Whoring Housewives
by Dick Edwards 


FOREWORD 

Cedarwood Manor, a picturesque suburban community inhabited by the wealthy 
and talented, is home to Jeffrey Wayne, successful young architect, and his 
beautiful brunette wife, Carole. The attractive, highly-sexed Wayens are a 
happy couple, still very much in love after seven years of marriage. 

But Carole and Jeff suddenly discover, at the same time and separately, just 
how very vulnerable each is to temptation's attack, how susceptible each is 
to the lewd proposal, the excitingly perverse suggestion or deed. 

Swelling within Carole is a licentious urge to participate in the forbidden 
frolic, a devilish desire to mock propriety by committing an act both 
scandalous and sexually thrilling, one that would provide her with the 
excitement and adventure her life now lacks. 

And so it is easy enough for Sheila Davidson, a blonde bombshell of 
thirty-one married to a meek, sexually inept stockbroker twenty years her 
senior, to talk Carole into a fling at part-time prostitution. The 
hump-happy Sheila, an adulteress without conscience, is convinced that 
whoring will inject into her neighbor's life the only thing it lacks, 
mystery and adventure, a sense of danger. 

Faintly frightened but eager to experiment, Carole accompanies handsome stud 
and Sheila's latest lover, and Cynthia Corral, an ambitious madam whose 
interest in catering to the suburban lustful prompted her idea of rounding 
up those beautiful housewives willing to fuck for a fee on their free 
afternoons. 

Jeff, meanwhile, gets himself tangled up with a titian-tressed sexpot, 
Patricial Richardson, stunning wife of his latest client. Patricia, a 
masochist extraordinaire, gets Jeff to first spank her and then fuck her 
fuckable fanny. Several days later, still dazed by this exciting encounter, 
Jeff finds himself socking it to Susie Latham, his pert and pretty 
secretary. 

After being screwed silly by Scott Langdale and introduced to the strange 
pleasures of lesbianism by Sheila, Carole is ready to service her first 
paying customers, Frank Kaine and Charlie Anderson, pals who share a passion 
for the perverse. The luscious housewife soon finds herself sandwiched 
between the two Johns, her pleasure supreme as they screw her 
simultaneously, the one raming her rectum while the other tends to her twat. 

But what of Donald Davidson, the forgotten man in this play of passion? 
Suffice to say that Sheila's mild-mannered hubby turns tiger after learning 
of his sex-mad mate's past infidelities and her present profession. Even the 
happiest hooker grows sad when confronted by an irate husband clutching an 
automatic. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Yes, Mrs. Carole Wayne could still honestly be described as beautiful, Mrs. 
Carole Wayne decided, a gentle smile bathing her smooth, unblemished face as 
she studied her near nude reflection in the full-length mirror in her 
bedroom. 

In fact, she was as desirable now, at age twenty-eight, as she had been on 
her wedding night seven years ago. Even more so, she thought. For now she 
was no longer the bright-eyed innocent, the moonstruck maiden who, much to 
her delight, Jeff had plucked from a college campus to be his wife. 

Careful attention to a nourishing, fat-free diet and her love of sports, 
tennis especially, had helped keep her weight just a few pounds over what it 
was when, nervous as a lamb about to be sheared, she had slipped into that 
motel bed to be deflowered by her loving, considerate husband. 

Her breasts were still full and firm, spongy melons of flesh to be kneaded 
and stroked, rolled in the palms of her handsome husband's strong knowing 
hands. How he loved to play with her mammaries, to work those gelatinous 
globes of smooth, warm flesh in his hands and with his fingers tweak her 
rose-hued nipples. 

Her tummy was still nice and flat, a smooth plane of tender flesh down which 
her husband's hand would slide on its wicked way to her moistening, 
dark-haired pussy. And her thighs, still sleek and firm, strengthened 
through exercise, tapered to well-molded calves and nicely-turned ankles. 

Yes, as far as she could see her body still possessed a very sexy shape, 
Carole thought, turning slowly in front of the mirror. And if it were true 
that she was even more appealing no than she had been as a flighty coed, noe 
given teasing the boys to total distraction, it was because now she had 
added a certain maturity to her natural charms. 

Her smile, once rather silly and reflecting little more than a school girl's 
playful nature, now mirrored warmth and understanding, a genuine awareness 
of the value of strong personal relationships, It was a smile that bespoke, 
yes, character, and it was a smile that suggested love of mankind and a 
tolerance of those who, for one reason or another, seemed incapable of 
responding wholeheartedly to the better things that life had to offer. 

In her soft brown eyes there was the hint of mystery, the suggestion of 
secrets to be savored in quiet, in restful repose, when memories of great 
adventures, some sexual, perhaps, padded on little cat's feet into her mind. 

Not that she had any marvelous secrets to reveal, Carole reminded herself, 
her hands drifting up her body to cup and then tenderly caress her 
bra-encased breasts. In fact, when you got right down to it her life was an 
open book. 

Nothing much of anything had occurred during her first eighteen years of 
life-except the completion of high school with her virginity intact. In 
college, while a junior, she had met, fallen madly in love with, and married 
Jeffrey Wayne, a very warm, understanding young man who, unlike the others 
she had dated, crotch-grabbers all, had been as concerned with her as a 
person as he had been about getting into her panties. 

Then, thanks to the fantastic generosity of Jeff's parents, who were 
determined to get the newlyweds off to a good start, she had set up 
housekeeping with Jeff in this beautiful split-level ranch. Making ends meet 
had been a bit of a problem in the first few years of their marriage, but 
now that her husband was a successful architect, well-established in a 
reputable firm, bills were paid on time and there was more than enough left 
over for the luxuries. 

And that, Carole mused, was it. Contrary to what she thought her glowing 
smile and warm, moist eyes suggested, she had not a single secret to 
divulge. Her past and present could really be regarded as rather ordinary, 
that is if you excluded the fact of her marriage to a very attractive, very 
virile man and the fact that she and her mate were comfortably ensconced in 
a sixty-five thousand dollar house located in Cedarwood Manor, an exclusive 
community populated by people of wealth and talent. 

But this aside, what did she have that was out of the ordinary? The answer, 
unfortunately, was nothing. The character that she liked to think was etched 
on her face? the mysterious, faintly wicked nature she thought her smile 
revealed, had no basis in fact. 

For she had never had to struggle for anything in life-except perhaps the 
preservation of her virginity until her wedding night. True, she did possess 
compassion for those less fortunate than herself, but she had never suffered 
deprivation or experienced the indignities heaped upon the impoverished in 
various subtle and not so subtle means. 

So this compassionate smile, this implied understanding of "Life," this 
suggestion of character molded by experience-whence cometh it? From 
imagination's store of tricks, perhaps? 

Affairs? She had had not a one, Carole thought. There were, to be sure, many 
men whose interest in her went beyond that expected of good friends. Seldom 
did she attend a party with Jeff that didn't find her, at some point in the 
evening, fending off the lewd advances of one or more of her male 
acquaintances. 

Not that she really wanted to get involved with another man-Jeff was a 
fantastic lover whose exciting, knowledgeable caresses turned her inside out 
every time they made love-but she did have to admit that sometimes, every 
once in a while, she found the idea of seducing one of her male friends 
rather intriguing. How wholly wicked it would be to turn that which had been 
platonic into something passionate. If only she were wicked. 

As it was, she could not look back on a single sexual adventure, one 
mind-blowing infidelity the thought of which would suffuse her with guilt 
and joy at the same time. These feelings, which were almost at opposite ends 
of the emotional spectrum, were engendered by a fond recall of an enjoyable 
indiscretion, according To Sheila Davidson, her friend and neighbor across 
the street. 

Swinging Sheila. Now there was a married gal who flagrantly violated all the 
rules in the book. The bright and beautiful Sheila, wed nine years to a 
successful stockbroker twenty years her senior, had one day confessed to 
having cheated on her husband no less than fifty-three times. 

When questioned about her wanton infidelity, Sheila simply smiled and 
shrugged and said such behavior was necessary to keep her from going stark 
raving mad. She was bored to tears with Donald, her intelligent but 
unimaginative husband, and so to assuage her frustration and satisfy her 
need for excitement she screwed around with the best looking studs she could 
find. 

Well, to each his own, Carole thought, wondering if the day would ever come 
when she was tempted, really tempted, to step out on Jeff. Not for anything 
in the world would she deliberately hurt her handsome husband, and yet, as 
Sheila was wont to remark, "What they didn't know couldn't hurt them." 

Carole suddenly became conscious of the fact that she was being watched. She 
turned away from the mirror. And there, leaning against the door frame, his 
arms folded and a knowing grin on his rough-hewn face, was her 
thirty-one-year-old mate, naked except for the large bath towel he had 
wrapped around his middle. 

"Hi, darling," she grinned. "How long have you been standing there watching 
me?" 

"For several very delightful minutes," Jeff answered. 

"Peeping Tom," Carole said with a wink. "Peeping Jeff, you mean." Carole 
chuckled softly. "I must say, Mrs. Wayne, that I'm a little shocked by your 
behavior." 

"My behavior?" 

"Uh huh. I leave you alone in our bedroom for just one half hour and look 
what happens. I return from my shower to find you playing with yourself." 

"Jeff, I was doing no such thing," Carole protested. 

"You were fondling your boobs, weren't you?" 

"I was thinking, darling." 

"I see. While playing with your tits." 

"Oh, Jeff, you're awful. But since you're here I may as well put you to good 
use. Come unsnap me, lover." 

"I'm on my way, beautiful," Jeff grinned. 

His well-muscled body still damp from the shower, he moved quickly from the 
bedroom doorway to his wife, slipping in behind her and placing his hands on 
her smooth, slender arms. He began to stroke her, his hands sliding slowly 
up and down her arms, from elbow to shoulder, as he smiled at her reflection 
in the mirror. 

"Is that what you call unsnapping me, Mr. Wayne?" Carole asked, a saucy 
smile on her beautiful face. 

Jeff chuckled. "Tell me what you were thinking, baby." 

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that." 

"Now that's what I like when I ask a question, sweetheart. A simple, direct 
answer." 

"Am I being evasive, darling?" Carole asked, leaning back against her spouse 
and resting her head on his right shoulder. 

"That, Mrs. Wayne, is putting it mildly." 

"All right, then, I'll own up. I was thinking about myself." 

"Yourself?" Jeff slipped his hands from his wife's arms to her waist, then 
brought them around in front to her flat, smooth stomach. He patted her 
there and then commenced caressing, the tips of his fingers wedging between 
the soft, pliant flesh of her belly and the elasticized waistband of her 
cream-colored panties. 

"Maybe I'm becoming a narcissist in my old age, Jeff. Could that be?" 

"Old age? Sweetheart, you're more lovely now than you were when we met. And 
you were simply gorgeous then." 

"That's just what I was telling myself, darling. I really don't think I've 
lost anything yet." 

"Not a damn thing, baby. You'll be desirable when you're sixty-five." 

"I'm twenty-eight now so that means I have, er..." 

"Thirty-seven years," Jeff said, helping out. 

"Right. Thirty-seven years in which to screw you into senility. How about 
that, lover?" 

"I can take all you can dish out, princess," Jeff said, his smile broad as 
he slid his strong hands up his wife's belly and wrapped them around her 
brassier-covered breasts. 

"Mmmmmm, you're a beautiful man, Mr. Wayne," Carole cooed. "You could thaw a 
chunk of ice with your wonderful touch." 

"Women are beautiful, baby," Jeff said. "Men are handsome." 

"Then you're handsome, Mr. Wayne. The handsomest man I ever did meet." 

And that, Carole added to herself, was not really an exaggeration. Jeffrey 
was truly a fine specimen of male, a six foot two inch, one hundred ninety 
pound hunk of virility whose hard, well-muscled body had seemingly been 
superbly crafted by one intent on creating something especially nice for 
female eyes to linger over. 

She loved everything about her handsome husband? his crystal clear blue 
eyes, his coal-black curly hair, which he wore fashionably long, sideburns 
and all, his sometimes insolent, cocky grin, his ruggedly attractive face 
which, while appearing to have been chiseled quickly by a craftsman eager to 
complete his masterpiece, turned female heads wherever he went. 

And, of course, she admired his intelligence, his dedication to his chosen 
profession. She was proud of the fact that he had succeeded, at such an 
early age, in establishing himself as one of the very best architects 
around. 

But Jeff, tireless worker that he was, always had time for love, his 
beautiful pecker springing to attention at a moment's notice, on occasion 
swelling to its pussy-pleasing, totally tumescent state of slightly more 
than six inches within seconds after she brushed her hand across him. 

"Hey, you falling asleep on me, baby?" Jeff asked, noticing that Carole's 
eyes were closed. He nuzzled his face in her shiny, shoulder-length brunette 
hair and squeezed her tits a little harder. 

"No, darling," Carole answered with a small smile, "I was just thinking 
again." 

"About yourself?" 

"About you, lover." 

"That's nice. I was worried that you might be dreaming about your lover." 

Carole chuckled softly. "You're my lover, Mr. Wayne. Now will you please 
undo me so that-" she left the thought unfinished, her voice trailing off as 
she felt moisture at the crotch of her flimsy panties. The closeness of her 
handsome spouse, the wonderful feel of his strong, sure hands on her boobs, 
was having its inevitable effect. She was getting hot. 

"So that what what, darling?" Jeff teased, knowing full well that his 
ravishing mate was warming up. One of the things he loved most about Carole 
was her keen sexual sensitivity, her wonderful desire, her ability to turn 
on quickly and with genuine feeling. She never refused him sex, and often it 
took no more than a word, a sensual smile and nod, to steer her directly to 
the queen-sized bed they shared. 

"So that we can make love, lover," Carole answered at last, opening her eyes 
and smiling at her husband's reflection in the long mirror attached to the 
back of the closet door. 

"You mean screw, don't you?" Jeff asked, grinning. 

"I mean fuck," was Carole's blunt retort. Jeff chuckled. "I love to hear you 
talk dirty, baby." 

"It turns you one, does it." 

"You know it does." 

"Oh, Jeff, come on, sweetheart. Get me naked. My poor pussy is really 
starting to burn now." 

"Patience, Mrs. Hot-Pants, patience. Mmmmmm, let's see now-" 

Jeff took a step back and moved to unclasp his wife's brassiere, his fingers 
fumbling with the catch as she swayed in eager anticipation. Within seconds 
he was drawing the narrow straps of the garment around her body, pulling the 
constricting bra out and away from her breasts and baring those luscious 
globes of creamy flesh in all their lovely splendor. 

Dropping the bra on the floor, he again slipped his hands around Carole and 
brought them up to her jiggling boobs, this time savoring their spongy 
resiliency and smooth firmness without silently bemoaning the presence of 
the pleasure-inhibiting cotton cover. Carole's tits were warm to the touch, 
twin melons of shivering flesh to be hotly massaged, tested for tautness. 

"Ohhh, baby, I love that," Carole purred, again pressing back into her 
husband. She squirmed against him as he manipulated her mammaries, her left 
hand drifting up to cover the one squeezing her left boob as her right hand 
journeyed downward to commence a lazy, methodical stroking of her 
pantied-pussy. 

"You've got the greatest pair of tits in Cedarwood Manor," Jeff breathed 
into his spouse's right ear, his prick beginning to thicken and lengthen 
under cover of the green terry cloth towel he had secured around his waist. 

"Have you seen all the tits in Cedarwood Manor, darling?" Carole asked, her 
voice turning syrupy as Jeff continued his dexterous man-handling of her 
quivering breasts. He was worrying her nipples now, teasing them, trapping 
those crinkled nubbins of flesh between his thick fingers and pinching them 
hard. Oh, what bliss! 

"I don't have to see them all, baby. No dame around here has a figure than 
can compare with yours. You're perfection." 

"Mmmmmm, and speaking of perfection, lover-" 

Carole's voice trailed off as she took her right hand from her now wet 
pantied-crotch and brought it around and back. Quickly she found what she 
was seeking, her hand snaking through the narrow slit formed by the 
overlapping towel and reaching hungrily for her husband's swelling manhood. 

"Like that, baby?" Jeff asked, smiling. "Like the feel of me?" 

"Oh, do I ever," Carole sighed. "He's getting so big-so bit and strong." 

"How about kissing him tonight? He'd like that, baby." 

"Mr. Pecker wants to be sucked, huh?" 

"He's due, sweetheart. And you always suck him on Sunday nights." 

Carole smiled. "I suck him most every night, don't i?" 

"True, very true. And he just loves the feel of your soft, supple lips 
sliding up and down-up and down." 

Jeff slowly slid his right hand from his wife's tingling right tit to her 
hot, damp crotch, his fingers trailing lightly over her smooth, flat tummy 
before curling around her covered cunt. Still kneading her left breast, he 
began a wicked massage of Carole's excited twat and was rewarded by her 
husky moan of approval. 

"Oh, Jeff, you don't know what you do to me. It's so good-so damn good." 

"It's as if you wet your panties, baby," Jeff observed, his hand in lazy 
circular motion as he rubbed up his spouse's cunt. She was really ready for 
cock, he thought happily. The lubricating juice was oozing from her twat and 
seeping through the thin material of her undies. 

"And I so very wet, darling?" 

"You're soaked, princess. You're all slushy down there." 

"Will you kiss her tonight? You know she loves to be kissed." 

Jeff grinned. "I'll suck her like she's never been sucked before." 

For a full minute more Jeff and Carole continued to manually excite each 
other, the hairy, muscular Mr. Wayne purposefully rubbing up the soft, 
sensual Mrs. Wayne's left breast while down below, with his other hard 
working hand, he tended to her twitching twat. Carole moaned with pleasure, 
her husband's artful ministrations sending shivers of lust up and down her 
spine. 

She was working briskly on his warm genitals now, her hand darting from 
hairy scrotal pouch to blood-stiffened prick as she savored the big 
beautiful hardness, the throbbing fullness, of her husband's meaty member. 
Jeff was ready, she thought joyously. His wonderful weapon, an inflexible 
pole of pulsating flesh, was more than ready to be crammed into her 
welcoming womanhood. 

"Oh, Jeff, no more, darling," Carole gasped at last. "I can't take any more 
of this. I'll-I'll come if you don't stop." 

"Ready to suck, baby?" Jeff asked, his breath hot and heavy on his wife's 
right ear. 

"Suck, fuck, anything," Carole answered, her voice husky, coated with 
desire. 

Jeff removed his hands from his aroused mate and watched her spin around to 
face him. Then, before he could utter a single syllable, she was dropping to 
her knees, her fingers hooking into the towel around his waist and dragging 
it down his legs to his feet, where it remained in rumpled heaps as she 
zeroed in on his thick, throbbing organ. 

"Go ahead, princess. Wrap those wonderful lips of yours around me. Suck him 
good tonight." 

"Beautiful-so beautiful," Carole purred, her tone of voice almost reverent 
as she fixed her eyes on the powerful prick staring her in the face. "I love 
Mr. Pecker so much-so very much." 

"Lick him, baby, use your tongue." 

"Yes, oh yes," Carole said throatily. 

And with that, as Jeff placed his hands on his hips and unconsciously struck 
a pose of masterful arrogance, the beauteous brunette began paying 
obsequious homage to the heavenly root that had so often been passionately 
planted in her leaking pussy. 

Placing her hands on her husband's hairy thighs, she dipped her head under 
his protruding prick and commenced a lewd licking of his wrinkled scrotum, 
her tongue snaking out from between her lovely lips to curl tenderly around 
one ball and then the other. 

"Oh, honey, that's good. Yes, like that-lick all over. Oh, it's so fine." 

Carole continued to run her tongue up and down and all around Jeff's scrotal 
pouch, her head worming up between his strong thighs and weaving to the left 
and right as she coated the dangling bag of warm, hairy flesh with her 
sticky saliva. Then she started munching on the tasty testicles, drawing 
first one and then the other into her sweet mouth in a seeming attempt to 
gobble them both down. 

"Oh, sweetheart," Jeff breathed. "Oh, you're so good, baby." 

"I love-to lick them" Carole mumbled. 'They-taste so-so delicious. Mmmmmm-so 
very delicious." 

From her mate's balls Carole moved, a minute later, to his blood-packed 
pecker, the one she had promised her now very soupy vagina. A loving look on 
her beautiful face, she took her right hand from Jeff's left thigh and 
curled it around the pulsating protrusion, at its hairy base. Then, forming 
a fleshy funnel, she proceeded to slide her hand up and down its thrilling 
length. 

"Suck it, Carole," Jeff ordered. "C'mon, baby, don't play around with me. 
Get it in your mouth." 

The order alone was enough to send another wave of lust washing over Carole, 
to cause additional lubricant to flow from her pulsing pussy into the 
already soggy, squishy, juice-splashed crotch of her hot panties. She licked 
her lips and then, as a wholly wanton feeling suffused her, she opened her 
mouth and into that wet womb slid just the bulbous head of her husband's 
hard-on. 

"Now suck, sweetheart," Jeff husked. "Yes, like that. Oh, baby, do it to Mr. 
Pecker. Treat him nice-mmmm-" 

Carole sucked slowly, not at all inclined to rush things even though her 
cock-hungry cunt was almost ready to beg for a hard, mean stuffing. Eyes 
closed, her nostrils flared slightly, she drew on the knobby crown of Jeff's 
prick as if it were the tip of a most tasty peppermint stick. 

She pulled on it lovingly, sucking the fat head into her hungry mouth and 
coiling her tongue around its smooth thickness. Then, after a little while, 
she removed the prickhead from her mouth and began laving the entire root, 
her tongue sweeping up and down in wide brushing strokes as she washed its 
heavily-veined, slippery surface. 

From hairy base to the tiny vertical slit that sat like a curious all-seeing 
eye in the center of the bulbous crown Carole's teasing tongue roamed, 
missing not one miniscule ridge or valley as it swabbed the hardened 
erectile. Up and down she licked, from stem to stern, pausing occasionally 
to drill the tip of her tongue into that strangely inviting slit, the one 
from which would stream all that creamy goodness. 

"Good, sweetheart," Jeff rasped. "So fuckin' good." 

"He smells so-so good tonight," Carole intoned hotly, her breath enveloping 
her husband's balls. "What's he-mmm, it tastes so nice-what's he wearing 
tonight, anyway?" 

Jeff forced a smile. "A dab of cologne, my sweetheart. You like?" 

"Ummm-he smells so sexy. He's all-prettified for me tonight." 

"Get him back in the mouth, baby. I want your lips around me again. Come on 
Carole, start sucking." 

"Right away, lover-right-away-" 

A few final licks and nibbles, one wet, smacking kiss on the side of her 
hubby's pulsating pussy-gouger, and Carole was ready to comply with his lewd 
demand. Now again she lay sizzling siege to the prick proper, her supple 
lips enveloping the plum-shaped head as her talented tongue, in sensuous, 
slithering curl, caressed the sensitive underside. 

Too much, too, too much, Jeff thought, gazing down at his ravishing wife as 
she began bobbing her brunette head, electric-like shocks of lust singeing 
his every nerve end. What could you say about a twenty-eight-year-old woman 
who was not only beautiful to behold but also fantastic to fuck? 

Carole was the perfect wife. She was a lady in the living room, the 
personification of style and grace, an enchanting hostess whose intoxicating 
charm and endearing personality had appreciative males flocking to her side. 

How sweet it was to stand off to one side and note how jealous wives cast 
angry stares at their fawning husbands, all of whom no doubt wished they had 
wed a woman like Carole. 

But in the bedroom, when they were alone with their lusts and the cares of 
the day forgotten, smothered by the rampant desire to fuck up a storm, then 
Carole turned temptress extraordinaire and became a seething animal hell 
bent on draining his balls bone dry with her frantically clutching cunt, or, 
for delicious variety, with her hot, tight, gripping rectum. 

Cocksucking? His wife's rating in this very important department was, in a 
word, excellent. She had come a long way from their courtship days when, 
denying him access to her vagina and ass out of a genuine, heartfelt wish to 
enter the marriage bed a virgin, fore and aft, she had tried to satisfy his 
need by enthusiastically but inexpertly blowing him. 

Lessons in proper cocksucking technique, including a detailed description of 
those oral caresses he especially liked, had commenced on their wedding 
night. Since by nature Carole was a warm, loving female with strong sexual 
drives, her defloration had been accomplished with any trouble. As had the 
initial penetration of her fantastically tight rectal canal. 

And it was with the determination and dedication of a student seeking 
straight A's that Carole mastered the scintillating art of fellatio. From 
those first awkward, fumbling attempts to blow him during their engagement, 
to those sweet, unsure, deliberate efforts to "do it right" in that cozy 
honeymoon cottage in Vermont, Carole had progressed to the point where now, 
after seven highly satisfying years of sexual experimentation, she was as 
skilled a fellatrice as any man would dare to wish for. 

Yes, he was indeed a most fortunate man, Jeff thought, taking his hands from 
his hips and laying them gently on his spouse's methodically bobbing head. 
Everything was going just great in his profession and already he had a 
reputation for imaginative planning and practical concepts, two important 
qualities seldom found in one architect. 

He was earning good money and maintaining a luxurious home in what had to be 
one of the most fashionable areas of not only the surrounding suburbs but 
the entire state. He had a healthy bank account, more clothes than he really 
needed, and parked in the driveway was a 1971 Buick La Sabre, with all the 
extras, of course. 

And to top it off there was Carole. Carole of the silken brunette tresses 
and warm brown eyes, Carole with her beautiful body and her equally 
beautiful sexual appetite. Warm and wonderful, dazzling and delightful, the 
captivating, cocksucking Carole. 

"Oh, yeah, that's the way, baby," Jeff said throatily, his fingers 
tightening on his wife's head. "Gobble it down, sweetheart." 

"Uggghhh-" was Carole's unintelligible reply, her words completely smothered 
by the fat, juicy pecker she was endeavoring, or so it seemed to shovel down 
her throat. 

"Eat him all up, honey. like that-oh, good. Yeah, all the way, Carole. Chew 
on it. Chew on it." 

Her mind clouded by desire, her flow of lubricating fluid so great that some 
of it was not beginning to dribble down her humid inner thighs, Carole 
labored with stunning purpose on her mouthwatering prick as the need to get 
pronged by said prick increased to nymphomaniacal proportions. 

Strange slurping sounds, gargling noises, rose in her throat and pushed past 
the rock-hard pecker she was hungrily vacuuming into her mouth. Up and down 
her beautiful head bobbed, her tightly-pursed lips skimming quickly over her 
mate's saliva-coated, throbbing tool. 

"Oh, baby," Jeff rasped. "You're-you're the greatest. The greatest 
cocksucking beauty alive." 

How sweet it was. How almost unbearably delicious. And yet pleasure would be 
heaped upon pleasure, for still to come was the coming itself. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

When his pleasure reached such plenitude that orgasm seemed but a few short 
breaths away, Jeff yanked on his slobbering wife's flowing brown tresses and 
jerked her head back, away from his now slippery spear. The cock plopped 
from Carole's lips with a sound not unlike that made by the popping of a 
cork. 

