The Younger Sister
by Agnes Williams 


PREFACE 

Throughout the familial history of the world many great and deeply 
penetrating novels have been written on the relationship of sister to 
sister. The Author, in this all encompassing novel relating to this subject, 
we feel has over shadowed them all. He has delved deeply into the hidden 
psychological depths of the sister-syndrome mind and opened it wide to the 
reading public view. 

It is axiomatic that jealousy is the prime moving force in the sister to 
sister relationship but the author here has extended it one emotion further. 
He has added the finger of vengeance and illustrates how it can strike in 
even the closest of families. 

In this particular instance, the author has given us the case of a younger 
sister who has married her older sister's ex-love. This marriage sparks off 
an orgy of untamed vengeance that the world has never seen before. The 
younger sister becomes in effect solely a vehicle of revenge against her 
older sister's ex-lover and is exploited beyond all civilized reason. 

She strangely survives this attack upon her morality and beliefs and in the 
end arises above them all. The author has presented this poignant and 
stirring story with vivid clarity and insight. We publishers are extremely 
proud to present it to you the reading public. 

-THE PUBLISHERS 


CHAPTER I 

They were lying in bed, not touching. Which was an unusual situation, for as 
Tod Keyes was especially fond of declaiming, "There's nothing like having a 
little quickie in the morning to start the day off right, I always say." His 
deep laugh would then rumble out as he repeated this banality with 
monotonous regularity, accompanied by a fatuous wink and a sly elbow into 
the nearest listener's ribs, to the locker room boys following Saturday's 
customary round of golf. 

But then again, Tod was usually out on the links at nine o'clock of a 
brilliantly clear Saturday morning such as this one, not just hoisting his 
big frame to a sitting position in aggrieved isolation on the far side of 
forty-nine square feet of custom-built bed. With hands that trembled he 
reached to the night stand for cigarettes and lighter, got a cigarette 
glowing with matches finally rummaged for in the drawer after several futile 
attempts with the lighter and much cursing, and when he spoke his voice 
rasped from too many cigarettes and too many drinks the night before. 

"I swear to Christ I must be getting soft in the head to have let you talk 
me into this," he said bitterly. "Passing up a chance to play golf on a day 
like this, the first decent weather in a whole goddamn month, to--. " He 
squinted into a bright golden shaft of sun that suddenly knifed into the 
room as if a spotlight had been beamed through the window. "Goddammit it, 
Sal! Why in the hell can't you ever close those damned drapes at night!" 

He jerked back on one elbow, heedlessly scattering a gray drift of ashes 
over the silken sheets. 

"Jesus," he groaned. "My head!" 

The woman lying motionless at his side, eyes half closed as if she were 
almost asleep, stretched out a hand and brushed languidly at a tiny spark 
that had settled down between them. 

"Really, Tod," she murmured, "you needn't set fire to the house just because 
you've got a hangover." 

Through heavily lidded eyes Sally Keyes shot her husband a look of rather 
bored impatience. For the past ten minutes or so she had been listening to 
him work himself up to getting nastily disagreeable. She knew full well what 
was coming. Although she had insisted that he stay around the house this 
morning, the source of his anger and discontent wasn't merely missing a game 
of golf on a clear day because of that. 

Sally was by no means a calm or placid woman, an even temper certainly could 
never be counted as one of her virtues. In ordinary circumstances she 
wouldn't have hesitated to strike back in anger when Tod was so obviously 
trying to irritate her into an argument. Right now her restraint was more 
than admirable; it was suspicious. 

For despite Tod's accusing stare and his unreasonable, petty jabs, she bit 
back any further resort to sarcasm and waited silently for him to get to the 
true reason behind his anger. She didn't have long to wait, for her silence 
aggravated him even more than heated words would have done. After a few more 
nagging complaints he quickly dispensed with the subjects of golf and the 
weather. 

"Damn right I've got a hangover!" He got back to that, and went on, "Seeing 
the Taylors last night and them asking me again about the house ... 
practically begging to buy it--. Shit! They're a pair of real swingers, and 
to turn them down so your prissy little sister and 
what's-his-name-her-husband-can have a honeymoon. Honeymoon, yet! How 
sickening can you be? No wonder I got drunk!" he sputtered. 

There, it was out and he was off and running again. As he had been for the 
past week. Ever since he'd clapped his roving eyes on Ruth Taylor in a 
bikini, Sally mused. For a moment she almost wished she hadn't insisted on 
letting her sister and Mark have the house next door for the summer, but 
then in her mind's eye she pictured her sister's husband lean, rangy body 
with its hint of latent animal power. She remembered the strength of tensed 
muscle and sinew, the strong yet tender touch of his hands, and how she had 
sensed a wealth of strong, but unexploited sensuality on the few occasions 
when she had succeeded in maneuvering herself into his reluctant embrace. 

At the time of those boy and woman physical skirmishes they had both been 
twenty-one, but nonetheless with a vast difference in emotional maturity. 
Mark, remarkably inept, almost doltish with girls, was by nature so reticent 
and reserved as to appear lacking in warmth, cold. At twenty-one Sally knew 
all there was to know about the art of making love, although during the 
intervening years she had undoubtedly acquired certain nuances and 
subtleties that spiced her knowledge. 

True, then she had found Mark much to slow for her tastes and although he 
had cast admiring looks in her direction, so had a dozen others who were 
more fun and certainly not lacking in sexual boldness to meet her own hungry 
desires. So after throwing off the yolk of Midwestern propriety, striking 
out on her own in California and eventually marrying Tod Keyes, a compulsive 
philanderer in whom she had more than met her match, Sally had all but 
forgotten Mark Trenton. Until several months ago, when an infrequent letter 
from her mother, a good and pure lady who was thankful that the immoral 
Sally had settled down beyond the reach of contamination, had arrived to 
tell her the good news. 

Little Joan, her younger sister, was getting married. Sally didn't give a 
good goddamn about that and had scanned her mother's spidery handwriting 
with bored impatience. The letter was filled with barely disguised 
bitterness over Sally's disappointing behavior as compared to Joan's sweet 
and complaisant ways and sprinkled with gloating satisfaction over Joan's 
"good fortune," as she put the coming event. Sally was about to shove the 
pages aside in disgust, making a mental note to see that Joan got an 
impressive wedding present to show the old bitch (their mother) that the 
wages of sin weren't necessarily death, when 

Mark Trenton's name jumped out at her from the prim scrawl. 

When upon a more careful reading she discovered that her sister's intended 
(her mother's choice of words) was a man she envisioned now as an old flame 
of extreme desirability, she exploded with self-righteous indignation. 

"Well of all the--! I simply can't believe it!" 

She had spoken out with such vehemence that Tod, engrossed in studying the 
odds for Sunday's pro football games, had looked up with concern. 

"Something wrong, hon?' 

"Joan is getting married!" She made the statement sound like an accusation. 

"Your sister? What's wrong with that?" he asked, and his expression was 
puzzled. "Or is she knocked up or something?" 

Joanie, pregnant outside of wedlock? That little prude who couldn't tell her 
ass from a hole in the ground and probably still believed in the stork? 
Tod's suggestion was so preposterous that Sally let out a derisive hoot. 

"Wouldn't that be a bitch though-" She considered the idea with grim 
amusement but quickly discarded it. "My God, no. You don't know my mother, 
and she's tickled pink. And you don't know Joan, a shy scrawny kid with 
braces on her teeth-" 

"Oh, come on now. That was five years ago, Sal," Tod protested. "She must be 
eighteen, nineteen, now." 

Sally counted on her fingers. "Twenty-one. But she was god-awful then and 
after five more years under mother's thumb--! " 

She looked ceiling-ward with a pained grimace and an expressive lifting of 
her hands. But by now Tod was bored with discussing a homely dame and he had 
heard more than enough about Sally's fire and brimstone old lady during the 
three years of marriage. So he went back to his sports page and closed his 
ears to his wife's vocal wonderings. 

"What I can't understand is how in hell a kid like that ever managed to 
latch onto Mark Trenton. Even if he was a stick--. Handsome! like a young 
Louis Jourdan. And his folks were filthy rich. Why, every girl in town 
twitched like a bitch in heat around him. Not me, of course. Though I could 
have had him if I'd wanted just a small town-, " she broke off, seeing that 
there was no need to impress Tod for he was no longer listening. 

Had he been, probably he could have spared himself a good deal of 
unnecessary puzzlement for he would have immediately spotted the thinking 
behind his wife's adroit arrangements for the Trenton's honeymoon cottage. 
Cottage, hell; he was to snarl at her later. That house cost him seventy 
thousand to build, and he could have turned a nice profit with the Taylors 
instead of practically giving it away free gratis for two months to her hick 
in-laws. Two hundred a month rent! Jesus! Just because houses were dirt 
cheap back there in the sticks, any damn fool knew the frigging value of 
land in Southern California! Of all the hair-brained ideas--. 

Sally was to hear many variations of this theme because of a duty letter 
from the bride-to-be herself. In the rather stilted note Joan had mentioned 
that of necessity Mark had to come out to California on business for his 
father's firm. So they had decided to combine that with their honeymoon and 
would naturally at least call to say hello. The glimmering of an idea in 
Sally's mind was born right then and there and, when friends who were 
leasing the house next door on an option to buy basis were forced to move 
back to New York, it sprang to maturity. After much cajoling she persuaded 
Tod that it was no more than right to extend whatever hospitality possible 
to the newly-weds, after all-her only sister--. 

Naturally suspect at this sudden display of uncharacteristic sisterly 
affection, Tod's initial response to Sally's proposal was a flat, 
unequivocal no. Even when she altered her tactics to profess a great desire 
to show him and his accomplishments off, to prove the affluence with which 
he provided her, Tod knew exactly what she was trying to do. But here his 
ego was in such total agreement that he allowed himself to be persuaded and 
grudgingly gave in. 

The motivation behind Sally's offer of a lyrical-sounding base of operations 
was also viewed with much suspicion on the other, receiving end. Her mother, 
especially, cast a jaundiced eye on the whole idea, but it was after all 
Joan's decision to make, and for once she summoned up enough courage to 
follow her own dictates. Perhaps she was more timorous about starting 
married life in a strange place among total strangers (in a certain sense 
even Mark fell into this category) than she was intimidated by her mother. 
In any event, after a copious exchange of letters and telephone 
conversations, Sally's machinations were to bear fruit. 

At least that was what Sally anticipated as she lay beside her husband on 
his long-awaited Saturday and thought of Mark. She felt the past five years 
couldn't have helped but ripen him into quite a man. And as she studied 
Tod's prone nakedness with a coldly dispassionate eye, and heard his tirade 
approach the crux of his displeasure, she just hoped to Christ all this 
damned ruckus proved to be worth it. 

"Maybe you can run around bare-assed by the pool with a peeping Tom next 
door-and your own sister to boot-but what about me? I've got my reputation 
to think of," he said. "What if they entertain? We can't even have our own 
group over, and just when we had everything zipped up tight, nice and cozy." 

The "group," to which Tom referred with capital letters, consisted mainly of 
the three couples, actually down to two since the vacancy next door, who 
occupied the other houses in their secluded cul-de-sac street. Almost a year 
ago when they had moved to Orange Valley Estates within days of each other, 
Tod, as befitting his position of builder and developer of the project, had 
thrown a party to make them feel at home. And they had felt at home in and 
around the Keyes' house ever since. 

For during the course of that single evening it became evident they all had 
one thing in common besides an indigenous proclivity for golf, hard 
drinking, gambling and mild flirtation. The majority of young to middle-aged 
moderns who are drawn to such an environment like flies to honey share these 
interests, or at least hope to be accepted into this naughty world that 
quivers with undertones of the forbidden. Tod, Sally, and their new friends 
went one step farther. They took that way-out step at which others of the 
community only dared hint or wistfully joke about; they engaged actively and 
openly in a game of swapping husbands and wives. Their common denominator 
was an obsession with sex. 

Tod had started the ball of sex rolling at the welcoming party, which had 
rapidly progressed to a rowdy, drunken brawl. He was in the middle of a game 
of strip poker, down to his jockey shorts and cursing Beverly's luck. 
Beverly, a knock-out red-head and the most attractive of the new wives, sat 
beside him minus only her hose and slippers. While they were 
enthusiastically fencing with bared legs beneath the table, Tod grew 
increasingly eager and then restless with this childish game. With sudden 
inspiration he determined to dispense with the irksome preliminaries 
involved in getting a new woman in bed, the flattery, the teasing, and the 
surreptitious brushing of breasts and squeezing of thighs. When it was his 
deal he dealt out a hand of showdown, calmly announcing as if this were the 
only game in town that high hand among the men could take his choice of 
another's wife, and so on down the line. 

The game proved to be an instant success and certainly elevated Tod in his 
wife's esteem, if only temporarily. For Sally had thought him unimaginative 
and was delighted with his unexpected inventiveness. He could have told her 
it was nothing-merely that necessity certainly is the mother of invention. 

The group progressed to playing variations of the game, including wives 
choice, when Tod got his first crack at the redhead, and a combination of 
high and low hands which made for lively foursomes. When poker began to 
pale, they turned to such childish games as spin-the-bottle, drawing straws 
and blind man's bluff. On one occasion they drew house keys. This turned out 
to be somewhat of a disaster for Bill Stout, Beverly's husband. His mother 
dropped in unannounced and was scandalized to find her son in bed with a 
strange woman. 

Following this unfortunate episode a wrought iron gate was installed at the 
entrance of Orange Blossom Lane. (The name being a rather horrendous 
indication of Tod's fecund imagination. Next came Valencia Drive, Citrus 
Avenue and Honey Lane. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there are 
limits to what can be done with the nomenclature of an orange tree. Navel 
was a bit too camp, but Tod did digress to Tangerine before being forced to 
resort to such as Poinsettia and Ponderosa with even an errant Maple or 
Beech.) 

The gate was kept closed and locked from late Saturday afternoons until an 
indeterminate hour on Sunday. Extra keys were carefully given out to other 
couples who proved compatible. For the gatherings had evolved into a 
customary weekend ritual and somewhere along the way the practice of 
segregated twosomes was discarded in favor of group participation in the 
Keys' house. 

Reminding Sally of this now, Tod punched savagely at his pillow and leaned 
back, eyeing her sourly. 

"The whole summer is going to be ruined," he said. 

"Oh, honestly, Tod. You're being foolish." She had listened to his outburst 
half-heartedly, calculating him, waiting for his ire to expend itself. Now 
the faintest of smiles stretched her moist baby under lip and she wriggled 
up to a half-sitting position, allowing the rounded, abundant flesh of her 
breasts to spill free over the top of the sheet. 

"Jesus, now I'm the one who's foolish! Why--. " 

"Of course you are," she broke in, not giving him time to get started again. 
"There's no problem. We'll simply make them part of the group." 

"Part of the--! Well I'll be damned. Can't you just see me fucking your ugly 
sister?" 

"Don't be vulgar, darling. After all, you said yourself that five years can 
make a lot of difference." 

"Maybe so, but what makes you think that a straight kid like that--. " 

The rest of Tod's question died in his throat as Sally leaned over and 
kissed him on the chest, nibbling at him with her teeth. He made a grab for 
her but she moved back quickly out of reach with a bubbling laugh, 
determined to get the beginnings of her plan in action before Mark and Joan 
showed up. She pushed him away from her with a playful shove. 

"Why not?" she asked. "Sure she's just a kid, but that should make it 
easier. After all, a man like you ... You don't seem to have any trouble 
getting around a woman." 

"Well, I don't know ... It just might be fun at that." 

He looked down at her where the covers had slid down over the full curve of 
one creamy hip exposing a curling ridge of pubic hair, and his eyes were as 
scooping hands that kneaded and dug and played with her body. Beneath the 
start of desire she could almost visibly see the workings of his mind, they 
were so familiar. So she knew the matter was settled when he said, "And I'll 
make damn sure that Claude and Bill get in on the fun! Between us maybe we 
can teach the girl a thing or two!" 

Turning that juicy thought over in his mind he stretched his arms high over 
his head, pulling his ribs up and out and sucking his belly into his pelvic 
cave. A strip of coarse reddish hair crept up his middle and spread outward 
like two scarlet mittens over his tiny hard nipples. Sally moved closer and 
slid her hand down the ridged muscles of his belly, letting her fingers 
delve teasingly into the dense mat of pubic underbrush. She felt an 
automatic flexing in his groin as his penis gave a responsive jerk. 

Tod was a big man, bull-shouldered, thick in thigh and biceps, and as he 
stretched back he lifted his chin and gazed down at his rather awesome body. 
Sally's fingers were digging harder now at the-haired flesh surrounding his 
genitals and his prick was slowly swelling to massive erection, a gleaming 
white blood-tipped column. 

"Pretty good for an old dog, if I do say," he muttered hoarsely. 

He had stopped thinking of the weekend ahead. Conscious only of the hands 
now stroking his throbbing cock he closed his eyes and momentarily savored 
the smoldering excitement stirring his blood and churning like a heavy 
weight in his balls. For the two of them had their own little private games 
they got a kick out of playing. With Sally's aggressive opening 
preliminaries of this one, although he knew each seductive move by rote, a 
startled gasp escaped his throat with the first swipe of her moist, pointed 
tongue on the bloated tip of his cock. 

"Old tom-cat is more like it," she said in a muffled voice, positioning her 
mouth hungrily on the enflamed member. 

"Ahhhhh, God, it-likes that. . . ! " 

His nostrils flared and he spoke from between clenched teeth, then his mouth 
opened slackly as a tiny shiver coursed through his big frame. He felt hot 
and cold at the same time and a rash of goose bumps rose in miniature 
hillocks across the mottled flesh of his thighs and pelvis. His thick 
fingers worked convulsively at the sheet at his sides then flew to tangle in 
her hair, forcing his cock deep in her mouth. She uttered a choking gurgle 
but tightened her lips avidly around the rigid staff and he could feel it 
expanding, hot and throbbing, in the smooth softness between her suctioning 
tongue and the roof of her mouth. His fingers entwined brutally in her hair, 
he squirmed upward on the bed pulling her with him, to brace his shoulders 
against the headboard. In this position he was able to watch with lusting 
satisfaction as the full curve of Sally's lips stretched to a taut, red oval 
to suck with all their might on the instrument fucking in and out of her 
mouth with the rhythmic, thrusting motion of her hips. 

Her blonde tresses cascaded over her flushed face in a silken tangle but he 
could see her cheeks hollowing on the out-stroke and expanding obscenely on 
the in-stroke of his ramming cock. She then lifted her head in defiance of 
the punishing pull of his hands until the thick, turgid head was exposed, 
wet and glistening, almost to the very tip of the pulsing glans. Her tongue 
flicked teasingly into the tiny opening, delighting in the sticky droplets 
of seminal fluid oozing from the gasping mouth. 

He moaned aloud. "Oh God, baby, don't stop now! Go on-suck it!" 

Obediently she lowered her head in a reckless downward plunge, enveloping 
his hot rigidity far into the moist recesses of her throat almost up to the 
hilt while licking at the semen-drenched underside with her darting tongue. 
The lewd image of his white cock slithering in and out of Sally's gaping red 
mouth, plus the expert fondling of her fingers on his balls with teasing 
forays into the elastic ring of his ass-hole, was rapidly inciting him 
beyond control. Unaware that she was giving an added flip to her 
ministrations in order to hasten the proceedings on this particular morning, 
he was afraid he was going to shoot his sperm prematurely into the depths of 
her throat any second. And this game wasn't played quite that way. 

Sally sensed he was almost there and increased the tempo of her lascivious 
mouth and tongue, turning the work of her hands to grip the rock-hard stem 
of his cock and stroke the taut skin in a pistoning motion over the massive 
trunk. She was enjoying herself thoroughly and even so aroused by Tod's 
excitement that her own flowing vagina was a quivering mound of flesh close 
to climax. In the back of her mind she was congratulating herself on her 
cleverness when without warning she found herself flat on her back, arms and 
legs flailing the air. 

"Goddammit," Tod bellowed from above her sprawled body. "I didn't mean suck 
me off!" 

"I'm sorry dear," she said meekly, and then with rising passion, "but hurry! 
Ohhh, hurry, darling, fuck me!" 

But his urgent hands were already parting the lips of her throbbing vagina 
and she groaned in welcome abandon as she felt the blunt stab of his cock. 
Her whole body twitched and writhed uncontrollably and her hips arched to 
meet him. 

"Oh-yes, yes, give it to me," she gasped as Tod's hands slipped under the 
straining globes of her buttocks. 

She moaned under the delicious feel of the glossy, blood-pressured head 
probing with a fiery, tantalizing pulsation at the open and ready wetness of 
her cunt. The tiny contracting muscles in the fleece-lined lips were 
nibbling hungrily at the bulbous knob and it was all she could do to 
restrain a frenzied urgency to give a violent upward lunge of her tensed 
buttocks and sink his cock into the demanding depths of her aching vaginal 
passage. 

But Tod had regained a semblance of control and was once again playing at 
their love game, playing with her as a cat with a mouse, enjoying a sadistic 
pleasure that titillated his lust as he held fast to the tensing and 
hollowing cheeks of her ass. He delighted in the wild tossing and turning of 
her head, the panting gasps of rapid breathing that caused the pointed 
mounds of her firm, full breasts to rise and fall in agitation; to see the 
erect, hardened nipples quiver with an almost visible ache. 

He could feel his cock jerking impatiently now, throbbing with a weighted 
heaviness of the hot blood pounding relentlessly in his veins. Of it's own 
volition the angry-crimson head slowly began an insistent worming into the 
dilated lips of the moist, pink slit of her cunt. The soft folds of flesh 
seemed to be sucking at his hardness as avidly as the thirsty oval of her 
mouth scarcely moments before, striving desperately to devour the swollen 
length of his prick. She was struggling like a trapped animal by this time, 
trying to buffet her crotch against the exquisite instrument of torture. His 
fingers dug cruelly into the plump flesh of her buttocks, and he held her 
thus, despite the searing rake of her nails on his back, until he himself 
could stand the aching pressure in his engorged cock no longer. 

With a hoarse cry he rammed the long, thick shaft forward, fucking into her 
with all the strength of his hips and thighs. He could feel the wet, satiny 
flesh of her vaginal passage ripple back in waves of soft, rubbery 
resistance at the force of his onslaught, then the smooth, raw flesh 
enveloped his hot, bursting cock so moistly and fervently it drove him wild. 
He plunged his prick up and up, deeper and deeper into the warm soft cavern 
of her cunt, feeling the walls of her cervix graze the bloated glans-tip. 
The pressure on the pulsating head of his cock was almost enough to make him 
cum outright, but he withdrew with a slow, fluid motion, staving off orgasm. 

But Sally had reached the limit of her endurance. She was approaching orgasm 
and fighting to reach it, and her body became something not quite human as 
she writhed and contorted, every nerve-end shrieking out for fulfillment. 
She flung her legs wildly around his hips and pulled him tightly to her, and 
she skewered her cunt onto his cock with her madly pumping buttocks. 

"Now, Tod! Now!" Her shrill cry was almost a sob. "Screw me, harder! screw 
me harder!" 

Then their coarse, animalistic rasping pants filled the room, and the sound 
of flesh against flesh, of belly smacking against belly, crotch grinding 
against crotch. 

Much later, when Sally was drowsily luxuriating in a post-orgasmic glow, Tod 
startled her with a sharp explanation. 

"Jesus Christ! What about tonight?" 

"Well, what about it? I'm sure you can get it up again by then, if not 
sooner, honey." 

"Don't be a smart-ass. What about the gang coming here? What'll we do with 
Joan and Mark? On their first night we can't very well--. Oh, shit, I told 
you..." he sputtered. 

"Don't get excited. Everything's all set and the bunch isn't coming over 
until tomorrow. I've already spread the word, and since Monday is a holiday 
we'll have a day to recuperate. As for tonight, I'll think of something. We 
might as well get the newlyweds started off in the right direction, then 
tomorrow will take care of itself." 

Sally then rolled over on her side and curled up in a snug little ball to 
take a short nap. 

 CHAPTER 2 

The route to Orange Blossom Estates was boldly delineated in slashing 
strokes of red marking pen on the map of the Greater Los Angeles and Freeway 
System, along with the more impersonal printer's admonition to Follow the 
Chevron Trail repeated to infinity along its marginal borders. Folded and 
refolded until its original sharp and pristine creases were beginning to 
split like tiny razor cuts, the unwieldy sheet was propped against Joan's 
up-drawn knees. On one hand clutched to steady the accordion-pleated squares 
resting uncertainly on the rounded perch of her long legs, in the other she 
held Sally's letter. 

The pale orchid page of foolscap was, in Joan's private opinion, simply too 
much. Unconventionally large in size, as was her sister's stylized 
un-Palmer-like method with its circle-dotted I's, and gold embossed with an 
incongruous and too-cute letterhead alerting the reader that the missive 
came from the desk of Sally Keyes, it was impregnated with a sultry 
fragrance that no amount of airing seemed able to dispel. Joan's nose 
wrinkled in automatic distaste as her eyes once more consulted directions 
which, in addition to verbally duplicating the now slightly smeared, bloody 
lines and arrows on the map, included a description of approaching 
landmarks. These merely tended to be confusing as Joan tried to distinguish 
such items as an old adobe mission, now the setting for Genuine Indian 
Artifacts for sale, and a hard-sell fresh orange juice stand in the shape of 
a giant orange, which looked more like an over-ripe pumpkin coming apart at 
the seams in the blur of speeding landscape. 

They were also totally superfluous. Not only were highway markers abundant 
and clear preceding the off-ramp to Orange View Drive, but garish billboards 
advertising the development, their message emblazoned on euphuistic Keyes of 
such gilt magnitude as to be unmistakable, dotted the surrounding hillside. 

In spite of all this Joan was gripped by a peculiar sensation of shock, an 
inner shrinking such as one feels when abruptly confronted with the 
unexpected, when a suspended sign bearing the words "Orange Valley-Next 
Right," in stark-white block print on a brilliant field of emerald green, 
loomed up almost directly overhead. With a quick motion that spilled the 
outspread roadmap crackling to the floorboard, she slid around in the bucket 
seat to face her husband. Grey eyes bright with a mixture of anticipation 
and uncertainty, she was about to impart her somehow startling discovery to 
him when she realized the right-turn signal on the dash was blinking its 
relentless orange eye and he was deftly maneuvering a lane change in the 
heavy flow of weekend traffic. 

