Swinger's Debut
by Rodney Benson


FOREWORD 

Utterly foolish and pathetically frigid, clinging stubbornly to archaic and 
valueless beliefs about marital sex, hopelessly bound by a code of conduct 
stressing conformity and decorum at all costs, that's young Mark Fawner's 
sad opinion of his pert and pretty blonde wife, Evelyn, whose steadfast 
refusal to try wife-swapping has him contemplating a divorce. 

Mark's neighbors, the hedonistic Lionels, are constantly espousing the 
benefits to be derived from the spouse-switching scene. And Mark is more 
than ready to enter the wicked world of the swappers, if only to hump the 
ravishing Shirley Lionel, a raven-tressed temptress whose totally 
uninhibited nature is in stark contrast to the strait-laced behavior of 
Evelyn. 

Big, burly Frank Lionel is of the opinion that it's time to get though with 
tough that Mark must show his wife who's boss and deliver the ultimatum, 
swap or else. And that, precisely, is what the impatient Mr. Fawner does, 
losing his temper during another argument with Evelyn and spanking the hell 
out of her poor posterior. 

And, lo and behold, a mini-miracle! The fierce pummeling of her ass, so 
shocking at first, awakens in Evelyn desires that have lain dormant for a 
long, long time, wholly perverse needs the satisfying of which requires pain 
and humiliation. Amazed and delighted, Mark wastes no time in applying for 
membership in the Lionels' swap club. 

Thus it is that five nights later Evelyn finds herself in a hotbed of sex, 
her pleasure supreme as she fucks and sucks her way through a lusty 
initiation ceremony. In attendance are Matt and Linda Williams, a stunning 
black couple, Marjorie Finlay and her slightly sadistic hubby, Joseph, a 
butcher who just loves to deliver the meat. And, of course, the Lionels, 
without whom a prick and pussy party would be incomplete. 

The new, wildly enthusiastic Mrs. Fawner bounces from this fuck fest into 
the open arms of Timothy Lane, an old flame, whose presence in Cloverdale 
Village has been prompted by his involvement in a most unusual 
business-white slavery. To help him seduce the now susceptible Evelyn he has 
Laura Hampton, a luscious titian-tressed creature whose passion for prick 
borders on the nymphomaniacal. 

Even Mark's employer, the suave and debonair Laurence Marshall, gets into 
the act, informing Mark that his promotion in the sales firm is dependent 
upon Evelyn's sexual availability. Mark is not averse to the suggested deal, 
reason being that he will get the chance to screw Susan Stacy, Marshall's 
sexy secretary and mistress. 

Yes indeed, what miracles that brutal bottom-warming has wrought. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Mark Fawner's almond-colored eyes followed sultry Shirley Lionel as she left 
the living room, his attention riveted to the smooth, sensuous roll of her 
beautiful backside. That firm, well-proportioned fanny, at the moment snugly 
sheathed in flaming red, cunt-clasping-hip-hugging hot pants, was a most 
lascivious lure, he thought, feeling his pecker stir in his slacks as 
lustful thoughts jogged into his mind. 

And Shirley, tempting tease that she was, enjoyed flaunting her physical 
attributes and noting the effect such shameless impudence had on him and 
others, Mark realized. Like right now, for instance. Look at her there, 
pausing under the arch separating living room from dining area to bend 
forward at the waist, the obscenely short hot pants in painfully taut 
stretch across her luscious ass as she reached down under the antique desk 
to pick up-what? An imaginary pencil, perhaps. 

It was a move designed to further whet his appetite, of course, the wicked 
wriggle of her bottom being a crude but certainly effective reminder of her 
availability, of her genuine interest in him as a sex partner. For Mrs. 
Frank Lionel knew that he would like nothing better than to wrap his hands 
around her impudent ass, to cup and squeeze her succulent cheeks as he 
'plowed her pussy with his throbbing tool. 

And would he ever, Mark thought, a small smile springing quickly onto his 
attractive face as Shirley straightened up and cast a grin over her right 
shoulder in his direction. Had he gotten a good look, she was asking. Did he 
appreciate the way she had waved her fantastic fanny back at him? Wouldn't 
he just love to sock it to her? 

Yes, a thousand times yes, Mark answered with his smile and small nod of 
approval, his rapidly hardening pecker forming an embarrassing bulge in his 
lap. He watched Shirley move into the dining area and then turn into the 
kitchen, the image of the ravishing, raven-tressed woman, in nude, sensual 
sprawl and panting with desire, reaching out hungrily for his pulsating 
hard-on, refusing to leave his mind. 

Shit, but he wanted to fuck her! It wasn't only her ass that he found so 
alluring, so feverishly provocative, it was her whole damn beautiful body, 
the totally uninhibited, unashamed way she paraded her charms while 
riotously refuting, with her husband, what she considered shopworn moral 
conventions and the ethics of tradition-bound middleclass Americans. 

Shirley Lionel just oozed sex appeal. From the top of her head to the tips 
of her toes she suggested sex-not a prim and stiffly proper coupling on 
freshly laundered sheets, but a raw, earthy, abandoned mating laced with 
gutsy expletives and savage snarls of heathenish delight, a furious fuck 
where body pounded body, rock-hard prick plunging mightily into hot, syrupy, 
gripping twat. 

Extraordinarily fuckable, that was perhaps the best way to describe the 
twenty-seven-year-old wife of Frank Lionel, Mark mused, as over in the brown 
leather armchair his friend and neighbor, oblivious to the fact that he'd 
lost his audience, continued reading aloud from the popular magazine the 
results of a recent survey taken to determine the extent of wife-swapping in 
the United States. 

Shirley was a statuesque siren, standing exactly five feet seven inches 
without heels, and her vital measurements, which Frank never tired of 
quoting, were a sizzling thirty-eight, twenty-five, thirty-six. In 
shimmering, showering fall her long coal-black tresses rippled over her 
creamy-smooth shoulders and down her back, gently caressed her large, 
lovingly-crafted breasts. 

Yes indeed, how easy it was to conjure in his mind the picture of an aroused 
Shirley Lionel, her usually sparkling blue eyes glazed by desire, her hoarse 
moans of passion lashing the air as he whipped his blood-filled prick into 
her lunging, lusting nakedness. He could imagine her in dozens of positions; 
flat on her back with her sleek legs spread wide, crouched low on elbows and 
knees and offering up for total ravishment her gorgeous behind, bent forward 
at the waist, posting happily on his hard-on, belly down on the bed-. 

There was no end to the number of ways he wanted to fuck her. And right now, 
in her own home, on this hot, muggy evening of August 26, 1972, Mrs. Frank 
Lionel looked especially gorgeous. Good enough to eat, in fact, which was 
something else he very often dreamed of doing to his fun-loving neighbor's 
voluptuous spouse. 

Attired in those wickedly-tight red hot pants and a skimpy white halter, one 
that barely covered her magnificent mammaries, Shirley was the 
personification of sex, of mad, frenetic intercourse on sweat-saturated 
sheets. And, as usual, she was flirting with him, baiting him, deliberately 
turning him on as he sat here on her living room sofa silently cursing his 
wife. 

Evelyn. Yes, in no small way was she to blame for his being extra horny this 
evening, Mark thought, anger beginning to well within him as he fumbled in 
his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. It wasn't just seeing Shirley in her 
blatantly suggestive halter and hot pants that had started his pecker 
thickening, nor had her flirtatious behavior cued his lustful thoughts. 

There was a certain lamentable irony here, Mark realized, exhaling a cloud 
of smoke and stuffing the crumpled cigarette pack back in his shirt pocket 
as Frank Lionel, engrossed in the sexologist's findings, turned a page of 
the magazine and went right on reading aloud. Ironic was the fact that his 
wife, who in five years of marriage had not once communicated, either 
verbally or through a gesture, her need for sex, could be considered 
partially responsible for the hard-on he had now. 

Yet such was the case. If Evelyn didn't approach sex with an indifferent, 
not-again-tonight-darling attitude, if she responded to his sexual overtures 
with genuine interest instead of conveying the idea that she was 
"suffering," if, like most healthy young females, she was concerned with 
orgasms and pleasing a male, then chances were he would not be sitting here 
with a lust for another woman a yard long. 

Evelyn claimed that he was hung-up on sex, that all he ever thought about 
was "doing it to her." Hell, if he was hung-up on sex it was because she 
couldn't, or didn't want to, satisfy him. It was Evelyn's obvious dislike of 
intercourse, her passion-smothering frigidity, that stood like a stone wall 
between them. 

There was no doubt about it, Mark thought, taking another drag on his 
cigarette. If his marriage wasn't starting to fall apart at the seams, if in 
the past five years Evelyn had learned even a little something about 
pleasing a husband, he wouldn't be so inclined to enter the world of the 
swingers. 

"-And so here we have an-expert-who-." Frank Lionel at long last lifted his 
eyes from the magazine to speak to Mark, but his words trailed off as he 
realized that his friend and neighbor had not been paying attention. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Frank," Mark apologized. "I guess I was doin' a little 
daydreaming there. What was that you were saying about an expert?" 

A small smile formed on Frank's face as he shook his head and flipped the 
magazine onto the large white hassock near his chair. He sat back in the 
comfortable leather armchair and folded his hands, his eyes now taking dead 
aim on the man sitting across the way on the sofa. 

"Mark, old buddy," he said finally, "if you don't do something pretty damn 
quick about this depression you've been in lately, Shirely and I are goin' 
to find ourselves visitin' you in a funny farm somewhere." 

Mark chuckled nervously, then took another drag on his cigarette. 

"No, I mean it, fella," Frank said seriously. "You've got to snap out of it 
before it's too late. Now have you talked to-." 

"Before it's too late for what, darling?" Shirley asked, breaking into the 
conversation as she returned to the living room. She put the can of cold 
beer and the glass she had brought from the kitchen in front of Mark, on the 
cocktail table sitting parallel to the sofa, then promptly sat down beside 
him. She looked at Mark and then at her husband. "Well, isn't anybody going 
to fill me in?" 

Mark leaned forward and rested his cigarette in the ashtray on the stylish, 
glass-topped cocktail table, then snapped open the aluminum lid on the beer 
can and started to pour the chilled brew into the glass. "Your husband was 
about to lecture me again on the merits of wife-swapping, Shirely," he 
explained with a smile. 

"Mmmm, how thoughtful of him," the black-haired beauty grinned. "I can't 
think of anyone better able to discuss the subject." 

Frank smiled at his wife. "Compliments like that will get you fucked, 
sweetheart." 

"Really?" 

"Yes, really." 

"And just how did you know that I have an itch to be scratched, Mr. Lionel?" 

Frank chuckled. "You always have an itch you want scratched, baby. In fact, 
if ever there's a contest to elect the randiest female in Cloverdale 
Village-." 

"Only in Cloverdale Village?" 

"Make that the whole state," Frank grinned. "Anyway, if such a contest were 
ever held you'd be a cinch to capture the crown. I can see you now, luv, 
parading on stage wearing only a banner that reades 'Mrs. Hot-Pants of 
1972.' " 

Shirley giggled. "If they vote me the randiest female in this big state, 
darling, then much of the credit will be yours. Because, you big-pricked 
devil, you really turn me on." 

Mark sat, beer can in hand, and listened to the banter exchanged by the 
Lionels. Now here was a truly happy couple, he thought. In their eight years 
of marriage Frank and Shirley had developed a real rapport, a basic, 
fundamental, harmonious relationship. They didn't just love each other, they 
liked each other. 

He doubted if Frank and Shirley ever argued, so compatible and happy did 
they seem. They fit together perfectly, like a cup and saucer, each 
complementing the other to form a concordant whole. Of interest, too, was 
the fact that while sex obviously played a major role in their blissful 
union, the Lionels were not completely hung-up on physical beauty. 

While Frank had a keen eye for a flash of thigh and was won't to brag about 
his having humped some of the prettiest women on the East Coast, chances 
were that he had chosen Shirley not for her fantastic face and figure alone. 
To be sure, the fact that Shirley had been blessed with uncommon beauty must 
certainly have played some part in Frank's decision to marry her. 

But seeing how well the two of them got on prompted the conclusion that 
other factors had entered into Frank's decision. Before popping the 
question, he had no doubt taken into account Shirley's sense of humor, her 
above average intelligence, her high-spirited, fun-loving nature, and her 
liberal views regarding extra-marital sex, which, of course, Frank had seen 
as a necessary prerequisite to engaging in mate-switching sessions. 

For her part, Shirley had chosen a man who in all honesty could not be 
considered handsome. Frank was not an unattractive man, by no means, but 
only those movie buffs with a peculiar idea of what constituted physical 
allure would be likely to list him as a matinee idol type. 

At twenty-eight, Frank was a year older than his wife. He was about five 
feet eleven inches in height and weighed in at a little over one hundred 
ninety, which put him a shade on the chunky side. He was a rough and ready 
sort of guy with a bawdy sense of humor, a temper that flared quickly but 
one that died just as fast, and, like Shirley, he firmly believed that 
foolish are those who don't take advantage of every opportunity to live life 
to its fullest. 

Yes, it was a damn good match-up, Mark concluded again. Everything the 
Lionels' marriage was the Fawners' wasn't. Frank and Shirley laughed and 
swapped ribald stories, lid and Evelyn started conversations that inevitably 
turned into arguments. Frank and Shirley had a ball in bed, he and Evelyn 
engaged in sexual relations the likes of which only a castrated monk would 
think satisfying.. 

The contrast was almost laughable, really. The Lionel's marriage was quite 
obviously thriving while the Fawner's marriage was foundering badly. Or, to 
be even more explicit, Frank and Shirley were very happy and he and Evelyn 
were miserable. It was that simple. 

"Say, I have an even better idea," Shirley chirped, slapping Mark on the 
knee. 

"And what is that, beautiful?" Frank asked as he flipped through the 
magazine in search of the wife-swapping article, a small portion of which he 
wanted to read again to Mark. 

"Instead of reading some silly old statistics to Mark, which I'm sure would 
bore him to tears, why don't you and I demonstrate the benefits to be reaped 
from the swinging life?" 

"You've lost me, sweetheart. Mmmm, let's see now-oh, yeah, here it is. Now, 
Mark, when this study of spouse-trading was-." 

"Hey," Shirley broke in. "What happened to my idea?" 

Frank's brow furrowed. "What idea was that?" 

Shirley groaned and turned to Mark. "I tell you, that man is just 
impossible." 

Mark chuckled softly. He ground out his cigarette in the ashtray and reached 
for his glass of beer, conscious of the fact that his penis, while no longer 
in painful struggle to tumefy in the restricted space of his undershorts, 
still made a rather large lump in his lap. Had Shirley noticed it, he 
wondered. 

"I'm not impossible, luv," Frank said with a smile. "It's just that I don't 
understand what you're getting at." 

"It's simple," Shirley insisted. "I'm suggesting that we show Mark here how 
membership in the swap club has benefited us. You know, how it's liberalized 
our attitudes and enabled us to fully appreciate the rewards of group sex." 

Frank shook his head, then turned to Mark. "Pal, do you understand what this 
mate of mine if trying to say? If you do, I wish you'd fill me in. I'm 
afraid she's lost me." 

Shirley growled playfully. "Oh, honey, sometimes you're so darn thick. If 
you'd just put down that magazine and listen to me-." 

"You're not making any sense, sweetheart," Frank said, after tossing the 
magazine back onto the hassock. "First off, you and I didn't join the swap 
club six years ago to lose our inhibitions-we didn't have any to lose, 
remember? Secondly, how do you propose we demonstrate something as 
intangible as a state of mind? The satisfaction that you and I derive from 
membership in the club can't be showcased like some sort of trophy. It's a 
feeling that can only-." 

"Oh, brother," Shirley groaned, "must we suffer a long-winded and scholarly 
discourse on the subject of swinging? This isn't a lecture hall, you know." 

Frank grinned. "I'm only trying to convey to you the fact that you're not 
making any sense." 

"Well, I think I am, luv," Shirley insisted. She stuck out her tongue at her 
hubby, then turned to Mark, her fingers tightening on his knee. "What do you 
think, Mr. Fawner? Does what I'm trying to say make any sense to you?" 

Mark smiled a small smile. "The last thing I want is to be placed in the 
middle of a family squabble, Shirley. But I'll say this, though, like I told 
Frank earlier, It's not me you have to convince but my inhibited wife. She's 
the one who needs to see the light. This demonstration, or whatever it is 
you have in mind, might help her overcome her foolish prudishness." He 
puased for a moment, then added, "Although I guess it's just too much to 
hope for. Evelyn will probably never wake up. She'll go through the rest of 
her life quoting moral maxims that only a religious fanatic holds dear." 

"The point is," Frank began, "that it just isn't possible to exhibit, like a 
statue, say, the inherent benefits of participation in group sex or 
mate-trading activities. Only through active involvement in-." 

"Will you listen to that?" Shirley interrupted again. "I think my husband 
has memorized that article in the magazine. He'll be going on speaking tours 
next." 

Frank chuckled and shook his head. "Mrs. Lionel, keep that up and I'll screw 
you right her and now-right in front of our good friend and neighbor, Mr. 
Fawner." 

Shirley brightened. "Now," she exclaimed, "we're getting somewhere. What I'm 
suggesting is-." 

"A fuck?" Frank broke in. 

"Will you let me finish, Mr. Professor?" 

"Sorry," Frank said, smiling. He looked at Mark and winked. 

"What I'm suggesting is that I blow you while Mark looks on. My unashamed 
performance will brush from Mark's mind any lingering doubts he may have 
about the inhibition-crushing aspects of swapping. Now that makes sense, 
doesn't it?" 

"Nope," Frank answered. "Mark just got through telling you that he doesn't 
need to be convinced. Evelyn is the one who needs to realize her sexual 
potential through mate-switching activities. And like I said before, I don't 
understand how-." 

"Look, do you want your cock sucked or not, Mr. Lionel?" Shirley asked, her 
voice rising in exasperation. 

A momentary silence ensued, the only sound in the living room being that 
made by the Lionel's air-conditioner, which hummed softly in the background 
as Frank contemplated his wife's lewd proposal. He found the idea of being 
blown while Mark watched from the sidelines rather intriguing. Downright 
exciting, in fact. 

Finally, he turned to Mark and shrugged. "How does a man turn down an 
invitation like that, Mr. Fawner?" 

Mark grinned. "He doesn't, Mr. Lionel." 

"You bet your sweet pecker he doesn't," said Shirley with a broad smile. She 
dropped her eyes to Mark's lap and once again took note of the interesting 
bulge there. Then, still smiling, she lifted her eyes and said, "You're 
going to enjoy this, neighbor." 

Not flinching, Mark looked the gorgeous, sexily-clad woman square in the eye 
and stated, "That, Shirley, is an understatement." 

"Well, I'm waiting, baby. Shall we get on with it now?" 

Shirley and Mark both turned their attention to Frank, who had pushed 
himself up out of the armchair and was now standing in lusty readiness. He 
had unzipped his fly and hauled out his pecker, the flaccid length of which 
he was presently fondling. 

"I'm ready if you are, luv," Shirley informed her hubby. 

With that, as Mark drained the last of his beer and settled back again into 
the sofa, the dazzling black-haired beauty rose and started toward her mate. 
Once again Mark zeroed in on Shirley's saucy ass, his eyes wide as they 
feasted on the provocative wriggle of a female bottom snugly encased in the 
tightest of hot-pants. 

"How 'bout a little kiss, darling?" Shirley asked when she was standing 
directly in front of her husband. 

"I thought that's what you had in mind, baby." 

Shirley grinned. "I meant on the mouth, silly. I'll get started on my 
boyfriend in just a minute." 

"You're going to blow me good, right?" 

"I'll blow you good, sweetheart." 

"You'll suck my hot cock?" 

"I'll suck your hot cock-your beautiful hot cock." 

"And swallow my gunk?" 

"And swallow all your delicious gunk," Shirley repeated, realizing that the 
crotch of the bikini briefs she was wearing under her skin-tight hot pants 
was becoming very damp indeed. Which, of course, was not all that 
surprising, since she had discovered shortly after puberty that precious 
little was required to set her pussy aflame and to make the acquisition of a 
throbbing prick uppermost in her mind. 

"Then I shall kiss your sweet lips," Frank said smiling. "The soft, sweet 
lips soon to be wrapped around my meat." 

"Oh, how utterly debonair you are, Mr. 

Lionel," Shirley crooned, her blue eyes twinkling naughtily as she moved 
easily, smoothly, into her husband's beefy arms. 

Mark watched Frank and Shirley kiss as his pecker suddenly renewed its 
difficult struggle to enlarge in the constricting confines of his shorts. He 
felt like a voyeur, a peeping Tom engaged in spying on two uninhibited 
lovers. Which he wasn't at all, since the Lionels were putting on this sexy 
little performance for his enjoyment. Even if at the moment it appeared that 
they were oblivious to his presence. 

Mark adjusted his position on the sofa as he continued staring at the 
kissing couple. Shirley was squirming slowly, sensuously, in Frank's arms, 
pressing her beautiful boobs into his manly chest, covered now by a thin, 
salmon-colored sport shirt, and grinding her middle against his still 
flaccid pecker. 

What he wouldn't give to be in Frank's shoes, Mark thought, his eyes 
following his neighbor's meaty hands as they slid down Shirley's back and 
wrapped around her provocative posterior. How marvelous it must be to know 
that every night of the week, and twice on Sunday, if in the mood, you could 
fuck holy hell out of a woman who responded to your lovemaking with equal 
fervor. 

He knew, of course, the real reason behind Shirley's scintillating 
suggestion of a blow-job. He hadn't been fooled by her fuzzy line of 
reasoning, by the gobbledygook she had spouted while trying to explain how 
sucking Frank's cock would enable him to realize the value of participation 
in spouse-switching games. 

Hell, Shirley knew that he was interested in sampling the delights to be 
found in the wicked world of the swappers. She knew that he was game, that 
it was Evelyn who, with her archaic beliefs and pleasure-stifling attitudes 
toward self-indulgence, was sorely in need of a good course in Twentieth 
Century Sexual Mores, one that included lessons in the art of sexual 
gratification and told of the alternatives to traditional marriage now being 
considered by enlightened couples. 

No, it wasn't to demonstrate how liberated she'd become through mate-trading 
that Shirley had proposed sucking her husband's tool. It was simply an 
excuse, a quickly-hatched pretense to provide her with yet another 
opportunity to tease him, to make abundantly clear the fact that if he'd 
hurry up and get Evelyn to come around she would be more than willing to 
suck his cock too. 

"Mmmmm, that was nice, ' luv," Shirley cooed when at long last the kiss 
broke. "You really know how to kiss a Mr. Lionel." 

"Where's the lady?" Frank grinned. 

"Now that wasn't very nice," Shirley said, feigning hurt. 

"Mark, you know the kind of woman most men say they'd like to marry-one 
who's a lady in the living room and a wild nympho in the bedroom? Well, pal, 
I've got something even better than that with Shirl. She's a wild, crazy 
cunt in the bedroom and the living room." 

"Oh, you," Shirley exclaimed, delivering a not very hard kick to her 
husband's right chin. 

"Ouch, that hurt, baby," Frank complained. 

"Suffer," Shirley said, smiling sexily. 

"I don't want to suffer, sweets. I want to be blown. Now on your knees, 
woman-and be quick about it." 

"Oh, he's such a masterly man my husband." 

"Suck my cock, woman," Frank again ordered, unable to keep a smile from 
creeping across his round, whiskered face. 

Shirley smiled up at her husky spouse, her dazzling blue eyes locking onto 
his soft brown ones. She ran the fingers of her right hand through his curly 
chestnut hair and then, after a moment, began slowly sinking to her knees, 
her hands sliding down his shirt front and finally grabbing hold of the wide 
black belt supporting his light green slacks. , When she was settled in 
position, her husband's manhood in excited twitch scant inches from her 
beautiful face, Shirley turned her head and smiled at Mark. "Ready for the 
show, handsome?" she asked, a faint, barely discernible mocking tone to her 
voice. 

"Proceed," Mark answered quickly, with a smile. And then, because he was 
getting just a wee bit annoyed with the beautiful woman's steady taunting of 
him, he added, "I'll applaud if I think you're doing an especially good 
job." 

Shirley didn't bat an eye. "You do that, Mr. Fawner," she grinned. "I work 
better with an appreciative audience." 

Then, without further ado, she turned to the task at hand, her moist, supple 
lips parting slowly as she took hold of her husband's meaty member and 
directed its plum-shaped head to her mouth. Seconds later she was carefully 
sucking the fleshy root, lovingly laving it with a skill born of many such 
encounters, not only wthith her well-hung spouse but with dozens of men 
she'd met through the wife-exchanging club. 

Yet as she licked and sucked, her tongue in mad, tantalizing twirl over 
Frank's slowly thickening tool, Shirley's thoughts remained on the man on 
the sofa, the one she knew was viewing this cocksuck with avid interest. 
With a growing hard-on. 

Mark Fawner was a helluva good-looking stud, she mused. Tall, about six foot 
one, with a neat, trim body that probably weighed in the vicinity of one 
hundred seventy five pounds, he was the kind of guy who just naturally 
turned women on. Only the truly frigid, the female who likened the loss of 
her virginity to the loss of a precious jewel, and those who favored members 
of their own sex, would not be moved by Mark's quiet attractiveness to drop 
their panties and admit a desire for his manhood. 

And just how experienced was Mr. Fawner, Shirley wondered, continuing her 
lewd labors on the prick thickening beautifully in her warm, wet mouth. Not 
counting Evelyn, how many females had spent a few cozy minutes playing with 
Mark's cinnamon-colored hair while gazing into his hazel eyes? How many sets 
of tits had Mark fondled in his twenty-seven years? How many pussies had his 
cock plowed? 

These were interesting questions indeed, especially when one was looking 
forward to a number of hot humping hours with the man whose good looks quite 
rightly prompted such inquiry. It didn't appear that Mark was fooling around 
at the moment, and it was her guess that if he had cheated at all on Evelyn 
it was no more than once or twice. But certainly a man as attractive as Mr. 
Fawner had scored pretty heavily in his bachelor days. 

Which is what he was probably wishing he was again-a happy-go-lucky, love 
'em and leave 'em bachelor, a man about town with a ready prick and all the 
time in the world to see it safely into a variety of hungry vaginas. 

Evelyn. She was the big obstacle here, Shirley thought. Mark was a good 
neighbor, a good friend, and it would be delightful to have him as an 
occasional good bed partner, but until Evelyn pulled free of those silly, 
antiquated ideas concerning fidelity in marriage, ideas which were 
preventing her from realizing her full potential as a truly liberated woman, 
then she would just have to content herself with continuing to tease him 
until, in desperation, he delivered that "swap with me or else" ultimatum to 
his wife. 

Because that was one rule she had no intention of breaking. The only time 
she fucked another man was when that other man's wife was getting fucked by 
Frank. She had never cheated on her husband, in the sense that he didn't 
know what was going on, and she didn't intend to start messing around behind 
Frank's back now. 

When she and Frank engaged in extra-marital sex it was always together, with 
each other's blessing, and there was no reason to change this modus operandi 
now-not even if the thought of getting royally reamed by Mark Fawner was 
sufficient in itself to start her pussy purring and salivating. 

