbing blood-filled rod. Sylvia's hands dipped down between 
his thighs to massage his weighted, sperm-laden balls, and though Cathy 
could hardly comprehend how it could be, it was becoming apparent that 
Sylvia was deriving her own equal share of stimulation from the perverted 
act she was performing. She was being fucked in the mouth, and she was 
liking it. 

Cathy sucked her breath in hoarsely, her eyes riveted on the lewd spectacle 
before her as she parted her hair-fringed cunt-lips and her middle finger 
distended and started to worm slowly up into the folds of warmly clasping 
inner vaginal flesh. The whole day had just been too much, a series of 
separate stimulating encounters, both on physical and psychological levels, 
and though she'd never really experienced complete sexual relief she had, at 
last, felt on the verge of it. Now she thought she would die if she didn't 
have it. And she was willing to do whatever she had to do in order to attain 
it, indulge herself shamelessly in voyeurism, indulge herself even in 
masturbation. 

Then, as Cathy began to work her finger swiftly in and out of the tightly 
clinging little hole of her cunt, her eyes almost bugged out at the next 
stage of the sex-show taking place before her in the den. 

With a sudden animal growl Jack Bailey placed both his hands on the back of 
Sylvia's head, pressing down until once more his gigantic cock was wedged to 
the hilt into her mouth. He held her head buried against his loins, 
smothering her in the thick bush of his pubic hair as he arched his buttocks 
up from the chair and shivered his whole lower body violently against her 
face. The cruelly ravished brunette gagged and gurgled in unresisting 
submission, and though now she was obsessed with her voyeuristic role and 
with her own rapid finger-fucking in and out of her insatiable little cunt, 
Cathy again wondered if it wasn't her duty to make some move to help Sylvia. 

Then, just as she thought she was on the verge of moving to help the other 
woman, Jack Bailey dug his fingers into Sylvia's hair and jerked her face 
violently upward so the straining hardness of his cock sprang free from her 
mouth, smacking with a loud smack against his belly, looking bigger and 
redder and even more menacing than it had before. Gasping to catch her 
breath, Sylvia waited kneeling on the floor beside the chair. His face still 
contorted with his animal anger and lust, Bailey put both hands against her 
naked shoulders, gave her a shove and sent her sprawling backwards on the 
bearskin rug. Then, pushing his trousers down to clutch at his ankles and 
almost completely reveal the hairy lower half of his body, he stood up, 
towering over her like a master over a slave. 

"Yes, Jack," Sylvia moaned from her writhing position on the rug. "Yes, come 
on. Fuck me." 

But Bailey wasn't even looking at her. He was staring straight ahead, where 
Cathy stood open-mouthed and paralyzed, thinking any minute he would come 
stalking towards her. She held her ravaging middle finger poised deep inside 
her own burning loins. And during that indefinable time she didn't even dare 
to breathe. Then a low sigh escaped his throat as his eyes again dropped to 
his nakedly waiting wife. He dropped to his knees before her on the rug, his 
cock still looming up in frightening erection from his loins as he 
contemplated her waiting body. As he reached down, his hands mauling over 
her breasts and torso before, in a sudden violent motion, he rolled her 
forcibly over on her belly, Cathy drew her finger slowly out of her vagina 
and then rammed it back swiftly inward, her thumb resuming its frantic 
tweaking over the throbbing bud of her clitoris and her legs almost buckling 
from her building excitement. On the floor of the den Sylvia was being 
pushed into the most humiliating sexual posture she'd ever seen, propped on 
her elbows with her breasts cushioned on the coarse fur of the bearskin rug, 
her knees doubled beneath her body, her buttocks thrust high in the air. 
Bailey was levering up behind her, positioning his loins right against her 
upthrust buttocks as she trembled and shivered before him. Then with a 
mighty grunt he lunged his body forward and Cathy almost cried out aloud at 
the humiliated brunette's sudden whimpering verbal response. 

"Bailey! That's my asshole!" 

Asshole, Cathy thought, blinking in astonishment as the brunette moaned and 
lurched her body forward in retreat. 

"I know it's your asshole," Jack Bailey growled, his hands slipping beneath 
Sylvia's thighs to pull her buttocks backward even farther than they'd been 
before. He held himself poised behind her for a moment, then again lunged 
forward 

And this time there was no retreat. 

"Aaagggghhhhhhhh!" Sylvia cried out, her teeth gritting, her face contorting 
with lust. For a moment she trembled and whimpered before him. Then, as 
Cathy gawked with even greater astonishment and disgust, she heaved out a 
low, satisfied sounding sigh: "Ahhhhhhhh, yesssssssssss. That's it, easy." 

Cathy was almost going out of her mind. My God, as if Bailey's nine inch 
cock wasn't big enough to rip her pussy apart, he'd insisted on giving it to 
her in the ass. And not only was she not fighting back, she was liking it. 
It was almost too much to believe, and yet the visions of pain and sensation 
it prompted in Cathy's still relatively innocent young mind were too much 
for her to deny. The thought of having something like that ripping her apart 
at the seams the way it must be doing to Sylvia now was causing a perverse 
masochistic stirring up in the depths of her loins and of her own cherished 
and untouched little anus that went far beyond anything else she'd 
experienced during this whole long weird night, and even as she stood 
staring from the shadows at the act of sodomy being performed before her 
wide, watery eyes, Cathy was now masturbating herself to a peak of frenzy. 

Her thumb moved swiftly back and forth across the throbbing bud of her 
clitoris, her extended middle finger plunging rapidly in and out of the 
hair-ringed opening of her cunt, her third finger venturing curiously back 
between her buttocks to stroke over the tight clenched aperture of her own 
cringing anus. Her breath was coming in short guttural gasps, one following 
swiftly upon the other like the panting of a dog after a long run. And 
standing with her bare feet set wide apart on the floor, her dress 
unbuttoned almost to her navel to reveal the dark shadowy cleavage between 
her proud young breasts, her skirt bunched up around her waist, her thighs 
spread out almost frog-like from the semi-squatting position she'd assumed 
in order to facilitate her greedy self-stimulation, her eyes glazed and 
wild, her mouth slack and open, her tongue hanging out as though parched by 
thirst, she would have served as visual competition even for the wildly 
ass-fucking couple performing for her, had there been another impartial 
audience to make a choice between the two separate acts. 

Now Sylvia's whole body was twisting and writhing in exquisite masochistic 
response to the painful penetration of Bailey's cock which was sawing 
ruthlessly in and out of her rectum. Her moaning was almost continuous, 
enough to drown out the sound of Cathy's panting and periodic sympathetic 
whimpers, and it was with a kind of terrified fascination that the 
vicariously aroused young blonde watched the huge cock skewering again and 
again in the kneeling woman's ravished anal tract. It plundered her rectum 
mercilessly, its full horrifying length almost disappearing completely as 
Bailey's groin slammed down hard against the waggling cushions of her ass, 
his pubic hair matting down into the sensitive crack between them and the 
heavy sac of his testicles slapping in counter rhythm against the dripping 
pinkness of her cunt. 

And in spite of all her own inexperience Cathy could see that both husband 
and wife were building swiftly toward their peak. He was hammering in and 
out of her licentiously expanded back passage like a wild animal in heat, 
and she was taking every inch of his enormous cock. Cathy would have closed 
her eyes to blot out the sight if she'd retained a thread of decency and 
pride, but by now she was so caught up in her voyeuristic eavesdropping that 
she didn't want to miss a minute of the show. Nor could she do anything to 
control the helpless reaction of her own lustfully aroused young body. She 
was trembling from head to toe, masturbating frenziedly and without shame, 
no longer concerned even with maintaining her silence. Nothing mattered now 
but the lurid scene before her and the heightening tremors of lust and 
excitement that coursed over her own half naked flesh. The maddening fire in 
her seething vagina was raging out of control and the erotic gasps of pain 
and pleasure issuing from the sodomized woman in the other room were 
torturing her almost as much as the merciless violation of her anus must be 
torturing Sylvia. The young blonde was lost in a libidinous spiral of 
sensual passion, sinking to heretofore unknown depths of depravity, the 
moans and whimpers pouring from her throat as she continued to masturbate 
herself to even greater arousal. 

Then, as she felt a deep rumbling far up in the most secret depths of her 
loins, her half-conscious mind decided it was time to even further increase 
the sensation and with a suddenly low, gasp she initiated a punishing 
pressure of her third finger against her tight little anus even as the 
second remained embedded in her cunt. She encountered a sharp stab of pain, 
a moment's brief resistance; then her whole body tensed and quivered as 
suddenly the first joint popped up into the tiny little opening. Just that 
intrusion caused a flash of heated sensual pain to dart electrically 

through her body, but in the raw determination of her lust she refused to be 
deterred. Gritting her teeth, her own low gasp still lost in the screams and 
whimpers from the other room, she probed her finger relentlessly inward, 
worming it slowly and teasingly straight up into the hot spongy cavity of 
her ass. 

A moment later, as she squeezed her two deeply violating fingers together 
against the thin tissue like membrane that separated her two sensuously 
ravished openings, it happened. Her body shuddered, her knees buckling so 
that she had to catch herself to keep from sprawling flat on the floor. She 
seemed to hear a distant explosion deep inside her brain that left her mind 
almost blank, and for a moment she didn't even recognize the wild sensation 
that gripped her. Then, guided by instinct, she resumed the rapid tweaking 
of her thumb over her clitoris and the plundering of her middle finger in 
and out of her cunt. She felt her pussy contract again and again around the 
deeply penetrating finger as the burning wetness of her vagina spilled out 
her pulsing cunt-lips to flow in a sticky stream down over her hand as the 
waves of ecstasy flowed through her body and mind. The teeming flow of 
liquid dribbled along her thighs and some of it seemed even to issue from 
the smaller hole between her buttocks as she continued to fuck her other 
finger in and out of her anus until she'd milked the last ounce of exquisite 
pleasure and release that her lust-filled young body had to offer. 

And it was only afterward, as her exhausted hand ceased to move and she 
stood, panting and gasping to catch her breath, that she realized the 
significance of what had just taken place. She had cum. She'd had a climax. 
Her first real clitoral-vaginal-anal orgasm! 

Her hand still pressed tightly up between her thighs, Cathy gave out with a 
low sigh. Then she opened her eyes, blinking as the blurred montage before 
her again took shape in the den and she saw the couple, sprawled now 
motionless on the rug, their bodies gleaming with sweat, their own breathing 
now almost steady. 

My God, she thought, gripped suddenly by terror and shame as reality 
descended back over her. Had they heard her? Seen her? But a moment later, 
seeing that they had hardly moved, she realized they had not. They had cum 
too, probably at the same time as she. Then with a silent gasp, she drew her 
hand down from between her thighs, feeling an almost painless pop as her 
finger left her protesting little asshole. Tears of shame pouring from her 
eyes, she fled silently back down the hail to the room, vowing that no 
matter what happened she must force Bob to get her away from this place as 
soon as they arose tomorrow morning. 

But even with all her guilt and humiliation, a chord of triumph seemed to 
strike of its own initiative far in the back of her mind: 

She had cum, she had cum, she had cum. 

