Lurking Camera
[aka 'A Young Wife's Revenge']
by Roger Grayson 


Preface 

Revenge is one of the most powerful themes in literature. Equally powerful 
is the theme of sexual attraction between two people. British author Michael 
Jaegger has taken these two biblically-inherent threads and woven a tale, 
almost moralistic in tone, in which the desire for revenge and the desire 
for love clash head on in a battle that leaves every participant scarred. 

We see in Lydia Donovan a personification of many of our society matrons 
today. She is bitter, unhappy, and disappointed that the magic, the 
wonderful! promises of life have-like the morning mists-burned away under 
the hot glare from the sun of reality. At thirty-one she is childless and 
ready for divorce after ten years of marriage. When she realizes that her 
husband has used her and betrayed her and is now preparing to discard her, 
Lydia Donovan becomes an avenging angel of doom. 

Under her neurotic plan for revenge, she uses everyone-including her own 
body-as expendable pawns in some grotesque chess game of revenge. Mike 
Hansen, the private detective who had taken the revealing photographs of 
Lydia's husband and his secretary, finds himself serving first as a hired 
stud, then as a scout for wife-swapping clubs that might be used in her 
plan. 

During a wife-swap party aboard a yacht of the Southern California coast, 
both Mike and Lydia encounter their moments of truth. For Lydia, she is 
offered a second chance to experience everything she has missed in her 
marriage-sexual contentment, happiness, companionship. So blinded is she 
however, in her desire to humiliate her husband, that the opportunity for 
happiness appears and disappears before she realizes it. Later, as she lies 
beneath the weight of four strangers, each using her body for his own 
delight, she begins to understand that the quest of revenge has led into the 
deepest depths of total depravity. 

Mike's revelation comes when he realizes that the golden apple being offered 
to him by Lydia is poisoned forbidden fruit, and that the things Lydia likes 
most about him are the things that will wither and die if he remains around 
her destructive presence. 

Two hundred and fifty years ago, Thomas Fuller wrote in Guomologia, "In 
taking revenge a man is but even with his enemy; in passing it over, he is 
superior." 

In this graphic, extremely candid novel by Mr. Jaegger, the question of 
superiority and the question of the strength of love over revenge are not 
answered until the final page. 

-The Publishers 

 CHAPTER 1 

The man parked his weary old Plymouth out in the street, rather than pull it 
into the circular driveway where it would have looked ludicrously out of 
place. The man himself looked out of place-as weary and out-of-date as his 
automobile. His pleated out-of-fashion trousers were shiny in the seat, the 
occupational hazard of a patrol car cop or a man who spends long hours 
seated behind the wheel of his car waiting for something or someone. And 
that was his profession: A man hired to wait patiently-a man paid to observe 
and put his observations in printed or photographic form. 

He scratched the black-gray stubble of his beard as he pushed the button 
beside the door. Somewhere deep in the confines of the house, he could hear 
the chimes. It was an expensive sound-just as the house was expensive ... 
and the woman who lived in the house, and who had hired him. 

She opened the door, and once again the man felt his groin tighten in desire 
for her. She was taller than his five foot nine by at least three inches 
"statuesque" that was the only word for her, he thought. Her breasts were 
like Arkansas cantaloupes, so ripe that a man's hand wouldn't begin to cover 
the mound of flesh; and she had a way of looking at a man that caused his 
balls to melt and his prick to freeze. It was all he could do to keep from 
moaning deep in his throat just from the sight of her. For a brief moment he 
thought he would have liked to have spent hours just watching her, but he 
knew that would be a painful mistake-even watching her for a minute or two 
was too much. To look at her was to want to go down on her and fuck hell out 
of her ... and the man knew he had about as much chance of doing that as he 
had of becoming President of the United States. 

"Mister Hansen. Come in please," she ordered, and the sound of her voice 
coming from those full, generous lips, sent a tingle rippling along his 
inner thigh. 

"Mrs. Donovan," he acknowledged, feeling at once stupid, ill-kempt and 
uncivilized. 

"We can talk in the library," she said, and turned away from him to lead the 
way to the room. 

He followed, watching her buttocks move sinuously in the tight hip-huggers. 
She was all motion-smooth, powerful, welcoming. God, he thought, how 
beautifully she swings that ass. In his mind he kissed and nibbled like a 
hungry rabbit at those supple mounds of moving muscle, and could almost feel 
his pecker slowly slipping between them. That was a mistake; one that if 
allowed to grow to fruition would not go away for a long time. By a supreme 
effort, he finally made his errant penis subside. 

The woman motioned him to the couch and then eased herself into a large 
leather chair facing him. As she sat, he noticed the way her slacks tugged 
in between her legs; her delectable pussy was clearly out-lined-the whole 
wonderful vaginal slit was there, hiding just behind the cloth. To kiss that 
would be heaven! His dreaming penis stirred restlessly again at the thought, 
for he knew she wasn't wearing a damned thing under the slacks. 

"Well, Mister Hansen ... you have some news? 

He had an instinctive feeling that his information and the photographs were 
going to hurt her. For just a moment he deliberated whether he should 
produce the evidence or not, then he mentally shrugged. Hell, that was why 
she had hired him in the first place. "Yes, ma'am," he said, and withdrew a 
thick manila envelope from his coat pocket. 

He passed it over and watched her weigh it in her hand. After a moment, her 
half-frightened eyes looked directly at him, as if seeking reassurance. "Is 
it bad?" 

He swallowed. "I'm afraid so." Then he added quickly, "You might prefer not 
to see them ... or maybe look at them after I've gone." 

"I see. They're as bad as that?" 

He nodded. And they would be bad-from her point of view. From a photography 
standpoint, however; they were goddamned good pictures shot under extremely 
trying circumstances. His telephoto lens had caught every hair on the Calley 
girl's hot, twitching, little pussy-every hair on Mrs. Donovan's husband's 
mustache as the banker used his tongue, lips, teeth, and mustache to scour 
his new secretary's cunt. Another photo showed the girl with her full ripe 
lips pooching out as they lovingly clung to the shaft of Mr. Donovan's 
hardened cock. Still another photograph showed him pounding away at the 
wildly thrashing figure, with his prick buried deep in her hungrily clasping 
vagina. For that shot, Hansen had focused on the banker's rectum; it was one 
of the best action shots he had ever taken. 

Mrs. Donovan continued to stare at him as if she were reading his mind. 
Finally she closed her eyes and took a deep reluctant breath. Then she 
quickly ran her fingernail under the flap of the envelope and pulled out the 
five by seven pictures. The one on top showed the couple walking into a 
motel room. The second showed the nude girl on her knees helping the banker 
off with his trousers. His erection could clearly be seen in the snapshot. 
The third was where it really got interesting, and Hansen watched her 
carefully when she got to it. 

Lydia Donovan felt the blood rush to her face when she looked at the third 
picture. She gasped aloud. There was her husband, Randy, with an idiotic 
grin on his face as the girl sucked rapaciously on his penis. Randy had been 
after her to do that same thing to him ever since they were married, but she 
had refused, feeling the act was unsanitary, perverted, and dirty. She knew 
her hands were trembling, and she wasn't sure whether the movement came from 
anger, hurt, or embarrassment. 

She looked at the next photograph. There was Randy, his face buried between 
the girl's widespread thighs. And suddenly she was very angry. "That filthy 
son of a bitch!" she hissed through clenched teeth. 

Hansen shrugged. "I'm sorry." 

"Not half as sorry as Mr. Randolph Donovan is going to be," she snapped, her 
mind wildly searching for an idea-for any way to really make her husband 
sorry. And abruptly, it came to her. 

It was so audacious that she found herself completely frozen for a moment. 
But the more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed to her. It 
would be horribly degrading for her, but what did that matter; it was oh so 
beautiful an act of revenge! She looked at the private detective opposite 
her. She would have liked someone better looking-someone younger. But he'd 
do; he'd have to do! She knew he would go along with it; after all, he had 
been staring at her in that hungry, rather obvious way men have of looking 
when they want a woman. 

"Mister Hansen, do you have your camera with you?" 

Puzzled, he nodded. 

Lydia hesitated, seeking a way of putting it into words. She stood up and 
deliberately took a deeper than normal breath to make her breasts swell 
inside the thin blouse. "I want to get revenge on my husband. The only way I 
can do that is to embarrass him in public. I need photographs for that. For 
an extra fee, would you take some photographs of me ... and you ... 
together, like this?" She tapped the pictures. 

Hansen almost fell out of his chair in surprise. He had heard it with his 
own ears, but he still didn't believe it-feeling he had misinterpreted her 
remarks. "I'm not sure I understand," he said, cautiously. 

"Of course, you do," Lydia snapped. "Can't you set your camera so it will 
take an automatic photograph of the two of us together. I mean, you don't 
always have to stand behind the camera, do you?" 

Hansen blinked. My God, he thought, she's actually serious. The bitch is 
serious! Suddenly his throat was dry. Never in his entire life had he 
encountered anything quite as kooky, but he wasn't about to permit this bit 
of luck slip out of his hands. 

"Let me get this straight," he said slowly and with emphasis. "You want me 
to take a picture of us," he pointed his finger at her, and then at himself, 
"the two of us doing what the girl ... and, ah, your husband ... are doing 
in these photographs." 

"Yes." 

He swallowed audibly, feeling the blood beginning to surge to and fro in his 
groin. "Everything?" 

"Everything, Mister Hansen. Including, I believe the technical terms are 
'fellatio' and 'cunnilingus.' " 

"Jesus," he muttered softly, staring at that luscious body opposite him. 
Never before had there been such a wonderful crazy proposition offered him. 
Sweat was breaking out on his forehead, and he used the palm of his hand to 
wipe it away. 

"Well? Will you do it ... for an additional two hundred dollars?" 

The private detective had wanted to blurt out that he would do it for 
nothing-would be happy to pay her! But he kept his mouth shut, sternly 
telling himself, "Don't louse this up, Mike old boy. Let her take the lead." 
He tried to look as if he were weighing the pros and cons of the situation. 
After a moment, he said, "That would be very satisfactory." 

"Fine, then. Go get your camera, come back and set it up in my husband's 
bedroom." 

Ordinarily Hansen could have made the camera and tripod setup in less than a 
minute; however, he was so excited by what was about to happen that it took 
over five minutes and three trips back to the car before he had everything, 
including the remote snap cable, ready to go. The woman had disappeared 
following his last trip back to the bedroom, and now he could hear the 
shower running in the bathroom. He didn't know what to do-whether to get his 
clothes off, or wait for instructions. 

About three minutes later he heard the water die and the sound of a glass 
shower door snap open. He was staring out thewindow at the blue waters of 
the patio's Olympic-sized swimming pool when he heard the voice behind him. 
"I have washed myself for you. Would you care to take a shower, also?" 

He spun quickly around and felt his breath hiss out of his body just as if 
he had been kicked in the groin. "Sweet Jesus," he groaned, and his penis 
leapt to a sudden throbbing life as his famished eyes took in her lush nude 
body. Her harvest moon breasts, still damp from the shower, shone as if they 
had little lights buried beneath the warm golden skin. The areolae, about 
the size of brown half-dollars, created little halos around the nipples. Her 
belly was smooth, as gently rounded as an alluvial plain, where it flowed 
toward the hairy tributaries of her soft pubic triangle. She had a woman's 
hips, he observed ... a real woman's. 

Her thighs were almost muscular; they looked powerful ... and the thought of 
those wrapped around his waist or across his shoulders brought immediate 
pain to his loins. "My God ... you are so beautiful," he said, reverently. 

Lydia refused to accept the compliment; she wanted to keep this on strictly 
a non-personal basis. It was imperative that he realize he was only a 
servant-that under ordinary circumstances she wouldn't give him the time of 
day, much less her body. 

"I think you should take a shower," she said coldly, "And you can used my 
husband's electric razor to shave." 

For one split second, anger flared in Hansen's mind. But then he shoved it 
aside, thinking to himself: Just wait, baby ... just wait. In less than 
twenty minutes you'll be screaming for me to fuck you good. Just wait. 

He sat down and slowly took off his shoes and socks. One of the socks had a 
hole where the nail of the big toe had gouged through. Next, he removed his 
coat, his tie, shirt and tee shirt. He watched the woman with some 
amusement. She looked completely off balance-embarrassed-obviously not 
knowing whether to stay and see the strip tease or get out. To hell with 
her, he thought, and he dropped his trousers. The huge bulge of his penis 
threatened to rip the seams out of his jockey shorts. Then, never taking his 
eyes from her, Hansen pulled down the shorts. 

Lydia knew her eyes had widened, that her face had turned crimson, as she 
saw the mammoth penis leap out like a tiger released from a cage. Good Lord, 
it was so big! Her eyes were locked on the white throbbing instrument. Maybe 
this hadn't been such a good idea, after all. He would split her with that; 
she didn't know how any woman could take it. Then feeling sudden guilt and 
embarrassment, she forced her eyes up to his face and saw that he was 
watching her with amusement. That made her very angry. "Take your shower," 
she commanded. 

"Yes, ma'am," he answered in mock meekness. 

Lydia watched him walk across the room. His testicles dangled like huge twin 
pendulums on a clock, and his organ was stuck out and up in an angle that 
made it look like an elevated artillery gun being sighted before firing. 

Now that he was out of the room, she tried to force her mind into some 
semblance of order. She felt that all of the photographs probably could be 
taken in about two or three minutes. They would be posed. The detective 
obviously would want to try to have real sexual intercourse with her but she 
would permit him to put his penis inside her only long enough for the 
photograph to be taken. She wouldn't permit him to make any movements, 
nothing! Just the photograph. As for the other two or three things she was 
forcing herself to do, well ... she'd do them and permit them to be done to 
her, but she knew she would be fighting regurgitation all the way. And she'd 
gargle and douche thoroughly afterwards! 

Abruptly Lydia realized the water had been turned off and she was now 
hearing the muted whine of an electric razor. Then it, too, fell silent. She 
sat, apprehensive, on the edge of the huge king-sized bed waiting for him to 
make an appearance. Her usually orderly mind was beginning to churn. Once 
again she began to doubt the wisdom of what she was about to do. Was it 
really wise or logical to debase herself just to publicly embarrass her 
husband? Wasn't that stupid? The door opened and the detective entered. It 
was obviously her imagination, but somehow he looked different. She noted 
for the first time that he was extremely muscular through the shoulders and 
arms. He was stocky; his bull-neck and legs looked as if they belonged on a 
football full-back. He appeared much cleaner-more acceptable as a male, she 
thought. The only thing that hadn't changed was that mammoth cyclopean penis 
that bobbed and throbbed with each beat of his pulse. 

He stood in the middle of the room, feet spread apart, and hands on hips. 
"Well?" he asked. 

She took one deep shuddering breath and then stood. "Let's get over with 
this as fast as possible," she said. "Which picture do you want to take 
first?" 

"I've focused on the end of the bed." He motioned where she was to be. Lydia 
moved next to the camera. She was suddenly very aware of the odor of 
after-shave lotion; it was her husband's yet it seemed to have more 
vigor-seemed more feral-than when Randy used it. Unaccountably, her knees 
were beginning to feel rubbery. 

Hansen made an adjustment on the camera then unfastened the remote cable 
from the leg of the tripod. He turned to her. "Sit here on the edge of the 
bed." 

"You want me to sit?" Lydia repeated idiotically. 

He smiled; she noticed his lips ... they looked strong, too. "Yes, sit. 
Because if you want to have a photograph taken of someone eating your pussy, 
it has to be that way." 

Lydia recoiled at his crude obscenity. "Watch your language, Mister Hansen. 
You aren't with a street whore now." 

"I beg your pardon," he said sarcastically, and put one strong hand on her 
shoulder and pushed her naked buttocks down to the bedspread. 

Lydia tried to regain command of the situation. She watched as he took the 
long wire cable from the camera and put it at the foot of the bed. Then, 
without warning, he knelt down between her ankles. She was incapable of 
movement, feeling almost like a hypnotized bird watching the snake approach. 
Only then did her mind begin shouting storm warnings at her, but she ignored 
them and forced her self to continue. 

Hansen's lascivious eyes feasted on the soft golden triangle of pubic hair. 
Almost reverently, he put his strong capable hands on her knees and forced 
them apart. He kissed her inner thigh, and felt the woman shudder. 

"Just take the photographs," Lydia said, feeling the skin tingling where his 
hot lips had touched. 

"This has to be done properly, or it won't look real," he said. 

"Oh, very well," Lydia answered impatiently, "but do let's get it over 
with." 

"Yes, ma'am." Hansen replied, suppressing a smile. 

"When will you take the picture?" 

"I'm taking them as I go along; I've already taken one." 

Lydia felt his hot lips on her other thigh, together with the quivering heat 
of his tongue tracing a wicked galvanism against her naked skin. He spread 
her legs even further apart and raised her knees a bit by placing her feet 
on top of his thighs. Through her toes, she could feel his rock hard penis 
and the bristly hairs of his pelvis. She tried to remove her foot, but he 
merely grasped her ankle and moved it up until the toes were actually 
resting on the pulsating flesh of his penis itself. "Leave it there," he 
ordered. "This has to look right, otherwise you're wasting your time." 

Lydia closed her eyes in disgust, only to snap them open a second later when 
his finger tentatively touched her vulva; she jumped as though she had been 
touched with an electric cattle prod. 

Hansen slithered forward, down toward the wide beautiful lips of her cunt. 
He used her cunt. He used his thumbs to peel them back and saw the inviting 
red cavern of soft, sensitive flesh open to him. God, never in his wildest 
imaginations had there ever been anything quite as luscious as that sight 
before him. It was a temple-homage must be paid to it and its unknown gods. 

Lydia was aware of his sudden indrawn breath which sounded almost as if it 
were an exclamation. She wished he would hurry up and get the horribly 
repugnant act over with. She could feel his hands gently massaging her inner 
thighs as he spread her legs wider to a point where she was almost incapable 
of resisting, should she decide suddenly to change her mind. Then a jolt 
shot through her as his thumbs pressed against the vulva and gently parted 
the tingling hair-lined lips. He slithered forward once again, his head 
abruptly bowed, and his hot hungry mouth had fastened on her gently 
pulsating clitoris. 

"Ahhhh ... no!" she said loudly, knowing now the danger she was subjecting 
herself to, and struggling to sit upright. "Don't do that ... I've changed 
my mind!" 

If he heard her, he paid no heed. His mouth now had begun a gentle sucking 
motion on her outer lips, sucking them in and out in rhythm with the 
flickering of his tongue on her clitoris. 

"Stop it," she screamed. "I don't want to do this." Lydia could feel every 
horrible thing he was doing; his hands were massaging her buttocks and inner 
thighs. His lips-now hot and eager-were caressing, kissing and sucking her 
vulva. Sparks of unwanted delight were arching throughout the sensitive 
nerve ends between her open thighs. Then, without warning, his tongue-hot 
and quivering with a life all its own-shot like a steelhead trout into the 
warm cavern of her vaginal slit. Down his trembling tongue went, even 
deeper, until it was lodged like a small quivering penis fully inside. 

"Gaaaahhhh. Please no." She writhed helplessly beneath him. "No you can't do 
it. I don't want you to any more. Don't. It's horrible. Please ... please 
... oh, pulll-eeezz...." The last was said even as her abdomen, without 
volition, rose eagerly to meet his voracious mouth. 

Hansen grinned to himself. Now he had the bitch going. She had seemed so god 
damned glacier-like, such a smart ass ... and now, within two minutes of 
scouring her cunt, she was begging for it ... even if she didn't realize she 
was begging. 

He pulled his mouth away and was delighted to hear her low moan of 
disappointment. He thought: I'm really going to turn her on now. And he 
laughed to himself, knowing she was going to be a very hot little piece 
before he got through with her. He decided to play her along...."I think," 
he said seriously, "we'd better try that shot again; I'm not sure we got the 
photograph." 

She attempted to sit upright, but his strong arms kept her pressed back 
against the bed ... with her knees and thighs spread lewdly apart. "No," she 
said, trying to gain control of her runaway emotions. "Please. No more. Not 
even my husband has done this before. Please...." 

Hansen tweaked her clitoris, and she jumped as though he had stuck a needle 
into her buttocks. "Your husband ate the pussy of that little secretary of 
his ... it's only fair that you should get some of it, too. Besides ... 
remember the photographs." And so saying, he bent his head forward again, 
where his eyes feasted hungrily on the ripe red lips of her vagina, framed 
so beautifully with the soft blond pubic hair. From her engorged clitoris, 
one droplet of her seeping vaginal juice glistened in the light; to Hansen 
it looked as though it were honey oozing from one inflamed petite rosebud. 
His voice was almost hoarse with desire when he said, "We'd better take 
another photograph, just to make sure we got it." 

Lydia moaned in shame-feeling her own body betraying her-as his tongue 
slowly and deliberately licked the soft golden curls of pubic hair aside to 
expose the cavern leading to her innermost femaledom. He breathed against 
her clitoris, and even the expulsion of his hot breath sent tingles of 
ecstasy throughout her entire abdominal area. Her body jerked automatically 
as once again the quivering tongue returned to her vaginal opening. This 
time he was licking-like a thirsty dog lapping up sweet life-giving water 
... licking from clitoris to anus-running the gauntlet of uncontrollable 
desire to horrifying shame. A groan bubbled out of her lips, and she once 
more made an effort to escape him-knowing now that she was within sec onds 
of losing all control. 

"Please. ... Oh, God ... please stop ... pulll-eeezz...." His long, hot 
probing tongue suddenly entered full-length into her cunt, and she screamed, 
"Ahhhh...." Saliva bubbled at the corners of her laxly opened mouth, and her 
head tossed back and forth on the blue satin covers of the king-sized bed. 
She wailed in desperate longing and passion as his tongue curled around her 
clitoris and his lips made loud sucking noises at her pulsating vulva. 
"Stop...." It was said weakly, the last gasp of her dying decency. She felt 
his head shake negatively ... and the shaking motion, the feel of his 
scraping beard against her inner thighs, was enough to cause the flood 
waters of her passion to suddenly break the levees that had held them in 
abeyance for all her life. 

Her mind was on fire with a hundred thousand different sensations and 
thoughts-thoughts screaming and bumping against each other as though they 
were maddened animals crowded in one small cage. The unwanted jolts of 
pleasure were taking precedence over all other feelings. It was happening to 
her! It couldn't be true! She was being tongue fucked and eaten-yes, eaten 
alive. She could feel his teeth devouring her down there ... and nothing, 
absolutely nothing! in her entire life had ever felt so delicious before. 

Hansen was forced to slip his hands under her buttocks when her wildly 
squirming pelvis kept slipping out of his mouth. He massaged the soft, 
resilient cheeks of her ass as though he were kneading bread dough, then 
slipped one finger down the crevice between her buttocks and found the tiny 
quivering ring that would open her rectum. She jerked upward when the finger 
began making its invasion, but the upward movement of her body only drove 
his tongue deeper into her vaginal well. She cried out aloud, but her words 
were unintelligible. With one sudden almost vicious movement, Hansen's 
finger wormed into the tight cringing anus-going in as far as the middle 
knuckle. 

"Gaaaagggh ... ohhhhhh," she groaned. "Stop!" His only answer was to make 
his tongue flicker like summer lightning across her clitoris. He began 
moving his finger in and out of the squirming rectum. 

Lydia knew she had gone insane-there was nothing rational about what she was 
doing. Nothing so perverted, or so lewd as this had ever happened in her 
entire life. Randy had wanted to make love to her this way in the beginning, 
but she had refused knowing how dirty it was. She had been horribly 
disappointed and a little frightened, when Randy had suggested it a second 
and a third time. And the third time she had screamed at him that he should 
see a psychiatrist, for it was obvious he was sick to want to do something 
as perverted as that to her. And now, she was letting a perfect stranger do 
this to her body. She knew her expression must be the same as that on her 
husband's new secretary's face; lustful, perverse, demented! And she didn't 
care. Nothing mattered anymore except that delicious tongue bringing her to 
what she knew was going to be unsuspected peaks of climax; his tongue was a 
passport to a land of wild uninhibited passion and pleasure never before 
entered by her body. 

She was only vaguely aware when Hansen, without removing his mouth, drew her 
legs up and around his neck. Lydia's buttocks spasmed beneath his touch, and 
she cried out deliriously when a second finger joined the first in her 
rectum. When they were pulled out, she groaned in disappointment until, 
abruptly, she felt his tongue leave her vagina and seek out the now slightly 
stretched little cavern. She actually screamed in rapture as his tongue 
flickered sensuously against the anal lips and then pushed its way in. The 
hedonistic pleasure was like a runaway forest fire; she could feel it 
roaring up the canyons until suddenly, without warning, it crowned in one 
raging inferno of lust. 

"Don't ... do ... that...." she cried, giving lie to her words by spreading 
her legs further apart and lifting her loins so he could get in deeper. The 
sound of her own voice brought tears to her eyes, for she realized that this 
was total degradation. For the first time in her life she had lost control 
of her traitorous body. Oh, God, she'd have orgasms sometimes-from her 
husband, but even they had been controlled. Nothing though-nothing 
ever!-like this wildly plunging tongue that aroused her to the point of 
complete subservience. And finally, she fell back no longer fighting 
anything he did to her-made completely helpless by her own lust-incited 
body. 

Hansen changed tactics as he suddenly felt the fight go out of her. He began 
licking again-knowing, even if she didn't-that her clutching and clenching 
pussy was getting close to a gigantic orgasm. He licked on and on-moving 
from clitoris to anus-deliberately touching at every spot where he knew 
there was a nerve ending. 

Lydia lay there feeling pleasure wash over her like a warm roaring tide, and 
her woman's body began crying out for fulfillment. She wondered if it were 
possible to reach a climax this way, she presumed so, for reportedly this 
was the way lesbians brought pleasure to each other at times. She was barely 
conscious of her wildly squirming hips that swivelled as though on ball 
bearings, grinding her hungrily clasping vagina harder and harder up into 
his eager face. 

And then she felt it. She knew it was coming-that the gate to the wild, 
untamed land so long denied her were swinging open. She had no idea what it 
would be like in that other country; she merely waited as the sight 
unfolded. Now, with Hansen's fevered mouth clamped on her tingling clitoris, 
she began experiencing the first flush of the overpowering climax. Her 
vaginal walls began automatically squeezing, her cervix dipped and rose in 
time to music only it could hear, her clitoris shorted out in a blaze of her 
fiery sparks, and her rectum clenched and unclenched so rapidly that it 
could have sucked up water like a vacuum. Loud mewls of pleasure broke out 
of her taut lips, and her breasts reddened, mottled, then turned almost 
magenta as the straining blood pumped into them. Her abdomen whipped back 
and forth like an insane pile driver, and her hands reached down viciously 
to shove his face, nose, tongue, teeth, eyebrows, head and all deep inside 
her voraciously churning loins. 

She was there! She was there! "Ahhhh? Aaahhhhh. ... Ohhhhh. Aiiiieeeeeeee, 
I'm cumming....I'm cummm-eeee-iiinng!" And then she was jerking helplessly 
against his face, her body pumping up and down in wild and uncontrolled 
abandon as the cataclysmic orgasm ripped like a powerful earthquake through 
her entire being. She was only vaguely aware of his hands groping and 
reaching and teasing her breasts and clitoris and rectum while his tongue 
continued its machinations at the desperately throbbing entrance to her very 
soul. 

Half an eternity later, with the orgasm fading away like a reluctant sunset, 
Lydia became aware that the loud rasping noise she was hearing was actually 
her own breath whistling and hissing through her constricted throat. Through 
heavy lidded eyes, she looked up at the man who had brought her to this 
point. Her heart was pounding so heavily that she felt surely the bed must 
be quaking. Lydia stared at him and his figure became dimmed and misty; she 
was weeping and she didn't know why-didn't know whether it was from the 
overpowering shame she felt ... or from the equally overpowering, but 
beautiful, aftermath of passion. 

His face had a strange expression on it-almost expectant ... as though he 
were a conductor who has just completed the overture to a symphony and 
checks the orchestra before beginning the first movement. Her eyes trailed 
from his face down to his powerful hairy chest and flat muscular stomach to 
finally come to rest on the mammoth penis that throbbed and beat with a life 
of its own. Hansen glanced at her, and seeing that she was watching him, he 
slowly pulled back the foreskin so that the one cyclopean eye of the 
hardened instrument could peer out at her. He stroked it teasingly and she 
saw it grow even larger. Lydia knew she should say something now ... put an 
end to this before it became even more shameful. Yet, even as the thought 
went through her mind, she could feel a strange wanton desire begin building 
up in her loins. The sight of that beautiful male organ was doing something 
to her. She blushed as she realized she actually wanted to kiss it, to 
enclose its throbbing head within her lips. 

"I'm going to fuck you now," Hansen said gruffly. 

And she heard her desperate, almost hysterical, voice say, "Don't be a fool, 
Mister Hansen. Remember, you're here to do as I say. I don't want a 
repetition of that disgraceful scene again. Just take your photographs." 

Hansen smiled at the audacity of the woman. How could she say such a thing, 
lying there with her orgasmic juices bubbling like fermenting champagne and 
her vulva pulsating as it cried out for more. Well, he'd show her ... oh, 
yes! And starting right now. He got up from the bed "What are you doing?" he 
demanded. 

"I'm rearranging the camera for the next series of shots." He moved the 
camera until it was focused midway on the bed. Then he turned to her, "Scoot 
up." 

Lydia paused, trying to summon up enough energy and will to resist him ... 
to call off this entire stupid project. But then she realized he had already 
taken half a dozen photographs, so the project might as well be completed. 
"All right," she said, moving up until she was directly in the middle of the 
bed, "but I want one thing understood. You are going to insert your penis; 
you are going to take a picture immediately ... and then you are going to 
withdraw. This is for photographic purposes only. Is that understood?" 