"Sorry, baby, I would-I would have come if-if I'd let you continue," He said 
by way of explanation, looking down at his surprised wife. 

'That's all right, lover. I was just afraid you were going to pull all my 
hair out." 

"Give me a minute and then-then we'll fuck. I'll just catch my breath." 

"I'll hold you to that promise." 

Still positioned on her knees, Carole studied her husband's pulsating 
saliva-laden member. She was glad that Jeff had stopped her when he had, for 
while she enjoyed taking his come in her mouth, feeling all that gooey cream 
slither down her throat when she swallowed, what she needed tonight was a 
sound reaming of her aching vagina. 

Brother, was she ever wet, Carole thought, reaching down between her legs to 
feel her pantied crotch. Jeff was right. Anyone would think that she'd lost 
control and peed in her pants. The crotch of her undies wasn't damp, it was 
sopping wet. And still the sticky stuff was oozing from her needy hole-tears 
of want, no doubt. 

"All right, sweetheart," Jeff said finally. "I've got Mr. Pecker back under 
control." 

"You're sure?" Carole asked, smiling up at her mate. 

"Positive. Now get up off your pretty knees and hop into bed. I promised you 
a good cunt-chewing, didn't I?" 

Carole pushed herself up to her feet and then quickly peeled out of her 
warm, slushy-at-the-crotch panties, holding onto Jeff for support as she 
slipped the clinging undergarment around and off one foot and then the 
other. She tossed the pants onto her vanity stool and started toward the 
bed, one hand hotly hugging her leaking snatch. 

"I don't know if I can take much of your tongue tonight, darling," she said, 
arranging herself on her back on the bed. "I'm close to coming myself." 

"We can wait a while," Jeff suggested, his still rock-hard organ in sexy 
sway as he climbed onto the bed. "Until your temperature goes down a 
little," He added with a smile. 

"No, darling," Carole said, "we'll go slow, all right? Just promise me that 
when I say stop you'll stop. Tonight I want to come with your big beautiful 
bone deep inside me-when you're shooting all that delicious gunk into my 
cunt." 

"Anything you say, princess," Jeff grinned. 

Most eager to please his pulchritudinous wife and wanting to stoke the fires 
of her passion, the aroused architect now settled atop Carole and commenced 
bathing her with warm, moist kisses. His hard, hairy body draped over her 
soft, supple one so that he was lying half on her and half on the bed, he 
dipped his head and began planting tiny kisses on and around her neck. 

"Mmmmmm, I like that," purred Carole, gently embracing her handsome hubby, 
her hands floating across his back. 

"You smell extra good tonight, too, luv," 

Jeff noted, his head in slow, sensuous weave as he continued his oral 
ministrations. 

"It's a new perfume, honey. Sheila purchased it some time ago and recently 
gave me a small sample. She says-ohh, darling, that feels so nice. A little 
lower now, Jeff. Mmmmmm, right there." 

"Are you talking about the across-the-street Sheila?" asked Jeff, worming 
his way down his beautiful mate's creamy-smooth body, his lips now trailing 
across her succulent tits. 

Carole smiled. "Yes, our across-the-street Sheila." 

"So what does-she have to say." 

"About what." 

"The perfume." 

"Oh. Well, she says it's dynamite. Guaranteed to drive the male animal 
crazy." 

"Wonder if-if Mr. Davidson-likes it. I find it hard to-mmmm, you taste so 
good, baby." 

"What were you saying about Donald?" 

"Just that I can't imagine him-being turned on by the-the scent of his 
wife's perfume. Or by anything, for that matter." 

"That's not a very nice thing to say, honey." 

"Sorry, baby, but Don just doesn't-strike me as the passionate type." 

"Looks can be deceiving, you know." 

"What does Sheila say." 

"About what?" 

"About-her husband's passion." 

"Honey, will you do me a favor?" Carole asked, her voice tinged with 
irritation. 

"What's that, princess?" said Jeff, lifting his head off his ravishing 
spouse's mouth-watering mammaries. 

"Complete a sentence once in a while. Don't pause between every other word 
to lick me." 

Jeff looked surprised. "Is that my hot-to-trot wife talking?" 

Carole smiled. "What are we doing talking about our neighbors at a time like 
this? I mean, really now." 

"No more conversation?" 

"No more conversation. Just wash my body down with that wonderful tongue of 
yours." 

"I agree, baby. This is no time for talking." Jeff dropped his head and 
resumed his bathing of Carole's succulent breasts, his teasing tongue 
slithering up and down and all around those gelatinous globes of creamy 
flesh. "Just answer me this, hon. Is Don Davidson a good lover?" 

"How on earth should I know," Carole said, surprised by her husband's query. 

"Hasn't Sheila said anything?" 

"Of course not," Carole lied. 

"Oh. Well, I just thought that-I mean, you two get together for mid-morning 
coffee every-" 

"We don't discuss such intimate matters," Carole broke in, crossing two 
fingers behind her husband's back. 

"I don't believe you," Jeff said, his words partially muffled by his mate's 
full, firm mammaries as he rubbed his face in the warm, velvet-smooth valley 
between those twin delights. 

"Come on, darling. No more talk now. I'm starting to get very hot again 
and-" 

"Okay, princess," Jeff interrupted, "from here on in I'm all business." 
Palming his wife's right tit in his left hand, gently squeezing and lifting 
that chewable mound, he slid his lips around the tempting nipple and 
lovingly drew it into his mouth. 

"Oh, yes, honey. That's much better." 

"Mmmmmm, I could eat you all up, baby," Jeff frowned playfully. 

"So eat me, lover," Carole grinned. "A tasty dessert awaits you down below." 

"I'll be there in-in a minute." 

"One flaming snatch coming up," Carole said. "A dessert fit for a king." 

As her handsome husband laved her tingling breasts, moving from one to the 
other, squeezing and kissing and licking, sucking the nipples, the most 
becoming brunette closed her eyes and savored the sensations evoked by his 
talented tongue and wandering lips. 

She was more than a little glad that Jeff had not pursued the touchy subject 
of their neighbors' sex life. What Sheila and Don did in bed, or rather, 
what they didn't do, was really of no concern to anyone. But that was Jeff, 
she thought. Always curious, always probing, constantly bemused by the 
sometimes peculiar antics of his fellow man. 

And had he persisted in questioning her about Donald Davidson's lovemaking 
talents, or lack, while withholding from her his marvelous, maddening tongue 
and those fantastically sensuous kisses and nibbles, chances were she would 
have eventually broken down and told him all that Sheila had told her about 
her husband's pitiful performances in bed. 

And that she didn't want to do-certainly not now, not when she was again 
climbing toward the peak of passion. Jeff's cruel yanking of her hair, 
permitting the "plopping" escape of his delicious dick from her moist mouth, 
had cooled her desire just a little, but now again she was on her way, her 
soggy pussy once more in excited twitch as Jeff moved ever closer to it. 

But what if her husband, who was now sliding his handsome face across the 
smooth, flat plane of her tummy, tickling her navel with his drilling 
tongue, were to learn that his suspicions about Donald Davidson were 
constantly being confirmed by a complaining Sheila Davidson? She supposed 
Jeff wouldn't be too surprised, for it was a fact that Don, with his 
moon-face and shiny bald pate, didn't exactly come off as a lady killer. 

He might be surprised to discover, though, that the discontented Sheila had 
already ripped off enough infidelities to last her a lifetime. Extra-marital 
exploits seemed to be Sheila's way of getting back at her highly-successful 
but sexually inept husband. And, as Sheila would occasionally point out, she 
was a woman who loved a good banging. 

"Mmmmmm, it's like slurping up water from a well, baby," Jeff said suddenly, 
poised now at the odorous portal of his wife's passion. He looked up at 
Carole, his smile broad. 

"Do me, darling. Get your tongue in deep." 

"You're leaking like a faucet, do you know that?" 

"Fix the faucet, Mr. Plumber," Carole grinned. 

"Do my best, lady." 

"That will be good enough, I'm-ohhh, you devil, that's delicious. Oh, yes, 
Jeff-mmmm-" 

"You smell good down here, too," Jeff noted. Again his tongue flicked out, 
this time to lap up a few pearls of viscid lubricant beading his wife's 
pulpy sex lips. 

"Don't start talking again, darling. Just lick me. Kiss and lick and chew 
and suck and-ohhh, that tongue just sends me." 

Jeff complied with Carole's urgent request, nuzzling his attractive, 
rough-hewn face against her steaming snatch as his hard-working tongue 
stroked her wet, pulsing labia majora. He was now crouched low between his 
spouse's spread legs, his head burrowing deep between her smooth, humid 
thighs. 

"Oh, darling," Carole purred happily, "you do me so good. So nice and 
naughty." 

Her husband's comment concerning the aromatic condition of her cunt suddenly 
skipped back into the dazzling brunette's mind, which in turn reminded her 
of one particular coffee-cum-gossip hour shared with Sheila. The hour was 
memorable if only for the fact that Sheila, who seemed to derive a strange 
pleasure from recounting her amorous adventures, one lusty detail following 
another, had rapturously described the super studsmanship of one Ed Brown. 

It seemed that Brown was, among other things, a cunning con artist, a 
free-wheeling, blithe spirit who roamed about the country in search of 
sophisticated cunts and naive individuals. He delighted in screwing both, 
serving up to the former his big, powerful nine inch prick and offering the 
latter a bunch of baloney about the perfume he was peddling. 

Sheila had joyously availed herself of not only the opportunity to get 
pronged by such a mammoth member, but also of Brown's offer to sell her a 
whole case of perfume for a mere three hundred dollars. The result was that 
for days after their clandestine coupling Sheila had two things to remind 
her of Brown; a sore vagina and twenty-four four ounce bottles of perfume 
she could have purchased in any large department store for a hundred bucks. 

"How's it feel, sweetheart?" Jeff asked, once again lifting his now sticky 
face from his wife's heavenly snatch. 

"Beautiful, darling," Carole answered. "Just beautiful." 

"You want a little more before we fuck?" 

"Just a little. Then ram it to me, Jeff. Hard and deep." 

Resuming his licentious feast, a pussy-hungry Jeff dropped his head and once 
more plastered his face to Carole's odorous, still leaking twat. Again his 
tongue snaked out from between his lips and again it laid siege to her 
sizzling sex, drilling deep, up into the slushy, slippery hole itself. 

Up, up his tongue slithered, stealthily reconnoitering anew the oily, 
blood-swollen folds of Carole's inner lips. Higher still, up into the narrow 
cowl at the top of her palpitating clit. Placing one hand on her belly, Jeff 
drew his wife's mons veneris back and laid bare the slimy button, his aim 
now a most wicked washing of that highly sensitive aborted appendage. 

Aware of her mate's intent, Carole braced for the inevitable sensations of 
pure pleasure, the gut-jumbling feeling of being borne aloft on a cloud of 
sweet bliss sure to suffuse her when Jeff commenced his wonderfully lewd 
labors. 

"Do it, baby," she croaked. "My clit, Jeff. Work on it, lover. Ohhh, sweet 
heaven.Oooo!" 

Jeff stabbed the swollen nub with his tongue, then cunningly embraced the 
clitoris, his tongue wrapping around it in slinky, serpentine fashion. A 
howl of pleasure from his wife triggered the next stage of this delicious 
torture-a rapid, fiendish flogging of the tender clit, a sizzling strumming 
of its smooth, sensitive surface. 

"Oh, Jeff, oh, darling," Carole gasped. "You're killing me with pleasure. 
Oh, shit. 

Oooo! 

For two minutes more, two minutes of insane delight for the squirming, 
moaning Carole, Jeff worshipped in the unique chapel, his attention divided 
between the shiny pearl of her clit and the sopping wet gash of the pussy 
proper. With reckless abandon he swabbed his wife's mini-penis, whipping it 
into quivering submission, then piled pleasure atop pleasure by rapidly 
pistoning his tongue, working it with mindless frenzy in and out of her hot 
hole. 

Glottal gasps of lust broke from Carole's throat as she brought her 
beautiful legs up, scissoring her spouse's head as he ravenously ravished 
her molten womanhood. She clenched her fists and arched her back, the back 
of her head pressing deep into the pillow as she thrust up her hot, weeping 
twat for more, much more, of her wild mate's murderous ministrations. 

And then it was time for the coup de grace, the explosive finale, the 
mind-bending fuck that would culminate in bone-jarring orgasms for man and 
woman. Carole was ready, oh so ready, her vagina now an insanely hungry 
monster preparing to snare and then swallow whole a fat, juicy pecker. 

"No more, Jeff, no more," she gasped. "Please, baby, get it in me. Fuck me 
now. Shit, I'm so hot for you." 

Jeff leaped to attention, his prick once again throbbing mightily-a meaty 
pestle ready to start churning in a hot, syrupy cunt. Quickly, he scrambled 
into proper pussy-pummeling position atop his writhing wife, supporting 
himself on hands and knees as he aimed his arrow on target. 

"Oh, do it, darling," Carole begged again. "Fuck me hard. Beat my poor pussy 
with your prick." 

Jeff hesitated. He looked down into his beautiful spouse's face, saw the 
need, the fierce desire etched there, and wondered again if Carole, always 
utterly ravishing, wasn't even more delightful to behold when in the 
feverish grip of a consuming passion. 

How thrilling it was to see her like this, her whole body in excited, 
impatient quiver as she awaited the solid stuffing of her cock-craving cunt. 
Her eyes were glazed and her nostrils flared, her arms were reaching up to 
embrace him as her viscous vagina, in quaking need, delivered its teary 
invitation to his blood-hardened manhood. 

"Please, Jeff," Carole whimpered. "Stick it in me, baby. Screw it deep. I've 
got to get fucked, Jeff." 

"That's it, honey," Jeff rasped. "Talk dirty to me. Tell me how bad you need 
it." 

"I do, I do. Please give it to me now. Bang me, Jeff. Stick it deep and then 
fuck me to heaven." 

As if to prove the potency of her passion and because her hot, weeping 
womanhood was screaming for a fat prick, the lust-ridden Carole reached down 
and with both hands grasped her hubby's dong, then. tried desperately to 
funnel its throbbing fullness into her mushy love cove. 

"Easy, baby, easy," Jeff growled. 

"I want it, damn you," Carole snapped. "And you're-you're teasing me." 

"Ask me again, baby. One more time." 

Carole gulped, whimpered in frustration, knew one fleeting second of intense 
hatred, and then-"Please, Jeff. I want you to fuck me. Do you hear? Fuck me 
hard and deep. Please, baby. Pound me to hell with your cock. Do it, damn 
you!" 

Jeff, still peering down into his passion-crazed mate's face as she fumbled 
hungrily at his loins, knew the time had come to quit fooling around and 
give Carole what she so desperately needed. What they both desperately 
wanted. 

"Stop moving your hips like that," he ordered, adjusting his position just 
slightly. "Stay still-all right, good." 

Carole took her hands out from under Jeff's body and placed them on his 
shoulders, the feel of his thick, pulsating pecker probing at her gooey hole 
sparking additional flames in her already burning body. She could think of 
nothing but getting nailed to the bed, her happy cunt ripped asunder by her 
husband's fleshy spike. 

Finally, at long last- 

"Ohh! Oh, shit. Oh, Jeff, I'm dying." 

"There's more, baby," Jeff croaked. "Much more. 

Two short strokes, then a long, smooth plunge, and he was buried to the 
balls in the still tight cove of his wife's vagina. Carole lurched up under 
him and in whimpering joy established for a delicious fact that, yes, she 
had it all, that her mate's hard member, every beautiful fat inch of it, was 
snugly encased in her vaginal canal. 

"Happy now, sweetheart?" Jeff asked. 

"You fill me so beautifully," Carole breathed hotly. 

"You're beautiful, honey. So fuckin' tight." 

"Stretch me, Jeff. Ream me out, lover." 

Jeff flexed his imbedded bone and Carole emitted a happy gasp of pleasure. 
She drew him down atop her tingling tits, still wet from the merry tonguing 
they had received earlier, and then, as he began sawing slowly in and out of 
her swampy cunt, she whispered into his ear the words she knew he loved to 
hear. 

Explicit and charged with fiery lust were the wicked words and vulgar 
phrases that chugged up Carole's throat. Pulling not a punch, she told her 
mate what she wanted, what he was doing to her, how fantastic a stud he was 
and how marvelous his meat felt in her prick-packed pussy. 

It was enough to turn Jeff inside out, and yet he was determined to hang in 
there, to prolong the out-of-this-world pleasure for just as long as was 
humanly possible. He took great pride in his ability to postpone 
ejaculation, in the fact that he had learned to control the spilling of his 
seed and thus savor, up to that last breathtaking second, the glorious 
friction produced by cock rubbing against soft, clinging cuntal tissue. 

And so he worked at a deliberate pace, neither too fast nor too slow, 
ignorng his wife's heated pleas for an immediate acceleration of the tempo. 
Her delightfully lewd exhortations to the contrary, he knew she didn't want 
him to come just yet. In fact, he was sure that Carole wouldn't mind one 
tiny bit if he kept pumping his hard prick into her mushy twat until dawn's 
early light began filtering through the bedroom blinds. 

Sweet heaven above, but this was grand, a passion-dazed Carole told herself, 
her hands running up and down her husband's hard back as he pistoned his 
throbbing took in and out of her soggy sex chute. In the course of their 
seven year marriage Jeff had screwed her at least a thousand times if not 
more, and yet each fuck seemed better than the one previous. 

Never, not in a million years, would she tire of her handsome spouse's 
pecker. How could any woman, young or old, lose interest in being laid, in 
having a nice juicy fat cock plunged with enthusiasm into her vagina or 
behind? Only the hopelessly frigid, perhaps. 

Pity poor Sheila. Her sex-hungry neighbor was running around like a mouse in 
a maze trying to find what Jeff was capable of administering every night of 
the week-a thrilling, well-paced and highly-satisfying fuck. Sheila would no 
doubt sell her soul for a night with Jeff, for his powerful prick crammed 
deep inside her hot twat. 

But he was mine, all mine, Carole thought happily, locking her arms around 
her humping hubby's back and squeezing hard. And his beautiful cock, the 
pussy-pleasing Mr. Pecker, could have access to her body any time, morning, 
noon or night. 

"Oh, baby, fuck it," she breathed hotly into Jeff's ear. "Sock it to me. 
Screw, darling. Oh, you lover. Burn me with prick, my darling. 

"Faster now," Jeff husked. "Faster." 

"Yes, oh yes, Split me, Jeff. Drive it deep." 

Increasing the tempo at last, Jeff buried his head in the soft pillow and 
slammed his throbbing took deep into the mushy softness of his wife's snug 
sex port. A heathenish wail of joy flew from Carole's throat, her ecstatic 
cunt instinctively clasping the fleshy invader even tighter, embracing it 
defiantly. 

"Go, baby, go," she rasped. "Up to my tits, Jeff. Fuck it, baby. Fuck it!" 

Animalistic grunts popping from his throat, his face flushed, Jeff rapidly 
reamed his whimpering spouse's sizzling vagina, again and again withdrawing 
his rock-hard root to plant it deep inside the warm, clinging mush, to 
passionately plumb the fiery core of her being. 

She was really getting it now, Carole knew, her breath coming in short, hard 
gasps as her mate plowed up her weeping twat with his thrusting, churning 
cock. She was being punished by Jeff's beautiful bone, made to fully realize 
its great strength, its mind-bending, thrilling thickness. 

He was touching bottom with each sizzling plunge into her pussy, his booming 
pecker a hot, piercing knife as it slashed way up into her quivering tummy. 
Oh, it was so beautiful, so totally terrific! 

"More, Jeff. Give me more, baby. Make me-uhhh!" 

"You've go it," Jeff husked. "Every fuckin' inch." 

Carole now brought her legs up off the bed and wrapped them around Jeff's 
middle, locking her ankles so that she was holding him firmly in vice-like 
grip. She was perilously close to coming now, her warm passion-drenched boy 
in wild quiver under her mate as he drilled his blood-thickened dick to the 
very depths of her greedily grasping vagina. 

"Soon, baby, soon," Jeff blurted out. 

"Fill me, baby," Carole shot back. "Blast in my cunt." 

"Squeeze it. Squeeze my cock." 

Jeff lunged yet another time into his spouse's soupy sex chute, his 
belly-smacking plunge wrenching from Carole a guttural moan of wholehearted 
approval. He was galloping toward the finish line now, his sights set on the 
winner's circle and the garland of orgasmic delight awaiting him there. 

Eyes shut tight, his mind a jumble of licentious thoughts, he banged away at 
his wife's cunt with an alloyed abandon, his hairy scrotal sac spanking her 
winking nether hole as he boomed his bone to the furthermost reaches of her 
palpitating pussy. 

"Oh! Oh, Jeff. I'm--I'm cominng." 

"Grab it, baby. Come now. Now!" 

Feeling Carole's contractions, Jeff delivered one final pulverizing plunge 
into her trembling twat and then plummeted off passion's peak into a sea of 
bliss, the rich, creamy come rushing madly through his shuddering shaft and 
jetting into the steaming cauldron of his wife's cunt. 

Carole moaned in belly-quaking ecstasy, her body stiffening as spasm after 
spasm of pure pleasure sent her spiraling toward the stars. She tried to 
speak but couldn't, the words tripping in her throat and then stumbling out 
of her mouth in the form of odd, unintelligible mumbling sounds. 

Five minutes later found man and wife still together, their warm sated 
bodies pressed close, belly to belly, soft, spongy breasts squashed by hard, 
hairy chest. Carole, contented as a kitten after receiving her bowl of 
cream, was loath to release her husband, even though his manhood had 
shriveled and was now lying in restful curl in her quiet cunt. 

"So you intend to keep me here the rest of the night, is that it?" Jeff 
asked, smiling softly, his head resting on the pillow above his wife's left 
shoulder. 

"Any objections?" 

"Not a one. Your beautiful body is as comfortable a mattress as a man could 
find." 

"Mmmmmm, you feel so good on top of me," Carole said, shivering as she 
hugged her pooped but happy hubby. 

"Even when Mr. Pecker is soft and useless?" 

"Even then," Carole smiled. "But who knows, if we wait long enough he might 
get hard again." 

"Have you forgotten that I have to work tomorrow, sweetheart?" 

"That's true, isn't it? Oh well, I guess I shouldn't be too greedy. There's 
always tomorrow night." 

"And the night after." 

"And the night after that." 

Carole chuckled and began stroking her mate's back. "What's on the agenda 
for tomorrow, honey? Anything special?" 

"No, not really. Although I do have one important appointment in the 
afternoon." 

"Oh? With whom?" 

"A client, natch. This guy wants me to design a summer house for him out in 
Southampton." 

"Mmmmm, sounds promising. I hope you make him pay through the nose for your 
talent." 

Jeff smiled. "The firm establishes the fee, honey, you know that. I can't 
just pluck a figure out of the air and tell the client to take it or leave 
it." 

"All the more reason for you to turn free lance," Carole said. "You've got a 
good reputation now and a nice following, Jeff. Anyone who knows anything at 
all about creative architecture would recommend you for a job.'" 

"We'd need quite a few of those recommendations to make ends meet, baby." 

"You'd get them, I'm sure." 

"Well, we'll see. Maybe one of these days when I get tired of traveling back 
and forth from the office." 

"Oh, honey, wouldn't it be just super? You working here at home, I mean." 

Jeff chuckled. "I'd never get any work done. Every hour I spent at the 
drawing board would be matched by three spent with you in bed." 

"So?" 

"So first thing we know we're living in a one room walk-up. I've sold the 
car. We've purchased two bicycles. We're eating--. . 

"Oh, honey, you're such a clown," Carole grinned, again hugging her husband 
tightly, his weight on her chest not bothering her at all. 

"I'm serious, luv. It's a simple fact of life-if you don't work, you don't 
eat." 

"Who wants to eat when you can screw?" 

"Both are essential to good health, sweetheart," Jeff countered. 

Carole chuckled. "Okay, I'll buy that, darling. If and when you start 
working home, I promise not to interrupt you unless I'm absolutely 
desperate. In fact, to make things easier for Mr. Pecker I'll buy myself one 
of those vibrator things. You know, the kind shaped like a nice long prick." 

"You do that, baby," Jeff said, smiling broadly. 

Carole now turned quiet, content to lie under her husband and loving stroke 
his back from shoulder to buttock as his wilted organ slept in the mushy 
warmth of her vagina. When she spoke again, a few minutes later, it was to 
tell Jeff that she sometimes envied him his active, always-on-the-go 
existence. It was, she lamented, in marked contrast to her own rather 
mundane and uninspiring routine. 

"Well, then why don't you start involving yourself in a few community 
activities?" Jeff suggested. "That'll get you out of the house and you'll be 
meeting some new people." 

"Yeah, I suppose I could do that," Carole sighed, her voice lacking 
enthusiasm. "It's not that I'm complaining, you understand. It's just 
that-oh, I don't know, hon. I guess all I really want is a little change in 
my routine. You know, something different. Something that would-well, wake 
me up." 

Jeff chuckled. "Seems to me you were wide awake about ten, fifteen minutes 
ago." 

"You noticed, did you?" 

"I noticed. But seriously, hon, why don't you talk to Sheila about this? 
You're seeing her tomorrow, right?" 

"That's part of the routine, darling. Sheila Davidson and Carole Wayne, 
ten-fifteen in the morning, every day of the week except 

Saturday and Sunday, her house, my house, coffee and cake and gossip. How's 
that for thrills?" 

"Well, maybe Sheila can steer you onto something. From what Don tells me I 
gather his wife is an inveterate club-joiner. He says she's forever dashing 
off somewhere and that she's seldom home in the afternoon when he phones." 

"Oh?" 

"Sure. Didn't you know that? Hell, that dame must belong to a couple dozen 
organizations. And she's only been living in Cedarwood Manor for what-a 
little over a year, right?" 

"Just about that." 

"Yeah," Jeff chuckled softly, "Sheila must be hung-up on club-joining or 
something." 

"Or something is right," Carole said, her voice so low as to be almost 
inaudible. 

"What was that, baby?" 

"Nothing, darling. Tell you what, why don't we go to sleep just like this? 
With you inside me?" 

For the first time since spewing his seed into his wife's cunt and then 
sagging atop the warm, plushy cushion of her beautiful body, Jeff lifted his 
head from her shoulder, and said, "That's an excellent idea,"and kissed her. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Dumb. And stupid. 

No two words better described her husband, Sheila Davidson thought sadly, 
her irritation growing as she watched her fifty-one year old spouse 
carefully fold and then just as carefully drape his brown trousers over the 
back of a straight chair. Yep, that was good old Donald-dumb and stupid. And 
blissfully unaware of her sexual needs. 