 Chapter Eight 

Gray-yellow light poured through the window. Bailey blinked, seeing it out 
of the corner of his eye. Rolling over in bed, he looked out on the washed 
hill where the vines, still wet, glistened in the early morning sun. He 
rolled the other way and looked at his naked, sleeping wife. He lay his hand 
on her back and ran it lightly down her spine, stopping just at the top of 
the crack of her lush, rounded buttocks. Now awaking, she made a purring 
sound. Looking at her, so beautiful and child-like and even innocent-looking 
in his sleep, he felt his throat tighten with regret. He knew what he had to 
do. Knowing it, his thoughts never having really left it during the dark of 
the night so that he'd been reminded of it even during his brief snatches of 
sleep, he did not even want to arise. But he would have to do it, for better 
or for worse. 

He lay on his back, still and silent, for another ten minutes. If he could 
have drifted, accidentally, to sleep and let the chance slide by he would 
have later awakened without regret for the loss. He was not a religious man. 
He didn't even believe in God. But now, whimsically, he wondered if He might 
ever have wondered what it would have been like that fateful morning, 2000 
years ago in that old story, if He could have overslept there in the garden 
and missed that betraying kiss that sought him out for his destiny. 

But for Bailey that morning the redeeming slumber was not to return. He 
pressed his body against Sylvia's. She snuggled, sound asleep, warm, against 
him. She gave a little moan of protest as he slid away and slipped from 
beneath the covers. He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror, his 
body spare and hairy, his face rough, aging like the Sphinx. How much easier 
life for him would be, he thought without genuine envy, if he were like that 
kid asleep with his prick-tease wife in the other room, still young and dumb 
and full of cum. 

He put on a pair of khakis and a pair of work shoes and tiptoed out the door 
and down the halt. He paused outside the guest bedroom and listened at the 
door. There was not a sound. He wasn't surprised. The way those kids had put 
the booze away last night. They should sleep till mid-morning without a 
stir. Funny, he thought: a young man could get drunk and if he didn't have 
something to wake him the next day he could sleep till Kingdom Come. Then at 
Bailey's age, the more sleep a man needed to get himself back in shape, the 
less sleep he could get. 

He made himself a cup of instant coffee and drank it black, got a couple of 
16 ounce beers from the six pack in the refrigerator and walked out of the 
house, down the road past the barn to the car. He stopped and looked it 
over, sitting there kind of tilted off to the left with that one rear tire 
hanging off the edge into the ditch. But it was too easy. Even the kid could 
figure it out. Just a jack under the rear axle, there at the left extreme to 
keep it from tilting farther that way. Raise her up a couple of feet and 
stand with two-by-four on the other side of the ditch and push it off the 
jack and back onto the road. Rough on the tires, but it wouldn't do any real 
harm. 

He walked on down to the bridge. There was debris caught in under it, right 
up at the top of the wooden piles. Too bad, he thought, that the damned 
thing hadn't gone on its own. But they'd never know the difference. They 
could see the water had gone that high. Twenty-five years old, the old 
Italian had said, warned him he'd been planning for the last fifteen years 
to put in a new bridge himself, just because he didn't want to get caught if 
there was enough rain to wash it away. And now even the rise was almost 
gone. The water, usually knee-deep, would still fall a few inches short of 
his waist. 

Walking back to the barn he thought, now what if they wake and see me 
fucking around down here? Then he'd tell them he was just checking, on the 
car and on the bridge. And if they hear the hammering. He was just trying to 
fix the sonuvabitch, so they could get away before he got into that blonde's 
hot little twat for real. 

He got the pair of waist-high wading boots and a double-edged ax and the 
twelve pound sledge and walked back down to the bridge. He stood on the 
bank, leaning off, peering up under it at the old beam-pillars, redwood, he 
figured, and the two-by-six supports. With a few supports and the near 
pillar out it wouldn't be safe to drive across. And it probably wouldn't 
fall. If it does fall on my goddamned head, he thought, then the sonuvabitch 
serves me right. And if the kid was an engineer he'd know right away it 
hadn't been done by the storm, if he even bothered to look, which he 
probably wouldn't do. Probably be too busy trying to look up Sylvia's skirt. 
He put on the wading boots and climbed down the bank into the rushing 
stream. 

* 

* 

* 

He was back to the house by nine o'clock. He entered noisily and stalked 
down the hail. In the guest bedroom he heard the blonde's voice: 

"Bob. Bob, wake up. It's morning." Bailey slowed to listen to her. "Bob, 
we've got to get up and go. Right away." 

"Hunh?" he heard the boy say. 

"Bob, if you love me, you . . . you will take me away from this place as 
soon as possible." 

Bailey grinned without real mirth and continued on to his and Sylvia's 
bedroom. She opened her eyes when he came in, yawned, stretching her arms up 
over head, the extending of her legs pulling the sheet slowly down off her 
big arched breasts so the two pink-mauve buds of her nipples peeked out over 
the top. 

"The bridge is out," he said. 

She'd been smiling. The smile left her face. She became thoughtful. "Then 
they can't leave?" 

"Not unless they want to walk, or try an Evil Kneivel over the creek." 

She shrugged, at last managed another smile. "I guess this is your lucky 
day. Isn't that what they call an 'Act of God'?" 

Bailey set his face, devoid of expression. "I don't think so. I'm the one 
that knocked the sonuvabitch out and I don't feel very goddamned holy." 

He left her stunned and walked out of the room and back down the hall. 
Passing the guest room he heard the blonde babe putting it to her husband 
again: 

"I'm telling you I know. Just trust me. Bob. We have to leave here." 

"They're nice people," the boy said. "And I know we're welcome here." 

Bailey smiled, though even he found it too sad to be funny. On second 
thought, he thought to himself, he wouldn't want to be that young after all. 

He went to the kitchen and made himself another cup of coffee, this time 
with cream, took it to the den and sat down at the table. A few minutes 
later the kids came in, the boy in front, his blonde wife walking behind 
him. And though Bailey really couldn't be sure, he had the feeling she was 
prodding him along, like she had an electric cow-prod, he imagined, or was 
jabbing her finger up his ass. 

"Morning Jack," Bob said. He stopped and stood still and silent for a moment 
with his wife behind him, hiding, so Bailey couldn't see her face. "We . . . 
uh . . . we've been talking it over and we've decided we'd like to get on 
the road immediately." 

"No breakfast?" he asked. 

"Well . . . Uh . . . we've really accepted enough of your hospitality and 
we'd sort of like to get some miles behind us and maybe stop somewhere 
farther along, if you think there's a way we can get the car out of the 
ditch." 

"That's easy." Bailey sipped his coffee. "Jack the back of her upon the low 
side, till the tire clears the edge of the road, and shove her over back on 
the track." Bob frowned and Bailey realized he didn't understand. "But I'm 
afraid the bridge's out, and that's not gonna be easy." 

The blonde moved suddenly past her husband and ran, still without looking at 
Bailey, to the picture window and looked out. Then she turned back and 
looked at him for the first time straight in the eyes. "It's not out." 

Bailey turned his eyes away from her and lit a cigarette and took a deep 
drag. "The top half of it's not out, but most of the supports underneath 
washed away last night. If you try to drive over it before we get it fixed 
your car's gonna end up sitting in the bottom of the creek." 

The blonde bit her lip. When he looked back she was staring at him, not 
suspiciously, but she looked somehow . . . resigned. "And how long will that 
take?" 

"Well, we can't get into the creek till the water goes down. It's falling 
fast. If we start this afternoon and work until after dark, you can leave 
late tonight." 

"Y-you're just lucky!" she hissed almost tearfully. "Lucky we s-stopped here 
so you have B-bob to help you." 

"I don't need any help, baby. I can fix it by myself." 

Sylvia came in, smiling. The blonde was still staring angrily at Bailey. But 
he knew she wasn't that disappointed. It was written all over her face. She 
was trying to be sorry, but she wasn't really that sorry. 

"Well," Sylvia said. "I guess you heard the good news, hunh? You might as 
well stay over for the weekend now." 

Hell of a noble woman, Bailey thought. He finished his coffee and mashed out 
his cigarette and stood up. The blonde was still staring at him, and for his 
own part, he would liked to have been able to regret what he'd done. But 
looking at that hot little cunt, standing there waiting for him whether she 
knew it or not, he couldn't. 

"Fix the kids some breakfast, babe," he said to Sylvia. "I'm going down to 
the barn and try to scare up some timber for the bridge." 

 Chapter Nine 

The morning for Cathy passed like a slow eternity, or like a condemned 
prisoner's final sleepless dawn. Sylvia had cooked them a big breakfast 
which, though Bob ate heartily to help his hangover, she barely touched. 
Later she was able to get her husband alone briefly, again she tried to 
convince him that it was imperative they leave. 

"We can't leave," he said. "It's as simple as that. We can't drive the car 
across the bridge." 

"Then we could go without the car?" she'd replied. 

"Go where? Honey, you're being foolish." 

"Bob," she'd insisted, trying to make her quivering voice sound rational. 
"It's important for me that we leave. As I said before, if you love me, you 
will worry about my needs." 

"I love you. But we're not going to do something down right silly just 
because you're getting restless." 

"All right," she pouted, almost threateningly. 

He stood up and put his hand on her shoulder, like she was a kid. "Look, 
honey, I'll go down and see if I can jack the car up and push it out of the 
ditch, like Jack said." 

She'd said no more. After he left, she felt almost smug. She kept telling 
herself, over and over, You asked for it, Bob. I told you so. 

She'd gone to the back yard to soak up some Sun. She knew what she should do 
was go down to the car and get a change of clothing and retrieve her 
personal things, but she wanted no further confrontation with Bob. He'd had 
his last chance. Instead she waited, resigned, soaking up the sunshine, not 
even bothering to go put on her bra and panties, which she hadn't retrieved 
till this morning. It was sometime after midday when Sylvia came out bearing 
a tray with two tall Bloody Mary's. 

"Hi," the brunette said. "Thought you might enjoy a little refreshment." 

Cathy looked suspiciously at the other woman, clad in tight shorts and a 
skimpy halter that looked like it might give way any moment before her 
voluptuously straining breasts. Then she smiled a feeble thanks and took one 
of the tall drinks. The two women sat at the table, drinking silently. It 
was Sylvia who finally spoke: 

"Look kid, make the best of it. You're not exactly trapped in an elevator 
here. We can make an enjoyable weekend of it if you want to." 

"Your idea of enjoyment," Cathy said bitterly. 

In spite of apparent effort, Sylvia's smile faded. Again there was a 
silence. 

"Look," Cathy said finally. "You know what's going to happen. You know why I 
want to go, or why I know we must go, even if we can't, even if maybe I 
don't want to." 

The brunette was looking away, or had looked away the moment Cathy started 
to speak. And a moment passed before she looked back, smiling very faintly. 
The tears gradually filled her eyes and spilled and ran in big drops down 
her cheeks, the smile all the while on her lips. She nodded. "Yes, I know." 

"Then why don't you do something about it?" Cathy asked anxiously. 