The detective one again was forced to suppress a grin. "Yes, Mrs. Donovan, I 
will do anything you say." 

Lydia watched as he bent down behind the camera and adjusted it to his 
satisfaction. Then he stood upright and came over to the bed. She could not 
take her eyes off that mammoth penis; it was so huge! She had never seen one 
this big before; but then, of course, she had only seen a few in her 
lifetime anyway ... and only one had ever been inside her-her husband's. 

Hansen felt the soft satin against his knees as he crawled across the bed 
toward the waiting figure of the woman. Then his hands were pulling her 
long, lithe legs apart. Her naked cunt slowly came into view again as though 
the curtains were parting on a theatrical production. Once again he wanted 
to plunge his face into the still quivering mass of nerves, but he knew that 
probably would cause her to rebel. 

He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice when he said, "I don't know 
which will make the best photograph, so we'd better try three or four 
positions. That way at least one definitely will be good." He noted that she 
blushed in embarrassment, and for a moment he thought she was going to 
protest. But she kept her mouth shut. 

The heat in Hansen's groin would have done justice to a rocket engine. He 
felt as though he were about to explode, and he hadn't even put his cock 
inside her yet. He wasn't too worried; control had never been something he 
lacked. He could fuck her all night and not cum until he wanted to. And he 
might just do that ... fuck her until she was a whimpering broken, 
completely subjugated mass of flesh. 

He felt the woman shudder as his hands slipped along her thighs, Then. Then, 
using the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, he parted the vulva. The 
glowing entrance to the smooth fleshy tunnel immediately came into sight. 
There, at the top of the vaginal split, stood the clitoris like a guard 
tower over a sleeping city. And there, at the bottom, ran a silver river of 
her own orgasm and his earlier saliva. Slowly, he stuck the middle finger of 
his right hand into the gently pulsating opening. 

Lydia jumped. "Stop that," she ordered. 

"Look," he said quietly, as though he were explaining something to a 
backward child, "I don't want to hurt you. I have to prepare you first 
before I can get inside of you for the photograph." 

Her only answer was to close her eyes. Teasingly, he moved his finger in and 
out. Christ, he thought in surprise, she has a tight little cunt for a broad 
her size. Her husband must not use it very often ... and, of course, the 
detective had no way of knowing that it hadn't been used in three months, 
and prior to that, only once or twice a month for the past seven years. The 
tempo speeded up as his finger began sliding in deeper and more rapidly. She 
winced when he wormed in a second finger, but she was so well lubricated 
that her vagina easily accommodated it. Hansen was hypnotized by the sight 
of his finger moving in and out of the soft, hair-fringed lips. He was so 
taken by the sensation that it was a moment or two before he realized he was 
getting some reaction from the snooty little cunt. He felt one muscle twitch 
in there against his fingers, and saw the smooth, white cheeks of her 
buttocks flex. 

She was ready. Quickly then, before she could change her mind, he lifted and 
draped her knees up across his shoulders and dropped between her open 
thighs. His savage throbbing cock was eager to begin the invasion of this 
promised land. His breath was coming hoarsely now, and he knew he could not 
deny his prick its well-earned reward any longer. Then he pressed forward. 
The head of his cock touched the wet, fevered cuntal lips. She moaned. He 
let it stay there for a moment, savoring the feeling of her soft resilient 
pubic hair against his glans. He pressed in, and felt the hardened rod of 
flesh slowly slip in about an inch. 

"Oh, you're hurting me," she groaned. "Hurry up and take the photograph." 

"I'm not in all the way yet." 

"Then hurry up," she commanded, closing her eyes in mortification and pain. 

"As you say, ma'am." Hansen grinned savagely, then he grunted and with one 
smooth stroke shoved it all the way in. 

"Agggggggaggggh," she screamed, and the sound of her agony caused birds 
outside the house to fly away in terror. She was being split apart-torn 
asunder like a recalcitrant slave put between two draft horses. Her 
fingernails dug against his hirsute chest and her legs splayed out wide in 
an effort to alleviate the horrible pain. But it was to no avail. Down, 
down, down the white inexorable drill moved into her defensively contracting 
belly. "No ... stop! You're killing meeeeee...." And then Lydia felt his 
penis slam against her cervix and his testicles slap hard against her 
defenseless, upturned rectum. He was all the way into her; deeper by at 
least three inches than anyone had ever been into her before. Her body was a 
sheet of red agonizing flame-a flame that surged and swept upward like a 
fire storm with each pulsating beat of her vagina. Her breath was coming so 
hoarsely that she actually had to force words from her pain contorted lips. 

"Don't move it. Please." And then the tears began flowing ... tears of pain, 
and shame. 

Hansen knew he had let his emotions get the better of him. That one savage 
plunge into her helpless body was something he had not planned to do. He had 
wanted to take it easy-by stages-and bring her to a mewling chant of desire 
where she would beg ... beg ... beg! He feared he had injured her; he knew 
he had hurt her. She was tight-so terribly tight for a woman her size. Once, 
a few years ago, he had had sexual intercourse with an eighteen-year-old 
virgin daughter of a client. Even that hadn't been as tight as this cunt. He 
wanted now to kiss her tears away, to beg her forgiveness ... but instinct 
warned him against this. He glanced down at his chest and saw the skin torn 
beneath the hair-two long furrows left by her desperately digging 
fingernails. Odd, he thought, it hadn't hurt a bit. He glanced even further 
down and saw his black pubic hair tangled with the golden strands down 
between her widespread thighs. That was a mistake, for he felt his penis 
twitch uncontrollably. 

"No ... don't," she begged. 

He remained still for a moment, but when he felt her smooth trembling legs 
against his bare shoulders he consciously made his prick twitch again. 

"No ... you're hurting me," she complained. Then, sobbing, she asked, 
"Haven't you taken the photographs yet?" 

"I can't without moving you around a bit," he lied. 

Lydia, feeling the cruel impalement between her thighs, wanted desperately 
to have him take it out, but she was afraid withdrawal would be just as 
excruciating as the fiery entry had been. She had never before in her life 
been so filled up there. It seemed as if her stomach was being stretched 
upward and outward from his instrument of maledom. As for the vagina itself; 
she knew beyond a doubt that it had ripped and was bleeding ... she could 
even feel what must be blood trickling down the crevice between her 
buttocks. Had she looked, however, she would have realized-as did 
Hansen-that the viscous fluid came solely from the tortured walls of her 
vagina pouring out lubricant ... a defensive lubricant that would permit the 
sheath to accommodate the sword. 

Lydia took a deep shuddering breath, and Hansen felt her abdominal muscles 
involuntarily pull upward with the expulsion of her breath. Her cervix 
dipped in reaction and scraped across the throbbing head of his cock. He 
twitched. She moaned again. Then, miraculously, Hansen felt the vaginal lips 
themselves-clasped tight like elastic around the end of the penis-move 
slightly. 

Lydia was not aware of her body responding automatically to the invasion. 
All she knew, for sure, was the pain seemed to be lessening a bit. She 
swallowed, and her muscles relaxed to permit passage of the saliva from 
mouth to stomach. With the relaxation of these muscles, other tissues and 
tendons in the area of the cervix crept forward. To Hansen it was as though 
an expert massage artist were at work down there on the head of his warmly 
surrounded prick. 

He twitched his cock, making it jerk upward inside her. This time, the only 
reaction from her was a brief grimace which might have been pain ... or 
something else. Now was the time, he thought. The bitch is ready for some 
real fucking, providing it's done gently at first. "I'm going to move us 
around a little so I can get the photograph. All right?" 

"Yes ... sss" she replied almost inaudibly, and Hansen felt all her muscles 
suddenly tighten again as though she were attempting to protect herself from 
any feeling whatsoever. 

"Relax," he crooned. "Just relax. I won't hurt you any more." 

She sighed. "All ... right. But please hurry with the camera. It still 
hurts." 

Very very slowly, Hansen began pulling back a bit. Her vaginal lips clung 
like a tight rubber band to the trunk of his penis-they seemed almost 
reluctant to let it leave. But Hansen had no thoughts of leaving. He flexed 
the cheeks of his buttocks which caused his cock to throb in the tight 
clinging passage. One flicker of pleasure crossed Lydia's face. It was a 
momentary thing, but enough to let him know he was on the right track. When 
he had pulled about three inches of his long desire-hardened penis out of 
her tightly clasping pussy, he stopped. Then, slowly again ... very slowly 
... he pushed it in, feeling it slip like an underground gondola through the 
warm, closely surrounding walls of flesh. 

Lydia had felt him start to pull out and was surprised that there was no 
pain in the withdrawal. She felt his penis twitch and was surprised at the 
delight this one little motion brought her. She felt withdrawal stop and was 
surprised that one rebellious part of her mind was glad it wasn't being 
pulled out after all. Then she felt him move in again to the deepest depths 
of her womb and was surprised how very pleasurable it was. 

She could feel every muscular ridge on the trunk of his probing male organ 
pressing out against the smooth velvety walls of her vagina. 

Within moments, he was slowly and tantalizingly pumping in and out of her. 
"No ... ugh ... you mustn't. Ugh ... just the ... photo ... ugh ... 
graphs...." she began, realizing that her pelvis was beginning to 
involuntarily elevate upward to meet him. God, her body was coming 
completely alive. She could suddenly feel everything, could feel the heat of 
his ears as she clasped her knees against his head, could feel her nakedly 
exposed rectum throbbing in what she feared was expectation, could feel her 
breasts crying out for attention. 

Now Hansen began to rotate his hips, grinding his hardened penis deeper and 
deeper into her vagina. He was not the least bit surprised to find an 
answering rotation movement coming from her. He had known the girl was 
beginning to heat up ... in another minute or two, she would be ready for 
almost anything. Patiently, he rocked above her, stroking into her with a 
long easy rhythm. 

And then, in spite of her initial revulsion at being made love to by a 
stranger, Lydia's mouth was beginning to open and close with passion. She no 
longer cared about the photographs, there was nothing left but that long 
beautiful cock sawing into her as though she were a violin and it a 
bow-bringing with it a wild savage music she had never heard before. Gone 
were all thoughts of pride, or morals, of anything except the feeling ... 
and a music older than Adam and Eve themselves. 

Randy, her husband, had never caused her to feel this way, and even as she 
thought about it she wondered if perhaps it hadn't been partially her own 
fault. With the rapid departure of morals and pride, all her facades and 
inhibitions were falling away. She strained upward, heaving her abdomen in 
passion, and clasped her hands against his buttocks pulling this stranger 
deeper and deeper into her screaming body. 

With considerable surprise and pleasure, Hansen suddenly felt her go wild 
beneath him. For a second, he thought she was cumming; then he realized that 
the cunt's motor had just been put into gear ... it had only been idling 
before. Smiling triumphantly, he moved up higher on her body and without 
breaking his rhythm began nibbling at her breast. 

"Aahhhhh," she moaned, feeling not only his hot lips on her nipple, but a 
new and even more wonderful sensation as his cock began really pressing 
against her clitoris. She dipped and revolved her pelvis, hard, hungrily 
keeping the clitoris in contact with his rigid driving pole of flesh. 

Hansen, feeling the first vestiges of control leaving his body, began 
fucking into her with ever-increasing force. He lengthened the stroke, 
drawing his cock almost all the way out before slamming it home again. 
Faster, faster, faster, he worked. She met him each time. Her vaginal lips 
caressed it as it went in-sucked and massaged it as it came out. His scrotum 
was beginning to tighten-to swell, and he knew his time was coming close. 

Lydia's body had begun rocking from side to side in addition to her frantic 
up and down movements. She was soaring rapidly toward a pinnacle. Her head 
tossed back and forth like a buoy in a stormy sea, and her breath whistled 
and rasped out of her in short cries of passion. My God, she thought, I'm 
about to cum again. Never ... never before had anything felt as wonderful as 
this. This man had mouthed her cunt until she was helpless with desire; he 
had made her reach a climax the likes of which she had never experienced 
before. And now ... and now! That gigantic throbbing godhead was causing her 
senses to leave her. His huge prick had filled her with insane pleasure, and 
it was peaking ... she was peaking. She fought her own climax; she didn't 
want it ... because it would mean the end of it. He would leave her ... he 
would pull it out of her. And she began weeping. She was nothing more than 
an adulteress ... a common slut! "Oh, God!" she screamed. 

Hansen wanted her to cum first; he wasn't sure how close she was. Abruptly, 
he stopped. 

"Whas-szzit wrong," she panted. "Don't stop now." 

Hansen felt her cunt pulling and sucking desperately at his hardened cock. 
For Pete's sake, he thought, the hot crazy bitch was going to make him cum 
anyway ... whether he moved or not! Quickly then, he withdrew his cock until 
only her thin, hair-lined vaginal lips covered the head. 

"What? Why ... are you ... stopping?" she groaned, looking up at him with 
calf-like pleading eyes. 

Hansen was fighting his own breath as well. He smiled, panting, "The 
photographs are taken." 

Lydia blinked, as the perspiration ran off her forehead, across her 
eyebrows, and into her eyes. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The 
raging fires he had set in her loins had to be extinguished. No one could be 
that insensitive, that unfeeling. She didn't care what she sounded like now 
... all she knew was that she had to have that life-giving instrument of 
maledom back in her. She was incomplete without it; she'd die, a screaming 
death, without it. "Don't stop, please, don't stop," she wept, knowing she 
was debasing herself even further by begging. "Please?" 

Hansen felt the joy in his balls at the knowledge she was begging for it. 
Begging for him! For his cock! "Say what you want," he ordered sternly. 

"Do it to me." 

"Do what?" He was as unbending as his own prick. 

"Fuck me," she screamed. "Fuck me, please ... fuck me, you bastard!" The 
sound of her own lewd expression caused the flames to leap even higher in 
her abdomen and she screamed again as she felt the cruel white submarine 
crash dive, sliding inexorably into the turbulent depths of her vaginal sea. 
"Ahhhhhh, God...." she gasped, and the delight flowed over her in an aurora 
borealis of pleasure. Her legs quivered on either side of his thick 
shoulders and she reached up for his head, French-kissing him, sucking his 
tongue as though she were sucking voraciously on a cock. The bliss was 
unbearable. He slammed mercilessly into her vagina, and with the perigee of 
each stroke she screamed from sheer lust and pleasure; screwing his tongue 
deep into her throat as though she wanted tongue and cock to meet midway in 
her body. She was close ... coming closer ... closer. 

Hansen moaned as he felt his own unbearable climax beginning deep within 
him. No amount of flexing ass muscles would keep this one away, he thought, 
and abruptly gave himself in to the exquisite sensations. He hammered in an 
out as though he were a runaway pile driver, and then he felt the scalding 
heat as her vaginal walls began to seep the elixir that was the precursor to 
her climax. Beneath him, the woman's eyes suddenly widened in disbelief and 
her breath caught in her throat. "I'm cummin g," she shouted, "I'm 
cumming....Oh, God.... I'm ... I'm cumming. Yes.... Yes? Now.... NOW ... 
Aiiiieeeeeeeee." Her body twisted beneath him and then she was thrashing 
around, convulsing crazily with her mouth and cunt both sucking at him, 
while her vagina squirted its own white hot lava around the impaling shaft. 

Hansen fucked her as if she would be the last fuck ever! He pounded into 
her, pinning the thrashing body to the mattress, his breath coming in short 
hot gasps. The bitch continued to cum ... she wouldn't stop. Her orgasm had 
been going on for at least a minute and still she thrashed and screamed. He 
dug deeper into the quivering slit between her widespread legs, stretching 
it even wider. Then he was cumming! He felt the tortured pressure within his 
scrotum suddenly blow up and, like waters from a collapsing dam, his seminal 
juices and cum roared down the subterranean tunnel of his cock to explode 
like a ball of fire deep up into the estuaries of her wildly heaving belly. 
He fell forward against her breasts with an incredible feeling of delight 
and sensuality sweeping over him in a seismic wave of all consuming 
pleasure. 

Lydia felt the boiling white sperm pumping into her, and she worked vaginal 
muscles she had never known existed before to milk his penis in a desperate 
effort to consume every bit of every spurt. Her own orgasms were fading now, 
but her belly muscles still rippled and jumped from the unaccustomed delight 
and exertion. 

She felt his maledom deflating inside her. God! it was like something slowly 
dying-something that had once been so terribly alive. It continued to 
twitch, but more slowly ... until, finally, it lay quiescent. Then, after 
about a minute, he pulled it out. She heard the soft plopping sound when it 
was removed-almost like a cork coming from a flat bottle of champagne. 

Lydia felt him lie down alongside her. She hoped he wouldn't say anything. 
She needed time to think. She heard him swallow; his spittle sounded like 
dry sandpaper sliding down his throat. Lydia knew that within the last hour 
she had discovered a wanton streak in herself. She had never realized that 
sex could be so wonderful. And that was Randy's fault! God damn him ... the 
dirty son of a bitch. She had wasted twelve years of her life on him ... 
twelve long dry years in which he had led her to believe that she was a 
"frigid neurotic female incapable of feeling anything for anyone." And all 
that time, Randolph had been sleeping with everything and everyone that wore 
a skirt. Twelve years! Well, she would show him. Oh, how she would show him! 
He'd pay for those twelve years, and it would seem like he was paying one 
day at a time. 

Hansen's breath still hadn't returned to normal when he felt the woman turn 
over to face him. Her eyes were unfathomable; he thought she looked pretty 
angry about something though. 

Lydia said, "Is your camera focused for the next photograph ... the fellatio 
one?" 

Wearily, the detective nodded, and blindly reached out of the remote cable. 

"Will the picture show it when ... when ... you cum in my mouth?" 

Hansen felt a jolt go through his half-awakened body. He nodded once more. 
"It might take a while, though, for me to build up strength again." 

Lydia wanted to get the thing over with as soon as possible. "What's the 
fastest way to build you up again?" she asked. 

Hansen grinned broadly. "Just suck; it will do the rest." He watched, 
fascinated, as the woman lowered her head down and her golden hair fell 
across his stomach and her warm lips ovaled and then dropping fastened 
uncertainly around the head of his cock. She was inexperienced, but instinct 
told her what to do. The soft warm suction began and, within seconds, the 
miracle of resurrection had occurred ... 

 CHAPTER 2 

Hansen had been too weary that night to develop the film; as a result, it 
was after two o'clock the next afternoon before he withdrew the negatives 
from the soup and examined them in light. As he looked at the developed 
film, his prick stirred to life again. Of them all, probably the best of the 
batch was the one where she was blowing him, he thought. 

He didn't even remember taking the picture, so lost had he been in the 
overpowering sensation of her lips and tongue working on his cock. The 
photograph showed him with his straining buttocks lifted at least a foot off 
the bed as he seemingly sought to jam the spurting cock deeper into her 
eager throat. Shining white cum squirted from between her pooched out lips. 
The woman's expression was the most surprising thing about the picture. On 
her face was a look of sheer, unadulterated exaltation ... as though she had 
accidentally stumbled upon the legendary Fountain of Youth. 

Hansen thoughtfully hung the negatives up to dry and went back into his 
office where he sat, feet propped up on the desk, staring out the window and 
seeing nothing. For a moment yesterday afternoon, he had entered paradise. A 
beautiful, seemingly untouchable woman. The world of softness. An expensive 
velvet comforter hiding satin sheets atop a king-sized bed ... not a 
threadbare and grease-spotted corduroy cover hiding the sagging springs of 
his own pathetic pull-down Murphy bed. Once again he felt her body thrashing 
beneath him, screaming out obscenities that were never truly "obscene" 
coming from the throat of a woman in a fit passion. Once again he tasted the 
rare elixir of her vagina. Once again he felt his tongue trembling at the 
threshold of her anus. He groaned deep in his throat and was abruptly angry 
at the realization he was actually feeling sorry for himself. "You stupid 
son of a bitch." he snarled aloud, castigating himself. "So you got to fuck 
a rich man's wife. Does that spoil screwing poor women for you? Isn't one 
cunt just as good as another?" Even as he said the words, he already knew 
the answer to the questions: Yes: She had spoiled everything. Her money had 
nothing to do with it; she could be in debt up to that wonderful ass of 
hers, and it wouldn't make any difference. He'd had her; and as obviously 
inexperienced as she was, no other broad could ever be the same again for 
him. Angrily, he fished for a cigarette and then cursed as he found the 
package was empty. He threw the pack at a waste basket and shook his head 
mournfully as it hit the rim and bounced off. 

When the phone jangled at that moment, he almost ripped the cord from the 
receiver when he yanked it up and growled, "Yeh?" 

Her voice came over the line. "Mister Hansen?" 

He took a deep breath and tried to sound civilized. "Yes, Mrs. Donovan." 

She didn't waste any time in getting to the point. "How did the photographs 
turn out?" He could sense her embarrassment over the phone. 

For a split second he thought about telling her the film had been ruined and 
that they would have to do it over again. Then he realized she wouldn't buy 
that and, besides, it would be a reflection of inefficiency on his part. 
"They're o.k.," he said non-committally. 

He heard the sound of her swallow over the phone and then her voice was 
brisk and businesslike. "Good. Are you willing to continue working with me?" 

"More photograph s," he wise-cracked and almost blew the whole deal right 
there. 

The heat of her anger came through the miles of wires. "Don't be smart, 
Mister Hansen." 

"Sorry." 

"All right. Here's what I want you to do. First: I need to get in touch with 
at least three different ... ah ... 'wife-swapping' organizations. I want to 
know the name of each of the club's leaders. It would be better, I believe, 
if they were from another part of the state. They must be high-class people, 
however. No tramps! And ... one of them has to be an all-Negro, or mainly 
Negro, club. Is that understood?" 

Hansen blinked and scratched his right ear thoughtfully. "That may be a tall 
order, Mrs. Donovan. Christ! I'm not even sure where to start.' 

"At two hundred dollars a day plus expenses, I'm sure you'll find a place." 

"It's liable to take a week or so...." he began. 

"I don't care. I'll give you a retainer. Will a thousand dollars be enough 
to start?" 

Hansen, speechless, merely nodded and then, suddenly realizing she couldn't 
see his nod of acceptance, said quickly, "That will be fine." 

"Good. Incidentally, I don't know anything about these organizations, but I 
would suggest you begin looking at the Santa Barbara Royal Yacht Club for a 
group. It's common knowledge that they have an active bunch that swaps with 
other yacht clubs. Perhaps you can find the all-Negro group in the San 
Francisco Bay area. For my plan, I will need at least twelve couples 
altogether. No more than fifteen couples though." 

Slowly, Hansen brought his feet down off the desk. He realized he probably 
should keep his mouth shut, but he also knew the question had to be 
asked-even if he got his head snapped off. "Mrs. Donovan ... would you mind 
telling me just what you have in mind?" 

She didn't answer for so long a time that Hansen began to think she had left 
the line, then he heard her inhale and exhale loudly as if she had just 
reached a decision. "You're entitled to know, I think. I'm planning a little 
surprise party for my husband. He'll enjoy it so! I want him to come home to 
me ... at midnight ... after visiting his little tart, and I want him to 
walk in on a wild orgy. He's a brilliant banker, but a small-minded, 
possessive, selfish, petty little bigot. He hates Negroes. And I want him to 
see his wife being made love to like the lowest harlot by a black man. I 
want him to be humiliated in public, with lots of people around to see him 
squirm. I want big-very big-enlargements in the hallway of me ... and you 
... in bed together!" 

The breath whistled out of Hansen's constricted throat, "Jesus!" 

"It is the only way I can ever repay him." 

The broad was nuts. She had to be. She'd slipped her trolley somewhere. This 
thing was getting crazier by the minute. Hansen knew he had to make some 
effort to change her mind-even if it were to cost him a thousand bucks. 
"Look, Mrs. Donovan. I don't know about this. How do you know these groups 
will respond to your invitation? I mean, hell! you're a stranger; they 
aren't acquainted with you. Most of them are secret organizations-not easy 
to break into. Besides, I'm sure they won't go along with any party you plan 
unless your husband participates, too." 

She brushed all his arguments aside. "They'll come if the invitation is 
worded properly. I intend to see that it is an affair they will be eager to 
attend." 

"And your husband?" 

"I thought you understood that, Mister Hansen. You are to be my partner for 
the evening...." 

Hansen's mind was reeling when he hung up several minutes later. He was 
still in a daze when he made the photographic prints and put them on the 
dryer. In the fifteen years as a private detective, he had never before made 
extra copies of any client's photographs-no matter how juicy. This time, 
however, he broke his own rule because he knew that he wanted always to 
remember Lydia Donovan and what she had done to and for him that afternoon. 

He really didn't come back to complete reality until he found himself 
standing before a mirror in one of Palo Alto's best known and most expensive 
men's stores-having a $350.00 black mohair and silk suit fitted to him. He 
hardly recognized the man he saw in the mirror; it was a different Hansen-a 
Hansen who was almost polished, almost handsome. It was the image of the man 
Hansen had wanted to be when he had planned to become a lawyer. The war had 
shot down those plans. Before he left the store, he had blown another $75 on 
one pair of shoes, and over $100 on shirts and ties. 

As he walked back to his dingy little office, he noticed that he was 
actually standing a bit straighter and taking long strides. It was then he 
knew with utter incredulity in his mind-that he wanted the Donovan woman and 
was going to do his goddamnedest to get her ... for keeps ... no matter what 
the cost. Then he said, aloud, "Mike Hansen, you are the stupidest shit 
alive." 

Five hours later, he was en route to Santa Barbara on the first leg of his 
assignment. 

 CHAPTER 3 

The day was simply full of pleasurable surprises, Lydia thought. First, she 
had awakened to find that Randy hadn't come home at all last night and 
hadn't even bothered to call. For a moment she had flared in anger and then 
abruptly recognized she didn't care one way or the other any longer. To hell 
with him; she wanted only one thing and that was revenge. 

The second and third surprises had come with the telephone call from the 
detective, Hansen, while she was still in bed. She was surprised at the 
effect his voice had on her body; it was almost as though he were lying in 
bed with her. Her abdomen and breasts both reacted as if they had been 
caressed. She closed her eyes and imagined him alongside her-that beautiful 
penis, hard and throbbing, pressed against her buttocks. She spread her legs 
out wide and flexed her vaginal lips, pushing her pelvis in the air. "What 
did you say, Mister Hansen?" she asked, shamelessly stroking her clitoris 
and waiting to hear his voice. 

"I said I have the names of three different groups in Santa Barbara and two 
all-black organizations in Oakland.' 

"That's fast work for only two days," she relied, feeling a hot dampness 
against her fingers. 

"I was lucky," he said. "Ah ... look! This thing is rather involved for a 
written report. I think I had better just tell you about it." 

"All right. When can you come out?" And a wanton little voice within her 
mind cried silently out, "Come now, right now. I've got a present for you!" 

There had been silence over the line then Hansen's voice came, "I have to be 
in court this morning and probably won't get out until noon. It's probable 
that I'll be recalled to the witness stand in the afternoon session, so ... 
well, are you free for a business lunch?" 

Lydia had paused, all of her upbringing scolding her not to get socially 
involved with an employee. Then she remembered what she had done to him, 
what he had done to her, what she was doing to herself right now as she 
listened to his voice ... and what they were going to have to do together 
before this whole thing was over. It struck her as a joke ... on herself ... 
and she began laughing. There was genuine warmth and sincerity in her voice 
when she had answered, "I'd love to have lunch with you, Mister Hansen. 
Where?" 

She was surprised-and amused-at her feelings of anticipation as she dressed 
and drove to the restaurant he had named. This was, she abruptly realized, 
the first time she had lunched with a male alone-other than her 
husband-since her marriage. She was actually looking forward to it! 

The Barrister Restaurant was across the street from the Superior Court 
Buildings and the Police Department. Lydia had heard of it and seen it 
mentioned in the various gossip columns, but she had never eaten there. She 
was pleasantly surprised when the parking lot attendant took her Porsche and 
she entered the restaurant itself. The exterior had been rather deceptive, 
the inside was impressive. Although there was a line of almost two dozen 
people waiting for seats, the maitre d' immediately came over to her; there 
was a look of open admiration in his eyes. "You must be Mrs. Donovan." 

"Why ... yes?" She found herself flustered for a second; how could he have 
known who she was. 

She got her answer. "Mister Hansen said you'd be here. He described you. We 
have your table ready." 

Lydia followed him past the crowded tables and booths until they reached an 
alcove marked "Judicial Chambers." It was quieter in here, the conversation 
was muted, and although every booth was occupied the room didn't seem nearly 
as crowded as the main section. Over in the corner, Lydia saw the detective 
deep in conversation with a gray-haired man who had his back to her. She 
felt a strong tug of disappointment; Hansen should have told her there would 
be someone else. 

Then as she came closer she became aware of a change in Hansen. He was so 
different! His clothes looked as if they had been tailored for him. He 
seemed completely at ease in these surroundings ... as if he belonged! It 
was almost as if he were a completely different man than that dreary-weary 
little creature who had brought the photographs ... and then she remembered 
that he had seemed changed when he came out of the bathroom that day and had 
... had ... obeyed her instructions. She was blushing when she reached the 
table. 

She saw Mike look in her direction. A broad smile of welcome-and something 
else-lit up his face as he stood. The older man stood also and Lydia gasped 
in recognition. "Judge Coors?" she stammered. 

"Lydia? Good Lord! What a pleasant surprise." He looked from the private 
detective back to her. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then 
obviously thought better of it. 

Hansen's thick eyebrows had raised quizzically. "You two know each other?" 

Lydia merely nodded, feeling some embarrassment. Judge Coors had been a 
friend of her father's family for over fifty years; he had performed the 
marriage ceremonies for her and Randolph's wedding ... even though she had 
overheard him telling her mother that he was sure Lydia was making a 
mistake. 