No, if and when she let Mark lay her Evelyn would be nearby, bareassed naked 
and thrilling to a fierce fuck as performed by her ever horny husband. So 
Mr. Fawner had better hop to it and start applying some real pressure to his 
naive schoolgirl of a wife-before she tired of teasing him into painful 
erections. 

And that, precisely, was what. Mark had at the moment-a thick, blood-gorged 
pecker that, in defiance of all things reasonable, was determinedly trying 
to punch a big hole in his tan slacks. Having no choice, he pulled down the 
zipper of his fly and dragged out his rock hard organ. 

"Feel free, pal," Frank grinned in response to Mark's questioning, "Do you 
mind if I pull my pecker" look. "I'd do the same damn thing if I were in 
your boots." 

This was absolutely ridiculous, Mark thought, stroking his warm, throbbing 
prick. To be sitting here, in the living room of one of your good friends 
and his outrageously beautiful wife, jacking off like a teenage jerk hard-up 
for a fuck, was certainly the height of something or other. 

Yet he couldn't stop masturbating any more than he could tear his eyes from 
the lust-inspiring scene he was witnessing the deliciously lewd performance 
that was being given supposedly for his enjoyment. But not his exclusively, 
that was for damn sure. Frank, too, was very obviously relishing his wife's 
fervent fellatio. 

Shirley was really into the swing of things now. She was sucking her tasty 
stalk of flesh with wild abandon, slobbering over it with the enthusiasm one 
expected from a high-priced call girl who simply loved her work. 

Up and down her head bobbed, rhythmically, rapidly, her pursed lips hotly 
hugging her hubby's now totally tumuscent prick as they slid wetly over its 
thick, throbbing length. No longer was Shirley of a mind to carefully lick 
and suck, to tenderly tease cock and hairy balls with her talented tongue. 

"This-this is somethin' else, huh?" Frank called over to Mark, who was 
pumping his prick even faster now. "N-No one sucks cock like my Shirley." 

"She's a beautiful bitch," Mark said hoarsely. "Like you said before-a slut 
in the bedroom and the living room." 

"Yeah, that's my woman alright," Frank said proudly. 

Hands on hips, he looked down at his kneeling wife and grinned a 
lust-charged grin. She was indeed a great cocksucker, he thought happily. 
One of the best he'd know, in fact. Fellatio was a special favorite of 
Shirley's and seldom did a night pass without her spending at least a few 
minutes mouthing his meat. 

And then, of course, there were those times when his wife, in an especially 
randy condition, would demand that he stretch out on his back on their 
queen-sized bed whilst she made great show of tending to his life-giving 
root. Assuming a comfortable position on the bed, either between his spread 
legs or curled up on her side next to him, her head resting on his belly, 
Shirley would then devote the next hour to a fastidious, maddeningly 
methodical washing of the fleshy fellow she lovingly referred to as her 
"boyfriend." 

Yes, indeed, Frank thought, his beautiful mate rightly deserved the title of 
"Fellatrice First Class," an honor bestowed upon her by the male members of 
the swap club, all of whom Shirley had sucked to gut-jumbling orgasms. 

"I'm-I'm goin' to come with you, Frank," Mark announced suddenly, his hand a 
fleshy funnel as it moved up and down his blood-fattened manhood. 

"Yeah, soon now," Frank called out. "I-I can't take much more of this." 

He would hate himself later, Mark knew, but right now all he could think of 
was coming at the same time that Frank's sticky passion product gushed into 
Shirley's hot, cocksucking mouth. From where he sat on the sofa he had a 
clear, unobstructed view of the deliciously lewd proceedings. 

He could see Frank's slick, saliva-coaled cock sliding wetly in and out of 
Shirley's mouth, between those full, lovely lips, those warmly clasping lips 
now acting like a velvet-lined vice for his neighbor's meaty member. And 
what a member it was too-a proud, pulsating pole of hard flesh measuring, 
Mark figured, close to eight inches. 

And he was close enough to the obscene action to hear the wet, slurping 
sounds of lust made by the slobbering Shirley as she gluttonously sucked her 
husband's pecker. Shit, but what a fantastically pronographic picture she 
presented! 

There she was in subservient posture, on her knees in front of the burly 
Frank, her hands clamped firmly over his legs, midway between knee and 
thigh, with only her head moving in rapid bob as time and again she impaled 
herself on the mighty manhood. 

"C'mon, dammit," Mark shouted, perilously close to letting loose what felt 
to him like a quart of semen stored in his now heavy, taut scrotal sac. 
"Fill her mouth with it, Frank. Do it, dammit." 

"Now-you ready?" Frank breathed hotly. 

"Yeah. C'mon, shove it down her throat, man." 

As a fiery lust raged out of control within him, turning his mind into a 
satanic whorl of wholly licentious thoughts, Mark now started to pump his 
bloated bone for all he was worth, his vision blurring as he felt the onset 
of an orgasm that would see his viscous semen shooting, like scalding water 
from a spewing geyser, up into the air and over the cocktail table. 

Frank Lionel, himself on the verge of another memorable come, took hot hold 
of his wife's bobbing head and ordered her to cease sucking immediately. 

Shirley, always the understanding, obedient cocksucker, quickly obeyed her 
ready-to-shoot husband and made ready to swallow as much of his gunk as she 
could. 

She didn't have long to wait. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

An animalistic and perversely proper groan of delight broke from Frank's 
throat to provide lewd accompaniment to his wholly satisfying climax. The 
thick, creamy come, too long stored in his warm scrotal pouch, streaked 
through his trembling tool and gushed into Shirley's waiting throat. 

His strong hands cradling her head, holding it still and in place, he 
shivered from head to toe and grunted savagely as Shirley endeavored to 
swallow the syrupy gunk now filling her mouth rapidly. Eyes glazed, he 
looked down at his wanton wife and the, the sight of his cock jammed deeply 
into her mouth igniting one forgotten spark of lust, he tipped forward and 
crammed another half-inch down her beautiful throat. 

"Gaaargh-" Shirley gagged, her hands instinctively flying up to the 
powerful, throat-choking prick. 

"C'mon, baby, swallow it all," Frank ordered harshly, his voice thick, laced 
with excitement. 

"Arghhh-." Shirley gagged again, this time succeeding in yanking from her 
prick-packed mouth that portion of her hubby's eight incher just now rudely 
added for good measure. 

Unlike many another female, who might have taken exception to her partner's 
crude and cruel antics, Shirley immediately forgave Frank his audacious 
attempt to cram more of his blood-gorged, ejaculating cock down her tender 
throat, quickly resuming her own excited efforts to swallow the creamy semen 
flowing into her mouth when she was sure that he wouldn't act up again. 

She knew her husband well, knew that he possessed a small streak of sadism 
which sometimes evidenced itself on those occasions when he was beside 
himself with passion. Which really wasn't so bad, she reasoned, because 
while she would never ever label herself a masochist there were times when 
she craved domination, when it gave her perverse pleasure to be treated like 
a whore. And didn't all women have that crazy urge now and then? 

It was now, as the sex-hungry Shirley struggled gamely to ingurgitate all 
the creamy goodness flooding her mouth, that Mark finally came, his blissful 
release from the sweet torment of impending orgasm having been delayed for a 
reason he was not now about to stop and attempt to fathom. 

One hand tightly gripping the arm of the sofa, the other curled hotly around 
his shuddering shaft, he pressed back against the cushion, his backside 
sliding forward, and savored the beautiful sensations afforded him by this 
self-induced orgasm. 

"Yeah, gobble it up, baby," he heard Frank growl to his rapidly swallowing 
wife. "Get it in your belly. Drink, Shirley, drink." 

Bleary-eyed, Mark watched Shirley's frantic efforts to oblige her husband as 
the product of his own passion bolted from the tiny slit at the end of his 
organ and streaked, like a rocket, through the air in a long sticky arc. 

"Swallow, Shirley, swallow," Frank was chanting, his hands still clamped 
firmly over his beautiful wife's head. 

Between gulps and gasps blocked by the trembling cock stuffed solidly in her 
mouth, the energetic and dementedly determined Shirley swallowed-and 
swallowed and swallowed, strange click-clacking noises emanating from her 
throat as she performed the most difficult task of ingurgitating while 
forced to harbor a meaty pecker in her oral cavity. 

Mastering this trick had taken some time and a not inconsiderable amount of 
patience, not to mention a healthy number of wildly ejaculating erectiles. 
But she had learned how to relax her throat muscles so as not to gag on cock 
or sperm-provided, of course, that her partner didn't add to the difficulty 
by trying to jam every last inch of his stiff prick down her throat. 

Mark's face, which had been contorted with passion, gradually softened as 
the last of his come flew from the bulbous head of his six incher. At peace 
now, bathed in the euphoric sense of satisfaction resulting from his 
manually-induced come, he loosened his grip on his slowly deflating manhood 
and with some effort pushed himself up into a more erect position on the 
Lionel's sofa. 

To his amazement, he realized that Frank was still at work on Shirley, that 
his cock was still safely secured between her lipsticked lips. How was this 
possible, he wondered. Hell, Frank must have already deposited a small pool 
of gooey come in Shirley's belly. 

Had she been able to speak, Shirley might have told Mark that her wonderful 
husband, virile lover that he was, never failed to disappoint in terms of 
his remarkable ability to produce rich creamy semen in abundance. She was 
accustomed to ingesting what she always thought to be, upon reflection 
later, at least a full pint of Frank's slimy goo. And there were times when 
it took three mind-jolting orgasms to drain him dry. 

But all good things must eventually come to an end, and so it was with this 
particular cocksucking session indulged in by the swinging Lionels for an 
audience of one. Almost reluctantly, as if wanting to prolong the moment, 
Frank gently steered his wife's head back away from his still hard cock. 

"Did you enjoy that, sweetheart?" he asked, tilting Shirley's head back so 
that he could look down into her face. 

"Mmmmm, you know I did, lover," the raven-tressed, satanically-sexy woman 
answered with a warm, loving smile. "I feel so bloated now." 

Frank chuckled. "You got down a lot this time, baby." 

"It tastes so good, darling." Shirley ran the tip of her tongue over her 
lips, then added, "I like the taste of your come best of all, Mr. Lionel. It 
has a nice salty taste." 

"Like peanuts, huh?" 

"I know the kind of nuts I like," Shirley said, grinning up at her favorite 
sex partner. "And they aren't peanuts." 

Frank grinned and then turned to Mark. "Hey, pal, do you want to see 
something downright sexy?" 

"Sure," Mark answered, his neighbor's question having cut short a brief 
moment of introspection during which he debated the necessity of stuffing 
his now limp peter back inside his slacks. The issue not having been 
resolved, his wet organ still dangled in weary flop outside his fly, in 
restful curl over one side of the zipper. 

"Well, then, feast your eyes on my lovely wife's face," Frank said, gently 
turning Shirley's head so that she was looking toward the sofa. "Isn't that 
a sight to trigger another hard-on?" 

Yes, it was, Mark thought, returning Shirley's smile with a small one of his 
own. The gorgeous woman's hair was disheveled-thanks to Frank's excited 
ruffling of it while she was performing her feverish fellatio-and several 
long shiny black strands hung like tentacles over her forehead, down past 
her eyes. 

There was on her clear, unlined face the faintly feral look of a woman 
pleased with herself, with her ability to arouse, yet not truly content due 
to the absence of an orgasm for herself. She seemed to be saying through her 
expression, one lightly touched with depravity, "Isn't it just marvelous 
that I thrill to sucking cock, that I'm so wickedly randy all the time? 
Aren't I the sweetest little old prick-licker you ever did see? But what 
about my flaming twat? Where is the hose to put out that fire?" 

To add to the overall picture of sinfulness was the fact that Frank's semen, 
that portion not greedily gulped down, was trickling out from the corners of 
Shirley's mouth and dribbling down her well-molded chin. And on and around 
her nose, in her nostrils, too, was more gooey semen, this bit of vixcid 
come having been accidently left there, Mark figured, when Frank removed his 
slimy, saliva-coated cock from his wife's hungry mouth. 

"You're staring, Mr. Fawner," Shirley said finally, gently chiding the man 
she knew would like nothing better than to jam his blood-packed pecker into 
her mouth. Or her cunt. Or her ass. 

"Can you forgive me, Mrs. Lionel?" Mark asked, countering quickly. 

Shirley's smile blossomed into a full-fledged grin. "I'll try, good-looking. 
I'll try." 

It was less than a minute later, following a bit more banter between Shirley 
and Mark, that Frank helped his wife to her feet and the two of them cleaned 
up. With her husband's handkerchief Shirley wiped her face and then, while 
kidding Mark, polished the glass top of the cocktail table with the sticky 
trails of semen left there as lewd evidence of Mark's masturbation. 

"It's even better than lemon oil," she observed with a chuckle. 

"Next time I'll come over the desk," Mark promised, somewhat surprised to 
discover that at the moment he felt no guilt or shame but knowing that 
these, plus self-disgust, would surely grip him in the very near future. 
Perhaps right after he left his happily hedonistic neighbors and returned to 
his home across the street. To Evelyn. 

"And I'll have the chamois handy," Frank said, joining in the moment of 
frivolity. 

But then it was back to the business at hand, Frank settling again into his 
armchair and Shirley, who had resigned herself to waiting until after Mark's 
departure for the fuck from Frank she craved, taking a position on the sofa. 
Now that peckers had been tucked back inside slacks and a pussy calmed 
somewhat by the promise of a nice juicy prick before the night was over, the 
talk turned serious. In short, a discussion of mate-switching and Evelyn 
Fawner's adamant refusal to participate in same was what now developed 
between the Lionels and Mark. 

"Now it's just this kind of information you've got to get across to your 
wife," Shirley stressed, her words prompted by Frank's reading aloud from 
the magazine a statement to the effect that over one million Californians, 
married and single, have already proclaimed swinging a way of life. 

"Shirl is right, pal," Frank said. "As that singing poet once noted, the 
winds of change are blowin' strong. You've just got to impress upon Evelyn 
that she'll be left by the wayside unless she recognizes the existence of 
the sexual revolution. Unless she joins that revolution." 

Mark sighed. "Listen, you two don't have any idea of exactly what I'm up 
against with Evelyn. I mean, she just refuses to discuss these things with 
me. It's like banging your head against a concrete wall." 

Frank nodded, then looked over at his wife. "I don't suppose you're getting 
anywhere with Evelyn, either." 

Shirley shook her beautiful head. "A big fat zero, I'm afraid. Every time I 
try talking to her about wife-swapping she goes into her shell. If I so much 
as make a subtle reference to the swinging life,, Ev stares at me with that 
'you must be sick' look of hers." 

Mark chuckled sardonically. "I get that look all the time. My wife is 
convinced that I'm turning into some sort of a monster." 

"She doesn't seem very eager to make you happy," observed Shirley. "Now 
don't get me wrong, I'm all for Women's Lib and the idea of equality of the 
sexes. But still and all, a wife has a certain obligation to her 
husband-just as he has an obligation to her." 

"What my wife is trying to say is that a man and his wife must work together 
and help each other grow. Communication is all important in a marriage, 
Mark. There's got to be that sense of cooperation, a genuine willingness on 
the part of both husband and wife to nurture their union." 

"Look, you're not telling me anything I haven't already given a lot of 
thought to, Frank. Hell, there's nothing I want more than a happy marriage. 
But it's like I said before, Evelyn starts sulking whenever I mention the 
possibility of her and I joining a swap club." 

"Well you two certainly can't continue like this," Shirley said. 

"At this rate," Frank chimed in, "you and Evelyn will be filing for a 
divorce in six months. Or sooner." 

"Swinging can put back into your marriage what it's lost, Mark. I'm talking 
now about excitement, spirit, a genuine liveliness." 

"Shirl is right, Mark. A marriage very quickly stagnates when the parties 
involved lose interest in it. Swinging breathes new life into a dacaying 
marriage. It restores the exciting challenge that's been eroded by the 
passing years." 

"But that isn't why you and Shirley joined a swap club," Mark noted. "You 
two weren't faced with the problem of injecting fresh hope into a marriage." 

Frank nodded. "True, very true, Mark. I'm not speaking from experience when 
I tell you of the marriage-saving aspects of swinging. But from close 
observation of our fellow swappers and from all the literature on 
mate-switching that we've read, Shirl and I concluded that swinging can only 
strengthen a marriage. This nonsense that participation in wife-swapping 
activities can destroy a marriage altogether is just-well, just that, 
nonsense." 

"My wife wouldn't buy that conclusion if you handed her a million bucks with 
it," Mark said sadly. "Evelyn is firmly convinced that if we get mixed up in 
wife-swapping-." 

"Well she's all wet," Shirley interrupted. "She just doesn't know what she's 
talking about. I'll bet she hasn't even bothered to read some of the 
literature that we've given you to show her." 

"I think she's burned it." 

"That's what I call narrow-mindedness of the highest order," Frank said with 
a small smile. "It's really a pity that Ev is so unwilling to experiment 
with something that could give her the happy marriage I'm sure she wants." 

It's a damn pity in more ways than one, Frank added to himself. Evelyn 
Fawner was a real sweet-looking chick, a blonde, blue-eyed little number 
whose pussy he'd love to explore with his eight incher. Strait-laced and 
provincial though she be, it wasn't that hard to imagine her in the throes 
of a mean passion, her succulent, naked body in excited quiver as she 
awaited penetration of her golden-haired, weeping womanhood. Yes, indeed, it 
would be a very nice thing to bang Mrs. Fawner. 

"Remember the Finlays, Frank?" Shirley asked her favorite cocksman. 

"Yeah, what about them?" 

"Well, when Joe and Marge joined the club they were in pretty much the same 
shape that Mark and Ev are in now. I mean their marriage was on the rocks 
and they were damn close to packing it in and going their separate ways." 

Frank chuckled. "Even now I can remember some of their arguments. Boy, they 
had some beauts, didn't they? Marge and Joe didn't care who was with them or 
anything-they'd just start tearing into each other like a piar of angry 
alley cats. But all that changed when-." 

"When they finally decided to take our advice and join the swap club," 
Shirley said, finishing her hubby's sentence for him. "Almost overnight 
their marriage changed for the better. Both agree that embarking on their 
'voyage to ecstasy,' as they called it, was positively the best thing they 
had ever done." 

"That's a fact. And Marge and Joe are still thanking us for putting them 
onto the idea of mate-switching. Shirl got a letter from Marge just the 
other day, in fact." 

"The Finlays-I don't think I know them," Mark said. "Do they live in 
Cloverdale Village?" 

"They used to," Shirley answered. "They moved about, oh, I guess it was six 
months ago. But they haven't lost any of their enthusiasm for swapping. 
Whenever they can find somebody to sit with little Joe, he's their first 
child, they call and tell us to expect them at the next prick and pussy 
party." 

"And since the Finlays moved to Newburg," Frank added, "Shirl and I have 
been trying to find a replacement for them. As things stand now, we're the 
only ones representing the cozy little suburb of Cloverdale Village." 

"Believe it or not," Shirley said, "we have members from all over the state. 
But like Frank says, at the moment we two are the only representatives from 
Cloverdale Village." 

Mark chuckled. "You make it all sound like a political convention. From 
Newburg, the Finalys-from Saratoga, the Smiths-from Cloverdale Village, 
Frank and Shirley Lionel." 

The Lionels laughed. Then, quickly turning serious, Frank said, "Work on it, 
pal. Put some real pressure on Evelyn and make her understand the absolute 
importance of wife-swapping to a 'floundering marital relationship. Talk 
tough, get a little mean, throw a scare into her if you have to, but yank 
her out of the grip of those outmoded values and childish beliefs that are 
stifling the growth of her marriage. She'll thank you, believe me." 

"And just think, Mark," Shirley added with a sexy grin, "as a member in good 
standing of the swap club you won't have to come all over my furniture." She 
placed a hand on his left knee and squeezed it meaningfully. "You can come 
in me instead." 

While I'm coming in Evelyn, Frank thought, smiling inwardly. 

No, Evelyn Fawner decided finally, there wasn't a darn thing wrong with her 
outfit. Maybe her pretty pink summer blouse didn't fit as tight around her 
breasts as Mark had told her it should. And maybe her loose-fitting white 
shorts didn't stretch taut across her bottom the way he liked them to. But 
her attire was attractive nonetheless. 

It was plain, nice and simple, Evelyn thought, doing a slow turn in front of 
the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door in her 
bedroom. Mark had termed it "silly and schoolgirlish," of course, lamenting, 
as he always did, the fact that seemed afraid to exhibit even a small part 
of her petite but nicely rounded figure. 

"And that's just not true at all," Evelyn said to her reflection. She didn't 
mind wearing stylish clothes that were a shade on the sexy side, clothes 
that caressed her body and subtly suggested her curvy thirty-four, 
twenty-three, thirty-four figure. But she wasn't about to brazonly exhibit 
herself just to give some dirty-minded men a big thrill. She wasn't about to 
don sluttish attire like so many females seemed to be doing these days. Like 
Shirley Lionel, for instance. 

Now there was a woman who should be arrested for indecent exposure. Shirley 
walked around with more off than on. No, that wasn't quite right. Mrs. 
Lionel didn't walk, she strutted. Like a peacock proud of her feathers. 

Of course, she had feathers to be proud of, no doubt about that. Mark 
certainly enjoyed staring at Shirley's big boobs and larger-than-life 
behind, his eyes almost popping out of his head when he caught sight of her 
in one of those outrageously flamboyant shorts and halter outfits she was so 
fond of wearing. 

But that, Evelyn supposed, was to be expected. Men would always be men and 
rare was the one who didn't take the time to ogle a pretty girl as she 
passed by. Mark was simply acting in a manner expected of his sex. And 
ogling Shirley Lionel was, all things considered, a relatively harmless 
entertainment. 

But what was not harmless, what was, in fact, downright dangerous and 
nerve-wracking, was the sickening influence Shirley and her husband were 
having on Mark. He was forever making up excuses to visit them, saying that 
he just wanted to pop across the street to borrow this or that. It seemed 
that every time she turned around Mark was over at the Lionels' place. 

Like tonight, for instance. Right after supper he had taken off, telling her 
that he wanted to further clarify for Frank certain clauses in the life and 
medical insurance package he was trying to sell his neighbor. That, of 
course, had been just another excuse, just another reason for seeing the 
Lionels so that they could brainwash him anew. 

Did he really think that she didn't know what he was up to, Evelyn wondered, 
running a hand through her short, stylishly-coiffed blonde hair as she 
turned from the mirror and started toward the bed. How silly Mark was if he 
thought for a moment that she was swallowing all his lies. 

Evelyn sat down on the double bed she shared with her husband and looked at 
the white princess phone resting on the small night stand. Then, after 
noting the time on her wristwatch, she resumed her musings, realizing that 
Mark had been gone now over an hour. 

And when he returned, his head full of the junk stuffed into it by the 
hedonistic Lionels, they would no doubt start arguing. It was always thus, 
thought the five foot four inch, freckled-faced female, the heavy weight of 
despair slumping her shoulders. Mark would come home and start in on her 
again, pointing up the dozens of reasons why she should reject all those 
things she had been taught to believe in and consent to give wife-swapping a 
try. Grow up, dammit, he would shout angrily, the implication being that at 
twenty-four she was still mentally an infant. 

To Mark's way of thinking it was stupid to believe in things like love and 
marital fidelity. How utterly useless he made her feel when he launched into 
one of his tirades, during which he damned her parents for raising her in an 
ivory tower atmosphere and inhibiting her growth as a human being. 

But her folks had done no such thing, Evelyn thought. They had simply 
instilled in her a respect for traditional values, a love for the simple, 
uncomplicated life, the kind of life she had hoped to find with Mark in the 
quaint, peaceful suburb of Cloverdale Village. And now, with Mark so hung-up 
on swinging, it seemed reasonable enough to conclude that on their wedding 
night five years ago he'd been annoyed rather than pleased to discover her a 
virgin. 

Well, maybe that was going a bit far. But Mark was certainly doing his level 
best to make her start wondering if he had ever loved her at all. Getting 
friendly with the pleasure-oriented Lionels had certainly been one large 
mistake, for Mark no longer conveyed his love for her when he spoke. Now it 
was sex. Sex, sex, sex. 

He had been perfectly content with things as they were before Frank and 
Shirley started filling his head with all this nonsense about wife-swapping. 
Mark's philosophy of life was changing, had changed already, and for this 
she had her sex-crazy neighbors to thank, two individuals who obviously 
believed that a satisfactory marital relationship hinged on the wholehearted 
willingness of the partners to engage in extra-marital relations. 

What rubbish, Evelyn thought. Perhaps it was true that her marriage could 
stand a little excitement, maybe she and Mark had unknowingly slipped into a 
too-familiar routine, but running off to a wild orgy with the Lionels 
wouldn't help solve a blessed thing. If anything, it would widen the 
communications gap between herself and her husband, one which she was 
already finding increasingly difficult to bridge. 

How could Mark ask her to have sex with another man? A stranger, at that. 
Wouldn't he be at least a little jealous if he saw another man doing it to 
her? 

A year or so ago she would not have had to grope for answers to these 
questions, because at that time she and Mark were friends as well as lovers. 
She could have shouted loud and clear that, yes, Mark Fawner loved her very 
much and that, no, he would never demand of her anything as degrading and 
humiliating as participation in a scandalous spouse switch. 

But now? Now she could only hope that Mark would tire of talking about the 
whole wife-swapping thing. Perhaps a few nights on the town and one or two 
discreet sexual adventures would shake from his head all thoughts of the 
swinging life. Although the thought of Mark making love to another woman 
sickened her, she could force herself to accept the extra-marital mating in 
the hope that it would satisfy his sudden urge to stray. She just didn't 
know how much longer she could take her husband's constant badgering. 

The ring of the telephone jarred Evelyn out of her meditative state. She 
looked at her wristwatch and smiled sadly. Mom was right on time again, she 
thought. Every Saturday night, regular as clockwork, her mother phoned to 
inquire about her health, the doings of the week just elapsed, and other 
things mothers were won't to consider important. 

Evely reached for the receiver and at the same time crossed two fingers of 
her free hand. Once again, when her mother asked, she would say with as much 
conviction as possible, "Oh, just fine, Mom. Mark and I are still getting 
along fabulously." 

 CHAPTER THREE 

No sooner had Frank Lionel closed the door behind Mark than his cock-hungry 
wife was shoving her right hand up between his legs and hotly massaging his 
crotch through the material of his slacks. Grinning lewdly, he placed his 
left hand around Shirley's right tit and squeezed. 

"Time to fuck, huh?" he asked with a wink. "Is it ever, luv," Shirley 
answered excitedly. "I didn't think I'd be able to hold out for a minute 
longer." 

"Mark would have been happy to hump you, baby." 

"That's a no-no and you know it, Mr. Lionel. Mark will get his crack at me 
when you get yours with Evelyn. It's how we play the game, isn't it?" 

Frank chuckled. "Of course, luv. I was just kidding. You think the little 
performance we staged for Mr. Fawner will do the trick?" 

"It certainly didn't do any harm. He'll go home now and work on Evelyn 
again. Maybe this is the night she finally breaks down and agrees to enter 
the world of the wife-swappers." 

"Let's hope so. As their sponsors we'll have a chance to capture this 
month's big prize." 

"Right," Shirley beamed. "Two theatre tickets, dinner in a really exclusive, 
expensive restaurant, fifty bucks to spend any old way we wish-now that's 
what I call a nice way of thanking us for bringing in new members." 