Just look at him, undressing with such disgusting dignity, carefully 
denuding his fat and flabby body in painstaking preparation for their weekly 
fuck, or as he called it, "the sex act." She could be writhing on the bed 
bare-assed naked, vigorously rubbing her itching twat and begging him to 
hurry up and hump holy hell out of her, and Donald, always the gentleman, 
would simply request that she be patient and behave herself whilst he made 
ready. 

And what really turned her stomach, what really riled her, was the attitude 
of superiority he affected at times like these. Consciously or not, her 
husband gave her the impression that he regarded their weekly screw sessions 
as something she should be most thankful for and thrilled to participate in. 

He seemed to think that he was doing her a rather large favor by baring his 
body and climbing into bed with her. It was as if he were saying, "Well, my 
dear, it's Sunday night again. Time for me to bestow upon you the gift of my 
penis." 

Shit, what a joke this whole thing was, Sheila thought, adjusting her 
position on the bed slightly so that she was sitting more erect, her back 
propped by the two white pillows she had bunched together against the 
headboard. In fact, the sexual side of her marriage had deteriorated into 
such a joke that there were times when she felt like laughing. 

Here she was, a healthy, horny, still young woman of thirty-one, a female 
males were whistling at and trying to proposition all the time, saddled with 
a husband who, caged by an outrageous conservatism and seemingly dedicated 
to decorum, thought sex had to be handled with kid gloves, indulged in only 
once a week lest lust intrude on the more important things in life. 

Sweet heaven above, what could possibly be more important than good 
old-fashioned lust, Sheila asked herself. There was simply nothing in the 
whole wide world that could compare to sex, to getting blissfully banged out 
of your skull. If it were at all possible, she'd see to it that her cunt was 
visited by a nice juicy fat prick three times a day. 

In this day and age, when all around him men and women were rejoicing in and 
taking full advantage of the sexual revolution, her husband was acting in a 
manner which suggested he had yet to shake the idiotic notion that sex was 
dirty, something to be engaged in only when absolutely necessary. 

Donald was a throwback to the days when men screwed their wives out of a 
sense of duty-if ever there had been such a time. He was by nature a 
passionless person, a man persuaded by the intellect and only reluctantly 
stirred to action by desire. His concern was for facts and figures, logic 
and sound reasoning, and in those areas requiring imagination, a certain 
flair, he was woefully inept. 

"Get ready, my dear," Donald said suddenly, breaking into his wife's 
ruminations. 

"I'll be with you in just a few seconds." 

"I'l be here, darling," Sheila said, forcing a smile. "I'm ready whenever 
you are." 

Not that it makes a helluva lot of difference, she added to herself, her 
left hand snaking under the thin blanket she had drawn up over her lap to 
begin a lazy caress of her golden-haired cunt. It required the strongest 
concentration to work up even a semblance of passion for her mate, and 
tonight, after an especially busy and wholly satisfying week of adulterous 
couplings, she just wasn't up to it. 

And how sweet it was to think back on the past week's wicked wanderings, to 
imagine herself once again in the arms of Ted Whitmore, the cocky young 
lawyer she had fucked with Tuesday afternoon, or sucking the big beautiful 
cock of Hank Fowler, the somewhat sadistic longshoreman she had met in the 
city on Wednesday, during a stroll on Tenth Avenue. 

How totally unlike these two was her husband, Sheila lamented, slipping a 
finger into her hole and moving it slowly up to her clitoris where she 
commenced a tender teasing of that sensitive nub of flesh. Ted and Hank were 
strong, positive men, supremely confident of their ability to arouse a woman 
and then satisfy her with a fierce, frenzied fuck. 

Had either one been here now in place of her husband, her lust would be a 
powerful, consuming thing evidenced by a secreting pussy in a state of 
excited, maddening twitch. 

Neither Ted nor Hank, or for that matter, Bart Logan, the very virile 
supermarket manager with whom she had mated on Monday afternoon, during his 
two hour lunch break, would waste time carefully disrobing and seeing that 
everything was just right. 

Eager to get going, they would shed their clothes and jump into bed, with 
their rock-hard pricks protruding proudly from their warm, aroused loins. 
Ted or Hank or Bart, tough men all, would grab a handful of her 
shoulder-length blonde hair and then, peering into her blue eyes, would tell 
her in no uncertain terms exactly what was going to happen. 

Even Stanley Brown, her faintly effeminate hairdresser, who liked to come 
while his long, thin tool was snugly sandwiched between her warm breasts, 
was more of a man sexually than was Mr. Donald Davidson, that unnerving 
personification of tidiness and civility. 

It was totally impossible to imagine her moon-faced, bald-headed, 
pot-bellied, convention-bound husband working up the nerve Stanley had 
demonstrated when, just this past Friday, during a lull in business, he took 
her in back of his beauty parlor and performed on her his specialty. Right 
there on the cold linoleum floor, surrounded by boxes of hair spray, dyes, 
and other paraphernalia of the beauty business, she and Stan had screwed up 
a small storm, the quick but highly enjoyable fuck culminating with Stan 
coming while perched atop her tingling boobs, spraying her neck and jaw with 
his spewing seed. 

No, Sheila thought sadly, Donald just wasn't cut from the same cloth as were 
those she sought out to satisfy her need for wild, imaginative lovemaking. 
He was stodgy and sexually timid, her lovers were agile, potent 
pussy-pleasers not at all averse to experimentation, to trying different 
positions and the so-called perversions. 

There was only one way to fuck as far as Donald was concerned. One right 
way, that is. And the "missionary" position, truly unsatisfying because of 
his big belly, was the one she found least interesting of all those she had 
tried before and during her nine year marriage. 

"Al right, darling, ready at last," Donald said, waddling toward the bed, a 
smile on his round face. "Something tells me this is going to be a very good 
one." 

He's here at last, Sheila sarcastically said to herself. The man she had 
cheated on so often was now ready to bestow upon her the gift of his pecker. 
And what a laughable little gift it was, too. Could it be that her husband 
was so out of touch with reality that he failed to realize his sexual 
shortcomings, that he was blind to the fact that a four inch prick was 
nothing to be proud of? 

"Yes, sweetheart, I think I'm very much in the mood for intercourse this 
evening," the brown eyed Donald added, after awkwardly clambering up onto 
the double bed and rolling onto his back next to his beautiful blonde wife. 

Think? Don't you know if you're in the mood, Sheila silently asked her heavy 
husband. And why the hell can't you say "horny" and "fuck" like other men? 
Why the soft, innocuous "intercourse" when what you really mean is "screw." 
Oh, shit, it was just too, too much. 

"But you're still not hard, darling." 

Donald looked down his body and smiled. "Maybe if you touch my penis, 
Sheila. That always does the trick for us and I know how very much you 
enjoy-" 

"Yes, yes, I do," Sheila interrupted, the sound of her mate's voice and his 
pompous attitude suddenly grating on her nerves. This was going to be 
another fiasco, she thought. She had yet to begin caressing him and already 
she was repulsed by the idea of her husband's diminutive dick entering her 
vagina. 

Again forcing a smile, Sheila pulled the soft blanket off her strong, sleek 
legs and slid down in the bed, turning over onto her left side as she 
brought her right hand to the sad-looking appendage dangling between 
Donald's beefy thighs. She began fondling the unappealing organ, pulling and 
squeezing it in an attempt to breathe some life into its lifeless form. 

"Oh, yes," Donald said softly. "I like it when you play with me, darling. 
And it'll be hard in just a minute or so, I promise you that." 

"Wonderful, honey," Sheila beamed, feigning delight. 

But what difference did it really make, she thought, continuing her manual 
stimulation of her mate's meek member. Soft or hard, Donald's dick did her 
very little good. When it was soft, resting in cute curl amongst dark, 
crinkly pubic hair, it was completely useless to her. And when it was hard, 
when she had managed to pump it up to its fully erect size of four miserable 
inches, it was almost as useless. How much enjoyment could a girl derive 
from a cock not much longer than her longest finger? 

Donald thought himself to be an adequate lover, maybe even a notch or two 
above the rest. What unadulterated nonsense. What laugh-provoking stupidity. 
Her husband possessed neither the tool nor the technique to satisfy the most 
sexually unsophisticated woman. 

Intelligent, yes. Capable of taking a certain sum of money and doubling it 
very quickly, yes. Adept at forecasting losses and profits, yes. These 
things Donald could handle with the greatest aplomb, with a confidence that 
many of his fellow stockbrokers envied. Few on Wall Street had her husband's 
flair for assimilating all the facts governing a stock's potential and then 
making a sound, almost always correct, assessment of the stock's growth 
possibilities. 

As Donald was always ready to point out, many a young and ambitious novice 
had sought him out for guidance. He had taught many eager, bright-eyed lads 
the ropes, once in a while divulging a secret that enabled them to better 
grasp the mystery of the big board. He explained the importance of patience, 
how unwise it was to be influenced by the greed of a quick-buck client. 
Trust to your intuitive sense of timing, he would tell those who flocked 
around him for advice. 

Now if only somebody had given her husband some advice on how to please a 
woman in bed, Sheila thought. If only he were as competent in the sack as he 
was when it came to analyzing the fickle ups and downs of the stock market. 
If only he knew as much about screwing as he did about selecting stocks for 
investment purposes. If only- 

And yet she had loved him once. It seemed a thousand years ago, of course, 
but only nine had elapsed since she'd embarked on what she had figured would 
be a most meaningful marriage with a man twenty years her senior. What had 
she been looking for? A father figure, perhaps? 

Yes, probably. Her own father had died when she was still a little girl, 
when she was of an age where she needed and wanted the attention only a 
loving father can provide. And so when Donald Davidson entered the scene, 
his smile warm and sweet, his tolerance and patience great, his love for her 
very obvious, she had promptly put aside the fact of his age and without 
hesitation accepted his proposal of marriage. 

Now, nine years later, frustration had replaced hope, anger had smothered 
love, and a small voice in the back of her mind was telling her to get the 
hell out of this miserable marriage. She was still young and beautiful, that 
nagging voice kept repeating. Her figure, a stunning thirty-eight, 
twenty-three, thirty-six, could still lure to her side all but the blindest 
of men, the hopelss impotent and the disinterested. 

Her complexion was still smooth and creamy, her face unlined by the passing 
years. And, most important, her need for sex was on the rise. So why not 
divorce the man you were starting to hate and start screwing around 
unencumbered by a marriage that had begun turning sour almost from the 
start? 

Easier said than done, Sheila thought, again reminding herself of what she 
stood to lose if she divorced her mate. 

"Maybe-maybe if you kissed it, darling," Donald suggested, suddenly breaking 
the silence. 

Sheila took her hand from her husband's only half-hard cock and pushed 
herself up on the bed to a sitting position. She turned and looked down at 
Donald, thinking that she had most certainly misunderstood him. Was her 
husband, that paragon of proper behavior in bed and out, really asking to be 
blown? 

"Do you mean it, darling?" she asked. She couldn't remember the last time 
Donald had requested a blow-job. It was always a case of her having to take 
the initiative, of having to talk him into letting her perform this 
"perversion." 

"Yes, I mean it, dear. You would like to do that, wouldn't you?" 

"Of course. It's just that-well, I guess I'm surprised at your asking, 
that's all." 

"Well," Donald smiled, "we won't tell anybody about it, all right? It'll be 
our little secret, sweetheart." 

Oh, shit, don't give me that inane garbage again, Sheila thought. "Our 
little secret." Brother, how ludicrous could one get? He should only know 
about her fifty odd little "secrets." 

"Go ahead, Sheila. Kiss my penis for me." 

"I'd love to, darling," said the beauteous blonde with a loving smile 
thinking that she'd better hurry and get with it before her husband changed 
his mind. 

Quickly she arranged herself in a kneeling position on the bed, her knees at 
right angles to the sexless stockbroker's right leg. Then she bent forward 
at the waist, again taking hold of his wee wand with her right hand as her 
soft, supple lips parted to receive its knobby head. 

"Oh, that is nice," Donald crooned, closing his eyes and placing his hands 
on his big stomach, one atop the other. 

"Just relax, sweetheart. I'll have you hard in no time at all." 

Fighting the urge to bite down hard on the puny penis, Sheila sucked gently 
but with feeling, her lovely lips curling around the plum-shaped head of her 
mate's member. She moved her hand up and down the slowly swelling tool as 
she drew on the crown, thinking this would hasten the moment of total 
tumescence. 

"Oh, Sheila," Donald purred, "you're so good at this." 

Practice, darling, practice, Sheila silently explained. With a scrumptious 
variety of virile men. 

As her husband's penis hardened in her mouth, she speeded up the tempo of 
her lewd sucking and used her free hand to massage her golden-haired twat, 
sneaking a finger into her hole to diddle her clit as she vacuumed the four 
incher deep into-her oral cavity. 

What a snap this was, she thought. How easy to go down on a man with a 
miniature manhood after having experienced the jaw-busting thrill of going 
down on a really well-hung stud. Edward Brown. What a fantastic fuck he had 
been! How feverishly she had struggled to take all of his beautiful nine 
inches into her poor, aching mouth. 

She remembered crawling all over the roving salesman, nibbling and kissing 
almost every inch of his hard, muscular body before finally zeroing in on 
his giant cock. Oh, how she had slobbered over that magnificent manhood, 
sucking it with a mindless passion and gagging when the great bulbous head 
banged against the back of her throat. 

True, it wasn't very nice of Ed to take advantage of her momentary madness, 
sticking her with a whole carton of cheap perfume like he had. But it was 
easy enough to forgive him this dirty deed since he had provided her with so 
much fantastic pleasure. And she had not really been cheated. 

While the perfume wasn't worth the three hundred she had paid him, his 
gorgeous elephant's cock was worth twice that amount and maybe more. And it 
was with only faint reluctance that she admitted to herself how very close 
she had come to offering Ed money for his dazzling dick. 

At one point during their sex session he had started teasing her, taunting 
her with lewd, deliciously obscene promises while he withheld from her 
aching pussy his marvelous manhood. It was then, as she twisted and turned 
under him and begged hoarsely to be banged black and blue, that she had 
considered, for a fleeting moment, the idea of paying for his prick. 

"It's hard now," Donald announced. "You did it, darling." 

"Mmmmmm, and it tastes so good," Sheila said,-chasing from her mind all 
thoughts concerning extra-large cocks. For the moment she was stuck with 
this one, she figured, so she might as well try, yet another time, to make 
the most of it. 

Having hardened her husband's small organ, the sexy Sheila now began 
polishing her creation, her talented tongue snaking out from between her 
lips to begin bathing the puny pole of flesh. Up and down she licked, from 
hairy base to plum-shaped crown, nibbling here and kissing there as she 
thoroughly coated the cock with her sticky saliva. 

"Oh, Sheila. Oh, my goodness. I don't know where you learned all this. Oh, 
it feels so good." 

"Then why-don't you let-me do this-more-often?" asked the licking blonde 
beauty. 

"Because it's just not right, darling. "It's-it's degrading for you." 

like hell it is, Sheila thought. 

"And it's unnatural. Perverse is the word." 

"Isn't it good? Doesn't it-feel nice?" 

"Yes, I told you it does, Sheila. But still--. " 

"If something-feels so good-then it can't-be bad. It can't be wrong." 

Still stroking her snatch and gently strumming her clit, Sheila swabbed the 
crown of her husband's tiny tool and drilled her experienced tongue into the 
vertical slit at the tip. From here would spew, hopefully, enough come to 
form at least a few gooey drops in her vagina. 

She would never understand how Donald could go from one week to the next on 
this starvation diet of only-on-Sunday sex. After a week's abstinence most 
men would be all fired up and chock full of desire, their balls near the 
bursting point thanks to the great abundance of semen manufactured during 
the period of continence. 

But not good old Donald. In fact, her sexless mate could probably engage in 
coitus three or four times a year and be completely satisfied. It was 
impossible to imagine a male less horny than dear, Donald, unless, of 
course, that male happened to have been castrated. Or had been born 
prickless. 

"It's time, sweetheart," Donald said thickly. "Come, get on your back now." 

Sheila's mind raced as she continued laving her spouse's unimpressive organ. 
She was in no mood tonight to lie under Donald while he grunted like a pig 
and pushed his stinking little pecker into her cunt. Nor did she feel like 
faking another orgasm and then telling him, tongue in cheek, just how 
wonderful a lover she thought he was. And at his age too! 

No, a thousand times no. Not tonight at any rate. So, then, that left her 
with two alternatives. She could resume sucking her husband's cock and work 
on it until he came, if that was the word for it, in her mouth. Or she could 
straddle him, facing the foot of the bed so she wouldn't have to look down 
on his fat, unappealing puss, and then sit down on his laughable tool. 

Donald didn't like to vary the routine one tiny bit, but he would at times 
permit this "woman-astride" position wherein she did all the work. And 
tonight, Sheila decided, was going to be one of those times. 

"Come on, sweetheart," Donald husked. "Get on your back like a good girl. I 
want to do it to you now." 

"This way tonight, darling. Please, Donald, just for a little change." 

"What are you talking-oh, all right, dear." 

The rotund stockbroker watched his young, desirable wife maneuver around on 
the bed until she was straddling his middle, her succulent backside hovering 
over his tool. He tensed as she lowered herself onto the organ she had 
stiffened with her knowing lips, a small moan of pleasure wafting up his 
throat as he felt his hard penis slide up into the wet, clinging warmth of 
her tantalizing womanhood. 

Shit, it was like sitting on a toothpick, Sheila complained silently, once 
again bemoaning the fact of her mate's midget-sized manhood. 

"That feels so nice, darling," Donald said throatily. "Up and down now, 
Sheila. You know what to do, sweetheart." 

What a complete idiot her husband was, thought Sheila. What a total 
nincompoop. There could be no bigger ass in the whole wide world than Mr. 
Donald Davidson, a man of imposing intelligence where matters of finance 
were concerned but a man of incomprehensible stupidity and unmitigated 
vapidity when it came time to demonstrate his masculinity. "Oh, Sheila. Oh, 
that's so good. Up and down, darling. Yes, like that." 

"Just relax, darling," Sheila said. "I'll-I'll bring you off." 

"Don't stop, sweetheart. Keep going-ohh, so nice." 

Wishing her husband would just shut up and confine his remarks to an 
occasional grunt and groan, the scintillating Sheila worked herself up and 
down on his small prick, her beautiful bottom bobbing slowly, methodically, 
as she lifted and fell, lifted and fell. 

She slid her hands up her smooth, flat tummy and wrapped them lovingly 
around her jiggling breasts. She squeezed those taste-tempting globes of 
plaint flesh, taking the twin, rose-hued nipples between the first finger 
and thumb of each hand and pinching hard in an effort to arouse herself to 
an appreciable degree. 

Several minutes later found Sheila still posting on the unimpressive pecker, 
frustrated in her attempt to forge anything remotely resembling real passion 
and having resolved to get this week's "trial" over with as soon as 
possible. 

Her mind began to drift and she was soon taking comfort in the happy fact 
that tomorrow afternoon, at a quarter past three, she would be in the arms 
of one of her favorite lovers. Scott Langdale was a real man, a veritable 
satyr when confronted with a female in need of sexual relief. 

This would be their sixth meeting, the five previous having ended with her 
feeling as if she had been run over by a runaway steamroller. Holy hump, 
that man could fuck! How deliciously helpless he made her feel. How totally 
vulnerable to attack. He had but to give the word and she was ripping off 
her clothes, the motel bed suddenly becoming, in her moment of sexual 
madness, like a glorious, life-saving oasis in a vast, arid plain of 
passionless and stultifying routine. 

Tomorrow. It couldn't come soon enough. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

"What puzzles me," Carole Wayne said, sitting back in the black vinyl, 
swivel kitchen chair as her neighbor refilled her coffee mug, "is how you 
can cheat on Donald so often and not feel even a little guilty." 

Sheila chuckled softly and walked back to the stove with the daisy-decorated 
percolator. When she returned to the kitchen table seconds later, a Danish 
in each hand, she was wearing a thoughtful, rather serious expression. She 
added the two pieces of pastry to the one already resting on the platter in 
the center of the round table, then settled herself into the chair across 
from Carole. 

"Well?" Carole asked. "No answer?" 

Sheila smiled. "Do you know how many times you've asked me that same 
question, Carole? I'm beginning to think that you'd like me to admit a few 
guilt feeling. That it would somehow make you feel better if I did." 

"Oh, that's silly, Sheila. It's just that I can't understand your blase 
attitude." Carole took a sip of her coffee, set the attractive mug back on 
the placemat, and added, "But you're absolutely right, of course. I have no 
right to keep asking you about what you feel or don't feel. I'm sorry, 
Sheila." 

Sheila's smile broadened. "You mean my affairs are none of your affair, 
huh?" 

"Well, something like that," Carole answered, matching her neighbor's smile 
with a small one of her own. 

"You don't have to apologize for anything, Mrs. Wayne. You're just being 
inquisitive, that's all. And I like genuine curiosity in people. One of the 
reasons we get along so well is because we both value honesty and openness." 

"I guess that's true. There are certainly a lot of friendships formed on 
flimsy foundations. You know, pretensions, hypocrisy, that kind of thing." 

"Sure. We have only to look around our own backyard. Sometimes I think 
Cedarwood Manor is comprised mainly of egotistical phonies, Carole. At any 
rate, our happy little community of rich people certainly has its share of 
sham. Thank goodness I found one person I can trust." 

"Then you don't mind me asking you so many questions about your affairs?" 

Sheila took a sip of her coffee, then answered, "Of course not, Carole. 
Look, I was the one who brought the whole thing out in the open in the first 
place. When I realized you were my kind of person, I decided to confide in 
you and lay bare my soul, so to speak. Because I knew you weren't about to 
go running around Cedarwood Manor blabbing my little secret to everyone you 
met." 

"I wouldn't dream of saying a word to anyone," Carole said. "Your secret is 
safer with me than it would be in Fort Knox." 

"And your husband? Does Jeff know about--. " 

"No, of course not," Carole interrupted. "I haven't even told him. And I 
won't." 

Sheila smiled. "Good. While I really like Jeff and think that he'd keep his 
mouth shut, it's just possible that sooner or later he'd start feeling sorry 
for Donald and-well, you know the end of that story. One word to my husband 
about my afternoon activities and it's goodbye Cedarwood Manor. Little 
Sheila would be scrounging around the bit city for a cheap apartment." 

"You're talking now about affinity, right? I mean, Jeff being male and 
all--. " 

"Exactly. There exists a curious bond among all males. Call it comradeship, 
if you will. And in times of trouble, especially the female variety, men are 
inclined to untie to do battle with the common enemy. No man, and that 
includes your loving spouse,-likes to see another of his sex suffer the 
indignity of being made a cuckold. It seems that when one is hurt, they all 
cry." 

"Well," Carole said, "that may be true, but I know Jeff wouldn't breathe a 
word of what I told him to Donald. Not that I have any intention of telling 
my husband anything." 

"And I trust Jeff, too. But like I say, you better keep what I divulge to 
you in that pretty head of yours." Sheila thought a moment and then 
chuckled. "What I mean is, why run the risk of having your best friend 
thrown out of her gorgeous home?" 

"Would Donald really do that, Sheila? I mean, if he one day should learn 
about your adultery, do you think he'd be angry enough to file for a 
divorce?" 

Sheila hesitated, then sighed. "You know something, I really don't know the 
answer to that one. It's logical to assume, of course, that he'd toss me out 
on my ass two minutes after learning about all my infidelities. Most men 
would certainly be furious enough to kill upon discovering such 
hanky-panky." 

"But Donald isn't like most men." 

"No, he isn't. And I mean that in the negative sense, unfortunately. Donald 
is-well, very mild-mannered. Meek is a better way of describing him, I 
guess. And so that's why there are times when I seriously wonder if he could 
ever work up a genuine anger. In the nine years we've been married, he's 
never once even raised his voice to me." 

Carole took another sip of her coffee, then said, "Does Donald suspect 
anything, Sheila? Has he ever questioned you about all the afternoons you're 
not at home?" 

Sheila shook her head. "My husband, the poor benighted soul, harbors not the 
vaguest suspicion. He'd just always assumed that I'm a very active 
individual who enjoys being on the go all the time. He never asks me why I 
wasn't home when he phoned, or what clubs I've joined, or anything like 
that. Donald is perfectly content with things as they are." 

"It's almost sad," Carole noted. "His innocence, I mean." 

"Maddening is a better word. I sometimes think he could come home some night 
and find me screwing myself dizzy with another guy, and be only mildly 
disappointed in me. He'd get over his surprise in a day or so, tell me he'd 
forgive me my sin if I promised never to repeat it, kiss my forehead, and 
that would be the end of it. Everything would quickly return to normal." 

Carole smiled, thinking how utterly absurd it would be to even attempt a 
comparison of 

Donald and Jeff. The two were as different as night and day. All Jeff had to 
do was simply suspect her of being unfaithful and he would go absolutely 
insane with anger. Why, he'd probably beat her black and blue and then go 
tearing after the guy with whom she had surreptitiously screwed. 

"Donald isn't all bad, of course," Sheila was saying, her soft, somewhat 
pensive tone of voice mirroring what seemed to be a sudden urge to reflect 
upon her naive mate's positive qualities, few though they be. "He's a very 
kind man, you know. He's appreciative of my efforts to keep the house 
spotless. He's completely undemanding and never asks me to attend a party he 
know I'll detest. He's always bringing home gifts and-well, he's an 
absolutely fantastic provider." 

"And he loves you," Carole added. 

Sheila nodded. "Yes, he loves me. And that does-but wait a minute, how'd we 
get started on this all of a sudden? Let's knock off all this talk about my 
husband. I have something of far more importance to discuss with you, Mrs. 
Wayne." 

"Oh?" Carole said, smiling. "And what would that be, Mrs. Davidson?" 

"A deliciously perverse idea, that's what," Sheila answered, donning the 
broad, faintly imperious grin she reserved for those times when she felt in 
total control of a situation, when she was about to startle another with a 
bold, wonderfully wicked and dangerous proposal. 

"Well, sock it to me, Sheila. I'm all ears." 

"You'll have to be much more than ears for what I've in mind," Sheila said. 

Carole's brow furrowed. "Now that's a truly inscrutable statement." 

"Come on, let's move into the living room. We can finish our talk in there, 
all right?" Sheila rose from her chair and picked up her almost empty coffee 
mug. "Hey, you only had one danish this morning. Don't you like them?" 

"The one I had with my first cup was delicious," Carole said. But it was 
also very filling. And who are you to talk? You only had one danish 
yourself." 

"I've got to keep slim for my lovers," Sheila explained with a wink. 

Minutes later, the pulchritudinous pair could be found in the spacious, 
imaginatively decorated living room, Carole comfortably ensconced on a long 
cinnamon-colored sofa and Sheila curled up in a solid white swivel chair. 
Once again Carole commented on the stunning decor, which her hostess, 
finding time between adulterous assignations, had recently changed from 
French Provincial to Modern. 