Hansen moved to her rescue. "Please sit down, Mrs. Donovan. Judge Coors and 
I were just shooting the breeze." 

Lydia moved into the designated seat and Hansen sat down beside her. She 
looked up, almost guiltily, toward the magistrate who continued to gaze 
speculatively at her. 

Hansen said, without too much sincerity in his voice, "Sam, why don't you 
join us for lunch?" 

"No, Mike. I've other plans." The judge stared at both of them and then 
asked the question he had obviously been holding back. "Lydia, I'm 
dumbfounded. Have you two known each other very long?" 

She didn't get a chance to answer, for Hansen interrupted, "This is strictly 
business, Sam." 

Judge Coors peered at her, and said slowly, "I see. You and Randolph ... ah 
... thinking about...?" 

"I'm leaving him," she said simply, feeling that honesty was probably the 
better policy. Then she added rapidly, "Mother doesn't know about it yet. No 
one knows. Not even Randy." 

The Judge nodded. "I shall say nothing." He gazed at the two of them then 
smiled paternally. "For a moment there I thought that perhaps the two of 
you...." he shrugged, then grinned. "Hell, I've known the two of you for 
about thirty years. When an almost old man sees two of his favorite young 
people together, he obviously begins to hope that ... that maybe...." He 
said nothing else, but Lydia could feel herself blushing. She looked over 
toward Hansen and saw his face was colored as well. 

The magistrate patted her hand paternally. "Well, Lydia, I must say that if 
you need assistance in a divorce matter you've certainly come to the right 
man. Mike, here, is the most honest, the most capable....He's in the wrong 
business, of course. I keep telling him that he should go back to school and 
get his law degree, but he's really quite stubborn." 

Lydia sat through it all, listening with amazement at the good-natured and 
obviously affectionate banter between the two men. It was not until the 
Judge left them alone that the detective turned his full attention on her. 
She felt a jolt of pleasure shoot through her. He was a goddamned handsome 
man, she thought. Handsome and virile, too. And he had come up in her 
estimation considerably. Judge Coors had called the detective one of his 
"favorite" people; that meant Hansen was o.k. all the way down the line. 

"What will you have to drink?" he asked. 

"Oh ... whatever you're drinking." 

Hansen merely held his hand up about shoulder height, and a waiter almost 
immediately appeared carrying two Tauqiievays with a lemon twist. 

Lydia knew her earlier poise of snobbish superiority had been shattered; 
even so, she tried to regain her composure and command of the situation ... 
after all, he was working for her. She toyed with her drink, refusing to 
look directly at him. "How did you and Judge Coors come to know each other?" 
she asked. 

"I used to deliver papers to his office. He was just a struggling attorney 
at the time. Horribly poor. Near starving. We used to share cheese crackers 
together." Hansen laughed in remembrance, and Lydia suddenly realized she 
liked his laugh. "It was the Depression then. He didn't have any money, so I 
gave him credit. I was only nine years old, living with an uncle. My folks 
died when I was six. I guess I felt sort of protective toward Sam. He 
couldn't pay his bill for almost nine months, then he finally won a case-his 
first big one. When he paid me, he tried to give me ten bucks extra. I 
refused to take it." 

Lydia looked at him then, and he turned his eyes away as if he were ashamed 
of his own emotions. "It seems kind of stupid now, but I was just a kid. I 
remember that I got mad at him and started bawling. He asked me what was 
wrong and I answered something like I had given credit because I thought he 
was a friend who needed help, and you can't pay friends for helping you. I 
ran out of his office, blubbering. He chased and caught up with me three 
blocks away. Funny thing ... I remember ... he had tears in his eyes, too, 
when he asked me to forgive him. World War II came and he went-wrote to me 
regularly every week about Africa, Italy, Germany ... wherever he happened 
to be, just like an older brother-or a father. He helped me get a 
scholarship at Pomona College, then sponsored me in my first two years at 
Boalt. I was going to be a lawyer, too ... but the Korean War came along." 
He shrugged. "When I came back I discovered that all these punks who had 
gotten deferments had crawled out of the woodwork from as far away as New 
York to get into Boalt, and now the school had a waiting list of two years. 
I got married, went to work as a cop, then got involved in a shooting beef 
one night with a joker who hit me in the left arm with a .44 slug. They gave 
me a forty percent disability and told me I wasn't suitable for active 
police work any longer." He laughed and for a moment his bitterness showed. 
"They offered me a job inside as a record clerk. I told them what they could 
do with that job. Then I used my disability pay to start my own 
investigation agency. So here I am." 

"And your wife?" It was said casually, too casually. 

"We couldn't hack it together. We'd been married about seven months and she 
was constantly bitching about my working nights as a policeman; she took off 
with a boyfriend-sent me divorce papers from Mexico. She wiped herself out 
about ten years ago in an automobile accident in Germany." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be. Not for me. Or for her! She went out the way she would have 
wanted to go-taking an internationally famous movie star with her. It made 
headlines throughout Europe. They'd been living together while she was 
trying to get her fifth divorce." 

Lydia listened to him talk. Odd, she thought, I've been married to Randy for 
ten years and I never understood or felt one damned thing about him. Yet, 
here I am sitting with almost a stranger, and I've gotten more insight into 
this man's character in fifteen minutes than I'll ever have about Randy-even 
if we were married for another ten years. She found herself in empathy with 
the detective. When he had been talking about the newspaper delivery episode 
she'd actually found herself reaching impulsively for his hand to show him 
she understood. Fortunately he hand't noticed her abortive movement. 

Over lunch they chatted about inconsequential things. When they both fell 
silent at the same time, it was a warm, companionable silence, with neither 
feeling any need of conversation. Someone had once told Lydia that when 
lovers are silent and not speaking, their bodies are talking to each other. 
While it had seemed nonsense at the time, she could almost believe it now. 
She was all too aware of his body next to her. She imagined she could feel 
the heat of his thighs radiating against her own. And although she fought 
against the remembrances, she found herself recalling her reactions to him 
when he had been taking the photographs. It had taken her hours of soul 
searching that night before admitting that she had, for the first time in 
her life, truly enjoyed sex. She didn't know if it were the result of some 
mental quirk on her part-of having "paid" for a sex servant who did her 
bidding ... or whether the man's body and her body were that compatible. One 
way or the other, she thought, I'll find out for sure before this thing is 
over. 

Lydia was forced to concentrate on his report about the Santa Barbara group. 
Twice she found herself watching his lips move-not hearing his 
words-remembering how his lips had felt against her body. With considerable 
dismay, she realized there was a hot dampness between her legs, and she 
flushed as she knew it came from her arousal. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't hear that-would you mind repeating." 

Hansen nodded and glanced down at his notes again. "I said you might think 
the group best suited to your purposes in Santa Barbara is one led by a 
couple named Sue and Richard McGuffin. They own a yacht called the "Jolly 
Rogue," and it would appear that some of the parties are held aboard the 
boat. They have a three-day party coming up over the long weekend next 
month, and they're presently seeking two new couples." 

"How did you find all this out?" 

Hansen smiled. "Electronics." 

"Can you think of any way of ... of meeting them socially?" 

The detective thought a minute, then pursed his lips and answered, "We could 
wait until the McGuffins are on board some evening, take a water taxi out, 
get on board and dismiss the taxi, then claim that we've accidentally gotten 
on the wrong boat." 

Lydia thought about it. The plan should work-would definitely work if the 
McGuffins had any social graces at all. The couple would invite them to have 
a drink while another taxi was en route. Then ... well, they'd have to play 
it by ear from there. Finally she nodded. "All right. When shall we do it?" 

Hansen shrugged. "We should infiltrate as soon as possible, if we're going 
to be included in the three-day party." 

"This weekend?" 

Hansen blinked; he actually seemed uncertain of himself. "We'll have to 
register someplace as "Mr. and Mrs.," in case the McGuffins run a check on 
us." 

A sudden shock of alarm surged through Lydia's body. She scolded herself 
silently, "Silly, what else did you expect?" Then she recognized, with more 
surprise than ever, that she was actually looking forward to it. She wanted 
to be in bed with him; she wanted to spend an entire night with him. She 
wanted him to ... to ... and she framed the words in her mind, "Fuck me half 
to death!" 

"All right," she said, hoping that none of the throbbing excitement was 
showing on her face. 

Hansen paused, staring at her thoughtfully. "You know, of course, what's 
involved? The McGuffins will probably want to swap that first evening; 
you'll have to ... to ... cooperate." 

"You mean I will have to let him make love to me. 

"Yes." 

"And presumably you and Mrs. McGuffin will be alongside us in the bed or on 
the floor-doing the same thing?" 

"Yes." 

The thought of the lewd spectacle they would present sent a shiver of 
forbidden excitement up her spine. To actually watch Hansen's monstrous 
penis pile-driving into another woman's naked vagina! "My God," she said to 
herself in sudden dismay, "what's happening to me that I would want to 
witness a perverted thing like that." Part of her dismay came with the 
knowledge that she not only was eager to watch it, but eager to participate 
in it. 

Her hands were trembling noticeably when she finally nodded again. "This 
weekend. I'll meet you in Santa Barbara on Friday afternoon. Will you take 
care of the accommodations?" 

Hansen relaxed then and grinned. "It's already taken care of. "We're staying 
at the Ambassador. A king-sized bed ... just in case the McGuffins try to 
check on us or want to come up for a drink." 

"Of course," Lydia said, refusing to look at him. And suddenly-very 
suddenly-she knew that even though it was only three days away, it was going 
to take forever for Friday to arrive. She wanted Hansen to come back to the 
house with her now; she wanted him to undress her-to peel her panties slowly 
and tantalizingly down over her buttocks, around her knees-to unfasten her 
bra-to kneel ... She swallowed. Realizing the wickedness of her thoughts, 
she told herself that she was glad the detective had to get back to court 
that afternoon. 

But then, when Lydia analyzed her thoughts, she knew she wasn't "glad" at 
all. She was disappointed! 

It was a disappointment that gradually turned to a smoldering excitement 
that continued to grow during the next three days-growing in strength and 
heat until her entire body was aflame with a passionate impatience when she 
stepped off the elevator at the Ambassador Friday afternoon and followed the 
bellboy with her bags to her "husband's suite." 

 CHAPTER 4 

For a split second, as she entered the suite, Lydia felt a deep sense of 
disappointment because Hansen wasn't there to greet her. Then she heard him 
singing off-key in the shower. The edges of her mouth turned up in a small 
impish smile of delight, and the first zephyrs of anticipation were already 
blowing through her belly when she tipped the admiring bellboy five dollars. 

God, she thought, I'm acting like nothing but a bitch in heat. She wanted 
Hansen; she wanted him now, right now! There was a vast loneliness aching 
down there between her legs. There really was only one question to be 
answered: should she play hard to get and act coy, or take the initiative? 

She strode across the room and gazed out the window toward the harbor where 
half a hundred boats rode at anchor. They bobbed gently up and down; the 
motion was a completely sexual one, and the masts looked like thin eager 
penises jamming the womb of the sky. 

And now her hands had begun to shake and her knees felt rubbery; the moment 
for action or non-action had arrived. She could still turn back. Her face 
dimpled in sudden decision, and then she was almost frantically removing 
shoes, yanking down panty hose, stepping out of her expensive, blue Italian 
knit skirt, and taking off blouse and bra. She wanted to be naked before he 
finished his shower. 

She stood in the center of the room, waiting for him. Her breasts had 
darkened, and her nipples had grown erect by themselves. She groaned as she 
ran a hand feverishly down over her pubic hair; the current shot through 
her. She flaunted her pelvis a couple of times and whimpered deep in her 
throat ... like a bitch in heat, she thought again. 

When Hansen still did not put in an appearance, Lydia bit her lower lip 
indecisively and then tiptoed rapidly toward the bathroom. She opened the 
door. The steam hit her with a warm moistness. Through the fog, she could 
see his muscular body out-lined in the glass door of the large shower stall. 
He continued to sing. 

Her eyes were flashing mischievously as she slowly reached out for the door 
handle. Then, quickly, she opened it and stepped inside. She couldn't have 
asked for a better setup, she thought; there was the detective, his hair all 
lathered up, his eyes closed ... and not the least bit aware that someone 
had stepped into the shower stall with him. She choked back a giggle as she 
watched him-watched the white soapy suds running down his backbone to 
disappear into the crevice between his strong buttocks. Slowly, with a 
prankish grin on her face, she reached out for his penis.... 

Hansen's first awareness that someone was in the shower with him came with 
the soft touch of a hand sliding down his abdomen to fasten gently on his 
cock. "What in hell," he shouted, and jumped in sudden alarm almost 
slipping. His eyes opened-a mistake! for the soap blinded him again almost 
immediately. He saw enough, though. 

There, as if a dream had suddenly materialized, was the nude golden body of 
the Donovan woman, her harvest moon breasts already wet, and a stream of 
water running down her belly into her silken pubic hair. She was laughing at 
his reaction. 

The surprised yelp came out of him, "Lydia?" 

"Who else did you expect? Sophia Loren? After all, I am supposed to be your 
wife." 

He gasped, then choked as soapy water ran into his mouth, for Lydia had 
begun to slowly move her hand back and forth on his prick. A low groan of 
desire came squawking out of his larynx, and her delighted laughter hit his 
ears. 

Lydia stepped up even closer to him and, still stroking his cock with her 
right hand, put her left arm around his waist. She knew she was getting her 
hair soaked. Too bad, she thought uncaringly; her hairdresser had worked 
almost an hour on it this morning because Lydia wanted to look especially 
nice. Under the machinations of her fingers, she could feel life surging 
into the prick; it was a terribly sensual feeling as the soapy water caused 
her hand to slip almost without friction from head to base of the huge rod. 
She felt lewd excitement expanding in her loins as the thing in her hand 
grew in size. Now it was elongated, sticking out in front of him as though 
it were the long, white-skinned neck of a turkey. 

"Hurry up and get the soap out of your hair and eyes," she said, beginning 
to feel impatient again and jerking his cock a couple of times in emphasis. 

Hansen who had been standing there with his eyes closed, let the sensations 
flow over his body. He could feel the warm water flowing over his head, 
could feel Lydia's breasts and nipples pressing against his chest ... but 
the best thing of all was that excruciatingly wonderful movement of her hand 
stroking his hardening prick. 

Quickly he rinsed his hair and washed the soap from his blinded eyes. Then 
he looked at her. Even barefoot, she was still about two inches taller than 
he. Her eyes were gazing unfathomably at him, almost as if they were daring 
him. Her moist lips-parted in amusement and, possibly hunger-were only 
inches from his. He reached out, planted his sinewy hands on her flaring 
hips, and gruffly pulled her to him. The new position made it difficult for 
her pliant fingers to stroke his prick, so she contented herself with 
holding it tightly in her fist-clenching and unclenching her hand in time to 
the beat of his pulse down there. It was a maddening tempo, one that she 
found echoed in her own belly. 

Mike found his thoughts, in complete disarray, but that did not stop him 
from shoving his tongue into her open mouth. Her tongue met his, and teased 
and cajoled it until he was pushing it in and out of her mouth as though it 
were a little red throbbing cock. They dueled this way for almost a minute, 
the water streaming down both of their faces. 

Lydia was the first to break contact; when she pulled away her breath was 
coming in short, puppy dog-like pants. She looked at her hand gripping his 
monstrous maledom, and then pushed down on it so the head of the penis was 
touching the upper entrance to her vaginal slit. He moved forward just a 
tiny bit, and she felt the head slide against her dampened pubic hair and 
soap-lubricated clitoris. She groaned as a shower of heated sparks shot 
through the region of naked genitals. 

"Life is just full of surprises," Mike said, French-kissing her again. He 
hadn't been sure the girl would really consent to sexual intercourse with 
him. How wrong can one guy be, he thought. Christ, she's practically raping 
me, but I'll go along peacefully! 

Hansen felt the wild elation growing in him as Lydia began sliding the hair 
covered softness of her vagina along the top of his cock. She was tall 
enough that he could take her this way without undue strain on his leg 
muscles. She was obviously ready; he could put it in right now if he wanted. 
Her eyes were closed as her breath rasped out horsely. She did something 
with her pelvis and inner thighs which caused the cuntal lips to look like a 
hot fleshy vise over the cock; she held it that way as she began moving back 
and forth again. It was almost as if he were deep inside her. 

Amazed, Mike began running his hands up and down her soapy buttocks. He 
slipped his middle finger down into the soft, yielding crevice and nudged 
her anal ring. She jumped and her eyes fluttered open. 

The sensation of his finger against her rectum had startled Lydia. It had 
actually shot a nefarious jolt of pleasure through her; never before had she 
realized she was sexually sensitive there. Now Hansen was doing other things 
with those capable hands of his; they were all over her, kneading her 
breasts as though they were bread dough, tweaking the nipples, stroking her 
abdomen in time to her own body movements. She was afire down there. She 
wanted him inside her. She said it, and the obscene words spilling out of 
her lips caused a certain amazement to register in her mind. "Fuck me, 
please do Mike...." she crooned. It wasn't so much a command as it was a 
plea. 

His balls throbbed, and the blood had long since been pounding hotly through 
the veins in his rigid cock. He wanted her now ... and yet? He also wanted 
it to be absolutely right. It was important that it be right the first time 
she came willingly to him. 

He pulled his penis from between her tightly clenched thighs. "What's 
wrong," she asked, whimperingly. 

"Nothing. Let's not hurry it though." 

"I want you now." She reached for his cock and enclosed it in her fist 
again. She began yanking on it in short impatient motions. 

Mike said nothing. He merely reached behind him and got the soap from the 
soap tray. He used the palms of both hands to raise a lather. The hot 
scented soap was almost an aphrodisiac in itself. 

Lydia didn't protect when he began to lather up her breasts; she watched the 
white bubbly river run down across her navel and disappear down into her 
drenched pubic hair. Mike now was lathering up her abdomen and hips; his 
hands were gentle, and the electrifying sensations arched through her belly. 
Then he was using two fingers and the palm of his hand to soap up her 
vagina. She closed her eyes and moaned; her legs becoming so weak that she 
felt they couldn't support her any longer. Mike kneeled in front of her and 
used both hands to bring a white lather to her thighs and legs. He ran his 
hands up and down her lower extremities as though he were stroking a giant's 
cock. She screwed her pelvis toward him, wanting to feel his lips against 
her femaledom, but he avoided it ... then began working his way up her 
backside. 

A part of Mike's mind stood off watching him operate. It was obvious the 
girl was just about to go out of her mind with lust. He knew that the upper 
torsos of some women became mottled, almost as if they were just getting 
over a bad case of measles, when they are within seconds of a climax. 
Anytime this mottling occurs on a woman, an orgasm is almost inevitable ... 
no matter what the man does or doesn't do. And Lydia was that color now. 

Quickly then, he lathered up his cock and used his soapy hands on her 
abdomen. His fingertips brushed across the wet, curling strands of the soft 
nest of fleece between her legs. He didn't pause there; his hand slid down 
ever further, middle finger extended, until he parted the soft wet strands 
of pubic hair, touched and began caressing her cuntal slit. 

Lydia's body almost jackknifed with the maddening contact of his finger 
sliding through the already fevered area. She began to moan in wild, 
inarticulate phrases, and her inner thighs tried to trap that hand-that 
beautiful hand-and keep it captive. Now a second finger was making a lovely 
intrusion; the middle finger toyed with the clitoris ... both fingers moving 
in unison. 

She had to have it ... now! She was close. ... She wanted to feel that 
powerful maledom inside her. She could no longer be patient. "Please?" It 
was a craven croak of desire spilling out of her throat. 

Hansen watching her and listening to her, reveled in the feel of her nubile 
pussy and the vibrating arousal of her goddess like body. God, he thought, 
she's the hottest thing I've ever seen. She really wants it; she's so fired 
up that she's about to explode. 

"Lydia, baby," he said very slowly, "Put it in for me." 

Frantically, she reached down for his soap slickened penis and pulled it up 
between her legs. She spread her thighs and pointed the cock, like a 
Coca-Cola bottle, toward the opening of her vagina. She snaked her other arm 
around his waist and pulled him forward, guiding the magnificent hardened 
instrument toward her eagerly awaiting cuntal lips. 

Her cunt opened and closed like a hungry sea anemone as she pushed forward 
with her pelvis. His prick sliced through the voracious lips, down and up, 
and rammed deep into the soft pulsating flesh of her belly. 

"Ahhhhh," she chanted, moving her body back and forth, feeling his 
cum-bloated scrotum swinging and teasing against her thighs. She reached 
down for his testicles and caressed them, as she wildly flaunted her 
pelvis-sliding her cunt up and down on the throbbing rod of hardened male 
flesh sunk so deep up inside her. It all happened unbelievably fast. "Ahhh? 
Ahhhhhhhhhh?? AH! Aieeeeee. I'm cumming ... I'm cumming....Oh, God, I'm 
cumming," she screamed. And then she was really in a frenzy with her pelvis 
slamming so hard against Hansen's hip bones that it seemed certain something 
was about to break. 

Mike's eyes had widened in complete surprise. My God, she had reached an 
orgasm within twenty seconds of the time the cock was first shoved in. He 
hadn't made one single thrust on his own part; she had done all the work. 
She swallowed with her mouth hung loosely open, and the sound of air panting 
in and out of her throat made almost an obscene noise of unmistakably 
satisfied passion. 

Lydia stood there, trembling uncontrollably, as the orgasm drained away her 
strength. She was forced to lean against Hansen; there was nothing left in 
her body. She was sure she had lost consciousness at the height of the 
climax for she had slumped, and the movement had caused his hard rigid 
instrument to slip out of her vagina with a wet, plopping sound that could 
be heard even above the hiss of the shower water and the deep gasps of her 
breathing. 

She felt an almost uncontrollable desire to go to sleep. This in spite of 
her mind swarming with thoughts like a disturbed wasps' nest. She knew what 
had happened; she had reached a powerful orgasm, and it had been just as if 
she had hooked into a high voltage line. She had been aroused for days and 
release, when it came, had been as sudden as a thunderbolt. 

"Are you all right?" Mike was looking at her with some concern. 

She closed her eyes and nodded. A moment later, Mike's hands were on her 
shoulders, turning her around so the soap would wash off. She was as 
obedient as a small sleepy child. Then there came the velvet-like softness 
of a wash cloth gently rubbing between her legs as it rinsed the soap suds 
from her still slightly pulsating cunt. She winced when the cloth-as soft as 
it was-accidentally brushed against her clitoris. The organ was overly 
sensitive now; any touch there was painful for the moment. Then the hissing 
hot water was turned off. 

Mike began towelling her dry, treating her as if she were an infant being 
dried after a bath. The roughness of the towel began bringing a new life to 
her body; it felt, she decided, very, very sensual. Warm, comfortable, 
and-for the moment-satisfied, she permitted him to do anything he wanted. 
She even stood on tiptoe to help, when he rubbed the towel between the 
cheeks of her ass. She was all too aware that he still had his mammoth 
erection, and dully she wondered if he wanted to be "relieved." 

Mike wadded up the towel and threw it into the corner of the shower. Then, 
without saying a word, he picked up Lydia and carried her out of the stall, 
through the bathroom, and to the king-sized bed. He carried her as 
effortlessly as a rag doll. Feeling like a little girl, which she knew was 
pretty ridiculous considering her Amazon-like body, Lydia put her head 
against his hairy chest. She closed her eyes and gave herself to the 
sensation of his erect cock rubbing across her buttocks with each step he 
took. 

He put her in the center of the bed and stood looking down at her. She still 
had her eyes closed, and her lovely full breasts rose and fell like the 
surge of the sea with each breath. It was incredible, simply incredible, he 
thought. All this-mine ... for now. Once again, he wondered about her. She 
didn't seem the "hair trigger" type, yet that first evening when they had 
taken the photographs, she had cum almost immediately ... and had continued 
to reach orgasm after orgasm, each one building on the other. And in the 
shower? She had been there within seconds after he had pushed his prick 
between her warm welcoming thighs. Yet? During her moments of delight, she 
had implied she had never been able to do anything with her husband, and 
that her husband Randy, thought her "frigid." Mike couldn't understand it at 
all! The photographs had shown that Randy was well-versed in the art of 
turning on a woman, so what was the score? 

On the bed, Lydia's eyes blinked open. She felt a great wave of tenderness 
well up within her as she gazed at the detective. It was something she had 
never felt before about any man. Those broad shoulders, that craggy handsome 
face, the fur-like hair on his chest ... and that beautiful, beautiful 
penis. 

She wanted that penis. She wanted to kiss it-to pay homage to it. Never 
before had she desired the taste of one, but then never before had one 
brought her such sweet rapture. Still lying on her back, she bent her knees 
and used the balls of her feet and shoulders to scooch over so that the 
prick was directly above her pouting mouth; it hung above her like a 
hardened sword of Damocles. She was amazed at her own boldness, and her 
words sounded alien-almost unintelligible to her-when she said, "Mister 
Hansen, I want to kiss your penis." 

His laugh rumbled out, "I'd love to have you do just that. But don't you 
think it's time to dispense with the formalities. My friends call me Mike." 

Lydia suddenly giggled. It was funny. But then she stopped giggling when the 
"sword" dipped toward her lips. She reached up and caressed it, feeling 
every powerful ridge beneath the taut skin. Her eyes feasted hungrily upon 
it; she was beginning to understand many things. This, she thought, was the 
real staff of life. Her eyes were hazy "smoky," coming from the fires that 
were being kindled within her and the huge throbbing god's head was already 
oozing love from the eye of the glans. 

She licked her lips in anticipation, then cupped the bloated sac of sperm as 
though she were evaluating it. Her lips kissed the underside of the moist 
head, and Hansen quivered like a powerful stallion at bay. Then her tongue 
lashed out, making maddening circles around the entire head of the cock. Her 
own body reacted. It trembled with a suppressed power. Sighing with 
pleasure, she opened her mouth wide and accepted the cock. She began to suck 
on it, gentle little milking motions that came from an instinctive knowledge 
older than time itself. She thrilled to the residual taste of soap, his love 
secretions, and still another taste. "Could it be," she asked herself, "the 
taste of my own vagina?" And feeling as though she were somehow completing a 
circle of life, she took his cock deep within the soft, wet folds of her 
cheeks. 

Mike's hands dropped to Lydia's hair and pulled her even closer to him. She 
had begun running her tongue along the underside of his cock, and the 
sensations were causing great thunderheads to build up in his belly. "Suck 
it," he panted, "suck it, Lydia." He lifted his right leg from the floor 
and, without pulling away from her, placed his knee on the pillow alongside 
her head. A second later, he was straddling her breasts and kneeling above 
her face. He began jerking his loins forward at her beauty in the motion of 
fucking. 

Lydia cupped his buttocks in the palms of her hands. She liked him in this 
position; it gave her a masochistic pleasure to know that she was almost 
incapable of moving her head in any direction now except up and down on that 
vibrant wonderful penis. She slavered up and down, instinct telling her to 
use her tongue and teeth against the head. 

Hansen slowly moved his pelvis back and forth so that her lips-like the 
voracious lips of a hot, hairless vagina-slid along the trunk. God, he 
thought in wonderment, nothing has ever felt this good before! She obviously 
was inexperienced in this type of thing, but the heat of her mouth and the 
way she used her tongue was absolutely fantastic. He'd had blow jobs before 
from a woman; his first wife had been a master at it, and with her he hadn't 
cared enough to want to know where she had learned the art or who had taught 
her. With his wife, the act had been a grotesque parody of sexual 
intercourse. With Lydia, though, it was something else-something of a 
greater dimension. He knew he was going to cum soon, already his boiling 
cauldron of semen was beginning to seek avenues of escape. He put both hands 
on his hips and straightened his shoulders so he could look straight down at 
her as he sawed in and out of her mouth. Her pink lips contrasted with the 
blood infused shaft which pumped into her. Her mouth was so tight around the 
cock that the flesh of her lips were pulled out like the hot opening of a 
volcanic crater-each time he made a withdrawal. 

Lydia, lost in a frenzy of delight, was only vaguely aware of his saying, 
"Better stop, or I'm going to cum." She merely sucked harder. She wanted to 
taste his sperm; she wanted the boiling eruption in her mouth. Yet...? What 
would he think about her? Reluctantly, she unfastened her lips from around 
his desire-throbbing cock. When she looked up at him, Mike seemed twenty 
feet tall-staring down at her as though his head were somewhere near the 
ceiling. He was breathing rapidly, and she could see hs stomach muscles 
quivering as he fought for control. She swallowed and forced herself to say, 
"Do you want to cum in my mouth?" 

Mike fought a battle within himself. Yes, he wanted to cum in that wonderful 
mouth, but ... at the same time ... he wanted to fuck her. Maybe, if she 
were willing later tonight, they'd get around to other ways. Right now, 
though, there was one thing he wanted more than any other. 

"I want to fuck you," he said firmly. "Fuck you between the legs!" 

"Oh, my darling. Yes! Then do it now." Lydia was amazed that the term of 
endearment coming from her lips. She abruptly realized there was an 
unfulfilled feeling down in her pulsating vagina; that feeling rapidly swept 
away all other desire. She wanted him inside her; she wanted him to be a 
part of her-of her to be part of him. Joined in fucking. "Now ... do it now. 
Fuck me, Mike." she repeated, and opened her legs wide to receive him. 

Mike put his hands beneath her knees and pushed them back until they were 
against the pillow. Her tight defenseless pussy was revealed beneath him; 
the outer lips a darker than normal color from her intense excitement, the 
inner lips pumping out a viscous lubricant, and the large red clitoris 
engorged with blood and ready ... ready ... ready. 