"It's a damn good idea the club members had," Frank said, still rubbing up 
his gorgeous wife's left boob through the flimsy material of her halter. 
"Offering a prize every month to the couple bringing in the most new people 
acts as an incentive to increase membership." 

"Right, luv. Now let's just hope Mark shakes his ass and talks Evelyn into 
joining up'." 

"Before the month is out," Frank added. 

"Natch. Other wise they'll be credited to our total for next month. If we 
can get the Fawners initated before August is up, well have introduced three 
new couples to the club. That's a total of six swingers for us in one 
month." 

"Yeah, that's right. We talked the Richardsons and the Clarks into trying 
mate-switching during that weekend we spent at the nudist camp. The Fawners, 
then, would increase our catch to six, and I don't think any other couple in 
the club has that many." 

"I don't think so either, lover," Shirley said, "and right now I'm not going 
to worry about our friendly competition. All I want to do is get laid-with a 
capital L." 

Frank chuckled. "And where do you want it tonight, beautiful? In your ass, 
maybe?" 

"In my ass?" 

"That's what I said." 

"Well, it's an idea. I haven't been cornholed this month yet." 

"Then you're about due for a hard, mean assfuck, baby," Frank observed, his 
pecker thickening in his slacks as Shirley continued her stubborn massage of 
the area between his legs. 

"But my cunt needs a reaming too," the black-haired siren informed her 
beefy, well-hung hubby." 

"No problem, sweets. The night is young." 

"And you're so beautiful, huh?" 

"Horny is more like it," Frank corrected, returning his wife's sexy grin 
with one of his own. 

"All right, tell you what I'm gonna do, Mr. Lionel. If you go down on me 
like a good boy, I'll let you ram that beautiful eight incher of yours up my 
fanny. Now how's that grab you?" 

"Grabs me good, baby. And right where it counts too. But how about your poor 
pussy?" 

"You just said it, luv," Shirley winked. "The night is young. By the time 
you get around to my twat it'll be all nice and slushy for your pecker." 

"Baby, you're a wicked, wicked woman." 

"Yeah, and you just wallow in all that wickedness, honey. Now come on, I'll 
race you to the bedroom." 

With that, after one final hot squeeze of her husband's swelling organ 
through his slacks, Shirley was off and running, her beautiful bottom in 
wild, crazy jiggle as she skipped from the small foyer into the living room 
and then toward the bedroom, which was located in the back of the modest but 
attractive and comfortable one story white frame house. 

Frank remained in the foyer for only a few seconds, his passion building to 
a fever pitch as he watched his luscious, sexily-clad mate scamper off. Then 
he was in hot pursuit of Shirley, the thought of once again shoveling his 
meaty shaft up into the warm, murky confines of her rectal canal quickening 
his pulse as he hurried through the living room and into the small alcove 
leading to the bathroom and bedroom. 

Shirley was the first to finish undressing, removing her halter and 
fanny-hugging hot-pants and bikini underpants in considerably less time than 
it had taken her to don them in the morning. After kicking off her white 
sandals, she tossed the clothes onto her vanity stool and then skipped to 
the large bed. 

Bare-assed naked now, her pussy pulsating and her anus in lewd twitching 
pucker, she flopped over onto her back and spread her legs wide. Her hands 
flew down to her crotch where, with unashamed delight, they commenced a 
heated massage of her genital area, fingers snaking between pulpy sex lips 
dampened by sticky, sexy secretions. 

"C'mon, slowpoke," she chided her hubby, "hurry up and come do me. I want 
your handsome face in my snatch, lover." 

"Keep your twat twitchin', baby," Frank grinned. "I'll be there in a jiff." 

He was as good as his word, kicking off his brown loafers and peeling down 
his black silk socks in ten seconds flat. Then again he was on the move, 
clambering up onto the bed and placing himself on all fours between his 
better half's strong, sleek legs. 

"Oh, darling, do me," Shirley pleaded hotly. "Let me feel your wonderful 
tongue in my gooey cunt." 

"My pleasure, sweets," Frank said hoarsely. "My pleasure." 

Saying no more, as his rock-hard prick swayed between his hairy legs, he 
inched back on the bed and then crouched low to feast his eyes on the thick 
triangular patch of black pubic hair shielding the slit he knew so well. 

"Your mouth-your tongue," Shirley moaned softly, arching her hips and 
bringing her snatch in even closer proximity to her husband's round, 
whiskered face. "Stick it deep, Frank. Use your tongue like a cock. Ream me 
with it, baby." 

Frank bent to his task, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his spouse's 
passion perfume as he flicked out his tongue and commenced a slow, sensuous 
licking of her moist labia majora. Shirley squirmed at the delightful feel 
of her mate's knowing tongue and then, with no little effort, forced her 
hips back down against the mattress. 

"Oh, yes,.' she chirped happily. "Yes, yes, yes." 

I Licking lovingly, with a proven technique, Frank worked his experienced 
tongue up and down his wife's odorous love slit, reaching deep to swab the 
tender folds of mucous membrane within the labia majora. Then, when 
Shirley's lips were well-washed, he plunged his serpentine tongue into her 
hot hole and proceeded to carefully piston it in and out-a sensuous 
simulation of the act of intercourse, his tongue a wet mini-prick. 

"Oh, Frank, oh, lover," Shirley squealed, the hands she had held clenched on 
the bed moving now to her magnificent mammaries. "Work on me good, you 
beautiful man. Eat me all up. Ohhhh-." 

Continuing his lewd labors, Frank slid his tongue up his wife's gooey slit 
in search of her clitoris. He experienced no trouble whatsoever in finding 
that warm passion nubbin as it was already swollen with blood, erect and 
quivering with joy. 

"Oh!" Shirley cried out, "Oh, Frank. Yes, do me there. Rub my-oooooo-." 

Frank now speeded up his cunning attack, burrowing deep between his wife's 
luscious thighs and plastering his face against her fragrant snatch as his 
tongue, in swirling, curling frenzy, wickedly worked over her sensitive 
clit. Seconds later he was adjusting his position just slightly and with his 
thick thumbs prying open Shirley's leaking vagina, thereby making even more 
accessible to his roaming tongue her mini-cock. 

"Oh, shit, it's so good," the raven-tressed, fabulously-formed female 
moaned. "Gobble me all up, baby. Eat my sloppy twat. Ohhh, it's so fuckin' 
fine." 

Despite her resolve not to move around too much, Shirley began to rotate her 
hips in tiny, sensuous circles around her hubby's face. It was impossible 
now to keep still, so keen was the pleasure resulting from Frank's maddening 
massage of her swollen clit. 

Soft moans of delight, scattered among longer, louder groans of intense 
pleasure, continued to sweep up from her throat as she briskly tended to her 
tingling tits, her fingers fleshy claws as they dug deeply into those large, 
creamy, moon-like mounds. 

Trapping her erect, inflamed nipples between two fingers of each hand, she 
squeezed them cruelly, passionately, as a man might do were he of a sadistic 
bent. But the pain was like pleasure to Shirley and she continued 
manhandling her breasts, kneading them roughly, compacting them until they 
formed one large mass of succulent, mouth-watering flesh. 

Meanwhile, down below, Frank was rubbing his face in her tempting black 
bush, using it as a furry, stationary washcloth in a most wanton, albeit 
impractical, attempt to wipe away some of the syrupy lubricant smeared 
around his mouth and nose. The tantalizing aroma of his wife's womanhood 
wafted up his nostrils to cloud his mind, to chase away the few rational 
thoughts lingering there. 

"Shit, no more, baby," Shirley suddenly cried out, reaching down to push her 
hubby's head from her sweltering loins. "Fuck me now, Frank. Please, get it 
into me." 

Frank jerked up to a kneeling position on the bed and looked down at his 
cock-hungry spouse, the provocative taste of her twat clinging to his lips. 
"You must be really hot tonight, luv. You usually want more than a few 
minutes of-." 

"Just screw me, Frank," Shirley broke in, the need for a thick, throbbing 
pecker stuffed inside her body causing her to squirm uncontrollably on the 
bed. "No more talk-just get it in me. Screw the shit outta me, darling." 

"I think Mr. Fawner turned you on, baby," Frank grinned, still stalling. 

"Damn you, Frank. Will you get-." 

"All right, all right. Flip over onto your belly." 

"What?" 

"I said turn over, Shirl. I'm goin' to fuck your ass now, remember?" 

"Oh, that's right," Shirley said, realizing that in her desire to be dicked 
she had forgotten the port promised Frank's prick. Her twat would be seen to 
later, after her rectum had received its due. Which was all right, just as 
long as she felt a hard pecker somewhere inside her body right now. 
Immediately. 

Flipping over onto her belly, the well-stacked Shirley wrapped her arms 
around the pillow and hunched up her very fuckable fanny. She squirmed 
around a little as she adjusted her position and then, her face pressed 
warmly into the soft pillow, told her husband to bang her bottom good. 

Eager though he was to sink his meaty member into the dark, dank depths of 
his gorgeous wife's great derriere, to savor the fantastic friction produced 
as a result of his drilling his rock-hard cock into her clasping rectal 
canal, Frank took a moment to admire the classic beauty of Shirley's 
creamy-smooth backside. 

He wasn't an ass man in the strictest sense of the term, but like most males 
he fully appreciated a beautiful female bottom, one that was provocatively 
full and firm, rounded to perfection. Shirley's was that and more, he 
thought happily, gazing down at the succulent seat she was now offering up 
for ravishment-a salacious sacrifice to the gods. 

He had fucked his share of female fannies but could remember none better 
proportioned, more mouth-watering, than his wife's. Hers was a bottom 
crafted with care, with love, with the skill of one devoted to his work. 
Those succulent buttocks, warm and smooth to the touch, spongy half-moons of 
taut flesh, were of symmetrical excellence, neatly divided by a deep, 
narrow, almost hairless cleft. 

"C'mon, Frank," Shirley pleaded again. "What are you waiting for, baby? Do 
it to me. Fuck my ass." 

"All right, sweets," Frank husked, his eight inch erection now an almost 
painful thing. "One heinie hump comin' up." 

"Do it, man. Screw my shitty ass for me." 

Shuffling forward on his knees between his wife's legs, his face etched with 
determination, Frank brought his meaty hands to his wife's well-molded 
posterior and proceeded to knead it roughly, his thick, stubby fingers 
digging into the resilient flesh. He worked on the beautiful behind in the 
manner of a baker working on a mass of spongy dough, fingers pressing and 
pinching, squeezing hard. 

Then he traced the forbidden furrow of her gorgeous fanny, one tantalizing 
finger moving up and down, up and down, stopping finally at the small 
puckered aperture that was Shirley's shithole. Shirley squirmed in 
anticipation and then emitted a squeal of delight when that diddling digit 
suddenly popped into her nether passage. 

"Oh, Frank," she groaned into the pillow. "Don't tease me like this. Put 
your cock in me-not a finger." 

"Easy, baby, easy," Frank said thickly, wriggling his finger around in his 
spouse's tight back port. 

"I don't want it easy, dammit," Shirley argued. "I want it mean and dirty. 
Hard. I can take it-you know I can." 

That was true enough, Frank thought, proceeding to piston the middle finger 
of his right hand in and out of his wife's wrinkled anus. So often had 
Shirley's ass been fucked, so many times had her rectum been stretched by a 
thick, hard-charging cock, that she no longer required much in the way of 
preparation. 

In the beginning, during the first year of their marriage, he took pains to 
lubricate Shirley's anus, slopping great globs of vaseline in and around her 
niggardly shithole to prepare it for his mighty manhood. But now, after 
innumerable assfucks, many of which had been performed by those 
anally-inclined male members of the swap club, Shirley could take a prick in 
her ass with the greatest of ease. 

On occasion, when he felt like it, he would put his face down there and wet 
Shirley's pretty anus with his tongue. But even this wasn't necessary. All 
she had to do now, as one member of the swap club once noted, "was pull up 
her skirt, pull down her panties, then bend over and spread her succulent 
cheeks." It was that simple. 

"Yeah, that's what I want, baby," Shirley said, as Frank now directed the 
bulbous head of his powerful prick to her pinkish-brown nether hole. "Get it 
in, Frank. Shove it deep." 

Reaching back with her hands, the ready-to-be-rectally-reamed female pried 
apart her ass cheeks and therby made more vulnerable her oft-stretched anus. 
She held those spongy half-moons open for her husband and whimpered happily 
into the pillow as she felt the fat head of his big bone pressing 
purposefully back there. 

"Ram it in, lover," she said again. "Stick it deep." 

"You're gonna get it, baby," Frank promised, exerting pressure on his wife's 
shithole with his rigid pecker. "Every last inch you're gonna get-right up 
you sweet behind." 

It took the determined Frank less than a minute to make good his lewd 
promise. No sooner had the plum-shaped crown of his tumuscent tool popped 
into Shirley's backside, to the accompaniment of her delighted shriek of 
pleasure-pain, than he was pushing forward with his hips and working his 
manhood into the dark recesses of her still surprisingly tight rectum. 

And now he was home free, all but his hairy scrotal sac snugly contained in 
the sweltering tube of her shit chute. Braced on hands and knees, he looked 
down at the point of connection. How fantastically obscene a sight it was, 
he thought, his eyes zeroing in on his wife's anus stretched to the limit 
around his solidly imbedded eight inch cock. 

"Fuck now," Shirley begged. "Start reaming me, baby." 

"Hang on, sweets," Frank rasped. "I'm gonna shag your ass like it's never 
been shagged before." 

And with that, as Shirley again moaned her approval of this unnatural 
coupling, Frank commenced sawing his hard organ in and out of her oft-reamed 
after passage. He worked slowly at first, savoring the sensations, 
withdrawing his fleshy pestel until only the bulbous head was hotly sheathed 
in Shirley's seat and then carefully pushing back inside the clammy warmth 
of her rectal chamber. 

"Good-so fuckin' good," Shirley moaned, hugging the pillow under her head 
and pressing her face deeper into its downy softness as behind her, grunting 
lewdly, her husband humped her sculpturesque posterior. 

"Faster, baby?" Frank asked after a minute or so had elapsed. "You want it 
faster now?" 

"Y-Yes," Shirley answered excitedly. "And harder, Frank. Do it fast and 
hard. Split me with cock, baby." 

Swallowing hard, Frank increased the tempo of the lewd rectum reaming, his 
large but firm backside in jerking, jolting swivel as he corkscrewed his 
blood-hardened manhood into his whimpering wife's dank shit chute. In and 
out he plunged, his strokes swift and sure, the fantastic feel of his 
shit-flecked bone burrowing up into Shirley's clasping rectum affording him 
the sweetest of perverse pleasures. 

"More-please, give me more," Shirley groaned into the pillow, her 
lust-glazed blue eyes welling with tears of happiness. "Screw my shitty ass, 
baby. Plow me up. Fuck me, fuck me." 

There was no way Frank could give his beautiful spouse more hard pecker 
since she had it all now-eight solid inches of hot, pulsating prick he was 
booming into her tingling tail-so he did the next best thing. Again he 
increased the tempo, an animalistic groan of passion bursting from his 
throat as he reared back and sent his bloated bone ripping up into Shirley's 
dank, clammy shit chute. 

"Owww!" his ravishing wife cried out. "Ohh, dear heaven." 

"T-Too much, baby," Frank asked anxiously. 

"No, it's good, it's good," Shirley answered, recovering quickly. "Hit me 
hard, Frank. Smash me with cock. Do it-arhhhh!" 

Spurred on by his lust-happy wife's lewd exhortations, reminding himself 
again that she could take all he could dish out and then some, Frank began 
banging away at her squirming ass with all the strength at his command, his 
face contorting in lustful, perverse pleasure as again and again his meaty 
hips lunged forward sending his powerful, turd-churning tool thundering up 
into Shirley's foul bowels. 

A gutteral moan of pure passion sailed up Shirley's throat only to be 
partially smothered by the pillow she was hugging fiercely. Her beautiful 
face was flushed, twisted by lust, and bubbling out of one corner of her 
mouth was a small, steady stream of spittle. 

How utterly marvelous it was to be furiously fanny fucked, she thought 
dazedly, her mind a jumble of satanically lewd images. How deliciously 
depraved and wickedly wanton to sprawl belly down and proffer your posterior 
for puncture, for deflating by dick, as it were. 

And Frank was really giving it to her now, his beautifully large manhood 
like a fleshy meat cleaver as it sliced viciously between her quivering ass 
cheeks. He was stirring her turds with a vengeance, booming his 
blood-fattened bone into her hot rectum with an almost demonic fury. 

She was being split in two, Shirley's lust-drenched mind told her. Frank's 
powerful prick was cutting her up back there, halving her heinie, cleaving 
her down the middle as one might cleave a fresh, ripe peach. Shit, but it 
was fantastic! 

Grunting and groaning, his face a study in passionate determination, he 
drilled his meaty dick into Shirley's seat with a fiery gusto. He was 
working with incredible ease now, reaming rapidly, his buttocks a blur of 
motion as time and again he sent his fleshy cudgel whistling up into the 
murky confines of his spouse's shit chute. 

"More, more, more," Shirley started chanting, shutting her eyes tight as her 
masochistic rapture threatened to unhinge her mind. 

"Take it, bitch!" Frank rasped. 

"Bastard!" Shirley shot back. "Hot cock ass-fucker." 

"Beautiful bitch-hot assed bitch. I'll stir your turds, you shitty asshole. 
I'll fuck it raw!" 

"Screw the shitty ass, bastard. Fuck it bloody." 

The utterly depraved litany went on and on, Frank and Shirley slipping 
beyond the boundaries of reason as each was swallowed up by a giant, 
mind-destroying lust. Frank had but one goal now, and that was the total 
vanquishing of his wife's ass, the viscious widening of her hot, clammy 
rectal canal. 

And Shirley, who now began chewing on the pillow under her head, couldn't 
wait to feel her husband's creamy come gush into her. 

Meanwhile, in the house across the street, an altogether different sort of 
excitement was taking place. Mark, once again stimulated to an almost 
unbearable point by the pleasure loving Lionels, had returned home to 
discuss with his wife, for the hundredth time, his desire to participate in 
wife-swapping. And for the hundredth time the discussion had quickly, with 
unnerving speed, degenerated into a violent argument. 

"Shit, when are you going to stop existing like a vegetable and start living 
life?" Mark asked with cutting sarcasm. He was standing near the bed, hands 
on hips, his eyes bright with anger as he glared down at his wife, who was 
sitting with head bowed on the side of the bed. 

"Will you please just shut up," Evelyn said through clenched teeth, anger 
vying with deep despair for control of her emotions. 

Mark chuckled sardonically. "Yeah, sure. Let's not talk about it and maybe 
it'll go away, right? Dammit all, Evelyn, you can't go through life burying 
your head in the sand like an ostrich." 

"I don't do that." 

"You do. All the time. You're afraid to meet life head on. It's so much 
easier to just ignore a problem, isn't it, baby? I mean, pretend none exists 
and sure enough-." 

"There is no problem, Mark," Evelyn interrupted, looking up at her irate 
husband. "We were doing all right until you got in with those sick people 
across the street. We were happy and-." 

"Happy? Is that what you call it?" Again Mark emitted a derisive chuckle. 
"If that's happiness then I'd very much like to hear your definition of 
sadness. C'mon, Ev, define 'miserable' for me." 

"I refuse to talk to you any longer," Evelyn stated firmly, rising from the 
bed. No, he wasn't going to make her cry again, she decided, as she brushed 
past her mate. She was close to bawling now and if she stayed in the bedroom 
a minute more-. 

"And where do you think you're going, Mrs. Fawner?" Mark snapped. 

"Let go of my arm, Mark. Please, you're hurting-." 

"I asked you where you were going, baby." 

"I told you, Mark. I'm not going to listen to-." 

"I know where you're off to, Ev," Mark broke in, his grin mordant, 
reflecting ridicule. "You're going to the bathroom, right? It's your own 
personal refuge, your shelter from trouble. You'll go in there and hide 
and-." 

"Stop it, Mark, please. Please stop this." 

"And maybe you'll cry a little while you lament the fact that you married 
such a beast of a man." 

"Mark, you're hurting my arm." 

"Well, it figures. I mean didn't you hide in the bathroom on our wedding 
night? It's so typical of you, Evelyn. You always follow the rules-every 
damn thing you do by the book. 

You never deviate. Starting on our wedding night, when protocal demanded 
that you, the shy, blushing, virtuous bride, spend a few minutes alone 
pulling herself together, you've continued to play the part of housewife as 
you think it should be played. It's as if you've memorized all the right 
words and studied the behavior befitting a married broad." 

"That's enough, Mark!" Evelyn shouted. "Stop ridiculing me." 

"You know what you are, baby?" Mark said, his fingers digging into the soft 
flesh of his wife's left arm. "You're a robot, that's what. A sexless, 
holier-than-thou little machine that's been carefully programmed for 
unimaginative efficiency. There's just one little fault here, however. While 
you're an absolute whiz at keeping the house clean, you come to a complete 
stop in the bedroom. I guess robot housewives are just not programmed for 
sex." 

"You bastard," Evelyn hissed, realizing, even as she spoke, how foreign that 
epithet sounded on her tongue. Only when truly provoked, when pushed to the 
edge of her patience, did she resort to bluntly verbalizing the anger 
seething within. 

"What did you call me, baby?" Mark asked, his eyes narrowing to slits. 

"You heard me." Evelyn snapped back. 

"Say it again. I dare you to-." 

"Bastard!" This time the acrid appellative was accompanied by a sharp slap, 
one that landed squarely on Mark's left cheek. 

Although caught by surprise, he recovered quickly. "Well how about that?" 
was his sarcastic rejoinder. "I didn't think you had it in you, Ev. Want to 
redden the other cheek now?" 

Evelyn swallowed with difficulty as tears welled in her eyes. She started to 
speak and then, as the urge to wipe the ugly, smug grin from her mate's face 
overcame her, raised her free arm again instead and delivered a second 
stinging blow, the back of her cracking across Mark's right cheek. 

This time Mark scowled. "Bitch!" he spat, his eyes burning holes through his 
wife. 

Confused, perilously close to drying, Evelyn raised her hand a third time. 

"Oh, no, sweetheart, enough is enough. You've had your fun-now I'll have 
mine." 

With that, Mark spun his pretty blonde wife around in his arms and then 
roughly shoved her toward the bed. A shriek of surprise flew from Evelyn's 
throat as she lurched forward, her arms and legs in sweeping, frantic flight 
from her body when, in belly-whopping bounce she hit the firm mattress. 

What in heaven's name was he going to do to her, she wondered, fright 
dispelling her anger of just seconds ago as she struggled to right herself. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

"Mark, please-what are you-ughhh!" 

"You just stay right where you are, baby. Don't move a single muscle, hear?" 

"Mark, let me up. This is crazy. Please let-." 

"Shut up! Just shut up, baby." 

Quivering with anger, Mark began an impatient search for the button or 
buttons holding up his pretty blonde wife's summer shorts. Evelyn squirmed 
in fright, her fingers digging into the sheet-sheathed mattress as she 
straggled to work her way out from under the strong hand pressing hard at 
the small of her back. 

"How do you get these damn things off, Evelyn?" Mark asked, his voice a 
throaty growl. 

His wife didn't answer. 

"Tell me, baby. Or I'll rip them right off, I swear it." 

"But why do-." 

"Evelyn!" 

"All right, all right. On the side-there are three buttons on the left 
side." 

Wasting not a second, Mark proceeded to attack the small buttons. He undid 
each, one by one, the fingers of his left hand in fast, agitated fumble as 
he maintained the pressure on his wife's back with his right hand. Then, 
muttering under his breath, he jammed his fingers into the waistband of the 
white cotton shorts and began yanking down the loose fitting garment. 

"Mark, what are you doing?" Evelyn squealed. "Have you gone mad? Stop 
this-." 

"I told you to shut up, didn't I?" Mark said, spitting the words out. "Yeah, 
maybe I have gone mad," he added seconds later, still working the shorts 
downward. "But I'm goin' to do something now that I should have done years 
ago. Now lift up, baby. Lift up those hips for me." 

Outright fear forced Evelyn to obey almost immediately. She had an inkling 
of what lay ahead and she didn't like it. Not one little bit. Yet there 
seemed no way of preventing her husband from following through with what he 
planned. He was truly angry now, perhaps angrier than she had ever seen him, 
and any attempt to reason with him would certainly prove futile. 

Working quickly, purposefully, Mark jerked and pulled his wife's shorts 
down, working the thin garment around and off her hips and then dragging it 
past her pantied posterior. Using both hands, he pulled the shorts down 
Evelyn's well-molded legs to her feet. He left them dangling around her 
ankles as he sat down on the bed next to her, his left hand moving quickly 
to the small of her back. 

"Now, baby," he began, "I'm goin' to establish once and for all who's boss 
around this fuckin' place." 

"Mark, don't do this," Evelyn whimpered. "I'll-I'll hate you forever." 

Mark chuckled derisively. "Well, at least I'll be getting some kind of 
emotion outta you. I mean having you hate me is better than nothing at all, 
isn't it?" 

"You don't know what you're saying, Mark." 

"Oh don't I? Listen, baby, I've had a belly full of your namby-pamby ways. 
I've tried to talk to you like an adult and it's gotten me nothing but 
headaches, so now instead of talk I'm goin' to try a different approach. You 
refuse to listen when I try to convey my feelings in a sane, rational 
manner, but maybe you'll understand something less intellectual, something 
physical." 

"No, Mark, don't," Evelyn begged, her voice somewhat muffled by the 
mattress. "Don't hit me, please. You've never-." 

"That's just the point, baby," Mark broke in. "In the five years we've been 
married I've never once established my authority. I've let you run the whole 
fuckin' show. It's always been Evelyn, Evelyn this and Evelyn that. I've 
always taken a back seat just to please you baby." 

"Mark, let's talk about it, please." 

"No, I've tried to talk to you, Evelyn, and it's gotten me nowhere. But 
starting tonight, right now, things are goin' to be a helluva lot different 
around here. You're goin' to learn to listen to me and to consider my 
feelings once in a while. We've had a one-sided relationship for far too 
long, baby. The time has come to get us back on an equal footing." 

"But, Mark, this will just-owww!" 

A perverse sense of justice, of satisfaction, bolted through Mark as he 
watched the lewd wobble of his wife's right buttock. Again he brought his 
right arm up over his shoulder, pausing only for a second before delivering 
his second blow-a shapr, crisp smack to Evelyn's left buttock. 

"No, Mark, no," Evelyn whimpered, tears of pain and humiliation welling in 
her pretty blue eyes. "Don't do this to-aiee!" 

"You can bawl your beautiful head off, baby. It's not goin' to make one damn 
bit of difference. You're goin' to get spanked now-and whenever I think it's 
necessary. I haven't been able to talk any sense into you, but maybe I can 
pound some into you." 

"Mark, don't. Please. No more. You're just making things so much worse 
and-owww, ohhhh." 

With his left hand still firmly planted in the small of his wife's back, 
holding her down, Mark quickly and efficiently established a depraved 
rhythm, his right hand whipping the air as he brought it up and down in a 
painful, methodical pummeling of Evelyn's pantied posterior. He hit her 
right buttock, then her left, and then her right again, alternating between 
those two spongy half-moons as Evelyn sobbed into the mattress and tearfully 
complained about the pain. 