Sylvia shook her head. She took a paper napkin from the tray and dabbed at 
her eyes. "Honey, there's nothing I can do. Bailey's his own man." 

"You mean you're going to just sit by and . . . ?" 

"I'm going to . . . look out for myself, as best I can." She stood up 
suddenly. "You know where the bar is, and the ice is in the refrigerator. 
Help yourself . . . to whatever you want." 

Tears still pouring from her eyes, she turned, and walked away, back into 
the house. Cathy stared after her, wondering if it had been herself she was 
crying for, or out of sympathy for her and Bob. It must have happened 
before. They must have done this before, so it must be out of feeling, 
sorrow or guilt, that she'd cried. 

The blonde finished her drink, then drank what had been left in the other 
woman's glass. Then she rose and walked slowly back into the house, down the 
hall to the den. When she reached the window she saw Sylvia walking down the 
road toward the car, which Bob had on the jack. At the bridge she could see 
Bailey, with a pile of wood he must have carried down by hand. She watched 
Sylvia and Bob exchange greetings, her touching his arm, standing close to 
him, inspecting the situation of the car. Then Bob jumped the ditch and took 
the old board he'd tried to jam under the stuck tire the night before. He 
motioned Sylvia back away from it. He pushed on the side of the car with the 
board. It fell off the jack, back onto the road. So that was all, Cathy 
thought. That was all they would have had to do last night, even in the 
rain, and none of this would have been happening. Sylvia applauded and Bob 
got into the car and started it. She opened the door on the other side. She 
turned and looked back at Bailey. He turned away and disappeared down the 
bank beside the bridge. She got into the car and slid over very close to 
Bob. The car crept up the road. It stopped at the barn. After a minute or so 
the doors opened. Cathy moved back out of the window and peered past the 
curtain. Bob got out on one side, looking up at the house, almost right at 
her. Sylvia came around and took his hand. He hesitated, then put his arm 
around her shoulder. He looked back once more before they walked into the 
barn. 

All right, you bastard, Cathy thought vehemently. She turned from the 
window, walked to the bar and made herself another Bloody Mary. She went to 
the kitchen for ice. When she came back she could see Bailey walking this 
way back up the road. She watched him pass the barn without pausing. She 
went over and added an inch of Vodka to her drink and sat down on the couch 
to wait. 

She was half-finished with the drink when she heard him enter the front 
door. She sat with her legs crossed on the couch. revealed halfway up her 
thigh by the button she'd loosened on the skirt. .Her breath was low and 
hastened, her eyes slightly glazed. Already she could feel the effects of 
the alcohol, which she'd drunk much too fast, pounding in her brain. She 
knew that in the long run it wouldn't even do her any good to try to resist 
what was coming next. It was fore-ordained, she thought, and it had been 
since Bob had insisted on turning off the road to stop at this old winery, 
which wasn't even a winery any more. She didn't even know if she wanted to 
resist, or why she should want to. But she knew that in the end still she 
would have to fight, even if it did no good. Even if she didn't really want 
to win. 

The sexy young blonde took another long drink of the Bloody Mary. She 
listened to Bailey's footsteps approaching from the other end of the house. 
When he came into the den she sat her glass on the small table at the end of 
the couch and sat, still waiting in the same posture, watching him staring 
down at her. 

The silence was long, thick, the kind of silence they said was cut with 
knives. He broke it: 

"Your husband's down in the barn, fucking my wife." 

Cathy recoiled inwardly at the coarse vulgar language, but somehow she 
almost managed to maintain the composed look on her face. "I don't care," 
she said. "I hope he enjoys it." 

He stood, just inside the door, staring at her as though waiting for her to 
say something else. She said nothing. She took her drink and sipped it 
again, now almost nonchalantly. She was trembling all over and yet she 
wasn't showing it. Through her mind passed a blurred picture of the crazy 
chain of events .that had filled the last eighteen hours. Everything has 
changed, she thought oddly amused at the irony. Or at least everything will 
be changed in a very short time. 

"Come on," he said finally. "We're going back to the bedroom." 

Somehow she managed a smile. He glared from the doorway, then stalked toward 
her. She sat, breathlessly waiting. He stood towering over her, and with 
secret inner fear and relish she let her eyes wander slowly down the length 
of his body. He bent slightly, slipping his hands past the rounded outsides 
of each of her breasts to fit them beneath her arms and jerk her suddenly 
and violently to her feet. 

"Oohh!" Cathy gasped, the rough handling serving to jolt her at least part 
way out of her strange state of complacency. 

Then, almost before she'd gotten her balance, Bailey's strong rough hands 
moved up to seize the material on either side of her dress just at the open 
neck. In a sudden rapid movement he pulled his hands forcibly apart and the 
dress split open wide straight down over her still nakedly unencumbered 
breasts and sleek golden-tanned belly, all the way down to the last button 
at mid-thigh so the entire front of her body was exposed from her neck to 
the little sand-blonde triangle of her cunt. 

Then he left the dress hanging loose on and open, dropping his hands to his 
side and stepping back half a pace, his eyes drifting slowly down over the 
softly inviting nakedness of her flesh, his burning, hungry gaze serving to 
drum into Cathy's alcohol-logged, emotion-warped consciousness the 
seriousness of what was happening. Because it wasn't, as she'd been treating 
it, a dream from which she could awaken at will. It wasn't another of the 
sex fantasies that had plagued her ever since her first encounter yesterday 
evening with this brutal beast of a man. It was really happening. Bob was 
down in the barn . . . Fucking . . . Bailey's wife. Bailey was about to fuck 
her. He was going to do it whether she wanted it or not and with her grasp 
of that fact came the sudden vivid recollection of the shock and fear she'd 
experienced last night when she'd first been confronted with the sight of 
his outlandishly gigantic cock. And now he was really going to shove that 
big thing all the way into her tight little pussy. He wasn't just going to 
kiss her or maul her body or finger-fuck her to the very verge of climax. He 
was going to fuck her, and the sudden wave of fear that gripped Cathy was 
almost enough to make her collapse. 

Then, before she could move to flee or retreat, he seized her wrist, jerking 
her almost off her feet as he led her away from the couch and started toward 
the door. 

"Noooooo!" Cathy whimpered tearfully. "NO please. Turn me loose!" She tried 
to stop and found herself skidding on the tile floor, then ceased to skid 
and again almost fell so she had to fight to regain her balance. Stumbling 
after Bailey, who walked ahead of her without even looking back, secure in 
the vice-like grip of his big hand on her slender wrist, she fumbled at the 
open front of her dress, uselessly clutching it together and noting, almost 
absently, that though several of the buttons had torn loose, most of them 
had merely been ripped free of the button holes. But that was small 
consolation now and she was still whimpering and pleading in protest as 
Bailey at last reached the door of the guest room, paused and pulled her in 
front of him and guided her through. 

"No, Bailey," She sobbed again, turning to face him. "I don't want it. Not 
really. I really don't." 

"Sure you do, kid. If I didn't know you wanted it you wouldn't even be 
here." 

He released her wrist and seized her shoulders, pulling her near-naked body 
forcibly against his own and kissing her again brutally on the mouth. And as 
she parted her lips to receive his tongue, his words, which wouldn't 
register completely until later, echoed in her ears: If I didn't know you 
wanted it you wouldn't even be here. 

Then just as violently as he'd pulled her to him he shoved her back away, 
almost to arm's length. He let his eyes again rove down her naked breasts 
and belly and the soft blondish triangle between her thighs, then with a 
shove of his wrists he sent her sprawling backwards across the bed. 

He turned as she landed and reclined across it, threw the latch on the door 
and turned back to her. She tried to clutch the dress together in front, 
staring up at him in immobilized terror from her prone and waiting position. 
Then he stalked toward her. Gasping, she started to roll on her side, yet 
before she could move he was upon her, dropping suddenly to his knees at the 
edge of the bed and pushing her knees out wide apart to completely spread 
and expose the nakedly pulsing little opening of her cunt. 

"Oh no, God nooooo!" Cathy whimpered, raising her head to stare down in 
utter confusion and horror at the kneeling man who was staring in turn 
straight up between her thighs. "Don't," she whimpered. "Please don't . . . 
look at me . . . that . . . down there!" 

She still didn't have the slightest idea what Bailey thought he was doing 
down there. It was like he was making some kind of clinical examination, and 
somewhere in the delirium of her jumbled mind it occurred to her that in all 
her secret fantasies of this moment she'd never pictured Bailey on his knees 
staring up at her cunt from below. Then an even greater shudder wracked her 
naked body as his hands moved suddenly up her tender inner thighs to seize 
the flanged hair-lined lips of her pussy and spread them deliciously apart. 

"Bailey," the trembling blonde whimpered, "I thought you wanted to fuck me . 
. . ?" 

Seeing the cruel grin that appeared on his lips, she realized she'd said the 
wrong thing. That wasn't the way she'd meant it. 

"I mean, I don't like for you to look at me like that. It makes me feel like 
you can see inside me." 

"I can." 

Somehow, in her heightened state of consciousness, the remark took on a 
significance that stretched almost beyond its limits, as though she were 
high on a mind-expanding drug. He could see inside her, literally and 
figuratively. Figuratively, he could see through her. He had seen through 
her, apparently, that first instant they'd met yesterday afternoon down in 
the barn. And Bob, by comparison, hadn't even begun to get to know her, 
during all the months of their engagement, and not even during the four 
weeks they'd lived together as man and wife. 

Then a chill of astonishment and horror shot through her mind as Bailey 
finally responded to her last remark. "I am going to fuck you, baby. But 
first I want to try something else. Has that kid who's fucking my wife ever 
eaten your cunt?" 

"Eaten my cunt?" Cathy couldn't even believe her ears. 

"Yeah. Eaten your cunt." 

Suddenly Cathy felt Bailey's elbows pushing violently out on her thighs from 
just inside the knees. At the same time she could feel his fingers peeling 
the lips of her vagina open even wider, and as she cringed in horror and 
struggled futilely to escape, he suddenly leaned forward over the edge of 
the bed, shoving his head right up between her open inner thighs until she 
could feel his hot rasping breath blowing right up into the furrowed opening 
of her loins. 

"Oh noooo!" Cathy whimpered, her buttocks jerking in a spasm in response to 
the bizarre tickling sensation. And a moment later she was almost mortified 
from the sheer strangeness and perversion of it all as Bailey's tongue 
darted lizard-like from his mouth to lick up through the forbidden curls of 
the hair of her cunt to make titillating contact right on the lustfully 
spasming little bud of her clitoris. 

"Aaayyeeeeee!" Cathy cried in spite of herself, her head flailing wildly 
from side to side in protest as she stared, gape mouthed, down between her 
quivering breasts at Bailey's face buried between her thighs. Then again she 
felt the tongue, limber and moist, slurping softly over her moistly burning 
flesh, and she thought if she didn't stop him right this minute, in another 
minute she wouldn't even want to. It felt good. It felt so weird, so 
exquisite and so perverse she couldn't stand it. 

"Nooo, Bailey, nooooo!" she continued to vainly object. "Please don't do it 
to me." 