With his gaze fixed unswervingly on the road ahead, undoubtedly Mark had 
sighted the directional marker far back. Suddenly Joan was painfully 
conscious of having babbled with a nervous animation, carrying on a 
practically one-sided conversation of inanities for some miles, and the 
words died in her throat. She felt a twinge of self-contempt bordering near 
despair for her own ineptness as she stole a glance at Mark's sober 
countenance, then she turned back to the window to stare unseeing at the 
passing scenery. 

Mark Trenton was neither unresponsive nor uncaring as the silent, apparent 
indifference which led to Joan's tears would indicate. He was extremely 
aware of the momentary stoppage in her flow of idle chatter when she spotted 
the sign, also of the fluid impulsiveness that emanated from every line of 
her body in its movement towards him. From behind the protective shield of 
dark glasses, his eyes had dropped to stare in unashamed hunger at Joan's 
long, lovely legs. 

The quick squirm of her buttocks on the leather cushion had twisted the 
folds of her skirt, working the already scant covering up farther to expose 
a voluptuously rounded expanse of soft inner thigh. For a fleeting instant 
Mark had a swift, aching desire to reach out to her and stroke the 
tantalizing area of smooth flesh, to let his hand glide upward along the 
warm, pulsing surface to the barely concealed downy triangle nestled so 
temptingly between her outstretched thighs. 

In the space of a brief moment his aroused imagination ran rife. His right 
hand involuntarily clenched the wheel with such fierce pressure the knuckles 
bulged white under the taut skin as he could almost feel the silken tendrils 
of her pubic hair curling and clinging to the shape of his fingers. He could 
feel the delicious softness of her vaginal lips parting like folds of moist 
velvet to his touch, her cunt open and eager to receive his caress--. The 
glossy flesh expanding then contracting to entrap him, while a warm flow of 
mysterious juices from the secret recesses of her womb drenched his hand ... 
Then, the sweet tiny bud of her clitoris quivering, swelling to firm 
erection at the swift urgency burning in his fingertips. 

Jesus! He felt his cock give an impatient lunge in the suddenly unbearable 
constriction of material at his crotch. 

The loud blare of a nearby horn startled him from his erotic reverie and he 
was plunged back to reality, an icy shudder coursing up his spine. Realizing 
the horn's blast hadn't been directed at him, he self-consciously relaxed 
his grip on the wheel. The rim was damp and slippery with the sweat of his 
palms. His brain absorbed the fact that the turn signal was still winking up 
at him and for a moment he thought it must be stuck. Then the light went 
off, and he found he had completed the change of lanes and was automatically 
steering the righted car straight ahead. 

His fantasy had been so real it seemed impossible such vivid thoughts and 
sensations could have passed through his mind and body so rapidly. Yet as 
though it had never existed, except for a remembered heat lingering in the 
emptiness above the console which separated them, he was waiting for Joan to 
come out with whatever she'd been about to say. Her impetuous move had been 
such an obvious prelude to speech, down to a discursive intake of breath 
following the transitory silence, that he was mildly curious when no words 
were forthcoming. Immersed in his way-out imaginings he'd failed to notice 
her withdrawal, so when he looked towards her now, her sudden, quiet about 
face took him by surprise. Then, seeing the hint of dejection in bowed head 
and slumped shoulders, he sensed her pain and his heart went out to her. 

Un-like Tod Keyes and men of his nature who, though incapable of any real, 
abiding emotion, can summon the proverbial birds from the trees with their 
false mating call, much as Mark longed to comfort Joan with assurances of 
his love he was at a loss for words. For he was of a different breed, the 
type of man who has the added dimension of a deep sentimentality and ability 
to care along with a vibrant sensuality and strong sexual drives. And as is 
frequently the case, when this complexity of emotions became involved, Mark 
was woefully inarticulate. In the actual process of making love his 
subconscious was inclined to somewhat free him of this limitation. But this 
was neither the time nor place. 

Instead, he froze, inwardly cursing his lack of sensitivity. He blamed 
himself for causing Joan's dejection, for allowing himself to become so 
preoccupied with his own miserable thoughts throughout the day that he'd 
failed to recognize her interminable spate of pointless talk, so out of 
character, for what it was-an outpouring of nervous and unhappy tension. 

It occurred to him that to a casual observer their behavior would probably 
appear to be that of shy and jittery newly weds who were en route to the 
consummation of their wedding vows. He just wished to Christ that was so. 
But since they had been man and wife for roughly forty-eight hours now and 
he had taken his new bride to the marriage bed two nights ago, this was 
futile, wishful thinking. The kind of thinking that had ruined the past two 
days and intervening night, that had served to build an increasingly 
insurmountable wall of tension and misunderstanding between them. He felt 
the fervent desire to go back, but there was no going back, to the sweet 
beginnings of their first night together with the long hours of anticipated 
ecstasy stretching out like an endless bed of roses--. 

But the bed of roses had proved too rampant with thorns for ecstasy, and the 
night a disaster. 

Since then, Mark came to realize Joan was trying to make it easy for him 
during the remainder of the trip, in some intangible way assuming the blame 
for what had happened. But after the initial shock of hurt and 
disappointment had dulled, he knew the fault was his. In spite of this he 
hadn't been able to shake the disturbing memories that nagged at his mind, 
and her generosity had somehow only served to make him more unreasonable and 
withdrawn. 

With their destination but a few miles away he angled the low sports car 
onto the freeway off-ramp. As he cursed his inadequacy with words and was 
formulating a resolve to forget the past, he caught the wet shine of tears 
on Joan's averted cheek. The remainder of her vulnerability went through him 
like a knife. It hit him with such force that all resolutions were swept 
away in a flood of remorse, bringing a telescoping of images of his crass 
stupidity skittering through his mind. 

It chilled him to remember his own performance and he thought what a hell of 
a way to start a honeymoon! But then, he told himself perversely, if only 
she hadn't been so inhibited, such a damn prude! In a more rational mood he 
would have freely admitted this was an unfair accusation. 

For Joan's initial attraction had been her obvious lack of sophistication 
plus a paradoxical combination of sensuality and shy reserve. That she was 
also lovely to look at was secondary. Sally was not exaggerating when she 
said all the girls in town were after Mark Trenton. And if she remembered 
him as an inept, fumbling youth, Mark's recollection of Sally was of an 
over-sexed, aggressive and immoral young woman. Exciting yes, but far more 
frightening to an immature twenty-one year old who was just beginning to 
discover girls. He found it hard to believe Sally and Joan belonged to the 
same species, much less the same family. He had learned a great deal about 
sex in the past five years, including the disturbing fact that it was an 
effort to control an extremely sensual and sexual nature within the bounds 
of what he considered moral decency for an unattached man. 

After his third date with Joan he was madly in love for the first time in 
his life, and his inner battle became a constant thing from then until the 
time of their marriage, five months later. As with any two people deeply in 
love, at times their passion had almost reached the limits of endurance but 
Joan, when she reached this point a truly frightened virgin and the victim 
of an oppressively strict upbringing, had drawn the line at the last minute. 
Driven almost crazy with frustrated desire, Mark had been sorely tempted to 
resort to force. After all, he reasoned, weren't they about to be married 
anyway? 

Fortunately for him, for he felt if he had, she would never quite forgive 
him, his own slender thread of straitlaced morality had held him back. Which 
was why his actions on their wedding night were so incomprehensible to him 
and had plagued him ever since. 

After a drive much like the one today, with Joan's nervous anticipation 
somehow contagious, developing into an unnatural tension between them, they 
had arrived at a motel to discover that due to a mix-up in reservations they 
were forced to accept an inferior room. Looking back, Mark saw what he 
considered as merely a trivial inconvenience as the beginning of the whole 
trouble. Every fiber of his being had been waiting for this for so long he 
could care less if the bed were too soft, or the room too small or--. Oh 
hell, any goddamn thing! He would have been content to take her in a barn! 

He had a hazy recollection of saying words to that effect to Joan, whereupon 
she had immediately burst into tears. Although he would grudgingly admit 
that such things as an alluring setting for a cherished bridal nightgown 
were important to a woman, surely love took precedence over imagine 
trappings? He guessed he must have said this, too, for that was when Joan 
had looked at him like a small, lost child and retired to the bathroom. 

This was where his cursed inability to express his true emotions came to the 
fore. For her sake, he was equally disturbed about the accommodations. He 
had wished devoutly that every detail were tailored to her heart's desire on 
this so very special occasion, and he would gladly have given her the moon 
and the stars if that would make her happy. 

An old popular song flitted through his mind-I'd climb the highest mountain, 
sail the deepest ocean-da, da, de dum-there is nothing I wouldn't do--. 

And what had he done after resorting to sarcasm, making her cry, and then 
ignoring the silent plea in her eyes? Had he gone to the bathroom door and 
battered it down if necessary to take her in his arms and let her know he 
understood how he felt, that deep down he really wasn't such an arrogant 
bastard, that his heart was bursting with agonized love for her and not to 
worry, he would take care of her and everything would be all right? 

Hell, no. Angry with the management, the room, with her, and most of all 
himself, he'd slammed out and headed for a bar off the lobby and downed five 
(or was it six? About then some things began to get a trifle hazy) quick 
double shots of bourbon. At least he was sure they must have been quick for 
the full effect of the liquor didn't hit him until after he got back to 
their room. Joan was still in the damned bathroom and he'd paced restlessly 
back and forth until for some strange reason his legs had the feeling of 
India rubber, forcing him into the only straight chair. He had no idea why 
he hadn't chosen the bed and he remembered eyeing it warily, as though it 
might either collapse or take a notion to pounce on him, and thinking that 
it really didn't look so damned uncomfortable after all. 

Suddenly he was aware of a new silence in the room and he realized that the 
sound of rushing water emanating from the bathroom had stopped some time 
ago. Joan must be nearly ready for bed. Bed, he'd thought, he too must get 
ready for bed. Ready for his darling Joan as she was getting ready for him. 
That was when the excitement had started to grow within him. The alcohol was 
like a red-hot furnace in the pit of his stomach, spreading a warm glow 
through his veins. He removed his shoes and socks and got to his feet, 
noticing with detached surprise that while his legs no longer felt like 
insecure, wobbly appendages, he was having some difficulty with his fingers 
unbuttoning his shirt and unbuckling his belt and working at the zipper of 
his fly. 

And with every move he had felt the heat of desire building, building and 
mingling with the warmth of the alcohol, stoking the fire in his belly until 
they were one and the same, a suddenly riotous blaze raging out of control. 

He had been listening intently for some movement on the other side of the 
bathroom door. After what seemed an eternity of standing there, his now 
naked body feeling like it was being roasted alive in the fires of 
damnation, he heard the rattle of the knob. Joan's image sprang unbidden to 
his drunken brain. In his mind's eyes he saw her nude loveliness framed in 
the open doorway. Even though he had yet to see her in even a d'collet' 
gown, every sensuous curve of her body was vividly clear, from the high 
swell of her perfect breasts down to the dusky triangle of pubic hair 
nestled invitingly below her smooth-as-alabaster virginal belly. 

There had been a thunderous roaring in his head and the flames of desire had 
become a lusting holocaust in the rigid tower of his aroused penis. When the 
door had actually swung open with a slow reluctance as if pushed by a 
timorous hand, Joan had, of course, been wearing a gown. But a gown so 
ephemerally sheer, flowing from a discreetly high neckline to the tips of 
her toes, that it only served to enhance the nakedness gleaming from within. 
A gown designed to drive a man mad. He could still see her standing there in 
the doorway, her body more exquisite and desirable than any imagery in his 
erotic mind. 

Her eyes were demurely downcast, his name a breathless question on her 
trembling lips. Had she looked up then, Mark wondered wryly later, to see 
his inflated cock angrily cleaving the air, would she have returned in 
terror to the sanctuary of the bathroom? It wouldn't have deterred him, he 
would have gone through the door like an enraged bull through a matador's 
cape. In truth, suddenly he had seen red, the red haze of lust blinding his 
eyes, and nothing in the world had mattered but ramming his cock into her 
tantalizing flesh. Oh, he had taken care of her all right! 

A deep groan had erupted from his throat and he remembered hearing her 
startled cry, seeing her hands give a virginal flutter to the proud arch of 
her pubic mound. And he had reached for her, the last spark of sanity gone. 
Nothing existed but the torturous heavy beat in his cock and the answer to 
all desire beneath her hands. He had pushed her roughly down on the bed, 
ripping the film of her gown from neckline to hem with one savage jerk. 

"Oh, no, Mark! Please don't, you're hurting me!" she had pleaded in horror, 
but her voice was stilled by the savage crush of his mouth and the hungry 
probe of his tongue between her teeth. 

Expecting love, needing gentleness, she came to shocked realization of what 
was happening and began to struggle wildly. Against his madness her 
straining body was like a butterfly's caught in the eye of a hurricane. 
Enveloping her with his lust he had ravished her resisting flesh with his 
hands, digging his fingers greedily into the ripe softness of her thighs and 
belly, kneading the resilient mounds of her breasts until her cries of pain 
resounded through the room. 

Her sobs of protest had gone unheeded. His hands had fastened cruelly on her 
hips, imprisoning her helpless to the bed, as his head dropped to the 
succulence of her budding nipples. 

He felt his feverish brain had sensed an almost imperceptible lull in her 
struggles at the first touch of his lips on her throat. The tumescent 
nipple, quivering and swollen from the kneading punishment of his fingers, 
had seemed to blossom voluptuously into the heated recesses of his mouth. 
It's searing pulsation had goaded him to further madness, and he bit down, 
hard, his teeth sinking cruelly into the delicate breast-flesh around the 
teasing nipple. The taste of blood was sweet on his laving tongue. 

Lost in a demented frenzy of sensation, he must have relaxed his hold on her 
writhing hips for somehow she had managed to free one leg, and the next 
thing he remembered was a sharp pain streaking through his groin. More 
enraged than hurt by the jab of her knee at his balls, he had gone insanely 
out of control. It was then he fucked her for the first time. 

His hands were rough on her naked thighs, closing with a force that twisted 
the tender flesh and he had felt the warm sheathings of firm muscles as she 
struggled to break free. Her pleadings had turned to whimpers of fear and 
she gazed up at him with a pitiful, terrified disbelief. Beyond all caring 
for anything but release for his demanding body, he had thrust her legs 
brutally apart with his knees, and his hands had found the fleshy folds of 
her cunt, moist and palpitating, with fingers on paths of their own. 

Later, much later, when there was time and ability to reach back to that 
moment, he burned with shame as images of his final ravagement tortured his 
mind with mercilessly real lucidity. Try as he might to banish them, they 
sprang alive like flashbacks of an obscene moving picture. He could still 
see himself with a bitter clarity. 

His knees were between her thighs, holding them wide apart and his fingers 
were splaying the resistant lips of her vagina, prying open the sensitive 
flesh to ready the moist, cringing sheath for the urgent searching of his 
cock. Suddenly, with a quick grinding movement of his pelvis, his swollen 
rigidity had found it. For a breathless moment he had wedged the 
blood-filled head between the fleshy moist lips, gathering all his forces, 
muscles bunching and readying. Then, seizing her behind the knees, forcing 
her legs to bend and thrusting them double towards her shoulders, with a 
violent forward lunge he jammed the full length of his cock into the 
screaming depths of her cunt. 

The piercing shriek that exploded from her throat was like nothing human as 
she lay there impaled, writhing helplessly, as his rock hard cock pounded 
deeper and deeper into the warm, slowly yielding tunnel of flesh. Her 
straining hips tried to repel him but every movement defeated their purpose, 
only serving to force his rigid column deeper within. She screamed again, 
then the pain rendered her beyond speech, immobilized, the warm wet walls of 
her cunt enveloping his swollen cock in a tight clasp. 

After that initial, brutal thrust he had fucked her with a mindless fury, 
ramming his hot, bursting cock in and out of her raw flesh without mercy. 
Savagely he had vented his lust, until at last he emptied his sperm into her 
belly with an endless, chaotic release. Finally sated, drunk, and drained of 
all feeling, he had rolled off her ravaged body and fallen instantly 
asleep-like some insensate, primitive beast. 

He had awakened the following morning with a splitting head and feeling like 
hell, too fuzzy-minded to recall exactly what in hell had happened. He only 
knew his wedding night had been a fiasco, Joan's tight-lipped, accusing face 
was enough to tell him that. With the first twinges of memory his 
quite-human male reaction had been to ferret out some source of blame other 
than his own failings. Physically miserable, he had retreated behind a 
facade of irritated silence. Worrying at the past five months like a dog 
gnawing a bone, he succeeded in molding them into a period of pent-up 
frustration, all due to Joan's sexual inhibitions and frigidity. 

By the time the bits and pieces of his inglorious performance dropped into 
place, etching an indelible pattern on his brain, he was locked in misery 
and guilt and at a loss as to how to make amends. And despite the fact that 
he was aware of being unreasonable, as Joan began to make tentative advances 
of understanding the more uptight he seemed to become. God knows what Joan 
must think of me now, he worried. For he had suddenly turned into a stranger 
even to himself. 

* * * 

Since turning off the Freeway Joan Trenton had been thinking of Mark, just 
as she had for most of that day. The day before, following his lustful rape, 
she had been too bruised in body and spirit, too sunk in despair to think of 
anything but her own unhappiness. 

When very young she had dreamed, as young girls will, of meeting a handsome, 
thrilling man who would sweep her off her feet. He would know her and she 
would know him instantly, of course, and their love would come to the 
inevitable conclusion. Here her dream turned a bit hazy. She could picture 
the wedding all right, with herself a ravishing bride in white, down to the 
last minute detail, almost to the point of distinguishing her handsome 
groom's face. But after that all she knew is they would melt together as 
one. 

By the time she'd turned sixteen, an ugly duckling living in the shadow of 
her sister Sally's beauty, her dates and her boy friends, the dream had 
become more vital than ever. Then Sally had departed. (Joan had never been 
sure if her willful sister had been ordered out of the house or had left 
voluntarily. Depending on whose side one heard later, it was both.) After 
this her parents' general attitude, grimly unbending at best, had become 
even less permissive. Her mother especially, who could neither control nor 
comprehend Sally's wild behavior, never missed an opportunity to admonish 
Joan, in snide and oblique innuendoes, never to give in to the base 
instincts of fleshly desire. The woman had an inordinate talent, without 
ever coming out with a definitive word, for turning the act of love into a 
dirty word. 

Young Joan, shy by nature, more passive than her sister, had inevitably 
become inhibited and easily intimidated. But she did become better looking. 
Late in blooming, by nineteen-with the braces gone, adolescent problems with 
her skin banished, and her lithe figure rounded out to lush curves, she was 
an exceptionally lovely young woman. Although her infrequent dates had been 
sterile occasions and she had missed the early sweetness of boy-girl 
fumblings and skirmishes, she slowly became familiar with the glances of 
boys and then men. And she listened to the secret music of romance that all 
girls hear. 

She had also begun, subconsciously, to question the wisdom of her mother's 
words. Though shy and awkward with boys, she was at home in the murky, 
twilight world of books. Along these paths she had encountered Madame Bovary 
and Lady Chatterly and even Fanny Hill. Thus when the man, in the form of 
Mark Trenton, came along to sweep her off her feet, the inevitable 
conclusion in her cherished dream had slowly become a far more tangible 
ending. 

She had known him instantly, but that he should recognize her had been 
beyond even her wildest dreams. The first time Mark kissed her, his mouth 
tender and firm and thrilling, a warm, loose cocoon stirred, fluttered, and 
finally burst open inside of her, like a newborn creature she had been 
waiting for all of her life. She felt a new excitement rushing through her 
body from her lips all the way down to her toes. 

After their engagement, when she was deeply and helplessly in love with him, 
his lovemaking became more ardent. Suddenly the creature inside of her had 
grown by leaps and bounds until without warning, deep down beneath the Joan 
she knew, it had metamorphosed into an unknown stranger, a stranger of 
frightening yet somehow wonderful power. She was increasingly aware of the 
pungent, spicy elixir which erupted from this hungry spirit in answer to the 
fervent dement in Mark's caresses. There were times when it took the last 
atom of moral strength she could summon forth to turn him back from taking 
her completely. 

Although she shied away from facing this the other way around-giving in to 
him completely-it would have been equally true. It would have astonished 
Mark to know how close, how very close, Joan had been to surrender. That if, 
instead of taking her at her word, he had pursued her just a hair's breadth 
harder, the latent primeval force within her-not his own-would have 
destroyed her resistance. 

Joan was shy and inhibited and inexperienced, but she was by no means naive 
or stupid. Her wedding night had been a brutal, inconceivable ending to her 
dream. But after the first shock had passed and she had gotten through the 
next day licking her wounds and feeling sorry for herself, she realized some 
of the fault was hers. If she had given in to her desires--. But that was 
her own wishful thinking. 

Only after Mark had asked her to marry him-when she was seen and known at 
last and recompensed for all the years of loneliness-had she sensed a 
newfound freedom of sexuality. And she wasn't about to lose it without a 
struggle. He hadn't merely imagined the swelling urgency of her breast in 
his mouth. She was learning to know and welcome her own stranger within. 
What she couldn't understand now was Mark's sudden coldness and seeming 
indifference, his not even touching her last night. 

Beneath all of her hurt and bewilderment, as they rounded the curve of a 
hill and Orange Valley Estates lay stretched out below them-green and 
verdant, with tiled rooftops sparkling in the sunlight like a pot of gold at 
the end of a rainbow-she had begun to resurrect the dream. 

 CHAPTER 3 

"Son of a bitch! If that's your plain little sister, all I've got to say is, 
'Is there any more at home like her?' Jesus!" 

Tod was stooped over, rummaging through the bottles in a kitchen cabinet 
where they stored an extra stock of liquor. He straightened up holding a 
fifth of Crown Russe in his hand, his tanned face flushed and perspiring. 
Sally eyed him somewhat coldly. She knew that florid coloring wasn't just a 
mark of exertion for she was familiar with that slackening of facial muscle 
that drooped his lids and slackened his underlip to a drooling shelf. 

"You've already got her pants off, haven't you?" She tried to make her voice 
light. "And not so loud, they'll hear you." 

She set a plastic container of fresh orange juice-a damned nuisance having 
to squeeze oranges instead of just opening a can, but a pet insistence of 
Tod's since at least one fruit tree had been carefully preserved on every 
lot-and vented some of her irritation on the refrigerator with a smart slam 
of the door. 

Tod's amazement at Joan's appearance was nothing compared to his wife's. The 
younger girl's full-lipped flashing smile, proof the braces had been worth 
it; her clear gaze from gold-flecked, gray-green eyes; her long, straight 
mane of hair, neither brown nor blonde, that seemed to glow from within; and 
especially the long-limbed, high-breasted figure that Sally thought 
privately almost too good to be decent, had been a most unsettling shock to 
her. She didn't much care for other members of her own sex anyway, and 
recognized real competition when she saw it. 

"Hear me from fifty feet away?" Tod answered her. "Hell, and I don't give a 
damn if they do. I told you I wasn't about to let them spoil the weekend." 
As she twitched impatiently through the doorway ahead of him, he reached up 
under her skirt and gave her bottom a teasing pinch. 

"Anyway I've got a hunch we're going to have a real ball. Wait 'til the guys 
get a look at those young tits! Oh, man!" 

"Shhhhh-, " she cautioned, giving his roving hand a slap that wasn't 
playful. 

He lowered his voice as they approached the living room but went on in a 
sarcastic tone, "And you forgot to tell me what a good-looking stud you're 
old boyfriend is. A bit stuffy maybe, but after a few more screwdrivers--. " 

It took a woman's intuition to recognize the promise of deep sensuality in 
Mark. Tod, a compulsive adrenal back-slapper who had acquired a kind of 
laminated style of suavity which he drew on at will, saw no contest in 
Mark's casual and underplayed masculinity. And today in particular, Mark 
hadn't been able to make an effort to be more than passably agreeable. 

He had drawn to a stop on the crest of the hill overlooking Orange Valley, 
unavoidably impressed with the scene below. This reaction was exactly what 
Tod Keyes had in mind when, no fool in business matters, he had chosen this 
acreage with a comfortable nearness to L. A. as his most ambitious housing 
development to date. Even the most jaded Californian couldn't refer to it as 
a tract, despite the sameness of identical Spanish tiling on every roof. 
(This had been planned to blend in with the landscape and gave a somehow 
rustic view from above.) For with the exception of a few models in which the 
prospective home-owner had a choice of nine different styles, the houses 
were expensive, luxurious and custom-built. 

Orange Valley, once a seemingly endless grove of orange trees to delight the 
eye from the top of a country lane, now a parcel of land that has been 
tortuously rearranged to include its own man-made lake and eighteen-hole 
golf course and its sprawling luxury homes perched along the bulldozed 
hills, nevertheless had the power in its more commercial state to act as a 
catalyst on Mark and Joan's tangled emotions. They had paused only 
momentarily before being spurred on by the horn of an impatient motorist 
behind, but they both felt a sense of new hope, of being granted a second 
chance. 

Within minutes after their arrival at the Keyes' rambling, pseudo-Spanish 
house these hopes were somewhat dampened. Following an exchange of 
introductions that was convivial to the point of embarrassment to Joan since 
Tod and Sally were already pretty high, they learned their own house wasn't 
quite ready. The draperies were still at the cleaners, Tod apologized, so of 
course they couldn't possibly move in yet. He added a ribald quip about beds 
and windows that went rigid over Joan's head, then insisted they spend the 
night there. 

When Mark mentioned the word "motel" she shuddered inwardly, but he knew as 
well as Joan did that they couldn't very well refuse the invitation. A 
bitter disappointment lumped in her throat for she wanted desperately to be 
alone with him. Much later, too late for second thoughts, it dawned on her 
that since tomorrow was Sunday and Memorial Day fell on the following 
Monday, they were committed for the whole long weekend! 