Mike put the head of his throbbing prick against the hot moistened lips of 
her vulva. He pushed forward, and the head parted the still wet curls of 
pubic hair and slipped easily down through the two sets of sensitive cuntal 
lips. 

"OOOOhhhh," she crooned, and her eyelids flickered in rapture. 

"You like that?" he asked, not really needing assurance, but wanting to hear 
her say it. 

"Oh, God! ... yes. It's beautiful." 

Mike pushed in a bit further; he knew he had to take this in easy stages for 
the position was one which would permit him to go at least two inches deeper 
into her. Too rapid an entry would result in pain or injury. When he had 
gotten about three inches inside her, he began slow withdrawal movements 
coupled with tiny, controlled jerking of his prick. He felt a responding 
twitch from her vaginal walls. 

"Ahhhh...." she panted, and tried to rock back and forth on the hardness 
hanging down between her legs. 

Lydia could feel his scrotum tingling against her naked, uplifted buttocks 
and she reached down and around to fondle his balls with fevered joyousness. 
Mike had begun moving in and out and she was sure she had taken all he had, 
not realizing that he was less than five inches into her. She could feel the 
head of his maledom pressing against the cervix, knocking at the door to her 
womb. The shaft-like hot hard iron and soft feathers-rubbed the inside of 
her vagina. 

"Ooooooohhhhhh," she wailed, for now he was going even deeper. "You're 
hurting...." she began, but then she felt his pubic hair tickling against 
the backs of her thighs and knew that he was in as far as he could go. 
Joyously, she realized she had taken all of him; they were a perfect fit. 
Now his movements became masterful, she could feel him in complete command 
of the situation, and so she lay there, grinding her full rounded buttocks 
around in tiny teasing circles, as he pounded in and out of her body. 

Her entire belly was afire as her mind screamed out its insane delight. 
Nothing had ever been so wonderful, so wild, so free. She knew she had 
become a woman. She was really being fucked and she was responding as a 
woman-a hot, tempestuous woman, full of fire for the man she loved. And it 
was tribute to Hansen's fucking ability that she didn't even wonder about 
her use of the alien phrase, "the man she loved." 

Mike was aware that she was approaching another explosive orgasm. Her body 
was fighting him down there; it was as if he had hooked into a mighty game 
fish that was attempting to dislodge the hook. Her pelvis jerked and 
revolved madly, but there wasn't much she could do because of the position. 
It was then Mike decided to hold back his own climax and see just how much 
he could do for her. 

He clamped down on his sphincter muscles and began pounding into her with a 
demonic fury, screwing his cock even harder and deeper into her cunt until 
it seemed her battered cervix would be dislodged. Her hot passageways 
screamed for more, and the interior muscles of her vagina clasped his shaft 
like the hungry tentacles of a starving octopus. Her asshole clenched and un 
clenched as it seemingly sought to bite and capture his balls as they 
slapped down in a ceaseless drumbeat of lust against her upturned buttocks. 

Lydia tossed her head from side to side, her mouth open laxly, and her eyes 
focused in disbelief at her own knees rocking above her head. "Ohhh ... 
ohhhh...." she said, with each shove of his cock into her. It was a chant, a 
liturgy of love, a song whose tempo speeded up as she felt her body taking 
over. "Ohhh ... oohhhh ... ohhhhh. ... Ahhhh?" 

Suddenly, Lydia punched her pelvis up with almost superhuman strength, and 
her legs splayed out until it seemed as if she were splitting herself right 
down the middle. The scream of delight bubbled out of her mouth, "I'm 
cumming.... Ohhh ... AHHHHH ... AaaaaIIIIeeeeeee. ... I'm cummmmmmm ...ing, 
darling!" She groveled beneath him, and her fingernails dug long bloody 
furrows down his back. Then she fell lifeless against the mattress. 

Mike slowed his pace to the point where he merely bobbed in and out of her 
like the soft surgings of the tide. He knew he could bring her on again by 
continuing this gentle movement, and so he bided his time. A slow movement 
in, gentle partial withdrawal, slow in, pull out ... slow in ... pull out. 

From somewhere way out beyond the futhermost planet of her emotional solar 
system, Lydia's errant mind began returning to her body. The wild storm that 
had arced through the heavens of her nerves had moved on; now there was only 
the voluptuous, almost hypnotic, movement in and out of her cunt. 

Mike was aware of the returning sensations in her body. Knowing she would 
soon be cramped by her present position, he released her captive legs and 
pulled them down alongside his hips. She almost immediately lifted her knees 
and wrapped her legs around his thighs. Her knees pressed in tightly against 
and partially around his buttocks. 

She was groaning-not a sound of pain, but of guttural wonderment-and the 
sound spewed from her throat. Lydia couldn't believe what was happening to 
her; she had reached some beautifully high, wind-swept plateau-a land of 
pure sensation! She was cumming again! She reached up for his head and 
pulled his face down to her. She passionately kissed him, grinding her 
tongue into his mouth ... and then she whispered, "I'm ... cumming." 

This time her climax was different-just as powerful and strong, but more 
controlled. She found she could manage it-bring it along-play it and make it 
peak like a musical piece. But, only seconds later, she discovered that in 
reality his hot living shaft was the baton-that he was conducting the 
symphony of sensation-and she was only a player following directions. 

"Oooooh, God, Ooooooh, God! So wonderful ... so goooooood!" she sang, 
feeling unwanted tears welling up in her eyes. She wrapped her arms and legs 
tightly around him, and pulled his hairy chest down into the soft 
voluptuousness of her breasts. She discovered that pulling him down against 
her caused his prick to ride higher against her clitoris ... and a wild 
wantonness was on her again. "I'm cumming ... again...." she whimpered, and 
her body thrashed beneath his. 

Mike knew that in spite of all his control he was nearing the end of his 
efforts. His balls had begun to throb painfully, and suppressed excitement 
had swollen his prick until his urethral opening was large enough to take a 
pencil. 

"I'm cumming...." she screamed, for the second time in less than twenty 
seconds, and her body jerked and twisted as though she were in throes of a 
huge, uncontrolled epileptic seizure. Her face was contorted in lust, and 
her mouth opened and closed ceaselessly as her nostrils flared like an 
untamed wildly bucking animal's. 

It was time, Mike thought, and he plunged his long white cock up and up, 
deeper and deeper into the warm caverns beneath him. He let the sensations 
flow up the shaft where they spread out through the scrotum and overflowed 
into his belly. 

Lydia's forehead, face, and shoulders glistened with the sheen of sweat. Her 
breasts felt as if they were balloons being pumped full of hot scented air, 
and her vagina and uterus felt as if they were being stuffed with electric 
eels, all throwing off electric charges ... and wiggling up deeper, ever 
deeper, into her innermost femaledom. She knew instinctively that each 
preceding orgasm had been like a higher step on a high diving board, that 
she had reached the top, and now there was a swan dive to be made into the 
warm waters of oblivion. There was nothing that could stop her from making 
the dive, and she knew Mike was suddenly fucking her like a mad man as he 
sought to join her dive. 

"Cum with me Mike ... cum...." she pleaded. "Cum with me ... in me...." She 
wanted him to make the dive with her; she was giving herself completely to 
him. No man had ever had this from her before. It was a gift. A gift. "Cum 
... my dar ling ... please cum...!" 

And Mike, hearing the words, felt the dam gates slowly opening within him. 
He slithered his strong, sinewy hands under the wildly pumping cheeks of her 
ass and cupped them tightly-pulling them toward him for greater access to 
her open and pleading cunt. He drove into her with all his strength-wanting 
to give her everything he had; he could feel the smooth, hot flesh of her 
tight, almost unusual massaging and sucking away at his expanding, explosive 
cock. He fucked into her, ramming every last inch of his huge cudgel into 
the hot willing hole down between her legs. A cry started within her, and at 
first it sounded like the low moan of the Arctic winds blowing high in the 
heavens; the sound grew in intensity until it was the shriek of a typhoon 
levelling everything before it. "AIIIIEEEEEE....I'M CUMMING!" She screamed, 
and it was the cry of a hawk-and eagle-diving from great heights. Her smoky 
eyes stared, unseeing, at things beyond both of them. Her ass waved in wild 
abandonment from side to side, screwing her cunt up and down crazily on his 
white pistoning rod. 

Lydia's wildly thrashing body triggered his own climax. He could feel the 
velvet explosion beginning somewhere around the spine. It spread rapidly to 
his balls. Mike increased the intensity of his strokes so that his scrotum 
swung like an iron wrecking ball against the trembling walls of her 
buttocks. 

Then he was there; its intensity frightened him for a moment, but he let 
everything go. Her arms had him in a deathlike grip, but he was still able 
to gasp into her open mouth, "I'm cumming...." 

Her words were almost incomprehensible when she panted, "Cum in me ... cum 
... dar-leeenng." 

Mike heard the whimpering moan from her and her knees flexing and unflexing 
powerfully back against his driving ass, as she sought to assist him. With a 
low moan of ecstasy, he exploded inside her, and the white hot lava of his 
love erupted deep down inside the pulsating depths of her womb. 

His cock continued to spurt and throb for almost two minutes, then it 
gradually stilled. Deep inside her, he could feel her muscles loosening, the 
uterine walls deflating, the cervix returning to its normal position, and 
the vaginal lips twitching like the lips of a slowly dying fish. He opened 
his eyes and looked down at the girl; she appeared to be at least ten years 
younger than her real age. A soft, wondering smile was etched on her lips; 
she looked happy, fulfilled. He smiled gently as he watched the even rise 
and fall of her beautiful breasts at repose. She was asleep-so soundly 
asleep that she didn't even stir when he slowly withdrew his deflated penis. 
It came out with a soft hissing sound and with the stopper removed, a 
torrent of white, expended sperm began to flow like a river out of her open 
cunt. 

Mike pulled the bedspread over her perspiration streaked body. Then, nude, 
he walked toward the window overlooking the yacht club and picked up his 
binoculars. Sunset was coming to the basin. In the fading light he could see 
three people on the deck of the Jolly Rogue. Two of them he recognized as 
Sue and Richard McGuffin. The third one was a tall brunette clad in an 
extremely small bikini that accentuated, rather than hid, her body. She 
looked very good indeed. Even as he watched, he saw Richard McGuffin pat the 
girl's ass in a very proprietary manner. The brunette threw back her head 
and laughed, then wantonly put her hand down the side front of McGuffin's 
bulging swimming suit. Sue McGuffin, standing right alongside them, seemed 
amused at their antics. She turned as a fourth figure-obviously the 
brunette's husband-came on deck. Sue pointed toward the man and woman 
fondling each other and made a remark which caused him to double over in 
glee. 

"Eight bells and all's well," Mike said softly. "Fun and games time on the 
old 'Jolly Rogue'." 

Behind him, he heard Lydia stir on the bed. One lovely golden arm had come 
out from beneath the bedspread, and one delicious mound of breast flesh with 
its inviting little nipple was uncovered. She was still asleep and 
apparently dreaming now, for there was a tender smile on her face as her 
lips opened partially and she whispered, "Mike ... darling." 

He watched her. She had surprised hell out of him, but his biggest surprise 
had come with his own emotions. It was one thing to want to fuck a woman, 
quite another to feel a need to protect her and to want to share things with 
her. 

When he turned his attention back to the Jolly Rogue, Sue McGuffin-a lewd 
expression on her face-was spread-eagled on the deck and being finger-fucked 
by the man. The brunette and Richard McGuffin had disappeared below decks. 
The only evidence that they had ever been on deck was a scanty blue 
handkerchief lying next to the galley door ... the bottom part of the girl's 
bikini. 

 CHAPTER 5 

The Anchor Bay Restaurant sits out near the end of the Santa Barbara wharf; 
most of it hangs out like an aircraft carrier's forward deck over the water. 
The view is of the Yacht Club and the opening to the breakwater. If the 
Table Captain thinks you look important enough and you're prepared to wait a 
bit after tipping, you get a window table where you can watch the, lights 
dancing across the water, the sun setting behind the blue-gray shrouded 
Channel Islands, and-at certain times of the year-the moon rising like a 
ripe pumpkin over the Santa Ynez mountains. 

Friday night is the worst evening to get reservations; Saturdays are almost 
as bad. To walk in on one of these nights with no reservations at all is 
tantamount to dropping in unexpectedly for a chat, tea and tiffin with the 
Pope. 

Hansen and Lydia had arrived without reservations. One look at Mike's 
expensive suit and Lydia obviously original Pucci silk crepe mini, and the 
Table Captain put a small "w" in front of Hansen's name. A ten dollar bill 
surreptitiously pressed into his hand resulted in a large black asterisk 
following the name-this denoting a big spender. They were seated within 
three minutes ... at a table that had been set only moments before for a 
party of six who had been waiting for almost two hours in the bar and were 
rapidly reaching a state of non compos mentis. 

The Tanqueray arrived in a frosted glass. The waiter asked, "Will there be 
anything else at the moment, sir?" 

"Thank you, no." 

Then Mike was left alone with Lydia, with only the soft hum of other 
conversations in the background. She looked very female-very beautiful, he 
thought, and then told her so. She smiled softly in answer. Her hair looked 
like a golden waterfall frozen in mid-flight. Her face seemed softer, her 
lips fuller, her eyes a deeper haze. There was just the faintest suggestion 
of color high on each of her lovely cheek bones. That, he was pretty sure, 
had come from his beard stubble during their second round of lovemaking 
after Lydia had awakened. Her inner thighs would be the same color ... for 
the same reason. 

Lydia, watching the candlelight dance on his face, thought he was the most 
handsome man she had ever known. She told him so; he grinned in reply. She 
really couldn't get over how contented she was, how very secure and very 
complete she felt around him. She lifted her glass in a toast, "What shall 
we drink to?" 

Mike pursed his lips, then shrugged his shoulders, "To drinking?" 

"No, silly. To ... to...." she closed her eyes, unable to force herself to 
say it. She wanted to say, "To us!" but that would sound possessive. 

Mike saved her. "To the rest of the weekend. May it be as pleasurable as its 
beginning." 

She nodded, touched his glass, then drank. She sat back in her 
chair-completely relaxed-and let the sensations wash over her. Every single 
pore of her body was alive and singing. God, she felt so alive! She could 
spend the rest of her life just sitting here, feeling this way. How much of 
it was due to sex and how much of it due to being with Hansen, she couldn't 
say. She was pretty sure, though, that the two were inseparable. She had 
never come close to feeling this content with Randy. Not once. Never! 

"Penny?" Mike asked. 

"What?" 

"A penny for your thoughts," he said. "You looked so bloody serious." 

"If I told you, I'd embarrass you ... and myself." 

"Try me and see." 

She paused, then said, "All right. Light me a cigarette, buy me another 
drink, and I'll tell you my life's story. A little sad piano music, if you 
please, Hoagy." She grinned impishly at her own joke. 

She gazed toward the window, studying her reflection in the glass. She 
pointed at her image, "See that woman. I sometimes think that is the real 
me-something seen dimly, infrequently." She squinted and blew smoke at the 
reflection. "Sometimes I don't see her for months. Sometimes she won't go 
away, like now. Look at her, staring at me. She's accusing me." 

"Oh? Have you done something you shouldn't have?" 

Lydia ground out her half-smoked cigarette. "No, it's the other way around. 
I haven't done a lot of things that I should have. When I was very, very 
young ... say about four, I knew what I wanted to do I wanted to be a doctor 
and help people. Then my father-he and I were very close-died when I was 
six, and the doctors couldn't help him. I hated doctors then. When I was in 
junior high school, I was sure I would be a famous movie actress; that 
lasted until I was about fourteen, when I decided I would rather become an 
Olympic swimmer. That lasted about four days; the coach took one look at my 
form and said no dice. Then I thought I'd be a famous writer or artist. No 
talent. When I got out of school, I thought about joining the Peace Corps or 
something like that. But I knew I just couldn't spend time in some 
dirty-floored hovel, trying to make someone do something they really didn't 
want to do ... or holding someone else's sick child. I was in my third year 
at Scripps College and had changed my major six times in the three years, 
when I suddenly realized I really didn't give a damn about school either. I 
came back home. Mother took me with her on a round the world tour on the 
Cavonia; she hoped I would meet some nice eligible male who had acceptable 
social qualifications." She snorted and there was a touch of bitterness in 
her voice. "We're very social and very rich, you know." 

"No, I didn't know," Hansen said, softly. 

"Oh my, yes." She mimicked the words, "Terribly rich!" Then she became 
serious again. "My maiden name was Benton." 

Mike cocked one eyebrow and was impressed in spite of himself. "Martin 
Benton? Benton Aircraft? Benton Boats?" 

"The same. Daddy's." She fell silent as the waiter brought the second round 
of drinks. When he left, she raised her glass again. This time she paused 
only a second before saying, "To us!" 

Hansen nodded his approval and touched glasses with her. 

"Where was I?" Lydia asked, then answered her own question. 

"Oh, yes! Aboard the Caronia, 'eighty beautiful days, forty exotic ports, 
eighty romantic nights!!" She knew her bitterness and sarcasm were showing, 
but she didn't care. "I couldn't get interested in any of the males; they 
bored me stiff. Mother kept pushing me off on Randy; she even had his table 
changed from the Second Officer's to the Captain's where we sat. He gave me 
the creeps. Mother nearly exploded when I told her he looked like the 
crooked banker in a Western movie." She grinned as she saw Mike's 
appreciative smile. 

Lydia held her glass up to the candle and inspected its contents, 
deliberating whether she should continue or not. She mentally shrugged and 
went on. "I ... ah ... began to think there was something wrong with me. 
There I was, twenty one years old and still a virgin, and not the least bit 
interested in any male I had ever met. Except one I met when I was fifteen. 
He was fifteen, too. And I would have given in to him if he'd known what to 
do. He didn't. His name was Jon. He was tall and blond and skinny, and was 
going to be a poet. He used to read poems to me that he'd written, and some 
of them were so sad and beautiful that I used to cry, you know." She paused 
and stared out the window at a fishing boat plowing its way into the harbor. 
"I saw him again a couple of years ago. Already bald at thirty, working as 
assistant manager in a chain shoe store, married, five kids, no longer 
writing poetry ... or anything." She looked up, grimacing. "Jesus, this is 
getting depressing. Sure you want to hear the rest?" 

"I'm interested," Hansen said. 

"Okay, then. Back to the old Carouia. I'm on board, you see. Mother is 
pushing Randy, the blue plate special at me. Randolph is socially 
acceptable. He's a nose talker, Harvard and some precious private finishing 
school on the East Coast. He's also fifteen years older than I. Divorced. He 
kept coming on like gang busters. I couldn't see him, or the panting Third 
Officer, or the deck boy who looked as if I were a hot fudge sundae and he 
hadn't eaten for a month. So ... ah ... well, I started thinking there must 
be something horribly wrong with me. That maybe I was a lesbian. There was 
another girl on board-a Swede-who definitely was lesbian. I mean, she had 
made no bones about that to me. She just up and told me that she was lex and 
wanted to know if I was straight or gay, and one way or the other would I be 
interested in letting her make love to me. Finally, I think it happened 
between Gibraltar and Egypt, one night I went with her to her cabin and let 
her do what she wanted. I felt I had to know. She did everything to me ... 
and nothing for me. After it was all over, and I hadn't reacted, I felt 
dirty and sick. When I got on deck, I saw Randy. He made his usual 
proposition; I said 'why not'. He ... he ... 'laid' me the same evening. It 
hurt a little, not much. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. He told me 
that he had used 'protection', but he lied. He took away my hymen and left 
in its place a baby. It wasn't until later that I realized the son of a 
bitch had done it on purpose." 

Hansen watched as she fumbled angrily for a cigarette; he didn't have a 
chance to light it ... the hovering waiter beat him to it. 

Lydia exhaled a boiling cloud of smoke. "We got ... we had! ... to get 
married. Mother was thrilled, in spite of the circumstances. Two days after 
we started our 'honeymoon', I lost the baby. You know ... it was the first 
real thing I had wanted in a long time; I wanted to be a mother. And even 
that was denied me. Since then, Randy has repeatedly stated that he doesn't 
want a child." She sighed. "He even had his tubes or something tied off so 
he couldn't." 

She was silent for so long a time that Hansen thought she had decided to 
stop talking, but then she began again. "We had parties, got our pictures in 
the society pages of the newspaper, attended all the socially proper things 
like polo at Pebble Beach, the Regatta, and so on. I joined all the proper 
society matron organizations, the Junior League, the Hospital Auxiliary, the 
Symphony Guild." She looked directly at him and her eyes mirrored her 
misery. "I was bored to death with it all. I started dying little by little. 
There was a thick shell of indifference growing around me, shutting off the 
fresh air and sunshine. By the time I was thirty years old that shell seemed 
impenetrable to me. I ... I ... even tried ... to kill myself once last 
year." She smiled sadly. "I failed at that, too. Failed so badly that not 
even Randy knew I had tried. Not that he would have given a damn one way or 
the other, except for the bad publicity." She paused, cocked her head to one 
side, and asked, "May I have another drink?" 

Hansen used his forefinger to indicate he wanted the drink order repeated, 
and the waiter-standing like a silent sentinel just out of earshot-nodded 
his understanding. 

Lydia continued to stare at Mike. "You know something?" 

"What?" 

"I'm glad I didn't commit suicide." 

"I'm glad you didn't, too." He meant it. 

"That thick old shell of indifference I was telling you about ... you broke 
through it as though it wasn't there at all. You just shattered it. Crash! 
Tinkle ... tinkle ... tinkle. It was an egg, and out came the ugly 
duckling." 

"No ... out came the swan. Long slender neck, graceful, queenly...."...." 
and I've got good tits, too." She giggled then put her hand quickly to her 
mouth. "Oops. Say ... are you trying to get me drunk? I haven't had anything 
to eat all day." Her eyes narrowed wickedly and she grinned as she bit her 
lower lip, " ... at least nothing to eat in the food department." 

Hansen's delighted laughter boomed out. "Lydia, my pet ... you are beginning 
to talk-shall we say-'dirty'. Time to get some food into you ... Anything 
special you want?" 

"I'll have what you have." 

"Right. Well, after our little exercise this after noon, maybe we'd better 
have some red meat." He scanned the huge menu. "How about a Chateaubriand 
for the two of us?" 

"Great," she answered enthusiastically. 

"How do you like your meat?" 

"How do you like yours?" 

"Charred and blood rare," Mike said. 

"Charred and blood rare is fine with me. I always feel barbarian when I eat 
raw meat." She growled playfully and raised her eyebrows suggestively. Then 
her face collapsed. "No ... that's a lie. I've never felt anything. Before 
you...." She forced a smile. "Anyway, hell, I'm hungry!"...." and let's try 
a bottle of number twenty four-the Pinot Noir," Mike said, finishing his 
instructions to the Captain who had come over personally to take their 
order. 

Moments later, they both were watching silently as the Captain made a 
full-scale production out of the Caesar Salad. By the time he had finished 
and handed the salad to the waiter for serving, Lydia and Mike were 
ravenous. 

Still later, they watched appreciatively as the mammoth 
Chateaubriand-together with its garnish of ten fresh vegetables and 
mushrooms-was presented to them. They dawdled pleasurably over dinner, and 
lingered even longer over coffee and brandy. It was with considerable 
surprise then that both of them suddenly realized the dining room had 
emptied of everyone except one or two busboys and their waiter. 

Mike glanced down at his watch. "Good God! It's midnight." 

"I can't believe it," Lydia said, looking at her own wrist watch for 
confirmation. 

Mike signalled for the bill, and when it arrived he peeled off three 
twenties. The waiter's eyes widened at the size of the tip; he was 
practically fawning over them as he pulled out Lydia's chair for her. 

"An after dinner drink in the bar?" Mike asked. 

"That would be nice," Lydia replied. 

They made their way to the cocktail lounge. In the corner, several people 
were crowded around a piano bar. Most of the booths were empty, however. 
Lydia and Mike slid into one against the far wall. 

They sat close together, their legs and thighs pressed together. 

When their drinks had been served, Mike asked, "Are you still planning to go 
ahead with your ... plan?" 

"Of course," she replied, almost indignantly. "That's why we're here, isn't 
it?" 

"Just asking." 

"As I told you earlier this evening, I've never wanted very much out of 
life. But I do want to pay Randolph Donovan back for everything he's 
done-and hasn't done-to me. I hate him. Oh, God! How I hate him. I want 
revenge. I'm going to get revenge. Whatever the cost." 

"All right. I just wanted to make sure you still felt the same way." He 
nodded his head toward the piano bar. "There's your quarry." 

"What do you mean?" 

"The McGuffins. She's the little brunette with the busy hands in the tight 
purple sheath; he's the cigar-smoker in the lime-colored blazer. The couple 
they're playing kneesies with at the moment are the ones who were on deck 
earlier tonight before they switched partners." 

Lydia stared at the men. She felt an immediate sense of dismay and 
disappointment. Richard McGuffin was pot-bellied; if his laughter was any 
indication, he was coarse as well. The other man was almost a non-entity. 
The thought of letting those men make love to her was repulsive. She 
crinkled up her nose, "Yeeccck." 

Hansen smiled. "The best we could do under such short notice. You should 
have seen the members of the other two clubs." 

"There's nothing wrong with the two women, but just look at those two men." 

Mike agreed with her evaluation. The two females were extremely well built, 
both looked like well-oiled high-powered sex machines. 

"What about the other two couples in this group?" 

Mike shrugged. "A little better. One of the men looks like a professional 
football player. Big, big man. The other male is shorter than I am. He looks 
like Jack Lemmon, the actor." 

"That's something anyway." 

Lydia continued to watch, then she nudged Mike, "Here's your chance for a 
really close look at her, she's coming this way." 

Sue McGuffin passed their table, and her hungry glance locked on Hansen's 
face and shoulders. Her expression was unfathomable, but she gave off a 
powerful aura of sensuality that clung to the air even after she had 
disappeared. 

Lydia stood. "She's going to the powder room. I think I'll try to strike up 
an acquaintance." 

Hansen ordered another drink for himself and had just lit a cigarette four 
minutes later, when Lydia said rather loudly, "Darling, I want you to meet 
someone. Sue, this is my husband Mike. Mike meet Mrs. Sue McGuffin." 

Sue put out her hand, and Mike discovered she had an especially strong grip 
for a woman. "Mr. Hansen ... Mike," her voice purred. "I'm pleased to meet 
you. Your wife and I were just talking in the powder room. She says you two 
don't know anyone in Santa Barbara. This isn't a town to be alone in ... 
Come on. I want you to meet Dickie, my husband. And another couple, too." 

Mike forced himself to look uncertain. "I don't know ... Mrs. McGuffin. I 
... we ... don't want to intrude." 

"Oh, nonsense! Come on." She grabbed him by the arm, and Mike was all too 
aware of her breasts pushing purposely against his biceps. She led them to 
the piano bar. Richard McGuffin, in the middle of a bawdy story, simply 
stopped talking when he saw Lydia. His mouth stayed open and his cigar 
slipped from his lips. He looked as if he wanted to fall on his knees at 
that moment and bury his face between Lydia's thighs. Lydia's high color 
indicated she read the message loud and clear. 

Sue held onto Mike's arm all during the introductions. "Mr. and Mrs. 
Pronzini-Saul and Phoebe ... meet Mr. and Mrs. Hansen-Mike and Lydia. And 
this ... this here ... is my husband ... Dick." 

"You don't have to sound so damned proud about it," Richard McGuffin snarled 
playfully, and then turned his undivided attention back to Lydia. "Migawd! 
You are really something," he said. 

Mike, watching his expression, felt a twinge of jealousy and, perhaps, 
anger. He knew if Lydia were actually his wife, McGuffin would get slugged 
for staring like that. 

Phoebe's eyes widened in appreciation as she looked at Mike. When she spoke, 
her voice was almost a growl, "You, sir, are a handsome devil. Where have 
you been hiding...." 

Her husband paid no attention, he was obviously mentally undressing Lydia 
... and he liked what he saw. 

Lydia found herself separated from Mike. Richard McGuffin had given her his 
stool at the piano bar. Now he stood alongside her, surreptitiously rubbing 
his pelvis against her nylon sheathed right leg. On her left, Saul 
Pronzini's cock was stirring to life against her thigh. She could feel it 
growing through his trousers. She forced herself to think of revenge against 
Randy when McGuffin casually placed his ham-like hand on her upper thigh; 
his fingers twitched, and she felt his thick forefinger nudge her pubic 
area. 

Guiltily, she glanced over toward Mike. The two women had flanked him, and 
even as Lydia watched, Phoebe bent over the bar to get a cigarette. The 
scoop-neck of her dress gaped open and one full rounded breast was visible. 
Mike grinned and made some remark and Phoebe said, "Naughty, naughty." Sue 
McGuffin laughed uproariously at it. 

Lydia became aware that Dick McGuffin was actually trying to finger fuck her 
right out here in the open. That's when she took his hand away. She smiled, 
in what she hoped was a seductive manner, to show him she wasn't too 
displeased. He guffawed. On her left, Saul's erection was complete; he 
looked as if it were actually paining him. 

McGuffin began telling her a dirty joke about a customer in a Montana 
whorehouse who insisted on doing it on the window sill during fifty degree 
below zero weather. Dick's breath smelled like stale cigars and bad booze. 
She noted his teeth were stained from nicotine. " ... All of a sudden, there 
he is banging away into her, and the window flies up. They fall out, still 
screwing sway, and are frozen solid before they hit the ground. A few 
minutes later, this drunk is stumbling down the street and he sees the 
frozen whore with the frozen guy frozen deep inside her. He goes up to the 
door and knocks loudly. When the madam comes to the door and asks, 'Yes? 
What is it?' The drunk answers, 'Excuse me, ma'am ... but your sign fell 
down." 