"I should have done this on our wedding night," Mark stated. "I should have 
straightened you out right at the beginning." 

"Mark, stop it-you're hurting meee!" 

"Suffer, baby," Mark growled. "From here on in you'll think twice before 
refusing me anything." 

"No. Ohhh, owwww-." 

"If I want steak for dinner, we have steak. If I want a night out with the 
boys, I have a night out with the boys. If I want to try wife-swapping, then 
we-." 

"No, never!" Evelyn shouted defiantly, a courage she didn't know she 
possessed suddenly coming to the fore. 

"I say yes!" Mark yelled back. He punctuated his words with a particularly 
hard smack across his whimpering wife's left ass cheek. 

"No!" Evelyn shouted again. "No, no, no. I'll never-aiee! Ohhh, damn you to 
hell. Oh, it hurts so. Owww!" 

Yes, that's the way, sweetheart, Mark thought. Let me hear you bawl like a 
baby. You've had this coming for a long, long time. A few good ass-warmings 
should make you start acting like a real wife and not some mechanical, 
wind-up Barbie boll. 

How perfectly correct Frank Lionel had been when he opined that it was time 
to get tough with Evelyn, that a husband had the right to expect certain 
things from his wife and was a complete fool if he allowed her to behave 
selfishly, without regard for the wishes, the needs, of her mate. 

Shirley understood her role and behaved accordingly, Mark realized, as again 
he cracked the flat of his right hand across his wife's warm, quivering 
pantied posterior. But Evelyn would learn. And quickly, too. Even if it 
meant spanking her every night of the week for the next three months. 

He should have know that it would eventually come to this, that any serious 
attempt to discuss with Evelyn the idea of spouse-switching was doomed to 
failure thanks to her sickeningly strict upbringing. It had been the height 
of stupidity to think that he could change the mind of a woman whose mother 
believed, with all the fervor of a religious fanatic, that sex was only for 
procreation and certainly not, never ever, for pleasure alone. 

How could he have hoped that Evelyn, sweet and proper and narrow minded 
Evelyn, would sooner or later wake up to the fact that life was to be lived, 
to be enjoyed to the fullest? Had he really expected her to listen 
attentively to his arguments, to nod her pretty little head in agreement 
when he spoke about things like marriage without exclusivity, group 
marriages, and the simple fact that no one individual could possibly satisfy 
all the needs, emotional and physical, of another? 

Inane rhetoric. That was Evelyn's opinion of the language used by those 
arguing in favor of wife-swapping. To her way of thinking all swingers were 
weirdoes, horribly mixed up people with libidos that couldn't be controlled. 
Every time he tried to make her understand that the world was changing, that 
experimentation could rejuvenate a marriage, she reacted like one fending 
off an attack, as if determined not to permit any "strange" ideas to intrude 
upon her high ideals and sense of righteousness. 

So now action was taking the place of talk, Mark thought, still pummeling 
his pretty spouse's saucy seat. He had tried reasoning with Evelyn and 
failed. Failed miserable. Now he would bring her around with a little 
physical abuse, and at the same time punish her for her stubborn rejection 
of his needs, for her adamant refusal to admit that maybe, just maybe 
wife-swapping would boost their marriage to heretofore unattainable heights 
of happiness. 

"Please, Mark, I'm begging you, darling," Evelyn sobbed, her aching ass 
feeling as if it had already been the unwilling recipient of at least a 
hundred stinging smacks. 

"What are you begging for, baby?" Mark asked sarcastically. 

"Stop-oww! Stop spanking me. Please-arghh. No more, Mark. I can't 
take-uhhhh, ohhhh." 

"You can take it, sweetheart. You've got a tough little fanny here." 

"Owww! Oh, damn you. It hurts so much. It-arghh." 

Again and again Mark battered his sobbing spouse's poor posterior, her 
partially muffled groans and pleas for mercy like music to his ears as he 
whacked away on her pantied cheeks. Evelyn pounded the bed with her small 
balled fists as scalding tears of shame and pain ran down her face. 

Finally, Mark stopped the bottom-warming. But only because he wanted to heap 
humiliation upon humiliation. 

"All right now, baby," he said, "it's time we got down to the nitty-gritty. 
Pull down your pants for me, Ev. I want to work on your bare bottom for a 
while." 

"You're crazy," the tormented Evelyn wailed. "You've lost your mind." 

"I told you to pull 'em down, baby." 

"No! Now let me up, dammit." 

"For the last time, Evelyn, pull down your panties. If I have to bare your 
ass myself, you're goin' to be mighty sorry, baby. How would you like to 
feel my leather belt on your saucy seat?" 

Evelyn gulped. "You wouldn't dare." 

"Oh wouldn't I? If you don't hop to it and tug those pretty white pants 
down, you'll find out if I'm bluffing or not. Now I'll count to three, Ev. 
If your ass isn't bare by the time I'm finished, then my belt will give you 
a good old mind-blowing strapping. The choice is yours, sweetheart." 

Think fast is exactly what Evelyn did as she heard her husband begin the 
cruel countdown. She was loathe to obey his demeaning demand, to further 
humiliate herself by pushing her panties down so that he could spank her 
naked behind. Wasn't it mortifying enough that he had yanked down her shorts 
to wallop her pantied seat? Now she was being told to perform in the manner 
of a misbehaving child, one whose wrongdoings had earned her the promise of 
punishment. 

"Two-." 

On the other hand, the thought alone of having her poor backside striped a 
bloody red by Mark's wide leather belt was enough to kindle absolute horror. 
And in his present state of mind her husband would most surely follow 
through on his threat. By the time he finished flailing her fanny it would 
be nothing but a mass of aching, blistered flesh. Sitting down would be 
sheer agony. 

"Three," Mark said loudly. "All right, sweetheart, I guess you've made your 
decision. I gave you plenty of time but-." 

"No-wait," Evelyn called softly, almost inaudibly, when she felt Mark's 
weight leave the bed. "I'll-I'll do what you want." 

"You will?" 

"Yes. I'll bare my ass for you, Mark." 

"All right, then, go to it," Mark said, a supercilious smile creeping across 
his face. 

Standing now next to the bed, he watched his pretty blonde wife reach back 
and hook her thumbs in the elasticized waistband of her white cotton undies, 
then slowly, awkwardly, lift and squirm about as she pushed the flimsy 
undergarment down off her hips. 

"Good-very good," he said when the demeaning task had been completed and 
Evelyn's panties were banded about her legs, at a point just under her 
asshole. The twisted band of pants and the hem of her blouse combined to 
form the bottom and top of a lewd frame in which was pictured her reddened 
behind. 

Once again Evelyn cradled her head between her arms, her tear-washed face 
pressing warmly against the sheeted mattress. She closed her eyes and waited 
for her "chastisement" to resume, for the first stinging slap to her already 
hurting backside that would signal the start of the horribly humiliating 
bare-bottom spanking. 

Silently but with fervor she cursed the Lionels, whose methodical 
brainwashing of Mark had been of such evil effectiveness that he was now not 
even beyond subjugating his wife. She cursed Mark himself, berating him for 
falling so completely for the Lionels' line. And finally she cursed herself 
for permitting this insane spanking to continue, even though she knew she 
had no alternative but to see it through to its shameful conclusion. 

"All right now, baby," Mark said, once again taking a sitting position on 
the bed, "let's see if we can't really redden this sweet little ass of 
yours." 

Evelyn forced herself to remain still as she braced for the initial swat on 
her poor, defenseless fanny. She bit down on her lower hp, unable to 
remember ever having felt so helpless, so pathetically vulnerable, so 
completely at the mercy of another human being. And then-. 

Splat! 

"Aieee!" Evelyn howled, her hips jerking up off the bed. 

"That's one, sweetheart. And there's lots, lots more where that came from." 

"Nooooo-owww!" 

"Yes, baby, yes. And here's another one." 

Smack! Splat! 

As he had done earlier, Mark very quickly and smoothly settled into a hard 
spanking rhythm, his right hand pistoning up and down as he beat a wicked 
tattoo on his shame-wracked wife's quivering, naked posterior. And once 
again he found her pittiable cries of pain, her continuous sobs of unalloyed 
torment, to be most pleasurable. 

In fact, his mate's moans acted like a strange stimulant, an aphrodisiac of 
sorts, creating within him the unyielding urge to wallop her pert ass with 
all the strength he could muster. And as he continued pummeling Evelyn's 
behind, again alternating between her left and right buttocks, he felt his 
pecker begin to stir inside his shorts. 

"Oh, stop-please, please stop," Evelyn moaned into the mattress, the awful 
ache at her bottom spreading throughout her body. 

"Stop?" Mark asked incredulously. "Baby, I've just begun." 

Smack! Crack! 

"Owww! Arghh!" 

"The next time-whack!-your mother phones-splat!-you can tell her 
about-smack!-your spanking." Smack! Whack! "That will make 
for-splat!-interesting conversation." 

"You beast!" Evelyn howled, the epithet riding the crest of a deep-throated, 
crashing wail of pure anguish. 

"Some women like to be spanked, baby," Mark said, his words following on the 
heels of the lewd chortle with which he'd responded to his wife's sudden 
outburst. 

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." 

"You don't mean that, Ev." 

"I do, I do. I'll never forgiveowwwoooooo." 

Whack! Swat! Splat! 

"Hurts, huh, baby?" 

"Ohhhhh-no more-noooo-." 

For several minutes more Mark labored in earnest, not bothering to respond 
to his wife's anguished moans and the occasional epithets she hurled at him 
in her mind-numbing frustration and pain, but devoting all his energy to the 
scorching of her pained posterior. Again and again he struck the now blazing 
flesh of her bottom, his hard hand landing with a sharp "clap" on the firm, 
reddened hillocks that quivered like jello when hit. 

Evelyn sobbed into the mattress and prayed for an end to the brutal, 
depraved and degrading beating, the tears rolling down her cheeks to dampen 
the sheet under her chin, her sharp fingernails digging into the tender 
flesh of her palm as she tightly clenched her small fists. 

And then it happened-not all at once, but slowly, surely, like the stealthy 
approach of a fox furtively stalking his prey. So unfathomable was it, so 
totally incomprehensible, that Evelyn was at first unaware of the subtle 
change taking place within her, the secretive start of sensations that would 
turn her around completely and have her wondering if she weren't flipping 
out altogether. 

But gradually, ever so slowly, what had begun as sheer, unmitigated torment, 
an ordeal so foul and fiendish, moved across the bridge spanning pain and 
pleasure, from the barren, arid desert of agony to the lush, fertile plains 
of desire. And then, to her complete astonishment, Evelyn was admitting the 
presence of pleasure, owning up to the unbelievable fact that a 
transformation was underway, that where there had been soul-searing, 
mind-clouding pain there was now a growing, undeniably real and potentially 
dangerous, desideration. 

Her mind boggled at the insane idea that she could be turned on by a sound 
spanking. It was preposterous, she told herself. The very height of 
absurdity. But even as she proclaimed this strange new feeling a trick of 
her imagination, a lewd deceit sponsored by a perversely playful 
subconscious, the pleasurable sensations continued to snake through her body 
with mocking ease, increasing in intensity and widening in scope. 

What in the name of all things holy was happening to her, Evelyn wondered. 
Why was she now experiencing pleasure instead of pain? 

Her husband was still pounding away on her poor fanny, smacking it with a 
ruthless abandon, but now she no longer cursed his cruelty while sobbing 
into the mattress, and the urge to twist and turn, to somehow escape the 
humiliating spanking, had all but disappeared. 

In fact, a most wicked urge to thrust up her reddened rear for more 
punishment was gradually increasing in strength. And to top if off, she was 
tempted to verbalize the fact of this peculiar, wholly unreasonable 
transformation, to cry out to Mark that, yes, she was one of those females 
who liked to be spanked and please to hit her harder. 

As his wife pondered her seemingly satanically inspired shift from intense 
agony to building pleasure, her gradual ascent from the white hot depths of 
pain to the heady periphery of passion, Mark continued his lusty labors with 
unalloyed enthusiasm, beating unmercifully a bottom now redder than a beet. 

Caught up in the wicked walloping of his spouse's pert seat, he failed to 
note her change in attitude, the fact that she was no longer calling him 
names nor attempting to squirm out from under the hand holding her down at 
the small of her back. Neither did he realize that Evelyn's moans and 
groans, at one point gut-jumbling loud, had been replaced by soft whimpers, 
tiny mewls of pleasure. 

Mark was still in the dark when, tiring of the spanking, he moved his weary 
hand down to unzipper his fly and haul out a pecker now semi-hard. He got up 
off the bed and started to turn his wife over, the idea of degrading her 
further uppermost in his mind as he placed her on her back, knees dangling 
over the side of the bed. 

"Mark, I-something strange is-." 

"Save your breath, baby," Mark interrupted. "You're goin' to need it." 

"No, Mark. Please listen to me." 

"I said cool it, sweetheart." 

And with that, as his half-hard penis dangled from his opened fly, Mark 
climbed onto the bed and over his wife, working his way up her body until he 
was straddling her chest. Then he sat down, his bottom squashing her 
bra-encased, blouse-covered breasts. 

"Now, pretty lady, you're goin' to give me a real good blow job. What do you 
think about that?" 

"Mark, "Not exactly tickled to death, are you? Well, that's just too fuckin' 
bad, baby, because from here on in you're goin' to suck me off whenever I 
feel like getting sucked off. And if you refuse-well, we'll just blister 
your pretty ass again." 

Again Evelyn tried to speak, only to be silenced again, this time by Mark's 
manhood. A licentious smirk broke over Mark's face as he ran his almost 
stiff pecker up and down and around his wife's freckled face. Lifting up and 
leaning forward slightly, he brushed her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her 
cheeks, her chin, with the plum-shaped head of his tool. 

He's enjoying this no end, Evelyn thought, looking up at her husband's lewd 
countenance as the manly aroma of his penis wafted up her nostrils. He's 
savoring the moment because he thinks he's really demeaning his wife, 
showing her, once and for all, who was in charge in the Fawner household. 

And he was, of course. Demeaning her, that is. Mark was going to use her, to 
employ her mouth for the purpose of wringing from his penis his store of 
semen. He intended to stuff his organ into her mouth and make her suck it 
until the sticky sex cream gushed crazily down her throat. 

And, heaven help her, she could hardly wait to feel Mark's manhood plunged 
between her lips! It was utterly insane, as perplexing as the most archaic 
acrostic, as unbelievable to her as the sudden appearance of an oasis would 
be to a prospector burning to a crisp under the hot desert sun. 

And yet it was true, undeniably true. A vigorous spanking, the very first 
one she had ever received, was solely responsible for this crazy pleasure 
now insinuating itself into the very fiber of her being. Suddenly, without 
any warning, she had been made aware of the strange masochistic delights to 
be reaped from pain. 

"That's all right, baby," Mark said, grinning down at his wife, "you just 
take all the time you like. I can wait you out, you know. You'll have to 
open that sweet little mouth of yours sooner or later. And when you do-." 

It was approximately thirty seconds later than Mark glimpsed, for the first 
time, the curious change in his wife. Giving pause for thought was the smile 
that crept cautiously across Evelyn's school-girlish face, an ingenuous, 
gamin-like smile that was at once both intriguing and faintly worrisome. A 
smile of-acceptance? 

Could that possibly be, Mark wondered, his mocking grin melting in the heat 
of puzzlement, a serious, questioning expression taking its place as he 
continued swabbing Evelyn's pretty face with his warm, still swelling cock. 
Was he seeing things? Was that his wife down there? His Evelyn? The woman 
who in five years of marriage had blown him maybe six times, seven at the 
most, and then only with the greatest reluctance? No, he had to be dreaming. 

Mark quickly convinced himself that his imagination was playing tricks, that 
his wife's slyly sensuous smile and the gentle beseechment in her eyes were 
of no consequence. It was more than a little idiotic, he thought, to believe 
that Evelyn had magically, miraculously, done a complete about-face. It was, 
in fact, sheer folly. 

But Mark's appraisal of the situation withered in a hurry when Evelyn 
suddenly brought her left arm up and around to gently take in her fingers 
his roaming organ. In wide-eyed, disbelieving stare, he watched her commence 
a caress of her face, her fingers carefully guiding his not yet totally 
tumuscent tool as she moved it up and down and all around. 

Now she was coating her eyelids with the tiny droplets of oily lubricant 
oozing from the slit of his organ. Now she was washing her forehead with the 
meaty crown, sliding the peckerhead down along the ridge of her pert, 
turned-up nose. And now a detour to her right cheek, a visit to the left, 
then came time to rub her chin with the sensitive underside of her fleshy 
scrubber. 

For a fleeting moment Mark wondered if the sizzling spanking had somehow 
effected his wife's brain, if the mental anguish she had suffered as a 
result of the humiliating bottom-warming had severely damaged some part of 
her mind. 

Dismissing this as highly un-likely, he next considered the possibility that 
Evelyn was up to something, that her amazing and certainly sudden acceptance 
of a subservient role was in reality a ruse, a cunning ploy to make him 
think that he'd broken her spirit, tamed her completely. Then, catching him 
off guard, she would bite down hard on his pecker as it plunged into her 
mouth. 

It was with a wary eye that Mark now studied his wife's obscene efforts, 
unable to believe that she would so willingly slobber over his tool if it 
wasn't that in the back of her mind a fiendish plot was forming. But 
suspicion's ugly head, having reared suddenly, now was lopped off just as 
suddenly, execution effected by the sight of Evelyn lifting and tilting her 
head and then plopping the fat head of his pecker into her mouth. 

Mark jerked forward in gulping incredulity, his arms stiffening as he broke 
his fall. Now braced on hands and knees over Evelyn's face, his prick poking 
downward into her mouth, he looked down and back between his arms and 
stubbornly tried to convice himself that what was happening was not, that 
somewhere along the line he had conked out and was now in the midst of a 
delightful dream. 

But no dream was it. Evelyn's soft, supple lips were real, as real as the 
sensual, dreamy expression on her face. She was funneling his hank into her 
hot, suctioning mouth, spearing her oral cavity with his fleshy weapon, her 
tongue in serpentine crawl under the now fully erect, pulsating pole. 

Up and down she pulled herself on its sturdy arch, her hands pressing hard 
on his genital area, on either side of his jiggling scrotal sac. Seemingly 
determined to swallow him whole, to gobble down his hairy testicles as well 
as his juicy prick, she sucked with gluttonous hunger, with an enthusiasm he 
could not remember her ever having displayed before about anything. 

Sweet Satan below, what hath that spanking wrought, Mark wondered dazedly. 
He had been prepared to wait it out, to salaciously taunt Evelyn with his 
thickening tool until she at last reluctantly opened her mouth and permitted 
him to cram his member deep down her pretty throat. 

But here he was, straddling Evelyn's head as she greedily gulped down his 
cock without the slightest trace of revulsion. Revulsion? Hell, she was 
sucking holy hell out of his pecker, her lips, teeth and palate stripping it 
with mind-blowing proficiency. And this was the same woman who had once 
retched all over the bed right after blowing him to orgasm. It was 
positively miraculous. 

Evelyn was of the same opinion, although she had decided to postpone further 
examination of her transformation to a later date, when she could 
concentrate on the sexy subject and grope for some answers to explain it 
all. Perhaps from her store of memories she'd be able to pry a clue or two 
that would help answer the questions posed by her surprising response to the 
cruel spanking. 

A liking for pain just didn't spring up overnight, she knew. A girl didn't 
just wake up one fine morning with the realization that what she needed for 
sexual fulfillment was a vigorous, painful swatting of her seat. This need 
for abuse, brought to the fore thanks to Mark and, yes, the Lionels, must 
have been buried within her for a long, long time. The seed of her masochism 
had been planted years ago, perhaps during her childhood years. Yes, indeed, 
a good long look backwards was in order. 

But certainly not now, Evelyn reminded herself. There was something else to 
be attended to, something that needed her complete and undivided attention. 
If only she had know how good it was to be forced to suck cock, to be 
spanked and then sat on so that staring you in the face was a long, thick 
male member. 

As if to make up for lost time, to demonstrate conclusively that she had 
indeed changed, albeit with remarkable swiftness, Evelyn now jammed more of 
her husband's blood-swollen shaft down her throat. A pause to gag, to issue 
a cock-smothered cough, and then she was back at work, her mouth pistoning 
relentlessly on Mark's saliva-coated organ. 

"Oh, baby, suck-suck it," Mark breathed hotly, his fingers digging into the 
mattress as he struggled to maintain his trembling position over his wife's 
head. 

"Gaaaaa-." was Evelyn's unintelligible reply, her head in wild weaving 
motion, in crazy swivel, as she slavered over the slimy bone banging against 
her throat, filling her mouth so beautifully. Oh, yes, she thought dizzily, 
if only someone had told her of the exquisite excitement of being dominated, 
of having a handsome man break you to his will. Why hadn't Mark spanked her 
ass years ago? There must have been many times when she deserved it. 

"Enough-enough, baby," Mark finally blurted out, having decided that as 
fantastic as this cocksuck was he wanted to come in his wife's golden-haired 
pussy, a pussy he just knew would be hotter and wetter than it had ever 
been. 

Sensing his withdrawal from her mouth, Evelyn strained her head and fought 
to take in even more of the fleshy stalk. She sucked harder and moaned 
protestingly when she felt her delicious, jaw busting prize slide back out 
of her mouth, her lips plopping shut in obscene pout. 

"Quick, baby," Mark gasped, "on your back." 

"I am on-." 

"No. I mean stretch out on the bed. With your head on-yeah, that's right." 

Having scrambled around so that she was stretched out full length, her head 
resting on the pillow, her feet at the foot of the bed, Evelyn now moved 
quickly to unbutton her blouse as her husband yanked off her sandals and 
tossed them on the floor. 

"Leave it, baby," Mark told her excitedly, his hands flying to the white 
panties still banded about his wife's legs. "Don't bother with that now." 

"But, Mark, I want-." 

"No time, baby. I-I gotta get in you. I gotta fuck." 

"Yes, fuck," Evelyn said passionately. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She was suddenly 
possessed by the urge to utter all the dirty words there were, to rent the 
air with her shouts of "fuck" and "cunt" and "cock" and "pussy" and dozens 
more like them. Gutter words-wicked and depraved and deliciously filthy 
gutter words. Let them spill from her pretty mouth in passionate tumble. 

In furious haste, his bloated cock about to burst, Mark ripped Evelyn's 
pants off her and hurled them over his shoulder. Then he was scrambling 
between her legs, his right hand mixing with the two of hers as they both 
struggled to guide his throbbing cock into the sopping wet, gaping gash of 
her hot cunt. 

"Oh, Mark, get it in me. Shove it, baby. Ram it up to my tits. Pound it 
deep!" 

Needless to say, Mark was as willing as a man could be to oblige Evelyn. And 
it wasn't long before he was fucking her with unfettered gusto, his cock a 
powerful battering ram as he rammed it visciously up into the velvety glove 
of her clasping vagina. He banged away as if his very life depended on it, 
with flaming, satanic force, with bone-jarring, belly-flattening thrusts 
that sent his throbbing pecker whistling up into his spouse's quivering 
tummy. 

With a supreme self-confidence born of the knowledge that he had, at long 
last, discovered what it took to turn his pert and pretty, strait-laced wife 
into an unprincipled slut, a wholly wanton woman. It was crazy, he knew. 

Really far out. For who would have thought that in a moment of anger, when 
he was hell bent on knocking a little sense into Evelyn, he would stumble 
across that which could unlock her hitherto closeted passions? 

The fanny-fuck had been fantastic, a real beaut, and following the wicked 
scouring of her shit chute a dazed Shirley Lionel had requested the pleasure 
of orally cleansing her husband's shit-stained plunger. Which request had 
been happily granted by Frank, of course. 

And now, once again hard, he was carefully and lovingly working his 
sparkling shaft in and out of Shirley's black-haired twat. Already tonight 
he had come in her mouth and her rectum, now he intended to top it all off 
with a sensuous, comfortable churning of her warm and mushy vagina. 

As he pistoned his pecker in his spouse's squishy sex hole, skewering her 
slowly, his thoughts turned again to the Fawners. To Evelyn Fawner, in 
particular, whose reluctance to partake of the pleasures of mate-trading was 
becoming downright annoying. 

What the cute little blonde babe needed, Frank decided, was a real 
old-fashioned, back-of-the-barn spanking. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

"Not much further now, folks," a smiling Shirley Lionel informed Mark and 
Evelyn Fawner, the two of whom were sitting close together in the back seat 
of the Lionels' cream colored, 1969 Plymouth Fury. "I'd say about, oh, 
fifteen minutes." 

"I hope they don't decide to start without us," Frank grinned, looking in 
his rear view mirror to see if he could swing out into the other lane to 
pass the slow moving car ahead of him. 

"Oh, silly," Shirley said, "they wouldn't do a thing like that. Matt and 
Linda know this is a special night." She turned again to look back at the 
Fawners and winked. "It's initiation night for Mark and Evelyn." 

"Yeah, I know," Frank said, stepping on the gas as he made his move to pass 
the auto in front, "but the point is-." he left the sentence dangling as he 
gave the driver of the crawling vehicle a dirty look. Then he swerved in 
front of the other auto and again checked the rear view mirror. 

"You were saying, luv?" Shirley asked. 

"Damn Sunday drivers," Frank muttered. 

The black-haired beauty chuckled. "I didn't ask what you were thinking, 
darling. I asked about-." 

"I know, Matt and Linda," Frank interrupted. "The point is that of the 
twenty couples who are members of the swap club, the Williams are about the 
horniest-after us, I mean." 

"So?" 

"So I'm just thinking that Matt and Linda might get tired of waiting for us 
and start messing with the Finlays. I mean, we're a half hour late already." 

"Well," Shirley sighed, "so what if they do? It won't make all that much 
difference. 

Frank shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you're right, baby. When we arrive they'll 
just have to stop what they're doin' and join us in initiating Mark and 
Evelyn. Hey, how you two doing back there, anyway? You got kind of quiet all 
of a sudden." 

"We're all right, Frank," Mark answered with a nervous chuckle. 

"You're sure now?" 

"Very sure." 

"They're nervous, honey," Shirley informed her husband, her tone of voice 
indicating that she thought he should realize how unnerving an initial swap 
experience could be. Hadn't he, an exhibitionist at heart, been nervous the 
first time? 

"Sure, I know that," Frank grinned. "It's only natural that you'd be a 
little scared. I mean, it's not every night of the week that a couple gets 
initiated into a spouse-switching club." 

"Just try to relax, honey," Shirley said, smiling at Evelyn, who was huddled 
close to her husband as if for protection. "Everything is going to come off 
just perfectly. The other will-." 

"Yeah, that's for sure," Frank interrupted with a loud chuckle. "Bras will 
come off, stockings will come off, panties will-." 

"Oh, be quiet, you clown," Shirley grinned. "I swear, sometimes I think 
you're one of the most uncouth men I've ever met." 

"Is that a fact?" 

"That's a fact. Now just keep your roving eyes on the road, Mr. Lionel. All 
we need is an accident tonight. I don't want to arrive at the Williams' 
place all bloody and bruised, you know." 

Frank grinned. "Sweetheart, you'd make me horny even if you were in 
traction." 