She was coming out of a powder room off the hall, where she had lingered to 
admire the opulence of gold-leafed mirrored walls, crystal fixtures and a 
somewhat amazing leopard skin carpet, when she made the discovery that this 
enforced visit wasn't really so terrible. In fact, she was actually having a 
good time! On a sudden impulse before closing the door behind her, with a 
little giggle she stooped down and gave the bizarre floor covering a playful 
pat. 

"Nice doggie," she said then hiccupped. "Ooops, s'cuse me!" 

Suddenly the rug was hilariously funny and she was laughing so hard she had 
difficulty in getting to her feet, wavering slightly and hanging on to the 
doorknob for support. She caught a glimpse of her flushed face in the 
mirrored wall and noticed with a clinical detachment that her nose was 
rather shiny. Her eyes went to a commode lavish with cosmetics and cut-glass 
stoppered perfume bottles. 

Momentarily she hesitated then said, "Oh, to hell with it," to her 
reflection. 

The sound of her own voice, coupled with an oath however mild completely 
foreign to her in thought, much less vocal expression, startled Joan to some 
degree of sobriety. She had never in her life been even close to 
intoxication. A rare glass of wine at some special celebration at home and 
an occasional cocktail before dinner with Mark had been her very limited 
experience with alcohol. 

Sally and Tod had made considerable inroads into a fifth of gin earlier in 
the day but purposely switched drinks to the deceptively innocent 
combination of vodka and orange juice. With Tod tending bar, persistently 
increasing the ratio of vodka to a bombing potency, the afternoon slipped 
into evening with unnoticed speed as the foursome drank and talked, getting 
acquainted. In plain fact, they had settled down to some steady drinking. 

The vodka-loaded juice went down so smoothly Joan had no conception of the 
prodigious quantity of liquor now lulling her senses. Nor how much of Tod 
and her sister's don't-give-a-damn mood and their compulsively 
epithet-loaded vernacular her alcohol-clouded mind had soaked up along with 
the drinks. At the involuntary phrase of defiance which fell so strangely 
from her lips came the brief flash of insight she must be getting pretty 
high-un-like her and definitely not a lady-like thing to do. But what a 
delightful feeling! 

Mark was rather drunk, yet still lucid enough to know it. Sober enough to 
recognize in Sally the quite obvious machinations-intended-to-incite which 
she had been pursuing with a growing intensity. Drunk enough to swing along 
with her script to a certain extent. He felt a curious ambivalence, a 
sardonic amusement at her sex play and an undeniable sensation of 
pleasurable titillation. But why not, he thought. They all were relaxed, 
enjoying a social get-together. Nothing could come of it anyway-and he was 
relieved to see Joan loosen up and have some fun. God knew she deserved it! 
And when she went to bed with him later, with the tension-releasing effects 
of a few drinks--. And he sure as hell wouldn't louse things up again--. 

Marks's reverie was interrupted by Tod and Sally's return from their trip to 
the kitchen to replenish the bar. After their private exchange of words Tod 
set about mixing fresh drinks with an increased determination. 

When Joan rejoined the group a few seconds later he pressed a tall, frosted 
glass in her hand which she might have noted, had she been more aware, was 
decidedly clear, barely tinged with a blush of orange. 

"You must think I'm a rotten host! I've let it get dry as hell around here. 
C'mon Joanie, drink your nourishment," he ordered. 

"Tod, I really shouldn't...." 

Joan's protest was rather feeble. She glanced over to where Mark and Sally 
were sitting close together on the sofa, intimately, cheeks almost touching, 
laughing softly as at some private joke. Then her eyes met Tod's, warm 
visual caress that was an extremely flattering ego-booster. As his admiring 
attentiveness had been all afternoon. Oh hell, she decided-and this time the 
word slipped out unnoticed-why not? 

"Baby, a little juice of the old orange never hurt anybody," Tod coaxed. 

He stood beside her, urging the hand holding the glass with a firm pressure 
of his own fingers wrapped around hers. As his arm suddenly encircled her 
waist his free hand brushed gently but firmly over the soft swell of one 
rounded breast. Joan felt the teased nipple spring to a lively excitement 
with such swift urgency that she gasped and felt her throat go dry. Scarcely 
aware of what she was doing she allowed him to guide the glass to her lips 
and drank thirstily, downing its entire contents in one long, shuddering 
gulp. 

She drew back, fighting for breath, into the steadying tightness of his 
embrace as the harsh liquor plummeted like a streak of white heat to the pit 
of her stomach. Almost instantly she felt its exhilarating glow spread 
through her body, invading her limbs with a strange lassitude. 

The resilient softness of the lush curves of breast and thigh melted into 
his muscular strength as she sagged weakly against him, her senses whirling 
with a free and easy numbness which was rather delicious. His voice seemed 
to come from far away, whispering, "That's a good girl, easy does it now. 
Drink it all down, honey. Ahhh, that's the way." 

Somewhat mystified, for the frozen sting of ice on her lips as she'd drained 
the other glass still lingered, but too bemused to understand what Tod was 
doing, she sipped obediently at the fresh drink she found in her hand. This 
time the liquor was no longer raw in her throat but tasted pungently 
pleasant, and it had the effect of speeding up her senses, dispelling the 
languor and sending the blood rushing hotly through her veins. Relaxed in 
his embrace she could feel a quivering tautness in Tod's sinewy frame. His 
moist lips were pressed against her ear, his breath fanning the sensitive 
opening with hot, ragged gasps. A shiver chilled her spine but suddenly she 
was burning up; trembling like one in a fever chill. She downed the 
remainder of the vodka quickly, attempting to cool the fire raging within 
her, and she reached blindly to set the glass on the bar. As from a great 
distance she heard a dull thud and tinkle of ice cubes as it fell to the 
thick carpet from her shaking fingers. 

With a new, heightened awareness she realized that Tod's arm around her 
waist had tightened to a vise-like grip, but still she leaned helplessly 
against him, powerless to move. She was locked in immobility by the chains 
of alcohol weighing her down. And something else. The sluggish sensation of 
heaviness that bubbled up like molten lava from the very depths of her womb, 
spreading with a slow, inexorable intensity to the nerve-centered mouth of 
her vagina. She was conscious of a warm moisture gathering there and her 
entire body felt full, ripe to bursting. 

Completely lost in the sea of sensuous arousal burgeoning in her loins, Joan 
had barely sensed the light, kneading pressure of Tod's fingers working in 
the soft flatness of her belly, kneading and stroking and moving downward. 
Pausing to savor the high, rounded protuberance of her pubic arch and 
delighting in their knowing exploration as if they had a life of their own. 

He had shifted his position adroitly to where he was now standing almost 
directly behind her; her relaxed, passive body cradled in the encompassing 
shelter of both arms. As one hand teased at the silky, jutting muff of pubic 
curls under the scant protection of filmy dress and panties, the other slid 
from her slender waist to the soft plumpness at the underside swell of an 
outthrust breast. He allowed it to hesitate briefly in the warm, convex 
hollow between rib and breast, the full, resilient globe pulsating in his 
itching palm with the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. 

A sensuous man, Tod was getting a lascivious kick from his furtive, wanton 
exploration of Joan's luscious curves. Having fucked Sally twice more since 
their little "quickie" that morning, he was now in no hurry and in a mood to 
enjoy this lust-inciting, surreptitious preliminary. He knew full well that 
Joan had been hit hard by her rapid consumption of the lethally strong 
potions of vodka, and the degrading, intoxicated reliance of such a pristine 
and unsuspecting girl on his strength gave him a sadistic satisfaction. But 
in a matter of moments the sexual stimulation of Joan's young, exciting body 
pressed so tantalizingly close proved too great a provocation. 

The hand toying almost imperceptibly with her breast suddenly cupped the 
succulent mound with a fierce, bruising pressure that squeezed the soft, 
thinly covered flesh until tortured, fleshy ridges ballooned out from 
between his punishing fingers. 

The electric shock of pain roused Joan jarringly from her sensuous, 
alcoholic euphoria. Yet for an infinitesimal, breathless instant, she was 
aware of wild, lusting surge of response to the demands of Tod's savage 
urgency. Every fiber of her being cried out with her own desperate, 
frustrated need. The maddening rage of desire that consumed her body with an 
uncontrollable fury was like nothing she had ever known and the stranger 
within had become a maniacal, lusting demon. 

The lush, flowing lines of her body no longer leaned weakly against him. 
They thrust with a tensed hunger, passionate and eager, into his masculine 
bulk. His inflated cock sank into the deep crevice between her buttocks and 
the warm furrow contracted on his swollen hardness as if trying to devour it 
into her very bowels. And the soft, flattened cheeks of her ass gyrated 
lewdly back against the twin peaks of his pelvis bone, inciting his probing 
cock to a hot, throbbing pulsation jerking wildly in the imprisoning walls 
of writhing muscle. 

Under the strength of his hand, in the wake of an initial, reflexive 
withdrawal, her aching breast soared voluptuously into his clasp of its own 
volition. The resilient flesh burned with a feverish glow from within, the 
turgid nipple boring into his palm with a searing heat. With a pounding 
exultation the swelling breast transmitted the thunderous beat of her heart 
to his kneading fingers. 

Caressing the protrusion of flesh beneath the supple curve of her belly, he 
felt a swift undulation as though a silent, lusting shout had erupted from 
within the darkest depths of her womb. His fingers dug convulsively into the 
inviting mound, feeling the silken tendrils of pubic hair lick teasingly at 
his skin through the thin fabric. 

He sensed rather than felt the sudden slump of her buttocks and the 
spreading motion of her thighs. Then his hand at her crotch scrabbled 
furiously at the obstruction of her skirt. With an incoherent oath, as his 
hot, bursting prick threatened to cleave the chafing tautness of material at 
his own crotch, he managed to clear a path to the narrow band of soaked lace 
that clung to her vaginal slit. An invading finger snaked under the filmy 
covering and wormed its way into the moist, fleshy warmth of her cunt. The 
satiny sheath was fantastically thrilling, wet and open and ready. He could 
feel a quivering contraction of the smooth, soft lips, and then--. 

The lightning movement of Joan's body was so rapid and so completely 
unexpected that Tod Keyes didn't even realize what was happening. In one 
exciting moment Joan had burst into a pillar of flaming desire in his arms. 
In the next she stood facing him, backed up against the bar and staring 
wildly around her like a frightened animal at bay. And he found himself 
sprawled out full length in a chair, with his aroused cock thumping angrily 
against his thigh, staring up at her stupidly in shocked surprise. 

"Mark, where's Mark?" Her voice was thick and she swayed drunkenly. 

She peered about the room with the glazed expression of one who is not only 
very drunk but also at the brink of hysteria. Tod was far from sober 
himself, but despite a feeling of frustrated rage, he was not so far gone 
that he didn't know when to quit. 

"Mark and Sal just went to the store after more ice," he assured her. 
"Nothin' for you to get excited about." 

The placating words were barely out of his mouth when Sally entered the 
room, followed by a very unsteady Mark. He made for the sofa like he was 
walking on eggs, sat down very carefully, and then fell back heavily on the 
cushions. With a deep sigh he closed his eyes. 

Sally had gone to the bar and was making them all a drink, but by the time 
she turned to offer one to Mark he had passed out like a light and was 
snoring softly. 

Joan, in an alcoholic daze, not even certain if the emotional upheaval in 
Tod's embrace had been reality or erotic fantasy, allowed her sister to lead 
her upstairs to bed, leaving Mark in a stuporous sleep on the living room 
couch. 

 CHAPTER 4 

He stirred restlessly in his sleep, unconsciously attempting to shake off 
the crawling thing that fluttered lightly but persistently at his chest. The 
movement was at first an annoying irritation, threatening to rouse him from 
a warm cocoon of dreamless, narcotic slumber. Then, as it ceased its 
pointless wanderings and settled down to a uniform, circling massage of his 
pectoral muscles, it became narcissistically pleasurable. His body relaxed. 

Mark stirred again, but this time with the languid, sinuous writhing of a 
cat that is luxuriating in his mistress' caress. Kneeling at his side Sally 
paused to admire the rippling muscle and sinew of his bared, strong chest. 
She brushed over the downy-haired surface around the hard nipple-buds with a 
fleeting whisper of her lips and then leaned back. 

With a sharp intake of breath she returned quickly to the ministrations of 
her hands on his belly. She could feel the firm, flat web of muscle there 
begin a reflexive undulation under her kneading fingers, and she felt a 
faint arching of his back to meet her touch. 

After unbuttoning Mark's shirt she had begun her explorations of arousal 
with a slow, avid determination, but now she increased the firmness of her 
stroke, so that each long pressure of her fingers dug more deeply into the 
flexing muscles of his belly. And with each long stroke her hands moved 
downward, an insistent inch or two, along the trail of dark fuzz that led to 
the thickening underbrush at his groin. 

As Mark felt himself being slowly drawn back to foggy-minded consciousness 
he struggled vainly against waking, longing to stay in the sweet depths of a 
sensuous oblivion. He lay dozing in the half-world between waking and 
sleeping, trying to hang on to the dream that had stirred his body to a 
voluptuous impulse of desire. A definitely phyiscal, hot-blooded surge of 
his prick made him aware that, dream or no, he had an erection. He reached 
down to ease the position of the swollen bulge in his pants and was startled 
to bewildered wakefulness when he discovered someone had already beaten him 
to it. 

"What in hell!" he muttered thickly. 

"You don't like? Ah, c'mon darling, who are you trying to kid? If this big, 
beautiful cock of yours isn't all ready to fuck, then little Sally doesn't 
know one when she sees it," she giggled softly. "And I've seen plenty of 
stiff pricks, believe me!" 

Tod shook his head, as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard. But the lewd 
words, falling with a husky lasciviousness from the tender curve of his own 
young wife's sister's lips, acted as a bizarre sexual stimulant that was 
somehow as exciting as the teasing caress of her fingers in his pubic hair. 
His eyes flew open and through the alcoholic fog he saw her crouched over 
him in gleaming nakedness. He started to lift himself up, but this brought 
his chest in burning contact with her bared breasts, and he fell back with a 
groan. 

She leaned toward him and moved her ripe body sinuously, titillating him, 
the erect nipples of her full breasts tracing crisscross patterns on his 
chest. The touch of her teasing nipple-tips sent such a rushing torrent of 
hot blood pounding into his prick that he was struck with a sudden horror. 
This was mad, insane! His own wife's sister-it was practically incest! But 
with a will of their own his hands flew eagerly to capture the tantalizing 
globes of needle-pointed flesh that were driving him crazy, and he pulled 
and kneaded at her breasts until the distended nipples were a throbbing 
pulsation in his strumming fingers. 

He felt as if he were two Mark Trenton's, as if he had split into two men 
who could not communicate with each other. One watched it all, shamed by it, 
made wretched by this compulsion and wracked by the awareness of guilt, the 
way a child, in the midst of some private act it thinks evil, will yearn to 
stop and cannot. The other Mark stroked Sally's lush breasts and took a hard 
joy in releasing his savage need. 

As his fondling of the tender flesh intensified to a bruising force Sally 
gasped. 

"Ohhh-, take it easy," she said breathlessly. "Mark! You're hurting me!" 

With shocking abruptness the sharp exclamation came like an echo of Joan's 
tortured cry, and the sound of her voice reverberated with a 
conscience-strickening roar in his ears. As if he'd unguardedly grabbed a 
red-hot template, he let go the plump breast-flesh and fell back, plagued by 
a weird mixture of desire and the memory of desire. 

Why couldn't it be Joan, offering herself to him with such trembling, naked 
urgency instead of her sister?" 

Once again he longed to will himself across the barrier of the past two 
days, to hold her in his arms, to take and possess that loveliness 
completely, utterly, to make love with exultancy, with joy and with savage 
abandon yet with new tenderness, and to bring her quickly to ecstasy, 
knowing in the instant of mutual fulfillment that at least part of his 
pleasure was the certainty of hers. And later with the renewal of passion, 
slowly this time, gently and now without urgency, to stir the deeper depths 
in both so that this time, this time they would come together, merge with 
minds dissolved in one another, all inhibitions gone and all singleness lost 
in total accord. 

The moment was suspended, a dazzling anticipation shadowed by regret. Why 
the hell had he been such a damn fool ? What was he doing here ? Drunk 
and--. 

Then all conscious choice was gone. He was quivering all over and his blood 
was raging again. Sanity was lost in Sally's purring voice saying, "Mmmmmm, 
foolish man, don't stop ... you've got me so hot ... here, feel--. " 

Lost in the touch of her hands, the hot softness of her body and his own 
body's eager response, mind drunkenly blanked in lusting, animal arousal. 

Her mouth came down on his, hard and demanding and tasting faintly of gin, 
her tongue searching with a swift, hungry pressure. He felt her hands 
tugging at his shoulders, at his shirt, as his tongue fenced avidly with 
hers. His loins were aflame, consumed with fiery blasts that swept through 
his whole body and he was trying to draw her up on top of him, but he seemed 
to be a frustrating tangle of legs and arms. 

Suddenly his frantic fumbling drew them both off balance and he found 
himself sprawled on the floor. The nylon carpeting was a firm bristle on his 
naked back, beneath his shoulders and thighs--. Only then was he groggily 
aware that he'd been stripped down to his shorts. For a moment he sighted 
down the sweat-glistening length of his body with blank astonishment, noting 
the towering protuberance standing out like a white sail from the broadcloth 
bisecting his middle. 

"Lie still, darling, for a minute. Let me finish what I started." 

Sally's voice was a heated whisper in his ear and the pulsing in his shorts 
became a vibrant ache. Turning his head, he feasted his eyes on her ripe 
curves. She was lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, only inches 
away. The sight of her full breasts, the heavy weight of one cherry-tipped 
mound caressing the other, the sharp indentation of the swelling rise of 
rounded hip and thigh sloping into the luxuriant triangle at the base of her 
belly, fired circles of sensation from the top of his skull to the pit of 
his stomach. 

Her head lolled, heavy, sleepy, on her slender neck, but her eyes were alive 
with an aquamarine brilliance, alive with a sensual hunger. Every pore of 
her smooth skin seemed open, exuding a womanly essence of invitation, and 
there were tiny, almost imperceptible movements, small rolling pulsations of 
belly, hip and thigh. 

An impulse to grab out blindly for the tempting flesh was desperate. But 
somehow he waited almost in spite of himself for her to make the next move, 
obeying her request to be still as if he were bound by a humid, hypnotic 
spell. She was mouthing words, uttering singsong obscenities of love, and 
her lips, wet-shining, seemed to swell as she spoke. But he heard only a 
fuzzy droning like the summer sound of bees. 

His feverish thoughts were centered on the massive erection of his penis. It 
felt like a balloon inflated with a gaseous, volatile substance, stretched 
to the bursting point and threatening to ignite and explode with his very 
next breath. The swollen bulge strained upward with such a pounding force 
that the light material of his shorts was a harshly abrasive, almost 
unbearable, construction. 

Without warning he felt a sudden rushing coolness of air, gentle and 
searing, on the enflamed, bloated head, as his prick swung free, reaching 
ceiling-ward with an excited lunge. Whether an action of his own burning 
impatience or one of Sally's demanding passion was responsible for this 
welcome release, he neither knew nor cared. He was conscious only of a giddy 
lightheadedness, a mindless easement, as the heavy weight of his cock 
thrilled to this new freedom. It rent the air like an uncoiled spring and he 
flexed his loins with sensual relief, fibers of the deep-pile carpeting 
digging into the hollows of his muscle-tensed buttocks with minute 
bristle-fingers. 

Then her hand fastened on his swollen flesh, holding him in a firm but 
trembling grip that bespoke her own impatient desire. The sudden touch of 
her fingers, soft and cool on his hot, bursting prick, roused a chill of 
excitement that spiraled wildly through the distended organ, from the 
outmost tip of the open, viscous glans to its dark, hairy base. A deep 
groaning gasp, like he had been punched in the pit of his stomach, welled up 
in his throat. His mouth sucked for air and a convulsive shudder shook his 
frame. 

In that prolonged, shuddering moment he felt himself sinking into a 
bottomless quicksand of atavistic, animal lust. Her grip had tightened on 
his prick, and she squeezed it between her thumb and the tips of her 
fingers. She rotated the taut skin over the thick, sinewy staff as though 
trying to absorb the aroused touch and feel of him, to assimilate the very 
life of his pulsing cock through the receptive pores of her fingertips. Then 
the movement of her strong caress switched abruptly to a hard, rhythmical 
stroking. 

His hips jerked up automatically to receive the pistoning motion, so 
delicious and so very necessary to the tumescent extension of his growing 
desire. He gritted his teeth and dug his heels into the carpet, feeling his 
prick grow into an endlessly expanding, ravenous snake in her pummeling 
fist. Her hand slithered up and down the rigid length of his cock smoothly, 
lubricated to fluid ease with the wet, sticky moisture emitted fitfully from 
its tiny, gasping mouth. When one teasing finger streaked out to his balls, 
he felt the blood roil within as her nail scraped sharply on the furred sac 
and he moaned aloud with the pleasure of sweet pain. He arched the lower 
part of his body from hip to toe and thrust his loins in a communal rhythm 
with the fucking manipulation of her warm, wet hand. Desire, sickening and 
intense, impelled his writhing hips in a frantic search for release for the 
torrent raging in his sperm weighted balls. 

His heart was pounding in anticipation, its beat echoing like thunder in his 
head, and he felt like it was pumping every last drop of blood in his veins 
into the bursting head of his cock. He had a vague awareness of Sally's 
presence, a composite of supple curves and hollows pressed against him, 
flowing in unison with his writhing. And although the warm flesh snuggled 
close increased his excitement, it was no longer indispensable. Of a far 
more vital need was that coalescence of all womanly flesh, the answer to 
completion, into which he was now pounding his cock, fighting to reach 
orgasm. 

In his passion and alcohol-distorted mind, as she had quickly roused his 
penis to uncontrollable urgency with skillful manual dexterity, his one goal 
was to find the immediate relief promised there. 

Sally had other ideas. 

Only seconds away from climax, so near that his body was trembling with the 
inner, secret exultation of remembered ecstasy, Mark felt an abrupt, 
maddening absence of pressure on his cock. Then he felt the rock-hard 
appendage hit his belly with a wet slap, propelled in a swinging arc by the 
impetuous of her hands quick release. Momentarily stunned, he just lay 
there, unable to control the convolutions of his hips, still straining, 
still thrusting his cock into the void of empty air. The blood-filled head, 
a glabrous knob that throbbed a raw, angry crimson, wavered like an unmoored 
balloon sent helplessly adrift, seemingly detached from the bloated 
whiteness of his penis. 

"Jesus God!" he said when he could catch his breath. 

The upright cudgel still jerked wildly, tiny glans-mouth working like a fish 
out of water, looking as though it might erupt a jet of seminal fluid of its 
own volition. 

"Wait!" Sally begged him. "Don't cum now, I want to get on top of you!" 

"Hurry," he mumbled thickly. 

His head was whirling and through lust-clouded vision he saw her crouched on 
her hands and knees, swaying unsteadily. The pendulous globes of her 
breasts, coral nipples erect and quivering, thrust out tauntingly from 
between the brace of her arms. He felt his prick jump, once again catching 
the scent of its original target. This time his predatory hunger was not to 
be denied. But she was too quick for him. Before his sluggish brain could 
record the surging impulse of his penis, she was astride him with a 
surprisingly agile leap. 

She held him tightly in strong thighs, clamping the lean, corded muscles of 
his hips in the convexity of soft, hollowing flesh. She poised herself above 
his stiff tower and he could feel the damp tendrils of pubic hair grabbing 
gently against its distended, spongy head. The teasing silken strands were 
like exposed wires on his sensitive flesh, transmitting an electrifying 
tingle of needle-point shocks through the length of his prick. 

He gasped and looked down. The expanded slit of her cunt was visibly 
throbbing its lips in invitation, the wet moist furrow held wide apart 
between the inverted triangle of her spraddled thighs. With an almost 
imperceptible wriggle of her hips she lowered the soft, glossy folds of 
stretched vaginal flesh until the blunt head of his cock rested lightly in 
the pulsating orifice. The tiny, rosy bud of her clitoris could be seen 
clearly, a glistening, tumid mound standing out proudly above his enflamed 
hardness. He felt the moist, resilient cunt-lips expand and contract on the 
throbbing head of his cock and held his breath. He wanted desperately to 
wait, to savor the excruciating softness and moisture and warmth enclosing 
his prick with such exquisite pressure. But its jerking head was insinuating 
itself up and down, up and down in a maddening tease between the 
mucous-filmed flanges until the white heat in his belly flamed out of 
control. 

With a swift, simultaneous urgency his hands grabbed for the rounded ovals 
of her buttocks just as her thumb and fingertips closed on the bursting head 
of his prick and forced the foreskin tightly back. His body arched, taut as 
a bowstring, to meet the devouring onslaught of her loins as she plunged 
downward with a triumphant howl. She skewered his lusting cock into the 
clamping walls of her vagina all the way to the hilt. A thunderous gasp 
pushed up from his bowels and through his tortured lungs as the scalding 
grip of cunt flesh plummeted down around his raw cock, forcing it savagely 
into the elastic tightness of resistant skin and muscle. He could feel the 
soft flesh ripple back in screaming waves. Then it contracted with avid 
hunger as his prick ground to a jarring halt, deeply imbedded in her middle 
with the blunt rubbery head pressed hard against her cervix. With a 
practiced skill she flexed a snare of tiny, inner muscles and his body began 
to churn beneath her and he sank deep into an angry blue and purple mist 
that sucked him in. 

So Sally took her sister's husband, bouncing wildly up and down, buffeting 
her cunt on his cock. With animal lust and unholy joy and an avaricious, 
self-righteous satisfaction. She came at him ferociously, all grasping hands 
and clasping cunt and demanding urgent body. 

And his flesh gave in to her demands with mindless lust as they banged 
against each other with hard, hostile thrusts. The world turned upside down 
and he did what he had to do as she pounded him into the carpet and he cried 
out for more. In that initial violent coupling he contributed a body to a 
cause, without hesitation and with little joy. It was over almost as quickly 
as it began. A hurried, grunting, carnal act that began with Sally poised 
like a carnivorous bird about to strike at a snake mesmerized to helpless 
arousal, and ended with Mark pumping the venom of his sperm into the 
invulnerable receptacle of her belly. 