Thinking there was no need to beat around the bush and very eager to get her 
friend's reaction to the Perverse Idea, Sheila stormed ahead and, without 
bothering to preface her question with some explanation, asked a stunned 
Carole if she'd be interested in prostituting herself in the afternoons. 
like, say, three days a week. 

Recovering from her initial surprise, Carole countered question with 
question, inquiring of her friend and neighbor if she hadn't lost her 
marbles. Was this some kind of a silly joke? Why in the world would she want 
to join Sheila in her afternoon sex safaris? And prostitution? What kind of 
an added twist was that? 

"Doesn't it sound positively thrilling?" Sheila grinned. "I can't understand 
why I didn't think of it before. I mean, the idea of getting paid for being 
laid just never occurred to me." 

"Oh, Sheila, come on. Stop pulling my leg, will you? Fooling around behind 
your husband's back is one thing, but actually selling yourself is just-just 
crazy. It would be adding insult to injury." 

'Think so, huh?" 

"Of course. And you do too, I'll bet. You just got it into your head to 
shock me this morning." 

"You're wrong, Carole. I'm dead serious. From here on in I'm putting my 
pussy to work for me." 

"That's disgusting, Sheila." 

"I think it's going to be a lot of fun. Me new career as a housewife-whore 
commences this coming Friday afternoon." 

"B-But-I mean, how-why did you all of a sudden decide on this?" Carole 
asked, fumbling for words. 

"All right, let me explain," Sheila said, turning serious. "Two days ago, 
Monday afternoon, I got myself humped to heaven again by Scott Langdale. You 
remember my telling you about this fella, right?" 

Carole nodded. "You said he was a stud and a half." 

"Is he ever," Sheila smiled. "Anyway, after our fantastic fuck we started 
chatting. At first we spoke in generalities-you know, about nothing of any 
real importance. But all of a sudden the conversation turns to my favorite 
subject, sex, and Scott is asking me if I've ever considered putting my 
sexual skills to profitable use. He says that--. " 

"In other words," Carole interrupted, "this Langdale character is nothing 
but a well-dressed, articulate pimp." 

"No, he isn't, Carole. He's nothing of the sort. Now let me finish what I 
was saying." 

The beautiful brunette listened attentively as Sheila told of one, Cynthia 
Corral, a long-time friend of Scott Langdale's, who was at present 
attempting to increase the size of her stable. Cynthia, a highly-successful 
madam for the past ten years, her base of operations being the city proper, 
wanted now to branch out into the suburbs, the exclusive suburbs, where 
lived men of considerable style and wealth." 

"Then Langdale is a pimp," Carole argued. "I mean, if he'd recruiting women 
for--. " 

"He's not recruiting for anyone," Sheila interrupted, a wee bit peeved with 
her friend. "But upon learning of Cynthia's need for fresh talent, so to 
speak, he promised to keep his eyes and ears open for her. I told you, 
they're good friends." 

"Uh huh. And so Mr. Langdale got to thinking and it dawned on him that 
Sheila Davidson would prove an excellent addition to his friend's staff." 

"Well, something like that, I guess. It was only natural that Scott would 
think of me. I mean, he and I have know each other for almost two months 
now. And Scott is very fond of me." 

Carole smiled sardonically. "He should be, Sheila. You've laid him half a 
dozen times-and for free." 

Sheila returned her friend's smile with a small one of her own. As she 
studied Carole, who reached now for one of the cigarettes resting in a small 
dish atop one of the two black Parson's tables fronting the sofa, it 
occurred to her that she might have misjudged the woman. 

She had not expected Carole to react with wholehearted approval upon hearing 
of her intent to engage in a most sexy sideline, afternoon prostitution, but 
neither had she been prepared for the slightly sarcastic manner with which 
Carole was digesting the news. Her neighbor was taking it all much too 
seriously. 

"Then you're really going through with this, aren't you?" Carole asked, 
after exhaling a cloud of smoke. "From adultery you plan to branch out into 
harlotry." 

"That's it," Sheila said firmly. "And 

"But why, Sheila? It certainly can't be because you need the money. There's 
no way you can rationalize--. " 

"I'm not trying to rationalize a blessed thing, Carole," the dazzling blonde 
broke in. "Of course I don't need the money that I'll be making as a whore." 

'Then why degrade yourself?" 

"Oh, Carole," Sheila sighed, "prostitution isn't degrading. I'm not going to 
be standing on a street corner soliciting like a five dollar slut. Scott 
says that Cynthia runs a very high class operation and that she doesn't 
tolerate any riff-raff patronizing her house. Her girls deal only with men 
of distinction." 

"And just where is this house?" 

"Cynthia's place in the city?" 

"Yes." 

"I don't really know. I never got around to asking Scott the exact location 
of it. But her suburban operation will work somewhat differently than the 
city operation. The men will phone her place in the city for an appointment, 
then Cynthia will contact one of us out here and see if a date can be 
arranged." 

"What's so special about screwing in the suburbs?" 

Sheila shrugged. "I don't know. But it might be convenient for a lot of men 
to meet a prostitute out here than it would be in the city. Then, too, I 
think there are quite a few guys who really turn on at the thought of 
fucking another man's wife." 

"I think you're turned on by thought of becoming a whore," Carole said, 
after taking another drag on her cigarette and flicking the ash in the bowl 
shaped ashtray on the table. 

"I am, yes," Sheila admitted with a smile. And then, after a pause, as her 
smile faded, "And the idea of turning prostitute appeals to you, too, 
Carole. I'd be willing to bet that you're already imagining yourself in the 
arms of a strange man. Maybe you're even thinking about Scott Langdale. 
Maybe--. " 

"Sheila, I really think you've flipped," Carole exclaimed. "I wouldn't even 
entertain the idea of cheating on Jeff let alone the idea of cheating on him 
for money. like I said earlier, I don't know how you can suggest such a 
thing. Whatever made you think that I'd be interested in selling myself? 
Why, I've never so much as looked at another man in the seven years of my 
marriage to Jeff." 

"But lately you've been wondering what it would be like to get royally 
fucked by someone other than your husband." 

"Really now, Sheila. This conversation is beginning to get downright 
annoy--. " 

"Oh, come off it, Carole," Sheila broke in. "You're talking to me, remember? 
I'm your friend, a person you can trust. So why don't you admit the truth 
and level with me? After seven years of marriage, happy ones, I'm sure, 
you're ready for something and somebody altogether new and exciting." 

"I'm very, very happy with Jeff;" Carole insisted. "I find him terribly 
exciting in bed and out. He's everything I've ever wanted in a husband and 
then some." 

Sheila grinned. "Now you're defending him. You're trying to ease a 
conscience troubled by exciting little thoughts about wicked infidelities." 

Carole glared at her neighbor. "Really, Sheila, I had no idea you were 
dabbling in amateur psychology now-on top of everything else." 

Sheila chuckled. In the minutes that followed she pressed her advantage, 
cunningly exploiting the restless urge, the desire for something different, 
she had recognized intuitively in her beautiful brunette friend. 

Why, exactly, was Carole so interested in hearing all about her various 
clandestine couplings, Sheila asked, the question delivered with faint 
ridicule and accompanied by a sardonic grin. Was this simply natural 
curiosity, the outward manifestation of a need to enjoy, vicariously, the 
unusual and provocative pursuits of another female? Most woman enjoyed 
listening to lusty tales dripping with scandalous details. 

Or did Carole's curiosity go deeper than that? Wasn't it true that the 
questions she asked were designed to keep lit the small flames of lust 
ignited by the very thought of intriguing infidelities? While listening to 
all those shocking adventures in adultery, didn't Carole secretly wish she 
had something truly scandalous, and maybe even a little depraved, of her own 
to divulge in the strictest of confidence? 

In short, didn't Carole derive extraordinary pleasure from absorbing the 
gutsy details of her neighbor's amorous encounters? It was great fun, and 
perversely satisfying, too, to mentally munch on those details while 
imagining that you, and not your friend, was the one involved in all that 
deliciously naughty intrigue. It was a real turn-on, wasn't it? Come on, 
admit it. Admit it. 

Suddenly confused, her mind a crazy jumble of disorganized thoughts, Carole 
suffered her neighbor's verbal barrage while resisting the urge to get up 
off the sofa and leave. Why run away, she asked herself. She wasn't a 
coward. Just because Sheila was carrying on like some sort of frenzied 
psychologist was no reason to march out of her house and thus admit, through 
a hasty, indignant departure, that she was hurt and of insufficient 
emotional strength to take all the woman could dish out. 

No, she had to fight back. But how? She couldn't get a word in edgewise. 
Sheila was telling her to own up to the fact that what she needed, what she 
craved, was the emergence of real excitement in her life. The time had come, 
according to Sheila, to shake up things a little. 

But she was all wrong, Carole thought. All right, maybe there had been times 
when, for a fleeting second, she imagined herself enmeshed in a shocking 
situation. Maybe once in a while she did wish for something to alleviate the 
boredom, something that would act upon her emotions like a quick, hard slap 
in the face. Perhaps there were days when she thought it possible to become 
too content. 

But adultery? And worse yet, prostitution? No, that was most certainly not 
the answer. She wasn't about to risk her marriage simply for the sake of 
instilling some excitement into a life that, excluding a sometimes 
aggravating sameness about it, was very, very pleasant. 

Why, the idea alone of prostituting herself was more than a little 
preposterous. It was mad, insane, totally absurd. No, never would she stoop 
to Sheila's level. She would have to be out of her mind to lay a man behind 
her husband's back. 

Sheila thought she had struck a responsive chord. But how ridiculous her 
hump-happy neighbor was, for not even the promise of all the excitement in 
the world could lure her into the part time occupation of call girl. 

Even if she were to seriously consider doing such a wholly obscene thing, 
she was sure she'd never be able to dredge up the necessary nerve to follow 
it through. But there was no point in pondering that, because she wasn't 
about to let Sheila talk her into tagging along this coming Friday, the day 
Sheila was to commence her perverted profession. 

She wasn't. She definitely, most certainly, wasn't. 

* * * 

Jeff Wayne still didn't know what to make of the unbelievable situation he 
found himself in at the moment. Here he was on a Wednesday morning in his 
office, peering down at a most attractive woman in her late thirties as she 
hungrily devoured his cock. It was, to say the least, highly unusual. 

Nothing had prepared him for this extraordinary event. In fact, while 
shaving he had sorted out in his mind the various activities scheduled for 
the morning and afternoon and decided that this would be a day pretty much 
like any other. There was a conference to attend, an appointment with a 
prospective client, and, if he could squeeze it in, a quick game of handball 
at the gym with Kevin Tanner, a fellow architect. But the better part of the 
day would be spent at the drawing board, working on the plans for the summer 
home to be built in Southampton for the Richardsons, Kenneth and Patricia. 

Upon arriving at his office at Fenner, Fowler & Boyles, he made a few phone 
calls and then, after a brief study of the pencil sketches done yesterday, 
he started working on the design of the fenced terrace that would border the 
Richardson place. It was an hour and a half later, approximately ten-thirty, 
that the smartly-attired, titian-tressed Patricia 

Richardson had popped into his office. 

And now, still fully clothed, she was down there on her knees in front of 
him, her head bobbing up and down like a buoy in rippling waters as she 
sucked on his blood-stiffened manhood. 

"You have a very nice prick, Mr. Wayne," she was saying now, having suddenly 
taken his tool from her warm, wet mouth. "But I suppose your wife has 
already told you that." 

Jeff smiled a small smile. "And you're a very beautiful woman, Mrs. 
Richardson." 

"I'll bet your wife is very pretty." 

"Yes, she is." 

"Does she blow you often?" Patricia asked, looking up at the handsome young 
architect as she carefully fondled his hairy scrotal sac and saliva-coated 
cock. 

"As often as I like," answered Jeff, wishing his sexy visitor would stop 
talking and resume her lusty labors. There were few subjects he enjoyed 
discussing more than Carole's wonderful ways, and even now, after seven 
marvelous years of marriage, it required only a single thought about her to 
start his pecker stirring. But this was most certainly not the time to 
engage in conversation about Carole-not when the curvy, green-eyed wife of 
his latest client was slobbering all over his stiff cock. 

"I'm glad to hear that," Patricia said. "I think it's a wife's duty to 
please her husband in every way she can." 

Jeff chuckled inwardly. Patricia Richardson's present behavior was proof 
positive of her belief that wives should endeavor to please their mates at 
all times. Although the shapely, sultry woman might be inclined to deny it, 
he strongly suspected that it was her husband, who he had pegged as a real 
tightwad from the very beginning, who had put her up to this visit. 

He had had just time enough to take in Patricia's firm, full figure, which 
was displayed to nice advantage in a soft yellow pants suit, before she 
launched into a carefully thought out, perhaps memorized, soliloquy in which 
she lamented the rising cost of everything these days. 

And then, having set the stage with her state of economy speech, Patricia 
had raised his eyebrows with a most lewd proposal, one which, simply stated, 
involved his lowering his fee in return for a nice blow job and a good fuck. 

Before he could fully digest this and decide how best to handle it, he found 
himself in a half-sitting, half-standing position against his desk, weak 
words of protest sputtering from his lips as Patricia, leaping to the 
attack, quickly hauled down his slacks and shorts and crammed his limp 
member into her hungry mouth. 

So here he was, Jeff thought, his bare buttocks pressing into the serrated 
edge of his desk, his trousers and undershorts a puddle at his feet, getting 
wickedly sucked by a beautiful woman he had met for the first time less than 
an hour ago. Would wonders never cease? 

Patricia, resuming her obscene feast, was once again rhythmically bobbing 
her beautiful head, her lip stick painted lips sliding wetly up and down the 
tasty stalk of flesh. Her long reddish-yellow hair fell about her neck and 
shoulders, forming a silky veil behind which she surreptitiously sucked. 

"Oh, yeah, that's good," Jeff said throatily, his hands drifting slowly to 
the very desirable female's head. "Don't stop, baby. Suck it nice for me. 
Yeah-mmmm, good." 

It was much too late to call a halt to the passionate proceedings now, he 
realized with a wee bit of regret. Taken by surprise, startled by Patricia's 
outrageous boldness, he had permitted this lewd cocksuck to commence. And 
now that he was hard, now that exciting visions of her copper-colored cunt 
were dancing in his head, it would take nothing less than an explosion 
nearby to make him pull his pecker from that wet, warm, cock-craving mouth. 

If only thoughts of his wife would stop creeping into his mind, if only he 
could dispel those nagging little guilt feelings which threatened to 
diminish his pleasure, then all would be right with the world. 

But why feel so guilty, Jeff asked himself. Small indeed was the percentage 
of married men, happy or miserable, who succeeded in remaining completely 
faithful. Temptation always reared its head sooner or later. Even Kevin, who 
of his friends certainly seemed to be the most happily married, had started 
fooling around with a pretty female reporter for a trade journal he had met 
while on a project. 

Sure, it happened to the very best of 'em. And now it was his turn, that's 
all. What made this just a bit different, however, a little special, was the 
setting and the fact that it was his very first infidelity in seven years of 
marriage. 

But what the hell, Jeff thought. Wasn't he entitled to one little mistake-if 
mistake it could be called? He had behaved himself for seven years, looking 
but not touching, never really interested in plowing a pussy other than 
Carole's. And now, all of a sudden, this scheming siren shows up, this 
titian-tressed beauty who figures she can save her hubby a few dollars on an 
architect's fee by demonstrating to said architect her mastery of the oral 
arts. 

But Patricia, of course, meant absolutely nothing to him. He would forget 
her as soon as the home in Southampton had been designed. This was just a 
one shot deal, a quick piece of nooky, so to speak. 

Jeff's attempts to rationalize his behavior were suddenly curtailed by the 
ravishing Patricia, who pulled his pecker out of her mouth and quickly 
climbed to her feet. 

"Oh, baby," she said excitedly, a gleam in her eye, "do I have a bad case of 
the hots." 

"You turn on in a hurry," Jeff observed, his voice thickened by the desire 
ignited by the woman's salacious sucking of his now rock-hard, pulsating 
prick. 

"That's me," Patricia grinned, fingers fumbling with the narrow black belt 
supporting the pants half of her attractive suit. "I'm a girl who loves her 
cock. In fact, my husband thinks I have a little of the nymphomaniac in me." 

"Just a little?" 

Patricia chuckled thickly. "Sometimes I think a lot. Now I suggest you lock 
the door before we start fucking, Mr. Wayne. I wouldn't want that pretty 
little thing sitting in the outer office to come barging in here. At least 
not when you're sticking it to me." 

Oh, shit, Jeff cursed silently. He had forgotten all about the damn door. 
Now suppose Susie had decided to walk in unannounced, with some papers for 
him to sign, perhaps? Brother, talk about an embarrassing moment. 

"Well, handsome? Are you going to lock the door or what?" 

"Y-Yes, of course. Right away." 

Jeff quickly pulled up his slacks and shorts and, with his saliva-wet pecker 
leading the way, hurried to his office door. He opened the door a few 
inches, standing back so that only his head was visible through the crack, 
and told his secretary that he didn't want to be disturbed for the next 
hour. Then he closed the door, locked it, and turned around to find the 
passionate Patricia draped across his desk. 

She was naked from the waist down, her sharply-creased yellow pants and 
wispy yellow bikini panties together in a heap around her ankles. Her 
bottom, taut and ever so tempting, was thrust out in obscene invitation-a 
most lewd offering to the gods. 

Is that what the dame wanted, Jeff wondered. An ass-fuck instead of a 
pussy-plowing? 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

"Get over here, handsome," Patricia said, the right side of her face pressed 
against the desk top. 'The lady needs a laying something fierce." t 

Still holding up his slacks and shorts, Jeff moved to his desk and the 
waiting woman provocatively positioned across it. When he was standing 
directly behind her, his throbbing tool aimed at her luscious posterior, he 
released the garments and let them slither down his hairy legs to his feet. 

"No, wait a minute," Patricia ordered when she felt the handsome architect's 
hands wrapped around her shapely hips. 

"Wait? Aren't you ready? I thought-" 

"Yes, I'm ready," the titian-haired temptress broke in. "But I want you to 
do something first." 

"What is it, baby?" 

"It's something-something that I need once in awhile." 

'Tell me. What is it that you want?" 

"You won't think I'm queer, will you? It's-well, a little strange." 

"I won't think you're queer," Jeff promised, wondering what the hell it 
could be that this beautiful female wanted-that she needed. "Now tell me 
what I should do to you." 

"I want you to spank me, Mr. Wayne," Patricia said, her voice mirroring the 
excitement she felt at just the thought of getting her fanny warmed. "I want 
you to hit me hard-on my ass. Make me cry if you can." 

"Oh, is that all?" Jeff asked, feigning nonchalance. "No problem there, Mrs. 
Richardson. I'd love to spank your beautiful behind. I'll have it a rosy red 
in nothing flat." 

"Good. And do it to me hard, please." 

"Does your husband spank you?" 

"Yes." 

"Often?" Jeff moved into a spanking stance behind Patricia, turning so that 
he was standing with his left side closest to her, his throbbing pecker now 
pointed toward the large picture window in back of his desk. A few minutes 
before Patricia's unscheduled arrival at his office he had drawn the blinds 
to cut down the sun's strong glare-an act he now considered one of the 
smartest he'd performed in this still very young day. 

"My husband knows how to handle women," Patricia said by way of explanation. 
"I think that's why I love him so much. He's big and tough and doesn't let 
me get away with anything." 

"So how often does he whack your ass?" Jeff asked, realizing that he was 
deriving strange, perverse satisfaction from this unusual conversation. 

"Whenever he feels like it. When I've been naughty." 

Naughty? Did he have a masochist on his hands, Jeff wondered. 

"He would really let me have it good if he knew I visited your office," 
Patricia continued. "I wouldn't be able to sit comfortably for a week." 

"Then your husband doesn't know that you came to see me this morning?" Jeff 
asked, ready to write off as wrong one suspicion he had figured would be 
confirmed before this screwing session was over. 

"No, he doesn't. But-" 

"But what?" 

"I'll probably tell him." 

"So he'll spank you?" 

"Yes, so he'll spank me," Patricia answered, squirming her firm, full fanny 
in eager anticipation of the hard hand that would soon be crashing against 
it. "He'll make me pull up my skirt and pull down my panties. And then-oooo, 
just thinking about it gets me so damn excited." 

"What happens after that?" asked Jeff, a faint tremor in his voice as he 
commenced a lewd caress of Patricia's creamy-smooth seat, his left hand 
wandering from pliant buttock to pliant buttock, up and down and all around, 
fingers creeping stealthily into the hairless crack between the 
taste-tempting half-moons of flesh. 

"After I've pulled down my panties." 

"Yes. Tell me what he makes you do next." 

"I have to drape myself across his lap." 

"Like a child. like a misbehaving schoolgirl." 

"Yes, exactly." 

"And then he lets you have it, huh." 

"Sometimes he starts right in," Patricia said, "but sometimes he makes me 
apologize." 

"For what?" 

"For anything-everything. Oh, please, touch my anus, Jeff. Stick a finger up 
my ass." 

His lust building to a fever pitch, Jeff complied with his client's wife's 
wicked request. With the middle finger of his right hand he traced the cleft 
of her succulent behind, sliding down the warm, inviting crease until he 
reached the even more exciting opening of her tantalizing tail. 

"Do it, please. Shove it in my fanny." 

Jeff diddled the puckered port of Patricia's anus for a few thrilling 
seconds, then began working his probing finger into her tight, tacky after 
passage. The titian-haired beauty emitted a soft, grateful moan of pleasure, 
at the same time pushing her delectable derriere back onto the penetrating 
digit. 

"Go on about the spanking, Mrs. Richardson. Tell me more." 

"No-no more talk," Patricia said, her voice a steaming whisper. "Just spank 
me, Jeff. Hit me hard. I need it now." ; 

"I said tell me more, Patricia. How many smacks does your husband give you." 

"Please, Jeff." 

'Tell me or I won't spank you." 

"Oh, damn you to hell." 

"Tell me," Jeff again ordered, proceeding now to saw his finger in and out 
of the ravishing woman's hairless little ass-hole. 

"About-fifty smacks," Patricia said at last. "Sometimes more." 

"And all the time you're crying your eyes out, right?" 

"Yes. I'm sobbing my head off. The tears are running down my face because it 
hurts so much. I beg him to stop hitting me. I plead with him."' 

"But your husband doesn't listen." 

"He just hits me harder. And calls me names. 

"What does he call you, Patricia. A slut, maybe?" 

"Yes, that's right. He calls me a slut, a no-good whore, a beautiful 
cocksucking bitch." 

"And you love it, right?" 

"Yes. It makes me feel so dirty. I'm so ashamed. I know I need to be 
punished for my sins." 

"What else does he call you? Come on, baby, tell me." 

Her hands hotly gripping the serrated edge of the desk on her left and 
right, her bra-encased, jacketed breasts squashed against the smooth, shiny 
desk top, the punishment-craving Patricia repeated the lewd epithets hurled 
at her by her hubby when last he walloped her poor posterior. 

Jeff soaked it up like a sponge, the woman's words and her demeaning 
position fueling his lust. Later, upon reflection, he would be able to see 
the humor in the situation. He would remember standing behind the wholly 
desirable Patricia Richardson, the wickedly masochistic Patricia Richardson, 
his slacks and undershorts a puddle at his feet. 

He would smile inwardly when recalling her urgent request for a sound 
spanking, her need to "suffer" a retributive reaming of her rectum. He might 
even chuckle at the thought of a grown woman acting in such a childish 
fashion, wanting to endure the humiliating, degrading experience of an 
old-fashioned bottom warming. 

But at the moment Jeff was dead serious, his desire to spank holy hell out 
of Mrs. Richardson and then fuck her dizzy swelling to monstrous 
proportions. Her ass, that glorious mound of creamy smooth flesh, was still 
in warm sensual squirm, beckoning not only a good beating but also a hot 
humping. 

"Please, Jeff, do it now. No more talk. I've got to be beaten now. Please." 

"All right, baby. If it's a spanking you want, then it's a spanking you'll 
get. And you're goin' to get it, believe me." 

More than ready to commence what he was determined to make most memorable, 
Jeff yanked his finger from Patricia's small rear hole and drew his right 
hand up over his shoulder. Still in lewd spanking stance, one not unlike 
that taken by a ballplayer as he steps into the batter's box, he asked the 
stunning woman once again, just for good measure, if a hard, mean 
fanny-pounding was what she craved. 

"Yes, dammit," Patricia growled, her whole body tingling with expectation. 
"Give it to me, Jeff. Spank my ass hard." 

"And then we fuck." 

"Yes, fuck. Then we fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." 

A faintly feral smile crawled across Jeff's face as he took dead aim on that 
succulent target, his eyes glued to the plush posterior Patricia was 
thrusting out, serving up, for his perverse enjoyment. And then- 

"Aiee!" Patricia shrieked, the first smart smack striking her on the right 
buttock and making that taut half-moon quiver. 

"How's that, baby?" Jeff asked. "Hard enough for you?" 

"More. Give me more." 

"We've just begun, Mrs. Richardson. There's lots more pain coming your way." 

With that, as the beautiful titian-tressed woman braced herself, Jeff 
delivered the second blow to her luscious seat. Then the third-and a fourth. 
Patricia cried out immediately after each deliciously painful smack, 
grinding the right side, of her face into the hard desk top as tears began 
welling in her pretty green eyes. 

"More. Hit me again. Harder, Jeff." 

"Until you're bawling like a baby?" 

"Yes," Patricia gasped. "Make me cry, Jeff. Punish me for my naughtiness." 

Again Jeff raised his right hand high over his shoulder. Then, seconds 
later, the hand was slicing through the air to land with a resounding 
"crack" on Patricia's quivering left buttock. Once more the masochistic 
Patricia let out a shriek, once more she demanded, in a trembling, tortured 
voice, a spanking that would turn her ass into a burning mass of reddened 
flesh. 

It took Jeff less than a minute to establish a perverse and sinister rhythm. 
Methodically, with passionate purpose, he rained blow after blow on 
Patricia's poor backside, his hand wickedly whipping the air to come 
crashing down on either her left or right ass cheek. 

"Oh, it's so good," Patricia whimpered into the desk top. "It feels so nice. 
Do it to me, you stud. Beat my damn ass." 

"You love it, don't you?" asked Jeff, his face coloring. 

"It's wonderful. It hurts so good." 

"Here's another one, baby. Enjoy it." 

Whack! 

"Aiee! Owww." 

"And another." 

"Arghhh-ohhhh, you're hurting meeee-" Smack! Whack! Splat! 