But even as she argued she could feel the domineering middle-aged male suck 
the miniature phallus-like bud of her clitoris hungrily into his mouth, his 
teeth clinging to it tightly as his tongue lashed fiercely over the 
nerve-ended tip. And the sheer raw sensation was like nothing the aroused 
and surprised young woman had ever experienced in her life. Her whole body 
was on fire with the lust that had been building in her so relentlessly ever 
since they'd come here. Again she remembered the exquisite pleasure she'd 
achieved the night before, masturbating herself while Bailey sodomized his 
wife. Instinct told her that would be nothing compared to what she was going 
to experience before the end of this session with Jack Bailey. Already she 
could feel the first vague tremblings up in her cervix and belly that only 
last night had seemed to be the signal of the real explosion and release to 
come, and if her act of voyeurism had taught her nothing else she'd learned 
at least that Bailey wasn't a man to rush his sex. This was only the 
beginning, and though she knew that even still she should be fighting back, 
she was already on the verge of losing her will to resist. 

His hands still clinging to her sensitive inner cunt-lips to hold her 
treasured vaginal opening splayed wide apart before his face, Bailey shoved 
his elbows further up between Cathy's knees, rocking forward on the bed to 
push her legs back so her thighs almost cushioned down on her breasts and 
her buttocks and the whole naked plane of her loins was completely 

turned up toward his face. Again he nipped at the swollen, dilated bud of 
the quivering little clitoris. He flicked his tongue once more from his 
lips, dragging it slowly straight along the length of her openly moistened 
little pussy slit. As she whimpered and moaned on the bed he drew his face 
back for one last quick look up into the pink mysterious depths of her 
loins, then in a swift and aggressive motion he drove his tongue straight up 
between her pussy lips and far up into her quaking vagina. 

"Oh God!" Cathy cried out, her hands moving up to tear violently at her hair 
as she felt the limber slithering length of Bailey's tongue move like a 
crawling creature up through the sensitive inner folds of her flesh. For a 
moment she was so overcome by the sheer sensation of it that she couldn't 
even move or speak. It was so strange and delicious, so perverse and 
humiliating, so gentle and soft and yet so powerful in the effect it was 
having on her. Rape she could have fought, but this, how could a woman, even 
a normally decent and respectable woman like herself, be expected to fight 
against something like this? It was just more than she could stand. Yet even 
so she managed to retain some remnant of decency for a few moments longer. 
Then Bailey withdrew his tongue and plunged it swiftly back in again, and 
that sudden sawing type sensation was more than she could stand. Her body 
quivered as though in torment on the bed. Her thighs clasped tightly shut 
around Bailey's ears. Her eyes opened wide, her nostrils flared, her mouth 
hung slack. Then in utter surrender she cried: 

"Yess! Yesssssss! Do it to me. Do it to me like that. Eat my cunt!" 

For a moment Bailey almost hesitated, jolted himself by the vociferous 
surrender. But he knew he had this hot young bitch exactly where he wanted 
her now and determined to seize his advantage, he began to slaver his tongue 
quickly in and out of her flowering vagina for several seconds, then 
suddenly withdrew it, at the same time pushing down harder on her thighs to 
jack her buttocks even higher into the air. He leered down in gaping triumph 
at the succulently parted lips of her cunt and, now visible beneath it, the 
brown-puckered hole of her anus. His tongue darted again from her mouth, 
swiping the length of the hair-lined slit of her cunt. Then suddenly and 
without warning he flicked it right over the thin little fleshy membrane at 
the bottom of her pussy and thrust it straight up between the cheeks of her 
ass onto the cringing aperture of her anus. 

The virginal-looking blonde's eyes sprang open wide and she stared up in 
muted confusion at the ceiling. My God, what was he doing down there anyway? 
She knew what it was of course, though she hardly even dared admit it to 
herself. He was licking her asshole, worming his tongue straight up between 
her buttocks and into that most forbidden and sensitive little opening, and 
in spite of all her revulsion and for the contempt she knew she should have 
for him at demeaning himself in this manner, all she really felt was a weird 
and heretofore unknown, unimagined physical pleasure. My God, she thought, 
it was strange and maddening and terrible and wonderful all at the same 
time. 

"Ooowwweee!" Cathy wailed aloud as the bizarre contact of his tongue on her 
erotically stimulated anus became even more intense. Chills of shivering 
magnificence darted up and down her spine and her mind was an eerie panorama 
of lurid visions as the plunging tongue wormed farther and farther up into 
the warmly yielding passage of her ass. Her slender young body writhed 
uncontrollably on the bed as the overpowering assault continued. Spasms of 
delight rippled through her loins and belly in a torrent of sensual pleasure 
that gripped her body and soul. 

Down between Cathy's scissoring thighs, Bailey immersed himself shamelessly 
in his task. He knew right now this innocent little bitch must think of him 
as some kind of creep or pervert. She must loathe him to the bottom of her 
heart, and yet she couldn't help responding on a sheer physical level to the 
raw sensation to which he was subjecting her. It was an object lesson he was 
quite sure she would never forget, and though now he was on the verge of 
suffocating in her genital warmth and down between her freely perspiring 
thighs, he forced himself to continue his assault a few more precious 
moments, pushing himself until he sensed she was really on the verge of 
losing all control of her body. 

Then with a sudden little pop he jerked his tongue free of the acrid-tasting 
little opening of her ass. He swiped it again straight up the now freely 
moistened hair-fringed slit of her cunt, again clamping his teeth hard over 
the erect pink bud of her clitoris. 

"Oh!" Cathy screamed in a sudden shimmering contortion on the bed. "Oh my 
God! Oh my God! Oh my Goddddd!" 

Then he released the pink little nibblit and raised suddenly up, mixed 
saliva and flowing vaginal lubricant dripping from his lips and chin as he 
glared down at the prone, trembling young woman. 

"Oh Bailey," she whimpered, shaking her head from side to side. "I can't 
stand anymore. I really can't." 

He grinned, reaching down to undo his belt and unbutton his trousers, 
opening his fly and pushing his boxer shorts down so that his cock sprang 
free. And his smile only broadened as he saw the new fear that suddenly 
appeared in Cathy's wide blue eyes. 

 Chapter Ten 

The act of cunnilingus coupled with the obscene little tongue lashing to 
which Bailey had subjected her anus had pushed Cathy to a plane of delirious 
ecstasy in which she literally thought she would have been ready for 
anything. The very perversity of licking an asshole was more than she could 
have even dreamed of. She knew that if Bailey had told her that he was in 
the habit of practicing such abhorrent deviations she would never have let 
him hold her in his arms and kiss her yesterday when they'd first confronted 
each other down in the barn. 

But he hadn't told her, he'd just done it to her without any warning, and 
she had loved it. Never had anything driven her to such a state of wanting 
and readiness. Her whole body was like an inferno of boiling lust and 
somewhere back in her mind she reminded herself that if such an act could 
bring that kind of pleasure to the body, it could not be all bad, no matter 
how revolting it might appear in theory. She was, in spite of her confused 
state of excitement, in the process of inverting her whole attitude toward 
morality and immorality. And after what Bailey had done for her she wouldn't 
have believed, in her present mental state, there was anything she would 
have refused to do for him if he would just so much as ask. 

Then he unbuckled his trousers and, again confronted by his huge cock, she 
was forced to reconsider. Because now Bailey's cock looked even more 
enormous than it had last night when she'd watched him sodomize his wife. It 
was literally gigantic, filled with blood, pulsing an angry purple red, and 
she was gripped by a sudden terror that brought her completely back to earth 
as she realized he was really going to force her to take it all the way up 
inside her cunt. She couldn't do it. She just couldn't. It was too big. It 
would rip her apart. 

"Oh no," Cathy moaned, cringing on the bed as Bailey pushed his trousers and 
jockey shorts down to his knees and started to lever himself up on her. The 
lust in his eyes as he gazed down at her nakedly squirming body went beyond 
anything she'd ever seen in them before, and his cock was looming up from 
his thickly haired crotch every instant closer to her tender little vagina 
as he slid farther up between her thighs. 

Then, just as she'd decided she would at least have to try to escape, his 
hands were upon her, cupping ruthlessly over her tightly rounded young 
breasts, the friction of his palms causing her nipples to tingle with new 
contradictory currents of delight. He took one of the erect little buds 
between thumb and forefinger, tweaking and rolling it until she almost cried 
out aloud from the sharp electric jolt of sensation. Then she moaned as he 
dropped his face downward, taking the nipple between his lips and sucking it 
hungrily into her mouth, and in spite of all her resolve to try to resist, 
Cathy's arms moved automatically down around his neck, her fingers searching 
urgently through his hair as she squirmed her near naked torso up from the 
bed and hugged him tightly to her bosom. Then again her body contorted with 
fear as Bailey planted his knees between her thighs, spreading them to force 
her legs wide apart, one of his hands moving down between their bodies to 
seize the gigantic hardness of his cock and guide it straight up toward her 
openly splayed and wetly dilated young cunt. 

"Oh no!" she cried out in a cracking voice. "No, Bailey. I can't. It's too 
big! It'll tear me apart!" 

She gave out with a soft little scream as Bailey bit down hard on her 
nipple, let it slip from his mouth and raised up to stare again hungrily and 
triumphantly at her face, and before she could manage another verbal 
protest, his mouth was on hers, his tongue snaking deep between her lips, 
her mouth filled with the copper-like taste of her own pussy that had 
lingered on his breath. Then, the weight of his upper body coming down 
heavily upon her breasts, he lunged his buttocks forward and a new blinding 
flash of pain racked her body as she felt the thick bulbous cockhead come 
suddenly into brutal contact with the softly parted little furrow of her 
cunt. 

"Aaagghhhhh!" Cathy shrieked, turning her head to the side and forcing 
Bailey's tongue from her mouth as she felt the blunt end of his cock wedge 
itself up between her tightly resisting little pussy lips. "I can't take it. 
Let me go, please! It's too big." 

In a sudden, desperate effort she reached down and tried to push up on 
Bailey's pelvis, then with an angry animal growl he seized her wrists, 
almost snapping her small bones in the powerful grip of his hands as he 
pinioned her arms above her head, then lunged forward again. And now there 
was no escape. The hard-surging cockshaft was like a relentless metal force, 
a white hot shaft of steel irrefutably positioned in the all too tiny 
entrance to her loins, skewering its way slowly and surely up into the 
clasping inner tightness of her vagina, its searing force and power shoving 
back all her resistance, ripping and parting her soft inner walls of flesh 
until she was sure she would die from the sheer intensity of sensation. This 
made her defloration seem like mere foreplay and it seemed Bailey's big hard 
cock was tearing into her forever, filling her beyond human capacity as she 
thrashed and moaned futilely beneath his domineering form. 

Then at last somehow the cruel entry ended. She let out a low sob-like sigh 
as she felt the blunt hard fleshed pole lodge itself firmly against her 
cervix, as he groaned deeply and let his body sag heavily down on hers. She 
could hardly imagine how she'd endured the cruel penetration without passing 
out. His cock was still a massive burning presence wedged far up inside her 
loins, and she lay completely motionless, her eyes open wide and her mouth 
slack and panting, afraid to even move for fear of increasing the still 
excruciatingly painful sensation. 