Lydia laughed, but not as loudly as McGuffin. Saul didn't laugh at all; he 
merely stood there staring at her face to see how she was taking it. Finally 
he said, "Richard, why in hell don't you show a little hospitality and 
invite the lady out to see your boat? It won't hurt you to spring for a 
drink out there, either, you cheap son of a bitch." 

McGuffin, right on cue, turned as if he hadn't thought of this idea before. 
"Say ... you're right." He grabbed Lydia's arm and his fingers dug into the 
flesh. "Come on. We'll run on out for a quickie ... a drink that is." 

Lydia suddenly made up her mind. "Not tonight, thanks. May I have a rain 
check?" 

"Why not tonight? Hell, it's plenty early yet." McGuffin insisted, and was 
echoed by Saul, "Sure ... it's not even one o'clock yet." 

"No." It was final; her tone of voice was emphatic. She stood, and as she 
did her skirt slid up all the way to her bikini panties. She did it on 
purpose; it had the desired effect. "Jesus," McGuffin groaned, staring at 
the promise between her open thighs. Saul's hand was quick, he made one 
swipe up her thigh and cupped her loins in the dimness. Lydia merely smiled 
and took his hand away. 

"Come on, darling," she said loudly to Mike. There was protest from Sue and 
Phoebe, both of whom called simultaniously, "Don't be a party pooper!" 

McGuffin apparently made a quick decision. "Look," he said in his most 
winning way, "We're going to have a little party tomorrow night on board my 
boat, the Jolly Rogue. Why don't you and your husband come. There'll be two 
other couples ... I think you'll like them." 

"I ... don't know...." Lydia said, trying to appear uncertain. She looked at 
Mike as though she wanted him to advise her, knowing he would play along 
with the reluctance act. 

"Come on," Sue said, rallying to her husband's argument. "The party tomorrow 
night is going to be fun. You'll love it. Everyone is lively. Lots of fun." 

"Yeh...." Phoebe amplified. 

Mike asked, "You're sure we won't be intruding?" 

McGuffin clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms, "Hell, no. We'd 
love to have you. Come on out about ... ah ... six o'clock! I'll have the 
launch here at the boat landing outside the restaurant. Don't get dressed 
... very informal." 

Phoebe said, "No, don't get dressed. No one dresses at one of Dickie's 
parties." She giggled and was rewarded by Sue's elbow savagely jabbed into 
her ribs in warning. 

"Okay," Lydia said as if she were delighted with the whole affair, "six 
o'clock." 

Lydia and Mike made a hasty exit from the piano bar. They were riding up in 
the Ambassador's elevator before Mike asked the question that had been 
bothering him. "Why didn't you want to go out there tonight? We could have 
infiltrated right then and there. God knows old Dickie baby was, hot for it. 
And .Phoebe and Sue were about to crawl up the wall, they wanted it so 
badly." 

Lydia, who in spite of herself had become very aroused by the strange hands 
on her, grinned and said, "And Saul baby was a bit excited, too. He almost 
punched a hole in my leg by jabbing me with his ... ah ... erection." She 
looked directly at him and then answered his question. "I didn't want to go 
out there tonight and spoil the evening we've already had. I didn't want 
anything to ruin that. Silly of me, I guess. But I felt this might be our 
last chance to be together alone. I wanted you tonight. I want you to 
undress me-slowly. And then...." 

"Yes?" 

She gritted her teeth and purred, "And then? I want you to fuck me." The 
door to the elevator whispered open, and the smile disappeared from her face 
as she was struck with a sudden thought. "That is ... if you can? I mean ... 
can you again ... after doing it this afternoon and this evening? " 

Mike laughed. "I can. I can and I will." 

He could and he did, again and again, and the smog-inflamed sun had already 
crept up over the Santa Ynez before they finally went to sleep, lying on 
their sides, face to face ... with Mike's softened prick still buried deep 
inside her. 

 CHAPTER 6 

About two o'clock in the afternoon, the fire boat raced out of the Harbor 
with its siren and klaxon echoing through the steel and concrete canyons of 
the waterfront. Mike awakened to find the bed empty. He stretched 
lethargically and felt the incrustations of cum split open on his legs and 
buttocks. He had a vague desire for a cigarette, but the pack was over on 
the table by the window, and so he thought: To hell with it! 

He lay looking up at the ceiling and smiling contentedly. God, what an 
absolutely fabulous woman Lydia was. She was learning the arts of love 
rapidly, and most of her new found knowledge seemed to well up from deep 
hidden springs within her. She used her vaginal-uterine muscles as though 
she had worked in a whorehouse all her life. This, in spite of the fact that 
she obviously hadn't even known she had such muscles until last week! And 
she liked to experiment with positions in an effort to find new ones that 
would bring her even more pleasure. 

The experimentation didn't stop with positions alone. 

At four-thirty this morning she had suddenly rolled over and whispered, 
"Mike ... are you awake?" 

"Yes." 

"Let's take a shower together." 

"Now?" 

"Sure ... come on lazy bones. I'll wash you-you wash me." 

It had taken less than a minute of Lydia's soaping his body before Mike was 
raring to go again. That's when she really surprised him. 

She was blushing when she asked, "When sailors talk about playing 'Drop The 
Soap', does it mean what I think it does?" 

Mike laughed in answer. 

She was persistent. "They make love in each other's rectum? Is that it?" 

Mike, suddenly catching the drift of her conversation, nodded his head in 
amusement and felt a sudden tightening of his groin. 

"Do men ever make love to women that way?" 

"Some do-frequently." 

"Does it do anything for the woman? I mean, does she get any pleasure out of 
it?" 

"Many do. Why?" 

She reached one soapy hand down for his cock and began sliding her fingers 
up and down the shaft. "I want you to make love to me that way then. What 
shall I do?" She turned around so that the full roundness of her naked 
buttocks were exposed to him. 

Mike felt a new excitement pounding in his loins. With each beat of his 
pulse, his cock bobbed up and down as though it were eager to play this new 
game. In his mind there was one little seed of doubt. He knew his prick was 
considerably larger than most; he also knew that it would fit very nicely in 
an experienced woman's anus, but in a virginal asshole? "It might be 
uncomfortable at first," he said in warning. 

"I don't care. Fuck me there." She bent over even further. 

Mike worked up a lather on his hands then ran his hands along the rounded 
globes of her smooth wet buttocks. When he reached the anal ring, he 
tentatively dipped his middle finger against the tightly puckered opening. 
"Ummmmmph," Lydia said, a grimace crossing her face. 

The finger nudged and prodded and then slipped in up to the first joint. 
Lydia felt a jolt of perverted pleasure shoot through her abdomen. 

"Bend over and put your hands on the wall-spread your feet out a little 
more," Mike ordered, beginning to make little circular motions with his 
finger. 

Lydia did as she was told. Now, Mike's finger began slowly worming its way 
in and out, going in deeper with each new push inward. Finally she felt the 
knuckles of his fist pushing up against her buttocks. His soap lubricated 
finger slid easily in and out, and she felt no pain-just a growing 
excitement. 

Mike sensed she was relaxing, and felt it was time to widen the aperture 
even further. He began working his forefinger also into the anus. 

"Ooohhh," Lydia moaned, and Mike felt her sphincter muscles suddenly tighten 
in alarm. "Relax," he crooned. "Push back on my finger ... relax ... ah, 
that's right...." 

"Ummmmmmm," Lydia crooned as his second finger joined the first in the warm 
aperture of her asshole. She felt pretty proud of herself. It really hadn't 
hurt at all. And she was enjoying it! She was being stretched down there, 
but it was a pleasurable stretching. She found herself wiggling her hips 
back against his fingers, clenching and unclenching her buttock cheeks in 
time with each of his shoves inward. God, she was getting excited! Her mouth 
fell open, and she started to moan as she felt an overwhelming need to be 
completely subjugated. "Put it in ... put your penis in my rectum now," she 
whimpered eagerly. 

Mike pulled his fingers out, the rubbery lips of her anus clinging to them. 
Their withdrawal resulted in a slight sucking, hissing noise that caused her 
to redden in embarressment. Then his hands were lathering her anus again, as 
well as working up a lather on his own cock. 

Mike gazed at the lewd spectacle of Lydia bent over at the waist, her ass in 
the air like a waiting archery target. Well, he had the arrow for that 
little bullseye, he thought impatiently. Suddenly, very suddenly, he no 
longer felt the least bit gentle about her. She wanted to be sodomized; he'd 
do the job and she would never forget it. "Spread the cheeks of your ass," 
he said, gruffly. 

Lydia, wide-eyed at the sudden change in the sound of his voice, looked 
apprehensively around. 

She flinched as though she had been struck with a whip when he repeated 
savagely, "Spread your cheeks. Open them up!" Lydia hesitantly presented him 
with the stretched orbs of her buttocks. She put her hands behind her, and 
spread the fleshy globes apart as he had instructed. She felt a shiver of 
fear go through her. Mike, gentle Mike, sounded so mean all of a sudden. 
Then a shiver of anticipation surged through her as she felt the huge 
throbbing head of his penis pressing against the small entry way to her 
rectum. 

Mike's cock pressed inward relentlessly. It was easily twice as large as his 
fingers had been, and Lydia suddenly felt alarm growing in her. She would 
never be able to take that there. He would split her apart. She started to 
raise upright, when she felt a sharp sting as Mike cruelly slapped her 
buttocks with the open palm of his hand and snarled, "Stay down." 

"Ough, that hurt," she complained, bending over again. 

"This was your idea." There was no mercy in that voice, she thought. She 
held her breath as his hands locked themselves on her hips; she was a 
captive now, she could move only one way-back against that insufferable, 
monstrous rod of lust-hardened flesh. She felt him begin to prod and knew 
abruptly that her fear had been well founded. He was going to hurt her. He 
would never be able to slip that thing into her body this way. It was much 
too large! The prick strained against her virginal passageway. She cried out 
in pain as her tiny puckered anal ring suddenly gave, and he popped into 
her. Desperately, she tried to pull away from him, but his hands held her 
with all the strength of a ship's hawser. 

"No, Mike," she panted. "Oh, God," that hurts. You're too big." 

It was as though Mike had suddenly lost his sense of hearing. He paid 
absolutely no heed to her. The inexorable cock moved in-slowly, but 
persistently. "Gaaagghh, Mike." It was a scream of agony. She was being 
split apart down there; it was as painful as though he had shoved in an 
electric knife that was sawing away at her. 

"Aaaggggh," she yelled. "No!" Would he never stop? 

"Push back, you bitch. Shove your ass back to me!" It was a stranger's voice 
coming from the throat of a cruel barbarian savagely raping a helpless 
female inhabitant of a conquered city. 

What was he saying? What was he saying? What was he telling her to do? Lydia 
could hardly think. The agony was so overwhelming that it had 
short-circuited out her centers of intelligence. All she felt was pain-pain 
from that red hot pole being levered up into her rectum. 

"Push back, goddamnit!" 

Panting, she did, and then screamed, "Aaaaaaagggggghhhh!" as the guard gates 
to her rectum fell before the inexorable onslaught of his cock. His huge 
prick surged into the spongy, resistant flesh; it slid mercilessly in until 
she felt his pelvis hit hard against and flatten the softness of her 
buttocks. 

Mike gave a long sigh that was almost a whine of passion as he felt her 
defensively clasping asshole tremble around the shaft of his cock. God, she 
was tight! He'd never been in a rectum so tight before in his life. It was 
so confined that it actually caused him pain as well. He knew what it must 
be doing to her. And strangely enough, with the heat upon him as it was now, 
he didn't care about her. 

"Don't move it, please don't move it," she pleaded, the tears and water both 
running down her face. She almost immediately realized the futility of her 
request, for he began to saw rhythmically deeper and deeper into the nether 
regions of her rectum. 

"Aaaggghh!" The pained protest was wrenched out of her throat. He was in so 
deep that she felt that he surely must be using her spinal vertebrae as a 
xylophone-and his cock as the hammer, pounding out notes of savage perverted 
music. 

It was at least two or three minutes before she became vaguely aware that 
the pain was beginning to lessen. There was, if she were to admit it, even a 
certain stimulation starting within the depths of her belly. She made a 
deliberate effort to relax, and discovered that she could lessen or tighten 
the tension on her muscles at will. It was then that she really began to 
feel the harmonic vibrations resulting from his salacious movements in her 
rectum. 

Mike felt her suddenly relax, and then subsequently she was using some 
hidden inner muscles to work on the cock; it felt almost as though he had 
gotten caught in a milking machine. Lydia had bared her teeth and wagged her 
head from side to side, her hair swaying like golden seaweed at the bottom 
of a warm and wonderful ocean. He rammed her again and again, and each time 
he heard and felt the resonance of her increasing passion and enjoyment. 

She was moving freely with him now, meeting his every thrust with one of her 
own. Mike felt he could relinquish his hold on her without losing her, so he 
dropped one hand to her front and began massaging her clitoris. 

Lydia had been astonished when she felt his hand fumbling for and finding 
the tiny hungry organ down between her thighs. She wanted to scream with 
ecstasy as he began stroking it gently. But she did moan, "Wonderful! Oh, 
God, that's beautiful." She began squirming back onto his beautiful cock and 
rotating her pelvis so that delightful contact between finger and clitoris, 
penis and soul would remain. She was filled with a wild masochistic joy. She 
was being sodomized! The pain had long since been vanquished, replaced by an 
all-conquering pleasure. She not only matched his movements, but made 
movements of her own! She found herself undulating her body and moving her 
buttocks in savage, tight little circles. She could feel his sperm filled 
scrotum bouncing off her unprotected vaginal lips with each new movement, 
and this too, excited her. 

Mike was lost in the wonder of it. He watched the crinkled pink flesh of the 
little round asshole draw back with his cock; it seemed reluctant to 
relinquish its tight grip on him, and it greedily clasped at him as if to 
keep him captive. He watched and smiled in far-off delight as his balls 
slapped against her vaginal lips each time he sank his prick to the hilt in 
her wide-split crevice. And he played a tune of love on the passion-engorged 
clitoris in front; he strummed it as if it were a finger harp. His cock felt 
as if it were being squeezed out of shape in there. And the jolts of 
pleasure! She must have an electric cattle prod in here, he thought. Most 
amazing though was Lydia's reaction. He knew she was building to a climax. 
Each time he plunged into her and his white throbbing shaft disappeared into 
that gyrating ass, her loud moan of delight echoed louder and louder above 
the hiss of the shower water. Her beautiful face was flushed-the color of 
strawberries-and her eyes rolled around in her head. She began mewling 
little inarticulate sounds of lust, and he saw her suddenly rise on tiptoe. 

"Mike ... Mike, darling! I'm cumming ... I'm cum ... mingggg!" 

He drew his prick out to the point where only the head was lodged inside, 
then pushed gently but firmly in all the way. The long, long stroke drove 
her insane. She whined and jiggled her ass as though she were a friendly 
puppy wagging its tail. He did it again, and again, and again! speeding up 
his tempo now as he felt the white hot lava of his own cum threatening an 
eruption in his balls. 

She was panting so loudly that it was almost impossible to make sense of her 
words, but the meaning did reach him, "Harder, faster. Fuck harder. Fuck 
faster," she groaned with her mouth open-making silent screams-as her body 
suddenly began an uncontrollable convulsing. 

And then Mike was there, too. In spite of her own orgasm, Lydia felt the 
first delicious torrents of hot, white cum spurt far up into the hidden 
depths of her rectum. She was getting an enema of love filling her almost to 
the bursting point! And she almost immediately careened into a wilder and 
deeper orgasm. She screamed as the great gush of pleasure shot through her. 
And had it not been for his almost superhuman strength, she would have 
toppled forward onto the tile floor of the shower. 

Later, much later, when they had returned to bed, Lydia had pouted like a 
little girl. "I'm sore there," she said, pointing to her ravaged anus. 

"Shall I kiss it to make it feel better?" Mike had asked playfully. 

His only answer had been a low purr, and then she had presented him with her 
buttocks. 

And, of course, that had started all the machinery working again in both of 
their bodies.... 

Now, lying in the deserted and rumpled bed, Mike began to wonder where Lydia 
was? He called her name, but there was no answer from the bathroom. Finally, 
curiosity got the better of lethargy, and he rolled out of bed and padded 
into the bathroom. A crumpled towel on the floor was evidence that she had 
showered and left the room-for what purposes, he couldn't imagine. 

The stinging spray of the shower began to fully awaken him and after he had 
been in it for almost ten minutes, he turned the temperature knob all the 
way to cold. That drove the last vestiges of sleep away. He was still under 
the stream when he heard the outer door of the bathroom open and Lydia's 
voice yell, "Good afternoon, Sleepyhead." 

"Hi," he shouted back, and then turned off the water. When he opened the 
glass door of the shower stall, Lydia-dressed in a blue mini and very tight 
blue cashmere sweater-was holding an open towel for him. 

She grinned at him and mimicked a Japanese bath girl's voice, "Master, alh 
reddly to be dlied off." She blinked her eyes several times rapidly and then 
giggled. "Come on," she said, jerking her head sideways. "Don't be bashful. 
I'll be gentle with it ... you! I mean." She giggled again. "That was a 
Freudian slip." 

Mike docilely permitted himself to be dried. 

The rubbing of the towel was a terrible sensual thing, and he could feel the 
reverberations of an awakening desire-especially when she carefully, oh, so 
carefully, the beautiful bitch! dried his scrotum and penis. 

As she worked, she looked up at him and grinned, "Aren't you curious about 
where I've been? Or don't you care? An entire army of wildly erotic Chinese 
gangsters could have burst into the room and sold me into white slavery 
while you were sleeping ... for all you know." 

Mike laughed. "Did they?" 

"Yes," she said, feigning distress. "It was all so horrible. They all had 
me-three times each!" 

"I would have thought you'd have a ball on a deal like that. What's so 
horrible?" 

She pouted, "There wasn't a single one of the evil gang who ... who ... 
could match junior here." She bent and kissed the head of his cock. 

Mike growled low in his throat and attempted to cup her face in his hands. 

She twisted away from him. "No. Not yet. Come on in the front room; I want 
to show you what I bought." 

"All right. How about tossing me my bathrobe?" 

"No. Come out as you are. I have a surprise for you." 

Mike felt the corners of his mouth turning up in amusement, and he decided 
to play along with her little game. He padded out into the front room of 
their suite. There were several packages on top of the couch. 

Lydia acted like a small child at Christmas time. She excitedly opened one 
sack and pulled out a navy blue tie with silver pen stripes. "This is for 
you. Do you like it?" 

Mike nodded his thanks. "Great. It makes me look as though I came from a 
terribly important British school." 

Lydia came up to him and began to wrap it around his neck. Mike's penis was 
stirring to life, so he tried to catch her around the waist and pull her 
body into him. Again Lydia twisted away and smiled teasingly at him. "No. 
No-no!" she said, shaking her finger in mock anger at him. She stood back, 
her head cocked to one side, evaluating the tie. "It looks very dignified on 
you." 

"Thank you. Are you talking about the tie? Or this?" He looked down at his 
rising prick. 

Lydia's answer was a giggle. "Now something for me!" She bent over another 
sack and then stood up triumphantly brandishing an incredibly transparent 
pair of white silk bikini panties. Embroidered on the front of the 
panties-or at least Mike assumed it was the front-was a green-stemmed red 
rose. The petals of the rose opened to full bloom over the pubic area. Lydia 
looked askance at him, waiting for his reaction. 

"Wild." What the hell else was there to say, he thought feeling a need for 
sex from just looking at the thing being held up in the air. 

Lydia clapped her hands in glee. "You do like them, don't you. I can tell." 
She pulled out a half bra that was so skimpy it wouldn't cover twin postage 
stamps. "I bought them for the party tonight. Would you like an advanced 
preview?" 

"That would be very, very nice," he said, beginning to feel foolish standing 
in the middle of the room with a half hard-on. 

Lydia began to strip and his hard-on almost immediatedly graduated with 
honors. It actually pained him, and Lydia obviously knew it was hurting him. 
Shamelessly, she removed each item of her clothing as though she were 
working in a burlesque theatre. A button undone, a quick peek-aboo glimpse 
of the merchandise, then teasingly cover the sweets again for a moment 
before spinning around and tossing the item of clothing onto the couch. Her 
sweater went first, followed by her skirt. All this took time, for she was 
enjoying herself-enjoying the tease she was performing. And it was 
definitely a performance. To make sure he understood it was a show, she was 
cornballing, "a ... purty girl ... is like a ... mello-dee...." 

Finally she was down to the buff. Twice Mike had impatiently started toward 
her and twice he had been ordered to get back. 

She stepped into the panties and tantalizingly pulled them up. The rose now 
had an extra dimension; it looked as though it were growing, and her mound 
of Venus caused it to swell with life. The bra, of course, didn't hide a 
damned thing; it merely emphasized the already almost perfect upthrust of 
her breasts. 

Mike's words were forced out of his desire-tightened throat. "Jesus, Lydia. 
You're killing me." 

She grinned a Cheshire cat's smile and asked, "Do you think it will be 
suitable for the party tonight?" 

"Baby, if those guys feel like I feel right now, you won't have that outfit 
on long enough for anyone to see it." 

Lydia bowed in acknowledgement. "Thank you, sir. That's the nicest thing 
anyone has said to me so far today. Well, now. Are you ready for your other 
present?" 

Mike nodded rapidly. 

"Will you do as I say?" 

"I am ... your obedient slave." It was an echo of a little game they had 
played earlier last evening. 

She laughed delightedly, "No, I am your slave. And I am going to do as you 
command. But first you have to do what I tell you." 

"Fire away, baby; fire away!" 

"All right, then. Go over and lie down on the bed." 

Mike grinned happily; that was more like it. That, at least, was an order he 
could obey without question. 

"Close your eyes," Lydia said. 

Mike did as he was instructed. He heard a paper sack rattling and then he 
was aware of Lydia's presence next to the bed. "Your eyes closed?" she 
whispered. 

"Yeh." 

"Don't open them until I tell you to. Promise?" 

"Okay." 

There was a moment of silence. Mike was waiting for something, anything! to 
happen. And then Lydia said, "Cross your heart and hope to die, you won't 
peek." 

"Oh, for God's sake, Lydia!" he protested. "Are you trying to build me up 
for rape?" 

She laughed. "No, you poor boy. Here's your present. Keep your eyes closed." 

Mike heard the hiss and then jumped as something very cold hit his abdomen. 
"What the hell?" he started to say and was pushed back against the mattress 
by Lydia's firm hand. "You promised," she said. 

The hissing continued, and now Mike could feel the cool yet satiny 
substance, beginning to cover his belly. A second later, the coldness hit 
his prick. First the head was covered, then the entire shaft. Next he felt 
it covering his inner thighs and then, almost painfully, the frigid stuff 
hit his scrotum and anus. During the entire event, Lydia was chortling 
aloud. Finally, the delightful and mysterious torture ended. 

Lydia said, almost breathlessly, "You can look now." 

Mike raised himself up on his elbows and then exclaimed, "Good Christ! 
What's that?" There, written across his belly in something that looked like 
shaving foam, was the word LYDIA. The tail end of the "A" was in the form of 
a curlicue that surrounded his penis. His penis, itself, looked like a 
snow-covered tower, and his scrotum and thighs were white with the stuff as 
well. 

"What is it?" he asked again. 

Lydia dimpled. "Whipped cream ... master." 

"That," said Mike in mock sternness, "is a terrible waste of food." 

"I agree. We mustn't waste it." 

"Do you have any ideas?" Mike asked, already knowing the answer. 

Lydia looked as though she were really studying the problem, then she said, 
"Maybe ... if we put some walnuts around it, and a cherry on top ... we 
could sell it as a sundae?" 

Mike doubled in laughter. "You little bitch," he said and there was warm 
affection in his voice. 

"Or ... I could lick it off. Which would you prefer?" 

"Like lick, little friend. Lie-yceck!" The last was squeezed out of his 
throat as he felt her hot trembling little tongue scraping the underside of 
his cock. "Ummmmmmm," he purred. 

Lydia, with cream all over her face, looked up and asked softly, "You like 
that?" 

"Oh, God!" 

She went back to her ministrations. The consistency of the whipped cream was 
almost that of a lightweight foamy butter, so her mouth moved up and down 
the shaft of his cock almost without friction. She licked the letter L, then 
Y, and then with one tingling swipe wiped out DIA. Her tongue followed the 
curlicue as it circled the massive base of his cock. Then she was licking 
his balls. Lap ... lap ... lap ... like a dainty little kitten lapping up 
milk. But then she became a tiger and bit his thigh, only to become a kitten 
again when she reached that sensitive area between scrotum and anus. 

At first, Mike was content to lie back with his eyes closed and let the 
wonderful sensations wash over him. He had never felt anything quite as 
erotic in his life. He was completely alive in the mid-portion of his body. 
He could feel the heat of her tongue working at the entrance to his anus, 
could feel the beat ... beat ... beat ... of the metronome in his scrotum. 

But then, as if sensing the build up within his body, Lydia stopped and 
said, quite firmly. "Don't tell me when you're ready to cum. I want it to be 
a surprise." Her head bowed and her hot lips enclosed the head of his cock. 

The movement and her command had taken him by surprise. It was then he 
opened his eyes and gazed down at her kneeling between his hairy knees. He 
watched with unbelieving rapture as the tight rounded ovals of wide 
stretched lipstick covered lips covered the head and a good portion of the 
shaft of his cock. His instrument skewered into the beautiful face of the 
woman, and there was a moment when her enraptured expression looked as if it 
were something on canvas done by a master. The look of enjoyment was almost 
electric in itself. 

Lydia had started using her tongue, slowly at first, but with increasing 
expertise and tempo. She licked and sucked, and once when she playfully bit, 
his cock jerked in her mouth. Those lips, those ripe, wonderfully full lips, 
were soft and smooth as they clasped his prick in a close elastic ring. He 
could feel them as they moved down, down the shaft when Lydia attempted to 
take as much of him as she could in her mouth. She surrounded, almost 
drowned his cock, with her hot saliva, and then she went back to that 
maddening, that beautiful! slow lick ... lick ... lick on the underside. He 
pressed his hands on either side of her hollowing cheeks and pressed inward 
attempting to ram it even further down her voracious throat. 

The pressure in his cum-stretched scrotum had grown almost unbearable. 
Apparently sensing this, Lydia began to suck him with a moist, nibbling 
motion so perfect that it seemed surely she had done this every day of her 
life. She was so instinctive in her actions that it was almost as if she 
were sucking at the teat of life ... almost as if a hidden hunger deep in 
her vagina was now concentrated in her mouth. 

In spite of her instructions to the contrary, Mike began to groan 
incoherently low in his throat. He clasped both sides of her face and began 
to fuck it as though it were some large, happy incredibly moist vagina. She 
gagged with each inward stroke. He wanted to cum. He had to cum. She wanted 
him to cum! And he did! feeling the boiling sperm suddenly freed of all 
restraint ... suddenly able to shoot toward freedom. And it gushed out of 
him in a never-ending torrent, filling her mouth, raging down her 
convulsively working throat, spurting out of her tightly clasped lips to 
drain down across her chin and drip onto her breasts. She drank his exilir 
of love, she took all he had ... and then nibbled and sucked continuously 
until finally the slowly deflating cock died in her mouth. 

Mike fell back onto the bed. Never in his wildest imaginations had he 
believed a blow job could feel so good. After a moment, he felt those lips 
reluctantly leave his godshead, and then there was the warmth of her nude, 
trembling body against his. 

She whispered, "Did I please the master?" 

His eyes were closed; he didn't bother to open them. "You did." 

Lydia kissed the hair on his chest, she even nibbled once or twice at his 
almost imperceptible breast nipples. Then her mouth was on his; her tongue 
swam into his mouth ... and Mike-for the first time in his life-tasted his 
own semen. It was all over her face and her mouth was full of it. Slightly 
alien, slightly saline ... his! 

She continued to tremble alongside him, and he knew her own desire had 
gotten the better of her. She wanted him; she needed release ... any kind of 
release! He had been so lost in his ejaculation that he had spent everything 
he had ... it would take hours to build it up again to full potential. 
Caring, he knew Lydia shouldn't have to wait that long. And then, abruptly, 
he knew what he was going to do. 

He laughed as he sat upright and looked down at her trembling body. 
"Love...." he asked slowly. "Is there any more whipped cream left?" There 
was. 

And it was Lydia a few minutes later, with legs splayed out wide, who was 
screaming her release. 

And it was Lydia, all-breathless in wide-eyed eagerness, who said-as they 
toweled each other dry after showering, "You know, I think walnuts and a 
cherry would be too rich for that sundae." She paused as if suddenly 
thinking of something, and her cheeks dimpled, "Everything I like is 
supposed to be fattening. How many calories would you say you shot into my 
mouth?" 

Mike rolled his eyes and groaned at the ridiculousness of the question. 

Lydia smiled, "Are you trying to say it isn't fattening?" 

"Only at a certain time of the month, when deposited in your pussy ... 
unless you're on the pill." 

Suddenly she was serious, completely serious. "I'm not on the pill. And I'd 
like to get fat that way!" 

And Mike hearing the words and seeing her expression, abruptly decided it 
was time to change the subject. 

 CHAPTER 7 

Lydia tried to analyze her emotions as she walked out on the wharf toward 
the waiting motor launch from the Jolly Rogue. She knew she was rapidly 
approaching a point of no return. Part of her churning uncertainty was 
Hansen's fault. He had, quite unexpectedly, once again asked her before they 
left the hotel, "Are you positive you want to do this?" 

She had stared at him, perplexed. "I told you before: that's why we're 
here." 

"And you're quite prepared to go to bed with McGuffin, Pronzini, and two 
other men you've never seen before? Prepared to let them use your body-two, 
three, even four of them at a time?" 