As Jeff pummeled the beautiful woman's behind, directing his cruel blows to 
first one buttock and then the other as he alternated between them, there 
popped into his head the exciting image of his lovely brunette wife. In his 
mind's eye he saw Carole draped across his desk, her superbly-crafted 
bottom, so smooth and firm and provocatively-curved, twitching crazily in 
passionate response to the evil thrashing it was receiving. 

What would it be like to pummel Carole's fanny, he wondered dizzily. The 
idea of turning his gorgeous wife over his knee and then pounding her 
beautiful butt until she begged for mercy had never cross his mind. Not once 
in the seven years of their marriage had it occurred to him to spank 
Carole's succulent seat, nor had he ever considered the sexual overtones of 
such a spanking. 

Which was, in a way, rather strange, since on numerous occasions he had 
thrilled to the feel of her rectal canal hotly, greedily clutching his 
plunging prick. He loved to fuck Carole's ass, to savor the smooth 
sponginess of her rounded cheeks and the sizzling tightness of her 
shit-chute as he plumbed its clammy depths. 

And yet he had never thought to preface the ass-fuck with a sound swatting 
of her fanny. Once in awhile, when in a playful mood, she would scamper 
around the bedroom and, with a merry twinkle in her eye and laughter on her 
lips, tell him he would have to catch her if he wanted to screw. And when 
finally he caught her, the two of them out of breath, he would give her a 
few playful swats across the tail and then fuck her silly. 

But that was all. He had never really blistered Carole's bottom as he was 
now blistering Patricia Richardson's. Would his wife enjoy an occasional 
spanking? Maybe yes, maybe no. He would test her reactions the next time she 
got into one of her teasing, taunting moods. Instead of merely administering 
a few harmless slaps across her fanny, he would continue to whack her until 
she indicated either pain or pleasure. 

But that was for the future. For the nonce- 

"Ohh, you're doing it so good," Patricia whimpered happily, tears of 
pleasure-pain now sliding down her smooth, unblemished cheeks and dripping 
noiselessly onto the desk top. 

"Harder and faster, Jeff. Pound my ass. Make it-owwww!" 

"How's it feel, slut?" Jeff growled, desire spiraling through his aroused 
body. "Come on, speak up. Let me-" 

"Feels good-beautiful," Patricia blubbered. "A little more and then-then 
fuck me, Jeff." 

"In your ass, cunt? Is that where you want it?" 

"Yes, in my ass.E ;epin my shitty ass." 

Jeff spent the next two minutes whacking away at the beauteous female's 
trembling tail, relishing the pitiful moans and sharp, loud grunts she 
emitted each time his hard hand slammed against her aching ass. Soul-searing 
blow followed soul-searing blow as he repeatedly struck her flaming fanny, 
his stiff pecker jerking crazily up and down and side to side as he spanked 
with unholy enthusiasm. 

And then it was time for the topper, for the coup de grace-a heathenish 
humping of the abused, burning heinie. 

"Al right, Mrs. Richardson, now we fuck," Jeff rasped, slipping smoothly, 
quickly, into position behind the bent over beauty. "I'm goin' to fuck your 
ass like it's never been fucked before." 

"Do it," Patricia cried out. "Fuck it good. Pound that hot cock into my 
ass." 

His face a mask of determination, his heart beating fast, Jeff pried open 
the hot, hurting cheeks of the woman's well-spanked behind and jammed the 
bulbous head of his blood-fattened prick against her nether hole. 

"Yes, that's right. Get it in me, baby. Shove it right in there-all the 
way." 

"Hang on, cunt. I'm goin' to touch your damn tonsils." 

Her face wet with tears of masochistic joy, Patricia braced herself for that 
first searing plunge of her partner's thick, pulsating pecker into her 
niggardly nether hole. The temptation to beg some more was strong, for truly 
did she love to be cleaved down the middle by a meaty male member, to feel, 
deep in her foul bowels, the delicious fullness of said member. 

Kenneth, her wonderfully sadistic husband, reamed her rectum regularly, at 
least three times a week and always after walloping her ass. How wonderful 
it was to be so abused, to be treated with contempt, to be forced to wallow 
in the mire of mind-boggling, masochistic ecstasy. 

Tiny grunts popping from his throat, Jeff pushed his hips forward in eager 
attempt to secure penetration. The fat head of his cock strained mightily 
against Patricia's rear aperture, one which, although painfully stretched 
many times previously, seemed totally unwilling to give an inch. 

"Get it in me, dammit," Patricia pleaded piteously, weaving her tortured 
tail back against the probing prick. "Just shove it in. Ram it, baby. Ram 
it." 

"All right, lady," Jeff growled, "you asked for it." 

And with that, as his client's wife whimpered in need, he took a deep breath 
and then savagely rammed forward, the fierce, brutal thrust ripping open the 
resisting anus and sending his bloated bone three wicked inches into a dark, 
dank, shit-flecked chamber. 

Patricia howled. Her head jerked up off the desk top as the scream sailed 
from her mouth, her eyes wide, unseeing. Then, only seconds later, her head 
banged back down on the desk as her wild scream deteriorated to a low, 
guttural moan, one which eloquently, albeit perversely, reflected her gut 
satisfaction at having in her soundly-spanked ass a thick, wickedly probing 
prick. 

"Get it all in, please,' she whimpered. "I want it all-every last inch. 
Stick it up there, baby." 

Just as eager to pack Patricia's posterior as she was to have it fully 
packed, Jeff began working his tool in the clammy confines of her after 
passage, short but powerful thrusts pushing his blood-swollen pecker through 
the obstructing muck. And at last he was home free, his pulsing manhood 
imbedded to the hilt in the beautiful woman's oft-stretched shit-chute. 

"Is it all in?" Patricia asked breathlessly. "All of it?" 

"You've got it, baby. All but my balls." 

"So good-so filthy, fuckin' good. Fuck me now, Jeff. Bang my ass bloody." 

Jeff looked down at the point of connection, the wholly obscene sight of 
Patricia's widely-stretched anus wrapped snugly around his imbedded cock 
prompting another wave of lust to wash over him. And how fantastically tight 
she was, he thought. Her rectum was hugging his hard-on with depraved 
enthusiasm, gripping it fervently, with tenacious ardor. 

"Come on, dammit," Patricia pleaded. "What are you waiting for? Fuck it for 
me, master. Plow up my shitty ass." 

"Ask me nice," Jeff said, suddenly possessed by the evil urge to further 
humiliate the titian-haired beauty, this stunning wife of a client who, at 
their meeting Monday afternoon, had threatened to have him replaced by 
another architect unless he came up with a simply superb design. 

"I am asking nicely, Jeff," Patricia whimpered, wriggling her impaled bottom 
back against his belly. "Please screw my ass. Fuck it for me. Hurt me." 

"Pretty please?" 

"Yes, pretty please. Oh, shit, I need it so bad." 

Smiling lewdly, Jeff gave in and began moving his tumescent tool in the 
mixed-up woman's delightful derriere, slowly withdrawing his shit-stained 
member until only the plum-shaped head was snugly sheathed in her 
wickedly-widened shit chute, then pushing back inside the heavenly warmth of 
that swampy passage. 

In and out he worked his bloated bone, slowly, methodically, resisting the 
strong urge to rear back and slam into the quivering backside with all his 
might. He wanted to draw out the pleasure, postpone the inevitable for as 
long as possible, savor the marvelous friction of cock rubbing against 
clasping rectal walls. 

But Patricia had other ideas. Always ready to be reamed, fore or aft, quick 
to arouse to the point where her pussy was sloppily salivating all over her 
inner thighs, she wanted now a fuck that was fast and furious, a riotous 
reaming of her stuffed shit chute that would culminate in nothing less than 
a cataclysmic climax. She made this very, very plain to her partner. 

"So you want it faster, huh?" Jeff husked. "Like this." 

"Arghh." 

"And this." 

"Arghh-ohhhh-" 

"Well, is that what you want, baby?" 

"Yes, like that," Patricia answered thickly, recovering from the two 
particularly brutal plunges deep inside her dank rectal canal. "Hard and 
fast. I can take it, Jeff. Just-just slam it to me." 

"Al right, cunt," Jeff rasped. "Let's see how you like this pace." 

His hands locked firmly around Patricia's shapely hips, fingers digging into 
the tender, resilient flesh, the architect now very quickly designed a rapid 
reaming rhythm guaranteed to bring hearty shouts of approval from even the 
most fervent sodomists. In quick succession he delivered three bone-jarring 
thrusts, then a fourth, fifth, and sixth, and soon he was thrusting in and 
out of Patricia's clammy shit chute with fiery abandon, his rock-hard cock a 
murderous drill as it plumbed the furthermost reaches of that dark, 
mysterious tunnel. 

"Uh-ohh-uhhh-" Patricia grunted, each powerful plunge of Jeff's manhood into 
her after passage jarring loose from her pretty throat a sound animalistic 
in character. 

"Better, baby? Is this-is this better?" 

"Y-Yes. It's good-it's so-oww, ohhh-" 

Jeff snapped his hips forward yet another time and sent his drilling dick 
trundling up into Patricia's mucky rectum. Now again he withdrew quickly, 
again he plunged back inside, again he withdrew and again he plunged back 
into the exciting darkness. In and out, in and out, his hot, throbbing prick 
shoving aside all in its path as it steamrolled its wicked way up through 
the enveloping excrement. 

Patricia was in seventh heaven, her masochistic cravings in sharp focus as 
Jeff battered her spanked ass with his relentlessly charging cock. Her body 
was alive, totally alive, every nerve end attuned to this deliciously 
filthy, marvelously perverse screwing of her quivering backside. 

How fantastic it felt inside her, she thought dazedly. The man her husband 
had hired to design a unique summer home on the Island was doing one helluva 
job on her ass. His wonderful prick was churning deep up her stretched 
rectum, stirring her turds, plunging so far inside her bowels that it seemed 
he was reaching her tits. 

"You've got-got a real hot ass, baby," Jeff panted, breathing hard now as he 
boomed his shit-stained prick into Patricia's bottom with a cruel vengeance. 

"Fuck it," the titian-haired sexpot moaned hoarsely. "Oh, fuck it for me. 
Deep and hard. Smash my filthy ass!" 

"Take it, you cunt. Take it all." 

"Yes, screw my ass. Screw it-oooo-" 

Oblivious to all save the strong, soul-searing reaming of her rectal canal, 
Patricia was not bothered one bit by the awkwardness of her position, by the 
fact that her tender thighs were being painfully scraped against the 
serrated edge of the desk with each hard, brutal lunge of Jeff's hot cock 
into her shit chute. 

Nor did she mind that each mean thrust knocked her forward a few inches, her 
breasts, squashed by her own weight, and the right side of her tear-wet face 
rubbing against the hard desk top. None of this was of any consequence. 

All that mattered was the satanic screwing of her seat, the quick, maniacal 
thrusts which sent her partner's long, thick pecker whistling up her 
tingling behind, deep into the clammy confines of her most private part. 

There was only one thing missing, she thought. And that was a mirror. Her 
husband oftentimes acceded to her lewd request that she be permitted to view 
the depraved dicking of her ass. He would take the mirror, one she had 
purchased, in fact, for this purpose, and position it at such an angle so 
that she could look back and see his mighty manhood plunging deep into her 
behind. 

Eyes closed, beads of sweat popping off his forehead, Jeff continued 
slamming his cock into Patricia's posterior, vicious thrust following 
vicious thrust as he buried himself to the balls in the murky, humid chamber 
of her shit-lined rectum. Totally enveloped by a mind-warping lust, he 
muttered curses under his breath and put all he had behind each powerful 
plunge, the happy woman's cries of demented delight and breathless 
exhortations a fiendish spur to his frantic fuck. 

And then, a little more than a minute later, came the inevitable moment of 
truth. 

"I'm-I'm coming, bitch," he rasped hotly. "C-Coming." 

"Come in me, Jeff," Patricia cried out. "Y-Yes-oh, oh I feel it. You're 
coming in my ass, stud!" 

"All-all for you, baby." 

The scalding semen flew through Jeff's trembling tool and shot into 
Patricia's foul shit chute. He grunted heathenishly and then emitted a moan 
of pure pleasure, his body in ecstatic shudder as the gooey sex cream 
spurted up into the whimpering woman's beautiful behind. 

Patricia groaned joyously and clenched her rectal muscles around the 
ejaculating cock in an effort to squeeze from it every last drop of hot 
creamy come. She balled her small fists and began pounding on the desk top, 
her face twisted now into a grotesque mask of satanic rapture. 

Jeff remained in position, his hands wrapped hotly around Patricia's shapely 
hips and his cock deeply imbedded in her stretched rectal canal, until the 
last of his gooey discharge had been deposited in the dank bank. Then, 
emitting a tired moan of satisfaction, he fell forward and collapsed atop 
Patricia's back. 

He rested for a while, breathing hard, his pecker softening in the mush of 
the woman's rectum. When his breathing had returned to something like 
normal, he slowly pushed himself up off Patricia and took one step back, his 
now wilted and badly-stained pecker slipping almost noiselessly from her 
distended ass-hole. 

Some fifteen seconds later a very pleased Patricia pushed herself up off the 
desk. Turning around, she saw that her partner had deposited himself in the 
large leather armchair located near his office door. She smiled and ran a 
hand back through her long reddish yellow hair. 

"You look like you've had it, Mr. Wayne," she said, her face faintly 
flushed. 

"I don't usually start a work day by fucking a female in the ass," Jeff 
explained with a small smile. He was sitting in a comfortable sprawl in the 
chair, knees splayed, his slacks and undershorts still bunched around his 
feet. 

"It's a novel change, isn't it? But don't tell me you haven't been shoving 
it to that cute little thing out there." 

"You mean Susie?" 

"She's your secretary, isn't she?" 

"So?" 

"So if you're not fucking her you should be. All men fool around with their 
secretaries." 

"Is that a fact?" 

Patricia chuckled. "I'm sure it is. But I really don't care one way or the 
other if you're banging little Susie. What concerns me is the price for your 
services that you quoted my husband. Has my visit this morning caused you to 
reconsider?" 

Jeff smiled wanly. "You're asking me if I've decided to lower the fee." 

"Exactly," Patricia said, bending down to retrieve her panties from around 
her feet. She quickly pulled the flimsy garment up her legs and worked it 
into place around her hips, in the process becoming conscious of her leaking 
ass-hole. Jeff's creamy come was oozing our of her opened anus and trickling 
down her inner thighs. 

"Mrs. Richardson, I tried to tell you before that-" 

"Mrs. Richardson? Really now, Jeff, must we be so very formal? After all, 
you've spanked my ass and fucked it so-" 

"All right, Patricia," Jeff interrupted, "I suppose it is ludicrous to 
engage in formalities at this point. But as I was saying, I tried to explain 
to you earlier that I have no control over the fee. My supervisor decides 
how much should be charged after I review with him the client's needs. The 
fee is highly dependent upon the difficulty of the design." 

"J see," Patricia said softly. She bent down again and this time retrieved 
the bottom half of her pants suit. Holding up the pants, she walked over to 
where Jeff was sitting. "So it would seem that I've wasted my time this 
morning. I mean, it looks as if I've fucked the wrong member of the firm." 

Jeff chuckled.. "I think you enjoyed it, Mrs., er, Patricia, that is." 

"Yes, very much, but still-" Patricia left the thought unfinished as she 
looked down at the handsome architect, her green eyes moving lazily to his 
limp, dirtied dick. A small smile began creeping across her face as an idea 
popped into her head. "Tell me, Jeff, isn't it true that you make 
recommendations concerning the fees to be charged? I mean, you must have 
some influence around here." 

"Yes, I sometimes suggest a fee-one that's based on my preliminary sketches. 
When I have a fairly good idea of the amount of time and-" 

"In other words," Patricia broke in, "you could speak to this supervisor of 
yours and recommend a lower fee for my husband." 

"Well, I suppose so. But-" 

"But nothing," the titian-tressed beauty interrupted again. "I came here 
determined to walk out with your promise of a reduced fee, and if I can't 
have that I'm at least going to get your promise to say a few words on my 
husband's behalf. I'm sure this supervisor respects your judgment, Jeff. 
He'd be inclined to go along with you if you suggested lowering the 
previously quoted fee." 

"Now look, Patricia." 

"You look, handsome," Patricia grinned. 

With that, she released her pants and allowed the garment to slither down 
her sleek legs to her feet. Then, shuffling forward, she dropped to her 
knees in front of the leather armchair. She rested her arms on Jeff's hairy 
thighs and looked up into his face. 

"Maybe another sucking will start you seriously thinking about the 
Richardsons' financial situation, Mr. Architect." 

Jeff looked down at his shit-flecked noodle of a cock and then at Patricia, 
who winked at him. "Are you-no, you can't be serious. I mean, my cock is-" 

"A little brown, that's all. It just needs a good cleaning." 

"But-" 

"So all of a sudden we turn prudish, huh? Silly, silly boy." 

With that, pausing only long enough to wet her lips with her talented 
tongue, Patricia dropped her head over Jeff's lap and, undaunted, plopped 
his besmirched pecker into her mouth. Jeff blinked a few times and then, 
satisfied that this wasn't some crazy, wholly perverse dream, settled back 
to watch his client's beautiful wife suck and lick the prick he had pulled 
from her rectum only minutes ago. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

How to explain this madness, Carole Wayne wondered. How to answer those who 
would question her presence in this swank motel room? What to say when asked 
to justify her wicked behavior, to explain just how it was that her friend 
and neighbor, Sheila Davidson, could extract from her (with about as little 
finesse as one could expect from a crude, uncaring dentist dedicated to 
yanking teeth painfully) a promise to attend a meeting with 

Scott Langdale and Cynthia Corral? 

Curiosity? That was certainly part of the answer, Carole told herself, her 
pretty brown eyes flitting from Scott Langdale to Cynthia Corral to Sheila 
as she listened to the trio discuss truly evil plans for the future. But 
making matters worse, confusing the issue further, was the fact that while 
she was here, supposedly as a friend of the court, so to speak, the urge to 
become more than just a participant was gradually building in strength. 

And for that she had Mr. Langdale to thank. As Sheila had stated more than 
once on the drive to the motel to meet her new "employer," Scott was the 
type of male capable of making a lady cream in her panties. To say he was a 
handsome stud was an understatement. 

In a word, Scott Langdale was gorgeous, Carole thought. He was certainly one 
of the most attractive males she had ever laid eyes on. She figured him to 
be about six feet three in height and judged his weight to be over two 
hundred. He was your typical movie star, the leading man type-a tall, dark, 
handsome man whose classic good looks and rugged build set female hearts 
throbbing and female pussies purring. 

His hair was very long and very black, his eyes were a cool blue, two 
penetrating orbs that seemed capable of looking right through a person. He 
moved with an attractive self-assurance and spoke with equal confidence, as 
if prepared to handle any and every new development, as if firmly convinced 
that what he had learned in his first thirty-nine years was of sufficient 
variety to see him through any experience that might occur in the next 
thirty-nine. 

Here was a man who had led, and was leading, an exciting life, Carole 
thought, a faint blush coming to her cheeks as she realized the effect this 
completely masculine and obviously very virile male was having on her. That 
familiar, and at the moment almost embarrassing, feeling between her legs 
was growing stronger. 

Her genital area was warming under cover of her pink panties, her crotch was 
getting sticky, the syrupy lubricating fluid oozing from her faintly pulsing 
vagina to dampen the front of her undies. Sheila was certainly right when 
she described Scott as "a big, beautiful hunk of man whose presence alone is 
enough to have your twat doing flip flops." Except for a quick, perfunctory 
handshake when they were introduced, he had yet to touch her, to do anything 
physical that would fan the flames of desire. But already she was turning 
on, her pussy leaking like a faulty faucet. 

Carole turned her attention to Cynthia Corral, thinking that by 
concentrating on somebody else she would be able to at least slow the steady 
climb of her desire prompted by the almost too sexy Scott Langdale. 

Cynthia, a not unattractive but somewhat plump blonde in her middle 
thirties, was describing in detail how her suburban prostitution ring would 
operate. There was a certain harshness in the woman's manner that Carole 
found rather irritating. Cynthia, it seemed, lacked the patience subtlety 
required and obviously didn't give a hoot about the social amenities. 

She was as direct in her speech as she was in her manner, sprinkling her 
sentences with lusty adjectives and explicit, good old Anglo-Saxon terms for 
sexual intercourse and genitalia. She was as blunt as a longshoreman, every 
bit as crude, and while she appeared to be satisfied with her career as a 
madam her smiles were few and far between. 

Cynthia Corral was a business woman, pure and simple, thought Carole, 
summing up her silent appraisal of the busty, blue-eyed, and tough-talking 
blonde whose intention it was to gather around her a select group of 
suburban housewives who, for one reason or another, were interested in 
prostituting themselves. 

"Yeah, I like this little operation you have planned," Scott said, smiling 
what Carole thought was a beautiful smile as he addressed himself to 
Cynthia. "It's nice and neat. And so simple that the risk involved is 
minimal." 

Cynthia, who had deposited herself in one of the two cinnamon-colored bucket 
chairs in the handsomely-decorated motel room, returned the smile given her 
by the man leaning against the door, his arms folded across his broad chest. 
"Everything I plan," she said, "has a way of working out, Scott." 

"It does seem safe enough," said Sheila, who was sitting on the edge of the 
large bed. "I mean, there really doesn't seem any way of us getting caught." 

Carole, sitting with her legs crossed on the other bucket chair, looked over 
at her friend. Sheila, she thought, seemed somewhat less enthusiastic than 
she had been during then-drive to the motel. Now that the moment of truth 
was near, was she starting to lose her famous cool? 

"You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself, Sheila," Scott said, 
his words again accompanied by an attractive smile. 

"No, not really. At least I don't think I am. 

Cynthia delivered one of her rare chuckles. "Mrs. Davidson is a little 
nervous, Scott. And that, experience has taught me, is par for the course. 
All my girls get the jitters just before they entertain their first 
customer." 

"Sure. You get that first fuck under your belt, so to speak, and the funny 
feeling you have right now will be nothing but a memory. I can guarantee it, 
Sheila." 

The blonde beauty smiled. "I'm sure you're right, Scott. Will my John be 
here soon?" 

Scott chuckled. "There, see that, Cynthia? I told you Sheila was a quick 
study. She's already using the words of the trade." 

"Mr. Anderson won't be arriving for a while yet," Cynthia said, checking her 
wristwatch. "It's one o'clock now and I told him to get here by three, but 
not before." 

"Then why," Carole asked, "did you ask Sheila to meet you here at 
twelve-thirty?" 

"Because I wanted us to have time to get acquainted. I like to know 
something about the girls who will be working for me. While I trust Scott 
and value his opinion, I wanted to check Sheila out for myself. After all, a 
woman in my position can't be too careful about those she hires." 

Carole nodded. And then, almost against her will, her eyes turned again to 
the devilishly-handsome male standing nonchalantly, maybe even arrogantly, 
against the closed and locked motel door. She wished he wouldn't keep 
looking at her like that. Almost every time she cast her eyes in his 
direction she caught him staring. 

And that look, that beautiful, sexy, would-I-ever-love-to-sock-it-to-you 
smile, was putting a terrific strain on her self-composure. Was he aware of 
her condition, of the fact that she was dampening her panties at the crotch? 
Probably, thought Carole, answering herself. 

If outward appearances were any criteria, then Mr. Scott Langdale was one 
man whose experience with women was nothing less than considerable. And 
those eyes of his, those clear, bright, piercing orbs of blue, had no doubt 
already told him all he needed to know about the effect he was having on 
her. Even though she had yet to start squirming around in her chair. 

"You haven't mentioned what you do for a living, Mr. Langdale," Carole said, 
a small smile blossoming on her beautiful face. 

Scott chuckled softly. Unfolding his arms, he pushed away from the door and 
moved slowly toward the bed. He dropped down next to Sheila and draped his 
left arm around her shoulders. 

"No answer, Mr. Langdale?" 

"Scott is a man of some mystery, Carole," Cynthia explained. "He values his 
privacy very highly and prefers to keep his various exploits to himself. 
Even I don't know what he's up to all the time, and we've been friends for a 
good number of years." 

"Hmmm, that does sound mysterious," Carole said, her gaze directed at 
Sheila. 

"Don't look at me, friend," Sheila grinned. "I know almost nothing about 
this beautiful hunk of man." 

"Now that was sweet, baby," Scott said, leaning over to peck on the cheek 
the female whose cunt his pecker had plumbed on numerous occasions. Then he 
turned again to Carole. "Instead of talking about me, why don't we talk 
about you, Carole? That would be just as interesting, I'm sure." 

"I doubt that," the dazzling brunette smiled. "I'm afraid I haven't lived a 
very intriguing life." 

"Nonsense. A woman as lovely as you must certainly have been involved in a 
few passionate capers." 

"I'm just a housewife," Carole shrugged. 

"Well, Mrs. Housewife," Cynthia interjected, "if your life has lacked 
intrigue and excitement up until now, you should find your new career as a 
part-time call girl very rewarding. Emotionally as well as financially." 

'That's true enough," Scott added. "You'll be meeting a nice variety of men 
and-" 

"Wait just a minute," Carole interrupted. "I don't intend to become a 
prostitute. I just-just came along for the ride, that's all." 

Scott laughed. "You what?" 

"Sheila, didn't you explain to Miss Corral that I had no intention of 
becoming one of her girls?" 

Sheila nodded. "I told her when I phoned to see if it was all right that I 
bring you along with me." 

"But I didn't believe it then," Cynthia said, "and I don't believe it now." 
She looked hard at the stunning female sitting some ten feet away and tried 
to envision her bare-assed naked, her body in lewd squirm on a bed as she 
awaited her customer. Carole Wayne, she thought, was going to be of 
considerable help in making the suburban branch of her call-girl ring a 
flourishing enterprise. Already she could hear the men asking, no, 
demanding, a session with the lush brunette beauty. 

'. 'Come on, Carole," Scott said, the grin on his face broad and sardonic. 
"You don't really expect me to believe for one single second that you came 
here only to-to survey the scene. I mean, it's just-just too crazy." 

"It's the truth," Carole stated, trying to inject into her voice a note of 
conviction. "I'm just here to-oh, I don't know. To lend Sheila a little 
moral support, maybe." 

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, sweetheart. First of all, Sheila doesn't need any 
moral support. And secondly, even if she did you're hardly the person to 
lend it." 

"I think perhaps it's time I was leaving," Carole said, uncrossing her legs. 
"I can get a taxi home, I'm sure." 

"Hold on a minute," said Scott, his grin fading. "If you had no intention of 
embarking on a career as a whore with Sheila, then how come you didn't speak 
up earlier? You were as quiet as a mouse when Cynthia was explaining how 
things would work." 

"I-I just assumed you knew that I wasn't going to participate. Maybe I just 
wanted to-to learn how the prostitution business is handled." 

Scott laughed again. "Honey, you're either pulling my leg or you're the most 
naive female I've ever encountered. No, let me correct that. Maybe you're 
the most mixed up." 