But the next time--. For there was a next time, and still another and 
another. With his wife's sister's hands playing with his flesh, drawing 
forth the heady sensual notes he kept muted within him; with her fingertips 
attuned to every erogenous chord in a man's body; with her warm, hot mouth 
an exquisite instrument of arousal on his prick, sated desire was quickly 
rejuvenated. Mind and body drunk with alcohol and drugged by the opiate of 
sex, the urgency of the animal continued wild witfrin him. 

The next time, more enduring, was far better. Flesh against flesh, hot and 
humid, with aromas that provoked and excited. Caresses and kisses, gropings 
and oral delights, in savage tempo he gave as good as he got. Then again and 
yet again, with time to practice, to experiment, to employ clever and erotic 
maneuvers, each better in varying degree, and somehow promising more. Until 
at last, bodies slipping and sliding, wet with sweat and the pungent 
excretions of passion, every crack and crevice violated, every orifice and 
protrudence sucked, tasted and savored, they locked in the throes of one 
final, convulsive conflagration. 

For a long time afterwards Mark lay motionless save for an involuntary, a 
spasmodic, twitching ripple of his depleted body. He was almost asleep when 
a foreboding sense of horror invaded the fringe of his mind and he thought 
of Joan. But the full force of his betrayal didn't come close to striking 
him then. For Sally, unsure of her prowess with a sobering Mark, had spiked 
each hiatus with love potions of gin. 

He raised his head with an effort and his clouded vision focused blearily on 
his nakedness, on the moist gleam of his prick, limp and flaccid between 
semen caked thighs. A wave of revulsion swept through him and vinegary tears 
of shame and self-pity began to squeeze out of his eyes, weak and stinging. 
When he raised himself to a sitting position and tried to get up he was too 
drunk and too physically drained to make it to his feet. He slumped back 
heavily to the floor, trapped in the sodden carapace of his traitor flesh. 
He had a dim recollection of Sally's parting admonition that he'd better put 
on his shorts at least, and he thought, supposing Joan should find him like 
this? 

But the last flicker of consciousness, before a gray fog closed in and he 
passed out, was a memory of lust, the almost luminous whiteness of the 
alternating clench of Sally's buttocks as she climbed the stairs. 

 CHAPTER 5 

Joan lay staring drunkenly into the darkness, as though the mere act of 
looking could lift the black curtain of her anxiety. 

Unsteady and dazed, she had followed Sally upstairs to one of five bedrooms 
in an almost segregated wing of the rambling house. The area was built out 
over a terrace, in actuality only a half-story above the main living area, 
but she'd had the weird sensation the short flight of stairs was an endless 
climb. Every tissue in her body felt like molten lead, weighting her down as 
she moved half blindly in the wake of a gleaming expanse of leg-flesh 
displayed by Sally's micro-mini skirt. She had clung to the wrought-iron 
railing for support, feeling incongruously lightheaded considering a 
heaviness in her limbs which made the attainment of each step a major 
accomplishment. It seemed strange that her plodding gait was able to keep up 
with those twinkling legs ahead, and it wouldn't have surprised her to see 
them diminish into nothingness, vanish completely in some mysterious upper 
region. 

A fleeting picture of her own laborious progress flashed across her mind's 
eye. It was like watching the stop-action camera on a televised football 
game, but with a difference. Her motions had none of the awesome, 
slow-motion grace of a defensive tackle hurtling his man to the ground or an 
offensive guard holding the line. She moved with a dull, quicksand 
heaviness. 

When she finally surmounted the obstacle of the stairway her mood had 
changed with such startling quickness that but for a strong effort to propel 
her body forward she would have tumbled back down. She recovered her balance 
and hurried after Sally with the sensation of having reached a high plateau. 
She was short of breath and subconsciously waited for her ears to pop, 
feeling lighter than air. 

Her first sight of the guest room, which Sally presented with a flourish 
reminiscent of the grandiose sweep of red velvet curtains on an opening 
night, had brought her back to earth and restored some portion of reality to 
her liquor-distorted mind. She gazed around and couldn't suppress a giggle. 
For in essence the room was a replica, on an even grander scale, of Sally's 
note paper. It was a gem of bad taste, huge, blatant and expensive. 
Dominated by an enormous round bed, everything in it was pink and white, 
much too cute and precious. As in the powder room here again was a mirrored 
wall, but crystal clear, reflecting the bed and its pink satin covering. 

The bed and its reflected splendor suddenly took on the illusion of two huge 
anemic hearts, which she expected to see summarily beating in three-quarter 
time. This absurd imagine set off a new freshet of giggles that ended on an 
alarming note of hysteria and suddenly her mirth had become a barricade 
against tears. 

Sally hadn't lingered and for several minutes she'd been glad to be alone. 
The torrent of vodka rushing through her bloodstream had begun to stir a 
curious blend of emotions. When she left the living room she had wanted 
nothing more than to escape the sluggish weight of her body in instant 
unconsciousness. The effects of alcohol were too unfamiliar for her to 
recognize the following typical inebriate stages from spurious laughter to 
maudlin tears. These were gone but the feeling of weightlessness which had 
displaced her lethargy remained. And an undefined mood of sensual awareness, 
a strange sense of excitement and pepped-up anticipation had begun to build 
within her. After wandering aimlessly and unsteadily around the spacious 
room as if she were seeking an outlet for this offbeat energy, the dictates 
of habit had guided her into the nightly preparations for bed. 

She had adjusted the shower, undressed and gone uncertainly in search of 
gown and robe. Only then did she realize that she'd done nothing about 
unpacking. More-the keys to their luggage were in Mark's pocket! Turning 
impulsively to the door she caught a reflection of her nakedness in the 
mirrored wall. The sight of herself standing there in the nude, one hand on 
the door knob and about to rush downstairs stark, staring bare, had shocked 
her into some perception of just how loaded, how ready-for-anything-drunk, 
she was. She had felt an uneasy shame, but even as it nudged her mind, the 
rising excitement in her body became suddenly recognizable in the reflected 
image. 

Through eyes now blurred with passion as well as alcohol she saw the 
sensual, primitive animal within plumping out her breasts, tweaking the 
nipples to rosy, up-thrust peaks that yearned with a visible ache. She saw 
the flat plane of her belly hollow with her tense, indrawn breath. In the 
warmth of the room she shivered and tried to look away, aware of a forbidden 
thrill of narcissistic pleasure, but the lower part of her body drew her 
gaze like a magnet. 

She had stared at the flowing lines of softly rounded hips tapering into 
firm thighs, sleep and supple in her skin, as her knees bent slightly in her 
weakness, a gentle interruption in the long sweeping strength of lean legs 
and slender ankles, in all a structural miracle of soft textured flesh over 
rippling muscle and fine bone. Then her eyes had locked on the dusky 
indentation between the gentle rise of full-fleshed thighs, on the bronzed 
tendrils of pubic down trembling in a warm breeze fanned by the flames from 
within that were burning brightly. She had felt an insatiable hunger loosed 
within her body and had seen a swift response in the swell of her pubic 
mound, its involuntary jutting, its thrust of desire propelled by the 
inciting pool of liquid warmth drenching her vaginal lips. 

There had been nothing in her barren sexual existence to prepare Joan for 
this head-on encounter with her secret self. None of the books she had read, 
hot words on cold paper; none of Mark's passionate embraces, the keen edge 
of desire blunted by inhibition; not even the glimpse of that inner monster 
had compelled this sheer carnal awareness. 

As if obeying some ancient tribal ritual she had smoothed her hands slowly 
and sensuously over the ripe curves of her body, a primeval, illicit love 
affair of the flesh. 

The warm solid spheres of her breasts swelled into her palms with a soft 
urgency. The nipples hardened to pointed erection and flushed from petal 
pink to a hot red under the kneading of her fingers, sending a shiver of 
sensual pleasure down her spine. When the aroused nipple-tips reached a peak 
of sensation almost too exquisite to be endured her hands had glided down 
the silken smoothness of narrow waist to the rounded contours of her hips. 
They paused there to strike the full-fleshed curves with a gentle, circling 
motion then shifted to probe the soft resilience of her stomach. As her 
exploring fingertips pressed on, down into the silky fleece at the base of 
her belly, her body had moved in desire, crying out for attention stronger 
and more exciting, for an increased tempo of manipulation. 

Of their own volition her legs had widened their stance, parting her thighs 
in invitation. As if following a predestined pattern her fingers delved into 
the warm, open furrow at the juncture there. The wet velvet lips of her cunt 
pulsated, tiny muscles flexing beneath the soft skin, grasping at her 
fingertips with avid hunger. The sensation was delicious-and maddening. One 
finger plunged fiercely, recklessly, into the moist cuntal sheath. In the 
wake of its plundering thrust the sensitive clitoral ridge sprang alive with 
a hard, vibrant swiftness. 

The tumescent mound throbbed with such an insistent demand that Joan had 
been shocked to a sudden sense of her own erotic stimulation. With the 
clamping walls of her vagina encompassing the intruding digit in a reflexive 
grip and the heat from her thighs rising to encircle her hand, the 
temptation to gratify the long-starved desire clamoring within her womb was 
violent. Yet as she luxuriated in the sensual thrills that surged through 
her a thin wedge of awareness in her enflamed mind of who and what she was 
stilled her hand. 

Over the drumming crescendo of her heartbeats the sound of rushing water 
coming from the shower was like a sudden splintering of myriad glass 
crystals. Long stored breath escaped her lungs with a shuddering sigh. The 
finger she withdrew from its inner sanctuary gleamed with a sweet moisture. 
Her body, the well-defined lines and curve that had sagged and softened, a 
snow maiden caught unawares by a summer breeze, melting, once more regained 
its lissome supple stature. 

Moving slowly and carefully, as one fearful of waking in the enchantment of 
a fantastic dream, she had gone to the bath. A heavy vapor of rosy steam 
rebounded off the pink tiled walls in a layering mist, blinding her, but she 
groped her way through the damp cloud and turned off the shower. Going back 
through the doorway she had flipped a master switch for the lights in both 
rooms, and she hesitated, cut adrift from sight and wavering in the 
blackness. Then with a somnambulistic sureness she padded barefoot directly 
to the monstrous tuffet of a bed and slid into its cool refuge. 

In the dark she touched the fresh pink sheets and the night stretched behind 
the confines of any room, into a world of desire, of a man to love and be 
loved by, a realm of ecstatic fulfillment. So sexually titillated, drifting 
in an alcoholic waking dream, she hadn't the least doubt that Mark would be 
coming to her. When an eternity of several minutes had passed she had been 
stirred to a physical passion of near frenzy by the mere thoughts of their 
naked bodies in tight embrace. The silken sheets became a torment rubbing 
against her nipples and she had writhed with anticipation. And now with a 
sudden anxiety. 

She found she didn't dare close her eyes for then the bed seemed to revolve 
at an astronomical rate of speed. At the shattering thought, what if Mark 
doesn't come at all?, she leaned up on one elbow, about to throw caution to 
the winds, to get up and go downstairs to him. 

When the door swung open a brief flash of light from the hall illuminated 
the blackness with the sudden brilliance of a camera's flash bulb. Joan 
blinked. Then she heard the metallic click of the latch even as her lids 
raised, and the light was gone. For a breathless moment she thought her mind 
was playing a teasing prank, but a soft thud of flesh on wood followed by a 
muttered curse cut through the velvet dark. 

"Oh, Mark! Darling!" 

A thousand words of love, of eager welcome, of longing and endearment filled 
her heart until it seemed veritably to the bursting point, but they were 
swallowed up in her mounting elation. Only the sound of his harsh, indrawn 
breath disturbed the silence. 

"Well, I'll be goddamned!" Tod Keyes astonishment was so strong the words 
were almost expelled from his thoughts aloud but somehow he managed to 
throttle them to the startled gasp. Halfway in his fumbling progress to the 
bed he paused, a knuckled fist nursing the hip that had caught the corner of 
a table, letting his brain absorb the full significance of Joan's eager cry. 

So the new bride thinks it's her ever-lovin' husband coming to bed, does 
she? Sweet Jesus! If she could only see him now, bare assed and fucking the 
hell out of her own sister! Man, Sally was getting one helluva bang, he 
mused. That guy was really hung--. The way those two--. His prick thumped, 
remembering. 

For Tod had checked out the living room to make sure Mark was either asleep 
or occupied, before coming to the guest room. Then he had lingered to watch 
their sex play until he'd gotten too worked up to stay any longer. 

How-about-that!, he gloated now, she thinks I'm Mark! Wouldn't it frost her 
to know--? Hell no! 

Suddenly he found the bizarre situation a huge joke and could have laughed 
outright when his knees struck the edge of the bed. He had fully expected to 
find Joan dead to the world after all she'd had to drink. To discover her 
not only awake, but ready and eager, as he suspected, rightly, to be fucked, 
was more than he'd hoped for. Would she accept him as willingly as she would 
her husband? The thought crossed his mind but didn't signify. He intended to 
screw her whether she liked it or not, and he had every confidence that 
she'd eat it up. 

Eat it up! That was it! He congratulated himself on what seemed like a 
brilliant idea. I'll just have Mark give his shy wife one sweet surprise! 
Hot damn! And when she finds out later who her lover really was--. And what 
a story to tell the fellows tomorrow! It'll kill 'em! 

Joan had felt the mattress sag under what she thought was the weight of 
Mark's body. Aware of his presence over her she felt the blood singing 
wildly deep within her body. A body that hungered for him, flesh warm and 
eager for his flesh. She felt his maleness hovering over her, rousing in her 
a swift desire from somewhere back in timelessness. This time, this here and 
now, she thought, everything will be all right. 

His hand came down upon her breasts as if from out of nowhere, fitting 
around the up-turned mound tightly, flattening the hard nipple back into 
it's own breast-flesh, strong and insistent, oppressive yet thrilling. And 
the delicate flesh came alive, nipple throbbing hotly, straining upward and 
forward. Relief bubbled up from the well of desire as his touch lightened to 
a teasing massage. The taut point of nipple, sprung free of its trap, 
quivered to the darting lashes of his fingers. 

Ahhh, yes, persistently, but gently, now. This time was going to be the 
perfect ending to the dream! 

Tod could feel the culmination of passion spiraling through her entire body 
in the heated response of one hard, surging tip of flesh. Instinctively he 
had loosed the savage pressure of his grip, determined to carry out the 
charade as he'd planned. Too, this dream-like quality of the night had 
somehow communicated itself to him. But the thought of her waiting for him 
so eagerly, this body that had scorned his advances abruptly before now 
begging for his touch, goaded his prick into rock-hard erection. He could 
feel the blood had begun to seep from the contracting gland at its tip, 
smearing stickily against the smoothness of its resting place on her thigh. 

In the midst of his exhilaration he thought damn! If only those blasted 
drapes didn't shut out even a glimmer of outside moonlight! He strained his 
eyes, trying to adjust to the thick dark, but was able to distinguish no 
more than an illusion of her naked whiteness. The turgid head of his cock, 
moving sluggishly of its own weight to bore into the soft resilience of her 
flesh, was driving him crazy. He slowly massaged the thick foreskin back and 
forth over the pulsing gland as he imagined the sight before him. He had 
fucked more than his share of voluptuous women, but without restoring to 
force never one as pure and innocent, as unaware of her own potential, as 
this. A sadistic delight in humiliating her, compelling her to bend to his 
will so unknowingly, was strong enough to curb his lust, to turn him into a 
far more tender lover than was his wont. 

He wanted her badly, but kneeled over her writhing body, stroking himself 
into a rigidity that he could imagine worming its way into the tantalizing 
recesses of her cunt. He felt the muscles grow tense beneath the head of his 
cock's probing wetness, felt a slight shift of her legs, and he pictured the 
open readiness of the hair-lined slit, could almost feel the moist lips of 
her vagina nibbling hungrily at his swollen hardness. With an effort he 
thrust the lewd vision from his thoughts, so stimulating that for a moment 
his cock threatened to unload his hot sperm into the inner softness of her 
thigh. Much as he wanted to ram his warbled shaft mercilessly into her 
belly, he waited, rummaging his hands feverishly over the thrusting, 
needle-pointed spheres of her breasts, her flat stomach, her undulating 
hips, bring forth unintelligible animal sounds as she responded in primitive 
rhythm-from the untapped sources of her being. 

Feeling her body, warm and pliant and pulsing, hungry-hungrier than his-for 
that moment, incited his own lust to a more frenzied pitch. He bent close 
and his forearms fell across her thighs, pinioning her, and his broad hands 
pushed with sweating palms at the unresisting softness of her inner thighs, 
spreading them wide apart. He felt the sheathed muscles twitch with 
straining anticipation under the pressure of his fingers as he adjusted his 
position swiftly, using his hands for leverage to shift from her side to 
crouch on all fours between her spread-eagled legs. Lowering his head to the 
circling arch he could feel the emanations of warmth, a teasing breath, hot 
and sultry on his cheeks from her heated flesh. The pungent incense of inner 
moisture flowing from deep inside her body wafted through his flared 
nostrils and he caught his breath, savoring the woman fragrance with its 
heady sensuality, before pressing his hot mouth to the flexing hollow of 
inner thigh. 

His lips sucked avidly, drawing soft folds of tender skin and tissue into 
the salivating cavern of his mouth, and his suctioning tongue cupped the 
raised nodules of flesh with a wet, tasting hunger. As he let his hands play 
with wanton abandon over the smooth expanse from her bending and unbending 
knees to the silky encroachment of pubic hair in the sharp crevice that 
divided pelvis and thigh, he could feel the uncontrolled gyrations of her 
buttocks struggling to thrust the swelling mound held captive between his 
fingertips downward. 

With the initial daring of Tod's devouring, open-mouthed kiss hot on flesh 
so maddeningly near to the lips of her vagina, so close to hidden recesses 
supposedly inviolate to such erotic approach a part of Joan's mind had cried 
out in puritan shock. It had sensed his roaring, obscene satisfaction 
mingled with his urgent need, running beneath his lovemaking like a 
subterranean stream. The greater portion of her mind, breathing out the fury 
of her own lust, had ridiculed the puritan imp, bidding it to stop acting 
like a foolish virgin. Wasn't she wrapped in the safe, warm blanket of her 
love for Mark? And in his love for her? Besides, she felt she had some 
restitution to make, to let him set the terms. Paradoxically, her body made 
its own rules and at this moment with the fire of his mouth igniting the 
fire between her thighs like a blow torch fanning a flame already beyond 
control, this moment-removed from place and time itself-she was steeped in a 
euphoric unreality. And it was suddenly no longer important to think, to 
understand. It was enough to be loved like this, to want to be loved like 
this--. 

She felt his hands and lips and tongue do a thousand, small wonderful things 
to her burning flesh and writhed in sensual torment. Her own hands moved 
like disembodied beings, sliding hungrily over her throbbing breasts, down 
her smooth, flat stomach, coming to rest in the tangle of his hair, 
fluttering wildly. Her head lolled from side to side, staring eyes glazed 
with passion, heedless of the dark, now, unaware if it were day or night. 
Her hips ground uncontrollably into the mattress, fighting the pressure of 
his hands, trying to bring the palpitating opening of her starved cunt into 
the proximity of his succoring mouth. 

Tod worked with an increasing sensation of an almost diabolic power. His 
most erotic dreams wouldn't have portrayed a surrender of his wife's 
sister's young loveliness as intoxicating as this. She was completely at his 
mercy-and loving every second of it! He wanted to wait before going on to 
his next move, to enjoy the squirming of her aching desire under his 
mouthing caresses on her thighs, but his prick had become a pounding 
urgency, it's monstrous length thumping angrily against the leaning overhang 
of his belly. He knew she was fast reaching the state where she would be too 
far gone to object to anything he wanted her to do and the knowledge, 
abetted by his own lusting cock, urged him on. 

Against the futile, desperate clutching of her hands at his head he reared 
back with ease. The startled moan of protest that escaped through her 
clenched teeth was a gratifying sound and the dark mask a gloating sneer 
distorting his slack, drooling lips. His hands moved slowly up her thighs, 
then he allowed them to sink luxuriously into the full mat of soft pubic 
hair. With an insistent pressure of strong, blunt fingers he splayed the 
fleshy, hair-lined lips of the drenched furrow apart, creating a vulnerable 
access to her moist secret being. The exciting aroma was more permeating 
now, ineffably delectable and an unmistakable target. His face was close 
enough to the quivering opening of her cunt for him to feel the tantalizing 
brush of wet pubic curls on his month. He flicked the tongue into the soft 
depths, then withdrew it swiftly to run a teasing circle around the moist 
outer edges of smooth, throbbing flesh. 

He felt the quick, thrusting surge of her hips and freed his hands from the 
reflexive contraction of her thighs, reaching to steady the frenzied 
undulations of her buttocks in a strong clasp. Her hands clawed wildly at 
his hair and he let her have her way at last. As his mouth pressed hungrily 
against the pink folds of flesh, he thrust his tongue deep into the warm, 
wet tunnel, flicking the pointed tip in a spiraling motion along the 
clasping vaginal walls. 

"Ooooooooh," Joan uttered a low, unconscious groan as the seeking probe of 
his tongue entered the pulsating cavity. 

Her thighs looked convulsively, holding his head in a vise-like grip. 
Momentarily he felt as though he were being devoured into the enraged 
fastness of her demanding cunt. The walls of her vagina opened and closed on 
his invading tongue, attempting to draw it inward with a pulling, sucking 
motion. It seemed like a strong, suctioning tornado had roared into his 
mouth for the express purpose of tearing his tongue out by its very roots. 
He was finding it hard to breathe in the smothering entrapment of flesh, so 
he dug his fingers into the resilient ovals of her buttocks with' a brutal, 
nail-biting pressure. The relaxing grip of her thighs was immediate. Her 
body cringed with the stab of unexpected pain-and the remembered pain of 
another time, another place. 

She stilled for the space of his harshly expelled breath, but the hot, 
saber-pointed tip of his tongue still nested in the ragged flanges of her 
quivering cunt-lips was too precious, too necessary, for her aroused body to 
relinquish. It readily forgave all grievances and slowly but surely revolved 
from outraged hurt to excited, carnal anticipation. Tod felt the tensing 
muscles gathering of an animal about to spring, and he was prepared. 

Joan was totally unprepared for the hot, sweet flash of agony that came with 
the swift, searing stab of his tongue. It shot out, its soft flicking tip 
circling her trembling, erected clitoris and the ensuing sensation was so 
excruciating that it brought tears to her eyes. His lips sucked voraciously 
at her cunt, drawing the warm, soft folds deep into the exciting cavern of 
his mouth and his tongue continued its maddening lashing against the 
straining, sensitive bud of her sex, sending sky-rockets of ecstasy shooting 
through her, each one more exquisite than the last. 

He worked the hot probing tip up and down the moist length of the quivering 
slit. Starting at the soft brush at the base of her belly, he pressured its 
downward swipe, down over the raw elasticity of her grasping vagina and into 
the crevice of her writhing buttocks. There he paused, letting the wet tip 
explore the tight, puckered anal ring with a probing insistence. This 
strange yet thrilling ministrations was completely new to her and she sought 
to heighten the unexpected delight. Frantically she thrashed as the oddly 
inciting probe brought new tears to her eyes and the moisture that filled 
her swelled like a flooded river. 

The increased tempo of the wild exultance in Joan's body sounded a clarion 
peal of warning with an uncanny expediency in Tod's lusting senses. Although 
he had reached the boiling point himself, he raised his head with some 
reluctance from the sweet enticement of her steaming cunt. Christ, he 
thought, that's one helluva piece of ass! But it sure as hell wouldn't do 
for him to suck her off! That only wasn't the idea behind this fucking joke, 
but if he permitted her to cum first, to get rid of all that juice of 
swinging desire, where in the friggin' hell would that leave him? Up in the 
goddamn air with a stiff prick-that's where. So ever upward and onward! He 
chuckled coarsely at the allusion. 

He had to exert considerable force to pry Joan's legs from around his neck, 
but her lithe strength, even greatly increased by desire, was no match for 
his hulking weight and he managed to shake her loose, finally, like an angry 
terrier. As the brief struggle ended, his torso rose to an upright position 
between her knees and his rigid cock swung out to brush against the dripping 
pubic hair. Her hands reached down in panic and grasped the full length of 
the hard member. 

"Ohhh! Mark, please!" she wailed, splaying her thighs and digging her heels 
into the mattress, twisting her hips up toward it. 

She moaned and moved violently beneath him, unable to contain the cruelly 
frustrated demands now battering in livid rage at every nerve in her body. 
She had to have it! She had to fill this desperately aching void thundering 
within! 

Her hands tugged at his cock in a demented frenzy, trying to guide it to the 
open mouth of her hungry cunt. A wild, seeking thrust of her loins finally 
lodged its jerking head in the viscous oval of slippery folds. 

As he felt the wet, hot flesh nibbling hungrily at the swollen, 
blood-pressured head, it was all Tod could do to restrain himself from 
ramming forward and impaling her eager young body on his bursting cock, but 
the urge to subjugate her took precedence over desire. In that same instant, 
while the bulbous probe of his penis thumping with a hot pulsation against 
her vaginal lips was far from slaking her lust, the contact had been 
electric. How good it felt! Her body still gyrated madly of its own accord, 
but as the fantastic sensation of his cock on her cunt shot through her in a 
shattering wave, her tight grip on the distended organ relaxed. This was all 
the time he needed and her hands were still grasping at empty air and the 
mouth of her cunt was sucking at nothingness when the weight of his buttocks 
on her abdomen forced the breath from her lungs in a tortured gasp. 

With a quick, crab-like motion he had slithered forward up her body and was 
now straddling her with one leg on either of her heaving ribs. Once again he 
inwardly cursed the dark. For despite the fact that with perfect aim the 
rigid length of his prick had tunneled unerringly into the narrow cleft 
between her breasts, he missed the tremendously erotic sight of luscious 
breast-flesh, soft and yielding, surrounding his own male hardness. Pink 
nipples quivering with desire for the deep vermilion of his cock's bloated 
head--. Beautiful! 