"A funny-my husband told a funny." 

"I'll 'funny' you, all right. Later tonight, when no one is looking, I'll 
'funny' the hell outta you." 

"Drive," Shirley ordered, unable to suppress a large grin. 

Evelyn snuggled even closer to Mark, the two of them exchanging small smiles 
as up front the Lionels continued their bawdy banter. She tried hard to 
think of something to say, some witty comment or pointedly sexy observation 
that, when received by a laugh, would make her feel more like she belonged. 

But her every thought was directed toward the upcoming wife-swapping party, 
the one hastily arranged by the Lionels right after Mark had informed them 
that, lo and behold, his wife had changed her mind and would attend a swap 
fest. 

Her initiation, and Mark's too, of course, was going to occur in the home of 
Matthew and Linda Williams. She knew nothing about the Williams except that 
they lived in Maplewood, a quiet residential community similiar to 
Cloverdale Village, and that Matthew was a business associate of Frank's. 
Matt, it seemed, supplied Frank with various equipment essential to the 
operation of his small construction company. 

As for the Finlays, Mark had told her that Joe and Marge were comparatively 
new members of the club. The Finlays had a baby whom they adored but one who 
prevented them from attending as many mate-trading parties as they'd like. 

And that was it, Evelyn mused. She knew where the couple hosting tonight's 
sexy shindig lived and what the host did for a living. She knew the Finlays 
were fairly recent additions to what Frank had described as "a rapidly 
growing state-wide sex club" and that they occasionally encountered 
babysitting problems. 

Certainly not much to go on. It would have been nice if Frank or Shirley had 
supplied her with a little information concerning the initiation itself. But 
they remained mum on the subject, apparently because they didn't want to 
spoil her surprise. 

Surpirse. It was a word that certainly fit the occasion, Evelyn thought. 
Just sitting here in nervous anticipation, wondering what would be expected 
of her during the wild, wicked swap party, was surprise enough. Had anyone 
told her last week that she'd be driving to Maple wood with the Lionels for 
the purpose of screwing herself silly, she'd have thought that person 
pathetically insane. 

Never ever had she expected to find herself in this situation-a fledgling 
swinger, a novice hedonist apprehensively awaiting the moment when she'd be 
launched, naked and untried, into the wanton world of the swappers, 
propelled into that great cauldron of concupiscence where, mocking 
convention, Cyprian couples cavorted under the watchful eye of those two 
tempestuous gods, Cock and Pussy. 

But then again, never had she expected to realize pleasure from a sound 
spanking, Evelyn reminded herself. That had been surprise numero uno, and 
after many hours of quiet contemplation, as well as longs talks with Mark, 
she had yet to find in her stockpile of memories a single clue that would 
suggest a reason for her having responded so enthusiastically to Mark's 
pummeling of her behind. 

And now that the moment of truth was drawing near, she wondered if things 
weren't going just a little too fast. Perhaps she should have given further 
thought to her decision to try spouse-switching. Instead of losing herself 
in the joy of discovery and blurting out a passionate "Yes, darling, yes" 
when Mark asked again, right after he'd topped the spanking with a torrid 
screw, if she'd swap with him, maybe she should have postponed her answer 
until she was convinced in her own mind that swinging would provide a 
wonderful outlet for her just-awakened desires. 

It was last Saturday, August 26th, that Mark had whacked her poor fanny, and 
here it was Thursday, August 31st. In a mere five days she had changed 
drastically, wickedly whirling away from a life dominated by decorum, polite 
and unimaginative behavior, to one that would, she was sure, be chock full 
of salacious surprises. Out were rigid rules and conformity, in was 
carefree, dangerous living replete with bawdy behavior. 

The bit question was, of course, would she be able to handle this lewd 
transformation. Would she find performing sexually with and in front of 
others just a bit too much? She had yet to really adjust to the idea that 
her sexual pleasure depended on the presence of some pain. Now she was being 
asked to evidence her new-found enjoyment of carnality in full view of the 
Lionels and two couples she knew almost nothing about and had never met. It 
was, to put it mildly, very unnerving. 

But we shall see what we shall see, Evelyn concluded. In any event, it was 
too late to back out now. The tub had been filled and now she would test the 
water. 

"That's the ticket, pretty lady. Unbutton that frilly little blouse now. 
Yeah, nice and easy does it. Mmmm-like a stripper, sweetheart. Slow and real 
sexy. Good-very good. Make me feel like comin' in my pants, honey." 

The lewd request, and it was a request despite his annoying habit of 
stamping almost everything he said with the rough mark of authority, thereby 
making one feel compelled to obey without argument what sounded like a 
demand, came from Joseph Finlay, a large, baldheaded bull of a man whose 
barrel chest and bulging biceps made Frank Lionel's own impressive physique 
seem inconsequential in comparison. 

Like the Lionels and the Williams, Joe and his wife, Marge, had gathered 
around the Fawners to watch the nervous initiates engage in the first, and 
easiest, part of their initiation-a simple strip, one that would enable the 
assembled swappers to get a good look at the bodies of the new members and 
at the same time, in Joe's words, "help chase away those nasty little 
inhibitions" that might still be loitering in Mark's and Evelyn's minds. 

"Don't pay any attention to Joe, honey," Shirley said to Evelyn. "He's the 
talkative one in our little fun family." 

"Yeah," Marge Finlay said, "always with the runnin' commentary." 

"A regular chatterbox," added Matt Williams with a grin. 

"Hey, what is this? Everybody gangin' up on me all of a sudden? Now you all 
know that I don't like-." 

"Oh, calm down, honey," Marge smiled. "We're just teasing you a little." 

Mark Fawner smiled a small smile as he listened to the six sexy swingers. 
From the moment he set foot inside the Williams house, a small ranch with 
garage attached that was surrounded by a well-tended lawn and trimmed 
shrubs, he had made a determined effort to act natural and not let his 
nervousness get the upper hand. 

He was, he thought, succeeding. But it sure as hell wasn't easy. Three pair 
of eyes were watching him almost as closely as they were watching Evelyn. 
Sitting in a modern rocker, rocking slowly back and forth, was Joe Finlay, 
the butcher with the body that appeared to have been carved out of a huge 
side of beef. 

At his feet, comfortably curled up on a bright orange pillow, was his wife, 
Marjorie, a somewhat chunky but not unattractive woman in her early 
thirties. She had a nice, pleasant face and an appealing smile. Her eyes, 
like her carefully-coiffed hair, were an ordinary shade of brown. 

And across from Marjorie, also perched on a pillow, was Shirley Lionel, who 
from time to time winked at him while casting a smile that seemed to say 
"Well, here we are, good-looking. We finally made it, didn't we?" 

Over there, on the Williams' long black tufted sofa, sat Matt William's and 
Frank Lionel. Frank, it seemed, had turned rather quiet soon after Joe's 
proposal that they commence the initiation. It was as if he still doubted 
Evelyn's remarkably sudden transformation from naive, shy, tradition bound 
housewife to pleasure craving female interested in wife-swapping. And so he 
was viewing the strip with what could be described as a "show me" attitude. 

And, finally, curled up like a sleek, sensuous black cat in a large 
armchair, was Matt's stunning wife, Linda. She was a true beauty, a lithe, 
satin-skinned model type with shiny, shoulder length black hair and dazzling 
steel-gray eyes. In a word, thirty-year-old Linda just oozed sex appeal. 

So there they were, Mark thought, six sex-happy people sitting around the 
Williams' tastefully-decorated living room watching as he and his wife bared 
their bodies. Now if only he could shake that self-conscious feeling, chase 
away the nagging little worry that he might not be up to the occasion. This 
would be a night of innumerable fucks and sucks, and he only hoped that his 
pecker didn't poop out too early in the game. 

"Hey, what's that, a stall?" Joe Finlay asked, turning from the others to 
speak to Mark and Evelyn. "C'mon, get with it, folks. We got a whole lotta 
sere win' ahead of us. Evelyn, you stop teasin' us now and get that skirt 
off, you hear?" 

"Y-Yes-all right," Evelyn answered, casting a quick look at her husband as 
her hands groped for the button and zipper at the side of her pleated white 
skirt, the hem of which reached a point several inches above the knee. 

"You, too, Mr. Fawner," Linda called out. "You've got a nice sexy chest but 
I don't want to look at it all night. Show us what you've got hiding under 
your slacks." 

Mark grinned. "Nothing very unusual, I don't think." 

"That's for me to decide, handsome." 

"You'll have to get used to my wife, Mark," Matt said, again flashing a 
bright grin, the whiteness of his perfectly set teeth in rich contrast to 
the blackness of his face. "I'm afraid she comes on very strong." 

"Don't we all?" Marjorie chuckled. "After all, this isn't exactly a tea 
social, you know." 

"Which reminds me," Linda said. "Anybody ready for a refill yet?" 

"Nope, not me," Joe Finlay answered in his customarily brusque manger. 

"Marge, how 'bout you?" 

"No, I'm fine, thanks." 

"Shirley?" 

"Soon but not just yet, thanks." 

Linda turned toward the sofa. "Gentlemen?" 

Frank and Matt both declined a refill, Frank promising to let out a yell 
when he was ready for another drink. 

"You do that, Mr. Lionel," Linda grinned. "Better yet help yourself. That 
goes for all of you-you, too, Mark and Evelyn. Matt bought enough booze to 
open a liquor store." 

Matt chuckled. "So what's a swap party without some good liquor? We've got 
to do something between screws, right?" 

"The man talks my language," Joe said with a fat grin. 

"Sure. I don't mind fuckin' and suckin' you ladies, but if I've got to 
listen to you talk then-." 

"Well, I like that," Shirley broke in, feigning anger. "Just because he's 
big and black and has a good pecker on him he thinks we're his slaves." 

"Haven't you heard about Women's Lib, Matt?" Marjorie asked with a smile. 
"We ladies don't put up with any nonsense from you males any more. We're 
equals, you know?" 

"I didn't know," Matt grinned. 

"Well you do now." 

Frank delivered a particularly bawdy line which drew loud laughter from the 
Williams, the Finlays, and his wife, and small chuckles from Mark and 
Evelyn. Then again the established swappers turned their eyes toward the 
initiates, both of whom were now down to their underwear. 

"Oh, what pretty panties she's wearing," Joe beamed. "Polka-dot panties, no 
less." 

"D-Do you like them?" Evelyn asked, pleased to realize that while she was 
still on edge, still self-conscious, she was gradually losing that awful 
empty, nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach. The two drinks she had 
downed already were probably beginning to work, to relax her a little. 

"I like 'em a whole lot, honey," Joe answered. "But I'm gonna like what's 
under 'em even more." 

"Take your pants off, Evelyn," Frank said, the smallest of smiles on his 
face. He stared at the pretty blonde female clad now in only her 
cream-colored bra and snappy panties. He was baiting her, testing her, 
telling her with his expression that now was the time to put up or shut up. 
Had she really changed to the degree that Mark had told him she had? 

"Go ahead, honey," Mark said softly. "It's all right." 

This is it, Evelyn thought, hooking her thumbs in the elasticized waistband 
of her polka-dot undies. The moment of truth. 

"Here, pussy, pussy," Joe called. "Here pretty pussy." 

All eyes, including Mark's, now fixed on Evelyn's middle as she slowly 
pushed down her pants, peeling the clinging wisp of cotton from around her 
saucy bottom, away from her hips and down her thighs. And finally, to the 
delight of the swappers, she stood with her flimsy undies banded about her 
thighs, several inches below the golden patch of pubic hairs arranged in 
tantalizing triangle around her hole. 

"Hey, a natural blonde," Matt cried out. 

"A fairy princess she is," Frank added. 

"The bra now, baby," Joe said in his usual loud, authoritative and faintly 
arrogant tone of voice. "Let's get a peek at those little boobies of yours." 

"Oh, they're not so little," Evelyn said smiling, her forwardness surprising 
her. No doubt about it, she thought, she was gaining confidence with each 
passing second. 

"That's telling him, honey," Marjorie piped up. She grinned up at her 
husband and stuck her tongue out. 

"Didn't I ask to see your cock, Mr. 

Fawner?" Linda said, one of her highly sensual smiles basking on her black, 
lovingly-chiseled face. "Maybe you need some help with your shorts, huh?" 
Uncurling out of the chair, she stood and started toward Mark. 

"Hold it, baby," Joe said, putting up his hand like a traffic cop, "let's 
give Mrs. Fawner a chance to finish undressing. We men are eager to see 
Evelyn's pretty boobs." 

"And we ladies are eager to see Mark's manhood," Linda countered, placing 
her hands on her hips. "Boobs are boobs but a cock is something special." 

Frank laughed. "I remember you sayin' something like that to me the last 
time we got together, Linda." 

"Now don't you start up, Mr. Lionel. Who knows, Mark here might have a prick 
that'll put yours to shame." 

You're wrong there, sweetheart, thought Frank, as into his mind there popped 
the picture of his neighbor feverishly pulling a six incher and then 
shooting an arc of semen in the air. No, Mark wasn't a threat to his 
reputation. He could still claim the largest manhood in the club. 

"Why can't they finish stripping at the same time?" was Shirley's query. 
"Mark can drop his shorts at the same time that Evelyn sheds her bra." 

"You'd make a great arbiter, honey," Frank said. 

"Really, this is getting silly," Marge sighed with exasperation. "I don't 
care if Mark shows us his cock first or if Evelyn bares her breasts first. I 
just want them both bare-assed naked. I'm gettin' randy as all get out." 

Following the laugh prompted by the round faced, good natured Marjorie 
Finlay's statement of her condition, it was quickly decided that the Fawners 
would remove each other's last article of attire. Evelyn then worked her 
panties down to her feet and, after kicking the wispy garment aside, turned 
to face her husband. 

"Together, baby," Mark said softly, smiling. 

"Right," Evelyn smiled back. 

As Mark reached around his wife and began fumbling with the snaps of her 
bra, Evelyn hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his white boxer shorts 
and began pushing them down. It took less than twenty seconds for the job to 
be completed, and then both Evelyn and Mark were standing next to each other 
in stark naked splendor. 

Linda, not really expecting Mark to possess a salami-size cock, approached 
her new male friend for a closer look at what was dangling between his legs, 
to see if she could determine its approximate size when fully erect. Shirley 
and Marjorie, equally curious, stood and joined Linda in obscene inspection 
of Mark's physique and pecker. 

Meanwhile, Matt and Frank and Joe gathered around Evelyn, who stood 
quitetly, arms at her sides, sopping up their lewd smiles of admiration and 
their favorable comments concerning her figure. Matt suddenly reached up 
with his big right hand to cup her spongy left breast. 

"You were absolutely right," he said, his brown eyes twinkling merrily. 
"They're not small at all. I'd say they were just perfect." 

"Thank you," Evelyn said demurely. 

"Hey, she's blushing," Joe observed loudly. He was standing to Evelyn's 
left, his eyes roaming up and down her small but nicely proportioned body. 

"No, I think she's just getting excited," said Frank, who was behind Evelyn, 
lewdly appraising the succulent half-moons of her pert posterior and 
wondering if that luscious ass had ever harbored a fat cock. Probably not, 
he decided quickly. But he knew for a fact that it had been spanked to a 
rosy red. 

"Are you getting aroused, Evelyn?" Matt asked. 

"Y-Yes-I think so," came the shaky reply. 

Just a few feet away were Shirley, Marge and Linda, as abosrbed in their 
close inspection of Mark's trim, athletic body as were their husbands in the 
smartly curved one of Evelyn's. The comments came quickly and were 
excitingly explicit, the women smiling and touching Mark intimately as their 
pussies began pulsing in readiness for his pecker. Any pecker. 

"Very, very nice," declared Marjorie, her left hand now trading all over 
Mark's chest. 

'Strong and lean-a healthy stud. 

"Nice taut ass, too," observed Linda, the middle finger of her right hand 
slipping into the dark crevice of Mark's backside. 

"And a very pretty pecker," Shirley grinned. "I'll bet there's a whole lot 
of creamy gunk in those hairy balls." 

Mark chuckled softly. "Maybe you'd like a small bottle of my come, Shirley." 

The raven-tressed beauty looked puzzled. 

"You know, for polishing purposes." 

Shirley now emitted a happy, lyrical laugh. "Better than lemon oil, right?" 
she asked, reaching down with her right hand to cup her neighbor's warm 
scrotum. 

"Right," Mark said, the fact that he was being appraised like a prize bull 
bothering him not at all. 

"What's that all about?" asked Linda. "Lemon oil-polishing-." 

"Just a little secret between Mr. Fawner and myself," Shirley explained. 
"It's unimportant." 

"Well I know something that is important," Marge said. "Damn important. And 
that's gettin' out of my clothes." 

"A most excellent idea," Linda grinned. 

"Leave it to, Marge," Shirley said. "She always comes up with the right idea 
at the right time." 

The three women started to walk away from Mark, the thought of having him 
munching on their respective cunts, which he was required to do as part of 
his initiation, serving to further whet the sexual appetite of each. Linda 
suddenly swung around and returned to Mark's side. 

"C'mon, fella," she said brightly, taking his left hand and putting it in 
her right, "no sense you staying here when all the action is elsewhere. You 
know what's next on the agenda, right?" 

"Yes, but-." Mark left the thought unfinished as he turned to look at his 
naked wife. Joe and Frank and Matt were still crowded around her. 

"Don't worry about her," Linda said. "I assure you that your pretty little 
wife is in quite capable hands. Look at her, will you. She's just wallowing 
in all that attention." 

That was true enough, Mark thought. Evelyn was obviously enjoying herself. 
The men were prodding her, pinching her, their hands wandering all over her 
lush nakedness, and she was countering their obscene comments with salacious 
little wiggles of her body. 

"See there? Now she's playing with my husband's pecker. I'll bet your wife 
never had a black prick crammed up her tight hole." 

"No-no, she hasn't," Mark said abstractedly. 

"Well, enough peeping," Linda stated firmly, tugging on Mark's arm. "You 
just leave your wife's part of the initiation to the other men. Shirley and 
Marge and I ah want to see if you know anything about cunnilingus." 

Mark hesitated briefly, just long enough for one last look at Evelyn, who 
was, as Linda had pointed out, gently caressing Matt's flaccid ebony prick. 
Then, shaking off the touch of jealously felt for the first time just 
seconds ago, he smiled at Linda and allowed her to lead him away. 

Lost in the sheer sexuality of the moment, Evelyn failed to take note of her 
husband's departure. Never in her life had she had three strong, virile 
males pay this much attention to her. There were two hands on her breasts, 
squeezing and pulling, another hand down there between her legs, stroking 
her snatch, and a third was roaming over her fanny. 

It was nice, she thought. Naughty nice, and just as nice was the fact that 
her fears, which a very short time ago had been large, were disappearing one 
by one. And taking their place was a sense of wickedness, a delicious, 
spine-tingling urge to wallow in a cesspool of hot, unbridled sex. 

Yes, indeed, Mrs. Fawner, she told herself. You have changed. Have you ever. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

"The girls are getting ready," Joe growled, resentful of the fact. 

Evelyn turned and saw her naked husband standing, hands on hips, several 
feet from the Williams' sofa. He was watching with a smile as the three 
women undressed, his eyes moving from Shirley to Marge to Linda and back 
again to Shirley, who of the three was the closest to complete nudity. 

They're all eager to get at him, Evelyn thought, a curious sense of pride, 
of satisfaction, suffusing her at the realization that the three experienced 
swappers found Mark appealing and desirable. He had passed the visual 
inspection and now he would be tested on the oral part of his examination. 

"C'mon, let's get out of our clothes," Frank suggested. 

"I'm way ahead of you, old man," Joe said, tossing his loud plaid sport 
shirt onto the closest table. 

Frank moved off to start undressing, his fingers fumbling with the buttons 
of his lightweight sweater. This left Matthew Williams still artfully 
fondling the saucy boobs of the naked Evelyn, who in turn was gently 
massaging his black pecker and hairy scrotal pouch. 

"Do you like it when your breasts are touched, Evelyn?" Matt inquired with a 
tender smile. 

"Yes, very much," answered the adorable blue eyed blonde. 

"Let me hear you say 'fuck,' Mrs. Fawner." 

"Why?" Evelyn asked slyly. 

Matt chuckled. "Maybe that's how I get my kicks-you know, from having 
beautiful females talk dirty to me." 

"I can't believe that. You're too much of a man to satisfy yourself in such 
a childish way." 

"Well, indulge me anyway. C'mon now, say 'fuck,' Evelyn." 

Evelyn hesitated briefly, then-"Fuck." 

"That wasn't hard, was it?" Matt smiled. "No, not really." 

"Now let's hear you say 'cunt,' Evelyn." 

"Oh, this is silly, Matt." 

"Sexy silly," the handsome black man corrected. "Out with it now, baby. Say 
'fuck my hot cunt, Matt.' " 

Evelyn shrugged and did as told, only mildly embarrassed when the blunt 
request spilled from her lips. Matt asked her to say another dirty word, and 
then another, seemingly deriving strange pleasure from hearing her repeat 
what only a few days ago she would have considered horribly shocking, 
utterly obscene terms for intercourse and genitalia. 

He was certainly one beautiful male, she thought, looking up into Matt's 
roughly-etched black face. At least six foot three and definitely over two 
hundred pounds, he looked strong enough to take on three men at the same 
time. He was a gentle giant, though, as his large hands on her breasts 
suggested. He wasn't squeezing her pert boobs nearly as hard as she would 
have liked. 

It wasn't at all difficult to imagine Matt in the throes of a wicked lust, 
his rock-hard black cock protruding proudly from his loins, jerking crazinly 
as he bounded after her through Elysian fields while yelling like a mighty 
warrior. Oh, what he was going to do to her when he caught her! 

An impudent grin on her face, she would continue to elude him, her naked 
flight from the majestic black man so thrilling, so deliciously dangerous, 
that her mind would fill with lust and her pussy would throb hungrily for 
cock. His cock. His big, beautiful, shiny black cock. 

And then, yes, then he would at last catch her. He would tackle her, his 
strong black arms encircling her legs as he leaped through the air. Once on 
the ground she would turn over and spread her legs, then plead for his 
mighty manhood. But no, not yet. He wanted to punish her for running away 
before he plowed her pussy. Yes, he was going to-to spank her! 

"A spanking!" Evelyn found herself saying suddenly, the words coming 
unbidden from her mouth. 

"What was that?" Matt asked. "A spanking?" 

"D-Did I say that?" Evelyn stammered, realizing that she was getting very 
wet and very warm between her legs. 

Matt chuckled. "You certainly did, baby. Is that what you'd like-a good hard 
bottom-warming?" 

"I-I don't know," Evelyn answered. How could she go about explaining her 
recently-discovered enjoyment of pain, she wondered. Wouldn't they think her 
rather peculiar? True, she was in the presence of sex happy hedonists, 
people who put pleasure above all, but would they not wonder about a girl 
who had suddenly learned of the perverse delights to be garnered from 
"punishment?" 

Of course, Mark had told Frank about how he had spanked her poor fanny a 
burning red. And Frank no doubt had told Shirley. But the others didn't 
know. Was this, her very First swap party, the time to reveal her need for 
pain? 

"We'll talk about this more a little later," Matt said thoughtfully. "After 
the initiation has been completed." 

"All right," Evelyn said softly. 

"You haven't forgotten what's expected of you?" 

"No, of course not. First I have to-to suck you and Frank and Joe. And then 
the three of you will do it to me." 

Matt smiled. "You're going to be a most welcome addition to the club, Mrs. 
Fawner." 

"Thank you, Mr. Williams." 

"Now stay right where you are, sweetheart. I'll be back with a nice black 
prick for you to suck on." 

Matt took leave of Evelyn and started shedding his clothes. Evelyn watched 
him join Frank and Joe, both of whom had already stripped down to 
undershorts, then she turned her head in the direction of the sofa just in 
time to see Mark drop to his knees between Marjorie Finlay's spread legs. 

Marge and Shirley and Linda were lying on the thickly-carpeted floor in 
front of the sofa. Somebody had hopped into the bedroom for pillows, because 
now each woman had one studded under her hips. This, of course, elevated the 
vagina and provided Mark with a clear view of an accessible target. 

It would have been much more comfortable on a bed, Evelyn thought. But that 
would mean leaving the living room, which was a direct violation of the club 
rule that said new couples had to be initiated together, husband and wife 
performing their respective tasks in full view of each other. And since the 
bedroom was apparently too small to accommodate eight people comfortably-. 

"Ooooo, baby," Marge suddenly exclaimed happily. "You do know something 
about a twat, don't you?" 

Evelyn smiled inwardly. She remembered the many times Mark had pleaded with 
her to allow him to perform cunnilingus, arguing that it was a perfectly 
natural practice and one designed to whet the appetite for intercourse. She 
had almost always refused, telling him she considered such acts loathesome 
and perverted. She didn't want him down there slobbering all over her. Now 
if only her husband had taken the bull by the horns and whacked her ass-. 

"Oh, yes," Marge cried out. "Yes, yes, yes. Chew me all up, you lovely hunk 
of man. Eat Margie all up, honey." 

"Make her come quick, Mark," Shirley said, her hands busy between her legs, 
roughly massaging her dark sex patch. "I'm gettin' hotter by the second." 

"Me too," groaned Linda. 

Evelyn was about to turn away when she saw Shirley suddenly roll over onto 
her side and embrace Linda. Soft sounds of pleasure drifted from the 
females' mouths as they commenced stroking and kissing each other, their 
naked bodies, one black, the other white, meshing in sensual rhythm, limbs 
entwining. 

"Does that bother you, Evelyn?" a strong baritone voice asked. 

Evelyn turned to answer Matthew Williams, the words catching in her throat 
when she discovered him stark naked, his powerful black body framed by the 
pale but certainly manly physiques of Frank Lionel and Joseph Finlay. Her 
eyes went immediately to the cocks of each. 

"I asked if lesbianism upsets you, Evelyn." 

"Er-no, not at all," Evelyn answered falteringly, her mind on the members 
she would suck. 

"It bothers me," Joe growled. "I don't go for this perverted nonsense. And 
if I ever catch my Marge makin' love to another dame they'll be hell to pay. 
Anything besides man-woman sex is just plain perverted." 

Uh oh, Evelyn thought. No spanking from him. 

"But you enjoy rough and tumble sex, right, Joe?" Matt asked. He looked 
squarely at Evelyn. "I mean, you don't mind spanking a girl if you think she 
deserves it." 

"Oh, well, that's a horse of a different color. Sure I like to whack a 
pretty woman's ass. 

Once in a while you just hafta show a female who's boss." 

Saved, Evelyn thought, returning Matt's stare with a small smile. 

"Well, are we going to get sucked tonight or not?" an impatient Frank asked. 
"Eve got a prick here that needs blowing." 

"Don't we all," Joe chuckled throatily. 

"Grab that pillow over there on the chair, Frank," Matt said. 

Frank stepped over to a black vinyl swivel chair and picked up the large 
white silk pillow resting on the cushion. He rejoined the others and handed 
the pillow to Matt, who in turn stepped up to Evelyn and dropped the pillow 
at her feet. 

"Okay?" he asked with a smile. "You all set?" 

"All set," Evelyn answered, nodding. 