"Take it easy, Scott," Sheila said softly, patting the handsome man's left 
knee. 

"Sure, but I mean this is really ridiculous, Sheila. Is she leveling with us 
or what? Is she serious about not turning prostitute?" 

Sheila looked at her friend and smiled tenderly. "I'm not really sure, 
Scott. I don't honestly know." 

But you do know, Carole thought confusedly. Behind that smile you're 
laughing at me, telling me to admit the truth. You, like Cynthia and Scott, 
think that I'm making a complete ass of myself. You know that I'm sitting 
here pretending to feel something I think I should feel-disgust, perhaps. 
Maybe even anger. 

And that while I'm playing my role, feigning innocence, my pussy is 
salivating all over the place. Who am I fooling, anyway. You know that I'm 
hot, that my vagina, twitching madly now, is ready to be filled with hard 
prick-the prick belonging to Mr. Scott Langdale. 

Oh, shit, everything was so dreadfully mixed up. It was the height of 
absurdity to deny the need to get royally balled now wending its way 
determinedly, inexorably, through her warming body. Yet what of Jeffrey, her 
husband, the man she loved with all her heart and soul? 

Wasn't he entitled to any consideration? How could she cheat on him, this 
wonderful man whose love for her she treasured so very highly? What would he 
say if he knew that she was perilously close to committing her first 
infidelity, and that this infidelity would most likely lead to, yes, admit 
it, dammit, to a series of afternoon rendezvous with strange men? 

Oh, but it was so perverse! So mind-boggling and-and so thrilling! 

'The time has come to get down to business," Cynthia declared, suddenly 
breaking the silence as she pushed herself up out of the smart bucket chair. 
"Scott, Mrs. Wayne appears to be in somewhat of a quandary. Why don't you 
see if you can't help her out of it." 

"My pleasure," Scott grinned. "Carole may have her doubts about part-time 
prostitution now, but when I'm through she'll be all in favor of it." He 
pushed himself up off the bed and walked quickly to where Carole sat, 
lifting her up out of the chair even before she could utter a single 
protest. 

"No-what are-" 

That was the extent of the beautiful brunette's argument, the rest of it 
choking in her throat as the muscular Scott enveloped her in his strong arms 
and planted his hard, demanding lips over her soft, pliant ones. 

Sheila stood, her eyes riveted to the kissing couple. A shiver of pleasure 
rippled up her spine as she recalled the many times Scott had embraced her 
as he was now embracing her friend. She knew the sweet power of his kiss, 
how his hotly probing tongue and softly sucking lips could turn a girl to 
jello and make her want to strip and screw on the spot. 

She didn't think there was a woman alive who could resist the promise of 
hot, unbridled sex that Scott's knowledgeable kiss and embrace dispatched. 
Only the most frigid of females would fail to respond with a show of desire. 
And Carole Wayne was certainly not in that sad category. 

The urge to resist that had sprung up instinctively in Carole when she found 
herself being crushed against Scott's hard chest was now but a memory, 
having been chased away by a sudden rush of scandalous excitement and the 
ever-growing, deliciously-depraved need to sample the cock of the big, 
beautiful man kissing her. 

She was whimpering into his mouth now, nibbling at his lips, parting her own 
to admit entry of his searching tongue. She was holding him close, her arms 
wrapped around his strong back, and as her pulsing pussy continued, 
signaling its great need for a stuffing she squirmed against Scott's chest 
and let him feel the spongy softness of her breasts through her blouse and 
bra. 

"So you just came to watch, huh?" Scott asked when at last he broke the 
kiss. "You don't kiss like a woman interested in just listening and 
watching." 

"Please, Scott," Carole breathed. "I-I-" 

"You what, sweetheart?" 

"I-I want you, Scott. Please do it to me. Now-on the bed." 

"Hot to trot, are you?" 

"Y-Yes. I need you so bad. I need-cock." 

Scott grinned. He took a step back and reached for Carole's right hand, 
brought it to the bulge beginning to form at the front of his expensive 
brown slacks. "Is that what you want, Mrs. Wayne? Would your sweet, little 
pussy like a visit from him?" 

"Yes, oh yes," Carole breathed, her expression one of abject need as she 
squeezed Scott's swelling manhood through the material of his slacks. "I 
want that. I need it so bad." 

"Show me how hot and wet you are, baby," Scott ordered, removing Carole's 
hand from his stiffening joy stick. "Lift up your skirt and let's get a peek 
at your panties. I'll bet they're a soggy mess already." 

Breathing hard, Carole reached down and with both hands took hold of the hem 
of her short blue skirt. She pulled the skirt up quickly, excitedly, 
revealing the creamy-smooth softness of her thighs and then holding the 
garment bunched about her waist as a grinning Scott focused on her exposed 
panties. 

Meanwhile, over by the bed, Sheila and Cynthia were engaged in a 
mini-argument. The enterprising madam had moved over to Sheila during 
Scott's embrace of Carole and was now chiding the hump-happy housewife for 
her ignorance about lesbian love. 

"B-But I've never made love to another woman," Sheila argued, standing 
quietly as the experienced Cynthia unbuttoned her frilly white blouse. "I 
don't know what to do." 

"Then it's high time you found out, sweetheart." 

"But really, Cynthia, I don't like to-" 

"Just trust to your instincts," the busty madam interrupted, drawing open 
Sheila's blouse and pulling it back off her smooth shoulders. "Everything 
will be fine if you relax and allow pleasure to take charge." 

"Are you a lesbian, Cynthia?" 

"I swing both ways, honey. I love a nice, fat cock crammed balls deep in my 
twat, that's for damn sure. But I also enjoy makin' it with a beautiful 
woman. It's a delicious change of pace, if you know what I mean." 

Sheila didn't know what the ambitious madam meant. Having never experimented 
with lesbian love, she was inclined to look upon the sexual embrace of two 
females with considerable skepticism and faint distaste. 

How, she wondered, could the act of kissing another female, and sucking a 
female snatch, compare to the act of love between man and woman? What joy it 
was to be taken by a rough and ready stud, to surrender body and soul to the 
sheer animal lust of one like Scott Langdale. 

How could the pleasure derived from lesbian love match that derived from a 
sound screwing by an attractive, well-built male? It certainly didn't seem 
possible that the caress of a woman, no matter how expert and experienced 
she might be, could provide the stimulation afforded one by the manual 
ministrations of a sexually sophisticated man. 

And besides, if a girl was really intent on getting her jollies, if she 
wanted to be blasted to the moon and back again, she needed something hard 
and long and throbbing stuck into her cunt. A dildo in the hand of another 
woman was no match for the blood-packed prick of a confident, experienced 
male. 

"Come on, Sheila, get undressed, will you?" Cynthia said, her voice laced 
with irritation. "I'm almost down to my skin and you haven't even removed 
your bra yet. Come on, get with it." 

Hoping that the pleasantly plump madam wasn't intending to make a habit of 
climbing into bed with her, Sheila reached around in back and undid the 
clasp of her cream-colored brassiere. She peeled the constricting garment 
off her beautiful boobs and dropped it on the floor, atop her blouse. 

As she fumbled with the zipper at the side of her deep purple pleated skirt, 
she cast her eyes in the direction of her neighbor and the virile Scott 
Langdale. Carole was really steaming now, she thought. The poor thing looked 
as if she were going to have an orgasm any second! 

"You like that, don't you, sweetheart?" Scott asked, grinning. "You like it 
when your hot twat is touched." 

"Oh, yes," Carole whimpered, swaying in front of Scott as he continued 
massaging her soupy cabbage through the sheer material of her pink panties. 
"Your hand-it's so good. Harder. Rub me harder." 

"How about a little kiss, baby? Shall I much on your pretty pussy for a 
while?" 

"Yes, kiss me. Let me feel-arhhh, so good." 

Still fully clothed, a smirking Scott sank to his knees and placed his 
strong hands on Carole's smooth, sleek thighs, an inch or so under the hem 
of her damp-at-the-crotch pants. Then, without further ado, he plastered his 
handsome face against the lush brunette's pantied pussy and began sucking. 
"Oh, Scott. Oh!" 

"You taste good, baby. Smell nice, too." 

"Chew on me," Carole pleaded breathlessly. "Oh, please. Eat me good, Scott. 
Ohhh-" 

Tingling with delight, her body in slow, sensual sway, Carole looked down 
and through eyes glazed by passion watched Scott work on her womanhood. She 
thrilled to the feel of his sucking lips and hard-working, thrusting tongue 
at her covered cunt, and contributing greatly to her pleasure was the 
gut-jumbling wickedness of the act itself. 

Here she was, in a motel room miles from the luxurious home she shared with 
her handsome husband, holding up her skirt so that a comparative stranger 
could gnaw at her itching, twitching twat through the almost transparent 
material of her panties. Oh, the beautiful, spine-tingling indecency of it 
all! 

like Carole, Scott was aware of the sheer lewdness of her pornographic pose, 
the lust-provoking decadence of it. But he was deriving even greater 
pleasure from inhaling the musky, female aroma emanating from her cunt and 
munching on that cunt like a ravenous mouse. 

He wanted Carole hotter than she had ever been in her life, so badly in need 
of his bloated pecker that she'd be willing to barter her very soul for it. 
He wanted to build her lust to a fever pitch, to befog her brain with pure 
passion, and then watch as she ripped off her clothes and scurried to the 
bed where, in naked, wanton squirm, while hotly massaging her tits and twat, 
she begged like a nymphomaniac for the fucking of her life. 

And so, as Carole shamelessly held her skirt aloft, as she whimpered with 
delight and swayed to and fro, Scott labored in earnest at her sheathed 
loins, burrowing like a rodent between her soft, sweltering thighs as he 
sucked and nibbled, licked and laved with licentious enthusiasm. 

"Oh, Scott," the succulent brunette gasped joyously. "What are-you-doing to 
me? You're-you're eating me alive." 

"Gaaaagh-" Scott growled, the sound smothered in the steaming, swampy mush 
that was Carole's pantied-crotch. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Stark-naked now, a somewhat apprehensive Sheila watched an unsmiling Cynthia 
pull down the beige bedcover to reveal a mattress sheathed in a crisp white 
linen sheet. Then, complying with the husky-voiced madam's request, she 
climbed onto the motel bed and stretched out on her back. 

"You're going to enjoy this, I'm sure," Cynthia promised, following the 
hump-happy housewife onto the bed. "Many of my girls do." 

"Have you made love to them all?" asked Sheila, looking down her body as the 
madam maneuvered into position between her legs. 

"Yes. At one time or another each has enjoyed my ministrations. Of course, I 
have my favorites among them." 

"Will I get to meet any of the other girls?" 

"Probably. If you like, you can drop by my apartment in the city sometime 
and get acquainted with the women already in my stable. I'm sure they'll 
like you, Sheila." 

Stable. It sounded, Sheila thought, as if Cynthia intended to place her in a 
stall in a barn, alongside her other fillies. But if there was something 
rather demeaning about being put on display like that, like a prize animal 
that had been carefully groomed to pass diligent inspection, there was also 
something very exciting, very sinful about it. How decidedly decadent to be 
one of a number of beautiful females fucking for a fee. A wanton whore is 
what she would soon become. A lady of the afternoon, so to speak. 

"All right now, Mrs. Davidson," Cynthia said, a faint smile on her roundish 
face, "prepare to be pleasured in a new and exciting manner. Even though you 
won't be a full-fledged member of my company of players until Charlie 
Anderson has fucked you and paid for your services, I will consider you one 
of my girls after we've made love. You might think of this as a kind of 
initiation, Sheila." 

With that, not waiting for Sheila's comment, Cynthia crouched low and 
immediately commenced a licentious licking of the beautiful blonde's golden 
snatch, her tongue in lazy swirl as she swabbed the thick patch of curly 
pubic hairs surrounding the inviting sex slit. 

Sheila closed her eyes and waited for something to happen, the soft mewls of 
pleasure being emitted by Carole wafting into her ears. It would h ve been 
nice, she thought, had this so-called initiation required the presence of a 
big, pussy-packing pecker-preferably, the one wielded so skillfully by Mr. 
Scott Langdale, now busy slobbering all over her friend's soaked undies. 

Then again, she really had no right to be greedy. Scott had fucked her to 
mind-bending orgasms on numerous occasions and would do so again. Just 
because she was now a housewife-whore didn't mean that she couldn't avail 
herself of Scott's dazzling sexual prowess. Let Carole enjoy his talents 
now. Let Scott, with his mouth and tongue and beautiful cock, turn Carole 
into a smoldering mass of passion-crazed flesh and in the process burn from 
her mind what few doubts about the excitement of prostitution that probably 
still lingered there. 

The highly-sexed Scott was doing precisely that, Sheila would have been 
pleased to know. His feverish labors, the lustful way he was sucking and 
licking and tonguing Carole's pulsating pussy through the thin material of 
her wet, odorous panties, was turning the scrumptious brunette inside out, 
weakening her knees and blurring her mind with pure desire. 

And when at last he pulled back for a breath of air, the taste of her twat 
on his lips and the scintillating smell of her twat in his nostrils, Carole 
was ready to crawl to the far corners of the earth for the prick her pussy 
was angrily demanding. But Scott, evidencing a streak of perversity, 
insisted on a continuation of the sweet torment. 

"Come on, honey," he said, looking up at Carole, "Let me work on your naked 
cunt for a while. I want to suck it raw." 

"Yes, do it," Carole breathed. "Pull down my pants and suck me. Suck my hot 
twat, Scott. Oh, shit, I'm burning up down there. Ohhh-" 

"You do it, baby. Push down your pants for me." 

"Yes, I'll do it," Carole said quickly. "I'll do it." 

Dazed by desire, her cunt in molten boil, the woman who up to the fatal 
moment had clung tenaciously to the preposterous notion of remaining an 
observer only, an interested spectator, now released her skirt and fumbled 
for the waistband of her hot panties. Inserting her thumbs in the waistband, 
she quickly pushed the thin undergarment down, around and off her shapely 
hips, past the triangular patch of dark pubic curls guarding the entrance to 
her palpitating pussy. 

"Oh, yes," Scott exclaimed. "Yes, indeed." 

"It's all yours," was Carole's raspy retort. "Chew on me, Scott. And 
then-then screw me silly." 

Seconds later, his pecker struggling to tumefy in the warm confines of his 
undershorts, Scott was again worshipping the cock-craving Carole's fragrant 
womanhood, inhaling the musky scent of her steaming snatch as he swept his 
tongue up and down her pulpy sex lips. 

Once again holding her skirt up around her slim waist, her damp panties now 
a pink band of cotton hugging her thighs, a few inches under her inviting 
sex nest, Carole sobbed with pleasure and struggled to maintain her balance. 

A wicked bolt of dizzying delight suddenly stiffened her, the 
spine-straightening shock of bliss a happy consequence of Scott's sizzling 
soluurn into the pussy proper. She could feel his talented tongue foraging 
about her vagina, probing its viscous secrets, twirling and swirling in 
excited exploration. 

"Oh, Scott. Ohh-oh!" 

Another cry of utter delight was wrenched from the passion-dazed Carole when 
Scott, piling pleasure atop pleasure, sent his tongue in frenzied pursuit of 
her cringing clitoris. That sensitive nubbin of flesh was caught, trapped, 
pummeled into pulsating submission, Scott's lashing tongue whipping it 
wildly, unmercifully. 

Thirty seconds of this hot clitoral massage and Carole was ready to flip out 
altogether. Tremulous sobs of lust broke from her throat. Her body quivered 
ecstatically in response to the mad assault on her tender clit. Her 
beautiful face, flushed and twisted by desire, eloquently reflected her 
terrible need for the biggest of pricks. 

She felt herself falling, her knees giving way as she groped blindly for 
Scott's head to maintain her balance. She grabbed a handful of his thick 
black hair, snapping his head to the side as she toppled to the floor to his 
left. On her back now, knees up and splayed, she whipped her hands under her 
skirt and commenced a fiery massage of her aching cunt. 

Scott hopped to his feet and started tearing off his clothes, his eyes never 
leaving the sex-drunk female twisting and turning on the thickly carpeted 
motel room floor. In rapid succession he removed his shirt, undershirt, 
kicked off his loafers and pulled down his slacks. He peeled his socks from 
his feet, tossing them atop his other clothes, then yanked off his cock 
constricting white jockey briefs. 

His pecker, free at last, sprang to attention, slapping against his hard, 
flat belly and then jerking down to jut from his loins in throbbing 
readiness. Without delay, he stepped over to the whimpering Carole and 
roughly pulled her up to her feet, his fingernails digging into the flesh of 
her arms. As she swayed before him in what resembled a hypnotic trance, he 
quickly and expertly removed her clothes. 

And when he had bared her beautiful body, after a brief moment to take in 
her lush loveliness, her lust-enhancing vulnerability, he scooped her up in 
his strong arms and carried her quickly to the bed. There, next to Cynthia 
and Sheila, he dropped her. 

The fall from Scott's arms, the resultant impact when she bounced onto the 
mattress, jolted Carole from her strange concupiscent coma, her eyes flying 
open and her arms reaching up for the man whose blood-filled prick she 
craved with a passion bordering on the nymphomaniacal. 

"Fuck me, Scott," she growled animalistically. "Fuck me to pieces!" 

"Fuck you, baby? Hell, I'm going to rip your pussy to shreds." 

"I want is so bad-so very bad. My pussy-it hurts, Scott. Make it better. Oh, 
shit, screw me crazy, dammit." 

"Baby, I'm going to saw you in two." 

And with that, after no more than a quick glance at Sheila and Cynthia, now 
locked in lewd lesbian embrace, Scott climbed onto the large bed and 
arranged himself between Carole's spread legs in proper pussy-plowing 
position. 

"Oh, I want it, I want it," whimpered the dark-haired beauty, her eyes wide 
as she reached down with both hands to grasp the hard prick poised at her 
leaking sex hole. "Get it in, Scott. Ram it up to my fucking tits." 

Carole tried to shovel Scott's meaty member into her aching vagina, her 
fingers dragging along the cock's war, smooth, pulsating surface as she 
worked to stuff it inside her hungry hole. And then Scott lunged, the sudden 
snapping of his hips sending his bloated bone trundling deep up into the 
mushy confines of her pulsating pussy. 

"Arhhh-" Carole moaned rapturously. "Oh, Scott-phhh--. . 

"Feel it, sweetheart?" 

"Y-Yes. It's wonderful-wonderful.. ' 

"And this?" 

"Ug! Yes, do it to me. Fuck it raw, you beautiful stud. Ream me-owww!" 

Braced on hands and knees, Scott began moving in Carole's hotly clasping 
cunt, his blood-choked cock a fleshy pestle as it pounded her weeping 
womanhood. In and out he worked his manhood, his strokes strong, sure, 
touching bottom each time, dredging from Carole's throat repeated gasps and 
grunts of delight. 

"More-much more," pleaded the beauteous brunette, thrusting up her hips to 
greet the descending dick. 

"Harder, baby?" Scott growled. 

"Yes. And faster." 

"Like this?" 

"Ughhh!" 

"And this?" 

"Oh, you're killing me with cock," Carole moaned. "But I love it. I love 
it!" 

Less than two feet away, to Carole's left, a surprised and delighted Sheila 
Davidson was hungrily mouthing Cynthia Corral's odorous twat, slurping up 
the sticky juices flowing from that hot cove. 

Sheila's transformation from skeptical, unsure partner in perversion to 
active participant had taken a remarkably short time, Cynthia's artful 
tonguing of her snatch serving to quickly change the hump-happy housewife's 
mind about the pleasures possible from a session of sapphism. 

And now, having eagerly agreed to the madam's proposal that she suck a 
little herself, Sheila was munching merrily on a snatch she found not at all 
repugnant. Cynthia, meanwhile, was busy at work on her new girl's womanhood, 
having resumed her fastidious feast after pausing to reverse herself on the 
bed so that she was crouched atop Sheila, her broad behind hovering over 
Sheila's beautiful face. 

It was blonde eating blonde, the one treating the other to a wanton washing 
of the genital area. Unsure at first, inhibited by her lack of experience in 
lesbianism, Sheila had commenced her lewd labors with a series of 
experimental tongue thrusts and a cautious, gentle laving of the madam's 
meaty pussy lips. 

But she soon reached the conclusion that a more enthusiastic effort was in 
order, thanks in large part to the unalloyed determination with which her 
own snatch was being chewed. So, taking a cue from Cynthia, who was 
slobbering like crazy between her legs, Sheila cast aside her doubts and 
began attacking her twat in a more forceful manner, lifting her head up off 
the pillow to bury her face in the steaming cabbage that was Cynthia's sex 
bush. 

And now, as she drilled her tongue into the energetic madam's weeping pussy 
and strummed a quivering clitoris, her only regret was that she had not 
discovered the unique pleasure of girl-girl love before this. Then again, 
she thought, better late than never. 

Oblivious to what was going on right next to her, conscious only of the 
fantastic fucking she was getting from the outrageously attractive Scott 
Langdale, Carole writhed in whorish abandon under her partner and exhorted 
him, with words beautifully explicit, to bang the shit out of her. 

Scott needed no such encouragement, of course, yet he was certainly not 
about to order Carole to shut up. He was a man who enjoyed hearing the 
female he was humping beg for more and more of his manhood. He liked his 
women active and verbal in bed. It gave him extraordinary pleasure to look 
down into his partner's face, as he was doing now, and see the lust written 
there, take note of the glazed eyes, the flared nostrils, the twitching 
mouth from which trickled escaping saliva. 

"Oh, Scott, it's so good," Carole breathed hotly, her head jerking side to 
side on the pillow. "So deep-you're in me so deep." 

"You're a whore at heart, baby," Scott husked. "I knew it from the start." 

"Y-Yes, a whore," Carole stammered. "That's what I am." 

"A beautiful slut." 

"A beautiful slut." 

"You love cock, Carole," Scott growled, his voice almost a shout as he 
slammed into the quivering brunette's soft, mushy vagina yet another time. 
"Tell me you love cock, baby." 

"I do, I do," Carole wailed. "I adore cock!" 

"Where do you love it, Carole? Tell me, dammit." 

Carole let loose a moan of sheer delight as Scott's rock-hard prick boomed 
up into her tummy once again. She squeezed her vaginal muscles around the 
fleshy invader, hugged it hotly as if unwilling to let it go for even a 
second, for the time it would take to withdraw and then come crashing back 
inside her swampy cove. 

"Tell me, I said. Where do you love a fat prick?" 

"In my cunt-in my hot, aching cunt, Scott." 

"And in your mouth." 

"Yes, in my mouth." 

"And your ass? You love a cock up your ass, don't you?" 

Another guttural moan of pleasure was ripped from Carole's throat by Scott's 
battering ram of a prick. All feeling was now concentrated in her cunt and 
it seemed to her, in this moment of mindless passion, that that was just 
what she was, a cunt, a huge, bottomless vagina to be endlessly stuffed iwth 
thick, throbbing prick. 

"Answer me, sweetheart," Scott barked. "Do you love a good hard ass-fuck?" 

"I do," Carole groaned up into Scott's face. "I do love a hard ass-fuck. A 
dirty ass-fuck." 

A satanic grin blossomed quickly on the face of the man who delighted in 
hearing beautiful women confess to deriving keen pleasure from perverted 
acts. He silently resolved to test the elasticity of Carole Wayne's rectum 
before the afternoon was over. How fine it, would be, he thought, to pry 
open the spongy cheeks of this sexy housewife and then shove his swollen 
cock deep into her rectal canal. 

Not that he wasn't satisfied with things as they were. He was, very much so, 
and the fantastic feel of Carole's velvet-soft cuntal muscles squeezing his 
plunging pecker was passionately prodding him toward the inevitable 
ejaculation. But it was also very pleasant to contemplate the stirring of 
her turds. 

He would order her to place herself belly down on the bed and then have her 
reach back and pull open her succulent ass-cheeks. He would then move into 
position and ram his meaty member up into her beautiful bottom, the powerful 
plunge wrenching from her throat a groan of ecstasy. Yes, it was going to 
real fun fucking Carole Wayne's delectable denier, Scott thought, even as he 
crashed his tumescent organ into her seething vagina yet another time. He 
was sure he would derive as much enjoyment from fucking Carole's behind as 
he had from fucking Sheila Davidson's. 

But this would come later. Right now he was tending to a twat, a hot, 
pulsating, soupy swamp of a twat. 

"Oh, I think it's starting for me," Carole croaked. "I'm so close-so very 
close." 

"Let it go, baby," Scott rasped. "Soak my cock, dammit." 

Pushing up and back so that he was kneeling on the bed, his rock-hard root 
still snugly imbedded in Carole's sizzling vagina, the handsome man of 
mystery quickly hooked his arms under the sex-dazed female's legs and shoved 
them back and down, toward her tingling tits. 

"Yes, like that," Carole said thickly. "Good. Owww!" 

Scott's deep, almost brutal thrust into her slushy cunt was followed by 
another, and then another. She was now almost bent double, her knees banging 
against her tits each time Scott's throbbing cock slammed into her. 

"Feel it, cunt?" Scott asked, punctuating the question with a particularly 
potent plunge into the happy brunette's gripping sex canal. 

"Deep-so deep," Carole moaned, her head rolling wildly on the pillow. "I'm 
going to come. I'm-oh, uhh." 

"Come, baby, come." 

"Yes, Oh, oh, ohhh-" A mighty wave of pure pleasure washed over Carole as 
she came, her cunt in wild spasmodic fit as it sprayed Scott's pumping cock 
with sticky sex juice. Her legs flew up and out, stiffening as they reached 
to touch the ceiling. Her hands pressed down on her partner's shoulders, her 
sharp fingernails biting into the skin. 

And then, seconds later, it was Scott's turn. A savage groan of pleasure 
tore from his throat as he climaxed, bolts of ecstasy flashing through him 
as the warm, creamy come sped through his imbedded prick and spurted out 
into Carole's already mushy vagina. Scalding squirt followed scalding squirt 
as he spilled his seed in the quivering brunette, his viscid discharge 
mixing with the product of her own copious come. 

Finally, he collapsed atop Carole and buried his head in the pillow, his 
hard chest mashing against her taste-tempting boobs. As the joyous spasms 
began to subside, Carole slowly lowered her legs and stretched them out on 
the bed, her arms slowly slipping around Scott's back. 

It was a full three minutes before man and woman disengaged, unlocking their 
loins with a certain reluctance. Scott rolled off Carole's body onto his 
back, then, after several seconds, swung his legs over the side of the bed 
and stood. He smiled down at Carole and blew her a kiss, then turned and 
headed for the bathroom, the need to piss suddenly urgent. 

Carole watched him go, a tender smile basking on her beautiful face, then 
she turned her head on the pillow and devoted her attention to Sheila and 
Cynthia. As her hands drifted down her flat tummy to her twat, she wondered 
what it would be like to make love to another woman. 