Then suddenly as though in warning Bailey flexed and his deeply throbbing 
cock seemed to stab even farther up into her cunt. He still held her wrists 
tightly pinioned above her head, leering down at her in grinning triumph as 
she waited fearfully beneath him. He flicked his hips forward, grinding his 
hairy pubic mound hard against her palpitating little clitoris and nudging 
the monstrous cockhead even harder against the nub of her cervix. 

"Oooouuuuu!" Cathy sobbed, shaking her head gently from side to side on the 
bed so her soft blonde hair whipped lightly over her shoulders. She drew her 
breath in with a low hissing sound as he slowly pulled out, withdrawing his 
cock almost to its full-length so just the thick head remained in position 
between her quivering cuntal lips. Then she shuddered as he rammed in hard 
again, the force of the surging penetration once more sweeping aside all her 
renewed, though more feeble resistance, causing her whole body to contort as 
his pubis rammed back down against her own and she was once more impaled to 
the hilt on his giant burning cock of flesh. 

Again he withdrew, pausing this time and holding himself poised above her, 
his cock embedded no more than an inch deep, waiting as she quivered in 
anticipation beneath him, letting her dread of the renewed intrusion to come 
build to a peak before he lunged back in, slamming down hard against her to 
rack her trembling spread-eagled form. 

"Like that?" 

Her cunt once more filled and stretched seemingly beyond all physical 
limitations, Cathy blinked beneath him. Again he flexed the stiff muscle of 
his cock, again her whole body jerked in a violent involuntary spasm. 

"I said, like that?" 

"No! Yes! I don't know!" Cathy moaned helplessly, her eyes goggling as she 
tried to accustom herself to the unnatural invasion of her inner depths. He 
kissed her again on the lips, his tongue thrusting once more deep in her 
mouth as he began to saw rhythmically in and out of her cringing loins, 
gradually building in force and intensity, quickening the pace until she 
could hardly distinguish one stroke from the next as he slammed into her 
helplessly squirming flesh. 

"Aaaahhhhh! Ooohhhhhh!" Cathy wailed in masochistically responding abandon, 
her high-arched breasts joggling from the writhings of her tortured body as 
she groaned in lecherous submission to the renewed stirrings of excitement 
coursing through her belly and loins. For a moment, longer she lay almost 
still beneath him, then cautiously she arched her buttocks up from the bed, 
seeming to take the pistoning cock even deeper up into her tightly 
contracting cunt as she began a hungry hunching response to the searing 
thrusts that continued endlessly to the depths of 

her burning vagina. 

Above her, Bailey was groaning and thrashing like a bull in heat, his grasp 
on her wrists loosening as he concentrated on other matters. A moment later 
her arms were free and though she still experienced a lingering almost 
pleasant sensation of pain far up between her thighs, her arms moved quickly 
down around his laboring back, hugging his muscled torso tightly to her 
trembling breasts before her hands moved lower to seize his jerking buttocks 
and urge and guide his strokes. At the same time his hands had moved down to 
maul over her own softly perspiring flesh, slipping in between their bodies 
to crush her breasts and nipples, clawing ruthlessly at her tender, 
sensitive skin. 

Cathy's eyelids fluttered as she continued to hunch and buck beneath the 
wildly fucking man. She could feel the sensation in her loins increasing and 
intensifying with every passing moment, the promise of final climactic 
release looming like a bright light on the horizon before her. Then suddenly 
Jack Bailey launched into a series of even longer and more violently racking 
strokes, driving the thickly elongated shaft of his cock again and again all 
the way to the hilt in the young blonde's eagerly squirming loins. His balls 
slapped into the crack of her ass against her sensitively puckered anus with 
his every churning lunge, that added weird sensation only further 
intensifying her excitement and need. 

They were both building toward the end now, the wet flat smack of his loins 
against her pelvis echoing and resounding through the room as he reached 
down to take one of her erect little nipple-buds into his mouth, nibbling 
and biting the sensitive little protuberance causing further whimpers of 
submission and longing to pour chant-like from her lips. 

Then abruptly his cock flexed and extended even bigger and harder far up 
into the inner tightness of her cunt. The blood-filled head seemed to flare 
and surge until she feared it would rip straight through the lining of her 
belly, and once more she drew her arms up around his sweating back, holding 
his body tight against hers as she rushed closer and closer to the brink of 
delirium and release, as his lunging thrusts built to a crescendo of 

violence and fury. Then her mind almost blanked as far a up in her loins she 
felt the first awe-inspiring waves of her climax surging with stunning 
volcanic fury across her eagerly writhing flesh. 

"Oh my God, yes!" Cathy cried out in final surrender, her hand once more 
clutching Bailey's buttocks to pull him even tighter against her. She thrust 
her own naked ass-cheeks up from the bed in a violent bucking motion, 
grinding her impaled pussy in luxuriating circles around the cock that 
filled her, taking it into her at odd and even more exciting angles. 

At last she sank back against the bed, her body quivering in uncontrollable 
spasms. The rosy hue of her cheeks grew even more vivid and her sobs of 
submission and gratitude rose to ecstatic screams as the fluids of her 
vagina flowed freely forth to mix with the hot splattering drops of male 
semen pumping in a vicious torrent far up into the most secret depths of her 
loins. 

"It's happening," she wailed, flailing her head from side to side. "I'm 
cumming! Oh yes, oh God yes, I'm cumminnggggg!" 

Bailey rammed his throbbing cock again to the hilt in Cathy's hotly 
contracting vagina, his gigantic load of cum erupting in a cannon-like 
volley of hotly pumping spurts that filled and flooded her womb. He 
continued to fuck violently into her until every ounce of his male seed was 
spent, until she'd already sagged in motionless respose beneath him on the 
bed. Then at last he collapsed heavily on her. 

Bailey wasn't sure how much time passed before he raised his head up, then 
started to draw his deflating cock slowly out of her sated, warmly clinging 
loins, prompting a low hissing to rise from deep in her throat. He freed 
himself from her arms, which had still been wrapped tightly around his back, 
rolled over, lay gasping for breath for a moment, and finally sat up on the 
bed. 

"Oh Bailey," she purred. "That was wonderful. That was so wonderful. I'm not 
. . . not sorry." 

He sat up, pulled his trousers up and buckled them. He turned back, staring 
at her silently for a moment, then walked from the room. 

 Chapter Eleven 

Through the ages of the history of mankind, Cathy mused, later that 
afternoon in a moment of uncharacteristic philosophical reflection, 
ignorance on the part of one man, or people, has bred the most special kind 
of loathing on the part of another. From the doctrines of White Man's 
Burden, back through the Spanish conquest of South America, back to the 
Roman Conquest of the greater part of the known world at that time, 
ignorance on the part of peoples, nations, has been employed as 
justification for enslaving them. Early explorers in Black Africa had never 
questioned the intelligence and ingenuity of the indigenous race; but the 
Black Man's ignorance of certain Western technological advances were self 
evident. White man's ignorance of techniques necessary for survival in the 
local environment, the only suitable criteria for achievement there, was 
conveniently ignored. The blacks were taken into captivity, sold as slaves. 
The justification on the part of the Christian slave traders who took them 
to the New World was their ignorance of a way of life they had never seen. 

The fault in the basic concept, of course, was obvious. Yet now, on a 
smaller, much more personal level, Cathy was indulging herself in the same 
kind of rationalization as she sat listening to Bob explain how he'd gotten 
the car out of the ditch, how Bailey had gotten off to a good start in 
repairing the bridge, and how Sylvia had convinced him they might as well 
stay another night, then get back on the road in the morning. 

Her dress now held together in front by a couple of safety pins she'd used 
to replace the three buttons Bailey had torn off when he'd yanked it open, 
the sensuous young blonde stared deadpan at her husband. My God, she 
thought, her contempt welling in her breast. He must really take me for an 
idiot. Apparently he didn't think she could have even the slightest 
suspicion about what had happened between him and Sylvia down at the barn 
while Sylvia's husband was fucking her silly in the guest bedroom here at 
the house. And Bob, of course, was the real idiot here. Because he couldn't 
have even dreamed that had happened either. He didn't even guess that Bailey 
was a threat, otherwise, they would have been long gone like she'd wanted, 
before. 

"Well, whatta you think?" Bob asked. 

Cathy took a sip of the Bloody Mary she'd made after she'd emerged from the 
bedroom. She walked over and looked out the window over the sunlight 
terrain. From down at the bridge she could hear a hammering. Now, what 
Bailey had said as he was dragging her to the bedroom returned to echo 
clearly in her mind: If I didn't know you wanted it you wouldn't even be 
here. Suddenly, understanding what he'd meant, she smiled. 

Bailey must have knocked the supports out from under the bridge himself. 
He'd kept them there intentionally, because he knew what she wanted, what 
she had wanted ever since he'd first grabbed her in the barn. He'd known it 
even better than she had. 

"What if I said no?" she asked; turning back to Bob. "What if I absolutely 
refuse to stay here another night." 

He gazed at her in exasperation. "It just doesn't make sense, honey." 

Cathy fixed her husband levelly in her gaze. She wondered, fleetingly, what 
it would be like making love to him again, after what had happened between 
her and Bailey. Perhaps it would be different, better, perhaps the same as 
before. Slowly the young blonde let a smile cross her face. "Doesn't it make 
sense, Bob? Can't you think of a reason why I might not want to stay here 
another night?" 

She watched the alarm flash in his eyes, she imagined he was invisibly 
squirming on his feet. Then she turned quickly away. 

"I don't really mind," she said, gazing again out the window. "You're 
driving. If you want to stay, we'll stay." 

* 

* * 

By the middle of the evening, after they'd enjoyed another of Sylvia's 
delicious meals and an ample number of after-dinner drinks, Cathy had 
decided what she was going to do. As to her motive, that was less clear. It 
could have been vengeance, for as she watched Bob's smug and secretive looks 
at Sylvia, sensed his continued oblivion to even the possibility of 
something having happened between her and Bailey, she felt almost an 
obligation to herself to knock the props out from under him and watch him 
tumble back to earth. 

But there was more to it than that. Jack Bailey's ruthless assault on her 
tender young body that afternoon and the rousing climax she'd experienced 
seemed only to have whetted her appetite. After he'd left her, exhausted, 
slightly sore inside, her skin still tingling and burning all over as though 
memory of his hands on her naked flesh. She could still hardly believe it 
had really happened, that she could still hardly believe it had really 
happened, that she could have allowed him to take her that way, to eat her 
pussy until she thought she would go out of her mind and then fuck her until 
every last shred of decency in her being had been pushed aside by her 
compelling physical lust. Then he'd just left, saying nothing, not even 
looking back. Through the evening she'd been waiting for some sign from him, 
of recognition or acknowledgment of what had happened between them. There 
had been none. And she was almost sure she knew why. It was her turn to make 
the next move. The first time he'd literally dragged her to the bed. He 
hadn't really raped her, but had that been necessary she had no doubt that 
he would have. But the second time around things were not going to be that 
easy for her. She was going to have to meet him halfway at least. 