Once again her eyes lowered to the three peckers as the men lined up in 
front of her. Joe took a stance next to the pillow, it apparently having 
been decided that he was to be first. Matt lined up next to Joe, on his 
left, and last but not least was Frank, whose prick was already beginning to 
thicken and lengthen. 

"All right now, Mrs. Fawner," Joe grinned. "Let me feel those lovely lips of 
yours wrap around my meat. And don't forget, you've got to suck us until we 
come." 

"I know," Evelyn said, the idea of having to suck three men, three strong, 
tough men, to orgasm helping to keep her desire at a constant high level. 

"On your knees, then, baby," Frank said. "You can't suck if-" 

"Whoooo, ohhhh," Marge Finlay suddenly crooned loudly. "I'm-I'm almost 
there. Oh, yes. Oh, shit." 

Frank and Matt and Joe and Evelyn all turned at the sound of the woman's 
ecstatic cries. They saw Marge, her hands hotly holding Mark's head at her 
steaming sex oven, in the midst of what appeared to be a real gut-grabbing 
orgasm. Her face was flushed, contorted with pleasure, and now sailing from 
her throat was a long, drawn out moan of utter ecstasy. 

"Your husband scored a few points there," Joe informed Evelyn, his fat, 
crudely-hewed but not unattractive face blanketed with a lewd smile. "Marge 
doesn't often got her rocks off so good from just a cunt-chewing." 

"Me now, please," pleaded a passionate Shirley, who at the sound of Marge's 
coming had pulled free of Linda's warm embrace. "C'mon Mark honey, get your 
handsome head between my legs." 

Mark lost no time in complying with the raven-tressed beauty's obscene 
request. Seconds after Marge released his head, thus allowing him to 
breathe, he was scrambling between Shirley's open legs and crouching low, 
his come-coated tongue snaking out from between his lips as the aroused 
female grabbed his head and yanked his face into her dark patch of pubic 
hair. 

"Mark's off to a flying start, Ev," Frank said, turning from the lustful 
spectacle at the other side of the room to address the still standing blonde 
lovely. 

'He'll pass this phase of the initiation with great marks," Matt added. 

"And so will his wife," Joe said. "If she'll just get on with it." 

Several seconds later, tearing her eyes from her husband and her neighbor, 
Evelyn did get on with it. Slowly she sank to her knees on the square pillow 
thoughtfully provided by Matt, her left hand resting on Joe's thick right 
thigh as her other hand gripped his flaccid pecker. A pause now, just a 
brief one, and then she was opening her mouth wide and stuffing into it the 
plum-shaped crown of the cock that she was expected to suck until it was 
stiff and throbbing. Until it erupted and the syrupy semen washed down her 
throat. 

"That's the good little girl," Joe crooned, placing his pudgy hands lightly 
atop Evelyn's blonde head. "Gobble it all up like a peppermint stick." 

Evelyn worked the pecker in her mouth with a quiet determination, drawing on 
it carefully, her soft, supple lips pursed to create an obscene suctioning. 
This, she realized, was only the second cock to find its wicked way into her 
mouth. Only on rare occasions, when she was just too tired to resist, had 
she reluctantly gone down on her husband. 

In five years of marriage she had sucked only Mark's manhood. In perhaps 
about a half hour's time, give or take a few minutes, she will have sucked 
three other male organs, ingesting the creamy semen spewing from each. It 
was, she thought, hard to believe. 

"Get it nice and thick, sweetheart," Frank ordered, looking down at Evelyn 
as she suctioned Joe's meat into her sweet mouth. 

"Hummmmmm," Evelyn hummed around the prick she was stiffening. 

"She's good," Joe informed the other men. "I mean she's trying real good." 

"A born cocksucker, huh?" Frank asked. 

"All women are born cocksuckers," was Joe's answer. 

Across the way, as determined to satisfy as was his wife, Mark labored 
passionately between Shirley's legs, his handsome head burrowing deep into 
the clammy juncture of her smooth, firm thighs as he slavered over her 
odorous pussy. 

"Oh, he is good," Shirley crooned joyously, her beautiful head lolling on 
the beige carpet as wild, wicked sensations of pleasure raced through her 
superbly molded body. 

"I knew he would be," said the black-skinned Linda, who could hardly wait 
her turn to be sucked by the newest male member of the swap club. "Mark 
looks like he knows his way around a needy twat." 

"He does, he does," Shirley exclaimed. "His tongue-his fantastic tongue 
is-ooooo, so good." 

Delighted by the fact that his efforts were being appreciated, Mark 
maintained a steady pressure on Shirley's lust-swollen clitoris and resolved 
to jolt her insides with an orgasm that she'd be talking about for weeks to 
come. 

He had waited a long time to get at his neighbor, to suck and fuck her 
luscious body until she couldn't see straight. Now that the opportunity was 
at hand he intended to make the very most of it. And then, after Shirley had 
popped and showered his warm face with a sticky spray of her cunt juice, he 
would quickly crawl between lovely Linda's legs and drive her crazy with a 
feverish cunnilingus. 

Nothing had prepared him for the fact of the Williams' blackness. Neither 
Frank nor Shirley had made mention of the couple's color and he had just 
assumed that Matt and Linda were white. A reasonable enough assumption when 
one knew that the peaceful residential community of Maplewood was, like 
Cloverdale Village, populated almost entirely by Wasps. 

But he was not at all disappointed in the Williams. He had been mildly 
surprised, of course, when Matt opened the front door. As had Evelyn, he was 
sure. But surprise turned quickly to a genuine liking of the good-looking, 
ruggedly-attractive black man and his sexy, sinewy wife. 

He knew for a fact that Matt had made a favorable impression on Evelyn. 
During the half hour or so they had all spent chatting and sipping drinks, 
"a little get acquainted session," Linda had termed it, he had caught his 
wife staring at Matt on more than one occasion. Which was certainly 
understandable, since the big, brawny black man gave the impression of 
having the virility of ten. 

"SSSSooon," Shirley suddenly hissed. "It's-it's almost here. My clit, Mark. 
Do it hard and-ohhh, shit." 

Mark continued strumming the ravishing female's passion nubbin, his 
hard-working tongue an evil, fleshy serpent as it twirled and cunningly 
curled, coiling around the inflamed, swollen clit in mean, devilish embrace. 

Shirley moaned happily, the salacious strumming of her pulsating mini-penis 
twisting her face with pleasure and rendering her oblivious to all save the 
hot, depraved sensations emanating from her now slushy vagina. She clenched 
her hands at her sides, her warm head continuing to roll side to side on the 
carpet as Mark slobbered gluttonously between her quivering legs, his 
attention riveted to an ultra-sensitive erectile of small size but great 
importance. 

On Shirley's right was Marge Finlay, resting now after her happy come, 
content to lie in supine sprawl on the floor and watch Mark tending to her 
friend's torrid twat. On Shirley's left was Linda, still hotly massaging her 
breasts and cunt, growing more and more impatient as she awaited the feel of 
Mark's mouth and talented tongue on her treasure. 

As her husband labored enthusiastically to bring Shirley off, Evelyn worked 
with equal determination to provoke an orgasm from Joe Finlay. His pecker, 
flaccid at the start, had thickened nicely in her mouth and she was now 
engrossed in skinning the length of hard flesh with her tightly pursed lips. 

Up and down her head bobbed, the bulbous head of Joe's normal-sized member 
banging against the back of her throat every time she swooped down to engulf 
the pulsing pecker in her mouth. 

"Yeah, baby," Joe groaned thickly. "That's the ticket. All the way-go down 
on it all the way. Oh, shit, sweetheart." 

"Dammit, man, go ahead and come," Frank said impatiently. "My cock's so hard 
it hurts." 

"I'll come when I feel like it," Joe snapped, his thick fingers entwining in 
Evelyn's golden tresses. "Shit, she's really good." 

"We don't want to take your word for it," Matt said, grinning as he nudged 
Frank in the ribs. 

"Give me a minute, willya? I haven't been in the babe's mouth that long." 

"I hope she chews it off," Frank mumbled. 

Matt chuckled. His impatience was as great as Frank's since his prick had 
also hardened, thanks to the lust-inspiring sight of the pretty blonde 
initiate greedily gobbling up Joe's meaty manhood. Like Frank, he couldn't 
wait to feel Evelyn's lovely lips sliding lewdly up and down his pecker. 

Another minute passed, and then- 

"Yeah-all right," Joe breathed hotly. "Here-here it comes, baby. Now-now!" 

Evelyn thought she was prepared for the explosion, ready to ingurgitate the 
gooey semen as it gushed into her mouth, but so quick and heavy was Joe's 
discharge that she had all she could do to keep from gagging on it. Having 
been told earlier that she mustn't take the prick out of her mouth at the 
time of ejaculation, she gasped and gurgled around Joe's jerking tool and 
struggled gamely to swallow the syrupy gunk as it rushed into her. 

"Oh, shit, oh man," Joe groaned happily, throwing back his head and 
surrendering to the sweet sensations flowing through him, his fingers 
tightening on Evelyn's scalp. 

"Swallow, baby, swallow," Frank said loudly, one hand curled around his 
rock-hard manhood. "Drink it all down-you can do it." 

But she couldn't. Much of Joe's viscid discharge spilled out of her mouth, 
flowing over and around his hot tool and running in sticky riverlets down 
her chin. Yet still she tried to swallow, odd click-clacking sounds 
emanating from her pretty throat as the semen washed into her mouth only to 
come spitting back out seconds later. 

And it was now that Shirley Lionel announced her climax, a wicked wail of 
sheer pleasure tearing from her throat as she sprayed Mark's face with her 
sticky twat juice. 

Unperturbed, Mark kept his head well placed, sandwiched hotly between 
Shirley's quivering thighs, and immediately set about lapping up the tasty 
discharge. He licked quickly, his tongue scooping up Shirley's warm flow as 
it spilled from her quaking cunt. 

"Mr. Fawner must have arrived with a real thirst," said Matt, who with Frank 
had turned toward the sofa when Shirley let loose her lusty moan of 
satisfaction. "He's knockin' 'em off like flys." 

"Two down, one to go," Frank noted with a small smile. 

Several seconds later, as a ready-to-explode Linda Williams literally 
dragged Mark away from Shirley and into position between her legs, Matt and 
Frank turned their attention back to Evelyn and Joe. They were just in time 
to see Joe, pooped but pleased, pull his cock from the pretty blonde's 
mouth. 

"Good-you did good, Evelyn," Matt said sincerely. 

Evelyn wasn't so sure. Her nose and mouth and chin were coated with sticky 
come. The gooey substance was dribbling down her chin, trickling across her 
neck, dripping noiselessly onto her heaving tits. Still and all, she 
reasoned, she had given it a good try. 

"All right now," Frank said. "Matt is next." A lewd little grin suddenly 
appeared on his face. "And then me." 

Still kneeling on the pillow, Evelyn looked at Frank's mighty manhood. 
Heavens, but it was huge, she thought. How in the name of all things holy 
would she be able to get that tree-trunk of a penis inside her poor mouth? 
Now she knew why she sometimes saw Shirley with a swollen jaw. 

"Do me nice, sweetheart," Matt said, smiling down at Evelyn as he moved into 
position by the pillow. "My cock isn't as large as Mr. Lionel's, but it's 
more colorful." 

"It's a beautiful cock," opined Evelyn. She reached up with her right hand, 
sticky from Joe Finlay's come, and carefully curled her fingers around its 
pulsating thickness. "And I'm not the least bit prejudiced." 

"Good girl," Matt chuckled. "Now let's see you suck me as good as you sucked 
Joe. I want to see that pretty head of yours bobbing like crazy." 

"As you say-master," Evelyn said softly, smiling up at the towering black 
giant, wondering how his big black hands would feel smacking her poor, pale 
behind. 

And then, as Linda Williams' heated moans of pleasure filled her ears, she 
opened wide her mouth and slipped come-coated lips over the knobby crown of 
Matt's ebony cock. She closed her blue eyes and commenced her second suck of 
the night, her pursed lips pulling easily on the black column of 
blood-filled flesh. 

"Nice-very nice," Matt murmured, placing his hands on his thick hips. "Suck 
a little harder now. Yes. Like that. Good girl." 

Well, there was no longer any doubt about it, Frank thought. Obvious now was 
the fact that the fierce spanking Mark had administered to his wife had 
somehow unlocked her libido, freeing from captivity those long repressed 
desires while bringing to the fore a particular need for painful sex. 

It was nothing short of miraculous, of course. Not in a hundred years would 
he have thought that Evelyn, meek, mild-mannered, sexually uptight Evelyn, 
would be turned into a normal, feeling female as a result of just one sound 
bottom-warming. The most open-minded sexologist would probably laugh in his 
face were he to attempt an explanation of Evelyn's amazing transformation. 

But be that as it may, he was thoroughly convinced that Evelyn had changed. 
And certainly for the better. His only hope now was that she wouldn't revert 
to her former self and start behaving again like a fusty little old lady. 
How sad if after taking a giant stride forward she took two back. How 
tragic. 

But Evelyn certainly gave no indication at the moment that she was 
dissatisfied with her brand-new outlook on life, and the sexual pleasures 
that life contained if she were inclined to avail herself of them. If 
anything, she seemed wholly determined to prove that she would be a great 
asset to the club. 

Just look at her down there, gobbling up Matt's thick black cock with all 
the enthusiasm of a one hundred dollar call girl intent on earning her 
bread. She was slobbering all over that fat black pecker, her pretty cheeks 
inflating and hollowing in salacious synchopation as she sucked ravenously, 
as if Matt's manhood were the tastiest prick she'd ever blown. 

Frank smiled inwardly as he contemplated the feel of Evelyn's warm, lovely 
lips embracing his big eight incher. His tool would truly be a test for her, 
he thought. And it was going to take considerable control, real will power, 
to resist the urge to cram all eight inches of his steel-hard prick right 
down her sweet little cocksucking throat. 

Frank turned his eyes from the obscene spectacle of Evelyn hotly blowing 
Matt Williams to the equally obscene sight of Mark Lionel excitedly eating 
the satin-skinned Linda. He saw that Shirley had pushed herself up off the 
carpet and was now sitting back on the sofa, her eyes moving back and forth 
from Linda and Mark to Marjorie and Joe, the Finlays having apparently 
decided on a little husband and wife smooching while they waited for the 
actual fucking to commence. 

"Oooo," Marge cooed, shivering on her hubby's large lap, "what's that hand 
of yours doin' down there, lover?" 

"It's ticklin' your hot twat, that's what, baby," a grinning Joe Finlay 
answered. "Now don't tell me you don't like it." 

"I would never tell you-ohhh, Joe, baby, that feels so good. So dirty good." 

Joe chuckled. "So Mark's a pretty fair pussy-licker, huh?" 

"Mmmm, he's got a nice tongue on him." Marge placed her left hand on top of 
the one of Joe's that was busy massaging her left mammary. 

"Not a bad lookin' pecker, either, right?" Joe asked, increasing the 
pressure on his wife's tingling tit. 

"Long and lean. Not as big as Frank's, though." 

"How do you know? He's not hard yet, is he?" 

"Sure. Can't you see?" 

Joe looked over to where Mark was servicing a most pleased Linda. From his 
position, in the chair that Shirley had occupied earlier, and because of 
Mark's low crouch, he was unable to verify the fact of the male initiate's 
hardness. He was willing to take his wife's word for it, however, since it 
pleased him to think of Mark as a confident, self-possessed stud and not one 
of those who took a year and a day to achieve a workable hard-on. 

Guys like that pissed him off. As did those who suddenly turned shy and 
awkward in a crowd and had a helluva time bringing a girl off because of 
their nervousness. A few such characters and their wives had been granted 
membership in the club, a very sad blunder many members were still trying to 
rectify. But it wasn't so easy to throw them out once they were in. In fact, 
it was impossible to convince these guys that they weren't real swingers, 
since all were of the ridiculous opinion that they were simply fantastic sex 
partners. You just could not squash their egos for love nor money. 

"Hey, you two," Shirley suddenly called loudly, "don't go working each other 
up too much now. You know the rules. A husband and wife can't screw until 
each has been with at least one other partner. And we still have the final 
part of the Fawners' initiation to attend to." 

"Oh, Shirley," Marge giggled, "you're a spoil-sport." 

The raven-tressed, usually hot-to-trot beauty shrugged. "Well, a rule is a 
rule." 

"I'm gonna make you forget all about rules in just a little while, Mrs. 
Lionel," Joe said, his voice just a shade on the sinister side. "When I'm 
fuckin' your beautiful ass off with my-" 

"Oh, so it's my ass you're after tonight, is it?" Shirley broke in, her 
bright sexy grin mirroring pleasant surprise. "The butcher is going to give 
the lady a choice piece of meat, huh?" 

Joe couldn't help but chuckle. "You know it, sweetheart. And you're gonna 
cook that meat in the flaming oven of your dirty old shit chute." 

"Mr. Finlay, sometimes I think there's a bit of the poet in your soul. A 
pornographic poet, of course, but still-" 

"How 'bout you, Marge?" Frank asked, joining the conversation. "You in the 
mood to get your rectum reamed tonight?" 

The chunky Marge grinned at the beefy male whose larger-than-average prick 
had stretched her rectal canal on more than one happy occasion. "I'm always 
ready to be ass-fucked, Frank," she said. "Especially when I have the chance 
to feel a really big bone packed into my fanny. And when the man is also 
good-looking-" 

"Talk like that will most definitely get you cornholed, Mrs. Finlay," Frank 
grinned. 

"Hell, we could turn this into an ass-fucking party," Joe remarked curtly, 
twisting his wife's left nipple in his fat fingers. 

"Nothing wrong with that, is there?" Marge asked. She reached down into her 
mate's lap and wrapped her hand around his flaccid manhood. "I'll bet Mark 
would like to give it to Linda in her sweet old black behind." 

Heads turned once again to Mark and Linda. The beautiful Negress was close 
to coming now, her efforts at articulation stymied by the continuous shaking 
of her body and the harsh, guttural sobs of pure delight Mark's maniacal 
sucking and tonguing was wrenching from the depths of her throat. 

"I guess he would at that," Frank said. "The way he's doin' Linda she'd 
probably let him piss all over her." 

"Now that's dirty," Marge observed, the small pout on her round, unblemished 
face belying the fact that she found the idea of being used in such a filthy 
fashion terribly thrilling. 

In fact, she was positively turned on by it! She licked her lips. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Ignored for the moment were Matt and Evelyn, both of whom could not have 
cared less if the others suddenly decided to do cart wheels to California. 
They were totally engrossed, oblivious to the words and actions of those 
around them. 

Lewd grunts of lust bubbled from Matt's lips as Evelyn continued sucking 
holy hell out of his blood-hardened cock, the fantastic feel of her tightly 
pursed lips stripping his meaty member sending shivers of pleasure up and 
down his spine. 

"Suck, baby, oh suck it," he rasped, looking down at the bobbing, weaving 
blonde head. "You gorgeous little cocksucker." 

He couldn't hold out much longer, he thought dizzily. Evelyn was wringing 
him dry, sucking his prick as if determined to prove her proficiency in the 
art. Any second now those spasms of bliss would rock him and he'd blast his 
load into the cuddly blonde's sweet mouth. 

Strange slurping sounds of lust were made by Evelyn as she whipped her lips 
up and down Matt's black cock. She was working his balls now, too, hotly 
cradling the hairy pouch in her right palm, squeezing it, feeling its 
wrinkled hardness, pulling on it passionately. 

Turning quiet, Frank and Shirley and Joe and Marge now made like spectators 
at a tennis match, their interest divided between Mark and Linda and Matt 
and Evelyn as they tried to guess which couple would finish first. Eyes 
roved from the exciting scene in front of the sofa, where Mark was still 
slobbering over the luscious Linda's soupy cabbage, to Matt and the 
wildly-sucking Evelyn, whose face was flushed from the effort she was 
exerting. 

The lewd guessing game was abruptly halted when Matt, emitting a tremulous 
moan of pleasure, threw back his head and fired a volley of thick creamy 
come into Evelyn's mouth. A small vein in his forehead throbbed madly as he 
came, the gut-jumbling joy of ejaculation turning him inside out. 

As before, Evelyn struggled gamely to swallow the slightly salty muck as it 
streamed into her mouth, her wheezing gasps and gagging coughs around the 
jerking black cock providing wicked accompaniment to her obscene attempt. 
But again she was only partially successful, much of Matt's gooey cream 
spitting out from the corners of her mouth and washing down her chin. 

"That's one of my favorite sights," Joe remarked with a grin, nodding in the 
direction of the gulping blonde and the black giant. "Pretty as a picture it 
is." 

"Just like in a dirty movie," Frank noted. 

"Hey, speaking about movies, Matt tells me that-" 

"Ohhhh!" Linda wailed, silencing Joe immediately. "Oh, shit. Oh, I'm 
coming-co minnnnng-" 

The great glottal gasps that had been breaking in her throat now all meshing 
into one satanic howl of ecstasy, Linda arched her back and clawed the air 
as waves of beautiful bliss washed over her quivering black body. Eyes 
closed, her head swimming, she moaned a joyous moan as Mark, still obviously 
thirsty, slurped up the warm, sticky juices her quaking cunt was spraying 
into his flushed face. 

Back on the other side of the sex-saturated living room, Matt reluctantly 
withdrew his messy hank from the wet, slushy confines of Evelyn's mouth, the 
come-coated corona leaving her lips with a loud sucking plop. He staggered 
back, his place in front of Evelyn taken quickly by a most eager Frank 
Lionel. 

"All right now, honey," Frank husked, his stare hard, bold, "get ready for 
the big one. C'mon, open wide for the doctor." 

Evelyn took a deep breath and swallowed, several slimy globs of Matt's come 
slithering down her throat. She would have liked a moment to rest, a brief 
intermission, so to speak, for her jaw ached and her mind was spinning 
crazily in her head. But there was to be no rest for the weary tonight. 

And so when Frank lifted her head up, telling her again to "open it up," she 
smiled a tired smile and complied with his wicked order. Hardly able to 
contain himself, the sight of the pretty little blonde's semen-besmirched 
face stoking the fires of his lust, Frank began funneling his stalk into her 
hot, messy mouth. 

"C'mon, baby, start sucking it. What are you waiting for?" 

Evelyn gurgled around the cock being fed her and, tightening her tired lips, 
began pulling on the corona. Inch by careful inch she took the monstrous 
cock in, grateful for being allowed to work at her own speed but still 
faintly fearful of choking on Frank's eight inch pecker. 

Curiosity cueing them, the others now gathered round to view the provocative 
proceedings. A circle of sinners was soon formed around Evelyn and Frank, 
neither of whom were about to dissuade their friends from witnessing their 
sexy performance. 

Joe Finlay stood with his hairy right arm draped over the sultry, 
beautifully-built Shirley Lionel, his fat fingers idly tapping a tune on her 
succulent right mammary. Not far away were Marge Finlay and Matt Williams, 
Marge with her left hand in cunning caress of the black man's pecker and 
scrotal pouch, he with his arm around her little-too-large waist. 

And several feet away, completing the ring, were Mark Fawner and the 
momentarily satiated Linda Williams. Although the taste of the lithe black 
female's odorous twat lingered on his lips like a pleasant memory in the 
mind, his attention was riveted to his wife and her hungry sucking of 
Frank's large manhood. 

As the others watched and whispered, sprinkling salacious suggestions 
between their lewd comments, Mark stood in speechless silence and thought of 
the many times his pretty blonde wife had refused him fellatio. A pity it 
was that he had taken so long to discover her dormant desire for painful 
treatment. 

But those days were gone now, he thought happily. If Evelyn's lusty sucking 
of Frank's cock was any indication, she would never again refuse him a 
blow-job, never again feign weariness or illness when he desired her 
golden-haired cunt. And he would soon be able to forget those interminable 
nights of frustration caused by his wife's sexual coldness, when he lay next 
to Evelyn and muttered curses under his breath while thinking masturbation 
was to be preferred to what passed for sex with his mate. 

Yes, sir, the future did indeed look promising. Most promising and 
passion-filled. 

"Look at her gobble it up, will you," Joe cracked, pinching Shirley's 
crinkled nubbin of a nipple. "I think we got ourselves a born fellatrice 
here, fellas." 

"Fellatrice?" Linda smiled. "Where did you learn that big word, Mr. Finlay?" 

"What's the matter, you think I'm dumb or something?" 

"I didn't say that. I just asked-" 

"It was a stupid question," Joe said, visibly irritated. 

"Sorry," Linda apologized, regretting what she had figured would be a 
harmless little wisecrack and nothing more. But she should know better than 
to tease Joe, she thought, turning her attention again to Frank and Evelyn. 
He just wasn't the kind to laugh at himself. Not even a little bit. 

"Now don't go and get nasty, lover," Marge cautioned her barrel-chested 
husband. "Don't spoil everything with your temper." 

"I won't spoil a fuckin' thing, baby," Joe fired back. 

"Look, let's cool it," Shirley said. "We have a whole night of wild screwing 
ahead of us. Why waste energy arguing over such a silly little thing?" 

"Okay, okay, I apologize too. I didn't mean to jump down Linda's throat." 

Linda looked up and over at him. "I accept, Mr. Finlay," she smiled. "And 
later, to really express your regret at having jumped down my throat, you 
can stick your nice prick down it." 

This triggered a laugh from the others, Mark included, and the tension that 
had so suddenly sprung up from nowhere now dissipated completely. Again all 
eyes turned to Evelyn, who, with eyes closed and flushed face, was still 
heatedly engaged in the jaw-busting task of sucking Frank's big shaft. 

"Oh, yeah-yeah, this is the greatest," a happy Frank opined. 
"Nothin'-nothin' like getting blown by a-a beautiful woman." 

"He says that now," Shirley grinned. "When Frank's getting his rocks off in 
some gal's ass, he says that's the greatest. When he's plowing up a 
pussy-well, you know how it goes." 

"It's all good," Mark stated firmly, injecting himself into the bawdy 
conversation. 

"Spoken like a true swinger," Linda said, a naughty smile on her beautiful 
black face as she reached down and wrapped her left hand around Mark's 
still-stiff pecker. 

Oblivious to those around her, Evelyn continued to labor with unalloyed 
abandon on Frank's mouth-stretching manhood, those now familiar slushy, 
slurping sounds created by her hot, suctioning lips on his bloated bone 
helping to add, in a way she couldn't understand, to her masochistic 
enjoyment of this servile rite. 

"Hey, fella," Matt said, "when are you goin' to come? Stop showing off and 
give Evelyn the reward she deserves." 

"Go fuck yourself," Frank said thickly, his voice passion-charged. 

Matt chuckled. "How 'bout if I fuck Shirley instead?" 

"Fuck 'er-suck 'er. I don't give a shit." Frank's hands tightened on 
Evelyn's still rapidly bobbing head. "Holy shit, Mark, your wife is-ohhh, 
that's good-she's one helluva cocksucker." 

"Thanks, neighbor," Mark grinned. 

He was almost as proud of himself as he was of his hard-working wife, whose 
praises Frank was lustily singing whilst she played a sexy sonata on his 
steel-hard cock. For although he had expended considerable time and energy 
trying to talk Evelyn into wife-swapping, he had not been so taken away by 
the prospect of swinging that he overlooked the possibility of jealousy. 