"Yes!" It was said sharply, and in a tone of voice that requested him to 
drop the subject. 

Hansen was persistent. "One more question, and I'll leave you alone." 

"Well?" 

"Would you, even though ... ah ... suppose you don't like the two men? 

"I don't care terribly much for Dickie Baby, or Saul; neither is exactly 
what I call my cup of tea." 

"But you'd do it to get revenge?" 

She was exasperated. How many times did she have to tell him! Her voice 
indicated her anger, "Mike, you're not that dense. I've told you at least 
twice now that revenge is the only-I repeat-the only reason I intend to go 
through with this. I'll do anything to humiliate Randy." 

He had sighed. "Okay. End of subject. You're over twenty-one." 

Still, though, the conversation had disturbed her. She knew he had been 
trying to say something important; his real meaning had eluded her. 

She abruptly put it out of her mind when she heard Phoebe's shrill voice 
calling from the landing, "Over here, Lydia-Mike! Yoo-hoo!" Phoebe waved 
frantically to get their attention. She was wearing a pair of black matador 
hip-huggers so tight that they looked as if they had been painted on her. 
For her top, she wore a buttonless, black silk, long sleeve blouse that was 
tied just under the breast. Obviously, she was not wearing a bra. 

Lydia heard Mike's low whistle of admiration, and for a second she was 
jealous. 

Richard McGuffin's boisterous laughter boomed out, and he shouted loudly 
enough for tourists to turn around and stare, "Hey ... come on. The booze is 
getting hot ... and the broads are cooling off." 

Saul Pronzini's giggle cut through the air like a jackal's bark. 

Lydia climbed down the ladder to the skiff. She still had six rungs to go 
when she felt McGuffin's hands cup her hips and his voice say, "Okay, I've 
got you." His fingers were digging unnecessarily into her full rounded 
buttocks as he lowered her to the deck. She was surprised at his strength; 
he had brought her down as lightly as a sack of sugar. Even after he let go, 
she could still feel the tingling where his hands had been. 

Phoebe gazed enviously at Lydia; alongside Lydia's expensively cut, navy 
blue cashmere sweater and white raw silk sailor pants, Phoebe 
looked-slightly cheap. "Gee," Phoebe said, blinking her eyes, "Your outfit 
sure is cute." Then her eyes shifted to Mike and began glowing with an 
animal-like intensity. "Hello, there...." she said breathlessly. 

McGuffin seated Lydia in the front seat between himself and Pronzini, and 
indicated Mike was to sit in back with Phoebe. 

Mike still had not settled down when McGuffin opened the throttle with a 
roar, throwing Mike down against the Pronzini woman. His shoulder scraped 
across her breast, pulling the skimpy cloth aside. The areola and half of 
her left breast was unveiled; she made no effort to pull the cloth back. She 
merely stared at him, her tongue quivering on her lower teeth as if daring 
him to bite. 

Mike finally got himself adjusted in a comfortable position, and discovered 
Phoebe had slid over until her leg was wantonly pressed against his. In the 
front seat, he could see Saul's hand slowly and surreptitiously massaging 
the top part of Lydia's shoulder. He was wasting no time, Mike thought, then 
mentally added as Phoebe pressed her hip against his, "and neither is she." 

"Where's everyone else?" Mike asked. 

Phoebe simpered, "They're all on the boat already." She put her hand on 
Mike's knee and acted as if she were testing the cloth of his trousers. "I 
just love the feel of good wool, don't you?" she asked, blinking, and 
running her hand up and down his leg. 

Mike went along with the gag. He put his hand on her leg at mid-thigh. "I 
like your nylon better." 

She giggled, and then lowered her voice. "So do I; that's why I'm not 
wearing anything under them." 

Up front, Lydia was aware of Saul's hand moving over her shoulder; she could 
also feel McGuffin's knee suggestively rubbing against her leg. She was a 
little frightened ... and a little amused. Saul, gaining courage as they got 
closer the yacht, dropped his hand until his fingers idly brushed across the 
tip of her left breast with each movement the launch made. That disturbed 
her a bit; it wasn't displeasing, but it seemed rather obvious, so she 
captured his hand and held on to it. McGuffin snorted, obviously he had been 
aware of what was going on. 

McGuffin abruptly swung a wide circle as they approached the yacht. The 
unexpected swerve of the vessel threw Phoebe over onto Hansen and, in what 
seemed to an accidental attempt to straighten herself, she put her hand in 
his lap for support. He felt her hand squeeze his prick oncetwice, before 
sitting upright again. "Little girls get into trouble that way," he said 
quietly, as his cock stirred out of its sleep. 

"I can hardly wait," she answered, staring directly at him in an 
unmistakable fashion. Her eyes were really smoldering now, Mike noticed, and 
he knew that Phoebe-dear little Phoebe-was very impatient for the evening's 
entertainment to begin. 

McGuffin cut all power as they came in alongside the Jolly Rogue, and the 
motor launch came to a smooth stop right opposite the gangplank. Saul 
reached out for the mooring rope, and then they were snug against the large 
vessel. 

The sound of stereo music came from the decks, along with laughter from 
somewhere within the confines of the ship. 

"It sounds like they didn't wait," Saul said petulantly. 

"What the hell, there's enough for everyone," McGuffin grinned lewdly and 
stared at Lydia. 

Lydia climbed up the coconut matted steps to the teak deck. She stared 
around her. The yacht was much larger than it had looked from a distance. It 
was in immaculate condition, obviously McGuffin thought a lot of it. "I'm 
impressed," she told him. 

"You should be," he grunted, "the goddamned thing costs me twenty grand a 
year for taxes, fuel and mooring fees." 

Saul cackled, "Don't listen to him, the cheapskate. He writes it all off on 
taxes." 

"Why, you little son of a bitch ... do you want to walk back?" McGuffin 
snarled, rising to the bait. 

"Now ... now, gentlemen-and I use that term loosely," Sue McGuffin said, 
coming out on deck. 

She grinned as she saw Lydia and Mike, and came toward Lydia with her hand 
outstretched in greeting. "I'm so glad you came." 

"We're happy you invited us," Lydia said. 

"I'm glad they came too," Phoebe said, wiggling her eyebrows and flaunting 
herself against Hansen. 

"Phoebe, darling! Why don't you go into the cabin and mix yourself a drink," 
Sue said through tight lips. 

"Ta ... ta," Phoebe, waved goodbye to Saul and McGuffin. She grabbed Mike's 
arm, "I'm taking you with me." 

Sue shook her head in mock dismay, sighed, and laughed. "Come on, Lydia. 
I'll show you what the old tub looks like." 

"Hey," McGuffin growled. "That's my chore. I'm captain." 

"You have duties to do. Do them ... Captain," Sue retorted. 

Saul cackled again, and was rewarded by a glare and a command from McGuffin. 
"You can help, Buster. Get that launch tied up at the stern and for Christ's 
sake, do it right this time." 

Saul, grumbling, helped secure the launch to the davits, and a moment later 
the boat was raised-dripping-out of the water. 

Lydia followed Phoebe and Mike and Sue into the main cabin salon where two 
women and a man were gathered, singing, around a male playing show tunes on 
a solid red piano-even the keys were red. The luxuriousness of the salon 
startled Lydia; she recognized the work of several well-known contemporary 
artists whose original oil paintings -lined one entire wall of the spacious 
main cabin. The other wall was taken up with a long mahogany bar with eight 
red leather stools. A round divan about six feet wide was placed in front of 
a fireplace. The fireplace, she noted, was genuine. 

Lydia became abruptly aware that the singing had stopped at the piano. She 
realized she and Mike were now up for inspection; she had no doubt that they 
both had passed at first glance ... if the hungry expression on the faces of 
the other couples was any indication. The two new women looked as if they 
were devouring Mike. The one on the right-introduced as Carla Bengstrom-was 
a tall, green-eyed brunette with a tan so dark that she looked North 
African. She was wearing a simple yellow tunic open to her navel, tied with 
a golden velvet rope. Her hair was piled high atop her head in a Grecian 
hair style; this, together with sandals that had leather thongs wrapped 
around her shapely calves, made her look as though she were an island 
goddess of love out of the Mediterranean area. The other woman-Georgia 
Daniels-was a petite blonde, barely five feet tall, with an intense air 
about her. She had a broad Texan accent to go along with a deep, almost 
whiskey, baritone voice. She looked lesbian, Lydia thought, then rapidly 
dismissed the thought in view of the nature of the party. Still, though, 
Georgia had a manner about her that undoubtely brought out all the bestial 
qualities in a male and raised storm warning flags in a female's mind. Lydia 
made a mental point to avoid being alone with Gerogia if she could help it. 

The two men were quite attractive. Mike had been pretty close in his 
description of them. The big man-who had been playing the piano-was John 
Bengstrom, and he did look like a professional football player. Paul Daniels 
was shorter than Lydia, but he had a warm good-natured air about him, and he 
moved with a litheness that was almost animal-like. Lydia knew she was 
blushing because she could read their thoughts, and their thoughts were 
enough to make an experienced whore somewhat apprehensive. 

Working as a team, the two men lost no time separating her from Mike and Sue 
McGuffin. Talking animatedly, they took her to the long mahogany bar that 
ran half the length of the room, and began mixing drinks. 

Mike wasn't the least bit lonely. All four women had closed in on him, like 
cattle buyers inspecting a prize bull at an auction. He thought about the 
delight that was to come-knowing that before the night was over, he was 
going to fuck all four of them. He said nothing, merely grinned and held out 
his arms to them. All four, giggling, crowded like chicks under his wing. 

Phoebe said, breathlessly, "Carla. You should feel his muscles." 

Carla did and made appreciative sounds. 

Georgia also reached up and touched his biceps, then his stomach muscles. 
"Why, gracious sakes alive! The man feels like he's made out of real hard 
old steel." 

Sue, stared speculatively, and growled, "That would be nice." 

Phoebe rolled her eyes, "Just heavenly." 

Carla gazed languidly at him, then said pointedly, "Are you that muscular 
... all over?" 

Mike grinned. "That, lady, is for me to know ... and for you to find out." 

There was a moment's silence before Carla smiled wickedly and-without taking 
her eyes off his face-said to Sue, "You know, I think I'm going to like this 
boy." 

"This 'thirsty' boy," Mike corrected. 

"Oh, how thoughtless of me!" Sue exclaimed, stepping out from beneath his 
arm. "What are you drinking?" 

"Any Tanqueray in the house?" 

"No ... but we've got a case of Bombay gin and several bottles of House of 
Lords." 

"That should do ... for a start." His little joke was rewarded by 
appreciative laughter. Carla meanwhile had taken over the spot vacated by 
Sue. She had her arm around his waist and was covertly doing disconcerting 
things with her fingers playing "hop-skip-jump" along his ribs. Her perfume 
was a heady aphrodisiac, and Mike knew he was responding to her. It was 
impossible not to respond; even a wooden, cigar store Indian would get a 
hard-on around her! Carla stood on tiptoe and whispered, "Would you like to 
see the rest of the boat?" Her breasts strained against him; he could feel 
her nipples burning holes through his shirts. 

Why not, he thought, and nodded. 

Carla smiled and pulled him away from Phoebe and Georgia. "I'm going to show 
him the rest of the boat," she said. 

Phoebe began pouting; she looked over her shoulder for support from Sue. 
None was forthcoming, Sue merely looked amused at the entire stiuation. 
Georgia was openly sneering at Carla's impatience. Phoebe guiltily glanced 
over to see how Lydia was taking this outrageous play for her husband. Lydia 
was getting a snow job of her own; she obviously wasn't aware of Mike's 
happy predicament. 

Mike followed Carla's sensuously swaying buttocks as she led the way up 
three stairs at the far end of the salon and through the doors into a 
well-lighted passageway. Highly varnished brown oak doors -lined both sides 
of the narrow corridor. Carla glanced behind them, then opened a door marked 
"3C" leading to a stateroom. A large round bed with a royal purple bedspread 
took up most of the room. "This is playroom ... I mean ... stateroom number 
three." She smiled wantonly up at him, the invitation written on her face 
and breasts and body. She kicked the door shut with her heel. 

Mike felt his heart pounding at the nearness of the woman. His being here at 
this moment seemed almost unreal; the only real thing was his rapidly 
hardening cock ... and his hand which had-of its own accord-reached out to 
knead one of her supple buttocks. She immediately came to him, her mouth 
open wide to receive him, and her expert fingers tracing the growing outline 
of his prick beneath his trouser. 

"Ummmmmm," she whispered, undulating her hips in a jerking motion. Your hand 
feels nice there." 

"And your hand feels nice there," he said, feeling the tingling excitement 
that came from her little stroking movements against the outside of his 
pants. 

Carla clamped her lips against his as if to shut off any more unnecessary 
conversation. Her hand reached surely up to his zipper and pulled it down. 
There was no fumbling, no uncertainty, as she reached in through the opening 
and found his bare cock. Only then did she pull back in some surprise. "No 
shorts?" 

"No shorts," he said grinning. 

She laughed, and then, just before she began passionately French-kissing him 
again, she said, "Join the club." 

For a second, he wasn't sure exactly what she meant. Then a moment later, as 
his eager hands began their treasure hunt for the secrets of her body, he 
knew the answer. Beneath the short little yellow tunic, she wasn't wearing a 
thing. The little black triangle of pubic hair was already hot and damp at 
its lower end, and she spread her legs slightly in order to give him freer 
access. Meanwhile, her hand had begun a tantalizing stroking movement of his 
penis, highlighted by wild sensations as she expertly used her fingernails 
to trace a design of rapture on the underpart of his hardening shaft. Her 
touch was driving him almost out of his mind, but by the same token, Carla 
was quaking like a tree in a high wind as his thumb and forefinger tapped 
out a Morse code of lust and desire on her clitoris. 

"Oh, God, I can't stand it any longer," Carla said, pulling him back toward 
the bed. "Fuck me ... fuck me now." 

She didn't let go of his prick, so he didn't take his fingers away from her 
clitoris as they slowly backed toward the bed. When Carla felt the mattress 
behind her knees, she fell back. In almost the same motion, she raised her 
legs so that her heels were resting on the mattress and her hot moist, eager 
pussy was there quivering impudently up at him. 

Mike used his left hand to release his belt and waistband, then dropped his 
pants. His huge cock was throbbing eagerly. He had started to move forward 
when suddenly he heard Phoebe's voice say from behind him, "Oh ... here you 
are." Then she gasped and said to Carla, "You didn't waste any time, you 
bitch." She walked forward and then her delighted eyes froze on Hansen's 
eight-inch rigid shaft. "Oh, my. ... Oh, my!" she exclaimed. Her eyes the 
size of half dollars. 

"Get out of here, Phoebe," Carla said through gritted teeth. 

"Let me stay and watch ... please?" 

Carla closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. She looked questioningly 
up toward Mike. He shrugged. 

And then Phoebe clapped her hands joyfully. 

"Thank you.... Thank you. I'll be quiet as a little mouse. I promise you." 
She was quiet less than four seconds before she timidly asked, "Would you 
mind, Mike ... If I put it in her for you?" 

"That's the best offer I've had all day." 

"Hurry, for Christ's sake, and stop all this talking," Carla said, twisting 
her body back further on the mattress, and lifting her impatient cunt off 
the bed. 

Phoebe was in genuine awe when she took hold of Mike's cock. "I just can't 
believe it," she said, and then stroked it a couple of times. She looked 
almost mesmerized as she bent her head and took it in her mouth. 

Carla sat up angrily, "Damnit, what do you think you're doing, Phoebe 
Pronzini? Stop that!" 

Mike feeling the delicious sensations from her hot lips clasped about his 
cock, held out his hands expansively, "Girls ... don't fight over me." 

Phoebe gave a little nibble, then took her mouth away. "It's delicious," she 
told Carla in all sincerity. "I was just lubricating it for you." 

Carla lay back again on the bed. Phoebe began stroking Mike again and 
continued stroking, all the while pulling him forward until the massive head 
of the prick touched the fevered cuntal lips of Carla's waiting pussy. Carla 
jumped and moaned as Phoebe either accidentally or purposely hit the 
clitoris with her fingernail. 

Mike pushed forward, gently. Carla was not so gentle. She viciously pushed 
her pelvis up to meet him, and his cock slid in like a great white whale in 
a crash dive. Down, down-down! The cunt-the warm, wonderful, throbbing 
cunt-took every bit of it, and then Carla, her eyes closed in rapture, 
locked her legs around his buttocks and tried to pull him in even further. 
"Heavenly," she said. "Heavenly." She began moving her body up and down to 
meet his strokes. 

It was then that Mike realized Phoebe was impatiently removing her clothes. 
She hadn't worn anything under her clothes either. Completely nude, she 
walked over until she was standing right alongside the wildly fucking 
couple. She reached out and began caressing Mike's mammoth scrotum, and then 
she began lavishing kisses on his back and buttocks. A second later she 
straddled his left leg and began rubbing her cuntal lips up and down the 
back of his calf. 

It was all very disconcerting at first, but Mike soon got used to it. Not 
only "used" to it, but wildly enthusiastic. 

Back in the bar, Paul had already made Lydia a third drink. John had spent 
the last two minutes gazing in rapture down the front of her dress. Then, 
tentatively, he kissed her. She felt his tongue swim into her mouth. She 
pulled away from him, embarrassed. Glancing around, she became aware for the 
first time that she was alone with just the two men. 

John, correctly interpreting her look, said, "Don't worry. It's okay." He 
kissed her again and this time she responded, standing up and pressing her 
body into his. Paul came around from behind the bar carrying her drink. He 
put it down in front of her, then casually reached out and began massaging 
her breast through the sweater. 

Lydia startled, pulled away. She sat down again on the stool. John and Paul 
stood looking at each other and grinning. They sat down-one on each side of 
her. 

John said, "What's wrong? Haven't you ever made out with a stranger before?" 

"You two work too fast for me," she answered. 

"Evasive ... evasive," Paul crooned. "The lady's being evasive." 

"You like a slow worker, eh?" John asked. "One that takes a long, long 
time?" 

Lydia smiled in spite of herself. "I can't win, can I?" 

"Everyone wins-that's our motto," John said, and he took her chin in the 
palm of his hand and turned her face to him. He began savagely 
French-kissing her. She returned his kiss, feeling a forbidden excitement 
beginning to well up in her body. She felt as though she were taking part in 
some Satanic ceremony. A moment later, she felt Paul's hand take hers and 
put it in his lap. He wrapped her fingers around a warm rigid shaft of 
flesh. 

The shock reverberated through her body. He had exposed himself; he had 
taken her hand and wrapped it around his erection! What did he think she 
was? A whore? She pulled her hand away and attempted to pull her mouth away 
from John's hungry kiss. John, however, simply put one hand behind her head 
and held her captive. Paul, undaunted, put her hand back on his penis again. 

She thought of struggling, but then Randy's evil, smirking face came to 
mind. In her imagination she could see him at the very moment he would be 
humiliated. All this she was experiencing now-yes, all this and even more to 
come was worthwhile because this would lead to his ultimate humiliation. And 
so, instead of removing her hand from Paul's prick, she stroked it ... 
lovingly, tenderly. 

She did not see Paul's grin toward John. A look of unspoken agreement passed 
between the two men. Slowly, as to not alarm her, Paul's hand slid up her 
inner thigh and, with one smooth, unhesitating motion, pushed past the tiny 
elastic band and touched her defenseless, unprotected vaginal area. A jolt 
of pure pleasure racked through her cunt, and it was only then that the 
alarm bells began ringing in her mind, and a shrill sure little voice in her 
mind began screaming, "What are you doing, Lydia? What are you doing? Have 
you no pride? No decency?" 

Lydia pulled herself away. "No," she stammered, twisting away from both of 
them. She could feel the familiar rubberiness in her knees; she wanted it. 
She wanted cock! And yet? She didn't want it with two complete strangers. 
Where was Mike? 

"Mike?" she called, turning around to look at the completely empty room. 
"Mike!" 

"Now just where do think he is?" John asked, and then answered his own 
question. "By now, he is in the process of fucking hell out of my wife." 

"And mine...." Paul added. "After all, let's not kid one another, 
sweetheart. That's why we are all on this ship, isn't it?" 

Lydia, swaying on her feet, silently said to herself, "That may be why you 
two are on this ship, but Mike and I are on it for a better reason than 
that." She swayed again, and it was then she realized-with a heart-pounding 
dismay-that the Jolly Rogue was underway. Even as her startled eyes looked 
out the porthole, the lights of Santa Barbara were growing smaller and 
fainter. 

"Come on, love, sit down. We'll not harm you," John said in a hypnotic tone 
of voice. 

And Lydia, knowing now that she had really passed a point of no return, 
permitted herself to be led back to the bar. A moment later the strange 
hands, the strange lips, were busy again ... along with her own hands, for 
now it seemed there were two pricks to be fondled. 

Inside the deepest part of her mind, that shrill voice of conscience 
continued to scream its warnings to her ... a voice that gradually faded 
until it-like the lights of Santa Barbara-disappeared. 

 CHAPTER 8 

An angry Sue, followed by Georgia, climbed the stairs to the wheelhouse 
where they found McGuffin at the wheel and, together with Saul, chortling as 
he watched something on the closed-circuit television screen. The men were 
so engrossed at what they were viewing that neither one of them heard the 
girls enter. Both jumped like guilty small boys when Sue petulantly 
demanded, "What happened to Mike and Carla and Phoebe?" 

"Goddamnit," McGuffin snarled, "don't come creeping up on us that way. You 
scared the piss out of me." 

"Who's creeping, you creep?" she answered angrily. "We've been looking all 
over the ship for them." 

Saul cackled, "Did you check stateroom three?" He jerked his head toward the 
T. V. monitor. 

Both women moved toward the set; it was Georgia who spoke first, "Why lookee 
there." Her eyes were wide in surprise. "That man certainly didn't waste any 
time." And then, admiringly, "Look at him go! And look at that big old 
mustang whang on him. Wheeeee." 

Sue walked right up to the set and shouldered Saul aside. Through gritted 
teeth, she said, "That bitch Carla. She knows the rules!" She slammed her 
fist down on top of the console. "Those two will wear him out." 

On the screen, Mike and Carla fought each other for mastery. Mike's 
monstrous white rod drove mercilessly into the hungrily clasping pussy 
between the girl's legs, while Carla's sandals pounded at his buttocks as 
though she were spurring a horse onto greater effort. For comic relief there 
was Phoebe, her eyes rolling around deliriously in her head as she stood 
straddling Mike's muscular leg, wantonly scraping her cuntal lips and 
clitoris against the back of his lower leg. Her right hand was hidden in 
back of her at first, but then it came into view as Mike climbed higher on 
Carla; abruptly everyone in the wheelhouse saw that Phoebe not only was 
masturbating herself on Mike's leg, but had one long slender finger buried 
in Mike's anus as well. She was madly sodomizing him in time to her own 
motions against his calf. 

"Oh, I declare," Georgia said. "They are going to use him all up." 

"Goddamn her," Sue spat out, and found her anger doubled by the snorts of 
laughter from her husband. She spun on him, and a bitter sarcastic smile 
crossed her face. "Go ahead and laugh, you baboon. The Lord and Master of 
the ship may think it's funny when dear little Carla breaks the rules, but 
you'll sing a different tune when you have to slither through a tidal wave 
of someone else's cum to reach the new girl." 

The amusement left McGuffin's face, to be replaced immediately by a snarl. 
"What in hell are you blabbering about?" 

Sue gave him a tight little smile of satisfaction. She didn't answer, merely 
reached over to the monitor and switched to the main salon cameras. 

The screen flickered with horizontal lines, then adjusted itself to a steady 
glow. Sue punched a button marked "PAN", and the camera swung from the empty 
round couch in front of the fireplace over toward the bar. Then the screen 
was filled with close-up images. First was the hunched over figure of Paul 
Daniels who was voraciously sucking on Lydia's right breast while Lydia's 
fingers stroked his rampant prick. On the other side, John Bengstrom was 
working his tongue around in Lydia's eager mouth, while his hand expertly 
played an arpeggio of stimulation on her cunt. Lydia was eagerly massaging 
his cock as well. Even as they watched, Paul was easing a skimpy pair of 
panties down past Lydia's knees, aided and abetted by her. 

"Jesus!" No one wasted any time," Saul began, and was interrupted by 
McGuffin's impatient shove pushing him away from the console. 

McGuffin pushed a button on the public address system leading to the main 
salon and shouted into the microphone, "Goddamnit you guys, leave the cunt 
alone. You know the fucking rules." 

They heard Lydia's squeal of fright as the voice came booming powerfully out 
of the speakers. John and Paul both jumped, startled. John apparently knew 
exactly where the camera was located, for he looked directly into it and 
said placatingly, "Ah, Dick. We're just tuning up the machinery, you 
know...." He smiled and held his hands out, palms up. 

"Bull shit," McGuffin answered. "Keep your hands off her until we get to San 
Pablo Island. That's a goddamned order ... otherwise I'll put you ashore 
there and let you figure out how in hell to get back to the mainland." He 
turned to Sue and Georgia. "Get your asses down there and see that they obey 
the rules. We'll be at San Pablo in another twenty minutes. They can keep 
their fucking peckers in their pants that long." 

Georgia had turned to go, but Sue grabbed her arm. "We're not going ... and 
to hell with you!" 

"Do as I say, damnit." 

"Not unless you stop that horseshit in stateroom three, too." 

McGuffin sighed in resignation and pushed another button on the p.a. 
console. He took half a step back from the microphone and then shouted at 
the top of his lungs, "Carla! Phoebe! Get your asses into the main salon! 
Right now. ... You know the rules!" 

The sudden booming shout from right over his head startled Hansen so badly 
that he thought for a second he would lose his erection. The fright had the 
exact opposite effect on Carla; it triggered her orgasm, and her 
leather-thonged legs slapped against his buttocks and thighs with so much 
power that he actually felt pain. She wasn't a screamer or moaner, she just 
came, and came! ... and convulsed with her mouth open, making dry sucking 
sounds, with her eyes rolled up in her head. One of her sudden kicks outward 
had kicked poor Phoebe in the rear, and she had been thrust across the room 
to fall with a loud thud against the door. 

Carla unwrapped her legs from Mike's buttocks, and she lay with a smile of 
contentment on her face. "God, that was just what the doctor ordered." 

Phoebe, undaunted, shook her head, and staggered to her feet. When Carla lay 
back, Phoebe impatiently slid down on the mattress beside her and reached 
over to pull Mike's ripe, throbbing, and ready-to-burst prick over to her 
own starving cunt. 

For Mike it was simply a matter of using his knees to move over about two 
feet. Phoebe never relinquished hold on his cock; she put it at the hot 
pulsating opening to her steaming cunt, and then reared her haunches upward. 
And the cock slid in with one uninterrupped movement, down, down, down into 
the hot fevered valley between her widespread legs. She felt completely 
different from Carla-hotter inside ... and softer, fleshier. He made exactly 
six strokes when Phoebe began squirming uncontrollably beneath him. Her 
panting voice cried out the message, "I'm cumming ... I'm cumming ... 
Aiiiiieeeeee...." 

Carla, who had turned on her side to watch them, had amusement mirrored on 
her face. "Just like a little rabbit, that girl!" 

The public address system boomed again in the stateroom. "Phoebe ... I'm not 
going to tell you again: get your ass off that bed and go to the main salon. 
That goes for you, too, Hansen." 

Mike merely looked up toward the speaker and said, "Fuck you, Friend." His 
throbbing cock was primed, and he made an effort to continue fucking into 
Phoebe. She, however, sucked in her gut and twisted out from beneath him. 

"Listen," he began angrily, "What in hell gives here?" 

Carla smiled, reached out, and clasped his prick in her hand. She massaged 
it gently. "Don't worry," she crooned, "you'll have plenty of chance to use 
this before the night is over. Don't be impatient." 

And from the ceiling speaker came the snort of McGuffin's lewd laughter. 
"Look who's talking about impatience. You practically raped the poor 
bastard." 

Carla gazed up languidly toward the camera. She made a production out of 
pulling her tunic down to cover her pubic area. She smiled sweetly and then 
hissed. "Fuck you, Dickie ... Baby!" 

The voice came again, this time with undisguised excitement. "Yeh! You will 
... and I will, you bitch. I've got something here you'll be begging for 
before the night's over!" 

"What is it? A Mink coat?" She laughed sarcastically. And Phoebe, using 
Kleenex to wipe her cuntal lips, shrilly giggled. 

Only Hansen, feeling the pain from the boiling white hot lava of his 
unreleased semen, did not laugh. It wasn't very damned funny, he thought. He 
was still grousing and unhappy as hell twenty minutes later in the main 
salon when he heard the anchor chain rumble and rattle as the Jolly Rogue 
came to a dead stop in the water at a little known cove on the east side of 
San Pablo Island. 

His unhappiness, he knew, was compounded by the expression on Lydia's face. 
There was a wantonness in her eyes, a color to her cheeks, and a certain 
animal-like intensity about her movements that made him realize she had been 
aroused to a fevered pitch by something or someone. Even though it was 
patently ridiculous, he knew he was jealous of the man, the men, who were 
going to have her. 

 CHAPTER 9 

Although it obviously wasn't necessary, Sue had felt the new couple should 
be apprised of their situation. All five couples were lounging in the main 
salon. Drinks had been replenished. Saul and Dick had come down from the 
wheelhouse with the announcement that the Jolly Rogue was now anchored. Over 
the stereo system came the sensuous hypnotic beat of Brazilian-Southern 
Caribbean music. Sue clapped her hands for attention and, when everyone fell 
silent, she said to Lydia and Mike, "I suppose you realize that we are all 
members of a rather exclusive club, and you've been invited to join us 
tonight." 

Lydia and Mike both nodded their heads. 