Sylvia had put an old Sinatra album on the stereo set and she and Bob were 
dancing, very slowly, very close together. Cathy was seated in the easy 
chair, alternately watching them and watching Bailey, who was at the table, 
silently sipping his whisky. She waited until Bob's back was turned to her, 
then, rallying her courage, she downed the rest of her own drink and rose. 
When Bailey looked at her she met his eyes. Though she felt so nervous, even 
fearful, that she could hardly even face him, she somehow managed a sultry 
smile. Then she turned and walked, silently as she could, out of the room 
and down the hall. 

Cathy's heart was pounding furiously in her breast, her breathing hard and 
hastened. She was beset by an almost unbearable fluttering in her stomach, 
and as she entered the guest bedroom where she and Bob had slept the night 
before and where that afternoon Bailey had stripped her and forcibly 
ravished her tender and willing young body, it required every bit of her 
self-control to keep her from turning and fleeing back to the den. Her mind 
was a jumble of contradictory impulses. The mere thought of what she was 
about to do filled her with a perverse and mischievous excitement that could 
not be contained, yet she was not eluded by the seriousness of the act. 
She'd already committed adultery this afternoon, but so had Bob. This went 
farther than mere cheating. Bob wasn't that blind, she hoped. Before she and 
Bailey were through tonight he would know all too well what was going on. 
And she didn't know how he would react. She didn't even know how she wanted 
him to react. 

Cathy's fingers were trembling as she turned on the small dim lamp beside 
the bed, pushed the door almost closed, then quickly peeled off the 
tight-fitting sweater she'd changed into earlier in the evening. Naked to 
the waist, she watched herself in the mirror, the fluttering of mingled 
apprehension and anticipation in her stomach only increasing as she undid 
the snap at the side of her skirt and pulled it quickly down off the 
panty-clad cheeks of her ass. She let it drop to the floor and stepped out 
of it, hesitating for a moment, tempted to leave her panties. But that 
wasn't the way she'd planned it. Tonight she wanted to be completely naked, 
completely open and free to be taken by her adulterous lover and used 
however he wanted to use her. It was to be an intentional act of purgation 
of her puritanical past, and with fearful determination she pulled the 
panties down, stepped out of them and, completely naked, walked to the bed 
and slipped between the sheets. 

As she lay breathlessly waiting, it occurred to her that Bailey might not 
even come, and she was at the same time relieved and disturbed at the 
thought. Then she found herself thinking that it wasn't impossible that Bob 
might come instead. She tried to imagine what that would be like and could 
fix no clear image in her mind. Then her heartbeat hastened even further as 
she heard the footsteps at the far end of the hail, footsteps she could now 
even identify. She listened to them approach and stop outside the door. The 
last moment of waiting was almost unbearable., With a low creaking the door 
swung slowly open. Bailey stood framed in it, staring silently down at her. 
She smiled feebly, then with both feet she pushed downward on the sheet. It 
slipped from her softly rounded shoulders, off the ripe upper portions of 
her breasts and the already erectly tingling buds of her nipples, down off 
her ribs and belly and the dark aperture of her navel to at last reveal the 
soft colored triangle of the hair of her cunt. With a little kick she thrust 
it completely off her thighs and calves, and waited in naked and open 
surrender, completely exposed to the gray-headed man's lecherously leering 
eyes. 

Bailey swallowed hard, his gaze descending to Cathy's sensuously rounded 
breasts, then lower to her parted thighs where nestled invitingly in the 
soft brown curls of her cunt-hair he could just glimpse her pink-lipped 
pussy and the little nipple like bud of her clitoris. His eyes never leaving 
her body, he reached behind his back, pulled the door shut, and started to 
throw the latch. 

"Leave it unlocked," Cathy said in a cracking voice. 

He merely raised his eyebrows. 

"He might as well see if he wants to. I'd rather have him watching than 
hollering and pounding on the door. Unless you're afraid of him." 

Bailey grinned. "Fat chance of that. Boy, you really want to rub it in 
though, don't you?" 

"No. I don't really care," she said. "I just don't like dishonesty. But I 
imagine Sylvia will be taking good care of him anyway. She knew where I was 
going when I left the den." 

Bailey's grin had faded. "Yeah, I guess so," he said after a long pause. 
Then he stepped out of his shoes and walked toward the bed. He paused beside 
it, staring down hungrily at her nakedly waiting body. "All right, kid. You 
want to give your husband a show, we'll give him a show." 

"What I want," Cathy said as he dropped down to a sitting position beside 
her prone body, "is you naked in bed beside me." 

As Bailey half turned to face her she reached out eagerly with her arms, 
tugging his shirttails from out of his trousers and eagerly undoing the 
buttons down the front. As Bailey pushed the shirt from his shoulders her 
hands dropped to the buckle of his belt. She undid it quickly, fumbled to 
loosen the zipper of his trousers. Then a low hiss rose in her throat as he 
bounced up slightly from the bed to let her waist and the already 
half-erected shaft of his cock was suddenly revealed, menacingly large even 
in its semi-hardness, so that another faint tremor of fear darted through 
her body at the thought of having to take that monstrosity again into her 
tender little vagina, which was still very sensitive from this afternoon's 
cruel ravishment.. 

As Cathy sank back onto the pillow, her eyes narrowing with her rapidly 
building lust. Bailey pushed the trousers down from his knees, stepped out 
of them and left them on the floor. He turned again toward her, staring 
hungrily down. He reached out slowly with one of his hands, laying it gently 
on the side of her cheek in what she first took to be a gesture of 
affection. Then his thumb extended, swiping in a suggestive gesture across 
her voluptuous, slightly parted lips. Out of the corner of her eye Cathy saw 
his flaccid cock surge another half inch toward erection, then with an 
almost sadistic grin, he hooked his thumb into the corner of her mouth, 
giving a little tug to force her to open it, and as the confused blonde 
stared shamefully up he pushed the phallic-like finger straight up into the 
warm wet cavity of her mouth. 

Cathy couldn't imagine what the muscular man was trying to do. There was 
something so strange in the way he was looking at her, and she felt so funny 
lying here naked before him, sucking his thumb into her mouth. There was 
something faintly degrading about it and at the same time it was weirdly 
erotic on a purely suggestive level. His other hand had dropped to her naked 
breasts, massaging them softly, his fingers seizing one of the already hard 
little nipples to arouse it to even more urgently tingling rigidity. His 
thumb flicked down the length of her tongue, almost to the back of her 
throat. Then suddenly he pulled it from her mouth and as Cathy waited, still 
prone and panting on the bed, she shifted around to recline beside her, his 
arms moving around her shoulders to pull her warmly against him. Then as she 
willingly let her body melt in his grasp, he suddenly pushed her forcibly 
down on the bed. 

Again the relatively inexperienced young girl was gripped by confusion, 
unable to even imagine what her adulterous lover had in mind. But her slight 
resistance was to no avail and before she could figure out what was 
happening she found her face pressed against the lower part of the man's 
powerfully muscled ribcage, and suddenly shoving right up against the 
underside of one of her flawlessly rounded young breasts she felt the 
massive blunt tip of his now almost fully hardened cock. Then he lay his 
hand straight across the back of her neck, pushing her face even lower down 
toward his naked loins. 



"Bailey?" Cathy gasped in sheer exasperation as she found the, purplish 
eye-tipped head of his fully hard cock looming straight up toward her face. 
"W-what . . . ?" 

"Suck it." 

Suddenly the helpless blonde was mortified as through her mind flashed a 
luridly vivid vision of Bailey forcing his wife to take his , cock all its 
enormously fearful length into his mouth the other night. Of course, it was 
so simple! She should have known that was what he was thinking about when 
he'd first put his thumb into her mouth, and in a sudden desperate motion 
she freed her head from the pressure of his hand and twisted the upper half 
of her body around to stare up pleadingly at his leering face. 

"Please, Bailey," she whimpered in spite of all her previous vows that 
tonight she was going to give herself up freely and without restraint. 
"Please, I don't want to do that." 

"Jesus," Bailey said, staring at her in awe. "Don't tell me you've never 
sucked a cock?" 

"Noooooo, I've never . . ." 

"And I bet before this afternoon you'd never had your pussy eaten either?" 

"Of course not!" 

He shook his head. "Then this is long overdue." 

Before Cathy could even offer another protest he reached toward her, with 
both hands, seizing the long blonde locks of her hair and turning her back 
toward his naked hairy loins, and with a violent jerk he buried her face 
straight down into his crotch. 

 Chapter Twelve 

"Oh please," Cathy wailed as she felt the hot, slightly moist flesh of the 
enormous stiff cock brush against her cheeks. She closed her mouth tightly 
shut as Bailey turned her head slightly so the blunt-end of it pressed hard 
right against her tightly clamped lips, smearing them with the tangy seminal 
fluid that had seeped from the tip. 

"Open up," he growled, pushing her face even lower so the pressure of the 
bulging cockhead shoving her lips against her gritted teeth was almost more 
than she could stand. 

"Nooo," Cathy again wailed in protest. But that momentary parting of her 
lips gave Bailey the chance he'd been waiting for and before she could 
escape the bulbously throbbing head of his cock surged right up between her 
lips and teeth, stifling farther objection. 

"Wider," he commanded tersely, again pushing down on the back of her neck so 
she was forced to take his rock-hard rod of flesh even deeper in the warm 
oral cavity of her mouth. It plunged swiftly between her teeth, sliding down 
her tongue to embed itself far in the back of her throat, and Cathy could do 
nothing but gulp in muffled protest, almost gagging from the pressure 
against the back of her throat. She fought instinctively against the 
stifling effect, closing her jaws tightly around the bloated hard pole, 
clamping her teeth down as the ruthless pressure continued. She licked and 
squirmed her tongue defensively around in her mouth, managing to jerk her 
head back slightly. And all her efforts at defense seemed only to increase 
the sensation her cruel aggressor derived from his brutal rape of her tender 
young mouth. Gradually and relentlessly, his massive cock was growing even 
larger, extending deeper and deeper toward the very depths of her throat. 

Yet she had taken it. She had taken it almost to the hilt, as deeply as 
Sylvia had the night before when she'd watched them in the den, and though 
the momentary physical discomfort, and a lingering prudish instinct caused 
her to rebel psychologically, it wasn't really as terrible as she might have 
dreamed. She found, after a moment, that she was becoming almost accustomed 
to the strange presence in her mouth, and the suggestion the cruel invasion 
provoked in her mind was causing her lower body to respond in a way she 
would have never dreamed possible. She could feel her cunt dilate and 
moisten, her whole naked flesh was tingling with erotic excitement, and 
there was a current of masochistic want coursing through her loins and 
breasts and belly that defied all decency and logic. 

For a moment longer Bailey kept up the pressure of his hand on the back of 
her neck, his other hand now stroking lightly down her back in gentle 
teasing contrast to his aggressive rape of her mouth. Then the pressure 
slackened slightly, and the other hand dropped down between the nakedly 
clenched cheeks of her ass, brushing with wildly stimulating effect right 
over the cringing little hole of her anus before finding exciting contact on 
the pulsing slit of her cunt from between the backs of her open thighs. 