He had expected to suffer some jealousy, and maybe even some small guilt 
feelings, when and if Evelyn decided to start swinging. That, he figured, 
was probably just par for the course. In time, when he and Evelyn settled 
into the swinging routine and became full-fledged spouse-switchers, jealousy 
and guilt would gradually disappear. 

But praise be, Mark said to himself now, he felt neither jealous nor guilty. 
He had overestimated the extent to which these two feelings would infringe 
upon his enjoyment of the hedonistic life. For a fleeting moment, just 
before being dragged off to suck pussy, he had experienced a twinge of 
jealousy, a microscopic urge to push the arrogant Joe Finlay away from 
Evelyn. 

But it had passed quickly, very quickly, and now, as he stood with the 
others and watched his pretty spouse gluttonously gobbling up his neighbor's 
great prick, his mind was filled with thoughts of seeing Evelyn screwed 
insane by the men whose cocks she had sucked. It was going to be simply 
fantastic. 

"Uhh-ohhh," Frank started grunting, his orgasm approaching full speed ahead. 
"Oh, baby. Oh, sweet shit, you're killin' me." 

"This looks like it," Linda said with a grin. 

"Here comes the big explosion," Matt added. 

"Watch out, honey," Shirley warned Evelyn, "you're about to be flooded with 
come." 

"Oh, baby, ohhh," Frank moaned. 

For the third time Evelyn braced herself to take a load of warm sex syrup in 
her mouth. But then-surprise! Frank suddenly yanked his ejaculating organ 
out of her mouth and, holding it like a garden hose, began showering her 
whole face with his creamy discharge. 

Caught unprepared, Evelyn emitted a gasp of surprise and quickly turned her 
head away. But Frank grabbed her head with his free hand and forced her face 
back to his spewing prick, his thick fingers wrapping around her blonde 
tresses as he continued spraying her with his thick, gooey come. 

"Hey, look at that shower," Joe exclaimed, the excitement of seeing the pert 
and pretty Evelyn get her face washed with sticky semen causing him to pinch 
down hard on Shirley's tender nipple. 

"Ouch!" the raven-tressed beauty cried. "That hurt, dammit." For revenge, 
she reached down quickly and with her left hand gave Joe's limp pecker a 
cruel squeeze. 

"She's really getting it," Marge observed, almost wishing she were in 
Evelyn's place at the moment. 

"Yeah, but she's lovin' it," Matt added. "Just look at her-look at her 
face." 

Matt was correct. There was no mistaking Evelyn's enjoyment of her 
degradation. She was wallowing in this foul act, the dreamy expression on 
her face clearly evidencing that plain fact. Slowly she turned her head, 
moving it this way and that as she felt the gooey globs of Frank's semen 
splash onto her face. She wanted to have her countenance coated with 
come-wonderful, beautiful come. 

Eyes closed, she slipped her tongue from her mouth and began a lascivious 
licking of her come-laden lips, seemingly determined to lap up, with broad 
strokes, all of Frank's syrupy sex juice as it dribbled down from her 
forehead to her chin, trickled from nose to lips, ran in slimy riverlets 
down her rosy cheeks. 

Finally, Frank stopped coming and staggered back, his legs feeling as if 
they were about to give out under him. He stumbled to the armchair and 
collapsed into it, wheezing loudly as he tried to bring his breathing under 
control. 

Evelyn, her lips swollen and her face dripping with sticky love cream, 
emitted a weary moan and rolled over onto her side, curling up on the floor 
like a contented kitten after receiving her bowl of tasty milk. 

"Well done, people," Linda said loudly. "That was quite a show." 

"A superior performance," Matt added. 

"A round of applause is in order," Shirley grinned, taking her hand from Joe 
Finlay's pecker to commence clapping. 

The pleasure-loving swappers joined Shirley in congratulating Frank and 
Evelyn for a truly memorable demonstration. Mark, too, applauded his wife, 
thinking as he clapped his hands that he would like to do to Evelyn what 
Frank had done. Perhaps when they next made love at home- 

There was a pause in the lustful proceedings now, the happy hedonists 
content to chat for the next fifteen minutes while Evelyn recuperated and 
cleaned her sperm-besmirched face. Matt made another round of drinks and 
passed one to each guest, handing Evelyn a potent rye and ginger ale, which 
she had requested, then watching her down half of it in one long swallow. 

And then it was time to begin phase three of the Fawners' wicked initiation. 
This phase, the final one, was to consist of the Fawners fucking the 
individuals who had enjoyed their oral ministrations. Evelyn would get 
screwed by Messrs. Finlay, Williams and Lionel. Mark would lay the men's 
wives. 

A mini-debate ensued as an attempt was made to determine the order of 
things, it finally being decided that Linda, who had been the last to be 
eaten by Mark, should be the first to fuck him. Linda loved this decision, 
of course, and volunteered to flip the coin that Matt suggested they use to 
determine whether Shirley or Marjorie followed her. 

Shirley called the toss correctly and clapped her hands in glee. Marge, 
rather disappointed, took solace from the fact that Mark seemed to be a very 
virile stud who would have enough energy left over after two screwings to 
bring her off very nicely. 

After a brief discussion, the men decided to break with tradition and allow 
Evelyn to choose which of them she would fuck first, second and third. 
Evelyn very quickly relegated Frank to third place on line, the thought of 
having his huge pecker stuffed deep inside her tender twat right now, even 
though she was wet down there and really horny, suffusing her with faint 
fear. 

Better to work up to Frank, she thought, telling the others that she would 
like to ball Joe first, Matt second, and then, after she'd been stretched a 
little, Mr. Big himself. 

"That's the same order in which you blew them, honey," Shirley noted with a 
sweet smile. 

"Is that bad?" Evelyn asked. 

"Not bad at all, baby," Matt answered quickly. "What's that old saying-as ye 
suck so shall ye fuck?" 

Everyone laughed. 

"I don't think it goes quite like that, darling," Linda said. 

"Well, you know what I mean. Now how 'bout if we stop all this talking and 
get on with the fucking. Poor Mark looks about ready to shower us all with 
his cream." 

All eyes, including Evelyn's, zeroed in on Mark's manhood, which after all 
this time was still in a state of pulsating tumuscence. Linda and Marge and 
Shirley were especially pleased at Mark's ability to maintain a nice 
erection, for it was further proof of his excellent health and, even more 
important, of his horny nature. 

Evelyn made no comment but took careful note of the three female's obvious 
appreciation of her husband, a warm glow suffusing her as she took another 
sip of her drink. It was, she thought happily, very nice to be married to a 
man other women found sexually stimulating. Just wait until he plunged his 
prick into their respective vaginas. Then they would really have something 
to shout about. 

It took only a few minutes to make ready for the first fucks of the night, 
the two couples, Mark and Linda, Joe and Evelyn, standing off to one side 
like performers waiting in the wings to go on while the others set the 
stage. Pillows were removed from the sofa and the seat cushions, comfortably 
hard, were covered with a large white sheet retrieved from the linen closet 
by Linda. 

As he watched Matt and Shirley spread a green satin comforter in the middle 
of the living room rug, Joe remarked as how it would have been better to 
hold the initiation in his home, since he and Marge had a very large bedroom 
in which at least eight people could fuck comfortably without any trouble. 

"You can host the next initiation party, Joe," Shirley said to soothe the 
quick-tempered swapper. 

"I'll hold you to that," Mrs. Lionel." 

"All right, now we're all set," Matt said, straightening up. "Okay, kids, go 
to it. And remember, no quick comes and no faking it. Put everything you 
have into the screw." 

"That's going to be very easy," Mark said with a sly grin. 

"I won't be faking a darn thing," Evelyn added. "I'm so hot it's positively 
shameful." 

Everyone laughed. Evelyn then stretched out on her back on the long sofa, 
extending her arms in welcome as Joe climbed awkwardly into position atop 
her. Mark watched Linda, whom he thought to be the personification of the 
idea that black is beautiful, stretch out on the quilted bedcover and spread 
her smooth, sleek legs. Then he dropped to his knees and proceeded to crawl 
toward her. 

"I don't need much foreplay," Evelyn informed Joe in a provocative whisper. 
"My pussy is so wet now." 

"Is it?" Joe grinned. 

"Feel it and find out." 

"Don't mind if I do, baby." 

As Joe reached down and began a rough stroking of Evelyn's very wet twat, 
his thick fingers plunging inside her hair-lined hole, Linda savored the 
feel of Mark's strong hands on her black breasts and suggested he end his 
misery by immediately shoving his patient prick into her impatient vagina. 

Which Mark did, delighted not to have to spend time getting his partner 
ready. In one sure, swift stroke he slid his bloated bone into Linda's 
clasping cunt, burying himself to the balls in her heavenly mush. Then he 
began moving in her, slowly and methodically, his cock a well-oiled piston 
as he plunged, withdrew, plunged and withdrew. 

"Oh, good," Linda crooned. "Simply divine, Mark. Do you think you can last a 
while?" 

"I'll-I'll try," Mark grunted, wondering all of a sudden if he hadn't spoken 
too quickly when Matt reminded him of the importance of not coming too soon. 

"I'll help you, honey," the svelte black woman promised, her arms sliding 
around Mark's back. "I won't move around too much until you're ready to 
explode." 

"All right, good," Mark breathed, not missing a beat as another slow swivel 
of his hips sent his pecker corkscrewing up into Linda's slushy sex chute. 

"Do it now, please," Evelyn pleaded softly. "Please, Joe, get your cock in 
me. I need it." She squirmed under the stocky man hovering over her, the 
butcher with the chunk of meat she wanted in her hot love oven. 

"You're sure you're ready, baby?" Joe asked, taunting the pretty blonde 
initiate. 

"You know I am, dammit. Oh, please, I'm so hot for you. My cunt is on fire, 
Joe." 

"Okay, sweetheart. I've got just the hose to put it out." 

With that, Joe reached down with his right hand and directed the bulbous 
head of his cock to Evelyn's pouting pussy lips. His pecker had thickened 
and lengthened during the time it took Linda to prepare the sofa, and his 
desire, whetted by the prospect of laying someone new, was such that he was 
more than willing to get on with the hot humping. 

"Oh, that feels so good in me," Evelyn sighed happily when she had all of 
Joe's meaty member in her soupy twat. "Hump me now, Joe. Give it to me 
good." 

"Hard and fast, baby?" 

"Yes. Hard and fast, Joe. Fuck me good. Stretch my pussy." 

Evelyn started to whimper with pleasure as Joe, braced on hands and knees, 
commenced churning his blood-packed prick in her tight, greedily-gripping 
cunt. After a while she began moving with him, rolling her curvy hips up off 
the sofa to greet his hard organ as it slid wetly between the folds of her 
pulpy sex lips into her hot, pulsating prick port. 

It wasn't long before the couple on the sofa and the couple on the living 
room floor were in lewd competition to see which twosome could make the 
loudest noises, utter the foulest language. Evelyn, wallowing in the 
knowledge that this was the very first time someone other than Mark had 
screwed her, fell to chanting the grossest obscenities, the vulgarisms 
pouring from her mouth as she dug her fingers into Joe's big hairy chest and 
thrilled to the feel of his bloated prick trundling back and forth in her 
weeping womanhood. 

Linda, meanwhile, was finding it increasingly difficult to remain more or 
less inert as Mark humped her with ever accelerating speed, his pecker 
plunging into her pulsating cunt with a rapacious rapidity she found almost 
unbearably sweet. She gasped and grunted, raked her nails across Mark's 
smooth back, pleaded in loud, lust-charged voice to be banged out of her 
skull. 

"Here we are again, folks," Shirley said grinning. "Wondering who's going to 
come first." 

"How long have they been at it?" Marge asked. 

"Long enough," Frank answered with a faint smile, his eyes glued to Evelyn 
and Joe whose feverish fucking was causing the sofa to issue squeaky 
complaints. 

"All right, everybody," Matt said, his voice almost a shout, "you can come 
when you're ready. You've already exceeded the minimum time limit that we 
re-" 

"Ohhhh," Evelyn suddenly moaned, her wail of pleasure drowning out the rest 
of Matt's sentence. 

"Gads, what timing," Shirley exclaimed. 

"Better get ready, Matt," Marge suggested. "You're up next." 

Matt moved to the sofa, his cock once again rock-hard and ready to be thrust 
into a hungry female vagina. He looked down at the couple bouncing wildly on 
the sofa, his eyes flitting from Joe's rapidly bobbing buttocks to the 
passion-contorted countenance of the female receiving his creamy discharge. 

"Ugh, ugh, arghh," Joe grunted hoarsely, madly pumping his prick as he 
spilled his sticky seed inside Evelyn's palpitating cunt. 

"Ohh, Joe, fill me," Evelyn crooned rapturously, hooking her legs over her 
partner's as she washed down his ejaculating pecker with her own copious 
discharge. 

Unable to hold out a single second longer, Mark now let loose with a torrent 
of creamy come, the feel of his ejaculate gushing into her viscid vagina 
dredging from Linda's throat an animalistic howl of sheer delight. A mighty 
moan of satisfaction was ripped from Mark's throat by the savagery of his 
release, his whole body in satanic quiver as the thick semen streaked 
through his shuddering shaft to inundate the black beauty's sex well. 

Emitting a final groan, Joe collapsed atop Evelyn, his large hairy chest 
squashing her pert, passion-swollen boobs. Mark, after spilling the last of 
his sticky seed, issued a weary moan of contentment and slowly rolled off a 
pleased Linda. 

"All right, old man," Matt said, tapping Joe on the ass, "you've had your 
taste. Let me now show our newest member what she can expect from Mr. 
Williams." 

Reluctantly, Joe pushed himself up off the sofa and onto his feet. "She's 
all yours, pal," he said thickly. "Enjoy her-she's got a real tight little 
twat." 

As Joe moved off toward the bar, a grinning Matt Williams took his place on 
the sofa. Linda found the strength to rise and now awkwardly get to her 
feet, Mark's semen beginning to dribble out of her just-reamed vagina. 

"Good, huh?" Shirley asked her black friend when Linda was standing beside 
her. 

"Very good. He's got all the moves, Shirl." 

"And at the moment a very pooped pecker." 

Linda smiled. "Well, I'm sure you know how to revive it, honey. Give Mr. 
Fawner a little sample of your sucking technique, why don't you? I'm sure 
he'd enjoy it." 

"That," Shirley said, looking down at Mark, "is exactly what I had in mind." 

Linda wandered off to join Joe at the bar. Shirley sank slowly to her knees 
and without delay spread Mark's legs wide apart. Mark opened his eyes to 
discover the black-haired temptress crawling into prick-licking position 
between his legs, her left hand curling around his wilted pecker. 

"Resuscitation time, handsome," Shirley explained. "You don't mind, do you?" 

"Mind? You must be crazy, Mrs. Lionel." 

"Crazy for cock," Shirley smiled sexily. "Now just you relax and let me put 
some life into this here noodle. I happen to be a girl who likes a cock to 
be very, very hard when it's in her pussy." 

"Is that so unusual?" Mark asked with a grin. 

Shirley didn't bother to answer. Instead, she dropped her head over Mark's 
loins and, lifting up his pooped organ, placed the come-coated crown between 
her experienced lips. She sucked on it briefly, then began licking the whole 
penis from hairy base to the tiny vertical slit at the tip, her tongue in 
lazy, maddening swirl. 

"Oh, Shirl, suck it," Mark breathed. "Get it hard. That's it-oh, so good." 

Meanwhile, over on the sofa, Matt was working his ebony prick in and out of 
Evelyn's clutching cunt, asking her if she liked getting pronged by a black 
man. 

"I love it," was the reply he received. 

"You have a good cunt, baby. Nice and tight." 

"Thank you," Evelyn said, matching Matt thrust for thrust as she 
synchronated her sensuous, hip swivels to his slow, methodical, downward 
plunges. 

"Later I'll eat you," Matt promised, smiling down into Evelyn's face. "Would 
you like that?" 

"Yes, of course I would. I want to try everything, Matt." 

"That's the purpose of our swap club, sweetheart. In the company of friends 
one can indulge himself or herself to the fullest. Nothing is forbidden if 
it provides pleasure." 

Evelyn wondered if she dare verbalize her thoughts, ask the question that 
was on the tip of her tongue. Then, her decision made, she began, "Matt, I'd 
like-I mean-" 

"Yes? Out with it, Evelyn. I'm not hurting you, am I?" 

"Oh no, it's wonderful. I can catch my breath this way." 

"Well then what were you going to ask me?" 

Evelyn hesitated, then, "You said each member of the club should feel free 
to-to live out his or her fantasies. Is that right?" 

Matt nodded. "It is, yes. We get together to transform dreams into reality." 

"Then would you help this girl satisfy a strange urge?" 

Matt smiled. "Name it, suger." 

"I want you to-to spank me. Really whack on my ass." 

"I'd be delighted." 

"You're not surprised-or disgusted?" 

"Of course not. Why should I be? We don't go in for the real heavy 
sado-masochism scene-whips and chains and that stuff-but a good spanking is 
just another way of making sex better." 

"Really?" 

"Really. In fact, I spank Linda regularly. She doesn't mind at all when I 
tell her to bend over and lift her skirt." 

Evelyn was thrilled at this revelation and wanted to pursue the subject 
further, but she suddenly found herself more concerned with Matt's manhood 
than with his spanking technique. Without warning, as if to inform her that 
conversation between them should cease, he had increased the tempo of his 
thrusts and was now pistoning his prick into her cunt with concentrated 
effort. 

Which was certainly all right. The night was still young, Evelyn reminded 
herself. They'd be plenty of time to talk. To screw. And, of course, to 
spank. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

While the Fawners and their lusty friends were merrily mating in Maplewood, 
Timothy Lane and his mistress-of-the-moment, Laura Hampton, were lying in 
wanton sprawl on a double bed in unit number four of Sleep 'N' Wake, a clean 
and unpretentious motel located on the outskirts of Cloverdale Village. 

Tim, a hip, hump-happy twenty-six-year-old who dressed with impeccable 
style, and Laura, a stunning, titian-tressed temptress of twenty-four who 
preferred nakedness to being clothed, had checked into the motel about an 
hour ago. After unpacking and undressing, both of which had been 
accomplished speedily, the two had hopped into bed, there to do what each 
did best, fuck. 

A little petting ensued, a few hungry kisses and nibbles were exchanged, 
some intimate caresses were savored, but the screw itself had failed to 
materialize, thanks to the green-eyed Laura's belated realization that she 
was going to be stuck in this "stupid little suburb" for an indefinite 
period of time. 

If there was one thing Laura loathed more than any other it was boredom, and 
the idea of having to spend more than a minute in Cloverdale Village, a 
community not unlike the one in which she had been monotonously reared, 
filled her uncommonly beautiful head with very ugly thoughts. 

After all, she reasoned, this was no place for a hip, fun-loving girl like 
herself. Why, just a quick drive through the streets of Cloverdale Village 
and you knew the town was Dullsville. The place reeked of Saturday Night 
Barbecues, of Lovingly-Mowed Lawns, of Snot-Nosed Children, of 
Crispy-Crinkly White Wash Hung Out To Dry. 

Everything was so pretty and perfect. And everybody seemed so ridiculously 
happy-even the cats and dogs pranced about as if they were high. Cloverdale 
Village was the kind of quiet suburban community one sees pictured in 
women's magazines, a nice, orderly place where bright-eyed, bushy-tailed 
housewives gossiped over the fence or met for coffee in mid-morning to 
regale one another with positively marvelous stories about the new detergent 
they were using in their Discount Department Store Washer. 

Ugh! How insane can you get, Laura wondered. How could people live such 
mundane, totally useless lives? No, this was certainly not the place to 
be-not even for an hour. She needed the bright lights and the gay crowds, 
the excitement of wandering about a big city chock full of the unexpected, 
the perverse and thrilling. 

Years ago, more than she cared to remember, in fact, she had fled her home 
town, it having suddenly occurred to her that if she remained she would grow 
up to be just like her mother, chubby and contented and interested only in 
that which happened on her block. 

Now here she was again, back in Dullsville for heaven knows how long. Why? 

Which question Laura now once again put to the man she had been living and 
traveling with for the last two and a half years. 

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, baby," Tim Lane groaned. "Haven't I answered that 
question a dozen times already?" 

"So answer it one more time," Laura said, stretched out on her back on the 
bed, her hands locked behind her head as she stared up at the motel room 
ceiling. "Go ahead, humor me a little. If it isn't too much trouble." 

"Now you're getting sarcastic again, Laura." 

"I'm not sarcastic, lover. What I am is disgusted with this perfectly 
horrible place I'm stuck in." 

"I think it's a rather nice motel, baby. I mean, it's neat and clean and-" 

"Don't be smart, Tim," Laura broke in. "You know damn well I'm not talking 
about the motel." 

"You don't like Cloverdale Village?" 

"That's putting it mildly." 

"Why?" 

"It reminds me of my home town, which I left in a hurry when I realized the 
world didn't consist only of apple pies, babysitting, and Saturday night at 
the movies with a freckled-faced, skinny boy who enjoyed tinkering with 
automobiles." 

Tim, who like his mistress was stretched out on his back on the bed, hands 
clasped behind his head, thought for a moment and then said, "Well, baby, no 
one is stopping you from leaving. There are no bars on that door, you know." 

Laura turned her head on the pillow to look at her lover. It was only 
natural that he'd say something like that, she thought. It was in keeping 
with his philosophy of life, the gist of which emphasized hanging loose at 
all times and not getting too involved. Emotions, he believed, had a way of 
messing up one's goals. 

It wasn't an altogether bad philosophy. In fact, she too was usually willing 
to admit the benefits of living a life unfettered by deep emotional 
involvements, a life where one was responsible only to himself or herself 
and could do, say and think whatever the hell he or she pleased. 

The problem, and she was starting to think of it in exactly that way, was 
that she had allowed herself to fall in love with Mr. Timothy Lane. She 
loved his dark, faintly arrogant good looks, his coal-black wavy hair and 
mischievous, twinkling hazel eyes, his lean, hard, six foot two inch, one 
hundred seventy-five pound body. 

She loved his cock, especially when it was thick and throbbing and churning 
happily inside her hot pussy. 

And last but not least, she loved his life style. Tim was an exciting man, a 
shrewd opportunist with a keen understanding of human weaknesses and the 
cunning to turn those weaknesses, through various and sundry means, to his 
advantage. He had a flair for life, an uncontrollable urge to do and see it 
all. 

His total defiance of those things "right" and "proper" was just beautiful 
to behold. She had never met a man so willing to embrace danger, so cynical 
and calculating, so deliciously depraved in terms of exploiting others to 
his financial benefit. 

In short, Timothy Lane was a terribly exciting, outrageously stubborn, very 
handsome inconoclast. The kind of male most women like to dream about. 

"Well, baby," Tim said, breaking the silence, "are you going to walk out on 
me or not? I won't try to stop you if you feel the need to search for 
greener pastures." 

Laura turned her head so that she was again peering up at the ceiling. "You 
can always find another traveling companion, right?" 

"I didn't say that, baby, you did. I wouldn't like to see you leave, but if 
that's what-" 

"Oh, Tim, knock it off," Laura broke in. "You know damn well I don't want to 
walk out. It's just that I feel so closed off from reality in this stinking 
suburb. It's like being locked inside a closet and waiting for somebody to 
find the key." 

Tim chuckled. "We haven't been here two hours yet, sweetheart." 

"That's two hours too long," Laura cracked. 

Tim turned over onto his left side and wormed his hard nakedness against the 
voluptuous, lust-provoking body of his nude bedmate, his right hand sliding 
up her smooth, flat tummy to soothingly caress a full, delightfully firm 
tit. 

"Listen, honey," he said softly, "we won't be here that long, I promise you. 
It's simply a case of our having to go where the pickings are plentiful. 
Just as soon as we've finished our business in Cloverdale Village we'll get 
the hell out. I don't like this lousy little burg any more than you do-and I 
was raised in a town not far from here." 

"And what makes you think you'll be successful with this Evelyn what's her 
name?" 

"Crowley-Evelyn Crowley. I mean that was her name when I knew her. I suppose 
she's married now-might even have a couple of kids, too." 

"I repeat. What makes you think you'll be able to seduce her? She's probably 
very happily married and very content playing the sweet little housewife 
scene. Why should she even give you a second look after all these years?" 

"Well, sugar, it's like I told you," Tim said, his fingers worrying the 
nipple of Laura's left breast. "Six years ago Evelyn and I were a pretty hot 
item, as they say. I met her at a party, liked her, and asked her out the 
next week. Before very long we were dating each other almost exclusively." 

"Sounds like you were hooked on her." 

"Not really," Tim smiled. "Oh, Evelyn was real sweet and all that. Very 
pretty, too. And I think she was damn close to falling in love with me." 

"So?" 

"So the only reason I did the you're-the-only-one-for-me bit was because it 
pleased her to think I really cared." 

"But you didn't." 

Tim chuckled. "I cared more about gettin' in her pants. I figured that if 
she knew I was faithful to her she'd eventually let my cock into her little 
pussy." 

"So this sneaky plot of yours worked and one fine summer night, while parked 
in a lover's lane, you screwed the brains out of Miss Goody Two Shoes." 

Tim chuckled again, louder than before. "I wish the script read like that, 
baby. But the truth is that my virginal girl friend couldn't be tricked or 
talked or tempted into lowering her pretty panties. And believe me I tried 
everything. The closest I got to her cunt was one night when I plied her 
with a little booze and managed to sneak my hand up under her skirt to cup 
her pantied-crotch." 

"How utterly thrilling," Laura sighed. 

"Utterly frustrating is more like it. Our petting sessions, of which there 
weren't very many, always ended with my taking an angry Evelyn home and then 
returning to my parents' place to masturbate." 

"You masturbate? I don't believe it." 

"I wasn't as sophisticated then as I am now," Tim explained with a sexy 
smile. Then, as the smile gradually faded, he added, "I suppose Evelyn 
remained a virgin until her wedding night. That's what she always told me 
she intended to do." 

"You don't know if she married," Laura noted. 

"I'd be willing to bet on it, though. Like I say, she was a nice looking kid 
with a sweet personality. Some guy who liked the idea of marrying a virgin 
probably came along and swept her off her dainty little feet." 

"And this is the female you intend to seduce and talk into leaving the 
country with you. Tim, darling, this time I think you've bitten off more 
than you can chew. It'll never work-not in a hundred years. You make one 
move toward her and she'll go screaming to her husband." 

"Maybe and maybe not. In any event, for ten thousand bucks it sure as hell 
is worth a damn good try. And with your help I might just be able to pull it 
off." 

Laura had to admit that the thought of running her fingers through all that 
lovely green stuff was indeed delightful. She was also ready to admit that 
of all the weird schemes, all the crazy, illegal, immoral, unethical 
businesses Tim had been involved in, this was by far the most exciting, the 
strangest and most dangerous. 

She still didn't know exactly how he had gotten mixed up with white slavery, 
thanks to his unswerving, and unnerving, determination to remain 
closed-mouthed about those details that would fill in the gaps. It wasn't 
that he didn't trust her, of that she was certain. His stated purpose in 
remaining silent when questioned about names, places and dates was, in fact, 
a simple one. He just thought it best if only a very few, those directly 
involved in the operation, knew such things. Because one innocent slip of 
the tongue and boom!-everybody is carted off to jail. 