He also wished he could see the expression on the lovely face only inches 
away from the blood-depths he sensed a sudden, frantic withdrawal, filled 
tip. Was it surprised and shocked? Revolted? Or-just possibly-lusting? 

His questioning mind was answered swiftly in that identical order. 

For with Joan's rasping expulsion of air still harsh in his ears, he felt a 
quick, involuntary tension in his body beneath him. Then a violent shudder 
coursed through the convulsively writhing frame and from some secret and 
hidden inner depths he sensed a sudden, frantic withdrawal. Unconsciously he 
held his breath, as though waiting on the premonition of imminent disaster. 
When he heard her gasp evolve into throaty mewlings of pleasure and felt her 
groping hands fasten on his buttocks, the fingers digging into their sinewy 
cheeks with an urgent pressure that inched his cock deeper into its warm 
furrow, he let his breath out slowly in a long sigh of relief. 

What in hell's the matter with me? he wondered. I know she was ready for 
anything, and a damn sight more-begging for it! The power of his male 
vanity, his ego, refused to countenance any suggestion of physical revulsion 
toward his sex and his mind automatically discarded it. 

The tumbling sequence of Joan's emotional response had been real enough, but 
it had been purely instinctive, the reaction of a life-time of inbred 
inhibition. Just as the response of her body, mindless and with all 
inhibition unraveled by the magic of alcohol, was the result of a 
sex-starved, deeply sensual woman's arousal by the man she loved. At that 
point of time Tod's masquerade was of little consequence. Following her 
instinctive grab, one that was too much too late, anyway, to stop him in the 
normal position of love, her flesh answered the demands of his without 
further reservation. She didn't want the beautiful ride to stop. There were 
more peaks to climb, pleasure to taste. 

With his penis a hot pulsation in the intimate softness between her breasts, 
she felt sensations careening through her body in brilliant colors like 
peacock feathers, whirling in her blood with a terrible excitement. 

Her final relinquishment was like a swift-flaring fire that intangibly 
stimulated Tod's lust and his hands sought her breasts, crushing the soft 
resilient mounds with suddenly avid fierceness, causing tiny ridges of flesh 
to stand out between his fingers. He kneaded and stretched at the pliant 
skin and muscles until it throbbed with a feverish heat against his palms 
and her now incessant moaning became almost a sobbing cry. Yet he could feel 
the hardness of her nipples boring urgently into his calloused flesh, aching 
for more. He pushed the pointed tips together until they met across her 
body, forming a delightful, yielding wedge which engulfed his cock with a 
warm, pulsing pressure. It felt as though the pound of blood in his prick 
was an extension of the thumping beat of her heart. The barbarous sensation 
drove him wild. 

His hips began a sensuous rocking motion, back and forth, driving his 
rock-hard staff slowly in and out of the exquisite warmth of the pulsating 
channel formed by the twin peaks of her breasts. To ensure the full, rounded 
length of his rigidity complete access to the tight sheath and to enable it 
to glide in and out with ease, he raised up slightly on his bended knees. 
This freed Joan from his confining weight and he could feel her body begin 
to move in little thrusting, gliding motions, grazing the silken smoothness 
of her belly back and forth over the flexing cheeks of his ass. This excited 
him even more than the clenching and kneading grip of her fingers, which at 
times came tantalizingly near to the tight, throbbing hole of his anus 
nestled in the separation of the sinewy globes. 

He gradually increased the tempo of his rocking motion, shoving his cock 
further into the smooth, resilient tunnel until its blunt head was halted by 
the firm, gentle rounding point of her chin. The soft inner flesh of her 
breasts was already wetly lubricated from a slow ooze of seminal fluid and 
now with each forward stroke the seeping glans-tip deposited a glaze of its 
sticky moisture on her chin. 

The momentum of Joan's body stepped up to match his rhythm, then went beyond 
it. The hungry void in her womb cried out still for fulfillment, but its 
silent cry was barely heard. For every orifice and crevice in her lusting 
body were hawking their shrill demands with gluttonous envy for the 
deliciously stuffed chasm of breast-flesh. But to her nothing mattered, 
nothing existed, except the hard cudgel, hot and throbbing and wet, 
burrowing in and out of her aroused breasts. She felt the pulsing tip of his 
cock planting moist kisses on her chin with its wet, tiny mouth and found 
her own overflowing like the moisture between her thighs. She somehow knew 
what she wanted to do-had to do. 

Before tonight such a thought would have filled Joan with revulsion, but 
sanity had deserted her as if it had never been and all rationality had 
turned to ashes in the devastating flame of desire. She writhed and twisted 
beneath him, her buttocks grinding hungrily into the bed below, her knees 
bending and unbending, pulling her legs up then flailing them out wildly. 
Her head thrashed from side to side and incoherent mumblings rose and fell 
from her opening and closing mouth. 

She was completely out of control and he could feel his prick growing and 
expanding in the heated friction of rubbing flesh and he knew it was close 
to the point of ejaculation. He sat still, trying to make himself last a 
little longer, to glory a bit more in her helplessness. But the quivering 
mounds of her breasts seemed to writhe and undulate and caress his penis as 
if they had a life of their own. Their sensuous teasing forced his next move 
for he was afraid he was about to come in the warm, creamy hollow. 

He moved up so that his knees were on either side of her neck and he knew 
that his cock was extended directly over her face, for her panting breath 
was a warm, teasing breeze on its sticky underside. He reached to lift her 
head, but found his hands were necessary only for support as he could feel 
her wildly groping mouth brushing greedily over the tip of his prick. It 
took just a slight forward shift of his hips to bring her lips in thrilling 
contact with the palpitating head. Her mouth was partly open, the soft lips 
a pursed moist oval. He had intended to make her wait, to frustrate her 
every desire until she could take no more, but her wet, hungry kiss on the 
sensitive tip of his cock fired his desire beyond all bounds of intention, 
good or bad. 

He pushed his loins forward and groaned as her lips fell slackly open and 
her head came up of its own volition. The heavy head dropped through the 
stretched lips and rested, throbbing, against her bared teeth, the puckered 
flesh of the lips circling it in a soft furrow. He flexed his hips slightly 
back and forth until the head forced the fleshy oval open wide and the moist 
recesses of her mouth surrounded it with a satin-wet suctioning clasp. 

She started using her tongue, uncertainly at first, and he could feel it 
swiping around him, fluttering with the gentle touch of a rain-soaked 
butterfly's wings. Her lips were soft and smooth and clamped tightly to him 
in a snug ring of elasticity. He felt them move with grasping intensity down 
along his cock, endeavoring to absorb as much of his inflated hardness as 
was possible into her mouth. His cock had begun to jerk maddeningly in the 
heated cavern and he pressed her hollowing cheeks inward with his palms, 
feeling their tender inner glossiness and the hot, moist warmth of her 
saliva on his swollen and pounding flesh. 

She began to suck him avidly now, with a strong, nibbling pressure. Her 
tongue licked and curled around his cock like some ravenous animal, with all 
of hunger from the depths of her womb rising in one great burst of longing 
into the heated recesses of her mouth. He could feel the pressure building 
in his balls slapping against her chin until it was an excruciating pleasure 
of pain. He thrust his hips with frenzied passion, shoving almost the entire 
length of his cock deeper and deeper into her throat until he was afraid it 
would surely choke her. But he was powerless to stop, and as the thick sword 
of flesh rammed in and out of her gulping throat her lips and tongue worked 
with equal, frantic fury. 

Then suddenly there was a violent spasm in his loins and no force in the 
world could have dammed up the hot white flow of liquid that jetted up from 
his balls and spurted in great waves from the tip of his jerking penis. She 
moaned beneath him as the first needle-thin jet of liquid fire shattered 
itself into the back of her mouth, filling the narrow cavity then flooding 
her cheeks to rounding fullness. Her throat worked gluttonously, swallowing 
and gulping to keep from choking on the raging torrent of white hot sperm. 

His body jerked convulsively above her and he braced his hands on the bed as 
his slowly deflating cock continued to jerk to its completion. And she kept 
on licking and sucking on his draining prick until it gave one final 
spasmodic leap, the last drop milked from it. He rolled over and collapsed 
on the bed beside her. 

From that point on, as far as Tod was concerned, what happened next was 
anticlimactic. Joan lay at his side, gasping for breath, her unfulfilled 
body still writhing out of control, her hands groping feverishly in search 
of him. Whether from some deeply hidden spark of compassion, or-and this was 
more-likely-from out of his inherent sensuality, he summoned up enough 
response to her need to bring her to orgasm with the skillful manipulation 
of his hand. She was already so passionately aroused when this was 
accomplished in a matter of a very short time. In fact he found the sweet 
urgency of her moist, velvety cunt so delightfully stimulating that only the 
sadly depleted condition of his body, sapped by liquor as well as sex, 
prevented him from fucking her half silly at that very moment. But ... he 
knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that would come soon ... and he wanted her 
fully conscious of the fact that it was her own sister's husband who was 
grinding his cock down between her open legs.... 

 CHAPTER 6 

When Joan awoke on Sunday morning she was immediately aware that something 
important had happened the night before, and before she remembered what it 
had been, she knew that it had been important and wonderful but somehow 
strange and disturbing. It took her several seconds to orient herself to the 
unfamiliar cushiony expanse of circular bed, to a strange room bathed in a 
dimly pinkish glow from sunlight filtered through heavy, rose damask 
draperies. 

She remembered then, and turned her head and saw that Mark was still 
sleeping. He faced her, his mouth grave and firm and his eyes shadowed in 
sleep, looking boyishly younger, more vulnerable than he appeared when 
awake. She rolled over in a stealthy way so she could watch him sleep. It 
gave her a vague feeling of guilt to watch him sleeping, as if she were 
spying, catching him unawares in a defenseless moment, and it gave her 
pleasure. 

Staring at the sharper lines of his face softened in repose, the black hair 
curling in sleep-moistened tendrils over his forehead and the rim of one 
ear, the gentle rise and fall of his bare olive-skinned shoulder and chest, 
she felt a swift rush of protective tenderness. What an entirely different 
awakening from those other mornings at his side! For the first time, not 
only since their wedding, but in all of the days she had known him, she was 
able to feel that he needed her as much as she needed him. The feeling was 
an exhilarating one to her timid ego and smoothed away a good deal of doubt 
and uncertainty. It let her thoughts dare to examine the night before. 

In retrospect the night was incredible to a young woman of Joan's 
background. Alcohol and emotions so violent they bordered on the traumatic 
had combined to cut great holes in her memory, leaving much of what had 
happened a complete blank. They also went a long way towards softening the 
blow of shamed guilt for behavior at odds with all former concept of 
morality. She could have no more withstood the sensations which had swept 
over her in wave after wave than she could have conjured them up 
deliberately. How could there be anything wrong in the actions of man and 
wife in love, when they were in such blissful accordance? she rationalized. 
The end surely justified the means, both of which were ecstatic for a loving 
married couple. 

She was beginning to realize that just as there are so many variations of 
gray between black and white it's impossible to draw a line where one leaves 
off and the other begins, so it is with an imaginary dividing line between 
right and wrong in sex. Thinking of the exciting and sensual gratification 
of Mark's desire, to herself as well as to him, it seemed morality was one 
of those nuclear diagrams, atoms splitting and the re-splitting and 
branching off into tinker toy jungles. 

Her thoughts shied away from her own appeasement of sexual need. It was 
enough for now that her passion had been sated; she had orgasm for the first 
time. Not even to herself did she dare admit how much, how very desperately, 
she had longed to have Mark's flesh filling the hungry void of her body, for 
his penis to have been the instrument of completion. 

The words "love" and "marriage" tied the warp and woof of the tapestry of 
Joan's musing thoughts together to weave a tableau of sex without flaws. 

She lay watching him and marveled at the length of his eyelashes. His 
night-grown beard bristled in delightful maleness. There was a little scar 
at the corner of his mouth she had never noticed before. She would ask him 
what caused it. Her eyes caressed the muscular strength of his arm, its hard 
flesh contrasting sharply against the femininity of pink sheet beneath, then 
ran down the long, tapering hillock of his outstretched legs. She smiled at 
all the mysteries of maleness here sleeping beside her while she watched and 
thought of strange new things. And now stopped thinking with that 
questioning mind and began to think with the tissues and fibers of her body. 
Began the thoughts of his hands and the unsuspected delights of his month 
and the strength of his long thighs. 

Thoughts that ventured with the insidiously enticing lure of the forbidden 
to the magical monster between the firm thighs, lying dormant now but imbued 
with the mystic power to become suddenly a tower of relentless drive and 
exquisite energy. She felt then the good tingling of herself, the tiny 
glowings, the muted, throat-tightening inner stirrings. And leaned over, 
half hopeful and half fearful that he would wake and pressed her lips 
tightly against his sleeping ones. 

Mark merely stirred restlessly, twining his mouth away from hers as he 
buried his face unconsciously in the pillow. Levering herself up on one 
elbow, her attention strayed to her reflected image in the mirrored wall. In 
the rosy underwater light of the room her flesh came alive with a shimmering 
whiteness in the glass and in her cramped position the ample breasts were 
bunched together in the fashion that was reminiscent of a heroin on the 
jacket of a sexy historical novel. Feeling like a mildly lascivious detached 
observer, she saw her nipples harden while the rest of her body grew soft. 
Suddenly she was acutely aware of her nakedness. 

She rolled over on her back and slid upright against the padded headboard, 
put both hands behind her neck and swept all of the soft brown hair over her 
head from back, top and sides, sweeping it forward until it covered most of 
her face. She held this pose, rounded bare arms to her neck, hands clasped 
behind her, underarms bare and proud breasts isolated and projecting, face 
concealed, for a long moment, reveling in the tactile sensations of her nude 
flesh. She was conscious of a swift rush of desire that conveyed itself in 
the quivering thrust of her nipples and a warmth of moisture between her 
thighs. A quick-rising shame merged the white of her body with the blushing 
pink of the bed covers. Yet underlying the shame was a strong animal 
exuberance which made her want to fling herself eagerly on Mark's sleeping 
body. 

My God, she thought feeling like a guilty sex fiend. What's the matter with 
me? 

As she swung out of bed the motion made her aware of a sudden throbbing 
behind her temples and a queasy surge in her stomach, and her legs felt 
strangely enervated, stubbornly refusing to carry her in a straight line to 
the bath. But despite the unpleasantness of a persistently nagging hangover, 
she felt it was a good day, one full of renewal of life and resurgence, a 
little more than real. She even took a sweet pleasure in the unfamiliar, 
tiny achings in regions of her breasts and loins. 

She had showered and dressed in a softly clinging white sweater and skirt 
and sandals, unpacked after a shyly hesitant search through Mark's clothes 
for the keys to her bags, and was making an unusually careful inspection of 
her appearance when she sensed rather than saw with her eyes that Mark was 
awake. A pang of nervous apprehension unsettled her calm scrutiny and 
suddenly she was afraid to face him. Her white clad reflection wavered 
before her eyes, one hand brushing nervously at an imaginary fleck of lint 
on her skirt until, realizing she couldn't stand there forever, admiring her 
image in the mirror like an idiot, she forced herself to turn and face him. 

As their gaze met half-way across the room his dropped so quickly she hadn't 
time to formulate what she read in his eyes. But she could have sworn she'd 
seen a reflection of her own nervous anxiety in his fleeting appraisal. And 
something else. Horror? Revulsion? Nonsense. She told herself she was being 
foolish again, imagining something that wasn't there, couldn't be there-not 
after the joy they had shared last night. 

When she had gone impulsively to perch beside him on the edge of the bed, 
Mark had rolled over on his stomach, out of reach of her tentative hand, 
uttering a muffled groaning complaint into the pillow about his bursting 
head. 

Joan hadn't misread the emotions she'd glimpsed in his quickly shuttered 
gaze. The only mistake she'd made was their direction. They were turned 
inwardly to his own loathsome self, meant in no way for her. 

Avoiding her eyes, self-revulsion rose in his throat, tasting of acid and 
corruption. For a long moment, Mark thought he was going to be sick. He 
fought back the bile and remorse stabbed him. Catching Joan off guard as he 
had, preening in front of the mirror with the open simplicity of a child, 
dressed in white and standing tall and lovely with a somehow virginal 
radiance, his heart shriveled with guilt and at the same time he felt as 
though he had been cheated in some obscure way. As if he had deprived 
himself of the right to offer Joan his love because of his own drunken 
betrayal. And in doing this had deprived himself of the right to accept 
hers. 

He'd awakened sharply while Joan was in the shower and the happenings of the 
night confronted him with an immediate horror. The fact their exact images 
were little more than an alcoholic blur of lusting bodies and erotic 
sensation did absolutely nothing to assuage his conscience. If anything they 
only increased his torment for he called himself all kinds of a fool for 
getting uncontrollably drunk. Sally wasn't only sexy, she was sex itself. If 
he'd been more sober--. But there went the "ifs" again and they didn't help 
a goddamned thing. To top off the whole mess, his wife's sister had to be 
the one he'd screwed in the damnedest night he'd ever spent. It made him 
feel stained and coarse. Nothing like keeping things in the family, he 
thought bitterly. It seemed to him that his planned and orderly life had 
gone to complicated hell within three days of a wedding where he'd glimpsed 
the gates of heaven. 

As he rolled away from the gentle entreaty of Joan's hand his whole body 
shook with remorse and fury. 

"I'm sorry, darling. I'll find you some aspirin." 

He felt a slight vibration of the mattress and then the soft, exotic 
fragrance of perfume she wore assailed his nostrils and her lips were soft 
and warm and moist in the hollow at the nape of his neck. The gesture 
produced instantaneous and acute desire and he was still shivering when she 
came back from the bathroom. He'd always thought of himself as a pretty 
decent sort. Shaking with desire for his own wife, yet too manacled by guilt 
to do anything about it, an unreasonable resentment stabbed him. He resented 
being proved wrong when he thought he had known himself so well and the 
irritation echoed in the tone of his voice. 

"Just set it down. I'll get it in a minute." He heard the words, bitten off 
through clenched teeth like shivers of ice, and he knew he sounded like a 
churlish boor but he couldn't help himself. From the corner of one eye he 
saw her place a glass of water and two white tablets on the night stand and 
he saw her hands tremble. 

For the next twenty minutes Joan's emotions seesawed from hot to cold almost 
that many times. Mark lay prone a while longer after she'd brought the 
aspirin and after a few more attempts at conversation which met with 
monosyllabic response she gave up. She finished unpacking what she felt 
they'd need for the weekend, keeping her eyes carefully averted when he 
finally rolled out of bed with a groan and headed nude for the bathroom. His 
apparent misery from a hangover she could understand, for she shared it in a 
lesser degree, but his demeanor was strangely chilling, completely 
discouraging sympathy or love. In the short time since the wedding she had 
come upon many loud inconsistence in his moods but this almost truculent 
indifference coming on the heels of mutual and violent passion seemed 
without reason or rhyme. He acted as if she'd called selling magazine 
subscriptions, as if she were an unwelcome stranger. 

Her thoughts went around like a squirrel in a cage. Had she disappointed him 
again? No, that wasn't possible, his passionate response had been too real. 
Had she been too bold? She'd only followed where he had led. Certainly he 
couldn't blame her for that. Were all marriages a process of adjustment to 
each others moods? She wondered. But why this senseless mood of his now 
after their beautiful love-making last night? This question merely started 
the vicious circle revolving again in her mind. 

Her physical self seemed to be as confused and erratic as her thoughts. She 
straightened the bed, moving slowly and aimlessly at first around its curve 
with tears in her eyes, wanting desperately to bury herself in its pink 
heart and sob her own heart out. Somehow she managed to blink back the 
tears. Her pride wouldn't allow Mark to find her in pieces, to let him see 
how much he'd hurt her. She finished the task with a certain vengeance, as 
if this furniture monster, a witness to her love and thrust, had betrayed 
it. A fingernail rent one of the silken sheets as a particularly sharp tug 
of her hands tucked it under the mattress and her fists plumped up the 
pillows until their foam rubber whooshed for air. 

She then decided to apply another coat of polish to her nails but her hands 
shook so badly she couldn't control the brush and they knocked over the 
bottle. 

When Mark came out of the shower, smelling of male freshness and shaving 
lotion, with only a towel draping his hips to cover his nakedness, her heart 
pounded and her eyes didn't know where to look. She couldn't avoid flashes 
of movement as he dressed, bronze flesh and paths of black curling hair 
bouncing back and forth from the mirrored wall to the glass over the 
dressing table before her. It made her feel as though she were peering under 
a drawn curtain. 

The self-consciousness of both Mark and Joan hung like a pall in the air. He 
had slid into the perpetual defense of silence into which she threw a 
nervous flotsam of words when after a brisk rat-a-tat on the door Tod Keyes 
swept unbidden into the room. He came bearing a tray with two tall frosted 
glasses and Joan's relief for any interruption of tension between herself 
and Mark was so great that she accepted the drink pressed in her hand and 
downed her first Silver Fizz without hesitation. 

Prior to meeting up with Tod Keyes, or in a broader sense Southern 
California, Joan had thought that only characters in books or actors in 
films drank hard liquor before breakfast. At that moment she didn't even 
know just what she was drinking, she only knew she'd been inordinately 
thirsty from the time she woke up. Whatever it was in her glass, it was 
delicious. 

Tod was in a great good humor for a hung over morning. He was working on his 
third drink and he had a delightful secret. Within minutes he had Mark and 
Joan downstairs gathered around the bar, which seemed to Joan the focal 
point of the huge house, leaving a vastness of unnecessary space. Feeling 
slightly light-headed and suddenly much better, as she watched Tod adding 
gin to a frothy confection in a blender, she found out that hadn't been 
ambrosia in her glass. And she thought perhaps drinking before breakfast 
wasn't so unreal after all. In fact it was a practical idea. 

He was refilling her glass when Sally came down rubbing sleep from her eyes 
and wearing a short frilly robe of cherry pink. It made her look deceptively 
like an old-fashioned valentine. The liquor churned in Joan's empty stomach 
but another long swallow settled it. Once they got away from there she vowed 
to steer clear of any shade of pink for the rest of her life. Then she felt 
she was being unkind and a wave of affection for Sally washed over her. Her 
sister and Tod were really being wonderfully nice to them! After all, 
despite the relationship they were more like casual acquaintances--. She 
finished her drink and held out her glass. 

Tod had no intention of getting this neophyte loaded so early in what held 
promise of being a long day. His own capacity for alcohol was apparently 
unlimited and he considered a Silver Fizz purely a medicinal necessity. 
Before long he herded the group out into the kitchen. He put coffee on to 
perk and started cooking breakfast. His thick broad hands were breaking eggs 
into a bowl with characteristic dexterity and tenderness, for he wouldn't 
have run true to form without certain acquired culinary 
specialties-surprisingly good ones at that, when Joan wandered out onto a 
rear terrace. 

The late morning was cool and clean, and she breathed deeply of it as she 
came outdoors. Blue water in the pool reflected a prismed clearness of the 
smog-free sky and from where she stood the view made her feel in a private 
world. The land on which the house sprawled was a huge pie-shaped wedge at a 
far end of the cul-de-sac, its outer edge rimmed by rolling greens of the 
golf course. A sprinkle of brightly awninged carts dotted the distant 
fairways like Disneyland beatles. One side of the wedge was cut off from its 
neighbors by a line of close planted Italian cypress and what seemed a sort 
of recreation room angled out from the house on the other. Sunlight shafting 
through a sheet of glass door picked out the sparkle of a well-stocked 
back-bar and Joan wondered idly why they hadn't done their drinking out 
there. Save for an occasional crack of a ball splitting the air, the 
surroundings were like a quiet and secluded well-manicured jungle. 

Letting her mind go blank Joan soaked up the sunshine and stillness and 
serenity until the air was heavy with the delectable aroma of coffee and 
frying bacon and hunger drove her back into the kitchen. 

Things went better after that. Having eaten nothing but cocktail tidbits 
since lunch the day before, coffee and the ample meal, even though followed 
by several snifters of brandy, seemed to bind the two couples together in a 
relaxed, vacation-like mood. It toned down the party atmosphere of an 
electric-tense gaiety, the conviviality of strangers on New Year's Eve. Tod 
went all out to be smoothly but not obnoxiously charming and Sally settled 
down to the purr of a contented cat. Joan's anxiety ebbed as Mark loosened 
up considerably. They lingered over coffee and brandy and it was past one 
o'clock when a point, rather desultory effort was made at cleaning up the 
kitchen. Inevitably they ended up lounging in proximity to the bar. 

Tod had tuned in a ball game on the television set and the hum of 
conversation had increased a decibel or two over the drone of the 
announcer's voice. By then it was mid-afternoon and Joan began to sense an 
almost imperceptible fluctuation in the group's mood. Tod had served the 
first of what would develop into a continuous round of martinis. She'd had 
some difficulty in forcing down the dry, almost uncut gin. This was to 
become progressively easier with each successive round until it was no 
problem at all, but at that moment considering the brandy her head was 
fairly clear. 

Unable to pinpoint the cause of a growing feeling of apprehension, she tried 
to shrug it off as a quirk of her imagination. But she couldn't banish the 
impression that Sally's quiet contentment had turned to a sly satisfaction. 
Tod's liquor-loosened tongue had turned his subtle innuendoes to the openly 
ribald. She anticipated that but several times she'd looked up to find him 
staring at her with the unblinking gaze of a cat-one that had eaten the 
canary. He seemed to find her simplest remarks unaccountably hilarious. 

The bolstering effects of a full stomach padded by a quantity of brandy had 
brought Mark to the conclusion he might as well get drunk and do a thorough 
job at drowning his sorrows. After the first martini when the drinks had not 
come fast enough, he had gone and made his own. He'd taken up a station near 
the bottles and was now so unusually talkative the whole scene was a 
peculiar succession of non sequiturs. Joan was starting to feel like hers 
was a displaced sanity in an asylum. The musical peal of door chimes 
resounding from somewhere in the bowels of the house was a welcome sound of 
reality. 