"Now suck," he said almost softly. "Work your head up and down and try to 
create a little wetness and friction. 

Cathy tried to speak, and nothing came from her mouth but a muffled moan. 
Then another contradictory shudder of pleasure went darting through her body 
as Bailey's middle finger popped suddenly up into the entrance of her 
moistly burning cunt and, resigned to her task, she cautiously applied a 
gentle sucking pressure to the tip of the invading cock still wedged far up 
into her mouth. As she did so, Bailey shoved his hips up from the bed to 
thrust it even deeper, then drew his long thick cock slowly downward, 
pulling his heavily rounded head back up the length of her tongue and almost 
to her teeth. Again he thrust inward, at the same time worming his finger 
deeper into the warmly clinging inner flesh of her loins, and again he 
quickly withdrew, now pulling it all the way out so it slipped completely 
from her teeth. And as he sank his hips down in the bed Cathy dropped her 
face lower, following like a donkey after a carrot, reaching down with her 
hand to seize the pulsing pole of hard flesh and aim it again up toward her 
lips. 

"That's right," Bailey said approvingly. "Now, use your tongue." 

Though Cathy wasn't exactly sure what he meant for her to do, she was more 
than willing to try to please him if he would just continue rewarding her by 
playing with her cunt, and she flicked her tongue hesitantly from her mouth, 
searching over the saliva-moistened head until she found the slitted little 
hole at the tip and lapped up another tasty little droplet that had issued 
from the tiny opening. And at the teasing contact the surging instrument 
seemed to extend even longer, flexing and throbbing in the tight grasp of 
her hand like a powerful weapon. Then, her body shuddering as Bailey began a 
slow fucking rhythm of his finger in her cunt, she parted and ovaled her 
lips, slipping them glove-like back over the head of his cock and again 
sucking it warmly into her mouth. 



Letting go of her inhibitions completely, she worked her tongue swiftly up 
and down its pulsing length and over the blood-swollen head, wetting and 
slickening it with her freely flowing moisture, lashing her tongue in 
velvety submission over the palpitating tip, savoring her naughty 
experimentation as Bailey once more arched his buttocks up from the bed, 
pushing the bludgeoning cock again all the way to the hilt. And this time 
she didn't resist. She accepted it hungrily, relishing even the choking 
sensation in her throat in her determination to do whatever she had to do to 
please him and repay him for the way he was pleasing her. 

And all the while his finger was still working swiftly in and out of the 
greedily clasping lips of her cunt, his thumb teasing and prodding at the 
tightly-clenched hole of her anus, moistening and slickening the cringing 
little aperture with the vaginal fluids that now flowed freely from her 
loins. Her sucking of his cock was becoming steadily more fervent and 
submissive, her efforts driving him to a rhythmic undulation of hips, 
surging the lust-swollen hardness of his cock repeatedly in and out between 
her tinseled lips. 

Cathy was letting herself go completely, her mouth grotesquely stretched and 
filled by the distended and gigantic organ thrusting brutally to the back of 
its hungry warmth. She could sense him building toward a peak of frenzy, and 
now her own loins were crying out to have the huge punishing cock again 
ramming into them, violating and tearing her all the way to the belly. She 
wanted to be fucked. She was ready, her whole body burning with her building 
passion and need. Every nerve in her being was becoming hyper-sensitive from 
the overwhelming surges of fantastic sensation and eroticism whipping 
relentlessly through her. 

Then faintly, as though from far away, she heard the footsteps and the 
creaking sound of the door. For a moment it didn't even register, then 
something snapped in her mind and she realized what in her body and soul 
surrender she'd completely forgotten. Bailey, at her instruction, had left 
the door open. She had been perfectly prepared to have Bob walk in on them 
at any minute. That was the game she'd started out to play and somehow it 
was as though she'd gone to sleep right on the field of contest. Now, she 
was rudely awakened by her husband's incredulous voice. 

"Jesus Christ! You goddamn fucking whore!" 

Cathy felt Bailey stiffen beneath her. She jerked her head suddenly upward, 
his cock slipping from her lips to stand up in obscene nakedness, still 
pointed right at the side of her head as she turned her face toward the door 
and Bob's flushed and gawking face. 

"What the hell are you doing fucking my wife?" he gasped as though he didn't 
even believe what he saw. 

"You fucked mine this afternoon," Bailey answered, his finger still plunged 
deeply up into Cathy's cunt as he used his other hand to try to turn her 
face forcibly back toward his erectly twitching cock. 

"Cathy . . . ?" Bob gasped, staring at her as if in demand of an explanation 
of an enigma he still suspected to be some kind of optical illusion. 

"You asked for it, Bob," she managed in a quivering voice. "I told you I 
wanted to leave." 

It was the moment that earlier in the night, she'd told herself she'd been 
waiting for. But it wasn't exactly what she'd planned. Bob was getting the 
surprise of his life, as she'd intended. But somehow now it didn't seem 
important. It was just an interruption, an irritation that had toppled her 
from the pinnacles of near orgasmic release, sending dull throbs of 
frustration ripping over every inch of her nakedly perspiring flesh. And 
somehow, bent over Bailey's loins, her mouth filled with saliva and seminal 
fluid, her buttocks waggling shamelessly from the continued thrustings of 
his finger into her cunt, she felt hardly in a position to exploit the 
holier-than-thou feelings she'd previously felt toward her husband. 

Then, with a sudden mighty growl Bailey ripped his finger from her cunt. 
With both hands he turned her face forcibly back down toward his churning 
loins. He arched his buttocks up from the bed, driving his twitching cock 
again straight up between her lips and teeth, ramming it angrily all the way 
to the back of her throat as his cum-bloated balls exploded and the thick 
load of his sperm came surging furiously up the length of the plundering 
weapon of flesh to erupt like a shot from a gun, pelting into her throat in 
spurt after spurt of white gushing fluid. 

And in spite of all her shame and embarrassment, in spite of the fact that 
she really hadn't had this in mind, Cathy could do nothing but gulp 
submissively, gurgling audibly to keep from choking as the tidal wave flood 
of cum went spewing into her mouth. And all the while he used both hands to 
hold her face to his loins, pumping the white liquid into her throat until 
she thought it must be running out of her ears before he finally sank back 
tiredly on the bed, lay motionless for a moment, still holding her in place. 

Then he released her. She raised her head up, the slickened cock again 
dropping from her mouth as she turned to stare red-faced at her still 
incredulously gawking husband, tears of frustration suddenly filling her 
eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She felt Bailey's hands move around her 
torso, turning her back toward him on the bed. Then her eyes widened as she 
heard his voice: 

"Come on, baby, we're not through yet. I'm not going to leave you hung-up in 
front of a witness." 

As Cathy stared at him in astonishment, he slid his leg between her thighs, 
lifting upward so she suddenly found herself sitting astraddle over his 
loins. Looking down between their bodies, she saw his cock was still 
rock-hard, blood-filled red. A moment later, as he pulled down on her 
pelvis, she felt the blunt head of it insert itself between her burning 
vaginal lips, and with a low spontaneous sigh she sank her buttocks 
downward, taking it all deep up inside of her. 

 Chapter Thirteen 

Bob Mason's legs felt weak beneath him. His head was spinning, his vision 
blurred. He felt somehow very small, not in the sense of being shamed or 
humiliated, but in the sense of being simply incapable of grasping what was 
happening right before his eyes. He felt like an amoeba looking through a 
telescope at the milky way. 

His wife had been sucking Jack Bailey's cock. She'd sucked him and let him 
cum in her mouth, and she'd never so much as even kissed the tip of his own 
cock, her own husband's cock. And now she was sitting astraddle him, 
lowering her buttocks down against his loins, taking that redwood tree sized 
prick all the way to hilt up into her once tight little cunt; she was 
moaning, trembling, her whole body swaying, her face contorted with lust. 
Lust! 

She was being fucked and she wanted it, and somehow, watching her here like 
this he found himself thinking that she was more beautiful than he'd ever 
seen her, not the prissy cheerleader he'd married but a real red-blooded hot 
cunted woman, a veritable whore in heat. And she was his wife. She was still 
his goddamned wife. And that, somehow, was what he couldn't come to terms 
with - that, and what in God's name he was supposed to do about it. 

And so as Cathy began to bounce up and down on Jack Bailey, as Jack Bailey 
grunted and hunched and bucked beneath her, his hands mauling over her 
quivering breasts, his red eyes leering in triumph at the glistening curves 
of her squirming sweating flesh, Bob stood ignored, gawking from the door. 
He lost track of time, drifted, almost hypnotized in his dreamy state. It 
was almost unconsciously that he dropped his hand down to the crotch of his 
trousers and began to stroke across the already lengthening bulge of his 
cock. He listened mutely to Cathy's moans and whimpers of passion. Once, he 
found her looking at him. He didn't move or speak. Then Bailey wrapped his 
arms around her neck and pulled her toward him, hugging her breasts to his 
chest, pushing her legs down so she stretched out longways on top of him, 
his hands pawing down her back to clutch her naked ass and guide her 
hunching, undulating movements, his fingers slipping down into the crack 
between her buttocks, prompting further squeals of delight to issue from her 
lips. 

And then, as his eyes followed Bailey's searching hands, as he walked slowly 
toward the foot of the bed and found himself staring straight down between 
her ass-cheeks where Bailey was working with his finger on her cringing 
asshole, Bob's conscious mind was addressed by his unconscious mind as 
though it were the voice of reveille come to wake him up: That's your wife 
and another man is fucking her and you've got a hard-on watching it. What 
are you going to about it? 

On the bed, Cathy and Bailey had both drifted back into their own oblivion. 
She knew Bob was watching them, was constantly aware of his presence, but it 
no longer seemed to matter. He was learning his lesson better than she could 
ever have dreamed, but even that didn't seem important. Nothing was 
important but that she quench the fires of desire building now out of 
control through her loins. Bailey, for his part, couldn't have cared who was 
watching. He'd used psychological control to force himself back to erection 
because he didn't want the kid to see him fail his wife, but that had long 
since ceased to serve as motivation for his violent upward lunges between 
Cathy's nakedly writhing thighs. He was going to cum again, even sooner than 
he had the first time if he didn't start exerting some mental control, but 
he sensed that she was already on the verge of being ready to go with him. 

"Oh yes," Cathy moaned, shaking her head from side to side to whip her long 
hair in gentle lashes over her naked shoulders, flexing her inner cunt 
muscles tightly around the cock plunging up into her loins as she felt 
Bailey's finger digging almost painfully into the entrance of her spasming 
rectum. She was momentarily distracted as she glanced back at the door and 
found it now empty, then Bailey gave a sudden even mightier lunge up beneath 
her and she again forced Bob to the back of her mind. A little shiver 
coursed through her squirming body as she felt Bailey's other hand press 
against her buttocks, then a sharp cry issued from her lips as his finger 
suddenly jerked free of her burning asshole. At the same time she became 
dully aware that another of Bailey's hands was between their bodies, 
crushing over one of her tightly rounded young breasts, and as she extended 
her leg straight down on the bed her foot encountered a bare knee. 

"What the hell?" Bailey muttered under her. 

"Get your hand out of the way." 