Which made some sense, of course. Yet it in no way mitigated her curiosity. 
She knew only that six months ago Tim had met a United Nations diplomat in 
New York, a representative from one of the oil-rich countries in the Middle 
East, and that during their conversation the subject of harems had cropped 
up. 

According to Tim, the diplomat had lamented the fact that in most sultans' 
harems there was a regrettable dearth of young white American women. There 
were Oriental women aplenty, several blacks, a smattering of Scandinavian 
and English lovelies, but representatives from America were few and far 
between. 

While Tim found this to be of some interest, his ears really perked up when 
he was informed, in whispered tones, of course, that not every girl in the 
sultans' harems was there because she wanted to be, because she favored the 
ease and comfort of such a life to that of working for a living or marrying. 
Some had been smuggled into the country. 

And when the diplomat, slightly inebriated by this time, told him of one 
sultan so desperate for young, succulent American females that he'd be 
willing to shell out ten thousand dollars for a choice, truly All-American 
Woman, Tim's interest grew to gigantic proportions. Ten thousand bucks for 
one girl! Unbelievable. 

"What are you thinking about now, baby?" 

Tim asked, breaking into Laura's moment o musing. "Getting laid, maybe?" 

Laura smiled. "I'm thinking back to the time you told me about the diplomat 
and the sultans' need for American pussy." 

Tim chuckled. "It was a great stroke of luck my bumping into that guy, 
wasn't it? I mean, it's not everyday in the week that you meet a diplomat 
who's working as a procurer for a disgustingly wealthy sultan." 

"I don't know if it was all that great," Laura said, reaching down with her 
right hand and curling her fingers around her lover's flaccid pecker. "We've 
been at this white slavery thing for six months now and we've only managed 
to get two girls to the Middle East. And you were only paid twenty-five 
hundred for each." 

Tim nodded. "That's because both girls were ugly as sin." 

"Agreed. But the point is that we went to all that trouble, made all those 
underworld contacts, bribed scores of-" 

"Yeah, I know, I know," Tim interrupted. "You're saying it's hardly worth 
the trouble." 

"Exactly. Hell, we could pull a Bonnie and Clyde and rob a bank for our five 
thousand. We wouldn't have to involve ourselves in all that dangerous 
intrigue." 

Tim smiled down at his mistress, his hand sliding from her spongy breast, 
across the smooth, flat plane of her tummy, down to the inviting juncture of 
her creamy thighs. He cupped her crotch, then squeezed, feeling the pressure 
of her hand on his limp prick increase as she began squirming. 

"What are you trying to do, lover? Change the subject quickly?" 

"I'm reminding you that you like the intrigue, sweetheart. Now don't deny 
it. Danger turns you on and you know it. Just the idea of luring some pretty 
innocent from her safe nest gets you hot. You like to watch me seduce the 
woman and then drug her. It works like an aphrodisiac on you." 

"You're saying I'm a horribly wicked woman, Mr. Lane." 

"Well, aren't you?" 

A provocative, faintly feral smile slowly crept across Laura's clear, 
unblemished countenance. "Yes," she answered. "I suppose I am wicked and 
depraved and-" 

"Very beautiful. Very, very beautiful." 

"Well thank you, kind sir. But I wish you'd tell me that more often." 

"I'm telling you now, suger." 

"Tell me again." 

"You, Miss Hampton, are a very beautiful woman. In fact, you're about the 
most beautiful girl I've ever laid." 

It suddenly occurred to Tim that he was telling the complete, unvarnished 
truth for a change. His admittedly tawdry adventures had taken him to all 
parts of the United States and to several countries in Europe, Africa, and 
the Far East, and in the course of his travels he had fucked and sucked many 
a pretty female. 

But none could really compare to Laura. She was one of a special breed of 
female, the kind who possess great beauty, genuine intelligence, a sense of 
humor, and an insatiable lust to experience life to its fullest. And when 
you added to this a delicious wickedness, a passion for the perverse, and a 
sexual appetite that bordered on the nymphomaniacal, you had in Miss Laura 
Hampton a girl worth her weight in gold. 

How he loved to run his fingers through her flowing, silky titian tresses, 
caress her firm, full breasts, slip his blood-hardened cock into her warm, 
velvet-like copper-colored cunt. And her ass, her fantastic, mouth-watering 
ass. What bliss it was to knead those firm, succulent cheeks, to tongue that 
pretty pink asshole, to bury his root in the dark depths of her dank rectum. 

"Have you ever considered drugging me and then having me shipped to one of 
those sultans?" Laura asked. She expected her question to evoke a startled 
expression, a look of surprise mingled with dismay, perhaps. She got it. 

"Now what kind of a stupid question is that?" Tim said, parrying his girl 
friend's question with one of his own. 

"It's not such a stupid question. I've thought about it a number of times, 
Tim. In fact, if you remember I asked you this same question twice before." 

"And I answered?" 

"That the idea had never crossed your mind. That you wouldn't think of 
handing me over to some fat, sloppy sultan." 

"All right, then. So what's the problem?" 

"You haven't changed your mind. I mean, some night when I'm fast asleep you 
won't give me an injection of that stuff and-" 

"Oh, Laura, now this is absolutely ridiculous," Tim broke in. "I'll tell you 
again for the last time. I would never do such a lousy thing to you. I mean, 
I just couldn't. I couldn't live with myself if I knew you were being pawed 
by some greasy old pig." 

Very convincing, Tim thought, continuing to methodically rub up Laura's 
moistening pussy as he allayed her fears of one day waking up to find 
herself in a tent, surrounded by a bevy of veiled females. She should only 
know that the idea of collecting ten thousand clams for her had indeed 
crossed his mind, and that it was only her fantastic face and figure and her 
tendency toward nymphomania which prevented him from following through. 

Girls like Laura couldn't be found on any old street corner. When a man 
found one he was a fool to let go-even for ten thousand bucks. But if Laura 
were to cross him, if she were to, say, run off with another guy after 
taking all the profits from a particular caper, he'd track her down, beat 
her up, and see to it that before the week was out her beautiful backside, 
the one he loved to fuck, was planted on the front seat of some sultan's 
Cadillac. 

"All right, lover, I believe you," Laura said finally. "Now why don't you 
make love to me? Your cock is getting so nice and hard in my hand." 

"We should talk a little more about this caper, baby. We have plans to make 
and-" 

"Later," Laura interrupted. "You can explain my part in the Evelyn caper 
later. Right now I have to get laid. Can't you feel how wet my twat is 
getting?" 

Tim poked a finger into Laura's love hole and wriggled it around, the little 
gasp of pleasure she emitted like music to his ears. He grinned and said, 
"You're right, sugar. You are ready to be fucked." 

"Aren't I always?" was the ravishing redhead's snappy retort, one 
accompanied by a broad grin. 

"Always," Tim echoed. 

"Then do me, lover man. Sock it to me good tonight." 

"I want your ass tonight, Laura. It's been a while and-" 

"No, Tim, please," Laura said, her grin vanishing as quickly as it had 
blossomed on her beautiful face. "Do me the regular way, darling. I want it 
in my pussy. Please, Tim." 

"And I want your fanny, baby," Tim snapped, his expression suddenly stern, 
almost threatening. "Now why waste your breath arguing when you know I'll 
wind up fucking your ass?" 

He was right, Laura thought sadly. There was simply no point trying to talk 
to Tim when he had made up his mind about something, whether that something 
concerned a caper he planned to pull or a sexual act he wanted to perform. 
He could be cruel and demanding at times, as stubborn as an ass, and should 
she refuse him now he would only make her suffer later by acting surly and 
ignoring her when she wanted normal intercourse. 

"All right, you win," she said finally. "B-But not the other, Tim. Don't 
make me, please. I'll be-" 

"It's high time you started to develop a liking for analingus, sweetheart. 
I'll be damned if I can understand how you can be so crazy for sex and still 
act so childish whenever I mention ass-licking or ass-fucking. There's 
nothing to be frightened about, you know." 

"It doesn't frighten me, Tim," Laura said, trying to explain. "I just find 
those acts-repugnant. They're not healthy." 

Tim chortled. "Baby, sometimes I think you have a split personality. You're 
the last person on earth I'd expect to draw the line at a particular sex 
act." He suddenly pushed himself up and turned around on the bed, sitting 
back on his haunches as he looked down at his mistress. "Now I'm going to 
stretch out belly-down on the bed. You'll take it from there, understand?" 

Laura turned her head on the pillow, averting her eyes from her lover's hard 
gaze. 

"I said do you understand, baby," Tim barked. 

"Yes, I understand," was the beauteous redhead's soft, sad answer. 

"Good, I'm glad you do," Tim snapped, his smile cocky, his tone of voice 
arrogant. 

Seconds later he was sliding down into position on the bed, his lean, hard 
body in slow squirm as he stretched out on the bed and rested his head on 
the pillow, between his arms. 

One day she would get up enough nerve to refuse him this most disgusting 
act, Laura promised herself. Did he really find it so hard to understand her 
revulsion, her detestation of analingus? Why did he find incompatible her 
love of normal cunt and cock intercourse and her total dislike of 
ass-fucking? 

The one gave her intense, mind-blowing pleasure, the other provided little 
more than a feeling of fullness in her rectum, an urge to defecate. As far 
as she was concerned the two acts were as different as night and day, having 
in common only the fact that a hard prick was necessary to perform them. 

How many females were there who liked to roll over and have their anus 
licked and tickled by a tongue? She didn't, not particularly, although the 
act did cause some funny tingling sensations to ripple over her body. But 
real pleasure, real satisfaction? Sorry, but getting her shit hole swabbed 
orally just wasn't her idea of ecstasy. 

"I'm waiting, sweetheart," Tim called out. 

"All right," Laura answered softly. "All right." 

Less than a minute later, her tummy already doing flip-flops, she was 
positioned between her lover's legs, her magnificently-shaped body in lewd, 
obsequious crouch as she stared down at the taut backside she was expected 
to bathe with her tongue before zeroing in the puckered port itself. 

"Come on, Laura," Tim barked into the pillow. "Get with it, dammit." 

Laura swallowed hard. What absolutely lousy, rotten luck, she thought. There 
were only two sexual acts she truly abhorred, licking an asshole and getting 
fucked in the fanny, so she had to go and flip out for a stud who thought 
they were the greatest perversions going. Fate could be crappy at times. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

"Yeah, honey, just like that," Tim said softly, his look of annoyance 
replaced now with a gently smile as his mistress commenced her obscene 
labors. "Up and down-that's it-slow, baby, nice and slow-." 

Crouched low, her hands flat on the bed, one on either side of Tim's hips, 
Laura licked up and down her lover's right buttock and attempted to think of 
other things. Her long, silky smooth titian tresses fell about her face and 
trailed across Tim's flesh as she weaved her head left to right, up and 
down. 

"Nice, sweetheart, very nice. You'll get to like this yet, I bet." 

That'll be the day, Laura thought. 

"A little higher now," Tim ordered, squirming his bottom up into his 
luscious girlfriend's face. "Up a-yeah, there we go." 

Slowly Laura swabbed the taut ass cheek, her tongue in lazy circular swirl 
as she coated the flesh with her sticky saliva. She was like a cat licking 
the bottom of a bowl of cream, like a friendly pup lapping her master's 
hand. 

"All right, the other cheek now, baby." 

Laura lifted up and sat back on her haunches. She took a deep breath and 
chased from her mind that thought that-the worst was still to come. She knew 
the sickening routine by heart, having tongued Tim's tail on the average of 
once a week since deciding to become his mistress, or if you will, traveling 
companion. 

First she was required to swab his right buttock, then his left, making sure 
that she missed not an inch of skin. Then it was down to the nitty-gritty, 
to the most humiliating part of all, to the puckered portal of his anus. 

"What happened, sweetheart?" Tim asked. "You fall asleep on me or 
something?" 

"Give me a minute, dammit," Laura said, her voice not expecially loud but 
very firm. 

"What are you doing, Laura? Tongue exercises, maybe?" 

The bastard thinks he's funny, Laura thought. Perhaps she ought to suggest 
that he visit a shrink and have the good doctor explain to him the reasons 
underlying his peculiar sexual preferences. That just might take the 
arrogant smile from her lover's puss. 

On the other hand, implying that he needed mental help might so anger him 
that he'd refuse to fuck her when she needed to be fucked. Then she would be 
climbing the damn walls and cursing herself for calling him abnormal. 

"Baby, will you get on with it," Tim said very impatiently. 

"Lie still," Laura said without emotion, again slipping into a low crouch 
and moving her face to Tim's backside. 

Seconds later she was treating his left ass cheek as she had his right, her 
hard-working tongue trailing up and down and across the hard hillock of 
flesh. Using broad sweeping strokes and long, lapping motions of her tongue 
she bathed the taut half moon, her long hair again falling around her face 
and shielding it from view. 

A few minutes later, Tim was ready for the piece de resistance, his voice 
curiously thick as he informed his beautiful mistress of this fact. His 
pecker had started to enlarge soon after Laura began ministering to his 
right ass cheek, and now it was indeed of troublesome thickness, pressing 
hard into the mattress as it struggled to achieve total tumescence. 

"Go ahead, Laura," he urged the reluctant beauty. "Stick your nose in the 
crack. Let me feel that wonderful hot tongue of yours in my ass. 

If it wasn't so disgusting it would be laughable, Laura thought, once again 
bending to her demeaning task, her tongue snaking out from between her lips 
to commence a caress of the dark divide, the narrow groove separating left 
buttock from right buttock. 

"Mmmmm, good, baby. Get it in deep now. I want to feel it wiggling around." 

Starting at the top of the crack, Laura slowly licked downward. Tim told her 
to open his ass. She obeyed with phlegmatic calm, bringing her arms up and 
over his bottom and prying apart his cheeks with her thumbs. 

"Yeah, that's the ticket. Now lick, sweetheart. Let me feel that beautiful 
tongue in there." 

Almost as disgusted with herself for permitting this atrocity as she was 
with her lover for demanding it, Laura resumed her wholly degrading ordeal, 
her tongue drilling deep as it probed the cleft of Tim's behind. Up and down 
she licked, sliding slowly ever closer to her destination, her nose wedged 
warmly in the crack as her tongue wormed its way toward the dark private 
port. 

And then-. 

"Mmmmm," Tim moaned. "Stick it in, baby. Stick it in!" Laura stuck it in. 

"Oh, shit, that feels good." 

Determined to get this horribly perverse and demeaning deed over with as 
quickly as possible, the green-eyed redhead drilled her moist tongue deep 
into Tim's tail. She pushed her tongue into his anus just as far as it would 
go, her nose still sandwiched between the warm, quivering half moons of his 
hard ass. 

"Work it, Laura, you know, in and out." 

Fighting off the urge to retch, Laura began pistoning her tongue in her 
lover's shithole. He was clean, thank heavens, yet a faint telltale odor 
emanated from that wrinkled cavity, one which reminded her, as if she needed 
reminding, of the exact location of her tongue at the moment. 

The wicked analingus continued for the next several minutes, the beautiful 
Laura repeatedly reaming her lover's anus with her thrusting tongue as he 
squirmed his bottom up into her face. Then, when he could no longer stand 
the painful pressure of his pecker, its pulsating thickness sandwiched most 
uncomfortably between the hard mattress and his belly, Tim called a halt to 
the perverse proceedings. 

It was time now to fuck a fanny. 

Laura lifted her face from her lover's bottom and fell back on her haunches, 
her upper body in gentle sway as she gulped down some fresh air. She ran the 
back of her right hand over her mouth as Tim flipped over onto his back, his 
passion evidenced clearly by the cock which sprung up to slap against his 
belly. 

"All right, baby, get into position. I'm goin' to fuck the shit out of you 
tonight." 

"Can't you give me a minute?" Laura asked angrily. 

"I want your ass now," Tim fired back. "Not a minute from now." 

"Go to hell." 

"You don't mean that, baby." 

"And suppose I did? What then?" 

"Then the next time you craved a fucking I'd hand you a candle." 

"You bastard," Laura cracked, glaring down at her aroused lover. 

"And you're a beautiful bitch-my beautiful bitch. Now he down before I 
really get mad." 

After a moment's hesitation, Laura crawled up the bed next to Tim and 
dropped down onto her belly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him push 
himself up off the bed, then she felt the up and down movements of the 
mattress as he maneuvered around behind her. Then his hard hands were on her 
ass. 

"Your ass was made for fucking, sweetheart," Tim said, as if he suddenly 
felt obliged to explain his enjoyment of anal sex, the fantastic thrill he 
received from drilling his dong deep into his girl's oh so tempting tail. 

"Just get it over with," Laura snapped. 

"I'm going to eat you out first." 

"Just do it and stop talking, dammit." 

"Give me the pillow under your head." 

Emitting a disgusted groan, Laura lifted her head from the pillow and pulled 
it away. She pushed it down toward Tim and then settled her head back on the 
mattress, resolving once again to one day get up the nerve to refuse her 
lover her behind. 

"Now lift up, Laura," Tim said. 

The titian-tressed beauty lifted her hips up off the bed and Tim immediately 
began stuffing the pillow under her belly. When all was ready, when her hips 
had been elevated and her gorgeous bottom was in provocative pose, he sat 
back on his haunches and commenced a gentle kneading of two spongy half 
moons of flesh. 

Laura, her head now cradled between her arms, remained indifferent to the 
lazy fondling of her fanny. Perhaps she might have felt something, some 
small pleasure, perhaps, if it weren't for the fact that she knew this 
caress was but a prelude to the degrading dicking of her derriere. 

It wasn't long before she felt Tim's face rubbing across her buttocks, his 
nose poking into the resilient flesh as he weaved his head about. He was 
kissing her now, slobbering over her bottom, his tongue like a creepy, 
crawly thing as it wormed wetly all over her. 

What if she were to fart at this very instant, Laura wondered. Now wouldn't 
that be something? She was sorely tempted, as she had been on other 
occasions, to bear down hard and let loose a wicked blast of gas. 

But it probably wouldn't accomplish a damn thing. Tim, fanny-worshipper that 
he was, would simply express a little surprise and then asked her to do it 
again. A man with a fanny fetish simply knew no bounds. 

"Mmmm, so soft, so full," Tim was crooning now, his body in low crouch 
between Laura's legs as he paid oral homage to her breathtaking backside. 

"Stop drooling all over my ass and do it to me, Tim," Laura again requested, 
her voice laced with exasperation. 

"So now you want it, huh?" Tim said, a sardonic smile on his attractive 
face. 

"Tim, sometimes I-." 

"Well, if you want me to hurry up and fuck your bottom then you must want 
it. Maybe you've suddenly changed your mind about fanny-fucks. Is that it, 
sweetheart?" 

Laura muttered a curse under her breath. She was hung-up between answering 
her lover back or suffering his sinister teasing. Either way she lost, she 
realized. It made absolutely no difference if she traded insults with Tim or 
if she let him taunt her. The end result would be the same-he'd thrust his 
hard, thick prick into her rectum and start reaming her as she prayed for a 
quick end to her revolting ordeal. 

"No answer, huh? Well, all right, sweetheart. I'll just wet your pretty 
little shithole and then fuck it." 

With that, Tim pried apart the firm cheeks of Laura's sensational seat and 
went about lubricating her niggardly nether hole, his experienced tongue 
darting into that resisting ring of wrinkled flesh as if it were seeking 
immediate shelter. He pistoned his tongue in and out of his girl's ass for a 
while, then pulled out altogether and began swabbing her anus, his tongue a 
fleshy brush as he coated the shithole with his saliva. 

And then he was ready. More than ready. His blood-filled manhood protruded 
proudly, defiantly, from its hairy nest-a steel-hard stake of flesh ready to 
be driven into the dark, dank depths of Laura's shitty rectum. 

"Okay, baby, get set. Here we go." 

Laura closed her eyes and grit her teeth, the look of nervous expectation 
flashing onto her face. This was the part she hated the most, that first 
aching thrust of prick into her behind, the one that succeeded in breeching 
her poor bottom. 

It wasn't so bad once he was all the way inside her rectum, once he had 
established a rhythm and was methodically pistoning his prick in and out, 
but what hurt like hell was the initial penetration, the sudden popping of 
cockhead into horribly stretched anus. It always wrenched a shriek of pain 
from her throat. 

"C'mon, Laura, relax," Tim said, supporting himself on knees and one hand 
while he worked the head of his pecker around and in the spittle he'd left 
at the stunning female's shithole. "Shit, we've done this so often you 
should be able to take a coke bottle in there." 

Seconds later he was again braced on knees and both hands, staring down at 
Laura's back while pushing his hips forward in an attempt to secure a 
foothold, a cockhold, in her stubbornly resisting nether hole. 

"Oh, oh," Laura whimpered, expecting the awful pain any second now. A sharp 
cry of anguish was lodged in her throat, ready to be released when the time 
arrived. 

Tim continued to bear down, the bulbous head of his bloated manhood 
straining against the miserly port. And then, after considerably less time 
had elapsed than he thought, his patience and perseverance was rewarded. 

"Oww!" Laura cried out. "Oh, dammit to hell!" 

"Easy, baby, easy," Tim soothed. 

"It hurts, you bastard," Laura moaned into the mattress. 

"The worst is over, you know that." 

Having secured partial entry, Tim now began burrowing up into his 
girlfriend's beautiful bottom, his pulsing pecker inching its way up into 
the clammy tunnel of her rectum. Deeper and deeper went his meaty manhood, 
shoving aside all in its path as it traveled slowly, inexorably, through the 
shit-lined passage. 

"One of these days," Laura threatened. "One of these-owww, on, shit." 

"One of these days what?" Tim asked, resting his rigid root in his girl's 
dank rectal canal. 

Laura was too angry to answer. But when Tim flexed his prick in her shit 
chute she emitted another groan of pain. 

"Answer me, baby. What's goin' to happen one of these days?" 

"I'll do this to you, dammit," Laura said through clenched teeth. "I'll-I'll 
shove a broom handle up your ass." 

Tim grinned. "No thanks, Miss Hampton. I'm perfectly satisfied with your 
tongue. That you can stick up my ass any old time." 

A pause now, a little derisive chuckle, and then Tim was again working his 
rigid rod into Laura's fantastic posterior, his hips in slow, jerking swivel 
as he threaded his tool through the humid much of her hurting after passage. 

The scintillating redhead clenched her small fists and tried to ignore the 
dull, throbbing ache at her ass. She wondered how much of the painful prick 
was in her already. Three inches? Four? It was impossible to know for sure. 

And still the prick came, pushing deep into her bottom, filling her aching 
rectal canal with its throbbing fullness. It felt as if a fleshy fence 
picket were being wedged inside her ass, as if her behind were being shored 
up with a fat, pusling beam of flesh. 

But finally-. 

"There we are, baby," Tim said triumphantly. "You got all of me now, sugar. 
How's it feel?" 

Laura said not a word. 

Again Tim flexed his cock in her fanny. 

"Oh!" the stunning female cried out. 

"Ready to be reamed out, Laura? Answer me, honey." 

Go to hell, you bastard, Laura thought, knowing that her lover was gloating 
over her, laughing inwardly at her helplessness and humiliation. 

"I thought you wanted to get this over with quickly," Tim said, staring down 
at Laura's beautiful face, the right side of which was pressed warmly 
against the sheet-sheathed mattress. "I'm not going to move until you tell 
me you're ready." 

Insult to injury, the ravishing redhead said to herself. Now that he had 
packed his throbbing prick inside her poor, hurting backside, he would heap 
humiliation upon humiliation by insisting that she tell him to go ahead, to 
commence the revolting reaming of her shit-lined after passage. 

"Well, baby?" 

"Ream me out, Tim," Laura said softly. "Fuck my ass." 

"Louder, sugar. I can't hear you." 

You bastard, Laura cursed silently. And then, "Fuck my ass for me, Tim. 
Screw my shitty ass. Pound it hard, dammit." 

"You want my cock, baby?" 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

"Fucking my fanny. I want it hard and deep. Do it to me-fuck my shitty 
rectum." 

Less than a minute later, having extracted from his hapless mistress 
additional shameful requests, wicked pleas for prick blurted out in angry 
exasperation, Tim began moving his pulsating manhood in the clammy confines 
of her gripping back passage. 

Slowly, steadily, savoring the fantastic friction, he would withdraw his 
cock from Laura's stretched shit chute until only the plum-shaped head 
remained snugly sheathed in her anus, then push back inside her beautiful 
bottom as a low moan of displeasure escaped her throat. 

"How's that, baby? Good, huh?" 

"Yes," Laura lied, experience having taught her the futility of ignoring her 
lover's lewd taunts. If she didn't answer when he spoke, he would simply 
stop all movement and repeat the question, then wait for her to respond 
while he flexed his imbedded cock. 

"You want it faster now? A little harder?" 

"Yes. Harder and faster." 

"And deep." 

"Yes, deep," Laura breathed. "Shove it in deep-up to my tits, Tim." 

The lean fanny-fetishist, whose love of all things anal dated back to his 
high school days, to the time he wickedly cornholed a lusty little blonde 
cheerleader in the back seat of his jalopy, proceeded to increase the tempo 
of Laura's rectum reaming, her grunts of discomfort and tremulous moans like 
music to his ears as he worked his pecker in and out, in and out. 

"Oh, baby, you're beautiful," he rasped. 

"What an ass. What a sensational ass." 

"Screw it, lover," Laura said into the mattress, hoping to prod Tim to a 
quick ejaculation. "Ram it in me, baby. Pound my ass with your prick." 

In and out Tim plunged, faster than before but not with the unbridled 
abandon that would mark his thrusts into Laura's backside when he was about 
to come, when in quivering ecstasy he splattered her shit chute with a thick 
volley of creamy semen. 

How delightful, he thought, how utterly thrilling it would be to fuck 
Evelyn's fanny. Although six years had elapsed since he saw her last, he 
still remembered her cute freckled face and her nice compact little body. In 
his memory she remained the adorable blue-eyed blonde, the tempting little 
chick ripe for plucking. 

As lust inspiring as it was, he had not given much serious thought to 
screwing Evelyn's bottom during the time the two of them were dating. He had 
been too busy trying to do it to her the regular way, to somehow work beyond 
that frustrating point of petting her through her clothing to the point 
where, aroused by his tender caresses, she flipped up her little skirt and 
yanked down her pretty panties. 

Of course, success had never been achieved, Evelyn having kept from his the 
precious jewel of her virginity-fore and aft. Was it foolish, he wondered, 
to think that now, six years later, she would bare her body for him and 
admit his throbbing tool into her vagina and shit chute? Maybe yes, maybe 
no. 

If Evelyn were still single and playing the dating game, there existed the 
possibility that she had matured to the point where she now gave freely of 
her charms. Well, maybe not so freely. But it was not unreasonable to think 
that she had advanced to the stage of her sexual life where she was 
dispensing her favors to those men she truly liked. 

If such were the case, if time and experience had combined to mature the 
sexually uptight Evelyn, then his sudden reappearance on the scene might be 
to her liking. He was certain that she had felt something for him six years 
ago, a certain affection if not outright love, and it might not be so hard 
to rekindle that feeling and arouse her to a point where, because she was 
now sexually experienced, she would not hesitate to screw with him. 

From there, from the seduction itself, it would be only a matter of time 
before he charmed her into a state of total vulnerability and, with his 
usual craftiness, thrust her delightful little body into the open arms of a 
sex-happy sultan. 

And Tim meant to take full advantage of it! 


THE END