Never had she considered the idea of sexually embracing a member of her own 
sex. But then again, Carole thought, never had she really considered the 
idea of committing adultery. It had come to pass, however, and now she could 
no longer proudly think of herself as a one-man woman. 

Now she was an adulteress, a cheating female, a wife who had strayed outside 
the marital bed. And Scott Langdale, only the second male to gain access to 
her vagina, had catapulted her to the stars with a mind-blowing fuck, one 
that was the equivalent in ecstasy to the very best lay given her by her 
husband. 

But where was the awful guilt she should be feeling at this very moment? 
Where oh where was that sense of shame, that sharp urge to lash out against 
herself for having been unfaithful to the man she loved? 

Right now, instead of caressing her recently-reamed cunt and watching her 
neighbor and Cynthia Corral munch each other's snatch, she should be in 
tears, locked into a moment of self-recrimination while silently avowing her 
undying love for Jeff. She should be pledging future fidelity and swearing 
to herself that never, not ever, would she again mock the oath taken on her 
wedding day. 

There was no guilt, none at all, Carole realized. In fact, were she to admit 
the whole truth she would be forced to declare, in a voice loud and clear, 
that already she was looking forward to a second screwing by the 
outrageously attractive Mr. Langdale. And the thought of taking his cock 
into her mouth, milking it with her softly sucking lips, was building in 
intensity. 

Continuing to stroke herself, Carole watched Cynthia and Sheila suddenly 
shudder in mutual joy, tremulous moans of pleasure spilling from the throat 
of each woman as the ecstasy of orgasm swarmed over both. Instinctively she 
inserted a finger inside her hole and tapped her relaxed clit. 

"So, Mrs. Davidson," Cynthia said when she had crawled away from Sheila to 
sit on the edge of the bed, "how did you like your introduction to 
lesbianism?" 

The blonde housewife, stretched out full-length on the bed, smiled and 
answered, "I never realized that two women could-well, come together so 
beautifully. It was delightful." 

Cynthia grinned. "I'm glad you liked it. Every woman should experience the 
pleasure of lesbianism at least once in her life." 

"I wouldn't have agreed with you a little while ago, but I do now." 

"It's especially important that my girls have no aversion to making love 
with another female," Cynthia added, looking first at Sheila and then at 
Carole. 

"Important?" asked Sheila. She turned her head on the pillow and gave Carole 
a puzzled look. 

"That's what I said. As you both become more experienced as prostitutes, 
you'll discover that the male animal is indeed a very curious species. Some 
men have rather unusual tastes when it comes to their sexual preferences." 

"Unusual tastes? I don't have any unusual tastes, Cynthia." The grin on 
Scott's carefully-crafted face was broad as he returned from the bathroom, 
his now limp-as-a-wet-noodle pecker dangling between his hairy legs. 

"I'll reserve comment on that, if you don't mind," said Cynthia, watching 
her friend deposit himself on the edge of the bed, across from her. 

"What exactly do you mean by unusual tastes?" Carole asked, trying to think 
of the most depraved sexual act in the book. 

"Most men are satisfied with a straight screwing. Supply them with a 
beautiful girl whose cunt is wet and warm and they're as happy as a pig in a 
mud bath. A lot of men also enjoy, getting blown before they fuck. And some 
prefer to flip a girl over onto her belly and stick it up her fanny." 

"That's not so unusual," Sheila said, grinning at Scott and recalling the 
many times she had sucked his prick to a fanny-fucking rigidity. 

"No of course it isn't," said Cynthia. "What I'm getting at is that sooner 
or later you'll meet the guy who gets his jollies by watching two girls go 
at it. That's why I say it's important you're prepared. When a stud picks a 
girl from my stable and says he wants her to make it with another chick, I 
expect complete compliance with that request." 

"You won't get any argument from me," Sheila promised. 

"And how about you, Carole? Do you have any qualms about making love to 
another woman?" 

"No-I mean, I don't think so." 

"You don't think so? I take it you've never experienced lesbianism, Mrs. 
Wayne." 

"No, I haven't." 

Scott chucked and began stroking Carole's right leg. "How about that, 
Cynthia? Another girl for you to break in." 

Cynthia nodded. Then, after a moment's thought, "I've just come up with an 
excellent idea, girls. Sheila, why don't you be the one to introduce Carole 
to the delights of homosexuality? I think you'd enjoy that, right?" 

"Well, I, er-well, yes, I would." Sheila again turned to look at Carole, 
hoping to detect in her friend's expression a note of interest in the 
madam's proposal. 

"Sure," Scott said, "that's an excellent idea. 

We still have plenty of time left to play around before Anderson arrives." 
He looked directly at Carole and added, "As for me, I have a whole bag of 
goodies ready to deliver to a good little girl." 

The luscious brunette smiled back at Scott, the idea of sucking his prick 
again jumping into her mind. 

"Well, Carole," Cynthia said, "are you game?" 

Carole hesitated just briefly, then, "Yes, I'm game." She turned her head 
toward Sheila and , smiling softly, slid her left hand across the bed to 
clasp her friend's right. "I think Sheila will be an excellent teacher." 

"Everything is settled then," Scott declared. "Only one little matter 
remains to be discussed." 

"And what would that be, Mr. Langdale?" asked Cynthia. 

"The hole in which you would like me to stick my prick," Miss Corral, to 
whom Scott directed his question, smiled broadly. 

"So you've decided to fuck me, have you?" 

"You're damn right I have, you old whore you. I'm not going to just sit 
around and watch while Sheila and Carole make it with each other. I don't 
get my kicks that way, remember?" 

"One of these days, Mr. Langdale, I'm going to start treating you like a 
customer. You'll have to pay for my favors." 

"You wouldn't do a thing like that to an old friend." 

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Cynthia said, flashing one of her infrequent grins. "Don't 
be so sure about that." 

As Sheila and Carole rolled toward each other, arms and legs entwining, 
Scott rose from the bed and walked around it until he was standing directly 
in front of Cynthia. He brought his right hand to his penis and started 
waving the limp organ in her face. 

"See anything you like, Miss Corral?" he asked. 

Cynthia looked up at her old friend, a man who in the course of their long 
friendship had humped her every way imaginable. And a few that were not so 
easily imagined. He was indeed beautiful to behold, she thought. And his 
pecker, even though soft and lifeless, was suddenly very inviting. 

"Well?" Scott said. 

"In my business a cock is a cock is a cock, Mr. Langdale. Do you think yours 
is something special?" 

"Uh huh." 

"You're conceit is showing, Scott," Sheila said, reaching up with her right 
hand to cup his wrinkled scrotal pouch. "But I must say you wear your 
egotism well." 

"Will you stop talking and start eating me?" Scott grinned 

"You impatient bastard you," Cynthia muttered under her breath. 

And then, as Sheila and Carole locked lips in a sensual kiss, their breasts 
mashing, their twats rubbing, the once high-priced call girl leaned forward, 
licked her lips, and plopped Scott's limp pecker into her mouth. Although 
she had reached an age where she could no longer command top dollar for her 
services, she rather enjoyed performing for her old friend the act which, 
years ago, had earned her the title of "Cocksucking Fool." 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Still stark-naked, with one mind boggling boffing and a surprisingly 
pleasurable lesbian session under her belt, Carole smiled a greeting at the 
man Cynthia had seconds ago introduced as Charles Anderson. Standing next to 
her was Sheila, also still naked and also smiling. 

In fact, at the moment the only unsmiling face in the motel room belonged to 
Cynthia, her anger evidenced in the curt way she handled the introductions. 
Her ire had been raised by the totally unexpected presence of one Frank 
Kaine, a rather ordinary looking man in his late forties, whom she had never 
seen before. 

Arriving promptly at three o'clock, Anderson had hastened to explain that he 
had decided, at the last moment, to bring along one of his very best 
friends. He was sure Cynthia wouldn't mind since Frank, "a real sweet guy," 
had brought with him a wallet "just bulging with money." 

But Cynthia did mind. All that prevented her from blowing her stack was her 
wish not to upset Sheila and Carole, both of whom she had already decided 
were going to make outstanding whores. But she still seethed inside, the 
fact that this Frank Kaine character was a big spender mitigating her 
displeasure not at all. 

What Cynthia found so maddening was Charlie Anderson's balls. Without 
informing her beforehand, without even bothering to pick up a phone and ask 
if she'd like another John, he had simply waltzed into the motel room with a 
friend in tow. The son-of-a-bitch had some nerve, she thought. 

Anderson, good customer that he was, knew how the game was supposed to be 
played. Time and again she had stated her policy to him and the others who 
frequented her place of business. A phone call, a lousy two minute phone 
call, was what she required of the customer before he sauntered into her 
brothel. 

Nobody just walked in off the street and said, "Hi, my name's Joe Blow and 
I'd like to get laid." An appointment had to be made first, for safety's 
sake. And nobody suddenly upped and decided on bringing a friend along after 
the appointment had been scheduled. Not only wasn't it kosher, it was 
downright dangerous, because if she didn't get from the John some pertinent 
facts about his friend, like name, occupation, marital status, plus a strong 
assurance that said friend was completely trustworthy, she was faced with 
the most unnerving possibility of finding herself in jail, her brothel 
closed down, and her girls, if they weren't in jail with her, working for 
another madam. 

A slap in the face, that's what it was, Cynthia said to herself. But good 
old Charlie would pay for the insult. The next time he phoned, horny as hell 
and ready to jump head first into the nearest cunt, she would 
matter-of-factly inform him that the fee for laying one of her girls had 
gone up fifty bucks. 

"Well, what do you think, Frank?" Charlie was saying, his left arm draped 
around his buddy. "Are these good looking broads or are they good looking 
broads?" 

Frank chuckled. "Yeah, just like you told me, Charlie. You said Cynthia 
Corral was a madam with taste and you were right. I don't think I've ever 
met two more beautiful whores." 

"And very eager to please, too," interjected Scott, slipping up behind 
Sheila and Carole and draping an arm around each. "I can vouch for both of 
them." 

"Both of you are married, right?" Charlie asked. 

Sheila and Carole nodded. 

"Good. Just checking up, that's all. When I phoned Cynthia to set up a 
session with one of her girls and she told me about this housewife-whore 
thing she was working out, well, I just about came in my pants. That's been 
one of my fantasies, you know. Making it with another guy's broad." 

"It's a fantasy I have often too," Frank said. 

Charlie was really an ass, Cynthia thought. As was this lanky, sallow-faced 
friend of his. Both of them had about as much sex appeal as yesterday's 
warmed-over mashed potatoes. And as far as a personality was concerned, 
forget it. They both looked and acted like Midwesterners in town for a dull 
convention and determined to spice their stay with a dash of naughtiness. 

Carole had yet to form a real opinion of Charlie or Frank, one of whom would 
be her first paying customer. They both seemed like nice enough fellows, she 
thought, although it was impossible to imagine any girl with an eye for 
beauty falling for either one. 

Of the two, Frank was probably the more attractive. He was tall and lean, 
almost skinny, with an angular, lantern-jawed face crowned by thinning brown 
hair and eyes, also brown, that seemed somewhat devoid of life. 

Charlie, it seemed, was playing Hardy to Frank's Laurel. He was short and 
stocky, moon-faced and smooth-skinned. His eyes were a glacial blue and his 
hair, the color of soot, was combed across his head and not straight back as 
was Frank's. 

Unprepossessing. That was the one word, Carole decided, that best described 
both men. From a purely physical standpoint, neither Charlie nor Frank 
possessed anything distinctive. They were very ordinary, typical, the kind 
one sees walking down the street or riding the subway. 

"Well, fellas," Cynthia said, "are you going to stand there all day ogling 
the ladies? Why don't you get yourselves naked and start acting out your 
mutual fantasy?" 

Charlie nudged his friend. "Miss Corral has a pretty good idea there, 
wouldn't you say, Frank?" 

"An excellent idea, Charlie," the gangling man answered. 

As the two Johns began undressing, Scott moved over to Cynthia and in 
whispered tones informed the madam of his intention to cut out for a while. 
He would return, he said, in about two hours, hopefully in time to fuck 
Carole's ass before she and Sheila had to start back to their respective 
homes and husbands. 

Carole was struck by a strange sense of loss as she watched Scott don his 
clothes. It was rather like saying good-bye to an old friend, she thought. 
One whose visit had been all too short. Yet she realized the reason behind 
his departure. Professional etiquette, so to speak, required that Scott 
remove himself from the scene so that the john could fuck in private. 

"I'll see you two later," Scott promised with a smile, stepping up behind 
Sheila and Carole when he was fully dressed and patting each naked female on 
the behind. In an almost inaudible whisper, leaning toward Carole, he added, 
"Don't go wearing yourself out for these clowns, sweetheart. Save something 
for me when I get back, all right?" 

Carole smiled and nodded. 

"Don't lose this precious thing on the street," Sheila said, a lewd grin on 
her face as she reached across Scott's front and squeezed his crotch. 

"Have no fear, baby. Scott Langdale doesn't go around losing his valuables." 

And with that, after nodding a farewell to Frank and Charlie, both of whom 
were now bare-assed naked and eager to screw, Scott departed. When the door 
closed behind him, Cynthia motioned with her head for Sheila and Carole to 
get on the bed, then took Charlie aside and asked him to ante up. 

"Right now?" a puzzled Charlie inquired. 

"Right now, Mr. Anderson." 

"What's the big rush? You know I always come across." 

"The bread, Charlie," Cynthia said wearily, sticking out her right hand, 
palm up. "And you can tell your friend that I'd like his money now, too." 

Charlie shrugged. "Well, all right, Cynthia. Whatever you say, of course." A 
small smile suddenly blossomed on his smooth, rounded face. "I guess you're 
a little uptight this afternoon, huh? I know it isn't easy to branch out in 
business-especially when you're starting with new girls." 

"Yeah, maybe I'm a little uptight, Charlie. Now if you'll stop talking and 
pay me you can go ahead and do what you came here to do." 

"Yeah, right away, sweetheart," Charlie grinned, giving the madam's right 
breast a quick, hard squeeze. 

Turning around, he walked over to one of the bucket chairs and picked up his 
slacks. He reached into one of the pockets, pulled out his wallet, then 
removed several large bills. He looked over toward the bed, where his friend 
was standing, hands on hips, taring to the girls. 

Deciding not to bother Frank, he picked up the man's pants and started 
poking in the pockets. He found the wallet, took the money he needed, then 
dropped the pants back onto the chair and returned to Cynthia. 

"Here you go, Cynthia. Don't worry none, it's all there." 

"Have a good time, Charlie," Cynthia said matter-of-factly, after taking the 
money and counting it. 

"I always have a good time with your girls, baby." 

A minute later Cynthia was comfortably ensconced in the chair Carole had 
been sitting in earlier, a cigarette dangling from one corner of her mouth 
as she took in the proceedings at the bed. Already she was savoring the 
sweet smell of success, attempting to determine her average yearly take from 
this offshoot of her prosperous pleasure palace in the city. 

"Yeah, that's a good idea, Charlie," Frank said with a wicked little grin. 
"A nice blow-job would get things off to a good beginning." 

"And I'll bet they're great at it," Charlie smiled. "I mean, they probably 
blow their husbands every chance they get." 

Frank chuckled. "I'll bet you're right, pal." 

"All right, ladies," Charlie said, placing his hands on his beefy hips, 
"Let's see how fast you can harden a pair of peckers." 

Sheila and Carole pushed themselves up off the bed and then started 
maneuvering into position. Seconds later they were both sitting on the side 
of the bed, Sheila in front of Frank and Carole in front of Charlie. 

"A blonde for me and a brunette for you," Frank noted, the flesh under his 
eyes crinkling as again he smiled his lewd smile. 

"Any complaints, old friend?" Charlie asked. 

"Not a one. Besides, we'll be switching off later." 

Charlie chuckled and then looked down at Carole. "Okay, sweetheart, wrap 
those luscious lips of yours around my pretty penis." 

Carole didn't hesitate to obey. Reaching out with her right hand she took 
hold of her customer's limp pecker, then, her naked bottom in lewd squirm on 
the bed as she wriggled forward just a bit, she opened her mouth wide and 
took Charlie in, her lovely lips closing over the pear-shaped head. 

"Mmmmmra, that's nice, honey," Charlie purred, still looking down at the 
beautiful brunette. "Eat it like candy. Yeah, slow and easy does it now. 
Good-oh, yeah, that's what I like." 

Frank Kaine followed with suggestions equally salacious, his comments 
prompted by Sheila's having plopped into her warm, moist mouth his flaccid 
cock. She was sucking on his organ, pulling on it tenderly, rolling it 
around in her wonderful mouth as her tongue teased and tickled. 

As she worked on Charlie's member, her head in sensuous weave at his genital 
region, Carole again tried to conjure up an image of her husband, one that 
would succeed in planting within her at least a seed or two of guilt. How 
was it possible not to feel any remorse, she wondered. 

Even as she asked herself that question Carole realized that any attempt to 
dredge up a little guilt, a little self-disgust, was destined to fail. She 
simply could not concentrate on Jeff. His face would appear in her mind and 
then disappear, pushed off stage by the wicked vision of Charlie Anderson, 
her first customer, ramming his cock deep inside her yearning vagina. 

Every time she tried to think about her husband, about the abundant love she 
knew he held for her, she was quickly steered back to reality by the 
exciting feel of Charlie's pecker in her mouth and the thought of that 
pecker plugging her salivating cunt. 

"Like that, swetheart," Charlie urged, his voice beginning to thicken. "Pull 
on it-get it nice and hard for me." 

"Oh, man," Frank breathed, "this is the greatest. This dame sure knows what 
it's all about." 

"I wouldn't mind being married to either one of them." 

"You said it, Charlie. Imagine getting blown like this every fucking night?" 

"My fat-assed wife never goes down on me, The bitch thinks it's perverted." 

"Mine, too," Frank said, laying his hands gently on Sheila's weaving head. 
"But she's gotten so ugly in the last few years that I don't really care 
whether or not she blows me." 

As the men cursed their wives, Carole and Sheila continued to orally service 
them. Sheila, sitting on Carole's right, was sucking now with greater 
abandon, the feel of the cock thickening in her mouth triggering twitches of 
excitement from her warming womanhood. 

Carole, too, was beginning to turn on. Keeping her right hand on Charlie's 
pecker, at its hairy base, she dropped her left down between her legs and 
began squeezing her snatch, one finger sneaking between her flowering pussy 
lips and sliding upward to diddle a swelling clit. 

It wasn't long before both housewives were sucking totally tumescent tools, 
their beautiful heads bobbing up and down over then-respective cocks. On a 
signal from Charlie, one given in a raspy tone of voice, Carole removed his 
rod from her saliva-laden mouth and began licking it all over. 

Sheila followed suit with her tasty tool, withdrawing it from her mouth 
immediately after Frank's request that she do so and commencing a lewd 
licking of its shiny, sticky surface. like Carole, she licked her fleshy 
pole with obvious pleasure, her tongue curling up under Frank's rigid root 
as it slid across the sensitive underside. 

"The balls, baby," Charlie ordered. "Lick my balls, too." 

"Yeah," Frank said. "Suck my ball, Sheila. Tickle it with your hot tongue." 

Charlie turned his head to Frank and winked. Then both men again lowered 
then-eyes to feast on the truly obscene sight of a desirable, naked female 
swabbing a hairy scrotal pouch. Charlie, his hands still clamped onto his 
thick hips, stared down at Sheila as she burrowed her face into his friend's 
crotch and munched on a pair of sperm-packed balls, her beautiful head 
tilting this way and that as she licked and sucked. Frank gave his attention 
to Carole who, like Sheila, was hungrily mouthing a warm, hairy scrotum. 

And then it was time to fuck. 

"Okay, that's enough, sweetheart," Charles muttered, pushing the brunette's 
head back, away from his genitals. "Come on, stretch out on the bed now. I'm 
going to screw you senseless." 

Carole obeyed without delay, pushing herself back on the bed and swinging 
her legs up as she quickly assumed the position desired by her customer. No 
sooner was she on her back, her knees up and splayed, than Charlie was 
crawling onto the bed and arranging himself over her. 

"Baby, this is gonna be fast and furious." He breathed down into her face. 

"Do it to me," Carole said excitedly. "Stick it in and then pound me. Hurt 
me, Charlie." 

Charlie was of a mind to do just that. He ached with the need to fuck this 
married woman to the stars and back, to hear her lusty whimpers of gratitude 
as he stuffed his meat into her butter-soft cunt and then reamed it with 
vigorous, belly-slapping thrust. Often he had dreamed about screwing another 
man's wife, about driving her insane with pleasure while her poor slob of a 
husband toiled like a jerk at his job. The opportunity was now at hand. 

Frank now pushed Sheila away from his genitals and ordered her onto her back 
on the bed. The beautiful blonde, her need to get laid evidenced by her 
leaking, pulsating pussy, quickly scrambled back on the large bed and into 
position. She drew up her knees and splayed them wide, her hands zipping 
down to her snatch to commence a lewd, heated massage as Frank climbed onto 
the bed. 

"Get it in me, stud," she said thickly. "Fuck it good-hard and fast." 

"I'll fuck you, you beautiful bitch," Frank growled, the passionate promise 
bursting from his mouth as he directed his saliva-coated cock on target. 
"You're gonna be begging for mercy." 

"How is it, cunt?" Charlie asked, his foul breath blanketing Carole's face 
as he thrust deeply into her wet womanhood, his strokes swift, demanding. 

"G-Good-it's good," Carole grunted. "More. Give me more." 

"Like this?" 

"Uuugh!" 

"Yeah, baby, you like that, don't you? You love Charlie's big banana." 

"Harder-faster. Up to my tits, Charlie." 

Frank's cruel plunge into Sheila's waiting womanhood wrenched from the 
sex-happy blonde's throat a guttural snarl of pleasure. And seconds after 
penetration she was demanding a fuck to end all fucks, wrapping her arms 
around Frank's back as he fell atop her tender tits and began the joyous 
assault on her syrupy vagina. 

"Deep, baby," she breathed hotly. "Screw it good. Make me burn, you 
bastard." 

"Yeah, talk it up, Sheila. Tell me how great it is." 

"It's great," Sheila fired back. "I love it-I love cock." 

Side by side on the bed the friends fucked, Charlie plowing up Carole's 
happy twat while Frank pistoned his long, slender manhood in and out of 
Sheila's steaming vagina. Both men realized, with some sadness, that this 
first fuck would be of short duration. But they were too keyed up to attempt 
to prolong the pleasure, the tantalizing tonguing of their respective 
peckers having brought both men dangerously close to ejaculation. 

The bed creaked and groaned as they worked the women, their excited grunts 
of pleasure mixing with the sighs of rapture and throaty groans of lust 
being emitted by Sheila and Carole. Buttocks bobbing rapidly, Frank and 
Charlie banged their cocks into pussies soft and wet and in molten boil. 

Cynthia, puffing now on another cigarette, surveyed the scene from her chair 
with a small smile basking on her still attractive but hard face. There was 
nothing she enjoyed more than watching her girls please their customers. It 
suffused her with a sense of satisfaction, with a curious contentment. 

Even making love didn't provide her with a pleasure as great as that derived 
from viewing an act of intercourse between one of her girls and a John. It 
wasn't that she was addicted to voyeurism, that she realized perverse 
pleasure from peeping. What turned her on was the thought that a satisfied 
customer was one who would soon return for more satisfaction. 

And that, of course, meant more money for her. Contrary to what the foolish 
and naive believe, money was not the root of all evil. It was, Cynthia 
thought, just the opposite, something one could never have enough of. Her 
decision to begin catering to the suburban lustful had been prompted by a 
sudden concern over her dwindling savings account. 

Cynthia took another drag on her cigarette, the sounds of lust emanating 
from the bed like music to her ears as she exhaled a cloud of smoke. She had 
gotten off to an excellent start, she told herself. Sheila and Carole were 
not only very beautiful females, but it was obvious that they both 
thoroughly enjoyed a good bang. 

Now if she could round up another ten like Mrs. Wayne and Mrs. Davidson- 

"Oh, Frank, oh, shit," Sheila panted. "It's so good. Deeper, baby. Faster." 

"I'm gonna come, cunt," Frank rasped, his fingers digging into the pillow 
under Sheila's jerking head as he slammed his meaty manhood into the hot 
mush of her soft, clasping vagina. 

"N-No-not yet, please. More-I want more." 

"I-I can't. It's too-arhhh." 

The thick creamy semen spurted out of Frank's shuddering cock and into the 
beautiful blonde's sizzling cunt. She let out a moan of disappointment and 
began pummeling Frank's back with her balled fists. She had hoped for a long 
hump, a drawn out dicking the-likes of which she usually received from Scott 
Langdale. 

But it was not to be-at least not this time. Frank finished coming and then 
rolled off Sheila onto his back next to her, his smooth, hairless chest 
rising and falling rapidly as he stretched out in weary sprawl. 

"How-how was that, baby?" he asked when he had found his breath. "Much 
better than your husband, I'll bet." 

Sheila was tempted to tell Frank that it was only slightly better than the 
weekly screwing her husband gave her. But she caught herself in time, the 
words choking in her throat as she suddenly remembered the exact nature of 
their relationship. Frank was, after all, the client, a paying customer. And 
she was the whore, a female whose purpose it was to satisfy the man come 
what may. So it wouldn't do at all to tell her very first john that he was a 
lousy lay. And besides, chances were that he'd do much better the second 
time out of the gate. 

"Well, Sheila, how was it?" Frank asked again, turning his head on the 
pillow to look at the married whore. 

"Nice-very nice," Sheila lied. 

"Go down on him now, honey," Cynthia called out. "Get him hard again with a 
blow-job." 

Frank lifted his head up off the pillow to look across the room at the 
madam, who was still sitting, legs crossed, in the red bucket chair. 

"Have you any objections, Mr. Kaine?" 

"Hell no," Frank grinned. "She can go down on me and stay down for the rest 
of the afternoon." 

"Start in, Sheila," Cynthia ordered. And then, sensing the woman's 
disappointment, "but don't hurry things. Do it nice and slow and gentle." 

"All right," Sheila said, pushing herself up to a sitting position on the 
bed. 

"No, wait a minute," Frank said. "I've got a better idea." 

After telling the hump-happy housewife to lie down again, he twisted around 
on the bed and proceeded to crawl up to her warm body until he was 
straddling her chest, his taut ass pressing down into her succulent breasts, 
squashing them. 

"Like this?" Sheila asked. 

"Like this," Frank echoed, once again grinning lewdly. "Now open wide and 
I'll just tuck him inside your sweet little mouth." 

Sheila opened wide, her eyes closing as Frank began funneling his flaccid 
member into her mouth. She felt the slimy noodle wriggle wetly between her 
lips, onto her tongue, and then she started to slowly draw on it, to pull it 
firmly but not hastily into the warm, wet confines of her experienced mouth. 