Cathy heard the voice, Bob's voice, behind her. She could feel two hands, 
seemingly fighting over her own nakedly jerking buttocks. As she turned her 
head to stare over her shoulder in confusion she saw Bob, trousers dropped 
to his knees, climbing up on the bed behind her. A low moan rose in her 
throat. Beneath her Bailey said "What the hell?" again. She glimpsed the 
fury and lust in Bob's eyes, staring straight down at her ass so she 
shamefully tried to clench her buttocks together. 

Still not understanding what was going on, she tried to roll on her back and 
found herself somehow caught on the plundering cock that remained rammed 
deep up into her loins. Then Bob said: "Get your hand out of the way of my 
wife's ass!" A chill darted down her spine as she caught her first inkling 
of the implication of that remark, then her gaze dropped to Bob's naked 
loins and she blinked in further surprise at the sight of his fully erected 
cock looming up in pulsing rigidity. 

"What the goddamned hell is going on here?" Bailey snapped from beneath her. 

"Just shut up and keep fucking," Bob growled in a voice that sounded hardly 
like his own. "I'll deal with you later." 

"Bob?" Cathy gasped, still staring back over her shoulder as he dropped 
suddenly down on top of her. 

Cathy groaned from the weight of her husband's body, sandwiching her down 
against the other man. She tried to reach back with her arms to defend 
herself and suddenly he seized her wrists, pinning them behind her back and 
shoving her face back down against Bailey, she was now hopelessly crushed 
beneath the two of them. She felt Bob squirming up the length of her body, 
felt his hard cock slithering up between her thighs, the tip of it slipping 
suddenly straight up between the spasmodically waggling cheeks of her ass 
even as Bailey's cock again plunged far up into the depths of her loins like 
a machine driven piston that wouldn't stop for anything. 

"Bob? What are you doing?" 

She asked the question and Bob answered it with action rather than words, 
reaching down between their bodies to guide his own pulsing masculine 
hardness straight up toward the already freely moistened entrance to her 
asshole, and then she was gripped by a terror even greater than that she'd 
experienced when she'd first been confronted with Bailey's stallion-sized 
rod of flesh. 

"No, Bob," she gasped, her whole body jerking and struggling helplessly 
beneath him. "No please, don't do it to me there." 

"There's no place else I can get to," he growled, and before she could even 
begin a psychological preparation she was suddenly blinded by a white hot 
stab of pain as Bob lunged forward to shove his now seemingly monstrous cock 
hard against the clenching opening of her rectum. The little opening 
resisted with all its might and he gasped and grunted above her as he was 
temporarily thwarted. Then a low whimper rose in Cathy's throat as she felt 
her strength to resist give way and just the head of his bloated cock 
slipped up into the tight elastic opening, worming slowly deeper as he 
continued to grunt and strain above her, forcing the punishing steel-like 
shaft relentlessly into her quivering bowels. 

"Oh! Ahhh! Aaaggghhhhhhh!" Cathy cried, her voice echoing through the room 
as the brutally lacerating cockshaft buried itself deep into her heatedly 
throbbing rectum. Pain shot like a bolt of lightning through her injured 
backside, and there was nothing she could do to resist. She was hopelessly 
sandwiched between the two men, trapped on the cock that skewered into her 
from the front and the other still wedging into her from behind. Never had 
she been so filled, never so humiliated and degraded, and just the image her 
bizarre situation brought to focus in her mind should have been enough to 
make her die of shame. 

Then at last Bob let out a low sigh, his bristly pubic hair matting against 
her ass-cheeks as he sank all the way into her. She could only be thankful 
that the worst was over. The pain remained, a gnawing burning essence that 
seemed to exist at the very spiritual center of her being, but she could 
stand it. Still Bailey's cock was thrusting in and out from the front, his 
pubis grinding against the little bud of her clitoris in pleasing 
contradiction to the suffering she was forced to endure, and as he lunged 
even harder against her and Cathy bucked her own buttocks up in retreat, 
flexing her bowel muscles to clench even tighter around Bob's cock filling 
her ass, she found that her discomfort hardly increased. Then, wondering if 
after everything else she'd endured in the last two days she was going to 
find herself responding to and even enjoying this cruel subjugation, she 
cautiously rocked her buttocks upward, grinding them hard against Bob's 
loins to even further increase the weird masochistically stimulating 
sensation. Again she absorbed Bailey's plunging cock. She gritted her teeth, 
hissing in pain and pleasure as Bob drew back and plunged into her from 
behind, the friction of his cock rubbing against Bailey's through the thin 
membrane that separated her two separately ravished holes causing her to 
squeal with mingled agony and delight. 

It was all just too much, but the mere thought of being used like this, of 
being taken ruthlessly and brutally by two men, was more than the awakened 
whore in her could resist. She was vaguely aware that this assertion of his 
own manhood on Bob's part shouldn't go unnoticed; she reminded herself that 
he was still her husband, that after the shock and hurt she'd just given him 
there was no reason she should object to him causing her a little pain in 
return. And though she knew it was all a rather illogical rationalization, 
she used it as the excuse to let go of her last restraints, responding in 
masochistic surrender as she felt the two men increase and synchronize their 
viciously fucking rhythms, racking and buffeting her sandwiched body 
mercilessly between them as they both began their mad rush to release. 

Behind her Bob had begun to saw rhythmically in and out of her injured 
little asshole, smacking his loins hard against her upturned buttocks, his 
hard cock stabbing into her fire-seared bowels. His hands had released her 
wrists to claw viciously over the soft skin of her back, and she groaned as 
he kissed her on the shoulder and then suddenly bit down as though to suck 
the blood from her tender sensitive skin. Beneath her Bailey was fucking and 
bucking with a fury, the grinding against her tingling clitoris serving 
still as wantonly teasing contrast to the torture being perpetrated on her 
helpless rectum. And gradually it was becoming more and more difficult for 
her to even separate the two sensations. They were merging, blending like 
colors as the nerve impulses met in her mind, becoming irrefutably confused 
in her blurring consciousness. 

"Oh God," Cathy whimpered in final masochistic abandon as Bob further 
increased his savage fucking rhythm. Sweat from his labor spilled from his 
forehead down onto her squirming naked back and his breath came in a sharp 
rasping as she squirmed her buttocks eagerly back against 

him, taking him into her deeper and deeper, flexing and caressing her anus 
tightly around his bludgeoning cock as though to milk it dry. 

She covered her lips hungrily over Bailey's mouth, sucking his tongue deep 
into her throat, her breasts squirming eagerly against his chest as she felt 
his body jerk and buck beneath her. Then she tore her lips away from his, 
looking back with watering eyes at her husband's lust strained face, a 
little smile twisting her lips as though daring him to give her everything 
he had and more. 

"Oh yes," she cried. "Yes, do it to me. Fuck me silly, both of you." 

Taking her at her word, the two men built together to a staccato crescendo 
of thrusting in and out of the cringing openings of her ass and her cunt. 
Between them, she screamed with pleasure as she felt the final tremors of 
release surging up from her loins and ass, caressing her body as though in a 
bath of fire and sparks, sweeping her almost out of herself in a blurring 
wave of ecstasy and masochistic bliss. And as she cried out her wild 
release, she felt the two simultaneously in the own volcanic pumping of 
teeming hot male sperms, the two separate perfectly timed male orgasms 
filling her vagina and anus with their pungently spurting liquids, the 
continued shattering thrusting of their two bodies racking her almost to 
unconsciousness as they reached the full fury of their lust on her 
helplessly sandwiched form. 

 Chapter Fourteen 

Cathy found Bailey, following Sylvia's unbegrudged directions, lying on the 
ground under an old oak tree on the ridge above the house. It was a warm 
summer day, with just the slightest breeze, the sun bright and yellow, now 
at noon almost directly overhead. 

Clad in a sleeveless sweater and short skirt which teasingly revealed her 
long shapely thighs, she stood contemplating him for a moment, lying with 
his eyes closed, in apparent oblivion to a fly that buzzed about his face. 

"You asleep?" she asked at last. 

"No, just thinking," he answered, opening his eyes. 

She squatted down on the ground beside him, the effort serving to work her 
skirt all the way up to her tight white panties. 

"I guess Bob and I will be going in a few minutes." 

He nodded. 

"The bridge is all right?" 

"Yeah. It'll hold." 

She hesitated. "Sylvia didn't look too happy this morning. I mean, she was 
nice. She's a wonderful woman. She told me where to find you. But she 
looked... bothered by something?" 

"She is," he said matter of factly. "Seeing it was a little too much for 
her, I guess. Don't blame her. I would have been for me too." 

"Seeing it?" Cathy blinked. 

"Yeah. She told me about it when I went to bed. She came down the hall. She 
stood outside and watched for a while." 

"I didn't know." 

"Hell," Bailey said, "Maybe she was just jealous." 

They were silent for a while after that. Bailey again closed his eyes. Cathy 
studied his chiseled face. She thought she would probably never see him 
again. But she knew, for having known him, she would never be the same. 

"How'd the kid take it?" he asked, opening his eyes. 

"Bob? I don't know. Neither one of us have mentioned it yet. I guess we'll 
have to talk about it pretty soon. I don't know what's going to happen. But 
I'm not sorry about this, any of it. I mean that." She paused, thoughtful. 
"But tell me something. Did the bridge supports wash out, or did you do 
that." 

"I did it," Bailey sighed. 

She nodded. "Do you and Sylvia do this often?" 

"What?" He frowned. 

"This, swapping, I guess you say. Do you do this often with other couples." 

He sat up, staring at her incredulously. "Do it often? We've never done it." 

Cathy bit her lip. "But I took for granted . . ." 

"No." He shook his head. "We were both restless. But as far as I know she's 
never cheated on me. At least I haven't caught her. And she hasn't caught 
me." 

"Oh," Cathy said. 

"And it's not going to work," Bailey added. 

Cathy's face clouded with alarm. "What do you mean?" 

Bailey sighed. "I guess I mean I'm a possessive sonovabitch. Any time I look 
at her now, I'm going to think of that damned husband of yours fucking her. 
I'd get to hate her for it, finally." 

Cathy was silent for a moment. "What do you mean would get to hate her?" 

"If I stayed." 

"If you stayed? But you're not leaving . . . not leaving her, because of 
us?" the blonde said with genuine shock. 

"It's not your fault, baby." He managed a tired smile. Down at the house 
there was the honk of a horn. "That's your husband, ready to go." He reached 
up and touched his hand gently to the side of her face. "Don't worry about 
us. I'll probably come back. Right now I'm going to get away for a while. 
Sylvia will too. We talked it over last night." The horn honked again. "Now 
get gone. You kids are young enough to adjust. When you get my age you're 
too old to bend." 

"But Bailey, if we caused . . ." 

"You didn't cause it. Now go on." 

She got up, her face sultry and troubled. Then she stooped and kissed him 
quickly on the lips, then turned hesitantly and started away down the hill. 
After a few paces she stopped and turned back and waved. 

"Bye, Bailey." 

"Bye, kid." 

She stumbled on. When she looked back, he was once more reclined on the 
ground, eyes closed, as though asleep. 


End