Tod moved from the bar to answer it. Before he could get halfway to the door 
the charter members of his and Sally's private club breezed in from the 
hall. Joan felt their entrance as sweeping as a gale wind. Although only two 
couple, they somehow contrived to make four people seem like a crowd. The 
babble of voices was intense, all of them talking at once, a jumbled 
maelstrom of words with variations of how've-you-been, sure, 
looking-wonderful and sweet-of-you-to-ask-us bubbling above the surface. 

To her bemused eyes they didn't walk across the room but rather gamboled, 
like a frolicking litter of kittens and pups. Momentarily she was 
disconcerted by the frenetic buzz of greetings. There was the confusion of 
introductions in which everyone seemed to be hugging and cheek-kissing 
everyone else, though she and Mark were the only two strangers in the group. 
She met Claude and Bill, Irene and Beverly, never quite catching last names. 
Which really made little difference for there was certainly no formality 
here and a first name basis wasn't only immediate but necessary under the 
circumstances. It was much later before she could figure out who went with 
whom, which wife belonged to which husband. Darlings and casual embraces 
were distributed equally and without favor. By the time she finally managed 
to catalogue them in her mind it no longer mattered. 

It would have surprised her to learn that the sudden appearance of the 
neighboring couples was fully expected, not just a casual dropping-by. She 
would have been even more astonished to know of the conspiracy behind their 
sweeping effusiveness, a contrivance to meld the newly weds into their 
intimate warmth at once. 

But with their coming the party moved back again in proportion. Joan's 
almost sinister imaginings were quickly dispelled in the up-swinging tempo 
of gaiety. Tod started pouring drinks all around with a metronomic 
efficiency. Conversation began to get too loud and too brittle and laughs 
came loud and often. Glances became knowing and casual touches not quite so 
casual. But sound and sense and touch, muted and softened by alcohol, were 
turned-on and tuned-in. 

Joan felt like just another girl at a party, looking around and thinking 
about nothing, but having a wonderful time. She made appropriate noises, 
agreeing or laughing, or nodding from time to time. When her glass was empty 
someone took it away and it reappeared refilled. She found herself treated 
with the most flattering attention. It was impossible not to feel elated and 
excited at being part of this warm and friendly gathering. Streams of highly 
salacious gossip and bawdy stories eddied around her, inside jokes she 
didn't understand. After three drinks she rather yearned to be able to 
understand-and never mind how naughty the jokes were-she was in a mood for 
them. 

After the first hour of this a background of sensuous dance music from the 
stereo replaced the ball game and hands drew her to her feet, strong hands 
attached to thick, muscular arms. A blond grinning face loomed above her and 
Claude-or was it Bill?-pulled her close. 

Involuntarily, Joan giggled, and let her body blend with his, feeling his 
crotch bulge against her belly. She saw Mark watching from out of hooded 
eyes. A surge of defiance mixed with the swift thrill that suddenly stirred 
her. Let him see someone found her worthy of attention, even if he didn't! 
When the music paused, head reeling and breathing rapidly, Joan could feel 
the drinks catching up with her. Fresh air, she thought. That's what I need 
to sober me up. Using a flirtatious finesse she hadn't known she possessed, 
she broke away from her partner's reaching hands with a laughing, unspoken 
promise of future action. She left the room and picked her way down an 
unfamiliar stretch of hall. Legs unsteady, she went through the side doors 
and across a flagstone patio, feet feeling for the grass and for mechanical 
balance. Momentum carried her down a steep slope with a rush but an abrupt 
leveling of ground at the bottom tripped her up and she sprawled drunkenly, 
uncaring, in the spongy turf. 

 CHAPTER 7 

As the shadows grew longer Joan stretched out in a contented, alcoholic 
euphoria. Her mind thrust aside everything but the sensuous coolness of lush 
spring grass, soft and soothing to her sated body. She sank into its springy 
cushion with little squirmings, unconscious, voluptuous undulations, 
focusing inwardly upon a body-awareness, summoning up such a formless 
eroticism that after a time she felt a tingling of breast and a hollow of 
excitement deep in her loins. 

A stray, club ward-bound golf cart made a throbbing sound in the stillness 
and the smell of an orangy sweetness mingled with the moist rawness of 
earth. Something rooted nearby, young and green and tender, leaned over her, 
nodding of its own weight in gentle affirmation above her head. 

Bedded sensuously in spring grass, eyes tight against a last-ditch 
resurgence of the dying sun, on the level of instinct the rising and falling 
cadence of voices, male and female, was an irritating prod at her bemused 
senses. For a short while they succeeded in ignoring it but her ears picked 
up the definitive ring of her own name. Attention startled to instant 
alertness, she realized the voices, distinct and clear, came from a scant 
distance away. In the brief second it took to adjust to the odd situation 
she heard Mark's name mentioned in almost the same breath as hers. 

Scarcely aware she was eavesdropping, definitely a social if not a moral 
sin, Joan listened intently. 

"-that long!" She heard a soft voice rise and fall to a husky groan. "God, 
it's a wonder I can walk today, let alone. ... Mmmmm, that feels so-o-o good 
... don't stop," the words dwindled to a breathless whisper. 

"If you're all fucked out, I might as well quit right now." The rough 
masculine response sounded peevish. 

Joan's face felt warm, then it caught fire with the next words. 

"Was his cock bigger than that?" 

For a moment she lay motionless, breath caught in her throat, hearing 
nothing but the accelerated beat of her heart pounding in her ears. Then she 
caught a low murmur, a mere gurgling in the woman's throat which could have 
meant either confirmation or denial. The woman's companion uttered a deep 
gasp, almost like a grunt of pain, followed by a rough obscenity. In the 
ensuing silence Joan was first aware of the sound of their conglomerate 
breathing. The male harshness of heavy, open-mouthed wheezing, laboring from 
physical exertion above the undercurrent of passion, overrode soft, feminine 
wisps of air and throaty rumblings. 

Her first wild impression was that the unseen couple was actively engaged in 
the final consummation of love. Lying flat on her back, she kept her eyes 
tight closed and now she froze to immobility. They were so near, presumably 
no more than a yard to her right, she feared any frantic movements of 
copulation would send their bodies crashing into hers. Then came the muted 
frictions of metal against metal, as if the jaws of a belt buckle opening, 
and the unmistakable slither of a zipper unfastening. She heard a rustle and 
rummaging of fabric sliding or rubbing together and it dawned on her the man 
was in the process of taking off his trousers. 

Every nerve focused on straining to hear, she wasn't conscious of holding 
her breath until her tortured lungs expelled a sigh of relief that seemed so 
loud in her own ears she was sure they must have heard it. She waited for an 
outraged explosion but none was forthcoming. 

The mind-clogging fog of liquor plus the unexpectedness of the whole thing 
had left Joan incapable of rational thought. Only then did it occur to her 
to wonder why the lovers weren't aware of her presence when she was so alive 
to theirs. Prior to this she'd been so immersed in physical sensibilities 
she hadn't dared open her eyes. 

She did now. And saw overhead the clutching fingers of the sun, radiating 
out in gold-flecked serrations of muted cerise and orange and purple, still 
gliding across the darkening sky as they relinquished day to night. The 
sight punctured the balloon of time. The unknown couple hadn't been here 
when she first fell to the ground. If so they would surely have seen or 
heard her. She'd daydreamed briefly but she realized now they hadn't time to 
reach the point of her supposition. Joan's mind didn't run toward 
instantaneous erections, even supposing the two had dropped naked from out 
of the blue. Turning her head she saw why they didn't know she was close. 

Having landed beneath the overhanging boughs of some kind of shoulder-high, 
spreading bush, her prone figure wasn't visible to anyone approaching from 
the opposite side. 

As the knowledge flashed through Joan's head, the sounds emanating from 
there, the rustle of exertion, eased. Evidently the man had succeeded in 
removing his clothes, at least to the extent of greatest encumbrance to the 
project involved. A mutual, softly gasping inhale and exhale of breath, wet 
with a moistening suctioning, the sound of a prolonged and tonguing kiss was 
in the air. 

Her eyes on a level with the gnarled trunk of the bush, almost impenetrable 
in a myriad of entwined tendrils that twisted snake-like over the ground, 
mere traceries of white skin were all Joan could see. But they moved in a 
fluctuating pattern with the writhing of bare flesh and she heard the 
panting sounds of desire. The odd, free-floating eroticism enfolding her 
like a great featherbed only minutes ago reclaimed her with added intensity. 
Vivid images came swirling about her, images of the night, of Mark's penis 
thrusting hotly in the cleavage of her breasts, swelling to a taste of 
incredible delight in her hungry mouth, his hands on her body, fingers 
strong and urging thrust into the open-wetness of her vagina, bringing her 
to the peak, higher and higher--. 

A sudden shriek, so vibrant she thought it came from her own lips, shattered 
the tantalizing thoughts. She lay trembling all over, a very real, aching 
desire surging from her now throbbing vagina to the burning tips of her 
breasts. The shrill scream, sounding at first like her own ache, had ended 
in trilling laughter, laughter edged with a kind of delirium, a sense of 
evil. She heard the sound of the man's lewd love-mutterings, building slowly 
to a jungle crescendo that drummed its intention. 

I've got to get away from here, she thought in panic. This is horrible! 
Spying-and getting all worked up myself! 

The task of coordinating confused mind and churning body seemed almost 
insurmountable. She had dug the heels of her hands into the soft turf and 
was struggling to rise to a crouch, to crawl away undetected on hands and 
knees like a shamed animal, when she heard Mark's name for the second time. 

The male voice had said thickly: "Ah, that's good. ... Mark sure didn't take 
it all out of you last night, baby. He left plenty for me." 

His words felled her like an arrow. She lay prone no longer trembling, every 
fiber in her body frozen with shocked disbelief. Mark ... last night ... 
left plenty? She thought she must be losing her mind. Mark was with her, not 
some strange woman--! Up to now if she had been in any condition to think 
about the aspect of who the loving couple was, which she wasn't and didn't, 
Joan would have taken for granted they were one of the two she'd just met. 
And though shocked at such audacity-people having intercourse out-of-doors 
and in broad daylight!-she might secretly have thought a tryst in a garden 
rather romantic. Yet even before the woman's reply penetrated the leafy 
divider a terribly presentment was gathering in her mind. 

"Not because he didn't try--. We screwed half the night, and--. " The words 
broke off, interrupted by a deep gasp. Then the voice went on, still clear 
but thicker: "Hold still a minute, I don't want to cum so soon, and my pussy 
is still a little sore. What a time!" 

The voice and words were like jumping wires attached to a battery and Joan's 
body came alive as if a quick charge of electricity had shot into her skull. 
Her head tossed wildly, her eyes bulged and skittered frantically in all 
directions, desperately seeking a means of escape. She felt as though she 
were falling off the edge of the world. Tortured blades of glass slipped 
through her clutching fingers. She tried to blank her mind, to shut out 
sense and the sound of her sister's voice. 

Mark couldn't have been downstairs. ... And with Sally! But if that were 
true ... then, dear God ... what ... who? Oh, no! 

She heard Sally's voice go on relentlessly. As if somehow she had been 
listening for it, expecting it. 

"And Tod made out all right. He really gave it to my little sister! And in a 
way she never expected. Christ! I wish I could have seen his cock stuck in 
her face!" She laughed. "But the poor guy couldn't either for she sucked him 
off in the dark. And-can you imagine?-she thought he was Mark! Oh, Lord! But 
I'll let Tod have the fun of giving you all the details. He sure got a bang 
out of her ... in more ways than one. You can't always tell about these 
quite ones--. " 

"No!" It screamed through Joan's brain like the shriek of a wild creature 
come face to face with death. A rising scream of despair and loathing, of 
hatred stripped bare of all cloaking garments. She leaned up, elbow on the 
ground, hair disordered, mouth working with lips pulled tight over the 
perfect white teeth, nostrils flaring, and her wild eyes stared through an 
open clearing in the dense foliage. Her heart leaped inside of her and her 
throat went suddenly arid. For a choking instant all thought died. She was 
totally oblivious to everything but the sight which met her eyes. 

Framed in a leafy silhouette, the naked pose of her own sister, Sally, and 
Claude created a lewd, impossible picture. She was kneeling on the grass, 
crouched on all four, arms stiff and straight with palms flat on the ground 
to maintain the balance of her swaying body. Her body appeared to move in 
all directions at once at one and the same time. Her head rotated in a half 
circle as if attached to her neck by a loosely-tempered spring, the globes 
of her breasts bounced and swayed from side to side with a gelatinous 
freedom and her writhing buttocks ground lascivious circles in the air 
behind her. The rhythmical undulations of flesh were held together by a 
sinuous back and forth rocking motion of her body as a whole. 

One fleeting glance assimilated all of this. Then Joan's eyes were 
magnetized to the cleft between her sister's flexing buttocks. Claude was 
kneeling close behind her, bared from the waist down and the up-thrust shaft 
of his penis, save for a scant inch of gleaming whiteness at the base of 
black pubic hair, was buried from sight in warm, deep crevice. 

Her eyes widened in shocked disbelief. Every muscle had been tensed to 
spring, whether away from them or in fury toward them she couldn't have 
said. Now she seemed rooted to the ground and her blood ran cold. 
Mesmerized, she stared at the juncture of their bodies. She saw the huge, 
swollen length of Claude's prick as he withdrew it slowly from the creamy 
furrow. It was like a wet, engorged snake, moving with a fluid grace. The 
inflated wrist of rigidity, its white skin taut and smooth, pulsed visibly 
with an inner pound of blood. 

The sudden sensation within her was so bright and urgent she had the insane 
desire to reach out and capture his distended organ, to claim it for her own 
demanding flesh. Her mind flamed and her hips twisted with desire. Why 
should a woman like her sister have everything? Why should Sally have Mark 
and the right to this too? When she was hungry for love. Had been so long 
denied--. 

She watched them with a compulsive fascination, a violent mixture of 
revulsion and desire keeping her eyes fastened on the sinuous movement of 
his cock. He had pulled the thick rod out all the way to the tip, its smooth 
blunt head bloated to a shining scarlet, almost black, jerking as if to 
break free of the snug ring gripping its tiny mouth. She saw the resilient 
cheeks of Sally's ass twisting and wriggling back toward him lasciviously. 
Saw her balance precariously on one hand, reaching back with the other to 
spread the ivory globes and give greater access to the brownish-pink anus. 
His body seemed to stiffen, the muscles in his hips and thighs knotting and 
cording, loins flexing, gathering forces for a new assault on the tiny ring 
of puckered flesh. 

Joan's eyes widened in horror. The tender opening was already stretched to a 
smooth circle. It looked palely pink and vulnerable, in startling contrast 
to the angry red knob worming its way insistently into the raw flesh. She 
didn't see how it was possible for the tiny, sensitive hole to admit the 
monstrous thickness and length of his prick into the narrow tunnel of 
Sally's rectum without its being split apart, torn into ragged shreds. 

A shudder of vicarious desire wracked Joan's body, starting at the suddenly 
quivering flesh of her own anal passage and sweeping through her to the tips 
of her passion-swollen breasts. Not even the fumes of alcohol, stirring 
restlessly and creeping like tiny licking flames along the course of her 
blood stream, could obliterate her instant shame. But she was powerless to 
control the betrayal of her flesh, flesh that quickened to joyous lusting in 
response to the erotic stimulant of Claude and Sally's lewd abandon. 
Helpless to tear her eyes away, as though the optic nerves were locked 
immutably on their obscene coupling she looked on. 

The chunky head of his cock had oozed into the depths of the straining 
cavern. Stretched to a thin band of pink rubber, the moist anal ring was now 
pushing the semen-soaked foreskin tight back, nibbling avidly along the 
thick stem of white flesh. Sally was groaning with pleasure, thrusting her 
buttocks back and forth, frantic to impale her body on his prick. Though 
poised for action, muscles tensed, he seemed to be in no hurry, holding her 
fast with arms curled around her hips, the tips of his fingers kneading 
sensuously in the soft, plump pillow of her belly. 

Sally's face, as she twisted her neck to look back over her shoulder with 
mute pleading, was deeply flushed, the pouting lips slack and wet, eyes 
filmed with passion to an opaque glaze of delft blue. Nonetheless, 
underlying the lust, open and lascivious, her expression hinted at pure 
ecstasy. 

Did she look that way with Mark? And I-how did I look in the limitless dark 
with my mouth around my sister's husband's penis. The questions blossomed, 
untended and unwanted from a narrow crack in Joan's mind. And Mark ... and 
... Tod. How were male faces--? 

She looked at Claude's face, and saw the face of lust. Lust in all of its 
drooling lipped, flaring nostrils and heavy lidded fury, relentless and 
enflamed. Yet even here, lust shimmered with a patina of excruciating 
pleasure, faint but undeniable. 

On neither face was the look of love. Although the face of love may wear 
many disguises, sadness or joy, tenderness or lust-sometimes even hate. But 
something else was reflected in their faces, an almost unholy joy, an 
ecstasy that was diabolic, yet exquisite-in some intangible way. 

It reached out to Joan as she lay there, almost as if she were waiting for 
it to happen to her, knowing that it would. Values were coarsened, truth was 
reduced, accuracy blunted, and a way of bearing the shock of what she had 
learned was made possible. She was feeling a mixture of fear and excitement, 
pain and pleasure, perplexion and revelation. And desire raged within like a 
torrential storm. 

Still propped on one elbow she closed her eyes and her free hand went to her 
breasts. She ran her palm lightly from one up-thrust peak to the other, 
feeling each nipple harden and swell in turn. Back and forth, back and 
forth, her palm skipped over the deep cleft between the rounded spheres, 
teasing the pointed tips until they were twin peaks of fire. When they could 
stand no more, her hand went to her waist. Her sweater was soft and loose so 
she had no difficulty in pushing it up, just far enough for her fingers to 
slide under the soft folds and tug gently at the low-scooped cups of her 
bra. The filmy net pulled down easily, and the aching mounds of pointed 
breast-flesh sprang free. A low, sultry moan emerged from her lips as the 
turgid nipples seared into her sweater, drawing the clinging cashmere around 
them like tiny, thumb-less mittens. 

The sensation traveled to her loins with a thrilling swiftness. Her hips had 
begun an involuntary movement, grinding the resilient orbs of her buttocks 
into the springy turf until the blades of grass were churned to a soft 
matted cushion beneath. Her brief length of skirt had ridden slowly upward 
with the wriggling motion. With the rush of feeling in her pelvic region, 
she was suddenly conscious of a warmth of wetness between her thighs and 
through panties that were a mere wisp of lace she felt the soft grass, 
moistened by her own juices, cool and damp on her hot flesh. She gasped and 
pressed her thighs tight together, trying to soothe her vagina's fast 
mounting passion. 

Her eyes flew open and came into focus on Claude's penis. In the dimming 
light the thick bridge of flesh spanned from dark base of reamed anus with a 
glowing whiteness, a hard round cylinder of pulsating force. 

"Shove your cock in harder, dammit!" Sally's voice rang out. 

Her cry seemed to loose the fury of his lust, driving him completely out of 
control. Joan watched the taut skin undulate up the rock-hard pole like a 
series of ripples of water as he rammed his prick with a pile-driving force 
into the ever-widening ring of Sally's anus. A high pitched squeal came from 
her throat, as if the shafting rod had pressured a rush of air up from the 
screaming walls of her rectal passage. She gasped and squirmed as he 
pummeled into her, his thrusting loins battering the jiggling cheeks of her 
buttocks with every forward shove. But she pushed her ass back to meet him 
with a hard, grinding rhythm, trying furiously to skewer his cock into the 
innermost depths of her body. 

His tempo increased until his prick was pounding in and out with the rapid 
precision of a well-oiled machine. The semen-glistening rod was soon a pale 
blur before Joan's eyes as they glazed with passion. With an irresistible 
force the all consuming desire in her loins drew her hand under the 
bunched-up folds of her skirt. The wet sensitivity between her thighs was 
now an incredible ache and they rubbed together with a tantalizing friction 
that was fast becoming unbearable. Her fingers burrowed under the circle of 
elastic low on her middle, moved down under the soft flimsy nylon of her 
panties to dig into the soft abdominal flesh, flushed with an inner fever, 
down to encounter the abrupt high ridge of bone, to tangle in moist tendrils 
of pubic hair, curling soft and fine as new corn silk. 

She heard the close-by gaspings, the incoherent babblings of lust but dimly, 
filtered now through the loud rumble of her own desire. Her body glowed like 
a ripe, juicy fruit, ripe to bursting yet strangely hollow. And suddenly 
hers was that thrusting, heaving flesh, not Sally's. It was her body 
receiving the fulfillment of the man's pounding cock, but it was tunneling 
avidly, frantically into the open and ready lips of her cunt. 

The demarcation between fantasy and reality, between day-dream and actuality 
was lost with the first touch of her probing fingers in the moist, pulsing 
flesh. And then, almost dream-like, she felt male hands on her hips, hard 
and strong, then unexpectedly, fierce and brutal. They gripped her with a 
ponderous savagery, repelling her eager thrust, pinioning her to the ground. 
And a wet mouth crushed down on hers, stifling her scream. 

 CHAPTER 8 

The late spring evening was stirred by a fresh breeze sweeping up the valley 
from the ocean. It roiled the faint smell of orange flowers, weighing down 
the soft air, to a headier, slightly sickening sweetness. A few 
ever-changing strokes of blue still drifted across the quickly greying sky. 
Though not quite dark, twilight had driven even the most persistent golfer 
to forsake the links. like a magic want it actuated an underground system of 
sprinklers and the light wind disbursed a fine mist gathered from the 
arching waterfalls of their sweeping arms. 

Tod Keyes wasn't the sort of man to take pleasure in the soothing 
swish-swish of atomized rain as it nurtured the night-disappearing hills at 
his back. A moist spray settled on his neck and Tod cursed. 

If he'd told Ben Moto once he'd told him fifty times that goddamn sprinkler 
head on the eighth green was too close to the property line! But the damn 
fool had gone right ahead--. Shit! One of these days he'd rip the mother 
fucker out with his bare hands, damned if he wouldn't. 

The truth of the matter was that Tod rarely ventured into this area of the 
grounds, day or night. His time out-of-doors was usually spent in the 
periphery of the pool and its adjacent bar. In fact of time he probably was 
out on the green in question even more, enjoying the benefits of his present 
source of irritation. But he didn't move from where he stood. He simply 
mopped at the back of his neck with a bare hand. Completely engrossed in 
what he was watching, his annoyance was fleeting and surface. 

It had been sometime after Joan left the room before he noticed her absence. 
Figuring she'd gone to the powder room, he wasn't too concerned. When Sally 
and Claude disappeared and the party thinned, he thought she'd had more than 
enough time to powder her nose or whatever else the hell it was women did in 
places like that for so damned long. Beverly and Irene were swarming around 
Mark as flies to a new and exotic honey. Noting that Mark didn't seem to 
mind the arrangement and thinking he was probably too potted to care much 
about anything, Tod corralled Bill to go along in search of Joan. After an 
unsuccessful search of the most-likely regions where she might be in the 
house, the pair wandered out the back door. 

Taking this route they came first to Claude and Sally. Although at this 
point those two were quite oblivious to everything but each other, the 
searchers, not wanting to interrupt or distract what bore every indication 
of approaching climax, scouted around the fucking couple in a wide circle. 
If they hadn't they might easily have missed Joan's reclining figure. As it 
was, they still wouldn't have seen her in the fading light had it not been 
for the white clothes she wore. 

As Tod stopped dead in his tracks, motioning to Bill for silence, not very 
much of that was visible, merely two bands of white, somehow oddly displaced 
for conventional dress. They moved closer with alcoholic stealth, stilted, 
slow motion wooden-toy, wind-up movements, almost audible the whirring of 
the little gears. Neither was conscious of holding his breath, but when they 
came within close range of Joan's body, her half-naked flesh writhing 
seductively in the grass, their expulsion of air was a simultaneous gasp. 

"I'll be goddamned!" Bill exclaimed after catching his breath. 

"I told you she was a hot little bitch. How do you like that!" 

The two men kept their voices down, but in the considerable racket coming 
through the bushes the chance of their being heard was slim, and in the 
light of Joan's inner tumult it was practically non-existent. With the 
initial impact of Bill's body she had been listening so intently to the 
rhythms of her own distant drummer, straining to the rising beat of 
primitive tom-toms pounding in her blood, that her flesh had responded to 
him with unthinking urgency. The sudden shock of pain, coarse fingers 
digging cruelly into her hips, hot, fetid breath scorching her throat, had 
taken a long moment to register in her befuddled brain. Her helpless body 
had trembled spasmodically until a torrent of panic drowned her desire. 

That Bill was the one to shatter the barrier of Joan's lusting self-delusion 
happened as though the men had tossed a mental coin. Bill, tails-and Tod, 
heads. With Tod the loser? A rather bad metaphor, gruesome perhaps. But 
uncanny in its aptness for what followed was done without words. 

They stood staring down at her and in the dimming twilight her skin looked 
warm and creamy, more dusky than it really was against the stark white of 
her dress. When passion flared out of control she had fallen back to the 
ground and even with her body lying prone her breasts stood out in perfect 
hemispheres, high-swelling without a trace of fold on the under side. From a 
vantage point near her feet, the up-thrust points of her nipples were a 
dark, vibrant scarlet against the background of white sweater pushed to her 
neck. 

The slim indentation of her waist was shadowed by the folds of her skirt, 
but a motion of her buttocks caught a gleam of light on the top of her hips, 
slightly square over the structure of bone but with the same combination of 
tautness and fine-grained skin at her breasts. Her thighs were pressed tight 
together, the firm columns of flesh rising and falling alternately as they 
rubbed against each other with a sinuous rhythm. At their tight juncture the 
darker triangle of pubic hair, plainly visible beneath a film of lace, 
protruded sharply and rose and fell with a seeking motion of its own. 

They saw her hand delve under the lace, watched as her fingers kneaded into 
the softness of her belly, pause, then reach down--. It was then Tod and 
Bill pulled their eyes away and turned to look at each other and 
communicated the unspoken signal. 