Sue continued, "Do you have any idea what kind of a club this is?" 

Lydia looked at Mike, and Mike laughed. Lydia grinned in a friendly fashion 
and answered, "I have a feeling that this club is like our club in Pebble 
Beach. We swing, we swap up there." 

A vast sigh of relief swept the room, and everyone began talking at once. 
Sue smiled in satisfaction. "Well, then, so much for that. I now turn the 
floor over to the Captain, who will explain the evening's program." 

Dick stood up importantly and held up his hands, "No applause, please." 
Laughter. "You've all heard about the girl we had aboard the Rogue last 
month. Here's a ditty to mark that historic occasion. Ready?" He hummed a 
tune, then began singing off-key: "Oh, there was a young lady named Bide; 
Who, while fuckin', fell o'er the side; One could tell by her squeals: That 
those wiggly ole eels; Had discovered a warm place to hide." 

When the laughter died down, Saul cackled, "With a voice like that, you 
ought to be on the stage ... there's one leaving for El Paso in ten minutes. 
Be on it!" 

This old gag brought groans of dismay from the group, the 
loudest-predictably-coming from Dick. McGuffin turned to his audience and 
shook his head sadly, "A funny thing happened to poor Saul en route to the 
brain bank...." 

Lydia listened to the good natured banter with only part of her mind; the 
other part was thinking with considerable astonishment that anyone dropping 
in unexpectedly on this group would think it consisted simply of ten people 
having a cocktail party and making small talk. Twenty minutes before, when 
the great booming voice had interrupted John and Paul's activities with her, 
she had felt the heat of her own arousal. That impatient heat had gradually 
faded, to be replaced by a vague restlessness. She was still damp between 
her thighs, and the fires were still tightly banked down there. She glanced 
around the room; she wasn't the only one who was becoming restless. Sue 
McGuffin's pearl lacquered fingernails drummed impatiently on the back of 
the couch. Georgia was almost imperceptibly rubbing her thighs together as 
she looked in undisguised lust at Mike. 

And abruptly, the waiting was over. McGuffin's good-natured introduction had 
ended and he got down to business. "Okay, Mike-Lydia. Our club has the same 
rules as most of the other swap organizations have. The first part of the 
evening, the regular male members get to initiate your wife ... while the 
regular female members initiate you. Males in the main salon here; females 
in stateroom two. It's now eight-fifteen. We all meet back here in an hour 
and a half for dinner. After dinner, we have a general meeting with everyone 
here in the main salon. Any questions anyone?" No one spoke up, and Dick 
nodded, satisfied. "Okay, then. Strip." 

For the first time, Lydia felt an overwhelming feeling of embarrassment 
sweep through her body. She gazed around her, but nothing she saw did 
anything to alleviate her own uncertainty. The women had begun peeling off 
clothes; Lydia noticed that she was the only person in the room who had worn 
undergarments. Now, as trousers dropped, it seemed as though a whole forest 
of rising penises had suddenly sprung up. Lydia tried not to look, but it 
was impossible. Five cocks were all too evident, each of them 
different-three already at full erection, and two slowly rising like 
artillery guns. She blinked as she suddenly realized that she was the only 
one still with any clothes on; the other women were gazing at her 
expectantly. The men looked hungrily at her ... all except Mike, who was 
staring in amusement at her. 

Lydia unbuttoned her sweater and pulled it off. She made a big thing out of 
looking for her zipper, and she kept her eyes fastened on it as she pulled 
it down-not wanting to look at anyone or anything. She took off her slacks 
and carefully folded them over the back of a chair. She heard a low growl in 
John's throat as he gazed rapturously at the embroidered rose covering her 
vaginal area. Quickly then, she slid down the panties and stepped out of 
them. And a moment later, her full firm breasts were freed. She stood 
completely nude-defenseless-encircled by nine people, all staring at her. 

Saul said, in a hoarse tone of voice, "Goddamn Sam ... look at that 
beautiful, fantastic ass." 

Lydia knew she was blushing. Paul had said nothing, but he continually 
licked his lips as though he were tasting and evaluating a rare wine. 

"Okay, Hansen. Take your harem and go," McGuffin said, jerking his head 
toward the passageway leading to the staterooms. He turned back to Lydia and 
grinned lewdly, "Well, Baby. You ready for your initiation to the Jolly 
Rogue Society?" 

Lydia, feeling apprehensive, glanced toward the passageway, but even as she 
looked, Mike's broad shoulders and muscular bare buttocks were disappearing 
into an open stateroom door midway down the corridor. Carla stood at the 
salon door, looking questioningly at Lydia; then she threw her head back, 
laughed, and shut the door. 

Something akin to terror was beginning to come over Lydia. What was she 
doing here? Nude! With four strangers-four men who had encircled her as 
though she were a trembling, helpless doe that has been tracked down by a 
savage pack of hungry wolves. They were closing in now. She jumped as though 
she had been touched with a live wire when Saul lovingly stroked one cheek 
of her supple buttocks. 

"Don't be jumpy," John said. 

"Maybe she's goosey," Saul suggested, then wormed his middle finger into the 
crevice between her buttocks. Lydia jumped again, and this time all four men 
laughed cruelly at her. McGuffin stood right in front of her, his burning 
eyes-like spotlights-moved up and down her body. And he said, in a lust 
contorted voice as he thoughtfully stroked his salami chub-like cock, "Baby, 
you were made for fucking, and you're going to be fucked like you've never 
been fucked before." 

Humiliated and biting her lips in shame, Lydia stood with downcast head, as 
John reached forward and used his thumb and forefinger to part her vaginal 
lips. "That is eating pussy, if I've ever seen it." 

McGuffin nodded his head, "I agree. Maybe we should all try a little." He 
took Lydia by the arm and pulled her over to the round divan in front of the 
fireplace. "Time for your initiation, baby," he said. "Lie down." 

Lydia hesitated, and found herself being forced down on the divan. From then 
on, everything happened so fast. She heard McGuffin order, "Get a couple of 
pillows and put them under her ass." Then John grabbed the left arm and 
stretched it out from her body; simultaneously, Paul had taken her right arm 
and extended it. She tried to struggle, but her efforts were fruitless. 
"What? What are you doing?" she asked, frightened, as she felt leather 
straps being placed around her wrists. 

McGuffin put two hands under her buttocks and lifted them so Saul could put 
the pillows in place. 

"What are you doing?" she demanded in a loud voice. 

Only then did McGuffin deign to answer her question. He stared down at her, 
and his face was infused with a hot, implacable lust that was akin to 
cruelty. "We won't hurt you. This is the initiation." He nodded his head, 
and Lydia felt her ankles grabbed and pulled apart. 

"No...." she whimpered, and then said louder as she felt the leather straps 
being put around each ankle, "No! I've changed my mind." It was too late, 
and she knew it. She was spread-eagled, a prisoner on the divan; her legs 
were wide apart, her defenseless, trembling loins and nakedly exposed vagina 
raised in the air like an exhibit-completely exposed. 

"God, what a beautiful, delectable pussy," Paul said in obvious awe as he 
stared down at her. 

"Please," she pleaded. "Not this way. I don't want to ... please?" 

"Come on," McGuffin snarled, "you're acting like a shit-scared goddamned, 
high school kid." 

John glanced over toward Dick and smirked, "If anyone would know what one 
looks like, you ought to." 

"Go to hell," McGuffin replied. He looked down again at the helpless 
quivering figure of the girl. "We're not going to hurt you. Now just relax. 
I'm even going to give you some music to relax by." He grinned and walked 
out of sight. Lydia struggled to find release from her bonds, but it was 
hopeless. She was a captured butterfly, impaled on a collector's display 
board. 

A second later, she thought she was becoming sick for the room seemed to be 
going around. It wasn't though; she was the one going around. The divan was 
beginning to revolve slowly, and as it moved a music box-like affair began 
to play, "The Music Goes 'Round and 'Round." 

McGuffin reappeared alongside her. "This is the initiation. We call this 
first part, 'The Compass Game.' All you have to do is relax. 

She heard Saul cackle and, as the divan revolved, he came into sight. "I'm 
South," he explained, and held up a long peacock's feather. Lydia saw his 
shoulder dip, and then she felt the feather tickling her vaginal lips. She 
jerked against her bonds and said, "No ... no!" As the divan moved the 
feather could no longer reach her cuntal lips, and it stroked the outer part 
of her thigh. 

"I'm West," John said, grinning lewdly, and showing his feather. Lydia 
jumped again as the feather caressed her vulva and inner thighs. The touch 
of the thing was electrifying. 

"I'm North," McGuffin said, gruffly. He bent over and his feather just 
barely flicked at her clitoris. A jolt of pleasure shot through her. 
"Ahhhh," she squirmed. "Don't...." 

McGuffin's cruelly grinning face swirled out of sight to be replaced by 
Paul's, who stared affectionately down at her. "I'm East, as you might have 
surmised." He smiled, and his feather traced an electric erotic path from 
her cuntal lips down to her tiny quivering anus. "Ugggh! Please...." she 
begged. "Let me up. Not this way." 

The feather touches started coming faster and lasting longer as the men 
began taking two or three strides keeping up with the revolving divan. 

Lydia pleaded with them, a pleading that became more and more urgent as the 
feathers started bringing an unwanted life to her vagina. It was torment. It 
felt ... it felt horrible ... horrible! No. No! Beautiful! Lydia fought 
against the sensations to no avail; she fought against her own rebellious 
muscles wanting to respond to the delightful titillation they were 
receiving. The low moans of distress began changing, almost imperceptibly, 
to tiny mewls of unwanted pleasure. 

Lydia felt an almost overpowering sense of shame as she realized what was 
happening to her. Those feathers, that tickling, were fanning the banked 
fires deep within her womb. She knew she was losing the battle for control 
of her body-knew it with a certainty when, without volition, her pelvis 
raised eagerly and sought out the continuing, delightful touch of one 
feather. Her breath was coming faster, and she began whipping her body 
around-not in an effort to escape, but to keep the sensation constant. 

She barely heard McGuffin's short snort of contemptuous laughter and his 
voice, hoarse with a desire of his own, "Jesus ... look at the machinery 
going to work. I'll bet she's got a Rolls marine engine working that cunt." 

Lydia's head bounced from side to side and her eyes were beginning to glaze 
in passion. The tick ling was driving her insane. She had to make them stop. 
She screamed and her body thrashed against the confining leather straps. The 
wildly sensual flicking and caressing from the feathers didn't stop; if 
anything, it grew in intensity and tempo. One of them, she didn't know which 
one, was concentrating on her tiny defensively clenching rectal mouth. 
Another on her clitoris. Her body grew used to the routine; her anus, 
clitoris, vagina, and inner thighs, all eagerly looked forward to their own 
feather, and each of them lunged wantonly upward when its time for caressing 
came. The lascivious stroking against her moist pink slit had caused a flood 
of lubricant to pour out; it ran like a tiny silver river down to her anus. 

She was going out of her mind; her body had cast off all her mental and 
emotional restraints. Now it buckled and gamboled as though it had never had 
an inhibition in its life. 

It was her voice, she recognized it-even though it was a guttural croak-that 
cried out, "Oh ... no. Please, stop it. Please! I ... I can't stand it. 
Pluu-eezz." 

One of them-was it Paul? Yes ... Paul! used his feather to tantalizingly 
play with the soft, tender area under her arms. Saul, noting this, used his 
feather on her breasts. And, in spite of her raging torment, she felt a 
disappointment that the feather at her anus had gone on to another part of 
her body. 

That one teasing feather working at her clitoris stayed, however, and made 
its appointed rounds. It circled the engorged little column of flesh; it 
created its own electricity. Lydia could hear McGuffin's cruel laughter as 
she pumped her body eagerly against that tormenting feather. She knew she 
was beginning to weep from shame, from degradation ... and from the 
knowledge that she no longer was master of her own body or mind. Against her 
will, her proud, full breasts had peaked to a mottled hardness as the 
feather drew imaginary halos around the areolae. And then, as if by some 
signal, all the feathers went to work on her cunt. She heard their 
exclamations as her body writhed; she heard their laughter as her pelvis 
strained up toward the ceiling in desperate effort to prolong the contact. 
She was close to cumming; the insane, torment and teasing had caused her to 
reach a trembling plateau of pleasure. She held her breath. Yes ... she was 
almost there. She reached for it, throwing her head back against the 
mattress and willing her orgasm to come. And reached for it ... and reached. 
... Then, with an absolute feeling of disbelief, she realized they were no 
longer using the feathers! 

Her voice like a shrill scream of agony, cried out, "You can't stop now." 
She sobbed and pleaded, "Please ... don't stop." 

McGuffin and Saul both laughed like hyenas; John looked amused. Paul was the 
only one who seemed to feel empathy toward her. 

She turned to him, pleading, "Paul...." and could go no further for her body 
was quivering, and she was sobbing so loudly that it was impossible to speak 
any longer. 

Saul said loudly, "My God. Look at her! I've never seen a cunt so hot for it 
before. I'm going to fuck it right now." 

Through a haze of lust and frustration, Lydia heard McGuffin's impatient 
snarl, "Oh, no you don't. Not until I give the word. And then we roll dice 
for first go at it." 

Oh, God! How low could she sink? Here she was, spread-eagled and crying to 
be fucked, while men fought over her like dogs around a bitch in heat. This 
had to be the bottom of the pit of depravity, for she 
knew-instinctively-that the true reason she wanted the fighting and snarling 
to end, was so the fucking could begin. 

Somewhere over to the right, Paul's voice came. "I'm going to eat it." This 
was echoed by John's, "I'd like a little eating pussy, too." 

Lydia felt the divan jerk to a stop; the room still revolved in her mind, 
but she couldn't tell for sure because her eyes were closed. Her body shook 
with unsuppressed shudders, and her breath came in rasping uneven whistles 
from her lust constricted throat. 

Then there was someone between her legs. She opened her eyes, but they could 
not focus properly at first. That someone was kneeling, and even as she 
watched, she saw the head drop, and a wet quivering tongue begin to probe 
the starved, impatient lips of her vagina. 

Her body responded automatically, convulsively jerking, and a loud moan 
spewed from her lips as, at first, she sought to avoid this perverted 
wickedness in public. "Aaaagghhhh ... God! You mustn't...." But even as her 
words bubbled to her lips, her body was already betraying her. That tongue, 
that wonderfully hot and talented tongue, unmercifully scoured her 
defenseless cunt. She wailed like a banshee as his voracious mouth clamped 
like a wet suction cup on her vaginal lips, and the tongue flickered like 
heat lightning in and out of her pussy. 

Straining, she stared around her. She saw McGuffin, Saul, and John. Then it 
must be Paul, she thought, "Paul...." and it was a cry of ecstasy as she 
felt her body begin to reverberate. Suddenly she fell back and gave herself 
completely to his perveted licking. Paul licked on and on, moving from 
clitoris to vagina to anus. He was bringing her release, she could feel it 
coming ... and her body cried out for fulfillment. She raised her 
desire-heavy pelvis up to his face, and she groaned and bubbled with each 
swipe of his tongue. 

Her body had climbed from the plateau to the moment of truth. She was so 
close to cumming now that she could feel nerve endings vibrating like the 
strings of an aeolian harp. This was it, she thought. She reached toward 
those golden apples of the sun and then ... realizing Paul had sadistically 
stopped, she screamed. 

"Please ... oh, God!" and deep shuddering sobs wracked her body. 

She heard the voice, as though it were coming from a million miles off, 
"Don't worry, Sweetheart. Here's old long-tongued John." And then, 
miraculously, she felt a new and different tongue down there; it moved in 
and out as surely and as strongly as a small penis. Above her impending 
orgasm, she could feel only love for this man who was doing this for her ... 
she was there! 

"I'm ... I'm ... ," she panted, and then screamed, "I'm cumming ... I'm 
cummmm-innnnnng!" She writhed and twisted with inarticulate sounds of 
passion pouring out of her mouth; her face was twisted in a grotesque parody 
of lust, and her body bucked against the straps in deep feral abandonment. 

Lydia was only vaguely aware of someone else's mouth on her left breast, 
another mouth on her right breast, and still another mouth on her lips. She 
opened her mouth gratefully to welcome the tongue ... and could feel, over 
and above her own continuing orgasm, a new and different excitement building 
in her. Someone loosened the straps at her ankles, and she immediately 
raised her knees and splayed her legs even wider in a lewd invitation for 
anyone to do what they liked down between her thighs. Her hands were freed, 
and she put them around the neck of the person kissing her. 

Now there were gentle ministrations going on about her cunt. Someone was 
stroking her gently down there and a second later, a large middle finger was 
tentatively inserted in her vagina. The finger began sawing in and out. 

Lydia, feeling a complete impotency to fight any further indignity to her 
body and emotions, simply lay back and let them do what they wished. A warm 
comfortable glow was spreading through her body. 

Two mouths still sucked voraciously at her breasts, and she could feel her 
nipples coming back to life! The fire spread from her tits to her navel and 
then to her cunt, where two fingers moved in and out in a delicious harmony 
of pure sensation. Her flames were rapidly fanned by the rising winds of her 
own lustful desire. She wanted to cum again ... she needed to cum again. She 
wanted to be fucked. 

"Lydia!" The voice was coarse, rough, demanding. Everything else was gentle, 
peaceful, loving. She ignored the voice. "Lydia!" The fingers in her open 
cunt cruelly jabbed down there , and a fingernail painfully scraped her 
vaginal walls. She cried out and opened her eyes. 

McGuffin smiled when he saw he had her attention finally. She saw him 
kneeling between her legs, his face twisted in animal-like lust. Her eyes 
fell down his chest to his pot belly and to the erect penis standing out 
like a cross-arm on a telephone pole from the bristly gray-black patch of 
pubic hair. He smiled as he stroked it. That rod, not as large as Hansen's, 
still seemed monstrous in size. Lydia continued to stare at it, and felt the 
return of shame again. She looked at Paul and John's hungry mouths lock on 
her breasts, and Saul's penis within inches of her own moistened lips. The 
awful realization of what was being done to her filled her mind with a great 
humiliation and despair. 

"I'm going to fuck you 'til your eyes pop right out of that lovely little 
head of yours, "McGuffin said. "You won't be able to walk for a week after." 

"No ... I ... I don't want...." she began. 

McGuffin simply said, "Shut up. Put it in for me." He took her hand and 
placed it on his cock. 

Lydia pulled back as though she had touched a poisonous snake. It did her no 
good, for seconds later McGuffin had her hand captive again. "Put it in, I 
said," McGuffin growled. 

"Oh, God...." she began, and in abject surrender, tightened her hand around 
the rigid shaft of warm throbbing flesh. 

"Go on," he said, a little more gently this time, and lowered his hips to 
her widespread legs. "Stick it in ... you know where it goes." 

She gasped and guided the blinded giant of a cock to the open cave of her 
cunt. She fumbled for a moment, then felt the thick bulbous head touching 
her cuntal lips. The touch of his hardened penis sent unwanted spasms of 
ecstasy surging through her abdomen. He pushed in, whining with pleasure as 
the huge prick slid through the portals of her femaledom. 

"Ohhhhh," she panted...."no...." and attempted to grind her buttocks down 
into the mattress to escape the impaling pain. The movement only brought her 
clitoris into electrifying contact with the sinking shaft. McGuffin 
continued his merciless impalement and his cock slowly slid inch by inch 
into her piteously cringing pussy. He filled her completely, and she could 
feel every wrinkle, every variegation on his prick through the tortured 
walls of her vagina. 

McGuffin lay still for a moment, then made his cock jerk deep inside of her. 

"Aaaaggh," she responded feeling the forbidden rapture spreading like warm 
honey through her loins. Her strained passageway rapidly became accustomed 
to the invading penis, and her low moans of protest changed to small, 
involuntary whimpers of uncontained pleasure. McGuffin had begun rotating 
his hips as though he were screwing his cock in even deeper, and soon he had 
the head of it beating relentlessly against her cervix. He rocked above her, 
stroking in a long easy rhythm which she found almost intolerable in its 
sensation. 

Paul and John had let up on her breasts. They kneeled atop the divan 
watching her face go from shadow to light as the clouds of passion boiled 
across her sky. She was panting now, her mouth open. Beads of perspiration 
had formed on her forehead, and her neck tendons stood out like steel 
cables. 

She felt nothing new-no shame, no remorse, no despair-nothing! except that 
wonderfully vibrant cock that was fucking into her like a pile driver. 
McGuffin thrust for thrust, when she saw Paul nod as if he were giving a 
signal. McGuffin stopped. 

"What ... what's wrong?" she groaned, bewildered. 

McGuffin smiled mysteriously at her. "Nothing. I'm just going to let you be 
the boss now." He grabbed her buttocks, shoved his prick in as far up her 
cunt as it would go, then rolled over on his side carrying Lydia with him. 
She was on top, looking down at him. She ground her buttocks up and down 
experimentally a couple of times, and felt happiness at what happened down 
there. She moved her cunt up and down the hardened pole at will. It was 
simply fabulous this way ... she liked it. 

Beside the divan, she saw Saul smearing some clear jelly on his penis. He 
looked at her, grinned, reached out, and began rubbing it around the tiny 
puckered lips of her anus. 

"What...." she began, startled by his action, and then yelped as his 
well-lubricated finger slid effortlessly deep into her rectum. "What ... 
what are you ... doing...?" she grunted as McGuffin locked his arms around 
her waist. 

"Ready?" Saul asked. 

"Go ahead," McGuffin ordered, then looked up at Lydia's disbelieving face. 
"Just relax." 

Saul slithered between her legs and stared at the unprotected golden mounds 
of flesh and its brown puckered little opening. He inserted a finger and 
began finger fucking her. 

"You can't. Not both of you at the same time," Lydia cried, horrified. She 
turned to Paul for help. "You can't let them." 

Paul, unexpectedly, laughed. "Darling, you must have double and triple 
features up in your swap club. Just relax. You're with friends. We won't 
hurt you." 

Saul cackled, and then fiercely stroking his cock, he put the head against 
the tiny clenching anal ring and shoved. 

Lydia suddenly felt the straining elastic ring of her asshole give way under 
Saul's relentless pressure. 

"Aaaaagggghhh," she screamed, and her face reflected pain and shame, and yet 
at the same time, some unfathomable thing-masochistic joy, perhaps. She made 
a frantic twisting effort to pull her lewdly stretching rectum away from the 
cruel invading cudgel, but McGuffin held tightly to her from below. 

Saul whined, "God ... that's a tight little one." McGuffin laughed. Paul and 
John watched, fascinated, as Saul's lust hardened rod disappeared in the 
wide-stretched opening between the two smoothly quivering mounds of flesh. 
Lydia groaned loudly through the entire insertion. Finally, it was in all 
the way. Lydia cried out in an almost inarticulate voice filled with torment 
as he began moving it back and forth. She tried twisting down away from him, 
only to find herself being skewered even more deeply on McGuffin's jerking 
cock. She attempted to throw Saul off, but the waggling of her ass caused 
his prick to burrow even deeper in her bowels-already hideously stretched 
beyond capacity. 

Then, both men were moving in unison, driving in and out of her cunt and 
asshole like well-oiled machinery-neither missing a stroke. Lydia suffered 
through it, knowing now this was her punishment for getting involved in this 
perverted sex club. It was her own stupidity, her own illogical desire for 
revenge that had brought her to this place, and now she was paying for her 
stupidity. The payment was this cruel debasement in public, this degradation 
... this pain. Pain? I should feel pain, she thought. I need pain to be 
punished. But even this absolution was denied her, for the pain had 
evaporated under the encroachment of the two cocks. Now she felt ... she 
felt? What? She could feel McGuffin's pubic hair grazing teasingly against 
her belly, could feel Saul's bristly balls hot against her legs. She 
recognized the sudden rippling of her own internal muscles, and knew she 
must control herself. "Punish me, oh, God, punish me!" she whispered, not 
knowing why she was mewling the words, but feeling punishment was better 
than this evil sensation of wantonness in her bowels and cunt. A moment 
later, she was whimpering, "Fuck harder ... fuck me harder in the asshole 
and punish me." There was an ocean of excitement surging and pounding in her 
loins as wave after wave of pure feeling crashed in on the wild lonely 
shores of her cunt's consciousness. For her now, there was only an almost 
insatiable desire as she reveled in the perverted sodomizing of her 
defenseless asshole and felt her vagina being cruelly raped by an uncouth 
stranger. The shame and humiliation had fled, leaving behind only 
uncontrollable spasms of delight that continued to build with each inward 
thrust of the two lustfully driving pricks. 

Now she was to find, as Paul gently took her head and turned it toward him, 
that two cocks really were not enough for her. She wanted more! She stared 
gratefully toward him as his powerful, throbbing penis was lowered 
salaciously toward her mouth. She parted her lips in a soft smile, and 
wrapped her fist warmly around his masculinity, jerking it impatiently 
toward her. The feeling of carnal delight completely blacked out her only 
remaining vestiges of decency and intelligence, as she eagerly took the 
alien cock in her mouth and began slowly and wetly sucking. Only then-being 
fucked in all her bodily orfices by three men-did she begin to feel the full 
humiliation, her debasement, was complete. 

She stared through unseeing eyes at the cock in her mouth, at Paul's 
reddish-blond pubic hair. God! it was evil. But, it was beautiful! She 
nibbled and sucked, and tickled the softness of his testicles with her 
fingernails. In penitence, she slaved over his penis with her own drooling 
saliva, lavishing her fevered tongue over its base, along its sensitive 
underside, playing and caressing it with every lick. She nibbled gently at 
the throbbing, rubbery head, and her tongue sought out and tried to enlarge 
the urethral opening. She concentrated on the lust-hardened penis to the 
exclusion of all other things, and she realized that-like some participant 
in a black religious mass-she loved it in her mouth. She wanted his hot 
juices of love-cum to fill her throat. Frantically then, she began using her 
hand to milk the shaft of his prick, making her lips and mouth form a 
powerful sucking vacuum. 

She forced herself to keep on thinking about it-thinking about the moment 
that wonderful instrument would swell almost twice-sized in her mouth, and 
the exilir of his manhood would suddenly begin spurting like an uncapped 
geyser exploding under intolerable underground pressure. 

An interruption in McGuffin and Saul's smooth tempo fucking into the dual 
orifices down between her legs made Lydia shift her concentration to what 
was happening to her body back there. Saul was rasping and moaning like a 
man about to have a heart attack, and then abruptly, spewing obscenities, he 
shoved his hardened shaft of flesh in as far as it would reach into the 
tightly clenching depths of her rectum. 

Lydia felt the first tentative squirt of hot boiling semen begin to flood 
her asshole. Saul was acting like a sex-crazed maniac now as he pounded his 
prick mercilessly into the warm rubbing depths of her rectum. And he 
continued to cum ... continued to cum until the white hot cream bubbled and 
gurgled out of her anus, to run in a shining white river down her inner 
thighs. Lydia quivered beneath him, enjoying now the majesty of McGuffin's 
still hardy prick slamming into her. She did not lose the rhythm of her 
mouth on Paul's cock, not even when Saul pulled out his rapidly deflating 
cock from her still clenching anus and moved over to make room for John. She 
was so well lubricated from the earlier petroleum jelly and Saul's semen, 
that John's larger cock slid all the way up into her forever stretched 
rectum without hesitation. 

And now, as though the first string team had returned to action, all three 
of the men worked and bucked in unison ... pounding into anus, mouth and 
cunt with a hypnotic savage rhythm. Lydia knew she was cumming. She didn't 
encourage it; as a matter-of-fact, she fought it. She didn't want a 
climax-not yet! She wanted to feel it all, to experience it all. Everything! 
Her body had other ideas, however. It began to twist and surge and turn to 
catch every sensational movement they made. She was afire with unholy 
delight. Her senses were failing. The beautiful taste of cock in her mouth 
was slowly fading. Her breasts were numb, her heart pounding ... her ears 
deafened to the obscene encouragements of the men. And suddenly, an 
earthquake of passion began its tremoring devastation of her body. She tried 
to tell them she was cumming, but all she got out of her cockfilled mouth 
was a strangled unintelligible sound. 

McGuffin apparently sensed her approaching climax, for he began speeding up 
his movements. His cock banged hard against her cervix, bringing an 
indescribable sweet feeling of pure animal lust and pleasure to her. John's 
elongated penis rode smoothly in and out of her anus as he speeded up at the 
same moment that McGuffin changed pace. 

Lydia was suddenly aware that Paul had taken her head in his hands and was 
making violent pumping movements. "Suck harder ... milk me, baby," he 
pleaded. And Lydia, tried to obey, only to be rewarded with a throat-rending 
lunge that almost shoved his expanding prick all the way back against her 
gullet. She gagged. She was being smothered to death in his pubic hair. She 
didn't care. She could die now ... she would die and be happy! It was her 
just punishment. Her lips sucked his prick as though she were a starving 
infant ... sucked at them ... until her eyes widened and her mouth opened in 
a scream as her triple climax overpowered all other nerve functions and 
shorted out nerve ganglions that had her naked body twitching and jerking 
uncontrollably. She was cumming! She was cumming! Paul grabbed her head and 
used his hands to press her lips tighter around his cock. Then, groaning, he 
began spurting hot steaming jets of sperm deep into her throat. 

McGuffin made one powerful lunge upward that almost unseated both Lydia and 
John, and then fell back as his overpowering orgasm brought a beatific smile 
to his face. Lydia fell forward, almost dislodging John's still wildly 
ravaging prick in her rectum. She wantonly rubbed her breasts against 
McGuffin's hairy chest, all the while feeling his throbbing, spurting cock 
drowning her pussy in his seminal juices. And then, miraculously, she felt 
the velvet vibrations in her vagina spread to her anus. She was cumming 
there, too. She splayed her legs even wider in an effort to give him more 
room, allow him in deeper. She pushed back against the rampaging cock and 
was rewarded with one mighty plunge that went in deeper than she had ever 
believed possible. It stayed there ... and began pumping its love juices 
into her already impossibly flooded rectum. 