"Yeah, sweetheart, that's the way," Frank said, leaning forward and bracing 
himself on his hands as he looked down at Sheila's face and pushed his 
wilted organ further inside her oral cavity. 'Take it all in, baby. All of 
it. Mmmmmm, that's nice. Good-oh, yeah." 

It was now, as Sheila worked to stiffen Frank's cock a second time, that a 
grunting, gasping Charlie Anderson announced his approaching orgasm and 
then, with a final series of brutal thrusts into Carole's cunt, let loose a 
torrent of creamy come. He bucked atop the brunette, his body quivering as 
the thick gunk spit from the tip of his tool into the mush of her vagina. 

Carole moaned and locked her arms around Charlie's back, a good if not great 
climax sending her twat into a twitching fit. She thrust her hips up under 
Charlie as he spurted into her and emitted a cry that was half sigh, half 
groan, her fingers digging into his back. 

Nice, very nice, Cynthia thought, her expression serious as she extinguished 
her cigarette in the ashtray on the table. The name of the game as far as a 
good prostitute was concerned was to please the John, to give her all during 
the screw and by so doing make the man believe, if only for a short while, 
that he was the greatest lover in the world. And it was very clear that both 
Sheila and Carole knew how to play the game. 

They were whores at heart. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Her name was Susan Latham and her snug, compact figure turned male heads 
everywhere she went. She was a five foot four inch bundle of unadulterated 
sex appeal, a twenty-two-year-old package of pulchritude whose Hashing blue 
eyes and happy smile could turn the meekest of men into a roaring, 
cunt-crazy tiger. 

Shiny black tresses cascaded around her shoulders and to a point midway down 
her back. Her face was creamy smooth, her features loving crafted, and when 
she spoke it was in a voice soft and sensuous. Her breasts were small but 
firm, twin turrets of succulent flesh that could usually be found straining 
mightily to escape the fierce hug of a tight bra and form fitting sweater. 

Her ass, pinched and petted playfully by almost every male employee at one 
time or another, was a feast for the eyes. Susan's bottom beckoned the touch 
of strong hands and the kiss of thick, demanding lips. And those who found 
themselves pausing in their work to start at that heavenly heinie, to watch 
its sensuous undulation whenever saucy Susan swiveled into view, soon found 
themselves with the problem of a prick on the rise. 

Although ambitious, Susan was not a sexually promiscuous female. Thus is was 
that while she flirted with almost every male who crossed her path, from the 
long-haired young bus driver who took her home to her pretty bachelorette 
apartment every night after work to the aging lothario who had a candy 
concession in the lobby of the building, only a mere handful had managed to 
get in her panties. 

No one in the office had succeeded in transforming the dream of fucking 
Susan into reality. Many had tried to butter her up with promises of nice 
presents. Some of the married males had offered to set her up in a beautiful 
penthouse apartment if she agreed to become their mistress. 

And a few, in a moment of madness when the urge to furiously fornicate was 
at its peak, had lewdly suggested a clandestine coupling in the storeroom 
or, better, yet, a quickie in the nearest hotel during the lunch hour. 
Wasn't she normal, they would ask. Didn't she ever feel like getting banged 
black and blue? 

But the propositions, the wicked suggestions of sex on the sly, the fervent 
attempts to talk Susan into a bed, were all for naught. The always smiling 
raven-tressed beauty would politely but firmly shoo her would-be lovers 
away. A motherly pat on the head, a few words to soothe a wounded ego, and 
the disappointed male was sent back from whence he came, none the wiser but 
having resolved to grab a really good feel when next he bumped into the 
teasing Susan at the water cooler. 

The fact of the matter was that only one man in the office stirred Susan's 
juices and caused her to tingle when she contemplated fucking him. Ever 
since becoming his secretary some thirteen months ago she had wondered what 
it would be like to get laid by her immediate supervisor, Jeffrey Wayne. 

But because her boss seemed so happily married and since she had no wish to 
disturb even by a little that which appeared so satisfying and permanent, 
Susan had made no move toward insinuating herself into Jeff's life and 
thereby risk upsetting his harmonious relationship with wife Carole. 

Nevertheless, she would come perilously close to creaming in her panties 
whenever she thought of her handsome boss.There were times when, sitting at 
her desk in the adjoining office, she would lapse into the dandiest of 
daydreams and imagine herself bare-assed naked before Jeffrey Wayne, her 
body ablaze with lust as she hungrily eyed his fully erect and throbbing 
manhood. 

In her mind's eye she saw herself going down on her wonderful boss, 
sluttishly devouring his dick as he breathlessly praised her licentious 
efforts. Other times she pictured herself in a masochistic trance, in 
desperate need of a satanic spanking and/or a delightfully depraved 
ass-fucking. 

And now, finally, Susan was about to have her wish come true. For sitting in 
her small living room right now was Jeffrey Wayne himself. Yes, he was here, 
right here in her apartment, she thought excitedly, desire wending its way 
through her fuckable little body as she combed out her long black hair. 

"Are you all right, Jeff?" she suddenly called out. 

"Yes, just fine," was the shouted reply. 

"Pour yourself another drink if you like. I'll be out in just a minute." 

"Take your time, Susan. I'm not going anywhere." 

"You'd better not," Susan sang out, again running the long comb through her 
raven hair as she smiled at her reflection in the vanity mirror. 

Jeff took another sip of the scotch and soda that Susan had prepared for him 
before her departure to the bedroom. It was a cozy little place she had 
here, he thought, cradling the glass in both hands as he looked around the 
unpretentious, attractively furnished living room. 

Yet the question, the one for which there seemed to be no good answer still 
remained, what the hell was he doing here anyway? 

Last Friday afternoon, at just about this same hour, had found him hard at 
work in his office, drafting some important letters for Susan to later type 
and mail. Now, one week later, he was in his pretty secretary's comfortable 
little apartment, relaxing on her love seat and sipping a drink while he 
waited for her return from her bedroom. 

Damn peculiar, that's what it was, Jeff thought. 

"Are you still there, Jeff?" came the light, airy question. 

"Still here, Susan." 

"Okay. Just checking, that's all." 

Jeff smiled and took another sip of his drink. What had prompted him, he 
wondered, to accept Susan's bold and totally unexpected invitation to her 
apartment. Why had he, a happily married man, agreed so quickly to her 
wicked suggestion that he take the rest of the afternoon off and spend it 
with her-in bed? 

Only two days ago, this past Wednesday morning, he had cheated on Carole for 
the first time with Patricia Richardson, the beautiful if weird wife of his 
most recent client, and now he was about to commit a second indiscretion, 
this time with a scrumptious little sexpot whose sudden aggressiveness had 
caught him completely by surprise. 

And therein lay further food for thought. Although Susan's reputation around 
the office as a cock-tease was certainly justly deserved, her comportment 
when dealing with him had always been very proper, strictly business-like. 
Now all of a sudden she was coming on strong, speaking to him the words he 
knew every other male in the office would have liked to hear spoken. 

But back to question number one: what was he doing in his saucy secretary's 
apartment in the first place? What was happening to him? Had the sizzling 
ass-fuck he'd administered to Patricia somehow awakened a long dormant 
desire to fool around with other women? As happy as he was with Carole, had 
he been harboring a hitherto subconscious urge to cheat on her, to do what 
every married male he knew, or so it sometimes seemed, was doing? 

The seven year itch. The famous, or infamous, seven year itch. Maybe that's 
what he'd caught all of a sudden, Jeff thought. 

"Close your eyes," Susan sang out from her bedroom, interrupting Jeff's 
chain of thought. "I'm coming out now." 

Jeff set his almost empty glass down on the cocktail table in front of the 
small sofa, then leaned back and closed his eyes. There would be time later, 
he decided, to try to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Right now he 
found it impossible to concentrate on anything except his pecker, the one 
stirring within the warm confines of his undershorts. 

"Okay, you can open your eyes now," Susan said. 

Jeff did as directed, his prick swelling another half inch at the sight that 
greeted him. His sexy secretary was standing in the middle of the living 
room, just a few feet from the cocktail table, clad only in a diaphanous 
pink peignoir and skimpy white bikini panties that barely covered her cunt. 

"Well, Mr. Wayne, do I pass inspection?" 

Jeff smiled. "I like what I see very much Miss Latham." 

"I'm glad. Because what you see is what you get." 

"Seems I've heard that line somewhere before." 

"Come on, Jeff," Susan said, turning serious. "Get undressed now. I'm so hot 
to fuck with you." 

"How can you be so hot with so little on, baby?" 

"Please, Jeff, don't tease me. I've wanted you to screw me for so long 
and-and now you're finally here. Please, let me see you naked. Let me see 
your beautiful cock, Jeff." 

Could any man of sane mind and healthy prick refuse a request such as this, 
Jeff wondered, as he stood and peeled out of his tan sport jacket, his eyes 
on the smooth, clear complexioned face of the pretty girl from whose lovely 
lips the wicked words had come. It didn't seem at all possible. 

Tossing the jacket behind him onto the canary yellow love seat, a few feet 
to the right of where he'd been sitting, the handsome young architect next 
undid the buttons of his shirt as Susan watched with keen interest. When the 
shirt had been deposited on his jacket, Jeff sat down on the love seat and 
untied his shoelaces. 

"Wait. Let me do that for you," said the excited Susan. 

"You want to take my shoes off?" 

"Yes, please let me, Jeff. I like to help undress a man. Especially his 
shoes and trousers." 

Jeff shrugged and smiled. "As you wish, Susan." 

After pushing the small cocktail table out of the way, the girl dropped to 
her knees in front of her boss and undid his shoelaces. Jeff leaned back and 
looked down at her. Although he decided not to pursue the matter, he was 
tempted to ask her just how many males she had undressed to date. 

'There we are," Susan said when she had removed the shoes. "Now for the 
socks." 

This was nice, nice and novel, Jeff thought, holding his left foot up off 
the carpeted floor as his secretary began peeling down the black silk sock. 
He couldn't remember the last time he had been undressed by a beautiful 
female-unless it was during his honeymoon when Carole had pounced on him and 
ripped at his clothes in a hungry search for his manhood. When Susan, had 
bared Jeff's feet, flipping his socks atop his shoes, she crouched very low, 
and, lifting one foot at a time, planted a kiss on the instep of each. Then, 
after raising her head and settling back on her haunches, she smiled at her 
boss and told him to stand. 

"Methinks you've done this before," Jeff grinned, getting to his feet. 

"Not that often," Susan smiled, her fingers darting to Jeff's belt buckle. 
"But I'm sure you've allowed many women the thrill of taking down your 
trousers. Who could resist the temptation to get a peek at your pecker?" 

Working quickly and skillfully, the crotch of her white bikini pants 
dampening with desire, Susan loosened the brown leather belt around Jeff's 
waist and tugged his cream-colored slacks down his hairy legs to his feet. 
Jeff, meanwhile, peeled out of his undershirt and tossed it onto the love 
seat. 

Some seconds later, after working her boss' slacks around and off his feet 
and dropping the garment atop his shoes, Susan hooked her thumbs in the 
elasticized waistband of his white jockey shorts and began peeling them 
down. Jeff asked her what she expected to find when she uncovered his loins. 

"As if you didn't know, Mr. Wayne," the dark-haired bundle of sex appeal 
grinned. "I expect to find a cock-a warm and fat and juicy cock." 

"And when you find it?" 

"I'm going to eat it all up." 

Jeff grinned. "Like candy, huh? like a big lollipop?" 

"Yes," Susan hissed. "I'm going to suck it. Ssssuck it." 

Having resolved not to think of his wife, determined to expunge from his 
mind the slightest trace of guilt, Jeff placed his hands on his hips and 
watched his sex-hungry secretary as she resumed tugging down his briefs. 
Within seconds he was watching the briefs sail through the air and land on 
the floor some eight feet behind Susan, the cock-craving cutie having hurled 
them over her right shoulder with an animalistic growl. 

"Oh, it's beautiful-just beautiful," breathed Susan, her eyes fixed on her 
boss' semi-hard pecker. 

"Go ahead and suck it, baby," Jeff ordered, his voice thickening and, "put 
it in your mouth." 

"Does Carole suck you often, Jeff?" 

"Now what brought that up?" 

"I'd just like to know, that's all," Susan said, slipping her right hand 
between her boss' legs and curling her slender fingers around his hairy 
scrotal sac. 

"It's not really any of your business, is it?" 

Susan looked up and smiled, her left hand wrapping lovingly around Jeff's 
hard, hard manhood. "No, I know it isn't, Mr. Wayne. And I know it's none of 
my business that you're cheating on your wife." 

Jeff frowned, his brow furrowing. "Now just what is that supposed to mean, 
Susan?" 

"Forget it. I'm sorry I said anything. I'll stop talking and start suck-" 

"No. Tell me what you meant by that last remark," Jeff broke in, reaching 
down to cup his secretary's well-molded chin in his right hand and tilting 
her head back and up. In his mind's eye he saw himself fucking Patricia 
Richardson, his throbbing pecker plunging into the fiery depths of her 
rectum as she whimpered into the desk top. 

"You won't like me if I tell you, Jeff," Susan said softly. 

"Won't I?" 

"No. You see-well, I-I spied on you when you were banging that Richardson 
woman." 

"You spied on me? But the door was." 

"No, the door wasn't locked," Susan interrupted. "I guess you thought it was 
but it wasn't." 

"So I have a little snoop for a secretary, huh?" 

"I got curious when you told me you didn't want to be disturbed, Jeff. I 
mean, I saw Mrs. Richardson enter your office and-well, I just put two and 
two together. So I left my desk and stepped over to the door to see if I 
could hear anything going on." 

"And then?" 

"Well, I finally decided to try the door. I was surprised to find it 
unlocked but even more surprised to-well, you know." 

Jeff was unable to stop the smile that started creeping over his face. It 
made a little more sense now, he thought. Susan's surprising aggressiveness, 
her blatantly lewd request for a hot screwing, could be attributed not to an 
impulsive impudence, a sudden and thoughtless decision to begin flirting 
with him as she had with others, but to her having seen him feverishly 
fucking Patricia with the beautiful ass. 

Susan had apparently refrained from propositioning him because she figured 
he was happy at home and wouldn't be interested in a little extra-marital 
sex. But catching him in the act of cornholing Patricia had started her 
thinking differently. Since her boss was already fooling around, she no 
doubt had reasoned, there seemed no point in remaining silent any longer. 
Jeff Wayne was ripe for the plucking. 

"You're not mad at me, are you, Jeff?" Susan asked, giving her boss' scrotum 
a gentle squeeze. 

"No, not really," Jeff answered. "But you should know that I never cheated 
on my wife before Mrs. Richardson." 

"That's what I thought." 

"But you also thought that I'd be interested in screwing around with you." 

"Aren't you, Jeff?" Again Susan squeezed the warm, hairy pouch containing 
her boss' balls, a wicked little smile playing across her pretty face as her 
twat twitched in wet readiness. 

"Yes, I am, sweetheart. But first you're going to have to apologize for 
playing Peeping Tom." 

"That'll be easy," Susan said. Jeff released her chin and again she focused 
on his almost fully erect cock. "That'll be real easy." 

And indeed it was. A moment to lick her lips, to gently stroke Jeff's 
pecker, and then Susan was inching forward on her knees and opening her 
mouth wide, her soft, supple slips slipping easily over the knobby head of 
her boss' taste-tempting tool. 

"Yes, that's nice, Susan," Jeff whispered, laying his hands atop his sucking 
secretary's pretty head. "Suck it, sweetheart. Take it all in. Yes, like 
that." 

This, the cuddlesome cutie thought, was a helluva lot nicer than taking 
dictation or typing letters. And what made things even sweeter, more 
exciting, was the beautiful realization that the best was yet to come. She 
had only to decide where she wanted to take Jeff's semen. In her mouth? In 
her itching, pulsating twat? In the dark, dank confines of her shitty 
rectum? 

Decisions, decisions. 

Meanwhile, back in the motel, decisions of a deliciously depraved nature had 
already been made. Cynthia Corral, surveying the situation from where she 
sat, had decreed that both Carole and Sheila would sample the perverse 
pleasure of a simultaneous screwing. Her girls, she explained, were 
sometimes required to satisfy two Johns at the same time, and so it would be 
well if Carole and Sheila practiced the perversion known in some circles as 
"the sandwich fuck." 

Sheila was willing to give it a try since her back passage had been 
stretched on numerous occasions by her numerous lovers. Carole, too, was 
amenable, her beautiful backside having been banged many times by her 
handsome hubby. But there lingered within each woman a faint apprehension, a 
gnawing doubt, since neither Carole nor her friend had ever been reamed fore 
and aft at the same time. They even wondered if such a feat could be 
accomplished without considerable difficulty and/or pain. 

Of course, both Charlie Anderson and his buddy Frank Caine were willing to 
engage in the delightful perversion wherein one of them would tend to a 
leaking twat while the other shoveled his meat up the woman's rectum. The 
husky Charlie and the lean, gaunt Frank had already given thought to testing 
the resiliency of each female's rectal canal. Their opportunity was now at 
hand. 

And thus it was that Carole now found herself lying on her right side as 
Charlie worked his meaty manhood in and out of her cunt, his hot breath 
whipping her face as he slowly pumped his pulsating organ. Behind her, 
curled up against her back and buttocks, was Frank Caine, his grunts both 
lewd and loud and he struggled to push his stiff pecker all the way inside 
her squirming seat. 

"C'mon, old buddy," Charlie breathed hotly. "Get it in her ass, dammit. 
She's dyin' to have your prick up there." 

"I'm tryin', man," Frank rasped. "She's-she's fuckin' tight back here." 

Sandwiched between the two men, Carole whimpered with pleasure and savored 
the feel of Charlie's cock moving rhythmically in her viscid vagina while 
waiting for his pal to secure total penetration of her posterior. It was 
hard to determine just how much prick had already been shoved up her ass, 
but she estimated the present depth of penetration to be at least three 
inches. 

Nearby, engaged in equally salacious antics, were Cynthia, Sheila and Scott. 
Sheila had experienced a twinge of jealousy when the haughty madam had 
decided that Carole would be the first to enjoy a dual dicking. But the 
moment had been saved and her disappointment abruptly curtailed by the 
sudden appearance of Scott Langdale, her lover having brought back with him 
a fifth of rye from a nearby liquor store. 

Two quick drinks and Sheila was ready to forget about Carole and Charlie and 
Frank and concentrate on pleasuring herself once again with the well-built 
virile Scott. Cynthia, too, was of a mind to satisfy her carnal appetite 
while waiting for Charlie and Frank to finish fucking the brunette beauty. 

And so, taking the bull by the horns, the two women stripped an 
uncomplaining Scott and steered him to the floor, positioning him so that he 
was stretched out on his back. Cynthia then placed herself in a lewd squat 
above Scott's face, her odorous twat scant inches from his lips. Sheila, 
meanwhile, crouched between her lover's legs and enthusiastically set about 
stiffening his beautiful pecker. 

The hump-happy housewife, her goal having been obtained without difficulty, 
was now happily posting on Scott's saliva-wet manhood, husky moans of 
delight spiraling from her lips as she bounced up and down on her fleshy 
fence picket. 

Cynthia was no less happy than Sheila, for she was being hungrily licked and 
sucked by her long-time male friend. Exchanging the uncomfortable squat 
position for one that had her sitting on Scott's manly chest and leaning 
forward slightly, her upper body supported by chubby arms extended full 
length, the madam now purred like a fat, contented Cheshire as her soupy 
cabbage of a snatch was fervently munched. 

Back on the bed, which squeaked and groaned continuously, the trio of 
pleasure seekers jerked and squirmed against one another, their grunts and 
sighs and moans blending to create a lewd, cacophonous song of lust. 

"Just a little bit more," Frank husked. "Just-just a-yeah, ughhh." 

"Oooooo-" Carole moaned. "You're in, Frank?" 

"Yeah. All the way, pal. She's got it all now." 

"I can feel you," Charlie stated thickly, not missing a beat as he pumped 
his blood-fattened cock in and out of Carole's syrupy sex chute. "Can you 
feel my cock in there, buddy?" 

"Feels great," Frank breathed. "Let's give it to her now-really give it to 
her." 

"Do it to me," Carole pleaded, her face twisted by desire. "The both of 
you-fuck me hard. Together, fellas. Fuck my ass and fuck my cunt." 

"Hear that?" Charlie rasped. 

"She's-she's some hot bitch all right. I'd like to-to take her home with 
me." 

Charlie chuckled. "She'd be too expensive, pal." 

"Maybe so. But I'm gonna get my money's worth right now." 

Carole again requested an end to the talking and exhorted the men to screw 
her dizzy. The feel of their pricks, one sliding wetly in and out of her 
clasping vagina and the other chugging through the muck of her rectum, was 
launching bolts of pleasure throughout her warm, squirming body. She was 
stuffed with cock. Marvelously, beautifully, gloriously stuffed with two 
thick, throbbing cocks! 

Soon it was that Charlie and Frank, spurred on by the lust-dazed brunette's 
vulgar pleas for a vigorous plowing fore and aft, increased the tempo of 
this fiendish sandwich screw, bestial grunts of pleasure bursting from their 
throats as they rammed their respective rods into Carole's quivering body. 

"More-harder," Carole pleaded. "Hurt me, dammit. Split me open down there." 

"You tight-assed bitch," Frank growled, again heaving his hard-on up into 
the housewife's gripping rectal canal. 

Carole shut her eyes tight and threw herself into motion, jerking her hips 
forward to greet Charlie's plunging prick and then, as the beefy man 
withdrew, snapping her hips back to wantonly welcome Frank's thick organ as 
it trundled deep into her after passage. In this moment of madness she could 
think only of the twin peckers drilling into her body, the lewd thought of 
both cocks exploding at the same time and inundating her insides with gooey 
semen jitterbugging in her mind and keeping her lust at a feverish pitch. 

Still perched atop Scott's rock-hard manhood but posting on it slower now, 
Sheila looked over toward the bed and smiled the smile of one very satisfied 
with a situation. There could be no doubt about it now, she thought. She had 
sized up Carole Wayne perfectly, and the decision to bring her friend and 
neighbor along on this memorable afternoon was one of the best she'd ever 
made. In fact, it ranked right up there with the decision she had made a few 
weeks after her marriage to Donald the Dunce, the one prompted by the sad 
realization that he was a lousy lover and that others would have to do unto 
her what her husband could not. 

* * * 

How could he have been such a fool, Donald Davidson asked himself for the 
thousandth time. How could he, a man intelligent enough to accumulate a 
great deal of money through complicated stock dealings and shrewd business 
manipulations have been so stupid and so utterly naive? 

There could be no greater fool on earth, he decided, slipping even deeper 
into the well of despair as he sat in his favorite chair nursing a scotch 
and soda. Any other man would have known something was wrong, long, long 
ago. Any other husband, smelling a rat, would have taken remedial action on 
the spot. Perhaps that was what was needed. He tried to think through his 
stupor. Why had she done this? Was he that bad of a lover? Sure, she was 
quite a few years younger than he. Maybe he wasn't giving her all that she 
needed. He did love her, and the thought that he was denying her anything, 
even sex, which he didn't care that r much about, until now, when he learned 
that it was the thing he was denying her, made him even more desperate than 
before. How could he reverse the situation before it was too late? Before he 
lost her completely. 

He was lost deep in thought, and hardly noticed that the lock in the door 
had clicked. When he came to his senses, Sheila was standing in the middle 
of the room, looking at him. He detected a glint of pity in her eyes, and 
realized that he must look horrible. Then he woke up. Completely. "Come 
here, Sheila," he commanded in a tome she had never heard before. 

Sheila took a tentative step toward him, wondering whether this was the 
booze talking, or she was about to receive her long overdue punishment for 
her sexual sins. When she finally reached the spot to which he had beckoned 
her, she shot a timid glance up to his face. And she saw an expression she 
had never seen before. Donald The Dunce, old Numb Nuts was looking at her as 
if she were a whore and he hadn't gotten fucked in three years. 

'Take your clothes off, bitch!" he said forcefully. 

Sheila opened her eyes wide, and started to speak, but one look at his face 
made her stop in mid-stream. She began unbuttoning her blouse, but she 
wasn't moving fast enough for him. He ripped it off in one grand movement. 
Sheila was beside herself. He stood there, and with an almost apathetic look 
on his face, began to caress her quivering tit-flesh. 

"Donald, dear ... W-what's happened to you?" 

"You wanna' be a whore, well, sister, I'm going to treat you like one. Now 
get those fucking clothes off. NOW!" 

He reached out and pulled her skirt off. Sheila began to whimper, totally 
unused to this kind of domination from her meek and mild husband. Then to 
her complete surprise, Donald picked her up and walked rapidly to the 
bedroom, where he dumped her unceremoniously on the bed. 

He then began to remove his clothes. When he was undressed, Sheila noticed 
that his prick was fully erect and ready for action. Despite herself, her 
cunt juices began to churn, and she was visibly excited. She wondered how 
long he was going to be able to keep up this display of forceful 
aggressiveness. 

Sheila was in for a big surprise. 

Donald climbed on top of her and began to slowly gyrate his body in a slow 
steady rhythm. His prick was now rock-hard, and bigger than Sheila had ever 
seen it. She began moaning and writhing around on the bed, excited like she 
couldn't remember. Donald reached for her nipple, and pinched and squeezed 
it until it was bright red, and erect. Then he took the other one and did 
the same thing. Sheila was in ecstasy, more from the surprise of it all, 
then his technique. After all, she had just gotten laid about ten times 
today. 

"Flip over," Donald said hoarsely, obviously aroused himself. 

Again Sheila stifled a cry of amazement as she obeyed him. She heard him 
spit into his palms and then after a moment, he spread her ass cheeks as 
wide as he could. 

Before she could think, he had his steel-like prick halfway in her dank 
rectum. She gave a gasp of passion as he completed his entry, and began to 
plummet into her like a rocket. With each in-stroke, he grunted from the 
force of his lunge. In the midst of her sex stupor, Sheila realized he was 
saying something to her. 

"Now I want you to remember something, bitch, " he growled. Then he plunged 
even harder into her ass-hole. 

"What," she cried, feeling a sensation quite near total pleasure. 

"You aren't going any farther than this bed, ever again! Do you understand?" 

And then he plunged in again, harder than before. 

Sheila screamed in ecstasy. "Yes, oh yes, Donald!" 

"Or I'll beat you to a fucking pulp, you got it?" Again he plunged. 

"Yes, yes darling, I got it," Sheila screamed as she came all over the 
bedspread. 

"Well you better not forget it, ever," Donald cried as he shot his load up 
her fiery rectum. 

And she never did! 

From that day forward, they made a perfect pair. He was a changed man, 
performing fantastic feats in bed, tricks Sheila had never gotten on the 
sly. She responded like any loving wife would have, and as a result they 
fucked happily ever after!