Bill slithered down over Joan's body into a low crouch, straddling her 
thighs with his hands and he leaned forward and ground his open mouth 
against her lips. Not a big man, he still blotted much of her white flesh 
from view and Tod who had been stationed at Joan's feet moved quickly to her 
side. Straining his eyes, he dropped to his knees. Just as he was once again 
cursing the dark a diffusing glow of light illuminated the entire grounds. 
Strategically hidden in trees and bushes, amber spots on an earlier time 
clock answered the dusk minutes before the sprinklers. 

In the soft, mellow light Tod caught Joan's involuntary response to Bill's 
touch. He saw the eager thrust of her breasts and he saw the hand burrowing 
between her thighs scramble wildly until it was disentangled from the wet 
furrow and the band of lace. Saw its swift, impulsive grab at Bill's bulging 
crotch. Then it disappeared in the crush of his pelvis, imprisoned between 
them. For a scant breath she lay passive, her flesh trembling. 

With his first sight of his young sister-in-law's bared, thrusting breasts, 
Tod's prick had begun a gradual expansion along his thigh. He now felt its 
swelling length give a violent jerk in his pants and one hand went to his 
fly. Before he could do anything to relieve the building pressure in his 
cock, the scene he was watching with hot eyes changed so abruptly he sprang 
to his feet, almost losing his balance, and took a backward step. Her hand 
automatically swiped at a sudden dampness on his neck. 

Joan's flaccid body had turned into a madly squirming mass of protesting 
flesh and bone and muscle. Her head was thrashing from side to side, trying 
frantically to dislodge Bill's suctioning mouth, but his lips seemed glued 
to hers. She'd managed to free her hand and with both hands she was tearing 
at his fingers on her hips. He shifted his position, still maintaining a 
light hold with his hands, and forced his knees between hers and spread her 
legs apart. The fleece lined lips of her cunt throbbed hotly as if the soft 
folds were making a desperate effort to cling to each other. In spite of 
this Tod saw them part slightly, the rim of inner flesh, a deeper pink, 
glistening with moisture. 

As if she realized the work of her hands was futile where they were, she 
tried to shove Bill away, pushing with both hands against his chest. He'd 
had to relinquish her mouth in order to come up for air, to compensate for 
the sudden exertion needed to control her. Her throat worked, muscles 
cording, trying to let loose the scream building in her lungs, but he was 
gasping, fighting for the breath lost in his mouth and only a moaning whine 
escaped her lips. 

Whatever he lacked in size he seemed to make up in strength. Joan was no 
weakling, but she wasn't any match for his wiry toughness. Almost like the 
hands beating on his chest weren't there, he gripped her body in the crook 
of one arm and held her tight against him. 

With his free hand he pushed her sweater, which had worked down in the 
struggle, away from the swell of her bared breast. His mouth fastened 
heatedly on the nipple, drawing in considerable breast flesh as well and he 
began to suck it avidly. 

This time she did scream a thin shrill cry that seemed forced from her 
throat, like the sound of one who has been jabbed with a needle. 

A lewd grin tightened the slack in Tod's open mouth, twisting his lips to 
one side. The little bastard, he thought, he must have taken a bite out of 
her tit! His lips sagged open again, tongue circling them as if the hot 
blood of Joan's throbbing nipple was sweet in his mouth. 

The hard pull of soft breast-flesh, taut pressure causing tiny blue veins to 
pulse visibly beneath the tender skin, glossy and white in the suctioning 
red oval of Bill's lips, was almost too much for Tod. Mouth watering, he 
almost could taste the aching nipple-tip, feel it erect and swollen and 
quivering in the hot, moist cup of his tongue. 

His hands returned to his fly and his fingers shook as they pulled at the 
zipper. Almost without manual aid, the expanded rigidity of his cock surged 
from out the opened folds, swinging up massively, cleaving the air like a 
rapier thrust. Its weight seemed to weaken his legs for his knees sagged to 
a slight bend and he stood there wavering one hand fondling his swollen 
prick. 

Joan had grabbed the hair of Bill's head, trying to pull his mouth away from 
her breast, but her fingers were clutching with an aimless fury, as if they 
had somehow forgotten their purpose and were uncertain whether to shove or 
pull. 

He got a good grip on the top of her panties and with a swift yank he tore 
them completely from her hips, tossing shreds of lace across the grass. Her 
buttocks writhed wildly, the resilient mounds rotating into the turf 
beneath, trying to bury the soft flesh out of his reach. 

But he handled her as easily as if he were playing with a kitten. He reached 
one hand between her legs and slid his fingers into the soft wetness of her 
cunt. 

Tod had moved closer, dropping once more to his knees and his expanded cock 
levered out away from his body. It seemed to reach with a straining envy 
towards Bill's finger exploring the moist fleshy folds. The great boom, 
white and swollen, blood-tipped, hovered in the air like a bird of prey in 
sight of its quarry. 

Bill withdrew his finger and the pink orifice closed, to form soft, pursed 
lips, wet and shining. He took his hand away from her crotch and began to 
unzip his pants. In panic now Joan struck at him, raining blows about his 
head and shoulders. But it seemed nothing could deter him and he gripped his 
cock, swollen stiff and throbbing on the edge of orgasm, and nuzzled it's 
blunt knob in the warm, wet moisture of the hair of her cunt. 

Suddenly, Joan seemed to find her voice. Scream after shrill scream rent the 
clear air like the wail of banshee. 

"Jesus Christ!" Tod was on his feet, his distended cock joggling wildly with 
the movement of his quick scramble upright. "She'll have the whole 
neighborhood on our necks!" 

Bill also had been startled from his lustful pursuit by the piercing cry. 
His body straightened until the hot, bursting head of his cock was probing 
wetly into the smooth flesh of Joan's abdomen. For a second he thought he 
was going to come in her navel, to flood the soft belly with his hot seed. 

"We'd better get my little sister-in-law inside," Tod told him. "Dammit!" He 
swore at a fresh spray of water fanning his neck as he staggered a step 
backward. 

Reluctant to quit now, almost beyond the ability to stop, Bill had grasped 
his urgent cock in one hand. Unheedingly, he was stabbing the swollen head 
of his prick wildly at the slippery folds of Joan's cunt, but her hips were 
gyrating in such a frantic movement entry was hard to effect. 

Grabbing him roughly under the arms, Tod jerked Bill's lighter frame off 
from Joan's struggling body. He swung him over her legs and set him down on 
his feet with a teeth-jarring thud. 

"Goddamn it, you fucking bastard! I said let's take her in the house!" he 
roared. 

Bill stared at him, eyes glittering, his prick wavering in an angry wet 
circle. His fist clenched and in the heat of the moment he looked ready to 
tear into Tod. Evidently he thought better of it as the bigger and heavier 
man hulked over him. His fingers uncurled. Still breathing rapidly he 
managed to insert a placating tone in his voice. 

"Hell, Tod. Who's going to hear her? It's dark-nobody's out on the course at 
this hour," he said hoarsely. 

"Damn it all! How should I know? But somebody could-kids wander around." His 
voice hardened. "I can't afford to take any chances on some broad hollering 
rape in my own backyard. Don't argue, dammit! Help me get her inside!" 

Tod turned away, then paused. '"Anyhow," he added, and good humor was back 
in his voice, "what you were doing is too easy. Hell, she was damn near 
loving it!" 

Joan's ears were deaf to his words. She was curled up in a ball, lost in her 
own misery. Shoulders heaving, face buried in the grass, her body shook with 
muffled sobs. She was crying like a small child in the diminishing throes of 
a temper tantrum, long shuddering sobs that ended with a choking gasp, 
almost a hiccup, ending as if a tight hand were massaging her lungs, 
opening-then closing again with a vise-like grip. 

Momentarily drained of fight, her body lay like some limp, indecently 
disheveled rag doll that had been tossed carelessly to the ground in fit of 
pique. Her mind tipped and swayed, almost drained of emotion, the emotions 
that had spiraled during the violent struggle, swirling and changing, a 
flood of unidentifiable feelings. Panic transmuted into fear, fear to anger, 
anger to a boiling rage. And weaving through it all a fine thread, a cobweb 
oft broken but knotting itself back together with its own indomitable will. 
The invisible thread which had hatefully exposed itself to a man like Tod 
Keyes, a man acutely and instinctively tuned in on sensual response. A 
response her tortured mind buried deeply like a loathsome, unborn creature. 

The two men had no trouble getting Joan into the wing of the house she'd 
idly thought earlier a good place for a party. Which it was, and with a 
muted elegance she'd have appreciated at another time. The long rectangle of 
softly burnished wood paneling, tall chaste mirrors and windows draped in a 
pale, matte velvet, bore no vestige of Sally's rococo taste. Nor could Tod 
take credit for the effect of timeless luxury in a room furnished with long, 
low couches, of soft brown leather, tables and chests inlaid with precious 
woods, and accents of dull pewter, shining brass and glittering crystal. 

The young man who had "done" the room had taken a personal satisfaction in 
devising a setting as far removed as possible from popular conception of how 
the background of a sexual orgy should look. The only Bacchanalian note was 
the bar, too well-stocked for any attempt at subtle concealment. Had Tod 
been forced a choice between liquor and sex indecision would have killed 
him. 

He now had both. Joan had allowed herself to be supported by their arms and 
led inside with a mindless placidity. As though this were an ordinary social 
occasion, her hands had automatically worked to arrange and smooth the 
sweater and skirt which were the only garments remaining to cover her 
nakedness. The soft scraps of torn bra and panties still lay back there like 
pale moths, mutilated and dead in the night dampening grass. 

Obediently she drained the highball glass she found in her hand. Nerves and 
muscles temporarily as deadened as her brain, she drained the straight 
Scotch without a shudder, as though it contained the medicinal manna of its 
aroma. But with a long swallow from the refilled glass she choked and 
sputtered, feeling the strength return to her flesh, breathing hard. Memory, 
partial but horrifying came back with a rush and she stared around her with 
panic at the unfamiliar room. She felt a hand on her bare thigh, then 
another touched her arm from the opposite side, and her eyes swept fearfully 
from side to side. 

Tod and Bill sat flanking her on the broad sofa, stripped of all clothing 
and with their legs outspread. Erect columns of swollen flesh towered from 
the underbrush of their pubic hair, two huge, threatening cudgels hemming 
her in. She started to get up. Her one thought was to escape those 
terrifying rods of punishment, but the Scotch picked that precise moment to 
explode like a bomb in her stomach. The room rotated crazily on its axis and 
her legs dissolved. She fell back into the down cushion, lying helpless and 
feeling smothered by the heat of hard, demanding flesh surrounding her body. 

She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of a prismed chandelier overhead 
going round and round, making her so dizzy she was afraid she was going to 
be sick. That was far worse for now a million crystals whirled in her brain 
with a skull-splitting dazzle, stabbing blinding sparks into the back of her 
tortured eyeballs. Her eyes shot open and she saw her brother-in-law staring 
down at her with teeth bared, a tiny network of muscles twitching violently 
at one corner of his open mouth. The wild thought of a ravenous wolf keening 
over her flashed through her mind, but she looked up at him beseechingly 
with pleading eyes. Her lips opened and closed in torment as she struggled 
for words but none came as her throat locked tight with fear. 

His eyes lighted with a swift, strange pleasure and he moistened his lips 
with the tip of his tongue. A shadow flickered across his face as though a 
shade were drawn. Then released with a snap, allowing it to fly up like a 
flash. And with its passing, pleasure had gone out of his eyes, replaced by 
an urgent lust. Fighting against dizziness and the nausea rising in her 
throat, she watched him get up and move to the bar. His penis, swollen to an 
enormous size, thrust out from between his legs as if it were a propellant 
for his lumbering frame. 

Then Bill's hands were at her waist pulling at her sweater. She shivered, as 
though her bared breasts were startled to find their nakedness blatantly 
revealed. Her body then seemed to recover some degree of coordination, and 
she started to struggle, pushing him away, trying to get up and run to Tod 
for help. Bill had her sweater off now, and his fingers were tugging at the 
waistband of her skirt, pulling the soft knit down over the smooth, sensuous 
swell of her hips. 

She had to reach Tod, to get him to help her! But even as she managed to 
lunge to her feet, which only made it easier for the skirt to be rolled down 
over her stomach, down her thighs, she knew there was no aid to be had from 
Tod--. No help for her anywhere at all now. 

Mark! His name was a silent cry in the wilderness of her mind. She felt a 
quick scalding shame, flinching away from the thought of him. The horror of 
his finding her like this-naked and drunk-for she knew now that she was 
drunk, disgustingly, staggeringly, almost uncontrollably drunk, was more 
horrible and more degrading than the hands rummaging lewdly between her 
thighs. 

Joan stood swaying in torment. The calves of her legs were pressed against 
the edge of the couch but she would have fallen were it not for the support 
of his arm around her hips. She leaned weakly into the hollow of his 
shoulder and the arm tightened around her, its pressure squeezing the ripe 
cheeks of her buttocks hard against each other. His hand reached to her 
belly and his fingers grabbed into the flesh, digging harsh furrows into its 
softness. He was hurting her but it seemed that anything was better than the 
awful emptiness in her heart, the sharp desolation of feeling completely 
lost and alone. 

She took a strange masochistic joy in the rough fingers digging almost 
savagely into her abdomen, a satisfaction in the sense it gave her of being 
punished for her shameful nakedness. It mattered not that she was helpless, 
entirely at the mercy of two strong, lusting men. Somehow this physical pain 
helped to ease the mindless ache that was threatening to destroy her. 

And then his other hand was a warm massage on the smooth sensitive flesh of 
her inner thigh, a gentle stroking rhythmic motion, this. And the two hands, 
one savage-one tender, caused a perplexity of emotions, adding to the 
fearful confusion in Joan's alcohol-fogged brain-and her overwrought body. 

He felt a tremor in the soft, yielding flesh under his hand and felt the 
heat of its warmth transmuted to his loins, and his bloated penis jerked 
with desire. Abruptly, his hand stopped its gentle stroking and moved to her 
cunt, where his fingers delved hungrily into the moist pink lips. He felt 
her body respond, eagerly at first. She seemed to melt against him, 
softening like a candle of wax enveloped in a hot flame. Her knees sagged 
and her thighs spread of their own volition, opening the glossy lips of her 
cunt to his hand like the petals of a sun-kissed flower. 

The almost instantaneous reversal of her reaction to his probing fingers was 
violent. As though her heated body had been quick-frozen in a block of ice 
she stiffened against him, every nerve and muscle alerted to danger, her 
flesh once more firm and taut. Her thighs had closed on his hand like a 
steel trap, imprisoning his fingers in the defensively contracted muscles of 
her vagina. The tight sheath was a wet, moist well of pulsating flesh, 
seeming to struggle frantically within itself to repel the unexpected 
invasion. Momentarily, his movement stilled, chilled in the icy blast of her 
complete ego-blasting repulsion. 

Tod, standing at the bar, drained his glass and set it down and started 
toward them. As he came closer, arms hanging loosely at his sides fingers 
flexing in suddenly ominous tempo, Bill caught a look of sardonic amusement 
on the man's flushed face, the patent look that bespoke: "That's what you 
get for sending a boy to do a man's job." His blood boiled. The little 
bitch, he thought. Tease me, will she? I'll fix her-but good. 

Joan's scream resounded from off the soundproofed walls as his fingers dug 
viciously into the soft, fleshy walls of her vagina. She went limp, 
releasing his hand from her open, throbbing cunt. He was on his feet and 
with a movement which took her totally by surprise, he caught her wrist and 
with a violent twist of her arm spiraled her body around to face him. She 
saw the blow coming but was unable to move quickly enough to avoid it. It 
caught her on the shoulder and sent her spinning to the floor. She struggled 
to her knees and looked up in time to dodge another blow. As he swung, his 
body lunged forward and the swollen tip of his cock, blood-red and pulsating 
hotly with all the rage of his pent-up anger and frustration, smacked 
against her cheek with a wet slap. Her hand flew to her face and came away 
glistening with sticky moisture. 

Laughing, he struck again. Pain flashed into her right breast, radiated 
through her torso. She staggered backwards, horrified and afraid. All at 
once she was sure he meant to kill her and her head swiveled wildly, seeking 
an avenue of escape. Tod stood behind her spraddle-legged and the 
blood-filled knob on the end of his prick stared back at her like an angry 
crimson eye of vengeance. 

As if reading her intentions he broke into mocking laughter. "Why try to run 
away from it now? Last night you were eating it up. You couldn't get enough 
of my cock!" 

At the words life seemed to drain from her body, she sagged back but then 
struggled up, onto her hands and knees, mutely pleading with him. 

"I think you've got her tamed down enough to behave," he told Bill. "Go 
ahead and have your fun, boy. She made you earn it!" 

"You're damn right. The bitch. If she teases me any more, I'll kill her!" He 
was breathing hard, eyes glittering wildly. His own violence had acted as a 
strong sexual stimulant and his cock was literally jumping up and down with 
agitated lust. 

Joan was flung on the big couch so violently that the breath was knocked out 
of her. She lay before them, young and lovely and lushly rounded. An angry 
red bruise streaked along the curve of one ripe breast and there was a fleck 
of blood on the smooth, creamy flesh of her belly where his nail had raked 
her. For a moment she lay there dazed, not knowing what had happened to her. 
Then she rolled over and lay face down, trembling hands tight to her ears as 
if by blotting out sight and sound her tormentors would disappear. 

She felt strong, sinewy hands on her buttocks, with fingers that dug into 
the flesh like pincers. 

"How about that? Are you going to be a good girl and show us a good time?" 
Bill's voice leered ominously. 

Sure of her now and gloating over his conquest, he failed to notice the 
gathering storm in Joan's body. The words had scarcely left his mouth when 
she rolled over onto her back, catching him off guard, and her long legs 
kicked out, one knee stabbing him in the groin. 

Off balance he went over on the floor. Groaning, he sprawled on his back on 
the thick carpet, writhing in pain and holding his balls tenderly in cupped 
hands. 

She heard Tod's laugh and sidled to the edge of the couch. She was about to 
swing her legs to the floor when his hands gripped her ankles and flung her 
lightly into the middle of the wide, leather cushioned surface. She started 
to struggle and his fingers tightened as his arms applied pressure, pinning 
her down as helpless as an impaled butterfly. 

"Please Tod! Let me go! You can't-Ooooh, you're hurting me!" Joan gasped, 
for the first time managing to put her pleading into words. But Tod's grip 
only intensified, twisting the flesh of her slender ankles until his fingers 
rubbed against bone. 

He seemed to find her cry exceedingly funny. "Jesus, if that isn't just like 
a woman! You could have maimed poor Billy for life!" he laughed. "You really 
shouldn't have done that, you know." 

There was a tone of menace in his voice that was frightening. She lost all 
sense of rationality. They really are going to kill me! she thought wildly. 

Through an un-sober haze of fear she heard Tod's voice giving directions and 
Bill's furious answer. And then she felt a shifting of hands on her legs, 
and she was grabbed roughly beneath her arms. She saw a flash of Tod's face 
as the two men lifted her up and tossed her over on her stomach as if they 
were loading a bale of hay. She tried to fight but had little strength or 
spirit left. Held so firmly she knew she couldn't even turn around, and she 
left her sore and aching muscles relax. 

"That's better. Be nice and you won't get hurt. You should even like it, the 
way you're built, baby." He was breathing heavily, like a man who has just 
run the minute mile, though lifting her body required little exertion. 

Joan's mind was in a turmoil, unable to understand what he was talking 
about, insane with fear wondering what horrible, depraved thing they were 
going to do to her. The hold on her ankles loosened slightly. 

"Kneel up!" Bill's voice commanded. 

Instinctively she tried to flatten herself into the cushions. With a quick 
motion he shifted her ankles to the tight grasp of one hand and an arm 
reached under her loins and hauled them up bodily. A vivid image of Sally's 
writhing, bared buttocks flared in her mind. Oh, no. No, nononooooo! 

Suddenly it was as if she were on a conveyor belt in one of those old silent 
movies, except that instead of a buzz saw, there was a penis at the end of 
the belt. She started to cry, bitter, helpless tears. 

Expecting the worst, she gave a gasp when she felt his finger sliding into 
her vagina. The smooth flesh had dried with her fright but as his finger 
teased back and forth over the outer lips before entering and stroking the 
walls of the passage a warmth of involuntary moisture gathered rapidly. The 
muscles stiffened and contracted but he riffled his finger around the tight 
little opening until she relaxed. When his stroking went to her clitoris, 
lightly circling the tiny bud to a quivering hardness Joan felt the tremor 
of desire, starting down there and coursing through her body to meet the 
rising excitement of Tod's hands sliding under her arms to her breasts. Of 
their own accord her buttocks levered higher into the air and began a slow, 
almost imperceptible writhing. 

Their fingers and hands worked their magic briefly at Joan's cunt and at her 
breasts with the timing of performers who have worked in tandem before, to 
the point where they felt she was sufficiently roused to contribute to, or 
at least condone the action. 

She uttered a low groan, more of surprise than pain with the insertion of 
one finger in her anus. The narrow passage tensed, then yielded as Bill's 
finger glided into the soft, warm depths. He gradually intruded another and 
felt the slight resistance give more easily as the taut little hole 
insinuated itself warmly along the unfamiliar probe. His fingers prodded and 
he felt her wince and bounce away with the sudden hurt. He moved with her 
but stilled her for a short while and once she'd got used to the extra 
pressure he felt the smooth walls of the dark heated channel clamp in a 
moist, tight grip. And then he let the fingers explore the expanding and 
contracting rubbery flesh, preparing her rectum for what was to come. 

The insertion of one finger in her anus had been but a swift irritation for 
she was aware of only the delicious sensation brought on by the titillating 
caresses in the moistening passage of her vagina. Tiny sparks radiated out 
to sweep through her thighs and her loins with an ever heightening, sensual 
thrill. Her breasts were swelling in response to the soft urgency of 
kneading hands, nipples growing stiff and erect, throbbing under the 
strumming fingers. The invasion of her rectum had been like the sharp sting 
of a bee, then the pain had settled to mere fluttering of after-ache. 

When the pressure became appreciably greater she involuntarily made an 
effort to reject this new hurt. Gradually the pain eased a bit and her body 
was forced to accept it rather than struggle to break free, risking the loss 
of the sweet satisfaction building in the erotic, nerve-centered tumescence 
of her clitoris. And slowly the intrusion of her anal passage turned to a 
peculiar combination of painful discomfort and stimulation. Her aroused body 
continued its gently undulating tempo of mindless sensuality. 

Bill felt both of her orifices breathing in and out like most, hungry mouths 
on his fingers and he was conscious of no part of his body but his bursting 
prick. His balls ached and his penis danced in the air, its blood-pressured 
head full to point of explosion. He watched the brownish-pink lips of her 
anus pucker and begin to pulsate hotly around his finger, saw the licentious 
flexing of the full-fleshed cheeks of her ass, rotating in tiny circles, 
smooth rounded swells hollowing, as if the white satiny orbs had an identity 
all their own. 

Looking across the swaying expanse of Joan's crouched body, he saw the 
ripple of muscle in bi-cep and shoulder as Tod's hands kneaded at her 
jiggling breasts. Tod's puffy face was flushed to a purplish-red with the 
heat of lusting concentration. Their eyes met and a silent message seemed to 
flash between them. 

With the removal of the obstruction in her throbbing rectal passage, Joan 
gaped with the unexpected relief. She felt a cool rush of air that was soft 
and soothingly good on the enflamed circle of the raw, sensitive anus. Now 
she could surrender without restraint to the wonderful promise of 
excruciating rapture gathering within her loins. The damper of gentle air 
easing against the tiny pulsing ring in the exposed crevice between her 
buttocks was suddenly shut off. 

The agony of her scream was the lost cry of some last-living creature in the 
universe. It reverberated throughout the room like nothing human. As the 
sudden shock of the huge blunt head of his penis tearing into the tight 
resistant tunnel of her rectum plowed its way through every fiber in her 
body, the pain was an unbearable roar of white heat like nothing she'd ever 
known or could imagine. The breath exploded from her lungs and her mind 
froze. She felt like she was tumbling endlessly in a violent whirlwind, and 
her body was being shored apart. Her head snapped around on her neck in wild 
circles as she squirmed and twisted like a woman gone mad trying to escape 
the brutal, savage impalement. 

Bill grunted like a rampaging bull behind her as his loins buffeted forward 
and his thick rock-hard cock bored into the helplessly struggling girl 
without mercy. It drilled into the screaming depths of her body, battering 
and smashing all resistance before it in great breakers of moist screaming 
flesh until his pelvis buffeted her upraised behind with a hard, buttock 
flattening force. 

Joan's mouth sucked for air and as it rushed into her lungs they expelled it 
in a screaming stream. 

"Good God," Bill groaned at Tod, "Shut her up, dammit!" 

"Aaaaaagggghhhh!" 

Joan's shriek was cut off in mid-breath. Her anus was splitting. It would 
tear into a great slit down the entire length of the stretched crevice of 
her buttocks and her body would slowly be split in half like the crack of a 
brittle wishing bone. Waves of shame engulfed her at this horrible 
debasement of her flesh and increased tenfold when the head of Tod's penis 
in front of her, hot and bloated and heavy, stuffed her mouth, shutting off 
her scream. Through the sudden gag it sank to gurgling moan. 

She choked, then tried to toss her head to dislodge the swollen, strangling 
bulb, but his cock's hard rigidity impaled her head to immobility. She could 
feel the enormous intrusion of the cudgel in her rectum pushing solidly in 
now and widening the back passage, chafing the tender skin with a sandpaper 
abrasiveness. 

Her struggles lessened as the crying protest in her body told her that the 
more furious her movement, the greater the pain. A pain that was humanly 
impossible to endure. Yet somehow she had to, and did. 

She tried to hold her mouth coldly passive, cleaving her tongue to the lower 
gum, pressing the hardened tip of his cock tight against her teeth. But the 
weighted thrust of his prick was a forceful counter attack, pushing her 
tongue back against her tonsils until she gagged on her own flesh. 
Compelling muscular rigidity to her cheeks was frustrated even more by the 
hollowing suction of his thrusts, led by natural inclination to a convex 
enfolding of the pulpy, mouth-filling mass. 