Lydia, lost in the delirium of her continuing climax, was only vaguely aware 
when McGuffin and John pulled their deflating cocks from the dual steaming 
holes between her widespread thighs. She was turned over on her back, and 
then Saul was fucking like a wild man inside her pussy. He made her cum 
twice in three minutes; then there was Paul-gentle Paul-who rode her and 
carried her to new and unexpected heights of bliss ... and then John and 
after John, someone else. She screamed out her releases until she was 
hoarse, and her voice sounded like the croak of a raven.... 

McGuffin shook her awake. "Hey ... we're taking a breather and then having 
supper. Don't go to sleep on us ... go take a cold shower. It'll wake you 
up." Staggering in weariness, she got to her feet. She stood, swaying, as a 
torrent of seminal juices flooded down the inside of her naked thighs. Then 
she made her way toward the indicated shower. The last words she heard 
before the door swung shut behind her came from McGuffin; it was a 
compliment, she supposed, but she was much too tired to think about it. 
McGuffin said, with sincere admiration in his voice, "You know ... that's 
just got to be the hottest fucking pussy I've ever had. God, she's a real 
goer." And there was the weary rumble of assent from the other men. 

When Lydia got under the cold salt water shower, she discovered that she was 
crying ... and it was the weeping of a small, frightened, lost child a long, 
long way from home. 

 CHAPTER 10 

For Mike the entire affair was something out of an unbelievable wet dream. 

Here he was lying atop a circular bed surrounded on all sides of the compass 
by four of the most luscious nude women he could ever remember seeing in one 
room. Sue McGuffin was stroking his cock gently. Georgia had offered him her 
breasts, which he had accepted gladly. Carla and Phoebe stroked his thighs 
and played with his scrotum. 

He knew he was about to explode. The animal heat had been building up in him 
since his earlier unsatisfactory, but stimulating, bouts with Carla and 
Phoebe. He wondered about their teasing him-if that was part of the 
initiation. Then Sue had taken his hand and placed it down between her legs 
on her moist cuntal lips; she was so wet, so hot down there, that she 
couldn't possibly be teasing. He began massaging it, and was rewarded by a 
deep sigh from her. 

Georgia pulled her tit away from his mouth, she purred with excitement. 
"Your little ole tongue feels so good against my nipple ... just like a 
teensy-weensy kitty lapping up milk." She licked her lips, "I bet your mouth 
would be even bettah if it were used someplace else. I mean ... if you ever 
do that sort of thing ever?" 

Hansen smiled up at her, teasing her, wanting her to say it. "What are you 
suggesting?" 

Georgia fluttered her eyes. "Well, I declare! You know." 

"Nope. I don't know. Why don't you just tell us all." 

"You ninny! You-all know very well what I'm talking about. How about using 
that college trained little old tongue right here." She kneeled alongside 
and grasped the softness of her pubic hair in the palm of her hand. "This 
little ole thing right heah." she squeezed. 

"Why sure, honeychile, why didn't you say so?" Mike laughed. "Up north, 
we-all call that 'eating pussy'." 

Georgia looked at him in mock seriousness. "You-all promise not to let on to 
anyone? Well, down south we use the same term." She giggled, then became 
serious again-staring at him with an intense look. "Well?" 

Mike started to roll over toward her, but Sue said sharply. "No!" Then she 
took the sting out of her refusal by ordering, "You just lay there, big boy, 
and leave the driving to us!" 

Sue rose on her knees and raising a leg over him, straddled Mike's hips. 
Slowly, very slowly, she began settling down on his hungrily throbbing cock. 
Mike watched her, then felt his prick against her steaming cuntal lips. She 
spread the tight, hair-lined lips with her fingers, then settled a bit more. 
A grimace of ecstatic pain crossed her face, and she rubbed her vagina back 
and forth against the head, lubricating it with her own vaginal juices. Then 
she settled down again. Mike, lost in the fabulous wonderment of the 
spectacle and the sensations, felt his fevered cock slide in the tight 
elastic opening about two inches. Sue bobbed up and down, making little 
sawing motions that sent ripples of pure delight through his hardened penis. 
All three of the other girls were breathless and silent as they watched the 
huge cock slowly disappearing into Sue's clasping, fur-lined vagina. 
Finally, when there still was about four more inches to get inside her, Sue 
merely closed her eyes in rapture and with a small mewling grunt sunk down 
completely on it. God, Mike thought, what a feeling! Her vagina slid like 
soft melted butter down the length of his pole, and Mike could feel every 
twitching little muscle, every jumping little nerve in her voraciously 
devouring pussy. He felt the head of his cock touch and press in against her 
cervix. Sue did not make a movement. She merely sat there and allowed her 
uterine and vaginal muscles to do the work. For Mike it was one of the 
damndest, most wildly sensual things he had ever felt. It was almost as if 
there were hundreds of tiny little leeches locking around his penis-all of 
them hungry and nibbling at him with rubberized teeth. 

In the midst of all this Georgia rose on her knees and straddled his chest. 
She looked breathlessly down at him, and then offered her gently pulsating 
pussy as a tasty gift from the gods. 

Mike looked up at the overhanging cunt, wide open and ready for anything he 
had to offer. The pink moist lips of the vulva were shining from her heated 
vaginal secretions; the most amazing thing of all was a clitoris with the 
size and shape of a tiny cock. Even as he watched, it quivered with a life 
of its own. Never before had he had a cunt offered to him quite this 
sensuously. He took advantage of it, gladly, feeling an overwhelming power 
and sense of sexuality raging through his blood stream. 

Groaning, he cupped her full supple buttocks in his hands and pulled the 
naked pussy toward his face. Georgia squirmed and squealed as his teeth 
clamped lightly on the clitoris; then she moaned when he used his tongue to 
maddeningly encircle the tiny engorged nerve. She almost collapsed in 
delirious enjoyment when his tightly compressed lips encompassed the 
clitoris and began milking it as though he were actually sucking the 
miniature cock. He drove his tongue in through the vaginal lips and for the 
first time tasted the pungent nectar of her cunt. It was delicious; it acted 
as a powerful aphrodisiac to his already raging desire. He licked, he 
scoured, he lavished, he teased, he sucked ... all the while vigorously 
kneading her buttocks. 

Georgia came before Sue, cumming with a shrill Confederate War Cry of 
delight and release that could have been heard on the other side of the 
island. She ground her cunt down against his face; she attempted to bury his 
face between her rampaging thighs. All to no avail! Each time she sought to 
smother him with her voracious cunt, he used his teeth against the clitoris 
or drove his tongue deeper into her vagina. The bliss was too much for her 
each time and she was forced to pull away. Finally, trembling, and panting 
in exertion, she came ... and came ... and rolled over almost dead to the 
world. 

Sue, meanwhile, had continued her devastatingly sensual exhibit of the use 
of interior muscles. She was wearing though, and Mike could sense she was 
probably ready for the whole of his cock to take over. Sure enough, a moment 
later she began tentative little movements of her pelvis. Up and down ... 
around and around. Little movements that brought an inexpressible look of 
animal lust and sexual happiness to her flushed face. She moved up, up, all 
the way until only the bulging head of the sperm loaded cock was still 
inside her. The seven-inch shaft glistened in the reflected light like a 
silver-white column supporting two ivory globes. Sue kept it that way, her 
eyes closed and her tongue quivering restlessly on her lower lip. Mike 
pushed up and was rewarded by a low guttural moan of ecstasy as his hardened 
flesh drove in four more inches. He dropped back to the mattress, and 
slowly-like a descending elevator-her cunt slid teasingly down the shaft 
again. 

Poor Phoebe obviously was going out of her mind at this display, for now she 
had unashamedly put two of her own fingers into her vagina and was wantonly 
finger fucking herself. Her body quivered and shook, and her eyes rolled 
around with each inward jab of her fingers. 

Mike felt a difference in Sue, and he grinned. 

All his years of experience told him that she was approaching the ultimate 
climax. Her womb seemed to have expanded, her cervix had moved up and back, 
and her cuntal lips had thickened until they were no longer soft and pliant, 
but hard and almost inflexible. That tightening of her vulva had increased 
the friction against the shaft and head of his cock. He knew now that not 
only was Sue about to cum, but his own sperm laden balls were about to empty 
as well. 

He lay back quite happy to let Sue do the work if she desired. Her full 
rounded buttocks riding his prick up and down, up and down, as though she 
were riding a carousel, tossing her head wantonly from side to side, and 
unconsciously muttering incoherent phrases of joy. 

His view of Sue was blocked out by McGuffin's wife's perspiring face. She 
knelt alongside his right shoulder and looked at him with a lustful pleading 
expression. "Me next?" she groaned huskily, sliding one knee over his chest. 

Hansen merely clasped the softness of her buttocks in answer, and a second 
later he was voraciously tonguing deep between her legs, listening to new 
and greater moans of delight. 

Sue had become almost demented now as she sought her release. She bounced up 
and down on his prick, using straight jabs and rotary movements of her ass. 
Her breath came loudly, unevenly in deep gasping gulps of air. And then, her 
eyes opened until they were almost completely circular. She stopped all 
movement. Mike could feel the twitching and jerking of her vaginal interior 
muscles as the gigantic orgasm began racking her body. She moaned and then 
savagely impaled herself in one great slam forward-the cock thundering like 
a runaway express train through the wildly clasping tunnels of her open 
cunt. She moaned continuously, and her muscles milked and sucked at him 
until he thought he would go out of his mind. She was making him cum, the 
bitch! She was taking control away from him and making him cum like he had 
never cum before! 

McGuffin's wife had buried her cunt in his face, and it was with 
considerable surprise that he felt her vaginal lips milking and sucking at 
his tongue. She had already cum! 

And it was then, feeling his cock being milked like a hungry sucking child 
and his tongue being sucked by an insatiable vagina, that Mike simply let 
himself go. 

He felt his balls growing and straining inside their watery sac, felt his 
penis expanding until it tightly filled every nook and cranny of Sue's cunt, 
felt everything falling apart all at once. And then he was cumming, groaning 
out his powerful release like a snorting bull as semen roared to freedom out 
of its insufferable captivity, down the hot tunnels of his maledom, where it 
surfaced leaping with new found life into the waiting, eager womb of the 
McGuffin woman. As with so many females, the hot spewing liquid spurting 
into the deepest part of her womb caused a second orgasm to wreak its 
sensuous havoc throughout her whole body. She seemed almost insenseless as 
she rolled almost lifelessly away. 

Mike felt it all and loved it all. He felt powerful, alive, happy, 
contented! There was only one other thing he could ask for: Lydia! The 
thought of what was probably happening to her at this very moment perversely 
excited him again. But then he forgot all about that because Phoebe had 
begun impatiently jerking at his limp, deflated prick in an effort to make 
it come to life again. 

"Hey!" he protested, laughing. "Give the poor thing a chance to breath. 
He'll be okay in a minute or two." 

"Honestly, I can't wait, Mike," Phoebe said, "I'm going out of my mind." She 
bent forward and began licking the cum and Sue's vaginal juices from his 
cock. It felt tremendously and wickedly erotic, he thought, and lay back 
with his hands behind his head, watching her. His prick had already begun 
stirring when Georgia bent down opposite Phoebe ... and then he had two 
trembling little tongues working in harmony on his rising shaft and cock's 
head. He was fully erect within two minutes, feeling the warmth of Phoebe's 
mouth covering the head and her sucking, nibbling motions ... while at the 
same time, Georgia was making mewling sounds of pleasure as she cleansed the 
trunk with her tongue and prepared the well-used instrument of love for its 
next insertion. 

Mike later was to recall the next hour with a certain amount of satisfaction 
and a great deal of pride. Once he had cum, he no longer felt the urgent 
need of release, and so he was able to go from woman to woman-his masterful, 
all-powerful cock bringing them rapidly to their peaks and keeping them 
there, resulting in powerful orgasm after orgasm. Sometime shortly after the 
first thirty minutes had elapsed, Mike simply stopped trying to keep track 
of their climaxes; he had quit counting at an even dozen ... and there still 
was another forty minutes or so before they were to go knock off for dinner 
and the "general meeting." 

It was a very shopworn and exhausted Sue who called a halt to the 
initiation. Her weary voice announced, "It's almost time for supper. But we 
can go one more round, girls, if you care." 

Phoebe, sitting slumped against the wall, merely shook her head negatively. 

"Carla?" Sue asked, and was answered by a low moan from the girl who was 
turned on her side facing the wall. 

"Georgia?" 

"Honeylamb, my little ole pussy would just jump right out of my body and 
march away in protest if I tried to do it again ... without some kind of 
rest. My Gawd!" 

Sue tried to sound businesslike, but it didn't come off. "Well, then. I 
guess we should clean up for dinner." 

And Mike, looking at them, felt a great wave of affection go out to the four 
women. He loved them all; they were his ... and he'd been man enough to 
handle them. He rolled off the bed and stood, straddle-legged and hands on 
his hips, gazing down at their satiated bodies. Then, grinning impudently, 
he reached over to the oak chest of drawers and took a pair of sunglasses 
off the top. He fitted the nose piece just behind the head of his cock, and 
then took the still powerfully erect prick in his hand and moved it back and 
forth across the room. He said, completely straight-faced, "Look around, big 
boy, and see if we missed anybody." 

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the girls were 
giggling-crowding around him again, seeking shelter as they had done earlier 
under his wing. 

It was not until he was standing alone under the cold salt water shower that 
he felt his self-assurance fading and a strange sadness creeping in upon 
him. Once again, his thoughts had turned to Lydia ... and abruptly, he knew 
that it was-for all intents and purposes-over between them. If, indeed, 
there had ever been anything more than several beautiful moments shared 
between them. 

 CHAPTER 11 

Mike, standing behind the wheel of the Jolly Rogue, watched the dawn come in 
the east. First the mountains were merely black indefinable monoliths 
against the horizon, but then as the stars faded and the sky lightened, the 
Santa Ynez mountain range began to assume its individual characteristics. 
Beside him, in the pilot's chair, McGuffin snored loudly. 

The gulls swooped and soared playfully around the bow of the yacht, and 
occasionally their shrill cries could be heard above the muffled roar of the 
marine engines. 

McGuffin snorted and came awake suddenly the moment Mike entered the 
breakwater. He blinked, yawned prodigiously, and glanced at his watch. "Five 
o'clock," he commented. "You shouldn't have let me sleep so long." He stood, 
then put his hand over his kidney area and groaned. "God, I'm bushed. I'm 
getting too old for this sort of thing." 

"Maybe you should cut down on the length of the general meeting," Mike said, 
fighting back a grin. The so-called "general meeting" following dinner had 
been a classic production of debauchery that would have turned the Roman 
hedonists green with envy. At one point, all five women had been on hands 
and knees atop the revolving divan; their smooth rounded buttocks had been 
pointing outward. The divan was timed to stop for twenty seconds in front of 
each man. The women had squealed like a herd of pigs being led to slaughter 
as their rectums and cunts were soundly reamed for twenty second periods. 
The hole to be used was at the discretion of the male. Another time, Mike 
looked up from his energetic fucking of Georgia to gaze around the room; the 
floor was covered with writhing, moaning bodies. The entire orgy had lasted 
slightly over three hours. Then, satiated and exhausted, the participants 
had begun falling asleep. 

Because Mike felt relatively awake-compared with the others-he had 
volunteered to ride in the wheelhouse with McGuffin on their return to the 
mainland. McGuffin had turned over the wheel to Mike within seconds from the 
time the anchor was lifted aboard. 

Mike had welcomed the solitude and had spent almost the entire time behind 
the wheel thinking about Lydia. Except for the revolving divan episode, he 
hadn't been permitted to make love to her. 

Probably, he thought, it was just as well. He didn't look forward to telling 
her that he was resigning, but he knew it had to be done. He was getting 
much too involved with her. That's what he had wanted to do, in the 
beginning. Not now, though. She would destroy him, just as she was 
destroying herself. In the end, she would make a eunuch of him. This insane 
desire for revenge against her husband, Randolph: she couldn't be swayed 
away from that ... even at the cost of her self-respect and decency. He had 
known women like that in the past. Bad news ... always bad news, that's what 
they were. 

Now McGuffin reached across him and pulled the throttles down to 
quarter-speed as they entered the yacht basin. The Jolly Rogue slowed in the 
water, then coasted toward its mooring as the throttles were shut down 
completely. McGuffin let go the stern anchor, while Mike went forward and 
tied up at the buoy. 

McGuffin yawned again and scratched himself. He gazed sleepily around at the 
morning mists still hugging the water. The sound of a garbage truck grinding 
up trash came echoing from the shore. "Well ... another day, another 
dollar," McGuffin said, obviously not energetic enough to make conversation. 
He yawned again. 

"You going to wake up the rest of them?" Mike asked. 

"Nah ... hell, let them sleep," McGuffin answered, then turned to Mike. "You 
in a hurry to get ashore?" 

Mike thought for a moment. He nodded. "I think I'd better get Lydia back to 
the hotel. I'm due in San Jose this afternoon." 

"Okay, take the launch. Just leave it tied up at Freddie's Landing. Tell him 
I'll ship-to-shore him when we're ready to come ashore." 

Mike went down into the main salon where Lydia slept stretched out on a 
couch. He looked down at her naked body and tried to think what it would be 
like to wake up every morning and find her beside him. It was fantasy he 
could no longer afford. Wanting to remember her, he mentally took a picture 
of her as she was now-her lips slightly parted, a soft tentative smile on 
her face as she dreamed, and a golden strand of hair entwined like a 
necklace around her neck. Her breasts rose and fell gently with her even 
breathing. Yes, he thought, she would be something to remember ... always. 

He reached down and touched her shoulder. "Lydia." She came awake at once, 
and looked up at him. She smiled happily and reached out for his hand. Then, 
abruptly, as recollection of the night's events came flooding back into her 
mind, her expression changed. She closed her eyes as if to blot it out. 

"We're in the harbor," he said. "I'm going ashore. You want to come with 
me?" 

She shuddered. "Oh, God ... yes!" It was said quickly as she swung her feet 
onto the deck. She looked around her in distaste. 

McGuffin had lowered the launch and the loading ramp. He held Lydia's hand, 
all the while inspecting her. "God, honey, you were really something 
special. I'm glad you came to the party," he said, and then smiled at Mike 
and added, "You, too, of course." 

"Thank you," she said softly. 

"Ah ... we all will be up to Pebble Beach for that party you were talking 
about," McGuffin said, patting her hand paternally. "Looking forward to it 
on the twenty-fifth. Should be fun with an all-black outfit invited too; 
they're real swingers, you know." He beamed and looked as if the thought 
were bringing him completely awake. 

Lydia quickly went down the stairs into the launch, where Mike steadied her 
as she sat down mid-ships. She looked up and waved back at the Jolly Rogue 
as Mike opened the throttle. Then, silent and lost in her own thoughts, she 
sat with shoulders hunched forward as if she were warding off a blow. She 
stared woodenly at the approaching wharf, not really seeing it nor feeling 
the coolness of the morning. 

They both remained silent all the way back to the hotel. The first words 
either of them said came from Lydia when they got into their suite. "I'd 
like to take a shower." Mike nodded. Lydia turned to him and opened her 
mouth as if she wanted to say something else, to explain something, but then 
fell silent. 

When Mike spoke, he sighed deeply. "I won't be here when you come out. I'm 
going back home." 

She reeled back as if she had been slapped, a look of astonishment and 
bewildered hurt on her face. "You're what?" It was said unbelievingly. 

"I'm going back home. To where I belong. I'm resigning. You're going to have 
to get yourself another boy." He held up his hand as she attempted to 
interject. "No!" he said sternly. "Let me finish. Don't say anything until 
I'm through. Then go take your shower. When you come out again, I'll be 
gone." 

She blinked, and her eyes were misty. She swallowed loudly, "I ... don't 
understand, Mike. Why?" 

This was the part he had dreaded. He rubbed his face wearily, and sought to 
organize his words. "Answer me a question first," he demanded. "Are you 
still planning the big party?" 

She closed her eyes. 

Mike sighed again. "I was sure that would be the case. Look ... I'm not sure 
you'll understand what I'm trying to say. I want to tell you something about 
yourself. You operate from a base of hate. I don't know when it started, but 
it had reached its full bloom before you married your husband. You use 
people as objects of hate. You used me-photographs of me-so you could hurt 
your husband. You used yourself-last week and last night; you humiliated 
yourself, destroyed your self-respect ... not because you wanted to have sex 
with other men. That, at least, would be understandable. No, you fucked them 
all solely because you needed these people for a party. Is the party going 
to be held for fun? No. It's being held to hurt your husband. You're 
inviting an all-black-and on the basis of what I saw of them, a fairly 
decent bunch of blacks-to the party. You're going to use them as objects of 
hate. You want your husband to walk in and see a black man making love to 
you. That's your revenge! You've used us all-just as though we were 
expendable pawns. I have no doubt that right now you feel you're essentially 
a much nicer person than Phoebe or Sue or Carla or Georgia. I mean, in your 
mind they're just a bunch of swappers. And yet, there's this important 
difference between them and you; it's what makes them far, far better human 
beings than you are. You see ... they enjoy what they're doing; they enjoy 
swapping ... they do it out of hunger and love. And you, Lydia? You do it 
from hate, for reasons of your own ... you use us all for some stinking, 
petty, spiteful, little scheme of revenge." He shook his head sadly. "It's 
odd, too. You're a woman who can give of herself; you have a great deal to 
give. But I don't have time, or the passive character, to wait around until 
you come to your senses." 

Lydia stood penitent before him, the tears streaming down her face and 
splashing on the blue cashmere sweater. His words had seared themselves on 
her consciousness. He was right; she had destroyed anything that might have 
been between them. Her stupidity had done it! And the punishment while on 
the racks of passion last night was only a precursor of the long sad days to 
come. Mike was a good man. Much too good for her. She wanted to fall on her 
knees and beg forgiveness, but he had made up his mind ... and she knew she 
cared enough for him that she wouldn't embarrass him by creating a scene. 
So, when Mike said softly, "Now ... go take your shower," she turned blindly 
and forced herself not to run to the bathroom. 

She was on the floor, weeping silently a few minutes later, when she heard 
the door open and close. Mike was gone. He hadn't even told her, good-bye. 
Only then did she tearfully give voice to her terrible despair. 

Epilogue 

The summer had come, all hot and brassy, and then gone away. Fall and winter 
brought life-giving rains to a parched California, and now spring had once 
again cloaked the brown hills with green. A soft rain was falling as Mike 
left the company car in care of the Barrister's parking lot attendant. 

He saw Sam Coors wave at him from a back booth, and made his way across the 
room-stopping here and there to say a word or exchange pleasantries with 
various attorneys. 

"Mike," Sam said warmly, "it's good to see you again." 

"Good to see you, too, your honor." Mike grinned. "Sam, you don't look a day 
older than the last time I saw you." 

"Well, now ... let's see. That was over a year ago. No ... by George, I 
shouldn't look older. After all, I live a good, clean, healthy, wholesome 
and boring as hell, life." He cleared his throat and inspected the younger 
man. "You look different though. You've lost weight-look tired." 

Mike shrugged. "I've been a little busy." 

Sam grunted, "Yes ... I know. I've been keeping up with you in the 
Mercury-News and the Chronicle. Stories there all the time about Hansen and 
... ah...." 

"Hansen and O'Bannion," Mike said. 

"Ah, yes. Hansen and O'Bannion. The fastest growing industrial security 
agency in the U.S., the papers say. Just how many people do you have working 
for you anyway?" 

"About two hundred and fifty on the industrial side; twenty-five or so on 
the private investigation section. I don't have a definite figure, we're 
expanding so rapidly." He took a sip of his martini. "I just this morning 
signed a contract with the airport authority. That'll mean another fifty or 
so patrolmen have to be hired." He sighed wearily, and took a deep drag on 
his cigarette. 

Judge Coors gazed at him from under the thick gray eyebrows. He said, 
casually, "You've come a long ways ... since last year about this time." 

"Yes ... I guess it was largely a matter of waking up. I've changed. I 
stopped feeling sorry for myself, Sam. Stopped thinking about what I had 
become and what I should have been, and began concentrating on what I could 
be ... if I concentrated hard enough." He grinned wryly, "All it took was 
twenty-four hours of concentration a day, seven days a week." 

Sam asked, playing with a matchstick and not looking at him, "No time out 
for play? No love life?" 

Mike ground his half-finished cigarette out in the ash tray. He shook his 
head. "No play. No love life. No time...." As incredible as it sounded, it 
was the truth. There had been no one, not even for one night or one short 
assignation in a motel. No one since Lydia and that weekend in Santa Barbara 
almost fifteen months ago. 

Sam wagged his head in dismay, "I don't know what the young people are 
coming to these days." Then he dropped the bombshell, "Oh, incidentally, 
speaking of young people, I hope you don't mind: I've invited Lydia Donovan 
to join us for lunch." 

Mike glared angrily at him and started to rise from the booth; he was pushed 
back by Sam's hand. "Look, Mike," he said sternly. "I want you to listen to 
me. Think of me as you did in the old days-as a brother or father." He held 
up his hand as Mike sought to interrupt. "How long are you going to make her 
do penance? My God! It's been fifteen months. I don't even sentence some 
gun-waving hoodlums that long." 

"Sam, you don't know what in hell you're talking about," Mike growled 
unhappily. 

"Don't I? I know more than you give me credit for. I know, in spite of your 
protestations to the contrary, that you're in love with her. And she freely 
admits that her life is nothing, absolutely nothing-meaningless!-without 
you." 

Mike stirred restlessly, and the judge tapped the table with his cigarette 
case as though he were pounding the gavel in court. "Pay attention. Yes, I 
know far more than you could suspect. I know all about her infantile plan to 
get even with Randolph. She told me. Everything! I know the part you played 
in it, the photographs, the Santa Barbara hotel, the orgy on the Jolly ... 
the Jolly whatever in hell it was. I know what she planned to do in Pebble 
Beach with the Negro swap club. What you don't know is that she discarded 
that plan the instant you told her what she was really doing. I can relate 
to you-word for word-your indictment of her the day you walked out on her. 
She remembers it. She feels it was justified. I'm not completely sure that 
it was justified. You had no way of knowing then that she had already come 
to the same conclusion about herself as you had. She hated herself. She 
hated what she had done to the relationship between you and her. She 
recognized, instinctively, that you and she had had something special which, 
added together, made you both compatible to each other. You were able to 
talk to each other-as man and woman-and that's something valuable right 
there. You had other things, individually and collectively. You were good 
for each other." 

Judge Coors peered at him. "Just look at you today. You brushed against her 
for only a brief moment as time goes, but some of it rubbed off on you. 
After meeting her, you realized that if you were ever to win or deserve a 
woman like her that you would have to better yourself, pull yourself up by 
the bootstraps. She made you realize what there was to be had in this world; 
she made you stop feeling sorry for yourself." 

The judge looked down at his hands, inspecting them, looking at them as if 
he had never seen them before. "And so you know something? Some of you 
rubbed off on her. Since her divorce a year go, she's been working four 
nights a week as a volunteer in the Geriatrics Ward of the County Hospital; 
she hasn't missed a single shift during that time. Some of those poor damned 
patients have no control of their bowels or bladders. Lydia cleans them 
up-that's her job. She soothes them and comforts them. They're the children 
she'll never have now ... unless you and she ... " 

Judge Coors took a very deep breath. "I'll say this, even knowing it might 
mean the end of our friendship, Mike. Whatever reason you had for breaking 
with her, that reason no longer exists. You don't hate her, you never did. 
You love her. She loves you. You knew she was falling in love with you. To 
deny her and yourself the companionship and love and children you two could 
have together ... to do this thing means that you, Michael Hansen, are in 
the exact same position she was in when she wanted to get revenge. You are 
being vengeful! I know you're man enough not to let her money come between 
the two of you. As far as that's concerned, you'll probably be a millionaire 
yourself within three or four years at the rate you're going. So there's no 
reason why you two should not be together." He stood. "Here she comes ... 
you think about what I said." 

Mike looked up at the same moment Lydia saw him. She stopped, a look of 
uncertain fright ... and something else ... crossing her lovely face. For a 
moment, it appeared as though she were about to turn away and run away from 
them. Mike felt his throat grow tight. She looked thinner, far more 
beautiful than he had remembered. This was the face that had haunted him all 
those sleepless, lonely nights-a face that now loomed up out of the 
dreamworld passing into reality. As cautiously as some timid forest creature 
prepared for instant flight, she approached the table and waited for his 
invitation. 

"Lydia," he said, his swollen throat unable to say more. 

He saw the hot tears boil up in her eyes as, trembling, she held out her 
hand. He took it, held on to it. 

"How ... how ... have you been ... Mike?" she asked in a voice so low that 
it was almost inaudible. 

He nodded his head several times rapidly, not trusting his voice, and seated 
her beside him. Then he said, uncertainly, "How have you been?" 

She bit her lower lip and used the back of her hand to wipe away one tear 
that had begun running down her nose. "Do you want the horrible truth?" She 
gazed at him, the truth in her eyes ... the truth, her own being, her hopes, 
her future, all mirrored in her eyes. 

They were so engrossed in each other that neither noticed Sam Coors slip 
from the booth and make his way toward the exit. He stepped outside. The 
rain had stopped. Here and there the sun was breaking through the clouds. He 
took a deep breath, then whistling jauntily, he crossed the street toward 
his offices. It was, he thought, turning out to be a fine day after all. A 
splendid day-one he was sure he would remember for all the rest of the days 
of his life. 


THE END