Tod felt her desperate but feeble attempt at resistance. Unsatisfied with 
her performance, he held her nose between finger and thumb, forcing mobility 
to her tongue and cheeks as she gasped for breath. With sudden inspiration 
her teeth bit down, but with the first hint of their sharpness on his cock 
he struck her face a sharp blow. Her neck snapped back and seemed about to 
crack loose from her spinal column. The head of his penis, slippery with its 
thick ooze of lubrication, followed the backward arch of neck, lodging far 
back in her throat, choking her. 

"Don't try that again, or I'll choke you to death with my fucking cock!" he 
warned her thickly. "Suck!" 

The gland retained the strangling pressure until she had no choice but to 
obey his command. Sickened, she sucked and licked the great, pulsing, 
eel-like creature in her mouth, tasting the seaweed pungency of seminal 
fluid. It seemed to be endlessly expanding and swelling as it sawed in and 
out of her mouth. Her tongue and lips worked with an avaricious frenzy to 
make it end soon. Her torture had gone on forever, the fat prick behind 
pounding in and out of her rectum, never quite withdrawing far enough to 
ease the splitting pain, projected her body with each forward thrust, 
skewering her mouth onto the rod pistoning deep in her throat. She was 
buffeted back and forth from one stabbing cock to the other with a 
back-breaking velocity. 

She had no memory of the beginning tingles of ecstasy, the insidious lure of 
the flesh with its sweet promise of fulfillment. Her shattered mind was 
aware of nothing now but her base and total degradation and the agonizing 
pain of the battering ram shoring up her ass. And she wished she were dead. 

Up from the depths of her soul came, "Dear God, please!" 

And as if in answer it ended. She felt a final, tremendous bursting erupt in 
the dark depths of her rectum, shattering the walls of the anal passage and 
pouring a flood of hot liquid into her belly with the fury of a burst dam. 
It rushed through her body and rose to her throat, seemingly spewing out 
from her lips like an acrid hot spring. Her throat worked convulsively to 
swallow it back and she sucked frantically on the slowly deflating 
obstruction in her mouth to keep from choking. 

In Joan's confused mind and body she was awash and drowning in one huge 
orgasmic sea. When the finally depleted organs freed her from bondage, she 
fell forward on the smooth leather, close to unconscious oblivion. As her 
body assimilated the dregs of their hot seed she rolled over, sobbing 
helplessly, all semblances of resistance gone forever.... 

 CHAPTER 9 

Joan heard the sound of breaking glass, the clink of bottles and the 
tinkling rattle of ice. Low whispers, then a shrieking laugh. The sound had 
been there for sometime, like the beating of her heart. She pulled herself 
to a sitting position and leaned back on a plush mound of cushions. For 
sometime she just lolled there, dazed, wincing with the aches and pains that 
seemed to emanate from all over naked flesh. Somehow she wasn't too 
surprised at her nakedness. When she looked up from a bewildered 
contemplation of a red welt on her right breast, her eyes hit on a watery 
blur across the way. Her vision cleared and she saw the others in the room 
had no clothing on either. So she was all right. She stretched, wriggling 
her bottom in the sofa cushion and the stab of pain from down below in her 
forever stretched rectum rocketed to her throat, leaving her moaning. 

What had happened lay like a luminous transparency on her memory, remembered 
sensations smothered in a blanket of degradation and agony. 

"You two look like you had yourselves quite a time!" 

She recognized the ring of Claude's voice from the scene in the garden and 
shuddered. In that instant she wanted Mark more than she had ever wanted 
anything or anyone in her life. She was sore and miserable and alone. Those 
other people were laughing and drinking, having a beautiful time in their 
bare flesh. "Mark!" 

She cried his name aloud and her gaze swept over the group gathered around 
the bar, searching frantically. Her mind ticked off the figures of male and 
female nudity. Everyone was here except Mark and her sister. And then she 
was on her feet, trembling from head to foot and sobbing wildly, shrill 
whimpers that graduated rapidly to the high pitch of hysteria. 

"Christ, not again!" Bill groaned. 

"Why don't you bat her around a little more?" Tod asked maliciously. 

Bill shot his friend a look of what amounted to pure hatred. A new conquest 
added to the group seemed to arouse a competitive animosity between the two 
men. 

"Maybe I damn well will!" he retorted. 

At this point Beverly and Irene felt the situation was getting out of 
control. Joans hysteria was grating on their eardrums and Tod and Bill were 
snapping at each other like two dogs fighting over a bitch in heat. It was 
enough to aggravate the women that they had sneaked away and been gone for 
hours when these parties were communal affairs. And now this--. 

They were prepared for all emotional emergencies. In the age of the Pill 
they went one step farther. Nothing like the hallucinogens, LSD or heroin or 
pot. They preferred to get their kicks unadulterated. Alcohol didn't apply 
in this category, it was a part of their life pattern. But they had pills to 
wake up with, pills to go to sleep with-pills to counteract pills. What's 
your mood today? Take your choice out of a pill bottle. And all perfectly 
legal and above board. Irene had a friend who had a friend who was a 
physician. So they had an instant sex pill-for even members of the group had 
off days when a little artificial stimulation was necessary for the good of 
all. 

There was a short but surprisingly clinical discussion as to whether or not 
a tranquilizer should be administered along with the aphrodisiac. They came 
to the conclusion that Scotch would do just as well, having been proven from 
past experience. Irene had tried mixing alcohol and tranquilizers just once 
and it had been a bad scene. She had become violently and physically ill in 
the midst of a party, ruining the entire affair and a practically new dress. 
They had no qualms about what they proposed to do, merely how to do it. 

This was quickly decided upon while the men were still wrangling about how 
the girl's hysteria should be subdued. Getting the pill washed down with the 
liquor was a trifle messy, but they managed. Joan shied away from them like 
a frightened doe at first. Lewd visions of Sally and Mark locked together in 
lewd sexual intercourse tormented her mind, transforming all of this 
boisterous, naked crowd into evil incarnate. Through distorted vision she 
saw the charming room clearly for what it was. 

Claude helped, by holding her nose and forcing the pill down her throat as a 
parent doses a child with nasty medicine-even with a bit of 
this-is-for-your-own-good psychology, to administer the potion. After a 
minute's paralyzed confusion Joan calmed down. Her trembling stopped as the 
Scotch flowed through her bloodstream. She felt cold and then very warm. Her 
hands made a few instinctive motions to cover her nakedness, for she felt a 
flash of shyness and embarrasment. The alcohol consumed earlier was a soft 
cushion for a good six ounces more and emboldened her to the thoughtwhen in 
Rome--. Thoughts of Mark and her sister still tortured, but with a subtle 
difference. Irene and Beverly chatted away with the nonchalance of an 
afternoon tea party and she felt the mood of the afternoon come back. 

Defiance and resentment at Mark's neglect stirred at that particular moment 
a combination of many forces lulled and distorted her senses, the liquor, 
the pill slowly taking effect, the whole weird scene diffused fantasy and 
reality. She knew she was sitting there, unclothed yet perversely unashamed, 
after living through a horrible nightmare, but she had the disoriented 
feeling of sitting through a bizarre, unclean movie. She wanted to leave, 
but it held the allure of the illicit. 

Claude brought her a fresh drink and Irene moved over on the couch so he 
could sit between them. As she took the glass she tried to avert her eyes 
but it was impossible to do both at the same time. The organ hanging down 
between his legs seemed to grow before her astonished gaze. A quick shudder 
caused her to almost drop the glass and she looked away, heart thudding. 

He sat down beside her. Almost idly he began stroking her leg, from her hip 
down to her knee and back. The touch was electric. She felt a tremor of 
desire. More than a tremor! It seemed to course through the suddenly frayed 
nerve ends of her body like a thousand tiny needle-shocks. Her heart 
hastened with an excitement she didn't understand. It took a great effort to 
brush his hand away, she wanted it there so badly. A fine moisture of 
perspiration broke out on her upper lip but her throat went dry. Raising the 
glass he heard cubes of ice tinkle like castinets and their cold rattled 
against her teeth as she drank thirstily. 

The Scotch and the aphrodisiac spread a new warmth, a warmth that had 
nothing to do with the heat layering under her skin, scorching the frayed 
nerves. He moved a bit closer to her and said something, but she heard only 
the sound of his voice, not the words, all of her attention fo-cussed on the 
small moist furnace of his breath on her ear. His hand was back on her leg, 
moving now to the smoothness of inner thigh and she felt an amalgam of panic 
and desire, a desire so fervent she was helpless to repulse the stroking 
fingers. Only a small protesting sound came from her throat and she felt the 
current between them grow into an electric and monstrous thing. And she felt 
so hot, not warm hot but sexy hot, that she held her breath, willing his 
hand to the thrusting urgency between her thighs. 

She had no idea what was happening to her but as he got up to get another 
drink, and she saw his prick rising now from between his legs she knew that 
she had to have it. Her buttocks ground desperately into the sofa cushion to 
quench the roaring flame suddenly licking at her nakedness. 

The supple leather only puffed into her crotch, stoking the flames of the 
fire out of control. Her breasts felt enormously heavy and looking down she 
saw the coral nipples stiffened to erect, quivering points. 

Claude was coming back and her eyes were suddenly unexplainably greedy on 
the fat cock jiggling before him. Her mind struggled hopelessly against the 
passion that made her involuntarily spread her thighs. He came up to her and 
she lost all control of her body. She lay back, slender legs coming up with 
bended knees then scissoring out as she braced her feet on the edge of the 
cushion, and spread her thighs wider in lustful invitation. 

Kneeling down, he ran the flat of his hands along the soft inner thighs from 
knee to crotch then dug his fingers into the downy wetness of pubic hair. 
She moaned, and he felt her shudder and the firm fleece-covered mound thrust 
eagerly into his palms as her buttocks inched forward. He placed his thumbs 
on the fleshy hair-lined lips of her cunt and spread them slowly apart. With 
hot eyes he paused to stare at the pink, quivering flesh. The lips were a 
satiny glaze of warm moisture and the tumid clitoris nestled in the soft 
folds throbbed with a deeper, hungrier pink. 

Her buttocks writhed wildly and she strained her legs to push her cunt to 
his face. His hot breath was coming in rasping gasps, teasing at the hungry 
opening until she could hardly stand it. When his tongue flicked in and out 
of the pulsing lips like a darting snake she pushed up violently, burying 
his face in her cunt, forcing the length of his tongue into the burning 
passage. 

Her legs kicked out and up uncontrollably and her heels dug down into his 
shoulders. She jerked forward wildly, smothering him into her naked loins, 
trying to draw more of his tongue into her body. 

Oh God, this wasn't enough! Her whole body was a void dying of hunger, 
aching to be filled. She groaned in frustration. He was pulling at her legs, 
jerking his face from the smothering closeness and she was losing even this! 
She felt herself being pushed back, sliding along the couch, then nothing at 
all and she thought, Oh no! He couldn't leave her! 

But he had only changed his position. He grabbed her flailing legs behind 
the knees and shoved them back against her shoulders, kneeling up against 
her buttocks. When he released her legs her ankles locked tightly up around 
his neck and reaching down, he covered the heaving spheres of her breasts 
with his hands. 

Joan could see him hovering over her through eyes dimmed with passion. She 
felt his swollen hardness lying the full length of her wet and open vaginal 
slit. The head of his cock was a hot pulsation between her widespread 
buttocks and she worked to twist her hips down toward it, her hungry cunt 
gasping for its moist, throbbing tip. She strained crazily for it but it was 
kept out of her reach. 

"You want a little of that, hon?" 

She heard him dimly. Dear God! Oh, what was the matter with him? She had to 
have it! Why was he tormenting her, teasing her this way? 

"Tell me," he coaxed. "Do you want my cock?" 

"Don't-Ohhh, please!" she moaned. 

He looked down at Joan, at her body out of control, begging him to fuck her. 
Drugged to the extent where he knew she would do anything asked of her 
physically, and yet in some distant corner of her mind she clung to an 
inbred morality. Although his cock was jerking madly to be done with this 
teasing, he'd settled on a perverse, drunken determination to degrade her 
mind as well as her ripe young body. 

"Go on, say it. Say you want my cock. Say you want to be fucked!" 

I'm going crazy, she thought. I just can't! But I have to--! I can't do 
without it. I've gone without so long-it's not fair! 

"Ooooohh, yes, yes, I want-I need--! " 

Joan's throat clogged. The obscene words were pounding now in her head. 
Cock-fuck-cock--. They whirled in her mind as if it were learning some lewd 
rhyme by rote. 

"Say it!" He commanded hoarsely. "Dammit, they're only words!" 

Claude was fast wishing he'd never begun this game. Joan's painful agitation 
seemed to excite him all the more and his prick was jerking on the brink of 
the boiling point. He couldn't stop but he used the greatest persuader that 
came to mind. He flexed his loins and brushed the bloated head of his cock 
over the open wetness of Joan's cunt. 

"Yesssss!" The words tumbled out in a guttural stream. "I want your cock I 
want you to fuck mee--! " 

He'd had to pin her down by her shoulders, she was struggling so furiously 
to reach him. As he took one hand away to guide his prick she lunged up with 
a rush and grabbed for him. Her hands were on his cock before his own, 
pummeling the taut flesh up and down on the tree-like shaft, in a fervid 
effort to force it into her cunt. Catching him off balance, he was no help. 
His body lurched forward to keep from sliding off from the edge of the 
couch. His prick slithered up the smooth flesh of her belly just as her 
hands pushed down on the blunt head. Without warning the rod stiffened to 
iron in her grip-then spewed its white-hot liquid into her navel. The jet 
stream bubbled forth from the minute cavity and flowed over her white, 
quivering belly like molten lava from an erupting volcano. 

"Ohhhhhhh!" Joan wailed as she watched the hot sticky fluid inundate her 
belly. Her hands worked in a fury of frustration, driving up and down on the 
slowly deflating member in an attempt to bring it back to rigidity. When it 
oozed its last drop he pried her loose and rolled over on his back beside 
her with a weak groan, breathing heavily in satiation. 

She pierced the limp flesh with a look of glittering hatred. It had betrayed 
her! He'd made her beg-then tricked her! She looked down at the sticky 
rivulets gathering in congealing pools on her flat stomach and sobbed. 

Oh God, she pleaded, what am I going to do? There must be someone--! 

She looked over the room, seeking, desperate. Beverly was sprawled on the 
floor beneath a long console table, stretched out like a lazy cat. Irene and 
Bill were going at it hot and heavy on a sofa across the room. Her wild eyes 
fell on Tod fixing himself a drink. She rolled to her feet and swayed as 
though she had lost control of her legs. And then she headed for him 
straight as an arrow, propelled by her voracious need. 

Tod saw her coming and he saw the still-glutinous semen marring the smooth 
perfection of her flat little belly, dripping in thick strings to her thighs 
and matting in her sparse young pubic hair. Oh-oh, he thought. What a 
helluva waste! He glanced down at his prick, hanging like a dead, white slug 
between his thick, hairy thighs. He'd taken on both Bev and Irene within the 
last half hour and Joan had drained his cock before that. A man had just so 
much to go around in any given time, he thought ruefully. By the look on her 
face and that body just built for--. 

Without uttering a word Joan came to him and her flushed body surged against 
him. Putting her arms around his hips, she dug her fingers into his sinewy 
buttocks, drawing his pelvis hard against her, and she buried her mouth, hot 
and wet and open, in the pulsing hollow of his throat. A faint ripple ran 
through him from her moist lips to his groin. Well! Maybe she can get it up 
again at that! 

She ground her body against him, rotating her crotch into his groin, boring 
holes in his chest with hard, pointed nipples. Every straining inch of her 
begged to be taken but was met with a barely perceptible flutter. His hands 
went to her shoulders and gave a hard, quick, downward shove, forcing her to 
her knees at his feet. 

"Suck it hard, little sister!" 

Joan heard the hard command as from a great distance. She looked up into his 
face and it swam before her eyes. Disbelief clouded her eyes, eyes that 
stared at him in supplication. This couldn't be happening to her! Not again! 

Repeating the words he twisted his fingers in her hair and pushed her head 
to the limp penis hanging down between his legs. 

like an animal who knows it will be rewarded with a juicy tidbit following a 
performance, with the obedience of one of Pavlov's dogs she bowed her head. 
Taking his flaccid penis in both hands, she placed it between her lips and 
drew it into the wet warmth of her mouth and began to suck avidly. 

Tod stood over her with legs astride, staring down at the top of her bobbing 
head with a grim, sadistic contemplation on his slack face. This was an even 
better joke on the young fool than before. It was swift retribution for that 
attempted bite! 

But nothing else mattered to her now; not shame, not principles, not 
debasement, just the mindless anxiety to please him and win release from the 
hungry animal eating her alive. 

* * * 

Sally closed the door behind them, and its closing shut out the bright 
overhead light of the connecting breezeway. She advanced into the dusk of 
the room leaving Mark standing just inside the doorway. Weaving from side to 
side on unsteady underpinnings he shook his head, trying to clear it, and 
waited for his vision to adjust to the dimmer light. He felt removed from 
the light of reality, as if he were gazing out on a bleak, gray wasteland 
that stretches to no horizon, on which nothing can be seen, only an endless 
sea of gray, lifeless dust glowering under an ominous sky that threatened 
him with impending doom. 

A sudden chill rippled over his naked flesh in the hot, somehow tropic air 
of the room. His vision slowly cleared, the outlines of human figures 
swimming into focus, he realized it was only a nightmare vision of his 
fogged mind. As he moved to the quickly focusing figures, he stopped short, 
facing the nightmare of reality. 

It took a long moment for the impact of the lewd spectacle-his wife down on 
her knees, sucking her brother-in-law's cock to slow erection as if it were 
the most delicious morsel in the world-to hit him. 

His mind knew better, but he tried to tell himself this was part of the 
waking dream. He knew he was almost helplessly drunk, that he'd been fucked 
by two strange women-conscience stabbed-that he had fucked them, and that 
only minutes ago his own cock had swollen and jerked to live in Sally's hot, 
wildly suctioning mouth. Just as Tod's hardening flesh was now in Joan's-But 
Joan wouldn't--! But she was! 

The truth in his mind fragmented. He closed his eyes and a brilliant, 
multi-colored rainbow of kaleidoscopic splinters moved across his lids. His 
head whirled, the last drink came up in his throat like bile and he opened 
his eyes and they were still there. But now Joan was on her feet, raised up 
on widely outspread legs, stretching up as tall as she could on the tips of 
her toes, trying frantically, desperately, to stuff Tod's massively expanded 
cock into her cunt. 

His muscles coiled. He wanted to spring, to wipe the lust from Tod's face 
with a smashing blow of his clenched fist, to smell his blood and feel the 
pulp of mashed flesh on his knuckles. 

Joan's head was thrashing dementedly from side to side. A lusting stream of 
obscenities his mind couldn't conceive of her even knowing flowed from her 
lips in an endless stream. Momentarily, her head jerked to a stop like a 
puppet's on a string and her eyes met his. She stared right at him, a 
wide-eyed unblinking stare, like she had never seen him before in her life. 
As though he were a total stranger! 

Her head turned away and he saw her lips open and her tongue dart out as she 
ground her mouth against Tod's with a ruthless hunger. 

Mark's hands went limp and every muscle in his body seemed to collapse like 
a punctured balloon. Unaware that Joan's sister had come close and was 
watching the swift change of emotion on his face, he felt her arm around his 
waist. 

"You'd better sit down before you fall down," she said. 

She steered his sagging frame a few steps until the back of his legs hit a 
chair. He sprawled back into its cavernous depths with a deep moan and she 
wedged herself in close against him. He closed his eyes and lay back, trying 
to blot what he'd just seen from his brain. But vivid pictures flashed on 
the screen of his closed lids. Joan's cheeks hollowing in and out as she 
sucked Tod's prick. Her hands rummaging feverishly over the rock-hard rod. 
Her pink tongue thrusting into his slobbering mouth. Oh God! 

The image of her cunt on their wedding night, tender pink lips soft and 
warm, moist and quivering-trying desperately to repel his prick, unreeled 
from the tape in his brain to torment him. 

And he pictured the soft flesh, wet and open and ready, wildly urgent for 
the lust-filled head of Tod's cock. Unable to take more of that his eyes 
flew open and stared at the ceiling. 

Sally had been keeping up a lurid, running commentary on the action taking 
place and he heard her say now, "It's ridiculous for you to make such a big 
thing of this. Oh, I can tell you're upset." She was stroking his penis and 
arousing no response. "You're not getting up." She giggled. "But really, 
what did you expect Joan to be doing while you're balling around day and 
night?" 

That sounded like it should have made sense but it didn't. He sure as hell 
hadn't expected her to be doing this! To do as the Romans do didn't cross 
Tod's mind. He felt the same stir of resentment against Joan as he'd felt 
against himself. He felt he had never known her at all, after thinking he 
knew her so well. 

His sister-in-law's teasing stroke on his penis gripped to sudden fierceness 
and he heard her moan as she wriggled against him. He'd heard that moan 
before and her fingers bit into his prick and hurt like hell. He felt it 
give a swelling jerk and felt a familiar pressure in his groin. Jesus! He 
sat up with a sudden lunge just in time to see the massive breadth and 
length of Tod's cock glide fluidly into the depths of Joan's wide splayed 
vaginal lips. 

He sat transfixed. The sinewy shaft was disappearing all the way into the 
wet gaping channel until only a narrow stretch of it was visible, white and 
glistening with moisture, beneath his hairy balls. They were on the floor, 
and Joan lay prone, her body writhing with a wild, primitive abandon under 
Tod's pounding assault. He withdrew slightly, the rigid fleshy column 
sliding out part way, then drove forward again, imbedding it deep down 
between her writhing buttocks. He withdrew again until only the bulbous 
head, pulsing hotly, rested in the moist, fleshy folds of her cunt. 

Mark saw his wife's long full legs snake up and wrap suddenly and 
frantically around Tod's hips, her heels digging into the cheeks of his ass, 
straining to draw him back inside of her. Her hollowing buttocks lifted off 
the carpet as she surged upward to absorb the full length of the thick cock 
back into the grasping lips of her hungry cunt. The folds of satiny 
hair-lined flesh slithered upwards, devouring the rigid pole from sight. 

He heard Joan squeal like a stuck pig as Tod's buttocks lunged forward and 
his pelvis crashed into hers with crushing force. He cried out as if he felt 
her pain and slid to the small of his back in the big chair to blot out a 
sight suddenly too much to bear. His cock lunged upright from his nearly 
prone body. And as Sally mounted him with a quick, eager motion, his hips 
rose and fell with a raging violence under her bouncing buttocks. 

 CHAPTER 10 

Mark woke up not so much in the middle of a dream as in a rush of remembered 
emotion, the lust he had felt screaming through the blurring of senses over 
the long day and night. The recollection of this was somehow clearer than 
the experience itself, during which he had no control over his emotions, had 
never really been conscious of any one definitive word or act. He had 
followed wherever the dictates of the flesh led. 

Had alcohol brought out the beast within? He wondered if the instinct that 
had driven him to those violent orgasms of loveless animal sex was not some 
vestigial part of every man. And woman ? 

He lay motionless, one hip and leg aware of the soft warmth of Joan's body, 
keeping his mind turned inward in that first awakening. He kept remembering 
what his mother always said-about sex and love being one thing. What had 
happened had nothing to do with his love for Joan. And he prayed hers for 
him. He had thought until now that temptation can't exist unless we make a 
free, conscious choice. Had he lost all consciousness under the influence of 
the flow of liquor? Looking back it seemed he had no choice. 

And he remembered with self-revulsion and a harrowing sense of guilt pure 
sensual pleasure, all important and ecstatic. He felt a shivering in his 
body and shunted rationalization aside. Time for that later. But no time to 
remember Sally's purring voice, the touch of her hands, the hot demand of 
her body, his own body's eager response-the animal's arousal and climax. And 
never a time for remembering Joan and Tod wrapped in that lewd sexual 
embrace. He thought that now with the wound barely scabbed ever. 

Although it's been said that layer upon layer of scar tissue can be tougher 
than the original flesh. 

Mark opened his eyes and shut them quickly, wishing he hadn't. The afternoon 
sun streamed in at the uncurtained that was blinding. My God, he thought, I 
really must have been drunk! He had no recollection whatsoever of how he 
happened to be in the strange curtain-less room. The leg stretched out 
against his pressed tighter and he felt a moment of swift panic. Had he gone 
home with one of those women! Then he heard her voice and his heart resumed 
its beat. 

"Are you awake, darling?" his wife whispered. 

In answer he rolled on his side and gathered her warm, sleep-soft body in 
his arms. He buried his face in the deep, sweet hollow between her breasts, 
pressing his lips to the fine, silky flesh, drinking in the dusky fragrance 
of her skin. Her hands stroked his shoulders and the back of his neck, 
tenderly, soothingly, and her arms cradled him in the pliant ripeness of her 
breasts. 

He felt sinuous, feline movements of her body, the momentary ripple of 
muscle in her thighs and arms. They lay in the tender, loving embrace for 
long moments, absorbing the feel of each others flesh and bone, lean 
masculine hardness melding with lush smooth softness. He raised his head and 
kissed her lips, at first with his lips firm and gentle, then with growing 
intensity as her lips parted and their tongues parried with a hot, moist 
eagerness. 

And their embrace was no longer gentle, but a thrusting of hip and thigh and 
breast, hard, purposeful movements like a horizontal dance. Her swelling 
breasts flattened against his chest, the nipples stiffened and probing, 
transmitting a message or rising desire to his penis. It grew along her 
thigh to massive, rigid pulsation, prodding into the soft flesh with a hot 
intensity. She tunneled her hand down into the straining press of their 
bodies and took a firm grip on his swollen hardness. 

Pulling her mouth away from Marks, Joan looked deep in his eyes. 

"I want your cock," she said softly. "I want you to fuck me like the others 
did." 

For a long time after it was over he lay motionless, aware only of the rapid 
rise and fall of her breasts pressed against his chest. 

When he was able to speak, Mark said, "Do you want to go home?" 

Joan looked at him with bemused eyes. "But we are home, darling," she said. 

And perhaps they were. 


THE END
